The room was barren, an eight-by-eight box with nothing but a small table and a chair on each adjoining side, which were melded into the floor. Everything was made with the same polycarbonate substance, one would mistake it for being expertly carved from a single piece. Other than the door behind the second chair, there was a hole in the ceiling that illuminated the room in a dull blue light. Blue light was supposed to be calming to most species, and depending on how long they were stuck in this room, they would need more than that to keep their nerves.

Michael had been waiting for what felt like two hours. Wherever he was, it was sparsely occupied…probably by design. Every time he tried to reach out with his mind, he could only hear whispers of the passing guards, too far and quiet to make a proper read of what was going on. Gods, it felt like they were treating him like a criminal; he had more stimulation on a Klingon Prison Planet than in here.

Then he heard it, the tapping of shoes. Too loud, too deliberate, too pointy to be the guards, and they were getting closer. Michael took his place in the chair opposite the door and waited, taking a deep breath to center himself. There was a polite knock, which confused him at first. “Come,” Michael said, as if the person had just casually rung his door chime to his quarters. The door slid open, and there stood a man, a human, in a neatly pressed suit and briefcase in his hand. “Thank you,” he stated before stepping in, the door closing behind him automatically. “Commander Angelus, I presume?” the man said, taking quick stock of what little surroundings there were.

“Lieutenant Commander.” Michael corrected. “Captain Brownson posthumously demoted me.” He looked down for a moment, almost like he could see the rank pips on the neck of his shirt. “Although when he ripped the pip off my collar, he failed to supply me with a replacement black pip…so hell, I might just be a Lieutenant for all I know.” Michael motioned with his hand to the room around them, indicating the barren and solitary state of it all.

“Yes, well, sorry about all of this. I was just notified of your case. I’m Former Commander Martin Bradley, and I have volunteered to be your Defense Council if you will accept me.” He stated warmly, holding out his hand. Michael scanned him for a moment, reaching out cautiously with his mind. All he could detect was sincerity, along with a sense of enthusiasm. Michael rose to shake the man’s hand, finally accepting that he was who he said he was. “Word travels fast. I hadn’t even gotten a chance to make my phone call.” He joked as the two took their seats.

Mr. Bradley opened his case and took out a PADD and a small round object, which Michael knew to be a recording device, and set it in the center of the table. Once activated, the orb hovered six inches off the surface of the table and began to glow yellow. Scrolling through his device, Mr. Bradley turned his attention to his new client with a confident grin. “I’d like to start with a brief introduction, if you don’t mind. It will allow me to get to know you a bit better before we dive into the details of the events that transpired.” Michael nodded in agreement, watching the attorney tap a button on his screen, causing the floating orb to change colors to green, indicating it was now active.

“You are Michael Belanor Angelus, 37, from Sol Luna, Correct?” Mr. Bradley inquired.
“Yes.” Michael answered politely. The councilman nodded and continued with his review, “Graduating Class of 86, 87^th percentile. Not bad…But I see a remark here that your professors didn’t think you applied yourself to your full potential?” he posed. Michael chuckled, “The brightest candle often burns out the quickest. I was comfortable in my position within the academy and wished to conserve my efforts for the start of my career, rather than risk burning out before it even started.” Mr. Bradley nodded in acceptance of his answer and moved on.

“It’s rare to see a Betazed focus on a security or tactical career path.” Mr. Bradley commented. “Half.” Michael corrected, “I lost my mother during the Dominion War, so I was raised by my father. Essentially, I’m just a telepathic human.” He explained. Mr. Bradley nodded, “Yes, the effects of the occupation of Betazed did see some shift in Betazoid culture, for the better, I would hope.”

Re-adjusting his posture in his chair, Mr. Bradley swiped his PADD in preparation for the next line of questioning. Michael could feel the uneasiness from the councilman for what was to be asked next, which was still a very fresh wound on his soul. “Next, I would like to ask you about the events aboard the USS Nakatomi. I understand it might be a difficult topic for you, and if we need to take a break, please let me—” he attempted to finish. Michael held up his hand. “Let’s just get this over with.” He declared.  Nodding in agreement, Mr. Bradley began again.

