Prologue
2344
Narendra III, Klingon Space
"Brace for impact!"
Captain Rachel Garret grasped her chair arms tightly and held on as her ship, HER ship, was rocked with yet another Romulan torpedo. Fire and sparks flew from the tactical station, and Lieutenant Pierce went down, a heap of burning cloths and flesh.
"Damage report!"
"Decks ten through 14 reporting minor hull breaches, Captain", the ops manager yelled above the roar of fire and screams and twisting metal. "Forward phasers offline, probably destroyed entirely!"
The captain, from her new spot at tactical, raised her voice as loudly as possible.
"All hands, stay your posts! No retreat! Get those breaches contained and find more power, we must hold this line a few minutes longer! Hold the line, people!"
Outside, the two Romulan warbirds vied for position, no longer too concerned about hitting the Enterprise, but rather hitting it in just the right spot. Unfortunately for them, the Enterprises’ captain was clever enough to continually adjust and cover its’ weaknesses, firing all the while with all weapons.
The bridge doors whooshed aside, as a tall, blonde woman strode on deck.
"Captain, my wounds are minor, if I may resume my post?"
Captain Rachel Garrett stared at the new arrival; blood caked in her hair and on the side of her face, and staining her duty uniform at the waist.
"Please, captain, give me my last stand."
The bridge was suddenly silent, but for the crackling of electrical fires and the alert klaxon.
"Very well, Tasha, take tactical."
Two more torpedoes found their mark, and the Enterprise rocked madly. No longer able to maintain lateral control, it listed and started to roll.
"Long range sensors report three Klingon vessels en route, captain."
The captain of the Enterprise C, fourth of its’ line, looked at her bridge crew, bathed in red light, and at the two warbirds in the viewscreen, rolling in and out of view with the ships’ every turn.
"All, hands, stand down. Our job is done. Signal our unconditional surrender, Mr. Chapman."
"Sir?"
"Dammit Karl, we surrender! I’ll not allow one more person under my command to die for a Klingon outpost when the bastards are almost here!"
Everyone watched as the captain stood, ramrod strait and proud as a star, and pulling her jacket down tight.
"Let them defend their own outpost now. Were finished, Karl. We surrender."
Ten Days Later
Utopia Planetia Shipyards,
Above Mars
Admiral Galen Terrence stood at the podium, and looked out over the crowd. Behind her, massive transparent aluminum windows revealed the ship honored today. An Excelsior class, recently repaired and refurbished, sat in space with its nose pointing into the audience hall. At one time, this had been the U.S.S. Farragut-B, a proud ship with many great years of service to Starfleet under its plaque. But the insistence of the Klingon High Council and lack of new ships ready for commission, left Starfleet Command no choice but to make history by recomissioning the first vessel to ever bear two names.
The Klingons, sitting shoulder to shoulder to once bitter enemies, the humans, looked insufferably proud. She would swear half of them oiled their damnable head ridges just for this occasion. Even still, Admiral Terrence had to admit it was an inspiring sight. Even if not a soul in the room would give a half a minute of life to the Klingons, there would be a day when the two nations stood together. Indeed, there may come a day when the two mighty powers needed each other, when the galaxy got too big for either one to stand alone. This day, distasteful for several reasons, would lay the groundwork for a better future. And for that, Admiral Terrence would suffer the insufferable Klingons, and the unconventional renaming of a Starship. For the future, and for the memory of her dear friend, recently deceased.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, on behalf of the United Federation of Planets, the Klingon Empire, and Starfleet Command, welcome and thank you for attending this august event. No words can describe the loss one feels when a close friend is killed, especially by a political enemy. However, as any Starfleet Officer can attest, we are proud of Captain Garret for her sacrifice. We all stand for a greater, more peaceful future, wherein our two warring peoples will work together, and accomplish even greater things than individually we have accomplished to this date." She paused, letting the images settle in, and the translator catch up. "This starship will forever stand for that union. A Klingon honor guard will become, for the first time ever, a permanent part of a Federation Starship, signifying by teamwork just what the sacrifices of the Narendra III massacre mean to all of us. The commission plaque will therefore read, ’Here shall we raise our sabers with that of our noble, departed sister, and by her unbreakable heart, we shall hold the line."
The Admiral turned, feeling everyone’s emotions rise at her words, feeling their hopes burn her shoulders and spine.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, please join me in wishing this vessel great success, and a long and distinguished career in service to both our great societies. We hereby christen thee, U.S.S. Rachel Garret. First ship of the name."
A torpedo tube belched, and a champagne bottle tumbled out, turning over and over until it crashed on the nose of the Rachel Garret, and its bright contents spread out into the infinity of space.