Starfleet Command Headquarters - San Francisco, Earth

[Paul]

==

[Cassandra Givens]

= Starfleet HQ, Building 4, Floor 8 ==

Not for the first time in eighteen months, Cassandra considered that she should have paid more attention during the required science courses of her school years, particularly to the idea of terminal velocity. Then again, a much younger Cass probably never imagined the never ending staff meetings her later self would find herself trapped in and certainly wouldn't have imagined how much time she'd spend considering whether a fall from the 8th floor would put her out of her misery.

"Captain Givens, is there something of interest on the horizon?"

Her honey colored eyes slowly shifted from the window, finding six pairs of eyes staring at her. Seven, if she counted Rear Admiral Harker's assistant but she refused to actually consider him a real person.

It was Admiral T'Var, eyebrow arched ever so slightly, who had pulled her from her musing. Her dry delivery left it open to interpretation on whether she was calling Cass out for her daydreaming or legitimately asking for an update. It took everything in Cass not to glance at her boss for some guidance but instead, she cleared her throat and squared her shoulders, her hands folding in front of her decisively.

"As I believe we've already discussed, the taskforce assigned to region 50 is doing an excellent job. Captain Gunnison is truly coming into his own as I believe we are all pleased to see."

"What about taskforce 67? What about the issues that have been occuring at DS9?" The gruff voice of Commodore Brought, a Brikar, interrupted any trajectory she might have had.

"Taskforce 67 has..." she paused. She didn't particularly enjoy critiqueing the performances of command level personnel but that was literally the point of an advisory board that essentially acted as quality control over the center chair. Another reason she hated her current job.

"They've struggled. The sudden removal of Captain Mireg was as disruptive as we expected but unavoidable given his medical issue. Unfortunately, I believe giving Captain Dron a second chance without considering the crew he was being given, much less the taskforce, was a mistake," she stated matter of factly.

"How so?" Came the high pitched voice of Vice Admiral Liof, sounding almost offended. It took Cass a second to remember he was the one that had insisted on assigning Captain Dron.

Screw politics, she thought, not for the first time wondering how she had ended up with four pips in crimson instead of orange. There had to be less politics at Security HQ but this was where she'd landed.

"Captain Dron," she started carefully, eyes sharpening slightly as she registered the shaky ground she was on as the lone captain present today, "is a capable captain but he largely prefers to remain hands off. The Dallas is a young crew with a young first officer, both needing more guidance than the captain is use to. Not to mention his taskforce has three newly minted command officers in the center chair."

"You are merely suggesting Captain Dron is not an adequate fit for Taskforce 67, not that he's incapable of commanding," Admiral T'Var summarized, clearly foreseeing the contention that was likely about to spark.

"Yes, ma'am," she answered, the barest hints of an Appalachian drawl coming forth.

"And Deep Space 9?" The admiral asked, eyebrow arching again as every eye turned back to Cass.

"I've reviewed the reports, the investigative notes and have had discreet conversations with some knowledgeable but neutral parties. The consensus is that Deep Space 9 has suffered from being the wrong place at the wrong time. Neither the Yeager, Philadelphia or Artemis incidents have been tied to the station. Other than some possible security failings related to the hijacking, no fault has been found with base management nor are they believed to have played a role."

"And yet, there is a common denominator," the Brikar commented sharply.

At that, Cass couldn't help but glance at Bill -- Admiral Anderson. However, his expression didn't give away his feelings on the topic, a topic that had been broached previously. Her quick glance around the table told her it was just as divisive of a topic as it was the first time they'd discussed it.

"I do not believe that is our determination to make," T'Var interjected with all the controlled grace of a queen overseeing her court.

There was a moment of silence as the senior members of the meeting shared glances, tiny nods and at least one smirk. After eighteen months of this, Cass was starting to think the box around their pips came with telepathic abilities with the way they so skillfully communicated over her head.

"I believe that is all for today. Thank you for your time. We will reconvene next Tuesday," T'Var stated before her dark eyes fell on Cass. "Captain, Admiral, please remain for a moment."

