The New Assignment
Aelle
Member
in Starbase 27
Starbase 27 - Ops
Muhammad was quite accustomed to Starfleet brass charging about in a frenzy. In the events of recent years, and in his own experience as a first officer aboard a Sovereign-class vessel, the USS Tokyo, the commander was privy to the hustle and bustle and panicked workings of the admiralty as they scrambled to put on a brave face and maintain their authority and confidence over the fleet.
Indeed, it was not the activity of the many around him in Starbase 27's operations center that had left al-Haajid with the sense of unease that now gripped him, but the potential actions of one man that now sit on the other side of the door approaching him.
He was headed to the office of Rear Admiral Alexander Beckett, the senior officer of Starfleet in that particular area of space and the man that would be sending Muhammad out in to space with his new orders and his first ever command as a Starfleet officer.
The commander had certainly felt the weight of responsibility many times in the past, having been left in charge of the Tokyo in the absence of the captain on numerous occasions. Even then, with only temporary seniority laid upon him, al-Haajid had known the burden of having the safety and the lives of so many people laid squarely upon his shoulders and understood fully how his actions and his decisions could shape the fate of the entire galaxy, for better or (if he were not so careful) for ill. Now that responsibility was to be his alone, for potentially many years to come, as he made ready to embark upon his own journeys in to the unknown.
He had only received limited information about his new assignment, his first command, and the vessel and her crew that were to be his family and his home. His ship was called the Orpheus, a now-aging Argonaut-class vessel with a crew of about two-hundred, most of whom had already boarded and were getting everything set up and ready to go in anticipation of their captain's arrival. These efforts were predominantly being spearheaded by a short-tempered and commanding young Andorian woman by the name of Veliss, his soon-to-be first officer and a lieutenant commander with a history of efficiency and results, backed with an iron will and a tumultuous temperament.
His command had been issued somewhat in-line with a recently launched campaign by the fourth fleet in to the Archanis sector on the border of Federation and Klingon space, and al-Haajid could not help but feel as though the timing of the two events were far from being mere coincidence, something that left the man incredibly nervous. For he was no warrior, and had little love of conflict or battle. He was a people person above all else, and he relished the opportunity to see the beautiful worlds and tremendous cities of other cultures and societies across the galaxy, engage in their customs, hear their music, read their literature, eat their food, drink and make merry with them if it were their way, or sit and meditate with them as the moment called for it.
A life of phaser banks and fighting battles was far from what he had dreamed of when he first put on the uniform of a Starfleet Officer. None-the-less, his duty was first and foremost to the Federation, and it was a duty he had agreed to and believed in. If that duty required him to take up arms to defend his fellow citizens, then so be it.
All of these thoughts raced through his mind as he walked between the bulkheads of the corridor leading to the office, until at least he reached the door. Stopping for a moment and exhaling in an attempt to calm himself, he straightened his uniform and pressed the signal to alert the admiral he was present.
Muhammad was quite accustomed to Starfleet brass charging about in a frenzy. In the events of recent years, and in his own experience as a first officer aboard a Sovereign-class vessel, the USS Tokyo, the commander was privy to the hustle and bustle and panicked workings of the admiralty as they scrambled to put on a brave face and maintain their authority and confidence over the fleet.
Indeed, it was not the activity of the many around him in Starbase 27's operations center that had left al-Haajid with the sense of unease that now gripped him, but the potential actions of one man that now sit on the other side of the door approaching him.
He was headed to the office of Rear Admiral Alexander Beckett, the senior officer of Starfleet in that particular area of space and the man that would be sending Muhammad out in to space with his new orders and his first ever command as a Starfleet officer.
The commander had certainly felt the weight of responsibility many times in the past, having been left in charge of the Tokyo in the absence of the captain on numerous occasions. Even then, with only temporary seniority laid upon him, al-Haajid had known the burden of having the safety and the lives of so many people laid squarely upon his shoulders and understood fully how his actions and his decisions could shape the fate of the entire galaxy, for better or (if he were not so careful) for ill. Now that responsibility was to be his alone, for potentially many years to come, as he made ready to embark upon his own journeys in to the unknown.
