Valiant: Footsteps

[Érinthe Hetetlen]

Starfleet Headquarters - 2258
Three Months Ago

Every time Érinthe Hetetlen had walked these halls before, he had felt a mix of excitement and awe. The more silver that had come to adorn his cuffs, the more subtle that feeling had become; but it had always remained, lurking in the background behind a wall of propriety and training.

Today however, it wasn't the two thick bands of silver around his wrists that kept the spring from his step and stopped his eyes from exploring the architecture of one of the most important buildings on Earth. It wasn't those stripes that weighed on his shoulders, making it harder than ever to maintain the proper military posture.

It was news that weighed heavily on him, and the pregnant mass of the sombre atmosphere that filled Starfleet's corridors. For five full days, the stories had played on every media network, non-stop. Vulcan destroyed. Earth attacked. Nine starships lost with all hands. The Diplomatic Corps did their best to calm public fury: a rogue extremist, they said; not an attack sanctioned by the Romulan government. That didn't exactly inspire confidence, what with the fleet-killing warship capable of boring a hole through a planet and all. Rumours suggested time travel; advanced technology from the future. Érin didn't quite buy it.

There was personal loss, too. In a few weeks, Captain Hindi Mahipo had been due to step down from her command of the Farragut, and become Érinthe's new commanding officer. For the last year or so he'd overseen the final stages of construction on what would have been her ship: the baby sister of the just-launched Enterprise. A few from now, once the Enterprise had cleared off on her maiden voyage, the NCC-1702 was due to blast off from her construction site in Alabama, and dock with Starbase 1 so the engineers could finish installing and switching on anything too dangerous to be done inside Earth's atmosphere.

That the splinters of Farragut debris orbiting the fractured remains of Vulcan were Mahipo's only memorial cast a shadow of doubt across everything. Presumably this summons was to provide some of the answers, and Érin was already bracing himself for the possibility of soon becoming a bearer of bad news. Word was that the Romulans had done a real number on the Enterprise; the Admirals would probably want to shunt staff from Huntsville to help with the repair efforts, and that was probably going to make Bear very cranky.

He slowed his pace as he entered the lobby outside the Office of the Admiralty. It was an odd term: their were in fact multiple offices, occupied by a variety of officers who weren't necessarily all admirals. Most accepted that it was one of the many pieces of terminology that Starfleet had co-opted from Earth's navies, but Érin had his suspicions that it was at least partly chosen as a way to confuse the Vulcans.

He set a course for the reception desk, offering a nod of greeting to the officer behind it. "Commander -" he began to introduce; they cut him off before he could get any further.

"They're waiting for you inside, sir," the receptionist explained, gesturing to the corridor on his left. "Straight down to the doors at the end."

"Thank you, Lieutenant," Érinthe responded curtly, maintaining his pace as he adjusted course.

The corridor was relatively short, quickly disgorging him into a cavernous space, stark white pillars and zig-zag stairways climbing up two stories overhead, vast windows allowing daylight to stream into a room littered with chairs, meeting tables, and situation displays. Not only was it larger than he was prepared for; more people were present than he'd expected. His face-to-face mere formality meeting with an Admiral had suddenly tripled.

With as much poise and formality as he could muster, he approached the three flag officers, seated around the stark black briefing table. At it's head, an Admiral - the Admiral; the Commander-in-Chief; none other than Admiral Alexander Marcus - glanced up from the reports and dossiers in front of him just long enough to acknowledge Érinthe's arrival.

"Grab a chair, Commander," the Admiral instructed; wordlessly, Érinthe complied.

Marcus began to speak before the Commander was fully situated. "Allow me to introduce Admiral Trollinger from Starfleet Intelligence -" There was a slight pause. "- I believe you're already acquainted with Commodore Hudson."

At the mention of that name, reality deviated even further from expectations. His eyes settled on the flag officer opposite, effort the only thing keeping them from widening in surprise. The hair had fooled him; not cropped and practical as he remembered, but long and tied back away from her face, save for a few rebellious strands that refused to be restrained. Beyond that though, little had changed: same face, same tiny mustered smile, same expressive blue eyes that had been her undoing in so many staff poker games back on the Artemis when Érin was still a mere Lieutenant.

