Star Trek: Buechner

rippy

Star Trek: Buechner

Episode I: Reflection & Woodford Reserve

Inevitability is no salve for suffering.

Nelson swirled the whiskey in his glass, absently watching the brown liquid cast shadows in the crystal. He was lost in thought, in memory, as he had been every April 5th since 2371.

“Nearly thirty years,” he mused to himself, pulling at the whiskers that framed his mouth. The anniversary of his Kobayashi Maru simulation was never lost on him. It was a friend he’d like to forget.

It seemed that, this deep into his career, with commands under his belt and four pips on his collar, it was time to move past the test. But it had been seminal not just as a marker of the end of his academy experience—it signified, for him, more than maybe Starfleet itself had ever intended.

He drained his glass, his face twisting into a half-grimace as the whiskey traced its way down his throat. It didn’t stop the ping-pong recriminations bouncing around his head.

“Chickenshit.”

The voice wasn’t his instructor’s, none of his crews’. They had understood his decision—“Cadet Senior Grade Buechner conducts himself as a by-the-book officer.” His caution had been counted as a virtue, unwilling to break the treaty as he had been, but the test condemned him in the only evaluation that counted: the court of his mind.

“Chickenshit,” rang the voice of his mother. “Just like your father. Selfish.”

His hands went to his eyes, trying to brush the burning sensation away. The tears, slow but unstoppable, came anyway.

He always wondered where they had gotten the screams from. They washed over the bridge’s comm in the waning moments after his orders. He couldn’t bring himself to order the comm officer to mute the Maru’s final minutes, seconds of life. The faces of the cadets around him blanched—Buechner remained stoic, adrenaline throbbing in his ears.

“The few for the many,” he had whispered on repeat in the recess of his mind, mouthing the words as he clenched the arms of his captain’s chair. It seemed he could call the bitter taste in his mouth back to mind at a moment’s notice. Still he felt the imagined weight of Starfleet’s good standing with the Klingons and the safety of his crew resting on his shoulders.

Heavier still were the lives he couldn’t save.

Joan had been right—all of memory was interconnected. Nostalgia was a nasty web to be locked in, she’d say. It was the best therapeutic advice he’d ever received.

His feeling in the hardest moments of his life always had analogs to his childhood. The worst chewing-outs he had received from superiors made him feel five and like he had aggravated dad all over again. And his greatest failures always called up mom’s words, though his coping strategies were supposed to remind him it was the alcohol talking.

But he wasn’t brave, and he knew it. He had to come to terms with it early in his career. His tendency was always to play it safe. Conservative, his service reports had read. To him, it sounded more like cowardice.

It was what had made him a strong Strategic Operations Officer. The aggressive, the ambitious were quick to rise up the ranks, but usually flamed out in the atmosphere—Nelson’s careful determination had helped him to log a distinguished, measured career.

In the final assessment of things, he was happy with himself. He knew that he would never be the type to order the Reliant into the breach, to play the hero or outwit the system, and he had had his day of reckoning with that fact. And still, he’d kept the ship on screen. Though he knew he couldn’t send his crew hurtling to the rescue, he felt he needed to honor them with their vision—to watch the last moments of the poor transport’s existence.

He had prayed for the three hundred souls on a simulated ship, and he’d be damned if he didn’t mourn their losses as fervently as the real friends, the real subordinates he’d lost over the years. The universe was a different place in those days—no Dominion War, no detonated star of the Romulans. It was a more innocent place to him, twenty-two, idealistic but afraid for the future. Maybe it was why the no-win situation haunted him still.

The explosion had felt as real as watching Valencia get gunned down on just his third away mission, as when he’d gotten word that Deep Space 7 had been blown to pieces. And in many ways, twenty-eight years later, it was just as real.

Imagined or not, inevitability was no salve for suffering.

Nelson’s eyes panned to the bottle of Woodford Reserve sitting on the counter adjacent his office’s bookshelf. He looked down at the now-empty glass in his hand, his brow furrowed. He thought of Demi, waiting for him at their quarters. His gaze turned to the time display on his desk. 5:15pm.

The sigh that he let out was explosive. He rubbed his eyes again, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward. “Enough mourning for today,” he muttered to himself. “She’ll be glad to see you… and you can give Ted a call tonight.”

He smiled at the thought of his son, studying at the Academy in his second-year. There was a day coming soon he’d have to deal with a Kobayashi Maru too—his own unwinnable situation. Nelson stood, straightening his slightly-crumpled uniform. Grandfather’s words came to his mind.

“Life is grace. Sleep is forgiveness. The night absolves. Darkness wipes the slate clean, not spotless to be sure, but clean enough for another’s day chalking.”

Yes, clean enough indeed. He would hug Demi. He would call Ted. And he would remember the Maru.

rippy

Episode II: Chicken Pot Pie

“C’mere, you son of a bitch!” came the bright voice as the doorway ‘whooshed’ open.

Before he knew it, Joseph had been pulled into a bear hug by the much larger man. He smiled softly, returning the gesture.

