Turn The Page

by Dayton Ward

  “Absolutely.” Sarjenka rose from her chair and turned to exit Lense’s office.

  Reaching for a padd laying atop her desk, Lense offered a final curt nod. “Then see to it…Doctor,” she said, seemingly emphasizing the title for Sarjenka’s benefit.

  Sarjenka liked the way it sounded, particularly as it came from the person who would serve not only as her superior officer but also her guide and mentor for this, her first assignment of what she hoped was a long and rewarding Starfleet career.

  “Bridge to Sarjenka,” a voice said via the ship’s intercom, pulling her from her brief reverie. “Report to the captain’s ready room.”

  Excellent, Sarjenka decided. Now that the immediate crisis had passed and the da Vinci was en route to its next assignment, there now was time to address one final lingering issue.

  Chapter

  10

  Sarjenka stood outside Captain Gold’s ready room, waiting.

  Nearly thirty seconds had passed since she’d pressed the call button outside the door. It was long enough for her to consider odd, to say nothing of making her feel self-conscious as she stood at the entrance to the captain’s private office. She was certain that the eyes of everyone on the da Vinci’s bridge were fixated on her—in particular those of Lieutenant Commander Tev. The burly Tellarite second officer was sitting in the captain’s chair, doubtless wondering why a member of the medical staff was here in the first place. Rather than look over her shoulder to confirm her suspicions, Sarjenka instead kept her eyes locked on the ready room doors.

  Finally, salvation arrived when she heard Captain Gold’s voice through the door’s intercom. “Come.”

  The door slid aside, and Sarjenka saw the captain seated in his customary place behind the room’s small austere desk. His right hand rested on the interface pad of his desktop computer terminal, but he did not seem at all interested in whatever information might be displayed upon the screen. His features were darkened by melancholy—at least, that was how it seemed to her—looking much as he had during their initial meeting soon after her arrival aboard ship.

  “Sarjenka,” Gold said, swiveling his seat so that he faced her. “Please, come in.” As he motioned her toward one of the two chairs positioned before his desk, she saw a small smile pull at the corners of his mouth, but she perceived the expression as being forced for her benefit.

  Lowering herself into the proffered seat, Sarjenka clasped her hands together and placed them in her lap. “You asked to see me, sir?”

  “Indeed I did,” Gold replied. “I wanted to tell you how proud and impressed I was with your actions during this little incident we had to deal with. Pretty remarkable for a first mission, if you ask me.” Even as he spoke the words, Sarjenka was certain it was an effort for him even to generate the level of enthusiasm he was struggling to convey. “According to the report I received from Minister Qrana, twenty-eight Morhenza were killed in action against Lisqual law enforcement officers, with an additional sixty-one injured. As bad as that figure sounds, it would have been a lot worse if not for you. It was some inspired thinking on your part. That’s just the sort of behavior I’ve come to expect from this crew, and you rose to that standard as though you’ve been with us for years.”

  “Thank you, Captain.” Despite her concern over the captain’s emotional state, Sarjenka could not help her broad smile, feeling her cheeks warm as she blushed in response to the unexpected praise. She knew from experience that while Gold could be a no-nonsense commanding officer, he also never wasted an opportunity to recognize deserving individuals when it was appropriate. She was delighted to be on the receiving end of such compliments after only her first few days as a member of the crew.

  Leaning back in his seat, Gold regarded her in silence for a moment, and Sarjenka could see from the dark circles beneath his eyes that he was in need of sleep. Experiencing such fatigue was understandable during the events unfolding on Betrisius III, but with that mission behind them, the captain should now have the opportunity for what she suspected was some overdue rest.

  “Captain, is something wrong?” she asked, blurting out the question even as Gold was opening his mouth to say something.

  Whatever that might have been, it appeared to be forgotten now as the captain’s brow furrowed, and any hint of a smile was instead replaced by a disapproving frown. “I beg your pardon?”

  Her mind scrambling to ascertain what—if any—protocol she may have breached with respect to relations between superior officers and their subordinates, Sarjenka plunged ahead. “Forgive me for saying so, sir, but you haven’t been yourself since I came aboard. It’s obvious to me that something’s troubling you.”