More nostalgia tugged at his mind as she flashed him ever so slightly more of that smile. "It's good to see you, Érin," she said; one of the few people to manage not to butcher his name without years of intensive coaching. Her expression twitched into a faint grimace. "Despite the circumstances."

The voice of Admiral Marcus interrupted; Érin was more than a little grateful for that.

"Do you know why you're here, son?"

The Commander shot a hesitant glance to Talia, but for once her expression gave nothing away.

"No sir," he said, slowly shaking his head. "I don't believe I do."

Admiral Marcus gave Érinthe's honesty an appreciative nod, shuffling with the papers in front of him as if searching for information; but the fact that his eyes barely strayed from their steely lock on the Commander suggested that he already knew exactly what the paperwork said.

"A little over a year ago, you were offered command of the USS Sagittarius, but you declined. Why was that, Commander?"

That was an unexpected question, and it took Érinthe a lot of effort to keep his expression under control. He remained silent, weighing the possible answers he could provide in search of the most appropriate.

"Permission to speak freely, sir?"

Marcus nodded. "Of course."

Érinthe caught his tongue between his teeth, breathing slowly over it as he gathered his words. "With all due respect to the Isis and her crew, she's not a new ship. The Constitution-class is the future of Starfleet, and when Captain Mahipo approached me about becoming her first officer..."

He trailed off. "Frankly sir, I wanted to position myself to be part of the future, rather than risk becoming stuck in the past."

The Admiral breathed out a quick, nasal laugh. "Well put, Commander." His gruff features twisted into something that was almost a smile. "I'm not sure anyone would be all too happy about being thought of as a relic, mind."

Marcus glanced to the Admiral from Starfleet Intelligence. "Fill him in, Schiava."

Admiral Trollinger frowned and swallowed, gathering himself to speak. "The man who attacked Earth and destroyed Vulcan did more than just end lives, blow up ships, and destroy infrastructure. To use an old adage, he made us bleed: and with blood in the water, the sharks are circling."

He turned his gaze sidelong, glancing at the Commodore before he spoke again. "The Romulans are adamant that they had nothing to do with these attacks; even if that's true, our intelligence suggests that the Romulans may try and take advantage of Earth's weakened state to settle old scores. Even if they don't, no amount of Klingon honour is going to stop them trying to expand their borders in our direction. Beyond our borders there are countless rival star nations, many of whom we have yet to meet for ourselves. Every unexplored sector that surrounds us is a breeding ground for piracy; a hiding place for new dangers; an avenue of attack for old enemies."

He shook his head. "We don't just need to rebuild and recoup our losses: we need to get out there; we need to explore, to patrol, to shore up our boarders. Maybe bloody a few noses along the way just so everyone remembers that Starfleet means business."

The Commander chose his words carefully. "I thought Starfleet's mandate was supposed to be primarily scientific and humanitarian."

"It is," Admiral Marcus was quick to answer. "But every explorer runs into hostile natives and dangerous wildlife from time to time. We can't run and hide from everything: sometimes you've got to show the bear whose boss."

A glance in Hudson's direction suggested that she didn't necessarily agree with her two superiors, but now hardly seemed like the appropriate time to speak out about it. Besides, Admirals weren't in the business of soliciting opinions from their lessers: they were in the business of coming to decisions, turning them into orders, and expecting people to damn well do as they were instructed.

"I'm not entirely sure how this concerns me, sir," Érinthe admitted, turning his attention back to Admiral Marcus.

"Starships are redeploying across the Federation as we speak, trying to get everything we can muster out there, exploring and patrolling. We're throwing everything we can at getting the Enterprise back out there; but we need every other asset we can get our hands on as well, ASAP."

There was a pause. "That includes you and the 1702, Captain."

Captain.

The word lingered in his ears, brain floundering to process.

Captain?

Being offered command of an old bucket like the Sagittarius was one thing. A mission to patrol and survey on a ship as old and familiar as that one? All his years spent navigating as part of the same routine gave him the knowledge he needed to succeed. But a jewel of Starfleet, a Constitution-class, with all the prestige and attention that such a ship would garner? When it came to Captaincy, Érin was a comparative novice, and this was the deep end.

The more that Érinthe's mind convinced himself that he should explain that he still wasn't ready however, the more the Admiral's intense stare drove home the fact that he couldn't; shouldn't. He risked a glance at Talia; another flash of that smile was all the reassurance he needed; or at least, all he needed to bluff his way through the next couple of minutes.

