It felt strange to be back in uniform. The design hadn’t changed since last he’d worn one, but it didn’t seem to sit right on his shoulders, or flow properly when he moved. The uniform’s the same, he told himself. It’s me that’s changed.

            He’d boarded the Enterprise five days ago, with Counsellor Xom in tow, and they’d spent much of the first day and a half in a psych evaluation he’d spent the previous week putting off. That endeavour had i Torros III had been the site of one the Federation’s first significant victories over the Dominion, when the Cardassian shipyards in the planet’s orbit were destroyed. In the great reordering of the Cardassian Union after the war, the Torros system ended up in Federation hands, and Starfleet wasted little time building its own shipyards exactly where the Cardassians had. Torros III’s mineral wealth made it a logical place for such an arrangement, as did Torros IV, whose gravity had gathered virtually all the system’s asteroids and debris into an uncannily stable belt of unrivalled density.

            Utopia Planitia was too close to home. If they’d started building Requiem there, it would have been impossible to keep it a secret from civilians—and Starfleet didn’t want the general public to learn about any of this until they made their public announcement. But it made sense to build at Torros III for other reasons, too. The planet below was rich in the more exotic metals that would contribute to Requiem’s ablative hull plating, and since all the construction apparatus was relatively new, it was better suited to the task of assembling a novel starship in record time.

            And the fragments of the Gun had been found in the Gamma Quadrant, so it was only logical to assemble them in the closest major Federation shipyard to Bajor—the closest Starfleet-secured one, anyway.

            But Captain Adam Wolf found that he was rapidly forgetting everything he knew about the Torros system; all that mattered was the little universe unfolding around him.

A chirp of the comm system told him someone was at the door. “Come in,” he said, and the door behind him slid aside with a familiar pneumatic hiss

            “Captain Wolf,” said a voice, an unmistakably even, cultured voice. Captain Picard had deigned to visit his passenger at last.

            Wolf pivoted and straightened the front of his uniform. “How do I look?”

            Jean-Luc Picard had aged since Wolf had seen him last, that was undeniable, but he seemed as vital and strong as ever. “Like a man unaccustomed to wearing clothes.”

            “Just these clothes,” he said. He approached his replicator. “Can I offer you a drink, Captain?”

            Picard furrowed a brow. “I assume you don’t mean—”

            “Tea,” Wolf interrupted. “Earl Grey. Hot. And a coffee, black.”

            “Oh,” said Picard. “Thank you.”

            Wolf couldn’t help but grin a bit as he carried the two newly-materialized beverages over to his coffee table. He invited Picard to sit opposite him. “Rest assured, Captain, I have learned my lesson about drinking on duty. So what brings you to my humble quarters?”

            “You haven’t left these humble quarters in four days, Captain. I thought you might like to be made aware of what’s going on outside these walls.”

            “What’s going on outside is precisely why I’ve stayed inside. Now that they’ve gone public with Rover, everyone’s going to want to play Twenty Questions with the commander of the Milky Way Armada.”

            Picard frowned. “I wish people wouldn’t entertain that name. It reminds me of dogs, and I like dogs.”

            “I was afraid of dogs when I was a kid; a big black one bit me once. I think it’s a perfect name.” He drank some coffee. “So what else is new?”

            “Volunteers are pouring in. We should have no trouble crewing Requiem, or any of the others. Speaking of which, they’re having some difficulty sorting out which of our ships will be accompanying you. Nothing bigger than an Intrepid-Class will fit inside the Gun, and most ships smaller than that aren’t suited to a mission like this. The Novas aren’t combat-ready, the Defiants aren’t built for long-term missions, the Mirandas are just too old, too slow, too inefficient.”

            “The Intrepid-class can’t be that busy. Why not just round them all up?”

            “They are, but there aren’t enough. We lost most of the class in the war and the Borg attack, and it’s not the type of ship on which Utopia Planitia’s been focusing its resources.  It was an experimental hybrid class with no clear specialization.”

            “An experimental hybrid class with an unexpected knack for protracted deep space exploration.”

            Picard nodded. “That’s why Requiem turned out the way she did. But there’s another matter I’d like to discuss with you.”

            Wolf set down his coffee. He’d finished it a bit too quickly, but he’d needed it. “What’s on your mind?”

            “Many of Requiem’s senior officers have already been selected, but certain positions remain open, notably the station of chief science officer.”

