Spirit Walk_ Old Wounds (Book 1) - Christie Golden [12]
“Aye, sir,” Tare replied, executing her captain’s order. “Ahead one-quarter impulse power.”
Chakotay watched as the gray of the space dock gave way to a field of black with glittering stars. As if he were releasing his own moorings, he took a deep breath and felt his chest expand as his lungs filled with air.
Tare spoke again. “We are free and clear to navigate, sir.” Free and clear. Both good words, Chakotay thought. “Request course heading,” Tare continued.
“Course heading one three mark four,” he said. “To Deep Space 6.”
Soft sounds of small pads being pressed. Then, “Course laid in, Captain.”
And then he gave the order: “Engage.”
The ship surged into warp, and for a while, Chakotay simply sat quietly, watching as the stars streaked by. But that halcyon moment passed quickly, and he suddenly realized that he didn’t know what to do. Should he continue to sit in the chair, the new captain in his proper place, and gaze at the screen? Should he walk around the bridge, checking in with his crew? Mysteriously excuse himself to his ready room to work on something in private?
How the hell did Janeway manage it?
He’d know what to do if he were in Ellis’s chair. And he’d have known what to do if he were still in the Maquis, captaining his own small ship and crew. But in these first few awkward moments as captain of a Federation starship, especially this one, he wasn’t sure of his role.
Chakotay thought of the enormous Black Jaguar, the powerful animal spirit totem who had appeared to him when he had visited his homeworld a few months ago. Black Jaguar was all about power and focus and a clear vision of a just cause. She’d be laughing her furry tail off if she could see him now.
The thought made him smile, and in that moment of humor, he had the clarity he sought.
He wasn’t bucking for captain; he was the captain. He didn’t have to prove anything to anybody. He just needed to trust himself to do the right thing.
He rose and offered his seat to Ellis. “This first mission is all about the colonists,” he told his first officer. “Notify Marius Fortier and have him meet me in my quarters.”
Fortier had clearly been eager for the meeting, as Chakotay had barely stepped into his own quarters when his door chimed.
Amused, he called, “Enter.”
There was a hiss as the door opened. The leader of the colonists was tall and rangy. Despite the fact that he had spent several years on Earth, Marius Fortier still had the bearing of someone who was not overly comfortable in formal society. Nonetheless, he shook Chakotay’s outstretched hand firmly.
“It’s good to meet you, Mr. Fortier. I suggested we meet here rather than in my ready room because I thought we would be less likely to be disturbed,” said Chakotay. “I hope this suits you.”
“Wherever you wish, Captain,” said Fortier. He had a very slight trace of a French accent. “I am pleased you wished to speak with me at all.”
Chakotay wondered what kind of runaround the man had gotten.
“I’ve nothing else scheduled for the moment, so we can take our time,” he said. “I was just about to have some coffee. May I offer you something to drink?”
“Thank you. Vulcan spiced tea, hot,” said Fortier.
Chakotay ordered coffee and removed both steaming cups from the replicator.
“Sounds like you’ve developed some sophisticated tastes while you were waiting to return to Loran II,” he said, handing the tea to Fortier. “Vulcan spiced tea doesn’t appeal to everyone.”
“Our Federation contact was a Vulcan,” Fortier explained, inhaling the aroma and then sipping the hot beverage. “She introduced me to it and I grew to enjoy it.” He arched an eyebrow and added, “I may enjoy Vulcan spiced tea, Captain, but I would not call myself nor any of my fellow colonists a sophisticate.”
He used the word as if it were an insult. Chakotay felt a hint of amusement; for many centuries on Earth, the French were considered to be some of the most sophisticated humans on the planet, but Fortier clearly wanted no part of that aspect of his heritage.
Chakotay