Christopher Nuttall - Barbarians at the Gates

FNS Magnificent , Boskone System, 4092

The summons to report to Admiral Drake onboard Magnificent had come nearly a week after the Battle of Boskone. Roman had spent nearly twenty minutes trying to decide what to wear while his shuttle was prepared for the flight. As a captain—even an acting captain—he had a right to wear dress whites, but somehow he doubted that Admiral Drake would be impressed by a lieutenant putting on airs. As a lieutenant, he should wear his dress uniform, yet very few people in the Federation Navy enjoyed wearing dress uniforms. The issue had been settled by the discovery that there were no captain’s uniforms on Enterprise , so he’d reluctantly worn his more standard dress uniform. He was honest enough to admit to himself that worrying over the uniform was a substitute for worrying over what the admiral was going to say, considering the hostility of Admiral Mason. Roman was sure Mason had burned up the airwaves with his complaints about having to report to a very junior officer.

It wasn’t the first time Roman had been onboard a superdreadnaught, but somehow it felt very different. No formal party met him when he disembarked from the shuttle, much to his relief, as he had no idea how to handle the protocol when one captain visited another. Yet everyone he met seemed to know his name. Officers, including some astronomically senior to him, found time to shake his hand and congratulate him, adding to the air of unreality. He was almost in a daze when the Marine guard opened the hatch to the admiral’s office and motioned for him to step inside.

He’d never met Admiral Drake before, but he’d taken the opportunity to use his new command codes to read the classified section of the admiral’s file. Drake was shorter than he had expected, reminding him of Major Shaklee, yet he was clearly in control of the situation. Short, dark hair framed a classically handsome face and brilliant dark eyes. Roman marched across to the desk, threw a perfect salute, and stood at attention. The only other admiral he’d encountered—briefly—was Admiral Parkinson, but he hadn’t commanded this level of respect. Admiral Drake had pulled the entire fleet out of a deadly trap.

“At ease,” Admiral Drake said. He had a faint Martian accent. “Cut the cadet crap. There’s just the pair of us here.”

Roman relaxed, very slightly.

“I said relax,” Admiral Drake added dryly. “You’re not in trouble, Mr. Garibaldi. I assure you of that.”

Roman did his best to stand normally, as he would if he were around Sultana before he’d been so abruptly elevated to acting captain.

The admiral settled back and grinned, an expression which transformed his entire face. “First things first, Mr. Garibaldi. I have nominated you for the Navy Cross, with Gold Stars. I believe that it will be confirmed automatically by the Admiralty, but don’t gloat too soon about being the youngest officer to win it in combat. They may feel that I have been too generous.”

“Yes, sir,” Roman said. The Navy Cross was only issued to personnel who had served with distinction in combat. The only officer below the rank of captain to win it had been a lieutenant-commander during the Blue Star War. The recipient had to show uncommon valor and skill. “I…thank you.”

“I believe there may be other rewards coming your way,” Admiral Drake said in an almost jovial manner.

Roman flushed, and then realized that he was being teased. But before he could respond, the admiral carried on.

“I recommended you for several Federation awards, although those will have to be granted by the Senate. You’re also entitled to a cash reward for saving the Enterprise from certain destruction. The taxmen will probably try to take a bite out of it, but hire a good lawyer and they will discover that they don’t have a leg to stand on.”

He paused. “And you have my thanks as well,” he added. “Many people showed uncommon valor in the Battle of Jefferson, but you stood out among the crowd. Your assumption of command was precisely the right thing to do, as were your actions when the enemy started to land troops on your ship. Allowing them to land on your ship will probably annoy the traditionalists—you didn’t have any way of knowing if they were carrying an antimatter mine to destroy Enterprise if they couldn’t take her intact—but it paid off. As a very old commander once said, it’s better to be lucky than good.”

“Yes, sir,” Roman said carefully.

Admiral Drake leaned back in his chair. “You do realize that you won’t be allowed to keep Enterprise ?”

Roman nodded. It wasn’t a surprise, even though part of him had dared to hope as the weeks went by without his being relieved of command. Traditionally, anyone who assumed the position of acting captain was automatically confirmed as captain, but he’d looked it up: The most junior officer to assume the position permanently had been a lieutenant-commander. And he’d only commanded a destroyer, not the Federation’s flagship.

“You’re too young and too inexperienced,” Admiral Drake said seriously. “I did think hard about letting you take her back to Earth and transferring command there—she will have to go into a shipyard anyway, unless they decide to scrap her…”

“No,” Roman said before he could stop himself.

“Your first command is always something special,” Admiral Drake said, showing no sign of annoyance at the interruption. “I read your report—very professional, by the way—and she will need at least six months in a shipyard, perhaps longer. It depends on how many other ships need to be repaired—they may just dry-dock her for a few years until there’s a slip free for an expensive and time-consuming repair job.” He shrugged. “I’m going to be stripping out most of her crew to fill holes elsewhere—I think they’ll probably give her a whole new crew and commander.”

“Yes, sir,” Roman said again.

“I understand how you feel,” Admiral Drake said. He looked up, meeting and holding Roman’s eyes. “The Navy doesn’t usually bother to take account of its junior officers’ preferences when it comes to assigning berths, but I’m going to give you a choice. The Navy Cross will ensure that you’re promoted one full grade in any case. So. Captain Singh on the Vengeance needs a new tactical officer. You’d be promoted to lieutenant-commander and assigned to his command. You’d be on the fast track to a command of your own—you’ve certainly proved that you can handle it.

“The second possibility is the Donna Noble ,” he added. “She’s a destroyer with seventy crew, under Captain Homchoudhury and she needs an XO. I’ve stolen both her XO and his second for filling in other holes. You’d be in the spotlight, but her captain has a good reputation for getting young officers ready for higher command. He’ll even teach you what fork to use first at a banquet.”

Roman blinked, and then realized that he was being teased again. Luna Academy hadn’t taught many social graces beyond basic formality in the mess and how to act at the captain’s table. Blake Raistlin, on the other hand, had introduced him to the concept of a whole upper-class social strata that excluded everyone who couldn’t or wouldn’t fit in. It hadn’t occurred to him that a captain would have to fit in, but it made sense.