            “Yes,” Wolf said. “Nechayev has people scouting at the Vulcan Science Academy, Starfleet Research, the Smithsonian—”

            “Indeed,” said Picard, “but as comprehensive as the admiral’s queries are, I believe I already have a candidate who will serve you quite well. A slight problem arises when one realizes this person is not technically a member of Starfleet, but I’m sure a petition to the admiralty with both of our names on it would circumvent that well enough.”

            Wolf grinned again. “I can hardly wait to hear who this person is.”

            Picard set his teacup down on the table. “Doctor Annika Hansen.”

            “Hansen …” Wolf knew the name, but from where? It took a moment for him to realize it was someone he, like most people, knew by a different name. “Seven of Nine?”

            “Indeed. She’s one of the most intelligent and scientifically knowledgeable humans in the history of our species, and probably one of the single most capable individuals in the Federation.”

            Wolf nodded. “And she’s experienced with this kind of deep space assignment.”

            “Of course. I think it would be criminal for Voyager’s crew not to be represented in the armada, and there’s no one better than Doctor Hansen.”

            “You mentioned a petition?”

            Captain Picard removed an isolinear chip clipped to his belt and set it down on the table. “I’ve taken the liberty of composing a draft. I suggest you review it, add any significant points that I’ve neglected, credit yourself with partial authorship, and submit it to Starfleet Command.” He stood up. “But all that can be handled later. In the meantime, I suggest you accompany me to observation lounge.”

            Wolf blinked. “We’re here?”

            “Very nearly.”

            It was almost funny how quickly Picard’s crew parted for the two captains as they walked abreast down the corridors. The ship was crowded nearly to its capacity with passengers to be offloaded at the shipyards, and everyone seemed busy as their destination came rushing upon them. It was inspiring in a way, to see the sprawling Sovereign-class battleship teeming with activity. This is the kind the kind of ship they ought to send. This thing has the look of saving the galaxy. But it wasn’t meant to be: Enterprise was too big to fit in the Gun’s chamber. They rounded a corner and found themselves in a turbolift, alone for the wide berth the crew gave them.

            “You should be commanding this armada,” said Wolf. He’d felt it needed saying ever since he got on board. Picard had been offered the job before Wolf, and he’d turned it down, but that didn’t matter. It would have been arrogant not to voice the opinion—not to recognize the fact that Picard was the best man for the job.

            The older man sighed amiably. “Captain, even if this ship could fit inside the Gun, I wouldn’t let them send her. The Federation flagship belongs in the same galaxy as the Federation she’s sworn to protect. And I will not abandon the Enterprise.”

            Wolf nodded. He had to admire the man’s sense of duty … and his clear bond with his ship. Idly he wondered if that had anything to do with the previous Enterprise being destroyed under his command.

            No, he thought, I remember reading about this. Picard wasn’t aboard when his ship went down; he was on some planet taking out that El-Aurian psychopath. He left his ship, left it in the hands of others, left it to go off and save lives, and it died without him.

            His ship died when he left it, so he loves this one all the more. Mine died with me in command, in my hands. I killed her, just like …

            He shook his head, banishing the dark thoughts. It wouldn’t serve him to descend into that, especially while he was still being scrutinized by—

            The turbolift doors parted, and Counsellor Demordna Xom stood expectantly before them.

            “Captain Wolf!” she said, unduly enthusiastic. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’ve been avoiding me.”

            “If you knew better, Counsellor, you’d make it an accusation.”

            “Charming,” she said, still smiling. “Shall we proceed to the observation lounge?”

            “I would think so,” said Picard, extracting himself from the tension.

            Commander Worf, Picard’s new XO, acknowledged Wolf with a curt nod as they crossed the bridge. Something tells me the Klingons I have to deal with in the armada won’t be quite so courteous. I wonder if Picard would mind me borrowing his first officer for the foreseeable future.

            The thought brought another issue to mind.

“Refresh my memory, Counsellor; do I have a first officer yet?”

“No,” Xom said. “That’s a position they thought you should take an active role in filling. After this inspection we’ll head directly back to Earth and you can start interviewing the candidates. Admiral Nakamura has compiled a shortlist.”

“Nakamura,” Wolf said pensively. “Never met the man.”

Picard frowned slightly. “All due respect to the admiral, but I’d be lying if I said I don’t envy you.”

