Earth

[Paul]

==

[Tyra Crawford]

== Six Weeks into Admin Leave ==

== El Patron, San Antonio, Texas, North America ==

Tyra had never considered herself to be a prideful person. Confident, yes but pride was a tricky thing. It was a slippery slope, an over confidence that inevitably led downhill. And yet, Tyra felt like it was her pride that was hurt the most by the hearing.

Sensibly, she had known what she was walking into and had accepted that they were taking the best route for everyone. But knowing and feeling weren't synonyms so while she rationally understood, there was a part of her that felt crushed when the admiralty had handed down administrative leave as her punishment with no definitive ending.

How could she of all people have fallen quite so far? Or that's what her pride asked.

She'd been told through unofficial channels that her leave would most likely last 16 weeks because apparently, that was the punishment befitting someone that used unauthorized means to succeed on an authorized mission.

In the wake of her situation beginning to become public knowledge, she'd gotten a burst of communications from individuals near and far. Some were obviously looking for juicy details on how a war hero and virtual golden child had fallen from her pedestal. Others were genuinely checking in, hoping to draw her out of whatever spiral might come from her leave.

It was a message in the latter category that had drawn her to El Patron. There wasn't a world where she'd turn down Logan or Steve for lunch and certainly a not a world where she'd turn them both down, though she suspected there was an ulterior motive behind the invitation.

That was all but confirmed when she'd arrived to find not two but three men seated at the table. Upon arrival, she'd been enveloped in a warm, tight hug from Logan as if his hulking form would protect her from the world at large while Steve settled for a more subtle hug but she'd still taken note of the third figure.

She'd recognized him immediately, even as he introduced himself politely as Nathan Harden. His hair was silver now and he'd put on a little weight with age but he was still recognizable from when he'd marched around SF Academy some 20 years earlier with cadets scattering out of fear of his mere shadow.

Oh, she knew why he was present almost immediately but he had the good decency to stay quiet on the matter as they ordered food and drinks, conversation flowing over what each party had been up to. Of course, they danced around Tyra's situation but there were enthused questions about Evie's recent endeavors.

They ate and drank, laughter punctuating the conversation as stories were told and fingers pointed over the blame for such stories. Even with the real purpose for lunch seemingly looming still, Tyra couldn't deny the way her heart seemed to unclench in the presence of Logan and Steve.

Even when their food was long gone and coffee was ordered, she couldn't find it in her heart to go to red alert, even knowing what was coming. After all, she had to believe the two men had her best interest at heart and maybe, she needed to trust that to someone else for the moment while she licked her wounds.

"Do you remember me?" Nate finally asked, his eyebrow twitching slightly as he watched he rover his coffee.

"Of course. How could I forget that man that singlehandedly made cadets quake in their boots at the mere mention of a leaning rest? Not to mention, you've done very well for yourself in retirement," she commented, her tone non-chalant as she watched him back. "Trident is nothing to snub your nose at."

He looked delighted for a moment that she knew of Trident but she wasn't certain there was anyone within the upper echelons of the security field that wasn't aware of Trident. Harden had taken a storied career in security and speared it into a company, known for both its training capabilities but also it's capable contractors. They were quite renowned for their protection capabilities, whether that be convoy or personnel.

"Trident has been a labor of love for some years and I am always looking to improve and grow. We're currently working on expanding our private search and rescue arm, the third prong of the Trident so to speak."

Her arched eyebrow must have given away her skepticism because he quickly raised his hands. "Hear me out, please. I don't know the exact details of your situation but I have it on very good authority that you might be looking for a new home for your skill set. I'm not asking you to spearhead a SAR team, unless that's what you want, but I think it would be a terrible waste for someone of your experience to just slip into the shadows because of politics. Hell, I think you could teach a better class than some of my best instructors without leaving your couch. "

She didn't feel it but her expression must have softened slightly as he seemed slightly encouraged by her demeanor. "Let me, at least, explain my idea before you shoot me down, okay?"