He had only received limited information about his new assignment, his first command, and the vessel and her crew that were to be his family and his home. His ship was called the Orpheus, a now-aging Argonaut-class vessel with a crew of about two-hundred, most of whom had already boarded and were getting everything set up and ready to go in anticipation of their captain's arrival. These efforts were predominantly being spearheaded by a short-tempered and commanding young Andorian woman by the name of Veliss, his soon-to-be first officer and a lieutenant commander with a history of efficiency and results, backed with an iron will and a tumultuous temperament.
His command had been issued somewhat in-line with a recently launched campaign by the fourth fleet in to the Archanis sector on the border of Federation and Klingon space, and al-Haajid could not help but feel as though the timing of the two events were far from being mere coincidence, something that left the man incredibly nervous. For he was no warrior, and had little love of conflict or battle. He was a people person above all else, and he relished the opportunity to see the beautiful worlds and tremendous cities of other cultures and societies across the galaxy, engage in their customs, hear their music, read their literature, eat their food, drink and make merry with them if it were their way, or sit and meditate with them as the moment called for it.
A life of phaser banks and fighting battles was far from what he had dreamed of when he first put on the uniform of a Starfleet Officer. None-the-less, his duty was first and foremost to the Federation, and it was a duty he had agreed to and believed in. If that duty required him to take up arms to defend his fellow citizens, then so be it.
All of these thoughts raced through his mind as he walked between the bulkheads of the corridor leading to the office, until at least he reached the door. Stopping for a moment and exhaling in an attempt to calm himself, he straightened his uniform and pressed the signal to alert the admiral he was present.
Comments
Beckett had only moved recently into this office, circumstances forcing him from the heart of his power on Starbase Bravo. Already he had stamped it with his own identity, ensured decorations of stylish artwork, ensured his heavy oak desk - or a duplicate - had been transported with him to sit as a sturdy foundation from which to launch the defence of a whole sector. As the room was buried deep in the belly of Starbase 27, the 'window' on the far wall was a holographic projection to minimise claustrophobia. Instead of some sweeping vista or calming landscape, Beckett had set up a live feed of the docking interior of the starbase, fuller than it had been in decades with the bristling firepower and ready shields of Starfleet.
The message was clear. This was one of the largest assemblages of force in an age where Starfleet had veered away from anything that might look like commitment to a cause. And Admiral Beckett stood at the head of it.
The holoprojectors on his desk were showing him personnel files as al-Haajid entered, and with a sweep of the hand, Beckett dismissed the display and sat back on his comfortable chair, fingers steepling in front of him. 'Commander al-Haajid. Refreshments are on the side. Please, help yourself and sit.' There was little warmth in the invitation. These were not courtesies of hospitality, but the clear projection that this was Beckett's domain, and all who ventured here were guests in his shadow.
He sat up as al-Haajid settled, blue-eyed gaze cold. 'You are one of many officers summoned with little notice. It is regrettable, but unavoidable under the circumstances, as the Archanis Sector faces its greatest calamity in a quarter-century. For many, the Hunters of D'Ghor have been at worst a nuisance, more often a distant problem for the Empire. Now they are at our door.' Beckett reached for his projector to bring up the briefing paper on the D'Ghor, and with a flick of the wrist spun it around to face al-Haajid, an invitation for him to refresh himself.
'Do you have any questions on the sheer magnitude of the threat we face? A once-quiet, stable border sector adjacent to peaceful allies now beset by this barbarity?' Beckett's tone was firm, but made it clear he would much prefer al-Haajid take the time to read if he needed to before they moved on.
al-Haajid poured himself a glass of water at the admiral's beckoning and sat as comfortably as he could (which is to say, not particularly) on the other side of the massive desk. He could not help but feel as though his seat was somehow shorter than Beckett's, as if he were a poor child peering over the great podium of the magistrate, hoping only for his mercy.
