“I don’t know that I concur with your assessment of the situation, Commodore.”
The commodore had been sitting in leisurely fashion in the command chair. He had been utterly confident of how things were going to proceed. But with the admiral’s words, it was as if the atmosphere on the bridge had changed. Slowly he got to his feet so that he was on eye level with Jellico. “As near as I can determine, Admiral, your assessment of the situation isn’t particularly relevant. My orders are specific.”
“Your orders come from me.”
“They come from Starfleet, sir, and you may outrank me, but your will does not comprise the entirety of Starfleet, to say nothing of the wishes of the Federation Council.”
“All of that is true, Commodore,” said Admiral Jellico, his jaw set, “but you are forgetting one thing.”
“And that is?”
In a tone that was clearly brooking no argument, Jellico said, “The entirety of Starfleet and the Federation Council is not here. I am. And as long as that remains the case, you’re going to be dealing with me.”
Kemper felt as if the eyes of his entire command crew—particularly Theresa Detwiler’s—were on him. His spine stiffened, and he knew beyond question that he was not about to back down. He didn’t care if he wound up being court-martialed. It didn’t matter to him if he were sentenced to hard labor indefinitely. He was going to take a stand, and Jellico was damned well going to know about it.
“This,” and he pointed at the screen, “is exactly the sort of trap that we were warned about. The exact sort of stunt that Calhoun is likely to pull. That’s why we have explicit instructions to shoot first and ask questions never. I am not, under any circumstance, going to risk the lives of my crew on the off chance that the ship is truly in distress.”
“No one is asking you to risk the lives of your crew. I am telling you, however, that my orders…”
“Do not supersede procedure.” He turned to Hopkins.
“Have you been able to raise the Excalibur?”
“Negative, Commodore. She’s just sitting there.”
“General Order Twelve, Admiral,” said Kemper. “On the approach of any vessel, when communications have not been established, personnel will prepare for potential hostile intent.”
“I’m familiar with the general order, Commodore,” said Jellico stiffly. “My ancestors helped draft it.”
Kemper pounced on the opening. “And if they were here, then they’d be proceeding exactly as I am. As if that weren’t enough, the direct orders I have from Starfleet dictate how I am supposed to handle this engagement. I am not going to fall for Calhoun’s obvious trap, Admiral, and all the information that I have at hand and all the orders under which I am operating have given me exactly one option. Hopkins.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Target lock all phasers on the Excalibur. Prepare to fire.”
“Hold on!” snapped Jellico. “Hopkins, do they even have shields up?”
“No, Admiral, they do not.”
Kemper calmly dropped back into his chair and crossed his legs. Jellico came around and leaned in toward him. “You fire on her now, unshielded, and the phasers will tear her apart.”
“Since that will serve to fulfill my mission, I’m actually fine with that.”
“I am not,” Jellico said. “And as ranking officer on this bridge, I have some say in that.”
“If you’re not on the bridge, then that becomes moot.”
Jellico moved in closer. “Are you threatening me, Commodore?”
“It is my belief,” said Kemper, “that your personal feelings in this matter are blinding you to the duty this ship is supposed to follow. On that basis, I can easily determine that you are not thinking clearly, and therefore your rank doesn’t come into play.”
“That is a dubious proposition on which to hang the future of your career,” warned Jellico.
“Commodore…”
It was Detwiler. He turned to her, his face a question.
Sitting at conn, she looked conflicted, bound by loyalty to Kemper but also clearly uncomfortable with matters as they were. “Commodore, with all respect, they’re not even running weapons hot. I don’t see how they pose an immediate threat.”
“You don’t have to see it,” he said, astonishment in his voice that she would even be bringing it up. ”Our orders are clear.”
“Yes, sir, but—”
“There’s a ‘but’ after that ‘yes, sir’?”
She could practically feel the anger radiating from him, but she pressed on. “But… firing on a ship that’s offering no defense, no offense… that’s just sitting there…”
“As is to be expected from a captain who is as devious as Calhoun.”