Her head nodded ever so slightly and she saw him relax and reach for his coffee before he began speaking.

== TBC ==

[Tyra Crawford]

== Trident Training Facility - Mayhill, New Mexico, North America ==

There was a light breeze shifting through the scattered pine trees, offering some reprieve from the warmth of the sun high overhead. The designers of the training facility had done an excellent job of utilizing what they could to create shaded areas and in a high desert, it made all the difference.

Logan and Tyra had spent most of the morning climbing and hiking through Trident's large training facility. There were features and capabilities available that would make even the most impassive security officer's mouth water and there was a bit of a "kid at Christmas" energy bouncing between the two as their tour continued.

While there were the expected holosuites, used to simulate a great number of training exercises, the company had refused to fall into the hole of utilizing them for everything, citing concerns for training scars in a known and protected environment. They'd found ways to simulate shuttle crashes, overthrown governments and the aftermath of natural disasters through their impressive compound. There were firearm ranges and driving courses, simulated villages and cities, and even a Cicero-class escort grounded to prepare contractors and students for close quarters operations.

There were also areas set up as what Logan had called them "Arcades for Big Kids with Guns" that resembled shooting galleries or moving obstacles.

It was impressive to say the least and Tyra had found he

"I hope she's lived up to the hype. We've got a second facility on Luna but this is our pride and joy," Nate explained, his grin holding an easy and evident pride at the fruit of his labor.

"I still need to walk you through the Lodge and HQ building. Oh and the classrooms. If I may say so myself, the Lodge is a sight to behold," his grin was infectious as Tyra felt her lips pulling into a matching grin. "Our visiting instructors live there during courses so you might finding yourself within stumbling distance of three fully stocked bars if you play your cards right."

"Where do I sign up?" Logan joked, nudging her gently with a grin of his own.

"I told you; I'm not opposed to a package deal," Nate answered easily, his sharp eyes shifting to watch Tyra closely. She'd caught that gaze on more than one occasion during their tour as if he was trying to determine how successful he was being.

"I was very serious when I said your role is yours to create. If you want to direct the search and rescue arm and teach some classes, it's yours. If you want to lead a team and coordinate everything on it, it's yours. Hell, I'll take you teaching a class or two a month; I just can't in good conscience let you waste years of experience by just slipping into retirement."

She hummed her understanding with a non-committal shrug. "I know that I've been known for some of my more impulsive and rash decisions, especially during those way back when days, but I don't don't make unilateral decisions in my personal life."

"Take all the time you need, as long as the answer is 'yes'," he said the last with a wink before he motioned them to follow him towards what looked like a valley that ran along the edge of the facility.

"I assume you've heard of the Coliseum?" He asked, his grin having taken on an almost wicked gleam to it.

The exchanged look between Logan and Tyra left little doubt that they knew exactly what the Coliseum was. It had been replicated many times over in holodecks and other training facilities but it was the ultimate test of team movements and tactics. Tyra had run replicas of it with four to six man teams and even then, it was difficult the amount of communication that was needed. However, this was the original.

"When I'm evaluating instructors, we always run them through it. Particularly the Gauntlet section. If you're up to the challenge, we can run you as a two man team. The times are on the board... It's a tight timeline and well, it usually takes people a couple of runs to get there but I'd love to see how you two fare."

Tyra didn't even get a chance to respond before Logan's rare enthusiasm caught up with him. She wasn't sure she'd ever seen his eyes that wide, well maybe one other time but that had been for a very different reason. "Oh Hell yes, we will. Just point me to the gear."

The redhead offered a grin and a shrug. "The man has spoken. Who am I to deny him his chance at glory?"

Nate's grin might have been larger than Logan's as he clapped her on the shoulder and steered her towards the weapons locker. "You won't regret this, I promise."

