Barrett said nothing and Celesta couldn’t help but wonder if her professed faith in the chain of command was a result of her previous meeting with Admiral Marcum.

The admiral’s biting, angry remarks had completely blindsided Celesta, as she thought she had enjoyed his trust and genuinely felt she was doing what was expected of her. She was from a world where trust was earned and not so fickly revoked, and the higher she rose in the ranks of Starfleet and the closer she got to that gray demarcation line that blurred the boundary between military and politics the more she realized things weren’t so cut and dried. It didn’t bother her so much that Marcum had used her and her ship’s legend to further his own agendas, as she was beginning to suspect was the case, but she was annoyed that despite the repeated warnings from someone who had been there she’d still allowed herself to be caught off-guard when it turned on her.

“How long until those two cruisers get up here?” she asked Barrett. He blinked a few times at the sudden change of subject before recovering.

“Fourteen hours, ma’am,” he said. “Give or take an hour. They’re parked down in a holding orbit stationary relative to the Platform, actually trailing along behind it. Once they’re cleared they’ll have to push away into traffic and move through three transfer orbits to get up to us.”

“Send them new orders to just meet us over the sixth planet with everyone else.” Celesta stood and logged off her terminal. “I want the Icarus away from New Sierra as quickly as possible.”

“Aye, ma’am.”

****

“This has to be some sort of record,” Admiral Marcum commented as he read over the summary sheet of the resolution that had just been passed in the Parliament. “Nearly unanimous too.”

“Always a few holdouts,” President Wellington said as he sat carefully in his seat. “Don’t worry, it’s all in there. How are things on your end?”

“Wright and Everett are organizing the taskforce.” Marcum laid the document down on the table in front of him. “The Amsterdam is in no shape to fly so I’ll be transferring over to the—”

“You’ll be handing command of this mission over to Fleet Admiral Pitt, or another suitable flag officer, and you’ll be transferring your stuff down here to your office … the place where you’re supposed to be when I need you,” Wellington said. “You’re the CENTCOM Chief of Staff, the liaison between Fleet and my office. You are not supposed to be standing on the bridge of a starship interfering with your people. From what I’ve seen recently you’re far too close to the operations side.”

“Mr. President, if I may—”