Drinking Buddies, Part One
Posted on May 26th, 2016 by Kathryn Harper and Douglas McKnight

by Douglas McKnight and Kathryn Harper

Colonel Douglas James McKnight, former security chief and one time commander of this ship, was chagrined to realize he’d begun to forget details of what those things had meant. None of the skills, of course; he’d taken some oddly timed comfort during the funeral when he’d spent a moment studying the console that had sent the empty torpedoes on their way, and realized he could still operate it with his eyes closed. But there were other details, less substantial but no less important, that he’d found himself surprised by all over again. And maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing, he reflected as he gazed out the Ready Room window. Not so long ago, he’d have found himself largely unmoved by such a view among the stars, distinguished it little from the literally tens of thousands of other times he’d looked out a window during more than a decade in space. And somehow now, even compared against something as beautiful as San Francisco bay on a foggy morning…it really was quite stunning.

Harper would come to love this. Another comfort, he supposed. One of these days, perhaps while passing through the tail of a comet or charting some vivid nebula, she’d forget to ask herself how many times Ian Blackthorne had stood staring out the same window. And that…would be a good day. Another day.

“You should know,” he began, at last breaking his gaze from the cosmos to turn it back toward his Risan host, “it may be pressing my luck, but I’m actually taking TWO mementos back to Earth with me. Ran into a cadet during my catching up tour of security who needed a lift. Oddest damn conversation, actually. Were you aware you had Admiral Zuriyev’s daughter aboard?”

Harper turned from the windows to face the Marine, the answer evident in her expression. “I have yet to find time to review personnel, given the events of late, so I was not aware. She is already in Starfleet? And you say the conversation was odd?”

“Better! A marine…provided she gets her butt back to Earth before she misses her finals. Me, I never had the patience for all that crap when I was her age, but hey, someone has to chip away at the old ‘dumb jarhead’ stereotype. And Discovery will definitely get her there with time to spare…but she was more interested in that ship’s hull plating than she was in her engines. She didn’t want to give me any details at first, just kept trying to dance around the subject, wearing the tough poker face you always see on rookies who think they were supposed to leave fear back at boot camp. I’ll give her credit, too. She’s a tough kid. I had to dust off my stern Sergeant voice before she’d come clean. But she’s convinced this wasn’t an accident, and after hearing her story, I have to say I’ve got some doubts myself. I was hoping maybe you had something a little more concrete.”

Narrowing her brows, Harper looked back to the window for a moment, considering what McKnight had told her, and integrating it with what she already knew. She had no reservations about confiding in him; it was more a matter of whether anything could ever come of this, or if they were just chasing at shadows. Finally, after deciding that if there was even the remotest chance that involving McKnight could help uncover the truth behind what had happened, Harper faced him once again, knowing that she had to take that chance.

“Colonel,” she started, then paused. No, that wasn’t right for this conversation; they had served together for nine years, and some measure of familiarity was not out of place, especially given the confidence she was placing in him. Inclining her chin slightly as was required to look him directly in the eyes, she started again in a quieter, almost conspiratorial voice, “Doug, Lieutenant Quinn has essentially verified your suspicion. The evidence he has presented to me all but proves sabotage. Given the timing, I somehow doubt that Cadet Zuriyev’s fear is simply an unsubstantiated general fear of shuttles.”

“Nothing so light as that, no.” He took a moment before clarifying, eyeing the bar from which he’d been offered some selection, and wondering idly if Ian would mind him helping himself a little right now. Because if the young Zuriyev WASN’T paranoid, then there was something seriously wrong at Starfleet, and he could do with a stiff drink. And with a Starfleet Captain dead, to say nothing of a senior flag officer, it was hard to dispute she might be onto something.

“Admiral Zuriyev’s retirement caught a lot of us by surprise. People cut from that cloth aren’t made to go gracefully into the sunset. But all the same, he told us that was his decision, so that’s that…except apparently even his own family didn’t buy it. AJ wanted Ian and T’Kirr to look into it, speak with Brooke. That’s why she got herself posted here; apparently, they didn’t even trust comms anymore. Given what’s happened…I’m gonna have to guess that was an interesting conversation.”

“So that is why they went to Earth…” Harper’s voice trailed off as she turned to the window and started putting things together. “If Commodore Zuriyev is correct in her suspicion, then talking to Blackthorne and T’Kirr about it got their involvement noticed. Traveling back here on a shuttle left them vulnerable to the saboteur. But who?” Kate turned back to him, concern and perhaps a hint of fear evident in her voice as she asked the next logical question, “Who would benefit from all of this—forcing a well-respected Admiral to retire and… and outright killing a flagship’s command staff?”

It was a fair and compelling question. So much so that McKnight really wished he had more to offer in response to it than a shrug. And it was awhile before he found anything to supplement it.

“I remember the last time we were both here like this, you know. I was sitting behind that desk, right there, and we were talking about the uniform. What it stood for, what it meant to wear it, all that. What we did NOT end up discussing was how bottom feeding shitbags find their way into it more often than any of us care to admit. I think we can be forgiven for the optimism, but chances are, Harris wasn’t the only one of his kind. Or hell, maybe we’re dealing with infiltrators. Wouldn’t be the first time for that, either.

“Here’s the one thing I CAN tell you for sure. When something’s wrong, I mean really wrong, most folks don’t want to see it, even if they need to. So, often as not, they don’t. But there are a select few who’ve both made it their living, and who owe me a favor. Believe you me, I’ll be making some discreet calls over the next few days. I’ll be in touch with anything I find, but in the meantime…watch your ass out here, Firefly. And if you need anything from back home, ask for it via General Tariq’s office. I’ll be making damned sure you can trust the Marines.”

Kate recalled the conversation from five years ago quite well, and it was certainly a reminder of their shared values, but it wasn’t entirely necessary. You don’t serve with someone as long as they had without getting a real sense of them, and with all the sudden uncertainty in the air of who was trustworthy, she knew damn well that her trust in Douglas McKnight was absolute. She met his eyes, relief evident in her own that someone outside of Atlantis had her back. “Thank you Doug, I really appreciate that. Though I should add that you may wish to keep an eye on your own ass as well, though I am sure you already knew that.”

With a glance at Blackthorne’s bar, Kate offered a smile. “Now, I believe you also came here for a bottle, yes?”