“Have they lost their damn minds?”  Captain Peter Crawford stared at the screen in his ready room where Fleet Captain Geronimo Fontana stood.  He’d finished reporting on a small group of civilians who had departed the station early that morning.  Crawford was apocalyptic, “They’re going to try and establish relations with the Sheliak Corporate?”

Geronimo’s face reflected his fury, “In their words – they’re going to do what we’ve failed to do for all these hundreds of years.  Their filed flight plan is a lie – we were able to ascertain their true intention, but we were not fast enough to prevent them from departing.”

Peter asked, “How long and how fast?”

“They’re four weeks out at their maximum speed, so have plenty of time to catch up with them.  Your orders are to talk with them and see if you can persuade them with facts about what will happen to them if they decide to go through with this.”

“And if I can’t change their minds?”

“They’re not sanctioned for any diplomatic operation, and we’ve sent messages ahead to the Sheliak Corporate to inform them that we do not support their actions.  I don’t expect a response from them, and I think they’ll just as soon tear the fools apart and move on.”  Crawford watched the Montana Station CO shake his head, “The group is convinced the Federation has missed several things in their attempts to connect with them.  Everyone knows what happens if they cross the border, except for them.  Attempt to further dissuade them, see if you can offer some engineering help – there are plenty of repairs and issues with the ships they’re flying.  If they still refuse to listen to reason – we’ll have to evaluate if we get to that point.”

“Understood.  We’ll get underway.”  The channel closed, and Crawford was left to wonder.

“All departments reporting ready, sir.”  Lieutenant Grace Albright stood at attention, eyes straight ahead and jaw set. Her position as Executive Officer brought her mixed joy.

Crawford sat forward at his ready room desk. “Anything to note?”  He watched her fight her feelings.

“Nothing out of the ordinary, sir.”  Peter pushed a slight frown onto his face, studying her carefully.  This was their first meeting – her assignment had come fast, and her duties were assigned quickly as they prepared to depart on their hastily organized mission.

“Permission to speak freely, Lieutenant Albright.”

It was her turn to frown, “Sir?”

“You heard me, Lieutenant.”

Grace stared at Peter Crawford.  Her read of him was based solely on her experience with him as the XO for Montana Station.  His reputation as no-nonsense was starting to make sense.  She spoke slowly as she measured her words, “I am not happy being demoted, sir.  From director to deputy director sends a certain signal.”

Peter cocked his head to the side, “You are aware of Commander Hargraves’s qualifications.”

“I am.”

“That doesn’t change your feelings about your assignment change?”

Grace clenched and unclenched her fists at her side, “The reasons for the change have been explained to me.  I simply disagree with the facts as presented.”  Her face bloomed in frustration.

Crawford tapped at the console on his desk, and her dossier appeared on the screen.  He gestured to the chair, “Please sit.”  She looked as if she would refuse but caught the severe look he was preparing to cast in her direction and sat down.  He continued, “You are thirty years old, Lieutenant Albright.  Your assignment to Montana was not one of chance.  The discipline record that preceded you suggests you’ve had a rather curious relationship with authority.”

Her balled fists tightened again.  Part of her wanted to stand up, throw her badge, and rank pips onto the desk.  Storming out, she’d throw down a final riposte and find the first transport home.  The other part of her realized there might be another way.  Grace was hard-pressed to argue with the record displayed on the screen.  She had pushed up against her commanding officers and disobeyed direct orders on diplomatic missions – her eyes searched the record on the screen.  She hadn’t looked at it, content in her ignorance.  Reading it under the intense watch of her new CO, an inkling of understanding took root.  “Looking at it…it’s not an outstanding example of a successful officer in the diplomatic corps.”  She released her hands, feeling some of the pressure subsiding.  “I cannot lie – I am unhappy with my position, Captain Crawford.”  She chewed on the inside of her cheek, a tightness developing in her chest.  She finished, “I’m willing to admit part of my current situation may rest on me.”  She felt her face redden again, this time with embarrassment.

Peter waited for her eyes to meet his own, and it took her a few minutes to push her head up and direct her attention to him.  “We’ll discuss how much and the size of that part shortly.”  His eyes bored into hers, “Do not mistake me, Lieutenant Albright – your position in Montana Squadron is balanced delicately on your performance.  This mission is not an alien culture that will show off your talent for linguistics.  You are fully qualified and rated for this mission.  I expect that you will do your level best to keep these people from certain death…and prevent us from creating a diplomatic incident.”  He closed her dossier, “You will not let your animus with your position influence your duty.  Clear?”

Grace replied with a tight nod, “Yes, sir.  Understood.”

“Take your station on the bridge.  We’re leaving.”  He stood and walked out of his ready room. Albright scrambled from shock to action, running to catch up with him as he stepped onto the bridge.  She slid into her station at the rear of the bridge at the station to the right of the command chair.  Grace adjusted her uniform and focused her attention on the console.  She’d had her duty.  She sure as hell better do it.

Peter tapped the shipwide channel button on the arm of the center chair.  The shipwide speakers sounded out the classic boatswain whistle.  “This is your captain speaking – all hands, departure stations.”  He closed the channel and sat in the chair for the first time.  Master Chief Christopher Grace had done well – the chair felt like it should.  Crawford smiled and gave his next order, “Ensign Markell, signal Montana Station for departure permission.”  The young officer spoke into his headset and turned with a nod to the CO.  They were cleared.

Crawford turned his attention to his Chief Flight Control officer at the front of the bridge, “Lieutenant Helsing, clear all moorings.”  The Ambassador class starship’s tethers, umbilicals, and docking platform jerked away with a jump and began returning to the Canopus Class station.  The senior staff on the bridge watched it all in awe.  For many of them, this was their first posting, and the sights and sounds of a departure were a moment to remember.

Saffron Helsing allowed a small smile as the classic starship pulled away from the station and towards open space.  This command had been her only choice.  The fast pace of her previous assignments had gnawed at her patience and shredded her nerves.  This felt like a place of peace.  She tapped at her console, pushing the smile off her lips, “We are free and clear to navigate, captain.”

Peter felt a gentle warmth in his stomach.  There was something about the first new order on a new ship—the start of the next big journey into the next big mission.  His smile was reserved but visible, “Plot an intercept course for the convoy – warp eight.  Engage when ready.”

A moment later, the Franklin D. Roosevelt jumped into warp.