Captain Gar’rath stared out of the small viewport that rested not far from his desk in the Ready Room of his newly installed bridge. His eyes meandered about the empty space between the transparent aluminum pane and the inky darkness of infinity that continued far beyond what his own eyes could perceive. While the Gorn’s eyes focused on nothing in particular, his mind flitted over everything that had been or was being done aboard the USS Century.

The strategic information that the Pulsar had brought back had told every Captain that had assembled to discuss the matter that their next encounter had the potential to be their last mission. The weight of what had to be done needed to be measured against what could be done to minimize losses should the worst come to pass.

Gar’rath, like most of his counterparts, knew that not everyone could be saved from the unfortunate reality of near-certain death. But that fact had not diminished his desire to spare those that could be, which is exactly what he’d done.

All injured crew who had been recovering in Sickbay had been moved to either the station, or in the more extreme cases, to Vulcan itself to continue their treatments. This had resulted in both his Executive Officer and Chief of Operations being removed from the ship. He had also ordered the science department to disembark; the official reasoning was that they were not critical to the upcoming operation but the reality being that Gar’rath felt they should be spared if he could spare anyone at all.

What remained aboard the Century were, in both name and purpose, those who were essential to the success of their counteroffensive against the Vaadwaur. With a little over a third of his ship’s normal compliment now absent, those that remained would carry the burden of seeing the mission to completion. The task was already daunting even before Gar’rath had pared down their numbers, and it would only feel even more so now that the last of the departures had been carried out.

His last order of business had been to name a temporary successor to Commander Peters, who was still in a coma thanks to the injuries she’d sustained during the bridge explosion. Gar’rath had allowed himself to see her off the ship, her condition so fragile that Abby had needed to be moved via a shuttle rather than by transporter. Seeing her lying helplessly on the floating stretcher had reignited the simmering anger he’d felt toward the Vaadwaur, and the visceral need to revisit their ‘kindness’ a thousand-fold.

His initial instinct was to appoint his Chief Engineer to the position, but the idea had been met with a vehement rejection from the Tellarite in question. According to Lieutenant Commander Brak, pulling him away from Engineering on the eve of battle was akin to plucking out one’s own heart before trying to run a marathon. His colorful turn of phrase aside, the Gorn couldn’t argue that his ship would likely need its Chief Engineer doing his actual job rather than trying to play at being a First Officer.

He’d ultimately settled on Lieutenant Khar for the job, though he had to concede that the Klingon would not relinquish the tactical console or the associated responsibilities to anyone, save in the face of his death. While a bit unorthodox, it was a condition that Gar’rath could accept, and personally sympathize with given their similar ideologies. With that bit of administration complete, Gar’rath was leaving the rest to his crew as he quietly waited out the hours that would no doubt feel like mere minutes to his busy crew.

A soft chirp from his desk finally tore the Gorn’s eyes from the vault of stars he’d been gazing at, bringing him temporal awareness back into focus. The time to depart had come, their hour of retribution was nigh, and all that was left was to make it so. Gar’rath sucked in a sharp breath, letting it out just as roughly as he’d taken it in, and moved toward the door of his Ready Room.

The low hum of the bridge fell into silence the moment Gar’rath crossed the threshold. Each pair of eyes belonging to every soul occupying the compartment fixed themselves on the massive creature that commanded the vessel they served aboard. Some held their breath unconsciously, waiting for him to climb the small staircase to his chair and give them his orders… to set in motion an act that could not be undone until either the Vaadwaur had surrendered or their lives were lost.

Gar’rath stopped in front of his chair, looking down at it for a moment before turning his gaze to each of the officers around the room in turn. He noted the apprehension in the eyes of his younger crew, tempered by the quiet steel beneath it. He allowed their collective nervousness to settle just a little before he finally said his piece.

“It has been a tradition, so I’ve read, that on the eve of battles such as this that a Captain will give his crew a speech. It is a… charming sentiment,” the Gorn said, his head moving around as he spoke.

“I, however, am not usually one of words,” Gar’rath remarked with a sardonic lilt in his voice, “My people are prone to act first, and let others speak of what we have done long after the dust has settled. It was my initial intention to do just that.”

The Gorn allowed himself another pass around the room before he continued, “I consider all of you, here on this ship, to be ‘my people’. But you are also other peoples… peoples who value words spoken and feelings conveyed not just after the deed is done. And so… I say this to you all now…”

“Come what may of our charge into Underspace, I am proud that I have served with you all. Each of you has weathered this incursion with a strength and dignity that defies the common perception of those outside the Federation. They call you weak. They dismiss your worth. They cross into our space as if it were theirs by right.

“Today… we will remind the galaxy that the Federation is not weak. We will show our enemies that our peaceful tendencies are merely a choice, that our claws are simply tucked away but never blunt. We leave now to bring to the Vaadwaur proof of our resilience… and our wrath. And in so doing, we will reclaim what they sought to upset… our peace!”

Lieutenant Khar, along with several others on the bridge, let out a rallying cry as the Captain finished speaking. Even those who hadn’t been so moved as to cry out still looked as if the words had touched a part of them that they hadn’t expected a Gorn to reach. Gar’rath’s head dipped slightly in a nod before he finally faced fully forward toward the view screen and eased himself into his chair.

“Ensign,” the Captain addressed the officer manning the helm, “set a course for the Underspace aperture’s location and stand by for my order.”

He swiveled his chair to look back toward Lt. Khar, “Lieutenant, relay departure orders to the fleet.”

The Gorn moved his chair back toward the front of the bridge, “Take us out, Ensign.”