Star Trek: Discovery: Desperate Hours Page 2

  From the crowd came back a resounding chorus of “Cheers!” Then glasses tipped upward as the officers of the Shenzhou drank in salute to their departing shipmates.

  Satisfied that her obligations were fulfilled, Georgiou drifted back into the crowd to mingle and be sociable. She spotted Burnham standing alone and moved toward her. Just as she reached the younger woman’s side, Saru emerged from the crowd and situated himself between them. “A stirring encomium, Captain,” the Kelpien said. “A most fitting valediction.”

  Burnham raised one eyebrow at Saru. “Indeed. And her accomplishment is all the more notable for having been compelled to follow your own rousing call to arms.”

  Saru tensed and regarded Burnham with barely veiled contempt. “Meaning what?”

  “Only that I hope never to contend with such a memorable introduction.”

  “I doubt you will ever merit one,” Saru said.

  “Kind of you to say so, Mister Saru.”

  It took Saru a moment to realize he had been insulted twice in a matter of seconds. He clenched his fists and trembled like some overly anxious breed of small dog. Georgiou took his flustered reaction as a sign that it might be a good idea to separate him and Burnham before they caused another of their infamous scenes in the midst of an otherwise pleasant bon voyage party.

  She guided Burnham toward the exit with a gentle touch on her upper arm. “Walk with me, Lieutenant. There’s something we need to talk about.”

  “Of course, Captain.” Over her shoulder Burnham fired a parting shot at her rival. “Stay sharp, Saru. I think one of the guests is stealing cutlery.”

  Saru pivoted quickly to either side as he searched the room for the alleged culprit, only to realize Burnham had duped him for the umpteenth time.

  Georgiou knew that Burnham’s mockery of Saru might be classified by the Starfleet Code of Military Justice as “conduct unbecoming an officer,” but even more so would be the captain’s own laughing at Saru’s disgruntled scowl, which haunted the two women all the way across the lounge as they escaped the celebration for the empty corridor beyond.

  * * *

  One of the most difficult lessons Michael Burnham had absorbed during her years of education on Vulcan was to curb her desire for instant gratification of her curiosity. Whenever she found herself confronted with new information or a new question, she yearned to plumb its truths without delay. It had taken her effort and time to learn that, in some circumstances, it was wiser and more productive to be patient and allow the facts to reveal themselves in their proper context.

  That hard-won bit of wisdom was in the forefront of her thoughts as Captain Georgiou led her out of the officers’ lounge and down the Shenzhou’s curved corridor. The captain’s invitation had been proffered almost immediately after Burnham’s verbal parry-and-thrust with Lieutenant Saru. Did that mean this conversation would be about that?

  Tonight had not been the first time Burnham and Saru had sparred with rhetoric. However, she had been told by several of her shipmates that she was, on occasion, capable of transgressing against the decorum expected of Starfleet officers. Some of her peers had attributed her shortcoming to the fact that she had not attended Starfleet Academy, but rather had received her commission after graduating from the Vulcan Science Academy. The truth, however, was that Burnham had lived most of her life among Vulcans. As a consequence, human culture and customs often felt alien to her—a social hurdle that Captain Georgiou had spent the past six years working to help Burnham overcome. With mixed results, she admitted to herself.

  When they reached the bow of the ship, Georgiou stopped in front of a wide viewport. The captain stood at ease, her hands folded at the small of her back, and stared out at Ligot IV. “In less than ninety minutes, the Tereshkova will join us in orbit, and ch’Theloh and García will beam over and assume their new command billets. Which means I have a choice to make.”

  “A choice, Captain?”

  “A rather important one.” Georgiou studied her with a sidelong look. “Nature abhors a vacuum. Apparently, so does Starfleet Command.” A sly smile. “Admiral Anderson has named you the acting executive officer of the Shenzhou, effective immediately.”

  Burnham considered the captain’s words. “Acting executive officer? Should I interpret that to mean the promotion is temporary?”

  “Not necessarily,” the captain said. “I would say the billet is . . . conditional.”

  It was unlike Georgiou to speak in evasions. That made Burnham wary. “Might I ask: Conditional upon what factors?”

  “That’s entirely at my discretion. Though I suppose the first criterion I might consider would be whether, in fact, you actually want the job.”

  Why would she ask me that? Burnham reflected upon the six years she and the captain had served together, the numerous crises they had endured, and all of the patient wisdom the captain had shared with her. Her mentorship had picked up where Sarek’s had left off, and in many ways had proved the more challenging to master. But does she still doubt me?

  Not wanting to appear overeager or dismissive, she fished for more information. “Why would you think I wouldn’t want to be first officer?”

  Brow furrowed, Georgiou thought about her answer. “To be honest, Michael, you’ve never struck me as particularly ambitious. That’s not to say you’ve ever been less than excellent in any role I’ve ever asked of you. But every promotion you’ve had since you came aboard was the result of Commander ch’Theloh’s recommendation or my own.”