He forced as much confidence as he could muster. "If we're going to rush her into service, my ship is going to need a name, sir."

Marcus searched the papers on his desk legitimately this time. "According to the latest internal memo I received, the Starfleet Naming Commission has proposed Endeavour. They feel it 'honours a lineage of Federation and Earth vessels, and conveys the spirit of exploration that this new wave of starships represents'."

Érin's features twitched; the Admiral's eagle eyes caught it. "You don't approve?"

"Well sir, it's just -"

He hesitated; searched for better words. "With everything that has happened, with what the destruction of Vulcan represents to the Federation and it's citizens... we don't need Starfleet's mission to be an 'endeavour' right now. Like the Admiral said, this isn't about scientific curiosity: this is about keeping people safe."

"What would you suggest then, son?"

Érinthe frowned at the briefing table. "I wrote my dissertation on the SS Valiant, an Earth ship that was lost almost a century ago. It was one of the first times humanity attempted to explore deep space; and probably the last time we tried to do it without the Vulcans holding our hands. The name embodied more than just the spirit of exploration: it was the spirit of humanity, the spirit of people; the spirit of bravery in the face of danger and the unknown. With the fear the public must be feeling after these attacks, they don't need Starfleet to embark on an endeavour: they need us to do something valiant."

Admiral Marcus remained silent, visibly chewing over Érinthe's words. "USS Valiant," he said aloud at last. "I think I can sell that to the Naming Commission."

A quick glance was thrown to the Admiral and the Commodore. "I think that concludes our business," he stated, though his voice phrased it as an almost question. "Thank you for your time, Captain -"

A smile almost formed on Marcus' face. "And congratulations on your new command."

[Talia Hudson]

"Captain."

Érinthe didn't react to the sound of his new rank; hardly suprising, since he'd only been aware of it for all of ninety seconds or so. Still, his apparent overwhelmed state had reduced his walking speed dramatically, and that was enough to allow Commodore Hudson's swift but measured strides to close the distance.

"Captain," she tried again, her voice a little more earnest this time. "Wait a moment."

[Érinthe Hetetlen]

Érinthe heard, finally, and turned; though part of him wished he hadn't. A new rank, a new job, and a new swathe of responsibilities was already providing him with enough to think about without reminissions of the past.

Still, when a Commodore asked you to wait in a corridor, you damn well waited.

Érinthe even mustered a smile.

"Something else, Commodore?" he asked as politely as he could, not entirely sure what tone he should take.

[Talia Hudson]

Talia wasn't sure what reaction she should have expected, but it surprised her to see Érin acting so professionally. Ten years was a long time, and clearly that time and the experiences therein changed him as much as it had changed her; even so, it was hard to imagine that this man - this Captain - was the same card shark rookie navigator she'd known a decade ago.

Or maybe he hasn't changed, she mused. I never could tell when he was bluffing.

"Admiral Marcus has asked that I make finding a crew for the 17-" She cut herself off. "- my apologies, for the Valiant a top priority. I realise that your ship and the Enterprise weren't due to make your final officer selections until the end of the current academic year, but with so many of the graduating class either lost at Vulcan or incorporated into the Enterprise crew, it may be necessary to look further afield, particularly for your senior staff."

[Érinthe Hetetlen]

Érin quirked an eyebrow. 'Further afield' sounded suspiciously like Commodore talk for 'scraping the bottom of the barrel'.

That said, it wasn't like there was much of an alternative. Starfleet was an explorer's navy, not a warrior's one: and while some systems did rely on Starfleet for defense and protection, other cultures like the Andorians still clung to their sovereign militaries. As a result, Starfleet itself was still relatively small: scattered starships full of idealistic astronauts who dreamed of walking amongst the stars, not being soldiers in space.

Unfortunately, the galaxy was far too hostile to allow that idealism to survive indefinitely. With the way things were changing, it was only a matter of time before Starfleet had to grudgingly admit that it really was a military, and start acting accordingly.

"Knowing you," Érin inferred, "You've probably got a few suggestions."

[Talia Hudson]

A hint of mild embarrassment flickered across Talia's features. "I may have."

A hint of a wry smile worked it's way into her expression. "Knowing you, you'll probably end up ignoring most of them," she pointed out. "You always did prefer to plot your own course."