“Bad blood, Captain Picard?”

“Call it a faint lingering grudge. He once put a very dear friend of mine, or more specifically, his status as a sentient being, on trial.”

“So the man who’s helping pick my first officer is a notoriously bad judge of character. Magnificent.”

Picard’s appreciation for that remark showed, but it was tempered by sorrow etched in the lines around his eyes. The android, Wolf remembered suddenly. The one that died to blow up that thalaron weapon …

The Captain of the Enterprise led them into the observation lounge, and through that room’s broad transparent aluminum windows, Adam Wolf gazed upon his ship for the very first time.

Requiem was, at her core, an Intrepid-class starship, lean and curvaceous, organically sleek, a great rounded arrowhead as ready to pierce a planet’s atmosphere as to ride the lobe of a warp field. But there were upgrades, modifications, enhancements. Voyager had taught Starfleet as much about her class’s weaknesses as about its strengths, and they had all been ripped out and replaced with the cutting edge.

The most visible difference was the warp nacelles, which no longer stood out on struts. They were attached directly to the engineering hull in armoured pods in the manner of the Defiant-class, and moved forward till their Bussard collectors were scant meters from the main deflector. It was better for warp field geometry, the engineers had said, and it removed a significant tactical weak point in the event of shield failure.

And maybe it was just the poor lighting of the shipyards, but Requiem looked dark, her metal skin a matte black, elegantly contrasting against the glow around portholes and the odd exposed plasma conduit.

Counsellor Xom laughed, breaking Wolf’s reverie.

“Something funny, Counsellor?”

“Your jaw dropped.”

Wolf smiled despite himself. He had nothing but suspicion for Demordna Xom and her underhanded psychiatry, but his mouth acted alone, twisting into a smile right along with hers. I guess there are things I just can’t control.

#

            Requiem felt good. It felt the way a starship was supposed to feel. The interior aesthetic was different from the Starfleet mainstream, less austere. Wolf wasn’t strolling through some anonymous, labyrinthine building, he was traversing a self-contained world that cradled his life within its powered embrace. He was at home in these corridors.

            At last Counsellor Xom had stopped stalking him, as apparently she had some business to conduct in her onboard office. As much as she still irritated him with her dogged pursuit of his thoughts and feelings, he had come to accept that she was a good choice for his ship’s chief counsellor. She’d also been on her share of deep space assignments, and spent some time on an exceedingly remote research station for two years, so she was more than prepared to handle the stresses of this mission.

            Moving through Requiem was a considerably more relaxed endeavour than traversing the Enterprise. These corridors weren’t nearly so crowded, and the people he did pass were too busy recalibrating power conduits or installing computer terminals to make a show of parting like the Red Sea. Most didn’t even realize he was anyone important.

            He entered a turbolift, wondering how he’d managed to find it. He hadn’t bothered to familiarize himself with Requiem’s schematics, but navigating his new home seemed to come naturally to him.

            Then he emerged on the bridge, and the coffee he’d had with Picard seemed to hit his brain all at once. The rest of the ship was asleep in comparison. The lights seemed brighter, and every station was occupied, and every occupier was attended by an engineer with a tricorder, probably calibrating the ergonomics or testing the surge protectors or something. Voices everywhere, constant beeps and boops and electronic whistles and trills—no one even noticed when the captain walked in.

            The architecture of the bridge had been redesigned for Requiem. It was elongated from fore to aft, not unlike the Defiant-class bridge, with the depressed forward section common to most Starfleet ships. The forward console was exclusively conn, like on a normal Intrepid-class. Directly aft of that were the twin ops and tactical stations, and behind them the command chair on, with the exec’s to its right and another to its left. The rear upper level was lined with science and engineering stations

            Wolf walked between clusters of hardworking people to make his way down to the seat they’d built just for him. He liked the view from that seat; it was a good, logical layout. Ops and tactical were set widely apart, so Wolf was more between them than behind them. He had a clear line of sound to his driver, his gunner, and his opsman. 

Tactical was the only station on the bridge that played host to only one person at present, a tall, lean black man, head shaven and collar bearing the mustard yellow of the security division. If Wolf’s guess at the man’s identity was correct, that collar would also bear three solid rank pips.

            “Commander Valentinian,” he said, stepping into place beside him. He spoke loudly enough to be heard, but softly enough not to interrupt anyone.