  “You’re mistaken,” Gold countered, too quickly in Sarjenka’s opinion.

  She shook her head. “I know you too well, sir. You have yourself and Rabbi Gilman to thank for that.” Not for the first time, Sarjenka was thankful for the frequent visits she had made to the Gold-Gilman home during her tenure at Starfleet Medical Academy. In addition to acquiring a fondness for Rachel Gilman’s cooking, she also had been around David Gold enough to know when something was bothering him, particularly when he was going out of his way not to share his worry with anyone else.

  “I’m not the only one to notice it, Captain,” she said. “Several members of the crew have made mention of it. They’re concerned for your well-being, and so am I. Is there some assistance you require?”

  “No,” the captain replied, but when he spoke this time, the fatigue was evident in his voice. Looking away from her, Gold directed his attention to the computer terminal, the screen of which Sarjenka still could not see. “It’s—it’s a personal matter.” He released a sigh before adding, “I have to deal with it on my own.”

  The sound of the door chime echoed in the ready room, and Sarjenka saw irritation cloud Gold’s features. “Come,” he said.

  Turning toward the door, Sarjenka was in time to see it slide open to reveal Commander Gomez, who entered the room with a purposeful stride and a determined look.

  “Gomez,” Gold said. “What can I do for you?”

  “With all due respect, Captain, you can tell me what the hell’s going on.” Stopping in front of Gold’s desk, Gomez placed her hands on her hips. “According to Lieutenant Shabalala, you were sitting alone in the mess hall, drinking brandy, and nearly took his head off. Something about wanting to be left alone for one damned minute, is how he put it. Well, you’ve had your minute, sir, and now I’d like to know what’s bothering you.”

  Then, as if only just realizing that the captain was not alone in the ready room, she looked down at Sarjenka before returning her gaze to Gold. To her credit, she masked any awkwardness she might have been feeling. “Of course, if this is a bad time, I can come back.”

  Without warning, Gold erupted into hearty laughter.

  Sarjenka exchanged a puzzled look with Gomez before both women returned their attention to their captain, who was emitting a last chuckle even as he reached up to wipe his eyes. “Thank you for that, Gomez. You have no idea how badly it was needed.”

  “I do what I can, sir,” Gomez replied, her expression remaining fixed.

  Gold drew a deep breath, and when he nodded, Sarjenka got the sense that he had reached a decision. Waving Gomez to the other chair in front of his desk, he said, “The good doctor here has already expressed concerns similar to yours, Gomez, and you’re both right. I’ve been somewhat out of sorts these past few days, and I apologize if it’s affected how I deal with the crew. Believe me when I tell you it’s unintentional.” Sighing, he added, “I received some bad news when we were at Starbase 347, and it’s been eating at me.”

  “If there’s anything I can do, sir,” Gomez said, but did not finish her sentence when Gold held up a hand.

  Shaking his head, the captain said, “It’s nothing like that.” He paused again, closing his eyes and reaching up to rub the bridge of his nose. When he returned his gaze to her and Gomez, Sarjenka saw new sa
dness in his eyes.

  “As silly as this sounds, I was thinking about my youth.”

  Earth Year 2328

  Location: Moon Orbiting Delavi III

  Mission Elapsed Time: 3 Hours, 19 Minutes, 42 Seconds

  Lieutenant David Gold was no stranger to death, but witnessing it firsthand remained as difficult as it had been on those rare yet still too-frequent occasions when he could do nothing save watch a shipmate die in the line of duty.

  Sitting on the floor and resting with his back against the side of one of the command center’s freestanding control consoles, Gold stared at the still, lifeless form of Lieutenant Commander Dilat th’Sena. The Andorian’s powder blue lips already were beginning to lighten as blood and other fluids pooled in the lowest areas of the body. She had been placed on the floor near the rear of the command center, her hands clasped atop her chest, and covered with a blanket retrieved by Ensign Rha-Teramaet from a storage locker inside what Gus Bradford had determined was the office of the Cardassian outpost’s ranking officer.

