“Be Careful What You Wish For”

[Col. C.E. Harper 0]

“Be Careful What You Wish For”

Harper Log 05.02.07

September 1, 2397

Somewhere in the Perseus Arm

 

Be careful what you wish for…

 

Standing in the – her Ready Room, staring out the arching viewports at the little ship beside them and the stars beyond, Harper felt the old saw drumming through her skull. She was waiting for Day and JoNs to join her so that the chief of security could brief them on the interrogation of the Soltan prisoners, and so that she could question Day about the operation on the other ship. The one she hadn’t gone on, because she had a ship to command.

 

If she’d thought balancing the duties of first officer and battalion commander was difficult, it was nothing to this. She had finally given in, over the month when they picked up the pieces from the Gladion affair, and removed herself from the 139th’s rotations, as the others had been suggesting. Not that she had thought Paradox would mis-manage it, and lord knew Troll was ready to step up to the company command thus opened, but…

 

Her eyes refocused on her own reflection in the transparisteel windows. It was faint; only her face and hands showed clear against the starry backdrop. The rest was dark-on-dark, black slacks and charcoal top, a flash of gold at her left breast and silver on the right. Shipboard greys, of course; the tunic that was the same as Fleet uniforms, except that someone sensible had rejected the bright primaries in favor of the color that was no-color. When was the last time she had worn fatigues on duty? The last time she put on armor except in training? Desk job…

 

Except that it wasn’t, for all that she enjoyed griping about the paddwork. Practically speaking, she’d done more of that as first officer; all the little things that didn’t require the captain’s attention or approval, all the long reports that came to her to be vetted before being passed upwards, summarized, or filed. No, starship command was hardly a desk job, and certainly not when the ship was lost thousands of light-years from home in hostile space. It only felt that way because she wasn’t getting her hands dirty anymore; because she was stuck leading from behind, which rankled.

 

To think she’d once dreamed of captaining a starship, whenever she was taking a break from the endless round of study for the Academy entrance exams. And once the acceptance came, once she was in the long-coveted cadet uniform at last – those were grey now, too, she recalled, though lighter than the marine tunic; in her day they’d still had the red yoke – she’d had five months to spin those fantasies, five months to imagine hearing ‘Captain Harper’ from a crew of her own. Even if that dream had sometimes seemed unlikely…

 

 

Starfleet Academy – 2377

 

“Cadet, your team’s orders were to approach the target on foot, were they not?”

 

“Yes, Commander,” Harper replied steadily.

 

“Would you care to explain why you took to the trees? The others report that the arboreal approach was your idea.”

 

“Cadet Harper, would you explain why your simulator has been reprogrammed without authorization?”

 

“Cadet, would you care to explain why you opted to describe the Picard Maneuver as ‘antiquated beyond practical usefulness’?”

 

“Cadet Harper? Would you care to – ” Harper cringed reflexively at the opening, and the voice broke off. “I’m sorry, I should at least introduce myself first, shouldn’t I?” She turned around to see a young officer – perhaps in his early 30s – standing with hand outstretched. He wore, in addition to an easy smile, a uniform whose division shirt nearly blended into the grey of the jacket yoke. “I’m Major Donovan,” he said.

 

Uncertain whether to snap to attention or shake the offered hand, she wound up trying to do both, and hoped she didn’t look as stupid as she felt. “Pleased to meet you, Major,” she replied, attempting to recover some poise.

 

His smile broadened. “At ease, Cadet,” he told her, squeezing her hand with a firm, friendly pressure. “I’d just like to have a chat with you. Shall we walk?” He indicated the path before them.

 

“Er…. Yes, sir,” Harper stammered ungracefully, turning mechanically to walk beside him. “Um, what did you want to talk about, sir?”

 

“Your future.” He graced her with a wide grin. “I understand you’re developing a bit of a reputation.”

 

She felt her cheeks warm. The notion that she was being discussed among officers she’d never even met made her want to crawl under a bed and not come out until graduation. “It’s just the one reprimand,” she protested, not really believing it herself. “Lots of cadets – ”

 

Donovan’s chuckle stopped her. “Cadet, are you under the impression that it’s a bad reputation?” he asked wryly.