“It really is great to see you, sir”, he managed, though his airways were crushed and, he thought, in danger of bursting if the welcome kept up much longer.

His hugger relented. Joseph took in more fully the face of his dear friend, Captain Nelson Buechner—a thicker beard resided on his face, but the same laugh-lines and kind eyes met him.

“How the hell are you, Joe?” Buechner asked him.

“Well,” he replied, walking into the apartment at the elder man’s gesture. “You’re going grey,” Joseph remarked, the corners of his lips twisted in concealed mirth.

“Now, that’s no way to greet a senior officer!” said Buechner, feigning indignation.

The ruse lasted for only a moment before the two burst out in laughter. Clapping him on the back, Buechner led Joseph deeper into the living room.

“Demi! Demi, Joseph’s here!” he called to no response. “She can’t hear me,” he said dejectedly. “The woman requests a kitchenette wherever we’re posted—she insists on cooking everything by hand!”

Joseph laughed. “I’ve missed Demi’s cooking,” he said, taking in the surroundings. The apartment was modest but warmly decorated. Family photos adorned the walls and an oaken piano sat in the corner.

“A little small for the… task force executive officer, no?” he said, teasing again.

Nelson went to the bar nestled adjacent to the hallway, chuckling. “Shh,” he said, putting a finger exaggeratedly toward his lips. “That’s classified. And we can’t start breaking security clearances until we’ve got a few drinks in us.”

Drawing two glasses from the cabinet beneath, he took an unmarked bottle of amber liquid from the shelf above. Two generous pours followed.

“Japanese,” he said, handing Joseph the slightly fuller glass. “Aged since the 21st century… to our grandfathers!”

The two men clinked their glasses, both taking deep sips. Joseph sighed contentedly. “Smooth,” he said as the liquid burned its way down his throat.

Leaning against a couch, Joseph felt a wave of gratitude wash over him. He was wholly comfortable, content.

For generations, the Buechner and Ng families had been linked due to an unlikely friendship formed by their patriarchs while studying together during their undergraduate years. The two forefathers of the friends had served as each other’s best men, and their families remained intimately intertwined over the centuries.

A figure appeared in the doorway. Demi, clothed in an apron doused in flour, rushed him.

“Joseph! It is so good to see you!”

The two shared a decidedly less crushing embrace.

“He’s trying to get you tipsy already, I see,” she said, shooting an accusatory glance her husband’s way. He spread his arms in a show of innocence.

“Some things never change,” Joseph said. “But, I’m still not complaining!”

He wondered at how the passage of time left had their friendship unaffected. The two and a half years seemingly melted away.

“It doesn’t feel like that long ago since we were aboard the Walsingham,” Joseph mused aloud. “Time is a funny thing.”

Buechner was poised to answer before Demi cut him off. “It is, but it won’t be funny if it burns my pot pie!” Racing away, she went for the kitchen.

Shaking his head in exasperation, Buechner indicated down the hallway. “Here, let’s sit. We’ll be eating in no time.”

Their difference in height was especially noticeable as the two moved side-by-side toward the dining room. Buechner towered by a whole head and more over the smaller man, but the two spoke as equals, friends, despite the height and age disparity.

“How have you been settling in?” asked Buechner, indicating a chair at the carved oaken table. A white candle crackled happily in the center of the setting.

“The accommodations are more than adequate,” Joseph replied, pulling out his chair and seating himself. He nursed his drink. “Honestly, I’m just overjoyed to be among friends again. It was… difficult making friends on Earth.”

His mind went back to the two years he had spent teaching at the academy. While they had been fruitful and fulfilling working with the students under his tutelage, there had been many a lonely night he had spent.

Buechner nodded knowingly. “Academy assignments are hell. But it’s your fault for getting those letters after your name! You’re a hot commodity, my friend.”

Joseph smiled. “I don’t really feel like one. But I’m glad to be here.”

The smell of freshly baked crust wafted into the room as Demi came in a blur of motion. She carried a steaming pot pie in her hand.

“Nelson, move that potholder, would you?” she said, phrasing it as a question but with the tone of an order.

“You’d think she was the senior officer,” Buechner muttered, exchanging a look with Joseph.

“No doubt she outranks you,” he fired back.

They all shared a laugh. Demi set the pot down and hurried away. “We’ll be eating in just a few,” she said, her voice trailing off as she left the room.

Contented silence filled the room as the two sipped at their drinks.

“This wasn’t my idea, you know?” Buechner remarked quietly.

“Oh?” said Joseph.

Buechner shot a finger straight up in the air. “Fourth Fleet Command.”

Joseph cocked his head inquisitively. The older man continued.

“We’re going to need you, Joseph. The Cardassians are… stirring. You’ll hear more about it in briefings soon. And the Admiralty is ensuring we bolster our presence in the region. New leadership, more ships, specialists—this was more than a favor to a friend. You’re going to provide valuable leadership.”