  “David? You okay?”

  Hearing the voice at the same time he became aware of the shadow falling across him, Gold looked up to see Bradford standing over him, phaser rifle slung over his right shoulder and holding a half-empty bottle of Saurian brandy in his left hand. “How’s the arm?”

  “It’ll be all right,” Gold replied, feeling the throb in his bandaged right forearm where the Cardassian’s knife had sliced him. It hurt even worse than the injury to his left arm.

  “Want a refill?” Bradford asked, holding up the bottle. It was one of several—each containing a different exotic spirit—that he had found in the outpost commander’s office. The outpost commander, it seemed, had rather exotic tastes when it came to his recreational drinking, for which both Bradford and Teramaet had expressed more than a bit of gratitude.

  Gold looked down at the heavy mug he cradled in his hands and realized for the first time that he had yet to drink from its contents. In truth, he had not been a brandy drinker in the past, and had only taken the initial serving at Bradford’s insistence that they toast their fallen leader. Looking toward th’Sena’s body once more, he shook his head. “No thanks, Gus.”

  Pausing to regard their fallen comrade for a moment, Bradford said, “She was a damned good officer, and damned good friend.”

  Gold had gotten to know th’Sena fairly well, even though the commander had only joined the Gettysburg less than six months earlier. The Andorian had proven to be a daunting poker player, and her sense of humor and ability to tell an engaging and hysterical—if somewhat unbelievable—bawdy anecdote had been as wicked as her gambling skills. For all her talents in those areas, however, they had been dwarfed by the security officer’s dedication to ensuring the safety of the ship and its crew. Gold knew that Captain Jameson also held th’Sena in high regard, which only worsened the prospect of conveying the news of the Andorian’s tragic passing. At the very least, the captain could take some measure of comfort from knowing that th’Sena had not suffered. The weapon wielded by the Cardassian who had shot her had been set to a lethal intensity, and the commander had died even before falling to the ground.

  I suppose that’s something, Gold thought, but I’ll be damned if I know what that might be.

  “Yeah,” he replied after a moment, as he pushed himself to his feet. If anything good could be said about the loss of their leader, it was that hers was the only death that had been suffered during the operation. According to status reports received from the other teams scattered throughout the complex, eleven members of the assault group—Gold included—had sustained a variety of injuries, none of which were life-threatening. Of course, that did little to ease the sting of pain the away team currently felt.

  Bradford looked around the command center. “I only hope she didn’t die for nothing. Starfleet Intelligence better be right about raiding this place, because you can bet the Cardassians are going to throw a fit when they find out what we did here.”

  “They’re going to throw a fit no matter what,” Gold countered, before taking his first taste of the brandy he had been holding. “They don’t really need a reason, but the fits are more entertaining when we give them one.” He held little confidence that the away team’s actions here today would remain secret for any significant length of time. The events of this day would soon be known, and would provide fodder for much discourse between the Federation diplomats and their Cardassian counterparts in the coming weeks if not months. The discussions, as well as the arguments, that would erupt from them would no doubt prove to be exasperating and ultimately futile.

  Good thing we’ve got Vulcans on our side, Gold mused, recalling that Ambassador Sarek had led the original delegations that had met with the Cardassian diplomatic representatives. Indeed, it was Sarek who had attempted to warn the Federation Council that caution should be exercised when considering how to proceed with negotiations. With his son, Ambassador Spock, Sarek also had uncovered a plot by the Cardassian Union to disrupt treaty negotiations between the Federation and the people of Legara IV in the hopes of annexing the planet and plundering its vast wealth of natural resources. Relations with Cardassia had been tense since that incident, and Gold knew that there were those in the halls of Federation leadership, as well as the upper echelons of Starfleet Command, who were certain that war with the hostile race was all but inevitable.

  “Lieutenant Bradford?” a new voice asked, and Gold turned to see Ensigns Jolev and Teramaet exhibiting matching expressions of concern as they regarded Bradford, who by virtue of seniority had assumed th’Sena’s position of team leader. “The prisoners have been secured in the landing bay with the others,” the young Bolian reported.