== TBC ==

[Benjamin Elias]

<<DS9/Promenade<<

==Several weeks later, shortly before Artemis launch==
==Starfleet Security HQ, San Francisco, Earth==

==Now all you merry blacksmiths, a warning take by me/
Stick to your country horseshoes and your anchors for the sea./
When the gods of war come calling, promising you gold/
They'll take your hammer, take your anvil, take your very soul!==

Benjamin was tired. Tired of being in prison, tired of not knowing what was going on, tired of the entire proceeding.

He was moved from DS9 to Earth on what had to have been the slowest ship in the fleet - nearly a month and a half worth of transit. There had been little to no conversation the entire way, as none of the crew wanted to speak to him, his lawyer had taken a much faster ship, and he didn’t feel like he could call his family as often as he needed to talk.

He was done. Too bad the system wasn’t done with him.

The door opened and LCdr Rabb walked in, set down her case, and gave him a smile. “So, I’ve got good news for you,” she said, “if you’re in the mood.”

He let out a sigh and a strangled chuckle, shaking his head at her somehow indefatigable good mood. “Good to see you too. It's been too long. I’ve done well, how’re you?”

For the first time since he’d known her - not long, of course, but still - she was wrong-footed. “I’m sorry,” she said, and set the padd she’d been brandishing aside. “I know it's been a long trip, but I’ve been working on your case as hard as possible. I know that left you alone, and I apologize for that, but it was unavoidable.”

Benjamin nodded, adding “Thank you.” He briefly considered saying something else, but refrained, instead going back to the prepared path. “So, what’s this good news, then?”

She smiled and gave a nod, picking the padd back up. “So, I’ve been in talks with the prosecutor. He’s been talking a very good game, but one thing is very obvious: he’s got holes in his case you could drive a Galaxy-class through.”

“That is good news,” he replied. “I presume? I know absolutely nothing about any of this.”

“It is good,” she said, “because it means that if we actually went to trial, he couldn’t prove most of the charges. He could likely drive home the conduct charge, and the substance charge will be fairly easy. But the meat of the case, the Treaty of Algeron violations? All he’s really got is your word and the statements of a couple of crewmen who were involved in a mutiny on the Philadelphia.”

“A mutiny?”

“Don’t ask,” she said; “you really don’t want to know.” She paced around the table a bit, holding the padd against her other palm. “But the upshot is, they’re consequently unreliable at best and damaging to his case at worst - which they will be once I get to cross-examine them - and so he doesn’t particularly want to try it.”

“So, I’m off the hook?” Benjamin asked, still out of his depth.

“Unfortunately no,” she said. “Like I said, he’s got the substance and conduct charges locked up. You know it, too - given our review of your history, with all of that having been in the record for him to access as well, there’s just no chance he doesn’t get those through no matter what I do to the rest of his case. If we go to trial, you will be guilty on those counts, and there’s always a chance that the court will, for any number of reasons, still find you guilty on the Algeron charges.

“Now, to get to the good news,” she said abruptly, and set the padd down in front of him. “Because he knows he has only a slim chance on the Algeron charges, and he’s as frustrated at the politicians ramming it down his throat as we are, he’s offered us a deal. He’ll drop the treaty violations if we plead guilty to the remaining two charges.”

“So,” Benjamin said, looking down at the padd, “I’m still going to prison? I wouldn’t exactly call that good news.”

Rabb’s smile softened, a touch of sadness hitting her face. “Ben,” she said. “I’m a good lawyer. But part of that is knowing when the deck is stacked against you and there’s no way out. This is probably not far off of what you would have gotten if we did go through the trial, but the risk of some political factor getting involved and making it worse is significant, even if it's far from assured.

“This way,” she said, “you can at least control the variables and get an assured result. And like I said, there’s only so much I can do for you.” She put a hand on the padd, and nodded. “It’s a little harsher than I’d like, but it’s the best I can do. I suggest you take it.”

Benjamin looked down at the padd, reading through it. He felt numb, really. He’d somehow still had hope that he’d get out of this unscathed - other than what Tyra would do to him on his return, of course - but now… now that hope was gone.