Joseph nodded slowly. When the orders had come they’d admittedly taken him by surprise. He had been on a track to Associate Professorship after another duty assignment, though he wasn’t upset at being redirected. Now, the reasoning behind the placement was coming into view.

“I’m still curious what my role is going to be here,” he said. “Diplomatic Advisor isn’t the most specific billet.”

Before Nelson could answer, Demi entered again, carrying a bowl filled to the brim with green peas and a plate of raw vegetables. She set them on the table and undid her apron, hanging it on a hook in the doorway.

“I know these are very important Starfleet conversations, gentlemen, but it’s time to eat.” She sat down and began dishing the pie onto a plate, passing hearty helpings to both of the men. As she reached for the peas, she swore under her breath.

“Serving spoon!” she cried, rising hurriedly and walking off with a harrumph.

Buechner met Joseph’s gaze and gave him a knowing wink. “Not the most specific indeed, Joe.”

“More news is to come, my friend. You’re one of the foremost Cardassian experts in the Federation. We’re going to put you to work.” He paused, clearly contemplating his words. “But, more news is to come.”

Demi re-entered, ferociously wielding a slotted spoon. Affectionately she rubbed Joseph’s shoulder as she passed and finished dishing their food. She sat and extended her hands to the two men seated around her.

“We’re ready, boys. Now Joseph, would you bless our food?”

rippy

Episode III: Assistant to the Regional TFXO

“You’re unhappy.”

Buechner was starting to regret that he’d given her permission to speak freely. Arms crossed, the only response she gave him was a raised eyebrow.

“I know what you’re thinking, Commander Parker,” he said. “One of the top pilots in the fleet… you secure a senior staff position, excellent evals, and… you get orders to report to a stuffy starbase and shuffle papers for a flag officer.”

“Not even an admiral,” she remarked.

The woman was brave, Buechner would give her that. “That’s right. Just a task force bureaucrat. If I was a driven, talented officer like you, I’d be pissed too.”

Brave, and she had a presence, he thought. She filled the office despite her diminutive stature—she carried a gravitas, an energy that threatened to crackle aloud in the dead office air.

“Enough to intimidate a subordinate,” he thought. “Or, a lesser superior.” It was the kind of spirit Starfleet needed—a leader who could rally souls.

“Bear with me, Commander,” Buechner said, his voice just the least bit pained. He’d been dreading this part of the meeting, the introduction. There was a mirth that he still had to suppress. “I think you might be getting ahead of yourself here.”

She cleared her throat, straightening in her chair. Her direct gaze never shifted from his. She hadn’t broken eye contact since she had arrived.

“Care to enlighten me more, sir, what an aide-de-camp does?” she asked. “And, maybe more importantly, why anyone in Command would think that this would be the job for me?”

Buechner allowed himself a small style. He intentionally pondered the questions for a moment before standing abruptly. “There’s something we’re missing,” he said, striding to the replicator. “Drinks!”

Parker’s rolled her eyes hard enough that they threatened to roll out of her face.

“What can I get you, my new friend?” he asked, enthusiastically punching in an order of iced mint tea for himself.

“Nothing,” came her flat response. “Thank you, though,” she managed.

As his drink materialized he picked it up, ice clinking cheerily in the glass, and returned to his seat. He leaned back in the leather chair, taking a deep drag of the tea.

Buechner was stalling, and he was enjoying it. She knew it too—he could tell by her expression, almost bemused now.

“Don’t worry, Commander,” he said after letting another few moments pass by. “It’s not my intention, or Starfleet Command’s, to make one of our best and brightest, youngest too for that matter, into a glorified paper-pusher.”

There was that damned eyebrow of hers raising again.

“No, that would be a waste, Commander Parker. Like I said, your performance evaluations are stellar. You have a rebellious streak, sure, but what good leader doesn’t? There’s something to be said for carving a reputation as an excellent pilot flying shuttles, after all.”

She had perked up. Not much, but the slightest bit.

“I can fly anything, sir, even a tub that floats.”

Buechner eyed her up, his eyes glinting. Again he sipped his tea. “And you’re a strong administrator. Rewrote the transportation schedule to speed shipyard operations? That’s better than an awarded commendation, it’s aiding the fleet. And Captain Mandella said that his team of pilots and helmsman were never better prepared than under your care.”

Her eyes lowered, perhaps for the first time since she’d taken a seat. “Service reports can be… too glowing sometimes, sir. I was just doing my job.”

He let out a chuckle. “That’s not a given for most officers, Commander! Let alone many of the ones who have, and will, sit in that chair you’re in. Some of the records I read are checkered to say the least.”

His tea was condensating like mad, leaving a wet circle on his desk. Buechner sipping at it, nursing the drink and considering his next words. “No, with all that said, we’ve not called you here to be a glorified paper pusher, Parker. You’ve got potential, and potential that hasn’t gone unnoticed—potential that extends beyond the pilot’s chair. To a different, more important-type of chair.”

