Retirement

[FredM 0]

"Retirement kills more people than hard work ever did. " - Malcolm F. Forbes

 

It was turning into something that he couldn't stand. The entire mess wasn't supposed to happen and the fact it was now, of all times. For crying out loud, he was scheduled to retire in five weeks. Why couldn't they had held off on their petty differences until someone who really gave a damn showed up?

 

Shaking his head, the blue skinned figure stood and looked out the massive cathedral windows that were the view his office provided. In the distance, the purplish-pink colors of Tarsan's Revenge could be seen swirling. The name was not official, as it was actually designed as Nebula GX440392 by those within the scientific community. However, as had been typical, when first seen by telescope a human had coined the now commonly used title. The reason behind the selection was something that baffled many people not from Earth, this humanoid included.

 

Yet, for all the mystery that surrounded the title, Fleet Admiral Jayeral Ronks had always found it a pleasant piece of his office. Over fifteen years ago, when he had been given what would be the second to last promotion of his career, taking on an assignment in this region of space had seemed pointless. It was, quite frankly, the back end of the Alpha Quadrant. Well, that wasn't exactly a fair statement. The facility he had called home, in stationary orbit within the Cait system, was an important way point for what limited exploration was going on in the area. Yet, outside of being listed as an emergency fallback position during the Dominion War, nothing really exciting had happened for...well...over a hundred years.

 

Was it really that bad? It was a question Ronks had asked many times. His answer always ended at the same point. His facility was of such importance that it would have become the center of operations for the Allied effort had Earth ever fallen to the Dominion. And Vulcan. And Andoria. Well, it was true that his facility would have become head of Starfleet operations had there been only about ten percent of the Federation left to defend. So...the Bolian shook his head and sighed.

 

This fact was something that had not been lost on the powers that be back at headquarters. It was why they had authorized the construction of Deep Space 12, a new state of the art facility that would serve as the operations center for all Starfleet activity in the area. The Commanding Officer would also have his base of operations eventually moved there, thus relegating the now fifty year old place Ronks now was an inhabitant of almost useless. It's designation had already been removed from the most current databases being sent out by command!

 

But the final phase of this transformation was still seven weeks away. Given the timing of his retirement, Ronks was pleased he would not have to give up his view. Of course, that had all been before the Tholians had started making trouble. At first, Jayeral had convinced himself that it would be one of those quick little skirmishes...something familiar within Gorn territory. Instead, he now found himself having to reread regulations he hadn't had to use in over a decade about emergency fleet redeployments. Truth be told, when an advisor had first suggested he call for the termination of all civilian traffic near the border, Ronks had delayed a day out of embarrassment. He couldn't remember how the heck someone did that! This wasn't the Cardassian sector or near the Romulan Neutral Zone for crying out loud! This was the back end of space!

 

Yet all that had changed. He now found himself hoping above all else he could make it thru this one final issue before the promised land of retirement was within his grasp. The coughing of the man sitting on the other side of his desk forced Ronks to glance over his shoulder and sigh. A problem on top of another problem was before him. Oh why hadn't this happened five weeks from now...

 

The Bolian leaned over and grabbed the padd which was on top of the stack that made their home on his desk. Much to his initial dismay, the document itself was a fifteen page memo. Half was from the Judge Advocate General's office, the other from his station's own Chief Medical Officer. Doctor Gullic, a Tellarite who was as old as Ronks and was also counting the days until his own retirement in seven weeks, was something of an irony. Here was a humanoid who held a job to keep people healthy, yet was to be found sipping a liquid known as Whiskey from a flask at least three times an hour. It was so bad that special requisition orders had to be placed to get the stuff shipped to Cait!

 

So with a bit of skepticism he read over the report that held all the apparent signs of being drafted while Gullic was drunk. Essentially though, it pronounced the man still coughing as being capable of resuming his duties although concerns existed about his long term health. Three pages later was a reading from the Judge Advocate General's Office dismissing some apparent legal action that Ronks was apparently not allowed to know anything about. It really didn't matter to the Bolian, he rarely gave a damn what lawyers were up to.

 

The positive side is that this put Fleet Admiral Ronks with a person who had some experience in combat. Truth be told, most of the ships presently dealing with Federation maters with the Tholians were not veteran's of the Dominion War. Most of those individuals had been able to use influence to get themselves postings within more exciting areas. Heck, he'd even heard of one person begging to get a posting near Ferengi space instead of in his sector. Out of the eight starships presently available, only one had a commander who wasn't less than a year out of promotion and two were actually frigates being commanded by someone below the rank of Commander.

 

"I don't know if you're doing that to get my attention or whether you can't stop yourself," Jayeral said sitting on the edge of his desk. The other man shrugged, "Does it matter?" The Bolian grinned, "At this point, not really...no. I see that whatever you had to do, it was well above my pay grade and truth be told I don't want to ever find out." The Fleet Admiral was well aware of the internal politics that could often be found in the halls of Starfleet Command. Their absence in his area had been one of the few benefits, outside of the view, the assignment presented.

 

He glanced down at the document again and shook his head, "If you're crazy enough to do it in this condition, I have no objection. Transport out may take some work though. I can't give a recall order and many of our regular support craft have been busy making runs to DS12 transferring equipment." The response was a simple nod, something that didn't exactly fill the Bolian with a lot of confidence. As it was, even for a human, the man looked near death. His skin was no where near what might be considered typical and it seemed as if he was struggling every few minutes with a cough that might challenge a Klingon's best effort.

 

Regardless, ten minutes later the orders were signed and the deal was done. Whoever this Fred Michaels character was, ill or not, the declaration by the Federation Council about the Tholian situation only served to reinforce the need get whatever help was available to the border. Now whether the Captain actually survived the trip without falling over was a bet Ronks himself wasn't about to make.

 

The Fleet Admiral glanced out the window again, "For once Gullic, you'd better be right or I swear I'll make sure they draft you back into the service a week after you retire."