  Bradford nodded in approval to the junior officers. “Excellent. Both of you performed in exemplary fashion during the entire operation. Commander th’Sena would’ve been proud.” He cast a glance toward the fallen Andorian before continuing, “According to Commander T’Vel, the entire outpost has been swept and all Cardassians accounted for. The final count was thirty-seven, by the way, not twenty-two.” Shaking his head, he added, “Starfleet Intelligence is sounding more and more like a contradiction in terms every day, isn’t it?”

  Offering what to Gold sounded like a humorless chuckle, Teramaet asked, “What are our orders, sir?”

  “Sit tight,” Bradford replied, “and wait for the Gettysburg to come back.” Gold knew that computer specialists already were hard at work, attempting to gain access to the outpost’s storehouse of encrypted data files. They had plenty of work with which to keep busy, but those security personnel not assigned to guarding the contingent of captured Cardassian soldiers had found themselves with nothing to do except find a comfortable place to relax until the Gettysburg returned in something less than four hours’ time.

  For Gus Bradford and Teramaet, that meant sampling the contents of the outpost commander’s liquor cabinet, as well.

  His momentary reverie broken by the sound of someone approaching, Gold turned to see Lieutenant Mairin ni Bhroanin moving to stand next to Bradford. Like his friend, the young Irish woman also was carrying her phaser rifle slung over her shoulder, but instead of a bottle of spirits, the lieutenant carried a vicious-looking knife, its serrated double blade gleaming in the harsh lights of the command center. Gold had no trouble recognizing the weapon, given that it was the one that had almost been driven into his chest.

  “What the hell are you doing with that?” he asked.

  Ni Bhroanin shrugged. “My father collects exotic weaponry,” she replied, holding up the knife for emphasis. “He doesn’t have anything like this yet. It will make a nice complement to the Klingon blades he has hanging on the wall of his study.”

  “To each their own, I suppose,” Gold said, glancing again at his bandaged forearm and recalling how close the blade had come to slicing him open. While a few of his friends or relatives held similar collecting interests, it was not something to which he ever had been d
rawn. He considered his regular Starfleet weapons proficiency training—to say nothing of occasions like this one, where the real use of such implements was required—to be more than sufficient exposure to the more martial facets of the career he had chosen.

  Meeting ni Bhroanin’s gaze again, Gold suddenly remembered what he had failed to tell the lieutenant in the moments after the fierce firefight, which had preceded the team’s taking of the command center. “Mairin, I meant to thank you. Before, I mean.” He paused, swallowing the lump that had chosen that moment to lodge in his throat. “You saved my life.”

  It had happened fast, so very fast. The Cardassian soldier had appeared as though from nowhere. His blade already had found Gold’s right arm, and the Cardassian was attacking again, his arm outstretched and the edge of the knife ni Bhroanin now carried aimed directly at his chest. He had been too close for Gold to bring his phaser rifle around in time, but still far enough away that ni Bhroanin had been able to take a shot. She had done exactly that, halting the Cardassian’s mad advance and leaving the unconscious soldier to collapse on top of Gold, inflicting a final wound on the lieutenant’s pride.

  “No problem,” ni Bhroanin said, offering what perhaps might have been her first smile since well before the start of the mission. “Feel free to return the favor someday.”

  Releasing a small tired laugh, Gold nodded. “Consider it returned.” He looked to Bradford. “Well, Gus, what do you suppose we do now?”

  Bradford paused for a moment, his eyes apparently fixed on a point in the air before him. When he returned his attention to Gold, he held up the bottle he still carried in his hand. “We have this, and a few more bottles of Saurian brandy. I think it’d be a shame to let it go to waste.”

  “I cannot imagine that Captain Jameson, or Commander T’Vel for that matter, will be pleased should they find us in an inebriated condition,” said Jolev.

  Shrugging while keeping his expression neutral, Bradford replied, “Not pleased? Hell, Ensign, they’ll probably want to keelhaul us the minute we beam back to the ship.” He looked to Gold and ni Bhroanin. “Do they still do that?”