The hard expression started to melt away from the woman’s face. Her eyes were searching, questioning, the cogs in her mind turning to process his words. “Is that so, Captain?” she asked, her voice measured but clearly suppressing her emotions.

“It is, Commander, and I’d expect you to be a little more excited given that news, plus that I’ve asked you to speak frankly!” He laughed, an easy sound, pulling at the whiskers that framed his mouth. “Yes, Parker, you’re here to aid me, advise me, be my right hand on this station. Admiral Basmanoff is a tough leader, but her work falls into the big picture scope of the task force. We’re left with the dirty work.”

“But more than that, you’re here to learn from me—well, more rightly put, learn with me. We’re going to be a team. I recognize a lot of myself in you, after all.”

He raised a finger, cutting off her eyebrow or any snide remark.

“It sounds silly, I know, an old bag like me, but don’t think you’re the first person to raise overall unit efficiency or earn a 4.0 at the academy. You’re sharp, Parker, and I believe you’re eager to learn, like I was. Like I still am, I hope.”

“I sat in the center chair for ten years. I’m no expert, on leading a ship or a crew, but there are lessons I need to impart to you over these coming months. While we work together, other pieces are in motion. Including a chair that may have your name on it.”

A smile crested her face, and the air in the room shifted, brightened. “Understood, sir. That sounds… excellent. I’ve always been interested, err—eager to command.”

“I know,” he said with a wolfish grin of his own. “And you were taking additional bridge officer courses while you were stationed at the shipyards, yes? Your professors said you were one of their top performers despite still working full-time hours. Impressive.”

She learned forward in her chair, her whole demeanor shifted from just minutes earlier. “Thank, you, Captain. This has framed everything in a different light for me. I’m excited to learn, well, with you.”

“I’m excited too, Commander. The task force is going to need officers like you—young, ingenuitive, on fire. We’re going to help each other.”

With a slight start he tapped the PADD at his desk, checking the time. “Ah, blast,” he muttered under his breath. “I’ve got some friends for you to meet,” he said.

Not giving her a chance to answer, he depressed the comm button. “Elyse, are the gentlemen here?” he asked.

“Aye, sir,” came a light voice in response. “Should I direct them in?”

“Yes, thank you,” Buechner said. He rose from his chair and straightened his uniform, crossing in front of his desk.

Parker sat in some slight confusion. “Stand on up,” he said, giving her a friendly pat on the shoulder. “Senior Chief Allison arrived onboard the station just a few hours ago, so my full office staff is assembled. We’re going to do an impromptu meeting.”
She nodded, also rising from her chair.

“Pay attention to these men,” he said with a look her way. “I have a feeling you’re going to be seeing more of them than just in our staff meetings.”

The confused expression on her face lasted only for a second as the door chime rang. “Come!” said Buechner.

A barely audible ‘whoosh’ sounded as the hatchway parted. Two men, in almost comically different physical proportions, entered.
First through the door was a short but lithe man of Asian descent. His build was wiry and strong, his hair black but streaked with silver. Two collar pips adorned his neck.

“Lieutenant, welcome!” said Buechner, widening his arms expansively.

A shy smile met them both on his face. He extended his hand in greeting to Parker. “Hello. My name is Lieutenant Joseph Ng. It’s a pleasure, ma’am.”

“Lieutenant Commander Angie Parker,” she replied, shaking his hand. Her face looked only slightly surprised at the soft tone with which he spoke.

Following Ng through the hatch was a tower of a man. He carried himself with an easy confidence, matching his handsome features and athletic build. From the looks of him he was over two meters tall.

“And Senior Chief Allison!” greeted Buechner enthusiastically, shaking the man’s hand vigorously. It wasn’t often the captain had to look up at a man, but the enlisted man’s stature forced him to.

“Captain,” said Allison politely, his voice a gentle baritone. He returned the handshake and shook Parker’s as well, dwarfing her slightness even more than Ng’s.

“Everyone, take a seat,” said Buechner. He felt especially in his element with all the officers gathered. Pulling two chairs from the seating area and setting them next to the chair across from his desk, he returned to his leather-bound seat and motioned for them to sit.

“Well, having you all here is really a relief for me,” he said, taking in each of their expressions. Ng looked contented, Parker slightly bewildered, and Allison relaxed.

“How was your flight, Senior Chief?” Buechner asked.

“Smooth,” he replied. “No complaints, sir, though it was no civilian transport, that’s for sure.”

The team laughed. “Starfleet is known for a lot of things, Chief, but luxury accommodations are not one of them,” said Buechner. Picking up his tea, he drained the glass before setting it down and rubbing his hands together.

“I really am glad you are all here,” he said, meeting each’s eyes and speaking in an even tone. “I’ve communicated with each of you to some extent, but this my first time meeting Commander Parker and Senior Chief Allison. Lieutenant Ng and I do go way back.”

He shot his friend a wink. “But I’m appreciative of each of you, and your particular skill sets. You all bring a different set of expertise, but more importantly, a different perspective. I’m going to need each of your opinions’, thoughts, concerns—even criticisms.”

