“Not a social call, I take it.” Captain Malcolm Thorne sat in the empty officers’ mess, picking at the chicken casserole. He’d received word that Captain Wren Walton had asked to meet with him, and he’d had her sent to him here as he’d wondered what she was up to. Her curt nod answered his question. “Well, then. Have a seat, Captain.” She slid into the seat opposite him and accepted the full plate and sparkling cup placed before her.

She took a bite and savored the beautiful flavor. “Your chef knows her way around the kitchen.”

Malcolm finished the portion on his plate before tossing aside his napkin, “Your reputation precedes you, Captain Walton. Are you here in the bearing of your former position?” His eyes stared at her, a simmering silence hidden behind his poker face. He watched her carefully wipe her mouth and sit back in the chair, eyeing him. He took it as she was sizing him up, but he knew she’d probably done her research. They were equally matched.

“I’m here at the order of our division’s commanding officer. He’s asked that I sit down with you and discuss his concerns.”

“And he is not here because?”

Her quiet smile broke the ice across the table, “Tell me the truth, Captain Thorne – would you have received him well?”

He narrowed his eyes, wondering how much he could trust her dossier and the reputation she had built since coming to Fourth Fleet. She had taken command of the USS Mackenzie after the murder of its previous commanding officer. Her track record since that time was mixed – an Obena class assignment that faltered and had her shuttled down to a Pathfinder class command. She had earned the loyalty of the crew around her, that much he had come to learn. “You were truthful with me, Captain Walton. So I will return the favor. No, it would not have been a good-faith meeting. I am aware of Captain Crawford’s feelings about my position.”

She seemed to wait for him to continue, and when he didn’t, she asked, “Do you understand his position?”

“I understand it, but I don’t like it. I made it clear that I did not want command-level responsibilities early in my career. And yet, here I am.” Malcolm slid his empty plate to the side and leaned in, his elbows on the table. “I don’t take the chair lightly, Captain Walton. Sitting in that chair is a sacred duty. One that I wish I had the choice to make.” He asked her, “Do you believe in a higher power?” He watched her frown and wondered if he’d tread too far from the point.

She answered after a few minutes of contemplation, “The Bajorans do, as do the Klingons. In the hundreds of years of exploration, we’ve encountered plenty of groups that worship their own version of the creator – real, imagined, or unexplainable. Why do you ask?”

“I questioned the path that I was on. I considered resigning to get out of Starfleet and back to where I could just…be a scientist in a lab, discovering things and writing papers for journals. Then I thought about how small I am in the universe…and that maybe something was trying to tell me…well, something.”

Walton remained focused on him, her eyes widening ever so slightly as he continued. “I decided that since everything was conspiring to get me into the chair, I should work on accepting it. That this is where I need to be, even if it’s not where I want to be.”

She asked, unable to hide her incredulity, “And how recently was this moment of personal discovery?”

His smile was restrained, but he couldn’t help himself. He was amused at her eyebrow raise at the unusual display. “In the last month or so. I’ve kept my thoughts to myself. Not having an executive officer has limited my ability to discuss certain matters.”

Walton’s stare was unsettling as it continued in the wake of his answer. He broke eye contact to settle on the table. He continued, “You were good at your job, Captain Walton.”

She shook her head, “I was good at doing what needed to be done, Captain Thorne. You’ve given me the answer I can take back to Crawford.”

Walton stood up from the table and took her leave, stopping in her tracks. She turned back to him, “For what it’s worth, I believe you. Good night, Captain Thorne.” She was gone a moment later.

Malcolm stared at the empty lounge, starting to understand the loneliness of command.

He resolved to find an executive officer.