For a moment, he felt like he had before he joined Starfleet. When Captain Colso had picked up his escape pod on the Tzenkethi border, nearly a week of hunger and enforced sobriety having driven him past rage and into self-recrimination and self-doubt. Aitrus had presented him with a choice: he could be turned in for serving on a smuggling crew, or he could join Starfleet and better himself.

And for a while, he’d felt like it had worked. He’d truly become a better person, or so he thought. Now, after all of this… now he wasn’t so sure. Maybe this is what I deserve, he thought. Maybe I should’ve just let him throw me in the brig and on into prison, saved us all the trouble.

“Let me think on it,” he told her, and picked up the padd, still only barely seeing the contents.

“Alright,” she said gently. “You don’t have to decide just yet; prosecutor didn’t set a deadline. I’ll come back tomorrow and we can talk some more, if that’s okay?” Benjamin nodded, and she packed her things and left.

Alone, Benjamin stared at the padd, and tried to decide his future once more.

==And it’s sparks a’flying/
Passions strong/
I am the blacksmith singing/
The hammer and the anvil song.
—The Longest Johns, “Hammer and Anvil Song”==

[Tyra Crawford]

== Kintla Lake, Montana, North America. ==

Even in the dead of summer, the water was ice cold. It had taken about 30 seconds for Tyra to register that after plunging headfirst into the crystal clear water but after the effort to get there, it had been sweet relief.

She'd pulled herself up onto one of the rocks on the shoreline to dry off, her feet still dangling into the cold water. The sun was warm on her skin, soothing an ache that seemed to have settled under her breastbone for the last few weeks.

Alex had tried to prepare her for the hearing but she wasn't sure anything could have prepared her for that gut punch. She'd been placed on administrative leave the moment she left Artemis but being placed on indefinite leave without pay had felt different. She could still hear the Admiral's droning voice as he handed down her punishment -- leave without pay for a term to be decided and refresher command course -- and she could still feel the way her stomach had dropped and knotted.

She'd immediately completed the demanded command refresher, finishing it in 3 days when it was scheduled for 5 days, and then, she'd been left to her own devices for 7 and a half weeks.

And those seven and half weeks had a mixed bag. There were days where she embraced the break, enjoying the time with the kids and Thomas as well as her family, but there were days where the listlessness and the lack of direction ate at her. On days like today, it felt like there were endless roads in front of her with each option as unknown as the next.

Oh, there were days when she knew, where her half written letter of resignation was pulled up and polished. It had been rewritten no less than ten times and it would probably be reworked another ten before she finalized it. Because there were also days where it felt like she needed that uniform like a piece of armor, where her soul told her it wasn't over yet, but there were just as many days where that uniform felt suffocating and impossible. Yet none of those feelings were consistent; they ebbed and flowed like the tide.

Her eyes were closed behind a pair of sunglasses when she heard the slightest crunch of rock under a boot.

"Oh, you finally decided to join me, hm?" She called out, her voice almost a purr as a content smile curled her lips. "I hope you--"

Her voice dropped off as the visitor stopped, their long shadow just barely falling over her. It was oddly hesitant for her husband and when she cracked an eye open and rolled over ever so slightly to look up, she quickly realized that it wasn't her husband at all.

She didn't scramble to her feet in embarrassment at the interruption or her current state of dress. Instead she rolled back over, watching over the top of her glasses as Bill Anderson tried to astutely keep his eyes on the mountains above her with a towel held loosely in hand.

"Bill..." she greeted, her tone informal as if they were peers or even friends.

"Kitty," he greeted, using her childhood nickname rather effortlessly though his expression lacked the easy smile it normally did. She supposed that was how he and her father referred to her when they spoke. It was definitely how he and Kat had referred to her years earlier.