“This posting was a surprise for me, maybe as much as it was for each of you. Commanding the Walsingham was the highlight of my Starfleet career, and of my family’s life. Now, I’m an empty nester, and assigned to a task force senior staff. I’m not sure what I expected to be next, but here we find ourselves.”

He gestured to the office space around him. “Starbase 72 is a fine station. I’ve served in this region of Federation territory, patrolling the Cardassian border, for much of my career. I was stationed at Deep Space 7—before it’s unfortunate demise—when I was a burgeoning Strategic Operations Officer. Now, I’ve been tapped to help run the day-to-day operations of Task Force 72, and assist Admiral Basmanoff in directing this revamped unit.”

Parker cleared her throat. “Sir, if I may?”

“Absolutely, Commander.”

“Captain, there’s been a good deal of personnel shifting from what I’ve seen since I arrived, and word on the starbase is that there’s new ships and resources being devoted to the area. Is something brewing here… with the Cardassians, that is?”

Buechner nodded, stroking at his mustache. “It’s a good question, Commander. And one that will be answered in due time.”
“If there’s one thing I can promise each of you, it’s this: I am committing to keep short accounts with each of you, and I expect the same in return. When I have information that I am able to share, it will be disseminated to you. I expect your honest feedback and evaluation, for my betterment and 72’s—and for each of you to grow alongside me in what I believe are new roles for each of us.”

Buechner turned his attention to Joseph. “Lieutenant Ng, as I mentioned, is an old friend of mine, and we pulled him away from a tenure-track position at the academy. Mr. Ng earned his doctorate in Cardassian cultural studies and—oh, what was your thesis on again, Joe?”

“The Internal Politics of the Dominion War-Era Empire,” he interjected.

“Yes!”, said Buechner. “Lieutenant Ng is assigned to our team as a diplomatic and cultural advisor. He brings a breadth of knowledge, both scholarly and from the field, and understands Cardassians about as well as anyone without the damned skullridges and bad complexion can.”

The captain moved his focus to Angie. “Lieutenant Commander Parker is my aide-de-camp. She is my right hand ops officer aboard this station, and will be accompanying me to senior staff meetings and helping me to manage the day-to-day workload of the unit.”
Finally his gaze fell on Allison. “And Senior Chief Allison is my Command Senior Chief. He’ll be offer each of us the enlisted man’s perspective, and helping me to keep the pulse of the crewman aboard the station and abroad. He brings a technical perspective to our force and has led a distinguished career mentoring young engineering technicians.”

Buechner let out an exhaustive breath. “If you haven’t all been able to tell, I, as your fearless leader of sorts, am the man who talks too much for his own sake. Interrupt, correct, ask questions as need be, now, and moving forward.”

He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Any questions?” he asked.

Each of the officers cast sheepish glances around at the others.

“Yes,” he thought to himself. “It’ll take time for this lot to get comfortable with one another, that’s for sure… but here’s hoping that once they do, they’ll have an even greater task in store…”

“Alright then,” he said after a solid thirty seconds passed. “A warm welcome aboard to each of you. My wife, Demi, is excited to meet you both in time—Joe is already a familiar face around our quarters, but you are all always welcome.”

Buechner stood, and the three officers snapped up accordingly as well. “Maybe a beer sometime for all of us too?” asked Allison with a sly grin. “We’ll chalk it up to team bonding.”

“I like the way you think, Chief,” said Ng with a grin of his own. Parker’s face lit up with a smile too.

“Sometime soon,” agreed the captain. “Being an empty nester isn’t all it’s chalked up to be… and as much as I love that woman, she needs a night out with her ladies every once in a while too.”

“It’s a plan, then,” said the chief.

“I’m looking forward to it,” said Parker, looking to her right and left at the two new officers she’d be working with.

Buechner nodded vigorously, crossing from out behind his desk. “My yeoman will be in touch with each of to upload our shared schedule to your PADDs—keep an eye on your calendars in the coming day. But, take tomorrow off. I want each of you to have a chance to get settled in and explore the station. The following day, we’ll be getting down to business.”

“Thank you, Captain,” said Ng, and Parker and Allison nodded their agreement.

“Thank you all. Dismissed, and have a good night.”

The three officers shuffled out of the quarters one by one before the doors gave a resounding ‘swish’ shut. Buechner leaned against his desk, running his hand across his beard.

“Better than I expected it to go,” he murmured to himself. “They’re a bit of an odd bunch, but I have a feeling this will work. And I certainly hope it does.”

He tapped the PADD at his desk and, again, gave a start at the time. “You always talk too much, Nelson,” he muttered angrily, gathering his things hurriedly from his desk. “If you’re late again, Demi’s going to flay you and serve your ass for dinner...”

rippy

Episode IV: A Little Bit of Mercy

“Aha! How are you tonight, Commodore?”

Buechner shook his head in disgust, his hand going unconsciously to his collar.