As the admiral swung the projected debriefing around to face the commander, Muhammad began scrolling through it and attempted to feign an interest in reading it. In truth, he had already familiarized himself with the Hunters of D'Ghor on the shuttleride to the Starbase, but he realized in this moment that the situation ought to be treated with a combination of gravity regarding the situation and subservience to the whims of the man in front of him.
When the Admiral asked him a question, he took a moment to finish re-reading a sentence he had already read three times prior to his arrival.
"Uh, yes sir. These... 'Hunters', is there no way we can call on the Klingon Empire and the KDF to respond to these rogue raiders? They are our allies, are they not?" he asked.
The admiral took a sip from his steaming mug, taking his time to savour it, smacking his lips before setting it down on the desk. Another languid gesture changed the holoprojection to the strategic map of the Archanis Sector. 'But I have not summoned you here to discuss defeating the D'Ghor, Commander. I am far more interested in easing the pressure on the starships that have that responsibility. The sector is embroiled right now in recovery work, as much as security. And for many of these worlds, Starfleet is doing too little, too late.'
Beckett scoffed. 'Never mind that Archanis has enjoyed the last quarter-century adjacent to, as you say, our allies. Until now it was one of the safest borders in the Federation. But provincials like to insist they do not need Starfleet, and then when they do, complain that we were not there holding their hands. These worlds and trade groups have been heavily hit regardless; either directly struck, or scrabbling for defensive resources they do not have to continue their commerce and way of life. This is why you've been given the Orpheus, Commander.'
He sat up, and with a twist of the wrist expanded and zoomed the strategic map of the Archanis Sector. An array of systems lit up, each of them far from the largest trade routes or security hot-spots that the map made clear were seeing the lion's share of Starfleet's response operations. 'With an Argonaut you can provide protection to these low-priority targets. Assist them in restoring infrastructure, both through repair work and lifting confidence in local security so the traders dare do their work. Play the watchdog to wave the flag, so these colonists cannot claim Starfleet does nothing for them.' Beckett didn't exactly sound like he thought discontented colonists from minor worlds were an inconvenience, but it was clear they were far from his highest priority.
An Argonaut vessel was far from the worst assignment a junior command officer could expect to be given. Truthfully, it was a little dated and behind-the-times in certain aspects as far as ship design went, but it was an impressive and formidable class of starship, none-the-less. He spent a moment going over the name in his head. The Orpheus, he repeated to himself several times silently. It was the name now attached to his responsibility, to his home, and to his means of adventure.
The Orpheus was far from any source of disappointment or frustration on the part of his assignment. Those annoyances came more from just where it was he was to be heading. The Admiral's screen pointed to some of the dirtiest backwaters in an already far-flung sector of Federation space. Other Starfleet vessels in the area appeared few and far between and the planets seemed precariously placed upon some of the most vulnerable areas of the sector map.
al-Haajid realized he was pretty much on his own as far as assistance from his fellow captains or the admiralty was concerned, which begged the question...
"What am I allowed to offer as far as re-establishing this region's trade infrastructure? Who am I permitted to get involved with these people, or with myself for that matter? It seems I'm going to be pretty much on my own for this mission, so I'd like to know what, uh... 'tools' I'll have available to me when the time comes to negotiate." He queried.
He tapped a few commands on the display, further details flickering up of al-Haajid's orders. "You will be attached to Task Force 72, so if you have further queries on such minor details you should refer those to Captain Bastin. Otherwise, Commander, you have a starship and a duty. Leave those people better off than you found them, and with confidence in Starfleet and the Federation restored."
The final, unspoken command was left unspoken: And with the minimal amount of fuss or inconvenience for anyone else.
With a sniff, which masked a scoff, he activated the bulkhead door, which slid open with a hiss, and exited.