She idly wondered what Bill saw when he looked at her. Did he still think of her as the young, precocious girl that used the shuttle bay as her personal jungle gym or the awkward young teenager that hung on his every word due to a misplaced crush? Or the grinning, proud young cadet he'd given a bear hug to at her graduation? Or did he see her as Kat's ghost? There were times when Bill, ever the faithful officer to her father from his years as at helm through his ascension to first officer, had been a more present figure in her life than her own father. He'd tried to bridge the gap when the two had been at their worst and while she wouldn't say he was the reason they'd since developed a strong bond, Bill was likely why the bond had survived at all, even at it's most tattered.

The towel hit her squarely in the chest when he tossed it and there was the slightest of petulant eye rolls as she grabbed it, rolling into an upright position and wrapping it around her shoulders to protect his delicate sensibility.

"Have you turned in your letter?" He asked, not even bothering to beat around any bush. No explanation for how he located her but she could only assume he'd gone through her father or Thomas to find her.

"No, not yet," she answered, her sunglasses likely hiding her eyebrow arch from his view but no doubt, he knew it was there.

"Good," he answered simply, his hand stretching out with a PADD that must have been hidden under the towel.

"Bill..." It was low, almost a warning.

"You're still commissioned so you're subject to orders just like everyone else, Tyra."

It was another simple statement, concise and true, but there had been an amusement just at the edge that caught her attention. He was playing at something, whether it was pleasure at giving a headstrong officer orders they couldn't refuse or something else she didn't know. Bill had never been much for games, though she did remember the mischievous young officer who had conspired with her regularly. However, she assumed years of wearing a box on his collar had likely killed that spark.

Her eyes flickered to the PADD with a wariness that suggested she thought it might bite her. "I'm tired of being used and abused. And if you're cutting my leave at 8 weeks and 2 days, I can only assume that PADD has an assignment that is a continuation of this Hell."

His shoulders shifted a little as he stepped forward, motioning for her to shift over so he could join her on the edge of the rock.

"Did I ever tell you how hard it was to give up my last command?" At her tiny shake of her head, he continued. "I never wanted to be chained to a desk, much less at HQ, but if I didn't, they'd just select another 'yes, man' incapable of independent thought. The kind of admiral I'd watched leave people high and dry for most of my career. So I gave it up with the hope I could make a difference somewhere. It's been hit and miss but I think I've done more good than harm."

There was more to it, she knew. He'd taken that desk job three months before Kat had died and Tyra had no doubt he'd done so to be closer to her aunt, not knowing that clock was edging ever closer to midnight.

She was silent for a moment, her eyes shifting from the mountains to him before nodding at the PADD. "Is that what that is? I'm HQ bound?" She tried to keep her voice steady but she heard the barest crack on the last question.

He chuckled. "No, though I know there are definitely elements that want you to end up there under close supervision and if you don't take this lifeline, I don't think there will be much stopping them. For what it's worth, I think you could do good work in the ivory tower, she managed to."

She continued to stare at the PADD, which dangled loosely from where his hand folded over his knee. She just couldn't seem to bring herself to reach for it.

"I have known you since you were knee high to a grasshopper and I have watched you grow into a formidable officer willing to make the hard decisions and bear the consequences. That doesn't mean you should have to, not unreasonably. There's things I can control and things I can't but I can at least make sure you land on your feet, somewhere your experience matters. If you'll trust me," he answered her silent question, pausing a second before offering her the PADD again.

The PADD felt heavy in her hand even as she thumbed the screen on and looked at the orders on it. Her brow furrowed slight as she reread and then, looked up at him. "These are just transit orders. Where's the positional orders?"

"Baby steps. The USS Fairview leaves at 0700 tomorrow and you need to be on it. You'll get further orders closer to your arrival but it's an evolving situation. Just trust me, please."

"A scavenger hunt or ride a desk at HQ. Doesn't sound like I've got another option anyway..."

"I guess it's a good thing the Crawfords are known for their perpetual optimism," Bill teased as he stood up, brushing invisible dust from his pants. "I will leave you to your mountains but I would recommend bringing your old Sierra-Romeo gear. Might prove useful."