            “Captain Wolf,” Valentinian said. His voice was surprisingly deep for such a thin man, and strangely at odds with the levity in his tone. “I presume.”

            “You presume correctly. How goes she?”

            “Steady and strong,” he declared. “This is her third cruise out of spacedock, and it doesn’t look like she’ll need to spend too much more time in the cage. We tested the weapons and shields earlier today, and I can personally assure you that Requiem is battle-ready as any ship in the fleet. Everything’s going smoothly.”

            “Smoothly,” Wolf repeated, barely above a whisper. “She is smooth, isn’t she? Finest ship I’ve ever seen.”

            Valentinian grinned. “I tend to agree. It’ll be an honour to look to her defense.”

            “I can’t think of a better man for the job, Commander. You’ve got quite the impressive service record, especially the part about the 400 Breen.”

            “What can I say? I was the highest-ranking officer still alive after the ship went down, so I took command of the survivors. Our mission was to destroy the Breen installation, and we destroyed it.”

            “Your starship’s mission was to neutralize the heavily fortified base by orbital bombardment. You destroyed it on foot, after fighting through 400 Breen soldiers with twenty-three troops sixteen hand phasers.”

            He shook his head, smiling somewhat solemnly. “I’m a tactician by training, Captain. It’s what I do. And I had to avenge my CO.”

            Wolf blinked. “Why the hell aren’t you my first officer?”

            “Admiral Nakamura put me on his list,” he said, his hands absently working some diagnostic on his console, “but I asked to be removed. Like I said, this is what I do. Tactical and security.”

            “And leading after your captain dies, evidently. And completing the mission assigned to you with whatever resources you have.”

            “Because that mission was to attack an enemy base. Attack and defense. Those are my world.”

            “And you wouldn’t even think about branching out?”

            Valentinian chuckled softly, then swivelled his chair around to face Wolf. “Captain, I had this instructor at the academy, an old security man, proud defender of Starfleet’s finest for over sixty years. And he once told me something that’s stuck with me like nothing else: his philosophy on how a starship’s meant to function.

            “The man in engineering keeps the ship running smoothly, the man in that chair keeps the crew running smoothly, the man in your chair keeps them running smoothly together, and the man in my chair keeps everyone safe. And the more each of those men devotes himself to his own work and trusts the other three to do theirs, the more smoothly the whole thing goes. That’s why the XO job’s not for me, Captain. I have my place, keeping everyone safe. It’s what I’m good at.”

            Wolf sighed. “I’m sorry to contradict and instructor who’s obviously produced an outstanding officer, but I can poke a rather serious hole in that philosophy, making it almost as utterly abhorrent as it is outdated.”

            Commander Jonah Valentinian was taken aback. “What hole is that, Captain?”

            “You’re describing an exclusively male Starfleet.”

            Valentinian crossed his arms over his chest, nodding contemplatively. “You’re right,” he said, grinning. “Abhorrent sums it up pretty well.”

            They shared a quiet laugh, and Valentinian stood up. He stood a good ten centimetres higher than Wolf. “I’m done fine-tuning the targeting scanners. If you like I could show you around the ship.”

            “I’ll be glad for the company.” They silently wove through the oblivious crowd and entered the turbolift. “I was going to check out engineering, next.”

            “You haven’t met Lieutenant Gorski, have you?”

            “No. And I haven’t gotten around to his service record yet. Why? Is there something I should know about my chief engineer?”

            The tall man gave a sharp, tense shrug. “He’s extremely good at what he does. One of the best in the fleet. Last year he debated warp field theory with Montgomery Scott at some symposium, and most of the audience will tell you he won. And he’s largely responsible for getting this ship—which is technically a prototype—built in such incredible time, which is even more impressive when you consider just how few bugs there are.”

            “Jesus,” Wolf said. “Why haven’t I heard of this guy?  Why isn’t he an SCE captain?”

            “Mr. Gorski’s technically qualified to serve on the most prestigious ships out there … but the captains of prestigious ships usually have enough clout with the admiralty to keep him far away.”

            Wolf frowned. “Does he not bathe?”

            “Oh, he definitely bathes. In fact, he’s neurotically fastidious about his hygiene. Often annoyingly so, I’ve heard. He’s abrasive, outspoken, arrogant … notoriously difficult to work with.”

            “And how did I get saddled with this character?”