She allowed a silence to fall; not a particularly comfortable one, either. There were few instances where standing in them middle of a corridor was not awkward: this was not one of them. A question started to form on her lips, but she stopped it, reconsidering the words.

"Is this -" she tried, not particularly fond of this phrasing either. "Is this going to be a problem, you serving under me?"

[Érinthe Hetetlen]

Would it be? Érin wondered.

It was a question that deserved genuine scrutiny, and yet now was hardly the time to dwell on it. It didn't matter what Talia Hudson had been ten years ago: right now she was the Commodore, and the only appropriate answer was 'Yes, ma'am.'

Of course, appropriate answers weren't always Érin's forte.

"Not at all, ma'am," he curtly replied, a quick glance in the direction of the exit as if he was about to consider the conversation over and return to his ship.

He hesitated however, fighting hard to keep his expression under control, but it faltered ever so slightly. "After all: I've been under you before," he added. "And if memory serves -"

There was a flicker of a smile.

"- it worked out quite well for the both of us at the time."

[Érinthe Hetetlen]

Huntsville, Alabama

All pretence of ceremony and uniform had long since by Érinthe at the construction yards. Besides, he mused as he stepped out of the shuttle into the now familiar warmth of the deep south air, My uniform is out of date anyway.

He scratched casually at his chest through the breathable fabric of the black undershirt that was all his upper half wore - the short sleeved variant of course, as was appropriate for the climate - and meandered his way from the landing platform towards the spot that he new was the best place to observe the 1702 undisturbed.

The Valiant, he corrected as he stared up at her, now close enough to completion that, but for a few glowing sections of engine and infrastructure that would not illuminate until they were safely outside of the atmosphere, she looked exactly as she would when she was amongst the stars. Érinthe had spent many hours here, in between his other responsibilities, envisioning what it would be like to sail through space aboard the cutting edge of Federation technology. Of course, those fantasies had always seen him sitting in front and right of the Captain's chair, converting command instructions into a navigable course for the helm. Now, he was forced to reimagine that future, with his shoulders being the ones where the burden of decision rested.

He frowned and looked away, not sure that he was ready. Not sure that he'd earned it. He was stepping into dead man's boots, falling upward thanks to circumstances beyond his control, rather than due to his own successes. Starfleet Command spoke as if they had every confidence in him; but was that really the case, or - like his crew selection - were they being forced to scrape the bottom of the barrel as well?

Time will tell, he mused with a sigh, reaching for the pouch on his belt that held his communicator.

"Bear," he said as he flipped it open, presets in the voice recognition hailing the corresponding device faster than an eyeblink. "It's Érin. I'm back from Starfleet Command, and -"

He trailed off. "We need to talk. I'll be at my picnic spot - get here when you can."

[Dale Goetz]

Érin had been something of a luck totem ever since he'd touched down at Huntsville. Every single requisition's officer who'd had lead in their boots and sand in their crotch suddenly stopped lollygagging and delaying their supply orders. Bear used to have to beg, cajole, and cuss to get his projects seen to. Once Érin arrived, the clouds parted, and down came the manna. Bear didn't ask how the Commander greased the skids. He wasn't sure he wanted to know. All he knew was that he was thankful to have someone up the chain who actually had his back. This was probably the first time in the history of Starfleet that a ship was scheduled to go 'down the slip' on time. As much pride as Bear had, he could only claim half stake in that success. So when Érin came calling, he made sure to be at Suge's on time.

"Remember what it was like on Christmas Eve as a kid?"

Dale sipped his Cardassian tea across from his commanding officer in the dingy corner booth.

"I've been looking at that circled stardate for a shade over a year now. Can't believe it's almost here."

The Chief kept the small talk positive. They both knew about the stormclouds pushing things along. No sense in disturbing the dead.

[Érinthe Hetetlen]

The circled stardate Bear was referring to was the launch date: the day universally agreed upon by the construction crews, Starfleet, air traffic control, local law enforcement, the meteorological service, and anyone else who might have a vested interest, for when the 1702 was supposed to fire up her ascent thrusters and blast her way from the ground to orbit. Their were back-up windows of course: contingencies set in place for when logistical ineptitude had been presumed to cause delays; but that wasn't a target, no matter how much of Starfleet expected them to be late.