She didn't miss the way Bill refused to look at her as everyone filed out of the room and once again, she caught herself looking at the window, wondering if the glass was truly shatter proof.

And as soon as Admiral T'Var began speaking, Cass had to swallow the urge to find out even as the Vulcan laid out Cass' newest assignment, to DS9, of course. Because there was nothing quite as unpleasant as being the errand girl for a bunch of meddling admirals...

== TBC ==

[Tyra Crawford]

== Command HQ ==

As soon as the sun hit her face, Tyra's lips had pulled from a thin, pressed line into a full grimace, even as she snapped sunglasses into place. The relief from the sun did little to relax her expression, her jaw remaining clenched and an active threat to her teeth.

There was a steady flow of personnel coming up and down the steps to a building that Tyra considered to be a waste of braincells and air. Whether it was her severe expression or her ground eating steps, the crowd parted like the Red Sea as she descended, likely the safer option for everyone. Until it didn't, that was.

Her current impediment stood on one of the lower steps, facing the top of the stairs, unmoving like the rocky outcrop holding a lighthouse at the edge of a bay. She knew Thomas would send someone to meet her, likely anticipating the outcome of this particular meeting, but she'd assumed it would be Bryan or even her father. Either Thomas was scrapping the bottom of the barrel for available moral support or he'd finally come to accept that sometimes she needed the coarser influences in her life.

Logan's lips, pressed together like hers, quirked to the side just a little as he looked at her after she'd nearly run straight into him. Because of the steps, she was nearly eye to eye with him.

"Fancy meetin' you here," Logan drawled as he turned to match her direction of travel. "Suitably crushed by the boot?"

Tyra shook her head slightly. "Oh, you know, just taking beatings in the name of upper echelon politics."

The meeting had been more of a flogging with the numerous admirals present sending pointed jabs at each other with Tyra stuck like a kid between divorcing parents. It wasn't her fault that she'd been used as a piece on the chess board of high level admiralty politics but they certainly seemed to be willing to punish her for it all the same. Bill's warning before the meeting had been to just grit her teeth and bear it with the knowledge that the worst had already been squashed behind the scenes. She had gone in with only a marginal amount of trust in that analysis.

"No good deed goes unpunished, hm?" Logan leaned down to peer at her hands dangling at her side. "Knuckle raps or did they pull out the big guns? Still have a ship or will you be slumming it with yours truly again?"

"Still have a ship but was told in very clear language that I better be on my best behavior or I'd end up in this Hellhole permanently," she commented dryly, waving towards the building behind her vaguely.

"That seems rather generous of them. I assume there's a catch?"

"Oh, no. They were extremely benevolent. I only have to complete a 40 hour refresher on policy and procedure, prior to launch, and 80 hours of command recertification during our mission. And whatever other benevolent tasks they think of in the meantime," Tyra answered, dropping down to the next step.

"Ah yes, bringing down the hammer of policy to crush you into a mold. I'd advise you don't drink the offered Kool Aid or agree to the lobotomy," Logan offered with a wider grin, nudging her with his elbow.

"If it's not coffee flavored, you know I'm not accepting it," she answered, bumping her shoulder into his and offering the first hint of a smile.

"Don't say it too loud or they'll figure out a way," he warned good naturedly. "Speaking of coffee, how about a final act of rebellion before you become a model captain with the required stick installed? I happen to know a place with very generous pours of...enhanced coffee," Logan suggested, offering her his arm with a sweeping gesture as they reached the bottom step.

"Enhanced, huh? Sounds like exactly what a model officer would drink at 1000 on a Tuesday," she laughed before grabbing his arm and giving it a tiny tug.

"Absolutely, ma'am. They don't have me working out of the finest closet in Security HQ for no reason."

Logan briefly tapped her hand, a reassuring gesture, before he tugged her in the direction of an establishment she knew pretty well. It would be okay to let Logan distract her for a few hours from what felt like an insurmountable hole but she knew she could only ignore this mess for so long.

"Do you remember that one time--"

== ETL ==