            “Well, I believe someone at Command decided he’d be more personable from 75,000 light years away. He was put on a little science ship, one of a dozen sent off to the Gamma Quadrant to investigate what used to be Borg space near the Dominion.”

            Wolf looked up. “The Gel-Mann?”

            “The very same,” Valentinian said, leading the way out of the turbolift. “He and Ensign Sparrow were the first two people to set eyes on the Rover. And he personally activated the tractor beam that woke it up.”

            Wolf sighed, remembering his conversation with Sparrow back on Earth. Millions of sentients had already died when the Rover struck the planet Sparrow had mentioned. That pre-industrial species had survived because a Betazoid diplomat went rogue and posed as a god, convincing several thousand of the primitives to board the “sky ships” and escape Armageddon. They had survived, but their population was reduced by over 95%, and their cultural development was derailed beyond repair.

            As abrasive as this Gorski is, he’s an atoner like me and the kid. He needs this, deserves to be here even more than I do.

#

Lieutenant Cyrus Gorski prodded the little yellow icon with a thin bony finger. And nothing happened. Being scientifically minded, he prodded the icon again, as there was always the possibility that it would respond to two successive taps. Again, nothing happened, so he tried the two taps more rapidly, and then three taps. At that point he decided he had exhausted every reasonable combination of taps—anything he hadn’t tried yet was too idiotic to be practical—and allowed himself to react.

            “Belzar! Get your ass over here and fix this console.” Knowing Belzar, it would probably take her a good seventeen minutes to figure out what was wrong, and at least another twelve to actually correct the problem, all of which Gorski himself could probably manage in less than three minutes. But it didn’t really matter because Gorski had plenty of other things to do, things with which the likes of Ensign Belzar could not be trusted. Thus it made sense to keep her occupied with something menial while he attended to the much-needed repolarization of the starboard warp coils. The diagnostic he’d wanted to run on that console could certainly wait.

            He glanced at the core on his way to the Jeffries tube, and wondered how wise he’d been to assign Junior Lieutenant Johnson the task of realigning the magnetic constrictors. It was a mind-numbingly simple task, and Johnson was a mind-numbingly simple man, but that kind logic had a tendency backfire where potentially explosive technology was concerned.

            “Lieutenant Gorski,” croaked a deep, contemptible timbre.

            He pivoted to face the main doors, through which it seemed the eminent Commander Valentinian had brought a new face into his domain. Valentinian dwarfed the man, though not so much as he dwarfed Gorski, and, of course, contrasted against him in virtually every other way. The newcomer was a bit on the pale side, and not to mention scruffy, with hair almost as long as Gorski’s own, and a beard sheer millimetres from violating regulation. He looked about thirty-five, but there was just a bit too much grey in the beard … maybe he was some kind of alien with a weird age cycle.

            “Commander,” he said, “how magical to see you. But I’m very busy, as I imagine you are, so whatever it is, please be quick about—” And then he noticed the rank pips on the new guy’s command red collar.  “—introducing me to my new commanding officer!”

            His two superiors exchanged a look, in which Valentinian’s eyes unequivocally stated I told you so.

            “Captain—Wolf, is it?—Captain Wolf, as your chief engineer, I’d like to impart some of my technical wisdom upon you.”

            “Uh, all right.”

            “Don’t spend more time with this obnoxious prick than you have to.”

            “Watch it, Lieutenant,” Valentinian said, but the skipper just raised his eyebrows curiously.

            A captain with a sense of humour? Maybe there is a God …

            “Captain,” the fascist continued, “I apologize for Mr. Gorski; he’s clearly spent too much time crawling around in Jeffries tubes, deprived of human interaction—or too little time.”

            “Oh, ha ha, Commander Hilarious. Congratulations, you butcher comedy as well as you butcher Breen.”

            “Commander,” said the captain, cutting off Valentinian’s reply. “In the interest of forming accurate, unbiased impressions of my crew, I’d like to speak with the lieutenant one-on-one. Please don’t be offended, but I think he can conduct my tour from here.”

            Valentinian shot Gorski a scornful look as he said, “Aye, Captain.” Then he turned to go, and as he passed through the doors called out, “Behave yourself, Lieutenant.”

            “Go polish a gun!” Gorski shot back. I think I got the last laugh there.