“What, this old thing?” he asked innocently, fingering the bordered pip. “That’s a pretty disrespectful tone coming from a freshman grade cadet. I feel bad for whoever had to raise you.”

The two men stared at each through the screen before bursting out into laughter.

“Dammit, I miss you, old man,” said Theodore Buechner, shaking his head.

“I miss you, son,” Nelson replied in earnest. “Now that you’re out of the house your mother has me dead to rights—the forces are even but I’m outmaneuvered strategically, outwitted tactically.”

“You always do better when the numbers are in your favor,” said Ted, a tad wistfully. “Really, though, congratulations. That’s big news. I wish I was able to come and celebrate with you in person.”

Nelson shook his hands brushing the comment off, raising them within eyeshot of the screen. “I know, Ted, I wish you were too, but don’t think on that now. The experience you’re having now, that you’re going to have this summer, is going to be such a boon to you years from now down the fleet.

Ted shook his head in agreement, though the gesture seemed slightly defeated. “I know that you’re right, but staying around the academy during the summer is rough. All my friends are either back home or on assignment elsewhere—I just come home and read, take walks, or…”

“Or you work on that stack of reports Neikirk gives you every day,” said Nelson, laughing knowingly.

“It is unreal, man!” said Ted, unable to conceal his exasperation. “Does the guy think I don’t have a life outside of the office? It’s crazy!”
Nelson shook his head. The young man really was learning a valuable lesson—ones that Nelson had had to also learn the hard way.

“If Admiral Neikirk says you don’t have a life outside of the office, you don’t,” said Nelson. “And that’s the way you need to treat this summer. Besides, you’ll have those two weeks before classes start in the fall, and you can come out to the base and hang with mom and I.”

Ted nodded, his expression only a little sullen. “I’m looking forward to that. I want to complain more, but there’s so much to learn from him… I find myself taking down notes during and after I spend time with him.”

“There’s a reason he’s the Second Fleet’s Executive Officer,” said Nelson in agreement. “Nobody, and I’m telling you, nobody gets shit done like that man. His expectations are the highest, his results are the best, and—”

“And he never takes any credit for himself!” said Ted, cutting him off. Nelson smiled in agreement. He remembered raving the same thoughts to Demi some two decades ago himself.

“The way that he runs meetings is just a master-class. The guy knows how to be polite but firm, always keep the task at hand in mind, and fields… well, dumb questions like the best of them.”

Nelson nodded. “Keep taking notes, son. Neikirk is the real deal, and the observations you make this summer will stay with you for your whole career—a relationship with a four pip Admiral can help too.”

“It really gives me hope,” said Ted. He was so young, Nelson thought to himself—and he looked so much like his mother.
“It really gives me hope knowing that men like are in the fleet—and like you too, dad.”

“Ah, be careful lumping me in there, my friend,” said Nelson. “All the lessons I’ve learned have come from better leaders than me. Trial and failure helps, too.”

“Dad! You’re making headway, you’re making moves! If you want, you could spend another twenty or thirty years in the fleet, all of that at flag rank. Starfleet needs officers like and you Neikirk in charge. People who understand duty, justice, responsibility.”

“It needs all kinds of leaders,” said Nelson, correcting gently. “My position is a privilege, and Admiral Neikirk would say the same of his. But I’ll echo you. I sure am glad he’s there, and that he stands to keep making an impact in the fleet. I can’t imagine that guy retires anytime soon.”

Ted chuckled. “He sure likes to make jokes about how there’s plenty of his colleagues who wish he would, though.”
Nelson’s face took on a sterner look. “And consider that a lesson too, Ted. When you hold people accountable, when you put their feet to the fire of responsibility, you will make enemies—even in Starfleet, even in the Federation.”

He gestured around at the office surrounding him. “Hell, look at the Fourth Fleet. If the time prior to this last year of restored leadership is proof of anything, it’s that bad leaders can become embedded and entrenched, and that hurts everyone.”

Ted was clearly in agreement, and the two men sat in thought as some time passed. They were comfortable with the open air. Buechner felt a sense of pride in his chest. He had been glad with the paths of his first three children, and so happy with each of them: the relationships, the grandchildren, the career paths. But when Ted had come to him with the papers for applying to Starfleet, he would be lying to say he wasn’t ecstatic.

A Buechner legacy would continue in Starfleet, would continue in the Federation, and something about that seemed right.
“I saw granddad the other week,” said Ted offhand, breaking the silence.

Buechner grunted. “How was he?”

“You know the guy—sour, sharp as ever. He took me out to dinner and talked my ear off. I was up so late trying to get all of my briefings prepared for Neikirk the next day.”

“If there’s anything you need to learn, too, having so many flag officers around you, it’s that they never get tired of hearing their own voice,” opined Nelson.

“Sounds like you’ll fit right in,” Ted shot back.

“Oh, too well!” said Nelson self-effacingly. His hand went again to his collar. “My neck feels a lot lighter now that I’m past captain… some days I miss it, some days I’m glad. It’s a different kind of weight to bear.”