Or course, now Starfleet expected them to be early. One of the stack of reports that had been thrust into Érin's hands as he boarded the shuttle had proposed seven new launch windows between there and here; and frankly, they wanted the Valiant in the air badly enough that if the ship was ready without a window, they'd make one.

Érin didn't doubt that the ship would be ready as advertised. The way Bear had been working, he had his suspicions that he'd shaved off a few days already: ostensibly to give them some breathing room for last minute upsets, but Érin knew the engineer well enough to know that sticking two fingers up at the pessimists in San Francisco was a big part of it too. He was also confident that with the motivation, resources, and manpower, Bear could sideline enough tasks and arrange for enough overtime to get her up early.

The question was, how early?

"They made me Captain," Érin blurted out.

The fact had been rattling around in his head since they'd sat down, and he'd been searching for a way to sneak it subtly into the conversation; but then again, this was Bear. Subtlety was not his language.

[Dale Goetz]

Bear eased his glass of tea down with an appropriate degree of gravitas and care.

"Christ." he whispered.

What else could you say? He'd never met Captain Mahipo in person, just in the usual monthly progress report video conferences. She seemed like a capable enough officer, and Érin didn't have an ill word about her, but she was barely more than an unknown quantity to the Chief outside of those scant meetings.

What was he thinking? Was he glad Érin was figuratively stepping over her corpse to run the big show? No way. What kind of thought was that? But there was something more than just base selfishness that felt confidence in Érin ultimately sitting in the Big Chair.

"That's a...helluva thing, Érin."

Congratulations seemed a hollow thing to say.

"Don't know what it's worth, but from where I'll be standing down in engineering, I'll be glad to know you're in that chair. We've got a sports car, you know how to go fast."

[Érinthe Hetetlen]

"That is assuming," the Captain said with a wince, "We can get the ship out of dock when Starfleet wants us to."

He let out a sigh.

"Starfleet is limping, and they want another Constitution out there ASAP, to use as a crutch and to help convince the public that we're not totally vulnerable. I hear where they're coming from, but honestly?" He shook his head. "I'm not sure rushing us out the door is the way to do it."

He slumped back in his chair, abandoning the Cardassian tea and allowing the stack of waffles that the staff now habitually prepared in readiness for his regular arrival to slowly settle and digest.

"Starfleet gave me a checklist of tasks that we can safely ignore."

He frowned. "I tossed it. I don't give a damn what Starfleet thinks we can do without: I'm not taking my ship -" It felt weird but good to call her that. "- unless she's got your stamp of approval that she's fit and ready. So what corners can we cut? What non-essentials can we leave boxed up, and work on once we're underway?"

He scratched at what felt like a tension headache forming between his eyebrows. "Starfleet'd be happy with us shaving a couple of weeks off the launch window, but they want us to trim months off the fitting and shakedown once we're in orbit. Can we do it, Chief?"

[Dale Goetz]

There was a gleam in the Chief's eye. The gauntlet was thrown down.

"She'll fly. That I can damn well guarantee. There's ugly patches, sure, but that only figures into it if we're up against an Admiral with a pair of white gloves on and his head up his ass. There's no gravity in the Jeffries tubes, but I figure why crawl when you can float in those rat holes.

One thing I'd feel a lot more comfortable with is a redundant coolant grid. That'll do a lot to salve any growing pains we get up there, and it doesn't take much to install. The last update I got on that was installation at a Starbase-to-be-named-later. Even if we just get the crates on the ship when we lift off, it'd do a world of good."

[Érinthe Hetetlen]

Hell, Érin mused as the chief spoke, Don't bother with the grav plates in my quarters either: that'll make life much more fun.

If he was honest, he wasn't particularly sure what a redundant coolant grid was, or why starships and facilities operating in the notable coldness of space needed to dedicate so much facility and redundancy to temperature control. Sure, he understood the physics of how the matter-antimatter annihilation at the heart of a warp reactor generated more energy in the form of heat than it did in electrical or photonic power, and that if the reaction wasn't maintained at a stable temperature there was the slim possibility that it might erupt and consume the ship inside a miniature sun. Even so, every time Bear talked about trying to coax a little more out of the engines, he never seemed to be worried about generating enough power: it was always about the reactors overheating when he did.