            An awkward nine seconds passed during which Gorski realized most of his staff had paused to take in his banter, and they hastily returned to work before he found the correct wording with which to command that selfsame course of action.

            “So … Captain,” he said.

            “Lieutenant Gorski.” The captain’s tone was … ambiguous, his face unreadable. Gorski noticed the shadows under his eyes then, faded remnants of a long time without sufficient rest.

            “Just how much slanderous bile did he feed you on the way here?”

            Then Wolf’s mouth bent into an honest-to-God, bona-fide smile, and he laughed through his nostrils, and Gorski’s heart sang. “Let’s just say … pretty much everything he said has been explicitly proven correct in the two minutes I’ve known you.”

            “Really? Usually the things he says about me would get me thrown in the brig if they were explicitly proven correct. Either he’s miraculously forgotten half his vocabulary … or I may have just found the only captain in Starfleet without a tricorder up his ass.”

            The captain nodded, understanding. “I want to talk to you for a minute, Gorski, but I don’t want to pull you away from your work. Mind if I walk with you to wherever you were going?”

            “Walking where I’m headed takes too long. But feel free to crawl behind me through a Jeffries tube if you want.”

#

As he crawled down that narrow crawlspace, with Gorski’s bony rear just a meter ahead, Adam Wolf thought to himself, I like this man.

            He suddenly realized that, of all the members of Requiem’s crew he’d met so far, Gorski was the only one whose company he enjoyed. Sparrow was clearly bright and decent, but too young, green, and awkward for a casual conversation. Demordna Xom was capable and friendly, but her job made her an uncomfortable companion. And Valentinian, perhaps the finest officer Wolf had ever known, seemed altogether too austere and military for his personal liking. Glad to have him on my ship, but not exactly friend material.

            But Gorski was different. He sensed some common ground there, and not just because of his horrendous guilt or his charming irreverence. The scrawny little engineer had also suffered the slings and arrows a disapproving admiralty.

            It was easy to see why Gorski rubbed straitlaced officers like Valentinian the wrong way: straitlaced military logic naturally inferred that his disregard for other people’s feelings might potentially translate into disregard for other people’s orders. But Wolf knew better. Irreverence was not insubordination. He’d seen insubordination plenty of times, even witnessed all-out mutiny, and it was absolutely never the work of men like Gorski.

            What no one seemed to realize was that Gorski’s attitude was just a symptom of a much more significant root cause: he didn’t hold back, no matter what. It was a trait Wolf liked to call honesty.

            And to call a man like Jonah Valentinian a prick, right to his face, right in front of his commanding officer, showed a trait Wolf liked to call courage. And the combination of courage and honesty alluded to something Wolf liked to call integrity.

            Integrity was what made good officers, and good people. He didn’t doubt that rest of his crew had integrity, but Gorski seemed to have a brand all his own, and his career had suffered for it, which just wasn’t fair—especially considering how eminently likeable Wolf found his cheery impertinence.

            “We’ve been crawling for at least five minutes. Are you sure it wouldn’t have been faster to walk?”

            “It’s only been four minutes, thirty-eight seconds, Captain. Trust me, you could set your watch by my internal clock. And no, that definitely would not be quicker. I did the math, and I didn’t just stop at distance. Even compensating for how much faster walking is than crawling, this is still the quickest route.”

            “I wish you’d shown me your math earlier. I’d have suggested a site-to-site transport.”

            Gorski sighed. “I discourage frivolous transporter use; that equipment is more sensitive than people realize. If it’s the beam or a shuttle, by all means beam. But if it’s close enough to walk, don’t take any chances.”

            “Mr. Gorski, I really wouldn’t have had you pegged for transporter anxiety.”

            “I’m not afraid,” he said, his voice bouncing tinnily around the Jeffries tube. “I’m fully aware of the statistics about how rare transporter malfunctions are. But I’m also aware that, rare as those malfunctions may be, they increase in frequency as a given transporter’s use increases in frequency. Today, you declare a rule against transporting where you could easily walk. Ten years from now, someone doesn’t die in a random accident. Best decision you never knew was right.”

            Wolf couldn’t help but laugh. “Whatever you say, Lieutenant. You’re the expert.”

            And he followed Cyrus Gorski all the way to the starboard nacelle. Gorski became a bit busy to talk once he started working on the warp coils, which was just as well. By that point Wolf’s opinion of his chief engineer was quite sufficiently formed.