"Keep Her Safe"

Posted on Fri Mar 14th, 2025 @ 4:23am by Captain T’Kal & Ensign Emmanuelle Larose

1,659 words; about a 8 minute read

Mission: ARYL 1X01: Bound for Cold Frontier
Location: Earth Spacedock

The problem with Klingon ship movements was that you were never certain about the accuracy of your information.

Starfleet Command had commissioned dozens of listening posts whose job it was to use active and passive scanners to peer past the Neutral Zone and as far behind the iron wall of the Klingon border as possible. But the Klingons were making it beyond difficult. Their cloaking devices had apparently been spreading through fleet designs. At one time, Starfleet was confident in the numbers of D7 cruisers poised on the border, and that intel proved reasonably accurate when they crossed into Federation space twenty-three years ago, stopped in their tracks by the Organians. But now every single ship of K’t’Inga sized or smaller — and a surprising number of bigger vessels too — could turn disappear whenever they wanted. The latest reports suggested even their PumwI' class dreadnoughts could now move invisibly with impunity. Thankfully they still had to decloak to take on supplies or conduct battle drills, at which time the listening posts could detect and count them, even if identifying the individual vessel by transponder was still proving challenging at range.

Today's report showed at least two Riskadh class cruisers exercising an invasion scenario near Beta Lankal, but how many other ships were in the vicinity, quietly observing, ready to jump in if ordered to do so?

How many might already be orbiting Federation worlds, ready to decloak and attack when the Chancellor finally gave the order?

It was questions like this which kept Starfleet Command leadership up at night, and which kept Commander T'Kal busy day and night.

Keeping Starfleet Command’s top brass informed had always been a difficult task, one fraught with danger — though not for the analysts who provided their best guesses, but for the brave souls gathering the information, and the officers and crew of the starships and civilians on colony worlds that would be hit first if general war broke out.

Sometimes she missed being out there. She knew, of course, that she was making a real difference on Earth, making sure that admirals understood the reality facing Starfleet. It just felt (felt? no, seemed) so much less tangible. Staring down a Klingon heavy cruiser and waiting for its captain to blink before yours did seemed so much more real.

It was time for the daily briefing. T’Kal wondered who would be there today.

But she found the briefing room empty. How strange.

She returned to the desk of her yeoman, a recent Academy graduate who had been attached to her.

“Bonjour, Commandant,” said the bright-eyed, bright-haired Ensign.

“Good morning, Miss Larose,” T’Kal said, returning the greeting. Her brow was furrowed, betraying her puzzlement. “Do you know if the briefing was moved or rescheduled?”

Emmanuelle Larose tapped some commands on her computer, bringing up the calendar. “Yes, Commander, apologies for missing it. He wants to see you. The meeting invitation just says ‘you know the spot’. Does that mean anything to you?”

The Vulcan closed her eyes and took a calming breath. Of course it meant something to her. It meant the day now included several needless diversions.

Minutes later she was in the transporter room, location coordinates at top of mind. The chief beamed her directly to where she needed to go.

When the transporter effect ended, a warm, rich baritone greeted her. “I could’ve waited if you wanted to walk. You know I don’t mind the view.”

Junction 147-12. A rare quiet place on the busiest megastructure anywhere in the Federation. The meeting point of a pair of corridors which happened to align with a transparent aluminum viewport with a surprisingly perfect view of Earth’s North American continent. Staring out that window, his back to her, was a man slightly taller than her, black hair cropped very tight to his head.

“I did not know how long you had been waiting already,” T’Kal offered as explanation and apology. “I only just learned of our new meeting venue.”

A chuckle. “How did that protégé of yours like my instructions?”

“Admiral, kindly refrain from hazing my yeoman.” Her tone betrayed her true opinion on the matter. The redirection had been annoying, but the gentle and harmless teasing of the new blood could be the source of unique lessons. “How may I be of service, sir?”

Admiral Lance Cartwright, the man who held the position of Commander, Starfleet for the past four years, turned and smiled. He was the man to whom all reports eventually ended up. When she briefed her immediate superiors, mostly junior admirals, they took the decisions that were within their power, some were relayed to more senior admirals who oversaw different branches and operations across Starfleet, and the rest ended up with him or with the C-in-C. This was the man who kept Sol-based Starfleet officers calm and collected as the so-called Cetacean Probe shut everything down all around them. Though is temper could be fierce, his peers he was genial, and among those junior to him but in his good graces he acted much like he did to his many grandchildren.