“What’s it been like so far?” Ted asked. “How are you settling? And… how are the Cardassians?”

“Oh, the station’s great,” Buechner replied. “A solid crew aboard. Basmanoff seems a tad temperamental, but she’s a leader with experience and a sound thinker. I’m glad to be serving under her. My senior staff arrived yesterday. The team is a bit of an odd fit, but each of them individually are well suited for their roles.”

“The Cardassians, though…” He tugged at his collar, loosening it and giving his son a wink that indicated what followed needed to stay classified. “It seems that there are factions brewing and fighting, but our early intelligence reports are showing military numbers that far outpace our old estimates.”

Ted’s eyebrow raised, and Nelson nodded in agreement.

“It’s concerning to say the least. We don’t know yet what the Cardassians are planning, if anything, and what their disposition is toward the Federation. But the unit is being bolstered all the same, and we’re awaiting further updates.”

Clearly contemplating the answer, Ted responded, “Be careful out there, old man. I need you in one piece… for my summer vacation weeks, of course.”

Nelson smiled. “You know me! I’m always careful. And I’m sure if this place gets blown up, you could still find a place to mooch. You’re good at that!”

Ted pointed at himself, his face a mask of incredulity. “Who? Me?”

The two shared a laugh, and after a brief pause, Ted stirred in his seat. “Well, dad, it’s been great talking with you. I better get back to finalizing tomorrow’s agenda for ‘ol Neikirk.”

“Yes, you better,” said Nelson. “And no typos, or he’ll bust you down to crewman. Oh, and have you gotten a chance to—”

“I’m going to go visit Uncle Shawn this weekend,” said Ted, his voice quieter. “I got in touch with the vicar of St. John’s a few weeks ago. He said that he can let me into the graveyard if I just give him a ring when I’m there.”

Nelson nodded, taking in a quick breath to stifle the sudden emotions that he felt wash over him. “Shit, Ted, I love you, son. And I’m proud of you. Keep up the good work.”

Though Nelson knew the young man well enough to know he was a bit uncomfortable with the sudden display of emotion, he’d had eighteen years with his father to come to expect it. “Thanks, dad. Love you too.”

“Oh, and tell mom I miss her, and I’ll give her a call this weekend while I’m on the shuttle to earth.”

“Roger that,” said Nelson, snapping off a lazy salute. “Have a good night, Ted. And tell Admiral Neikirk I send my best.”

“I’ll tell him you sent your worst—me!” said Ted, a half-smile on his face. “Night, dad.”

The viewscreen cut out, and Nelson leaned back in his seat, putting his hands behind his head and letting out a sigh.

Ted was a sharp kid. He was the most sensitive of the bunch, but a critical thinker, a lover, a feeler. Though he didn’t know what would become of his youngest, he wasn’t worried for him.

“He’s going to know enough admirals to buoy him, or sink him,” thought Buechner to himself, wondering how he would have done with all the exposure when he was an eighteen-year old himself.

Not well, in his estimation. But Ted had spent most of his life on Starfleet vessels, been raised by a full-time and former officer. He’d get by, in time.

“With grace,” Buechner thought to himself. “Hard work, and a little bit of mercy.”

rippy

Episode V: Find Your Why

“Mind if I join you?”

She had been sitting alone for ten or fifteen minutes—she’d lost track of the time—nursing her drink, staring out the window, so the voice caught her off guard. Turning, Angie’s hard look melted away as she saw who asked.

“Chief!” she said, a half smile brightening her look. She gestured to the seat next to her. “Please.”

The large man settled himself into the chair, holding a glass pint of a dark brown, almost black, liquid. “What’re you drinking?” he asked.

“Me?” Angie looked self-consciously down. “Oh, it’s uh, synth-sangria. Not a bad batch.”

An amused expression on his face, Allison nodded. He leaned forward, indicating his drink. “Guinness,” he said slyly. “The real stuff. You’ve just gotta know who to ask. If you want, I can…?”

“No, I’m good—I’m great,” she said quickly. “Thanks though. I don’t drink.”

Allison grunted unhappily. “I’ll be damned if I do anymore these days either,” he said, longingly gazing out the window. “But my lady and kids aren’t due until the next transport comes in, so…” He shrugged his shoulders innocently.

“You have a family?” she asked, masking any disappointment she might have been feeling. Adequately, she hoped. The last thing she needed was him seeing her crestfallen and taking pity on her.

“You’re an idiot…” she thought to herself. “He’s your teammate… a senior enlisted. You’re letting your mind go crazy. Why do you start to fall for any man who shows the slightest interest in you?”

“Ah, bordering on too much of one, ma’am,” he said in response to her question, his hand going almost instinctively for his pocket. If he sensed anything from her, he didn't betray it, lost in fatherly pride. He drew a personal PADD from it, swiping to a picture and showing her. “I swore to myself I’d never be that kind of parent… but when you have ‘em, something changes.”

She slid her chair over, looking at the picture of all the smiling faces. “Beautiful,” she said sincerely. “You can call me Angie, by the way.”