  “Do you think you might have erred in promoting me?”

  “Not at all. I’m merely pointing out that you’ve never applied for a promotion. Never sought the kind of career advancement that most of your peers shamelessly pursue.”

  Burnham nodded. “True.”

  Despite the years Burnham had spent aboard the Shenzhou, she still felt alienated from its predominantly human crew and their emotional decision-making. Weary of her constant isolation, she had investigated the viability of a transfer to the Starship Intrepid, which now had an all-Vulcan crew. That query had backfired, of course. The commander of the Intrepid had made clear she would not be welcome aboard, no matter how much she insisted on identifying herself as “culturally Vulcan.” Unwelcome among the people she understood, she found herself condemned to serve in exile among people who would never comprehend her.

  Georgiou continued, “So you understand my apprehension? A first officer is responsible for more than just the management of the ship and its crew. The XO is in charge of crew morale, and has to be ready to assume command should something happen to the captain. It’s not a position to be accepted lightly.” Concern crossed the captain’s face like a shadow. “On the other hand, there are those who would say anyone who would aggressively seek the job is very likely not the sort of person one would want to give it to.”

  The subtext of Georgiou’s remark seemed clear to Burnham. “Technically, Lieutenant Saru does have seniority, Captain. Furthermore, unlike me, he attended Starfleet Academy.”

  “And yet,” Georgiou said, “Admiral Anderson recommended you for the position.”

  “Did he say why?”

  “It’s not my place to question an admiral’s rationale.” The captain faced her. “My role is to decide whether this new billet fits you or not. If it does, I’ll make it permanent. If not—” She mustered a regretful frown. “You’ll have to curb your abuse of Mister Saru.”

  Answering to Saru as the first officer was a grim notion, one that made Burnham see this change of circumstance as the opportunity it was. She faced the captain. “I won’t let you down.”

  “That’s what I’m counting on.” Georgiou reached out and gave Burnham’s biceps an encouraging gentle squeeze. “Make this stick—Number One.” She let go of Burnham, took a step back, and smoothed the front of her uniform tunic. “Now, if you’ll excuse me—” She turned and walked back the way they had come. “I need to go have a far more awkward version of this conversation with my
new second officer.”

  * * *

  The farewell party had still been going strong when Lieutenant Saru excused himself. No one had stopped him as he crossed the room. No one had called after him or had tried to pull him into their closed rings of conversation. His fellow officers had simply ignored his departure.

  The decision to leave the party had been an easy one for Saru. After the captain and Burnham had slipped away to the corridor, he had known it was time to go. As a member of a prey species, Saru sometimes found that large gatherings could be a comfort to him, because they reminded him of his people’s tendency to cluster for mutual defense. But all too often he found himself relegated to the perimeter of social gatherings—and his Kelpien instincts told him that it was from the fringes that predators culled the weakest members of a herd.

  That’s what I get for trying to socialize with the hunters, he brooded on the walk back to his quarters. Not all of his shipmates acted like apex predators, of course, but it was a dominant trait in most of the crew. He treasured the rare exceptions among the Shenzhou’s crew: an aura of peacefulness informed Doctor Nambue’s every action, and there was a gentle quality to operations officer Belin Oliveira—an affect that Saru suspected came from the human woman’s strict adherence to a vegetarian diet.

  And then there was Burnham.

  She was an enigma to Saru. Human by birth, but educated for most of her life by the Vulcans, Burnham adhered to a vegetarian diet like most Vulcans, and she revered their mental discipline and generally nonviolent nature. She was the sort of person he had expected would put him at ease. Instead, she had been a thorn in his side since the day she came aboard, a newly commissioned ensign safe under the captain’s tutelage. For years she had nipped at his heels, dogged him up the chain of command, and bested him with cold logic and merciless reason.

  Less than a year had passed since she had caught up to him in rank. He had taken solace in the notion that he remained above her in the chain of command, by virtue of his being the senior officer of the ship’s sciences division. Then had come Burnham’s promotion to senior tactical officer. He had congratulated her, of course, because that was only proper. But to acknowledge her as his equal had galled him.

  Now he felt a change in the air, and he knew bad news was in the offing. His threat ganglia emerged from just above his ears and tasted the electric scent of imminent danger.

  It was a gift—or perhaps a curse—of his species to be able to sense peril. On his world such a deep blooming of dread would be cause to run for cover, a cue to take shelter because the predators were on the hunt. But here, in the relative safety of the Shenzhou, that instinctual perception of disaster warned him of a threat that was not existential but professional. He reached up and gently nudged the sensitive branchlike filaments until they retracted.

  There was nothing left to do now but wait for the killing stroke to fall.