Her brows furrowed again as her head dipped to look at the orders again. Not only were they not positional but they also were not tied to a department. Based on his statement, she had to assume she was being assigned to a position that fell under Security HQ but there was no way to tell.

Tyra groaned before flopping back onto the sun tanning rock, just barely catching the tale end of Bill's chuckle before he disappeared. The rock was just as warm but it had lost its soothing ability as frustrating as that was.

No, it seemed her time on the mountain had come to an end. She needed to hike down and go home to talk this out with Thomas. For expediency, she briefly considered stealing Bill's method and beaming out but she needed the time and exertion to work through the situation before she had to explain it to her husband.

Even if I'm rid of my circus, I'm apart of someone else's circus...

>> DS9 - Docking Ring >>

[Benjamin Elias]

==Same day as Artemis launches==
==0900 American Pacific Time
1500 Zulu Time
~1030 Bajoran Time (As observed on DS9), 3 hours after Artemis launch==

==But I told that kid a hundred times, "Don't take the Lakes for granted;
They go from calm to a hundred knots so fast they seem enchanted."
But tonight some red-eyed Wiarton girl lies staring at the wall,
And her lover's gone into the white squall.

--Stan Rogers, “White Squall”, chorus==

Benjamin hated dress uniforms. He tugged at the collar uncomfortably as he entered the courtroom and sat down, LCdr Rabb taking her own seat next to him. He couldn’t believe just how crowded this room was - every seat in the gallery was full, and he could hear more people outside still talking while they waited before shutting the doors.

Even worse, the room had a larger collection of brass in it than he’d seen at the Crawford Ranch shooting range. There were so many admirals in the room that he wondered how the day-to-day work of Starfleet was getting done for a moment before realizing that it was done by the commanders, lieutenants, and ensigns under them.

“Is that,” he said with a start, “the CinC over there?”

Mackenzie turned and looked over her shoulder for a moment before nodding. “Yep,” she said, “talking to the head of the JAG office and… I think that’s Admiral Bill Anderson? I’m not sure, I’ve only seen him once.”

“Why does he care about this? I’m… I’m nobody,” Elias said.

“Because you may be nobody,” she told him, “but there are a lot of moving parts going on. I’m honestly not sure how this is going to go today.”

He couldn’t blame her. He still was wrestling with his choice, and wasn’t sure how it was all going to work out. Part of him thought about his friends - no, his family - back on Artemis, and just how much this was hurting them. He wished he could have done something different, but it was all far, far too late. 

He thought about his sister, his brother, and his father. He had barely been able to speak to them, and if today went like he expected, it was going to be even worse before it got better. If it went badly, like she seemed to think it could - and with all of the brass in the room he couldn’t say she was wrong - it could be even longer.

Why couldn’t you just let it be, he scolded himself for approximately the seven millionth time. But he couldn’t have done that; he had to make sure that the ax didn’t fall on his friends. He had been certain that the book was being thrown, and he’d tried to jump in the way.

“All rise,” the sergeant at arms said, and a door across the room opened up. He saw Rabb stepping back over to her chair from where she’d been speaking with the opposing counsel, and everyone in the room came to attention. There was another thud, this time the doors from the rear of the room closing.

Three more admirals filed in and took their positions, though despite their lofty ranks they didn’t make much of a dent in the average rank of the room. “This general court martial is now in session,” the voice intoned once again, “the honorable Admiral T’Lara presiding.” The Vulcan woman nodded to her compatriots - a human vice admiral and a Bajoran rear admiral on her left and right, respectively - and they sat, followed by everyone else in the room.

“This court is convened in the matter of Starfleet versus Lieutenant Commander Benjamin Elias,” she said as she consulted a padd. “Do you have the charges, counsel?”

