It Begins: One Bloody Ship...
Posted on Tue Dec 4th, 2018 @ 4:06pm by Lieutenant Commander Anje Brett
Edited on on Tue Dec 4th, 2018 @ 4:09pm
Season 2: Episode 3: Determination is not always a good thing
Timeline: While Elysium en route to disaster
Anje Zhukov hadn't had anything on her mind but Turkana IV since Little Anje had introduced her to Jessica Clarke, it was like the barely healed scab of an old wound had been torn off and filled with hot oil. She took a seat in her office chair, turning towards the window to watch the sun rise in the distance, "Don't care what you say, Cap." She spoke to a painting of Marcia King, then her CO on the Atlantis, that hung beside the window, "No better sunrises than here on Vulcan, with respect to your little island."
"I know the ones on my little island sucked." Colonel Kerri Tate said as she walked into Zhukov's office, "But my little island was Parris Island, and by the time the sun rose we were all already exhausted again."
"Oh, Kerri, hi." Zhukov replied, slightly startled, "Did I wake you?"
"No, Madam Ambassador." Tate shook her head, "I'm a Marine, this is sleeping in for us." She replicated raktajinos for both of them, handing one to her boss, "So, want to tell me what's on your mind, or do you want me to tell you? Because I already know."
"I'm sure you do, Colonel." The Ambassador nodded, gratefully sipping the strong, hot liquid, "And thank you."
"You know you're not going to get anywhere with the Council, right?" Tate began, "Bunch of spineless shirt tuckers, know about as much about taking care of the galaxy as they do about fornicating. You'll never get them to agree to let us strike Turkana IV, more than that most Federation citizens don't have the stomach for it anymore, either."
Zhukov laughed a little at her Security Chief's description of many of the council members; one of those things where it was funny because it was true, "Sadly, Kerri, I believe you're right." She lamented, "And tens of thousands of people, Federation Citizens who we merely abandoned, are going to continue to suffer and die while imbecilic politicians hem and haw about doing what we all know needs to be done, then talk about sanctions and censures like these things mean a damned thing to warlords."
"But it's the best they'll do." Tate sighed, she felt Zhukov's pain at the way that things had changed in the Federation in just Kerri's short life and career, she could only imagine the culture shock the growing cowardice of the Federation had on the Ambassador, one of the last living practitioners of cowboy diplomacy, "And they'll still expect it to be effective because it works on other powers."
"Which is much akin to expecting water to have the same effect as vodka because they're both clear." The Ambassador said, shaking her head sadly.
"So, when will you try to address the council and speak to the President, Madam Ambasador?" Tate asked, she knew what Zhukov had planned, even though they both knew it would be about as effective as shooting at Romulan Warbirds with a potato cannon.
"I'll begin today." Zhukov nodded, sipping on her drink as the suns came up and into full glorious view.
"And when we run into the Great Wall of Grogan again?" Tate continued, though mentioning retired General Thomas L. Grogan, Chief of Staff to the President of the United Federation of Planets, made her want to vomit. Grogan was a desk soldier, a political climbing yellow belly nursing a grudge against Ambassador Zhukov born from his Grandfather's grudge against the pretty Cuban woman in the painting. It made her remember an old movie her sister had shown her, called 'The Purge', where all crime was legal for a night. Had the Federation such a thing, she'd filet Grogan and feed him to the wild dogs that howled by the Embassy at night. Or maybe just beat the Hell out of him and leave him alive, so she could come back later and do it again...
"If he won't let me speak to the President, I'll go around him." Zhukov replied, her voice fiery and determined, "We'll go to Earth and I'll address the Council from the floor, force the President to hear us."
"Shall I review and revise Faithful Shepherd, Ma'am?" Tate asked, referencing an operation they had planned together for the hopeful eventuality that the Federation would finally take responsibility for their abandoned citizens, their lost sheep.
"Do it." Zhukov nodded, finishing her drink, "And if there's a way to cut the force required, make it more palatable for the hand wringers at Federation HQ, do it."
"Yes, Ma'am." Tate nodded, "As far as fleet assets go, I believe we can do this with one ship, if we could get the right ship."
"One ship?" Zhukov raised an eyebrow, turning to Tate, who nodded in the affirmative, "This could all be over, except for want of one bloody ship..."