“Alright, Angie,” he said, his look still slightly bemused. She wondered what he made of her.

“What are their names?” she asked, pointing to the gaggle of little ones.

“Oh boy,” he said, his finger going to the screen. “Alanna’s my oldest, then Bronté, George, and Melody. And Gracie, my wife.”

“They look like a fun crew,” Angie said, settling back in her chair.

“Too much for me to handle,” he said, laughing and putting the PADD back in his pocket. “I can wrangle a cadre of recruits, handle a nacelle leak, shit, even pass my maintenance quals, but get them to sit still for dinner? It’s beyond me.”

She laughed, swirling the remnants of her wine. “Your accent,” she said. “Is it… New York?... or?” Human though she was, she’d never lived on Earth and had only some vague pop culture for frame of reference.

“Baltimore,” he answered her. “A tough city—less so now, but it still has it, eh, quirks.”

Allison paused. “It’s home, though. Always will be.”

The senior chief took a deep drag of his beer, letting out a contented sigh. “So what’s your story, Ang?”

She shuffled in her seat, her hand going to her hair.

“If I’m bothering you, I can—” he said, sensing her discomfort.

“No, you’re fine,” she said, breathing out and shaking her head. “This has just been a weird time for me. I don’t know where my head’s at lately.”

Collecting her thoughts, she continued. “I wasn’t… expecting to get a posting like this. And I’ve become more confused since arriving. I don’t really think I’m cut out to be a senior officer’s aide.”

Allison raised an eyebrow speculatively. “It’s a transition for all of us,” he said. “But there’s no doubt they saw something in you, Ang. An aide-de-camp posting isn’t a punishment; it’s preparation.”

She nodded slowly. “That’s what I keep hearing,” she said. “Maybe it won’t be so bad. I’m in my head too much these days. Just cycling, y’know?”

“Oh, I know, ma’am,” he said, taking another long drink—the pint was only half-full after two drags. “That’s the nature of fleet life. But, from what I’ve heard, Buechner is a good guy. I think we stand to learn a lot from him… and I have a feeling things aren’t going to be quiet around here or the region for long.”

“I’m getting those vibes too,” she concurred. She had to admit, she was feeling better. The senior chief had a paternal presence to him.
“And where is it you’d rather have been anyway?” he asked, chiding her gently. “What’s the long goal for Lieutenant Commander Angie Parker?”

Angie rolled her eyes, hard. “I don’t even know anymore, man,” she said. “I love flying. It’s why I joined the fleet in the first place. It was a way to serve, gave me purpose and, well, really just fun.”

“As I’ve gotten further along in my career, the leadership, the responsibilities… I think I’ve lost sight of why I started all this in the first place. I’m not really an ambitious person, but I do my best to measure up. The accolades feel good, the praise, the trust. But sometimes I wonder why I’m doing it all.”

“There it is!” said Allison excitedly. “We gotta find you your why, kid. You’re just floating around going through the motions. It’s a start.”
“Yeah,” she said, her voice a bit far-off.

“Find my why,” she thought, finishing the sangria in her glass. She peered out the starbase window, the stars twinkling in the distance and buzz of shuttle and light transport activity visible. Light jazz played in the background, framing her losing herself in her thoughts.

Allison was clearly unbothered by the silence. He’d nearly drained his glass when a young Bajoran came up from behind him, clapping him on the back.

“Senior Chief, you play pool, right?” said the man. “Ensign Taylor’s talking shit… we figured you could put him in his place. For us enlisted folk, anyway.”

The chief grinned. “I mean, I dabble,” he said with a shrug, shooting a wink Angie’s way. “I’d be obliged—for the pride of Starfleet crewmen everywhere, of course.”

Allison lifted himself from his chair, towering over the Bajoran man and putting his arm around the petty officer. “Commander Parker, it’s been a pleasure,” he said. “Sorry to leave like this. It’s been good talking with you… let’s work on that why. I’m sure Gracie would love to talk with you about it when she gets on board. She’s good with that kind of thing.”

“Thanks, chief, I appreciate it,” she said, smiling. “And, that sounds nice. I’d like to talk to her.”

Allison nodded, waving off the Bajoran who stood a few feet away tapping his foot impatiently. “You can join us, if you’d like?”

“I’m good,” she said. “About time for me to crash soon. But, thanks again, chief. I really do mean it.”

“Of course,” he said, starting in the direction of the pool table. “I’ll see you tomorrow… I wonder what Buechner, and this first briefing, has in store for us.”

“See you,” she said, watching the two men walk off laughing together.

Angie turned her gaze back out the window, her glass now empty and left alone to the movement of the music. There was, in her estimation, a frenetic keyboard solo that she hoped would end.

But her mood, undoubtedly, was different. Still contemplative, and melancholic for that matter. Yet it had a different direction. The senior chief’s words repeated over and over in her head.

“Find your why,” she thought, watching the stars glint in their own way, millions of miles away. “Find your why… find your why…”