The prosecutor - Benjamin half-expected to see another admiral taking the lead but was pleasantly surprised to see it was only a captain - stood up. “I do, your honor,” he said, and stood with a padd. “Starfleet has seen fit to charge Lieutenant Commander Benjamin Elias as follows: Illegal possession and manufacture of a controlled substance, three counts; possession of restricted technology under the Treaty of Algeron, to wit, a Klingon cloaking device; illegal experimentation with a restricted technology under the Treaty of Algeron; failure to report treaty violations, re the Treaty of Algeron; and conduct unbecoming an officer of Starfleet.”

“Thank you, Captain Stern,” she said, and the prosecutor sat down. Benjamin couldn’t help but notice that he looked almost worried as he stole a glance at Rabb, who wore a solemn expression with just the hint of a smirk. He noted that said hint was on the side next to him, where the prosecutor couldn’t see it. “Lieutenant Commander Elias,” the admiral was saying, “do you understand these charges that have been read to you?”

Rabb nodded, and the pair stood. Benjamin nodded, trying not to let the collar of his dress uniform bother him. “Yes, your honor,” he said.

“And how do you plead?”

Benjamin took in a deep breath and let it out over a three-count. Now that it came to it, he almost couldn’t say it. His life was irrevocably changed at this moment, and in some ways over. He wanted to just go and crawl in a hole and not face reality, but that wasn’t an option.

He had no options.

This is where the road has led you, Ben, he thought, whether you like it or not. Your career is over; you’ve done all you can for your friends. This is it.

So just do it and get it done.

“Guilty, your honor.”

Admiral T’Lara quirked an eyebrow and looked back into the room as the brass all began murmuring to each other, the sheer number of them beginning to take over the room. She reached forward and struck the bell placed in front of her, its clear and brassy notes cutting through the din as she called for order once more. “Quiet please,” she asked, and it was given - if not immediately, then at least quickly enough for her approval.

However, before she could say anything, someone hurried forward and handed a padd to Captain Stern, who looked at it and nodded, sending the newcomer scurrying back to their seat. Ben, still standing, saw that it was a rear admiral acting as errand boy, and wondered when his life had become a circus.

“Are we quite ready to proceed, counsel?” T’Lara asked in a tone that seemed level, but in a Vulcan was tantamount to being called directly to the carpet.

Evidently Stern had enough dealings with Vulcans to know the tone, because he stood and looked decidedly uneasy. He looked at the padd again before continuing. “Yes, your honor,” he said. “In light of the defendant’s plea, the state would like to drop the charges of possession of and experimentation with an illegal technology, and failure to report violations of the Treaty of Algeron.”

This time the audience did more than simply murmur. It was almost deafening. Ben couldn’t help but look at Mackenzie, who seemed as shocked as he was. “What’s happening?” he asked her quietly as the Admiral rang the bell again and again.

“I don’t know,” she hissed back, and stood straight as the bell decidedly failed to bring order to the room.

“Quiet, please!” the human vice admiral on the board was saying, standing up and almost yelling into the room. The bell kept ringing, but the call for silence finally broke through and the room quieted back down.

“Thank you,” T’Lara said, setting down the small rod she had used on the bell before stopping it with her hand. “This is highly unusual, Captain Stern,” she said into the silence. “Do you have a reason for this last-moment change?”

He swallowed and looked back over his shoulder. Ben followed his gaze and saw no less a personage than the CinC just slowly shaking his head. Stern looked back forward and replied, “No, ma’am. I am simply following the directives given me.”

T’Lara looked between the prosecutor and the man at the back of the room, an eyebrow quirked high once again. “Very well,” she said. “Does the state have a sentencing recommendation to accompany Mr. Elias’s plea?”

Stern picked up another padd, and opened a new file. “Yes, your honor. In light of our… changed list of charges,” he said with less surety than the man seemed accustomed to, “our recommendation is a minimum of two years incarceration at a facility of the court’s choosing.”

T’Lara nodded, and then leaned in to listen to the admirals on the left and right of her, before they all nodded in agreement. The Bajoran rear admiral leaned forward and began to speak.