Bradley: “What was the nature of the mission of the Nakatomi in the Ionite Nebula?”

Michael: “Astrological Survey of Nebula Gases and Mineral Sample gathering of planetoid debris.”

Bradley: “And your official designation during this?”

Michael: “Executive Officer.”

Bradley: “Where were you when the runabout craft struck the Nakatomi?”

Michael: “I was on the bridge, as per ship schedule.”

Bradley: “And you had the conn?”

Michael: “Yes.”

Bradley: “Where was the captain?”

Michael: “I was unaware of the captain’s immediate whereabouts, as he was off duty following shift change several hours prior.”

Bradley: “Given your time serving aboard the ship as First Officer, and serving under Captain Brownson directly, what would your assumption be about his whereabouts at that time?”

Michael: “If I had to guess, given the late hour, I assumed in his quarters asleep.”

Bradley: “Where did the Runabout strike the ship?”

Michael: “Starboard Bow Quarter of the Saucer Section, penetrating decks 3 through 8.”

Bradley: “And what is in those sections of the ship?”

Michael: “Crew and Command Staff Quarters.”

Bradley: “So it’s safe to reasonably assume that when you saw the impact, and knowing what was in the impact radius, that the captain’s quarters were most likely compromised.”

Michael: “Yes…”

Mr. Bradley took a moment, waving his hand and turning the recording device yellow again. “I want you to understand, these lines of questioning can get nit-picky. But you’re being accused of mutiny, so we have to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that you were performing your duties to the best of your ability, given the circumstances. To do that, I need to ask the questions the prosecution would ask, so we already have answers and rebuttals ready. Once we clear the mutiny charge, it will be the first domino in clearing all the other allegations filed by your former Captain.” He stated reassuringly. Michael nodded, sensing the sincerity from the councilman. “I understand.” Mr. Bradley nodded, waving his hand to continue questioning.

Bradley: “I assumed you verified the captain’s location with the ship’s computer?”

Michael: “Not immediately.”

Bradley: “Why not?”

Michael: “Directly after impact, the ship suffered a massive EPS failure, which caused a cascading shutdown of several ship systems, including the ship’s computer.”

Bradley: “Ok, walk me through it, step by step, then.”

Michael: “Following the power failure, I ordered all bridge officers to utilize the Jefferies tubes and make way to the Battle Bridge on Deck 20. From there, we worked to restore communications with Engineering and bring the ship’s systems back online to coordinate hazard teams to the affected areas of the ship for search, rescue, and repair.”

Bradley: “You were able to restore power once you reached the battle bridge?”

Michael: “Yes. But only 20%”

Bradley: “Was that enough to locate the Captain?”

Michael: “Yes.”

Bradley: “Where was he?”

Michael: “According to sensors, his commbadge was transmitting adrift 2 meters away from the ship in open space. But we did not have the available power for a visual confirmation or transport lock.”

Bradley: “So you assumed him dead?”

Michael: “Correct.”

Bradley: “That’s when you assumed Command of the Nakatomi?”

Michael: “Correct.”

Bradley: “With what little computing power you had, and the number of suffering officers needing immediate aid, why did you feel a command transfer was really necessary at that moment?”

Michael took a deep breath following the question. He could feel the reservation radiating off the councilman as soon as the words left his lips, but he knew the importance of such a question. He had been warned. That didn’t make it any less of a slap in the face. He took a brief moment to swallow his emotions before tempering his tone for the answer.

Michael: “According to Starfleet Order 104, Section B, Paragraph 1-A: In the absence of a starship’s assigned captain, a ranking officer has the authority to assume command of the starship should they deem it necessary. Even as executive officer, there are still ship systems and commands restricted to captains only. To effectively execute relief and rescue missions, I chose in that moment to remove that limitation by taking formal command of the vessel, thus eliminating any restrictive obstacle that would have impeded those efforts.”

The feeling of reluctance coming from the councilman was now replaced with a wave of relief at Michael’s words. The Betazed Officer could hear the mental words ‘beautiful’ echo in his head, coming from Mr. Bradley’s mind as he typed away on his PADD. But Michael knew that the hard questions were far from over, as they had only scratched the surface of that awful night.

(To be continued.)