  He sat alone at a table beneath an angled viewport in the main room of his quarters. On the table stood his three-level chess board. He thought of all the years he had spent mastering the game, first at the Academy and continually in the years since his commission. All that time spent learning the difference between strategy and tactics; all the effort he had made to understand a game of staggering complexity bundled in a martial metaphor. Now it was just a collection of figurines on checkered boards connected to an arched stand, a pointless diversion.

  The door signal buzzed. He knew who it had to be.

  Saru heaved a sigh, then called out, “Come.”

  The door slid open, and Captain Georgiou entered. “You didn’t enjoy the party?”

  He couldn’t make eye contact with her. “I didn’t see any point in lingering.”

  The captain walked toward him, and the door closed behind her. She sat down across the table from him and nodded at the chess set. “Who’s your opponent?”

  “It no longer matters. The victor is decided.”

  Georgiou studied the deployment of pieces on the boards. “Perhaps not. From what I see, this match is barely in its middle game. There are any number of—”

  “Captain, please.” Saru was too tired to endure one of the captain’s trademark digressions. “We both know why you’re here.”

  She tried to maintain a stoic front. “Do we?”

  “Burnham is being promoted ahead of me.”

  The truth spoken aloud drew a grimace from Georgiou. “Yes.”

  “In spite of my seniority. And my command training at the Academy.”

  Now it was the captain who evaded eye contact. “Yes.”

  Bile crept up Saru’s throat, and his muscles tensed. Every part of him wanted to run, to retreat. But there was nowhere to go, no place any better than where he already was—and that truth only made him all the more anxious. “May I ask why?”

  “I honestly don’t know what to tell you. The decision came from Admiral Anderson.”

  “Did it?” He bolted from his chair, his resentment and wounded pride spilling out of him like a flood through a broken dam. “No doubt Ambassador Sarek had a hand in that.”

  The captain met his accusation with anger. “Unless you have proof, I suggest you keep that notion to yourself, mister.”

  “How could he not? What other explanation makes sense?” He paced, feeling as if he had been caged. “Look at my record, then look at hers! My fitness reports have been exemplary!”

  “They have,” Georgiou said.

  “Hers is riddled with reprimands. Clashes with superior officers, with her peers—”

  “But also great achievements,” the captain said. “Moments of intuition. Acts of bravery. I’m sure the admiral took those into account.”

  Saru ceased his pacing. “Did you have a say in the decision?”

  “I get to decide if it’s permanent. For now, she’s the acting first officer.”

  He could hardly believe it. “First officer! Do you think she’s suited to the job?”

  “I do.”

  “Why?”

  Georgiou considered her answer. “I think she has the makings of a great command officer. Not just technical skills, but good intuition, not to mention confidence.”

  “Are those qualities you think I lack?”

  “Not at all, Saru. But sometimes these evaluations are, by necessity, subjective.”

  He shook his head. “It’s not fair. Counting my years at the Academy, I’ve served in Starfleet nearly twice as long as she has.”

  “That’s true. But I think you’re focusing too much on the negative.”

  “Am I meant to see something positive in this?”

  The captain stood. “You’re also being promoted. To acting second officer.”

  He froze and willed himself not to roll his eyes in contempt. “Forgive me, Captain, but I find that to be cold comfort.”

  She adopted a conciliatory tone. “I understand your disappointment, Saru. I had to endure it myself, once, and I know it won’t be an easy thing to accept.” She moved closer. “But if I might offer you some advice, as your captain?”

  Putting on his best air of calm, he said, “Of course.”

  “None of us can control the hand of Fate, or the actions of others. The only thing we can control is how we choose to react. And that’s what I need you to do now, Saru. When you’re alone, in the privacy of your quarters, take the time you need, and find a constructive way to purge yourself of this anger and disappointment.” Her soothing manner turned sharp. “But don’t bring a single shred of it with you when you’re on duty. Do I make myself clear?”

  Cowed, he lowered his chin and looked at his feet. “Perfectly, Captain.”

  “Very well.” She moved past him and headed for the door. “Good night, Lieutenant.”

  He stood like a statue, not looking up, until he heard her exit and the door shut.

  Her words festered in his memory, and her warning roiled in his stomachs. Nothing she had said had been untrue, but none of it had granted him any solace. He
had only the deepest respect for Captain Georgiou, a feeling that bordered on reverence. That was what had made her constant attention to Burnham so vexing. Even though Burnham was quite possibly the smartest officer Saru had ever met, she seemed to be in constant need of the captain’s attention—to the point that Georgiou had never seemed to have a moment left over for Saru.

  All I ever really wanted was for the captain to reciprocate even a fraction of the admiration I have shown her all these years. Revisiting bitter memories felt like walking on broken glass. If only she had mentored me the way she fawns on Burnham . . . !

  Saru pivoted toward the table and with one sweep of his arm swatted his chess set across the room. The fragile curve that linked the three boards broke in half as it struck the bulkhead, and the pieces scattered across the floor. He watched a rook rebound and roll under his sofa; a bishop ricocheted around a corner and vanished into his lavatory.