“I’ve something to show you,” he said. “Come, walk with me.”

“But our briefing—“

“It can wait,” he assured her. “Besides, you and I both know this place isn’t secure, even if it’s got the best view.” They walked side by side down the main corridor toward the centre of the station. “So, how’s Sten doing?”

The Vulcan shot him a look that could freeze a lit candlewick. “You probably know better than I. And you know that, sir.”

The Admiral laughed and roughly clapped her on the shoulder. “Alright, alright,” he conceded. “How are Solan and T’Para then?”

“I regret it has been many weeks since I heard from my sisters,” T’Kal admitted. “But they were well when last we spoke. T’Para is pregnant again. I shall soon have another niece or nephew.”

They discussed family matters until they left the maintenance area and crossed into a Starfleet Officers Only zone. Finally, they could begin to speak of matters of state, even if not of properly classified material. “Admiral,” T’Kal said, “the latest reports—“

“T’Kal. I want you to listen to me,” Cartwright interrupted. “You’re not here to brief me. I’m here to brief you.”

“Sir?”

“What do you know about Sector 262?”

T’Kal absentmindedly touched her chin as she plumbed the depths of her memory. “The rimward tip of the Federation-Klingon border. The Neutral Zone ends where independent, neutral states lay between Federation and Klingon territory. Ninety-eight square light-years of unclaimed space. Last I read, there were four starships patrolling our periphery there, none larger than a Miranda-class.”

The Admiral nodded. “Well that number will soon be going up. Three days ago, Starfleet Intelligence briefed me on evidence that the Klingons are bringing in numbers. Our ambassadors on Pydria and Drenkulo report increased activity by Klingon diplomats on those worlds. Great works. Influence, T’Kal. Nations increasingly willing to let Klingon ships fly through their space and closer to ours.” He leaned in closer, his booming voice quieting to a whisper. “There’s something else, too, but that’ll wait until later.”

“Why are you telling me this?” T’Kal finally asked.

A smile grew across the Admiral’s face as they stopped in front of the door to the Officer’s Lounge. “Commander T’Kal, I am issuing orders to increase Starfleet’s presence in Sector 262, starting with a heavy cruiser and two more support tier starships. That may increase as the situation on the frontier evolves. I am also issuing orders for you to command that lead heavy cruiser, with a promotion to go along with it. Congratulations, Captain T’Kal.”

Well. That was unexpected. It was all she could think. Her emotional self control was in conflict with feelings of pride, short circuiting most of her thought processes. She would need to meditate on this later. Come to terms with the culmination of decades of ambition and hard work.

“I am honoured, sir,” she said coolly. “What starship?”

“That’s the best part,” Cartwright said. He walked into the lounge, T’Kal following close behind. Massive windows permitted a view of the starships docked within Earth Spacedock. The one which hung closest, in full view of the lounge, was a Heavy Cruiser. Constitution class. No, that is not entirely the right term. What did they call the refit? Enterprise subclass, that’s right.

T’Kal walked closer to the viewport and angled her head to get a closer look at the designation.

USS Ark Royal NCC-1791

“You treat that girl well, you hear me?” the Admiral told T’Kal. “Keep her safe. Bring her home, and she’ll do the same for you. She got me out of more situations than I can recount.”

“And you have recounted many,” T’Kal replied quickly. Cartwright may have seen her slight smirk, but she got it under control before anyone else could notice. “When do I launch?”

“They’re finishing refits as we speak. Spacedock Operations reports one week until she’s ready to go. You have that long to get a senior staff assembled.”

T’Kal looked back at her new command, her eyes locked on the beautiful starship. She couldn’t look away. “I’m taking Larose,” she informed her superior officer.

“Yes, yes, take who you need.” The Admiral clasped her shoulder again. “Come. Let me give you the tour. And I can brief you on that bit of intel I told you about.”


OFF

Captain T’Kal
Commanding Officer, USS Ark Royal

Ensign Emmanuelle Larose
(Soon to be) Bridge Support Officer, USS Ark Royal

And Special Guest

Fleet Admiral Lance Cartwright
Commander, Starfleet

 

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