Strike Up the Brass

[Commodore Moose 0]

"Strike Up The Brass" - September 6, 2154

 

The meeting was long and painful, filled with Admirals and Diplomats and brass so obscure that Moose didn't recognize their bars. But after what seemed an eternity, everyone was tired of talking, so they did the logical thing. They called a one-hour lunch recess.

 

Moose quickly snuck onto the balcony next to the meeting room, knowing that if he left with any of them, he'd be trapped and would have to spend his lunch hour listing to some redundant point of view that hadn't had its turn on the floor yet. Worse, it might even be a re-telling of one that did. The air outside was cooler than the conditioned environment inside Starfleet Headquarters, but it was fresh and natural. It cleared his head quickly, and he knew if he spent too much time out there, Forrest would need a crowbar to pry him back in.

 

"So this is where you went off to," said Admiral Forrest, stepping onto the balcony.

 

Moose thought his head would explode at the sound of his old friend's voice. In space, no one can hear you scream, but he won't be there for another seven days. If the next week was filled with meetings like this, then living through them was going to be tough. "Is this what your job is filled with?" asked Moose. "If so, I'm glad I stepped off the career path when I did."

 

"No, sometimes it gets dull," quipped the Admiral. "What did you expect? You were the one who got them all riled up about the Romulans."

 

"They should be riled up," he replied. "They should also all go away and let me do my job."

 

"They're more than willing to let you do your job," said Forrest patiently. "You just can't tell them than an unknown alien presence is conspiring to destroy us, but not to worry because you're going to find them first, and expect them to trust you on faith."

 

"Then they should trust the facts," snapped Moose. "The Andorian fleet was poised for an all out attack on Earth. This attack was engineered by a race called the Romulans, who were hoping to provoke the final war between Vulcan and Andoria. Their only possible beef with us was that Archer accidentally wandered across one of their borders. Since subterfuge on this level is a little extreme for such a petty crime, they obviously didn't care two whits for us. They just wanted to watch the Vulcans and Andorians feed off each other, and we are a convenient trigger."

 

"I know," said Forrest. "You've said all this."

 

"And I'll say it again to anyone who will listen. This was one of the most callous and malicious acts I've ever witnessed. Even the Xindi had a reason for attacking us. This was just random; they were exploiting us as a resource. But now they know where we are and what we're capable of. If we don't make a personal connection with them soon, and give them some reason to preserve our way of life, you'll be looking at an all-out war before a decade has passed."

 

"So you're going to just knock on their front door and tell them to stop?"

 

"Of course not. I'm going to head off in their general direction and give them every opportunity to establish diplomatic relations. The only thing I know for certain is that these Romulans redefine the term 'paranoid'. They mark their borders with anti-matter mines. Hamilton's been on Rigel for weeks and has yet to meet anyone who's actually ever one. Even the Vulcans are vague about them. These are not people you stare down like dogs. You slowly drift into their peripheral vision, like you would with a deer. This way, you've become part of their familiar landscape before they've really figured out that you're there. Did you get me that diplomat I asked for?"

 

"Neptune Rex? Yes, he's agreed to be your Communications Officer," said Forrest. "It took a lot of convincing to change his mind, though. Now it's your turn to change your mind."

 

"About what?" asked Moose, not caring how annoyed he sounded.

 

"Marines," said Forrest. "Take a squadron with you."

 

"Not a chance," said Moose. "Every alien species from here to the rim thinks that we're building warships. Part of my mission is to convince them that we're not. I can't do that when half my crew is an elite fighting corps."

 

"Enterprise has marines."

 

"Enterprise is hunting Xindi. They need marines, and no one is questioning that decision. Not the Vulcans, not the Andorians ... no one."

 

Forrest stepped over to the railing and took in view of the San Francisco bay. No matter how many years they knew each other, debating with "Bull" Moose was never an easy task. It wasn't that Moose always saw things in black and white. He was very capable of seeing multiple sides of an issue. It was just that Moose saw things in a way that most people didn't. And once he had that view, he stuck to it. This was one of those issues. It didn't matter to Moose if anyone else saw the Romulan situation as he did. He knew what had to be done and expected the resources to do it. "This would be easier if your crew selections were more mainstream," said Forrest carefully.

 

"What's wrong with my crew?" asked Moose coolly.

 

"Most of them are very young," said Forrest. "There's not a lot of experience on those decks."

 

"Space exploration is a game for the young, Admiral, and we're making it up as we go along. These kids are driven. You'll be surprised at what they accomplish."

 

"You're not exactly young," said Forrest.

 

"That's true," agreed Moose. "But old age and treachery will always overcome youth and skill. Someone has to cover their backs."

 

"A lot of noses out of joint over Moore's appointment to First Officer. There are quite a few people who expected the job, especially after the same position on Enterprise was taken away from them."

 

"Which is the problem with all of them," said Moose, unwrapping a new cigar and popping the end into his mouth. He never lit them, but he'd grind them to dust before he was done. "The First Officer job isn't a job you work for, to be handed after a long career to show everyone you made it. It's a job that comes out of nowhere and makes you struggle to tame it, so when the dust settles you look back in amazement at what you've done and how suited to it you actually were. Moore has character, he'll struggle to make it work. The rest of them would have 'yes sir'ed' me to death with one foot in my back pushing me towards retirement." His molars rolled the end of the cigar back and forth a few times. "Anything else?"

 

"Are you sure about all of this?" asked Forrest. "Are you sure about the crew, and the Romulans, and Moore, and all the rest?"

 

"Have you ever known me to railroad anyone when I wasn't sure?" asked Moose.

 

"No," said Admiral Forrest.

 

"Then I have a ship that needs me to prep for launch. You can deal with these folks without me." He turned to leave, stopping in the doorway, to steal the last word. "I'll see you at the launch ceremony?"

 

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," said Forrest. And as he watched Moose leave he realized how true it was. He wasn't about to miss a moment of this ship and it's mission. And he wished more than anything that he could leave his Admiral's bars behind and journey with Moose into the unknown.

 

Commodore Fitzgerald M. "Bull" Moose

Challenger, NX-05