“In light of the prosecutor’s recommendation,” he stated in an almost sepulchral tone, “and the remaining charges against Mr. Elias, and in light of his years of service and his prior record, this court sentences you to two years incarceration without parole. However, a minimum of the first six months of this will be served at the Proxima Centauri III rehabilitation facility, where you will undergo treatment for alcoholism. Once you have been deemed rehabilitated from this, you will be transferred to serve the remainder of your sentence at another facility to be determined at that time.”

“Once you have served your sentence,” the human vice admiral picked up, “you are to be dishonorably discharged from Starfleet. Do you understand this sentencing, Mr. Elias?”

Ben nodded, his heart heavy and his shoulders sagging. “Yes, your honors,” he said, “I do.”

“Let it be noted,” Admiral T’Lara said, “that this court wishes you well in your recovery and in your future life, Mr. Elias.” She made eye contact with someone in the back of the room, an inscrutable Vulcan expression on her face. Ben thought it best not to turn to find out who, exactly, she was looking at. A heartbeat, then two, and she turned her focus once again back to the front. The bell rang, and the board stood. “This court is adjourned,” she said. “Sergeant at arms, please take the prisoner into custody.”

Ben nodded and turned to Mackenzie as the enlisted security came up to him. “Thank you for your work, Commander,” he told her. “I know you didn’t get to do much…”

She smiled and nodded. “You would be surprised how many trials wind up just like this,” she said. “Well, not just like this. But pretty close.” She offered a hand, and Ben shook it heartily. “Like the Admiral said, I wish you luck, Commander-- no,” she corrected herself, “Mister Elias. Get past the alcohol, and I think you could do whatever you put your mind to.”

“Please,” he said as he turned to walk with his jailers, “just call me Ben.”


==Ten Years Later==
==Somewhere between Vulcan and Andoria==

Ben smiled as he stood on the deck of the Fiddler’s Green, looking at the front screen as the stars streaked by. It was a small ship, a cargo hauler, but it was his, and he couldn’t be happier.

“What’re you thinking?”

Ben turned and smiled at Maria, who had just walked up behind him. She leaned down and hugged him, nestling her head on his shoulder and staring at the stars with him. “Oh, just how glad I am to be back in space.”

“So, same thing as every run?” she asked. “I swear, you are a very simple man.” She kissed him as he laughed, and she walked over to one of the consoles on the bridge’s wall.

“Yes,” he said, “I am indeed.” Fiddler’s Green was an old ship, constantly breaking down, but the shipments they carried - luxury goods in the heart of Federation territory - kept them flying, and kept them happy and together.

He thought back to meeting Maria, back at the rehab facility on Proxima Centauri III. She’d been under treatment for PTSD after the Frontier Day attacks by the Borg had left her so mentally scarred that she had shot and killed a fellow officer after being surprised on an away mission. He’d helped her recover, and she’d given him something to focus on to help him finally beat his alcohol addiction.

He had been able to petition the court to let him serve out his full sentence there at the rehab facility, where he’d become a trustee for the back half of his term. They were discharged together, and had gotten married less than a year afterwards.

“Uh oh,” she said, and turned back towards him. “Looks like we’ve got an imbalance in the port plasma injector.”

He stood and stretched, walking over to the console with her. He looked at the warning, and pulled up a set of readings. “Yeah,” he said, barely suppressing a grin. “Looks like she’s getting cranky again.”

“When are we going to get a newer ship?” she asked with a smile.

“When she finally keels over,” he told Maria, and gave her a deep kiss. “And not a minute before.”

He turned and started walking away, and felt her looking after him, shaking her head. “Need anything?”

He turned, walking backwards through the door and towards the cramped ship’s engine room. “Not a thing, beautiful,” he said. “I’ve got all that I need.”

==But when I get back onto the shore
I’m going South where it stays warm
And there’ll be someone on my arm
To help me spend my pay
So I’ll take it from day to day.

--Stan Rogers, "Take it From Day to Day"==

==Fin==