 

Harper ducked her head, muttering, “Well, the amount of time I’m spending in Admiral Brandt’s office…”

 

The chuckling morphed into full, rich laughter. “That’s about your record, Harper, not your reputation,” he said when he’d gotten control of himself. His eyes still twinkled at her.

 

She frowned into them, confused. “Sir?”

 

“Simplistically – your record is how well you follow orders. Your reputation is how well you get the job done.” He settled on one of the benches lining the path, motioning her to join him. “You need some work on the former, but you’re doing quite well with the latter,” he continued as she sat. “What you need to learn – what Admiral Brandt and your instructors have been trying to drum into you – is consequence assessment. You’ve been operating on the principle that it’s easier to ask forgiveness than permission; it’s not a bad theory, but it doesn’t always apply.”

 

She considered that for a long moment, trying to remember if she’d ever heard it put quite that way. “With all due respect, sir,” she began hesitantly, “you didn’t come to talk to me about my behavior, I think?”

 

“Well, peripherally,” Donovan replied. “But you’re right. Have you picked a course track yet, Harper?”

 

“Command,” she replied immediately, and he nodded.

 

“Not unexpected. Your instructors say you’ve got a knack for getting people to go along with you. You do realize you’ll be running a lot of flying desk missions, though?”

 

She kicked glumly at a stone from the path. “My advisor warned me about that,” she admitted. “But if that’s what’s needed… Besides, Commander Fa’alt says that with the war recovery, even the security officers are pulling administrivia duty.”

 

“Very true.” The major stretched out his long legs, crossing booted feet at the ankles. “The war recovery is consuming everyone’s attention right now, ours included.” He glanced sideways at her. “You know the Marines are expanding, of course?”

 

Harper nodded. “Yes, sir. Because the Dominion War taught us the necessity of maintaining a trained and ready infantry, even in this age of space warfare.”

 

“A textbook answer.” Donovan signed and looked out across the landscaped grounds. “Frankly, Cadet, the Dominion War was an embarrassment. We discovered that we’d become too accustomed to the quick skirmish and the fleets facing off; we weren’t equipped to fight an entrenched war.”

 

She looked at him in surprise; surely this wasn’t a sentiment usually shared with cadets? It seemed disloyal, somehow, and yet it was merely truth, present between the lines of the ‘textbook’ answer she had so glibly offered. But she had never heard it voiced aloud.

 

“You’re wondering why I’m telling you this,” Donovan said. “I haven’t started babbling, Cadet; I wasn’t you to understand where I’m coming from here. In a lot of ways the Marines are starting from scratch; the token forces we used to have… well, we haven’t really been a viable service since before Khitomer. Now Starfleet wants us on every border outpost, and mobile units assigned to starships… it’s a massive recruiting job.”

 

He paused, and turned to study her while she sat waiting expectantly, a glimmer of a notion growing in her mind… “To facilitate that,” he said abruptly, “they’ve made it simpler to transfer between the naval and infantry training programs, both non-con and officer. Would you be interested?”

 

She had expected the question, and yet she was speechless. She just stared at him with her jaw hanging slightly open.

 

“It will mean a lot of work,” he warned her. “We’re not sacrificing out standards to expedience. And you will have to learn to obey orders, whether you like them or not.” Donovan grinned at her, inviting her to share the joke. “Sooner rather than later, too. But we need people who can think outside the box – and think the box into a sphere, if it comes to that.”

 

Finding her voice, Harper answered hesitantly, “Can I… think about it? I’m flattered,” she added hastily, “I’d just never considered…”

 

“Of course,” he replied. “Take as much time as you need; even next semester, if you like. The first year’s curriculum is about the same.” He smiled at her. “You need a recommendation, a sponsor, and your advisor’s signature; the credits from this past semester will all transfer, so you needn’t worry about your class standing.” Getting up, he offered a hand, which she took in a firm grip. “If you have any questions, give me a call.”

 

“Thank you, sir.” She stood as well. “I’ll think it over.”

 

USS Agincourt – 2397

 

Well, who ever said eighteen year-olds knew what they wanted to do with their lives? Certainly she hadn’t had cause to regret the change. Even when it might have been easier to be comfortable on a ship, fighting clean battles in the silence and distance of space. Certainly she’d never imagined herself on the bridge of a starship again. Except that now it seemed twenty year old dreams were coming back to haunt her.

 

The door chime rang.