Érin had always hated warp theory at the Academy: they took the beautiful, intuitive nature of cosmology and theoretical physics and shrouded it in enough mathematical formulae to make your eyes bleed.

"I know a woman at Starfleet Operations," Érin responded, a small smile tugging at his lips as his thoughts wandered back to the Commodore. "I'll talk to her and see what I can arrange."

[Dale Goetz]

Something in the way that he said I know a woman and the upturn at the corners of his mouth betrayed a little bit more to Bear. This wasn't his first favor to call in with his Commander-now-Captain. Usually Érin's response to that was a terse It'll get done, in the sense that Bear didn't have to and probably didn't want to know the how in the process.

"Sounds like a good woman to know, then."

A knowing half smile as the Chief pushed aside a neglected half-eaten slice of red velvet cake.

"Something else, Érin. Kinda nagging in my gut. This whole Narada business. I don't hear much out of San Fran, some of that by choice, but I hear enough to make it sound like some folks believe in the boogieman."

The way the Chief was chewing on his words, he was probably going to serve up something either profound or hair-brained.

"Been looking at things. Deflector specs mainly. Things I guess that ain't been looked at by fleet. I think I may be onto something that'll keep our goose from getting cooked."

[Érinthe Hetetlen]

We're not a warship.

That's what Érin wanted to say. He wanted to remind his chief engineer that even in these troubled times, even in the face of giant, devastating warships and planet-destroying mad-men, they should never loose sight of the ideal on which Starfleet was founded: the reason it existed. They weren't here to conquer the galaxy: they were here to explore it like the Earth sailors of old, who relied on their wits and courage far more than their cannons.

He wanted to say that. But all the sentimentality in the world wasn't enough to lure him into total stupidity.

"Make it a priority," he instructed. "And see if we can't find a way to transition between warp and shields more quickly. Those ships at Vulcan weren't lost because their engines weren't fast enough or their shields weren't strong enough; they were lost because the Narada obliterated them in the few moments it took to shunt power from the engines to the deflector grid."

He reached for his Cardassian tea.

"I don't want us getting caught with our pants round our ankles every time we drop out of warp."

[Dale Goetz]

The Chief nodded.

"I've got a few theories on that. If I'm wrong, I might burn something. Gonna have to get back to you, but that's where you'll find out why I like redundant coolant systems."

Bear held his hands up defensively.

"It's still scientific method, Cap. Besides, it doesn't feel like actual work's being done unless you let the smoke out of something every now and then."

[Érinthe Hetetlen]

Érin grunted out a laugh.

Despite the fact that most Starfleet engineers were almost universally amongst the most intelligent people in the Federation, capable of making scientific and technological breakthroughs without breaking a sweat and while the the science officers were busy staring at pretty stars and planets through their instruments, they somehow had managed to earn a reputation as sledgehammer mechanics who specialised in boot heel recalibrations on sensitive equipment; and most engineers were content to indulge that stereotype at every opportunity.

"You break her, you buy her."

[Dale Goetz]

"Bah."

The Chief waved a hand dismissively. Then, a thought crossed his mind.

"Oh, that reminds me. Talking about coolant systems. Figured your prodigal return just shy of that big day meant something big, so I brought a little something from my other home.

They weren't on Starfleet grounds and were off duty, plus the folks at Suge's tended to look the other way at any rate if there were a few off-menu items brought in. As long as nobody raised a real fuss, it was the unwritten rule.

Dale pulled out a bottle from his engineer's satchel. It had no label on it, was full of a clear liquid, and was stoppered by a swing cap.

"Family label, yeah I know, there's no label on it, but it's a little Christmas tradition for the Goetz clan in Duesseldorf. Apfelschnaps."

[Érinthe Hetetlen]

"Your family makes schnaps?" Érin asked, eyebrow quirking.

But then, of course it did. His engineer was many things, but it was easy to forget that despite all of the engineering proficiency and mechanical know-how, Bear was a hybrid between rednecks and Germans. Now that he thought about it, it was something of a surprise that the chief's end of the ship wasn't just a brewery disguised as an engine room.

"Is it good?" he asked; perhaps a rude question in normal company, but he knew Bear well enough to know that the Chief appreciated speaking plain. "Or should I be requisitioning a few crates of this to help scrub out the plasma ducts?"