Empress and Commander

It was a starbase in form, if not in name. And approaching it in the shuttle, Philippa Georgiou reflected that it was very unlikely to have the same function.

That wasn't to say it was bereft of functions. Across this universe and her own, starbases shared the same basic purpose – supply stations, listening posts, military bases, grounds for diplomatic gatherings. Of course, this Federation that she'd found herself serving tended to use them for some things more than others, but even they understood the purpose of good intelligence. But in that context, Outpost Kappa 5 didn't serve much of a purpose. It wasn't on the frontier. It wasn't equipped to service anything more than one capital-class ship at a time. And given that the base didn't officially exist, she doubted that a vulcan, a human, and an andorian were going to walk into a bar there anytime soon, let alone meet a klingon to discuss things over drinks.

But it existed. And if it existed, it had purpose. The communique that had been delivered to her on the Discovery via a subspace channel had spoken of purpose. When she'd talked to Captain Pike, she'd spoken of purpose, and in that context, he'd let her borrow a shuttle without a second thought. Michael? Well, she'd had plenty of second thoughts (her eyes had told Philippa that much), but she'd kept quiet. They both knew the game they had to play. If the game ended, it might end worse for Philippa, but this was the Federation. Bleeding hearts bled, blood flowed into water, and a sea of sentiment allowed starships to sail its sugar-coated waters. Sickening, but still sweet if consumed in moderation.

But it didn't matter. The Discovery was three astronomical units. Approaching a space station in orbit of Cholitz II, a so-called "hot giant" that was practically a second star of the Cholitz system that had just never ignited. The combined radiation shadows of both planet and star would make it hard for anyone to detect a space base. And while that might prove hazardous for humans to reside there, she had faith in the technology of the Federation, if little else.

"Outpost Kappa Five, this is shuttle Asimov, requesting clearance to land."

She slowed the impulse engines and let the shuttle drift towards the station. Up here, up close, she realized just how small it actually was.

"Outpost Kappa Five, this is shuttle Asimov, requesting landing clearance, over."

And how quiet it was.

Perhaps this was a mistake.

There were a few people who knew her true identity. Of those few, some of them likely wanted her dead. She wouldn't put it past them.

"Outpost Kappa Five, this is-"

"Shuttle Asimov, please transmit clearance code."

Well, if they wanted her dead, they were taking their time. "Shuttle Asimov, acknowledged. Clearance code is as follows."

And if they did want her dead, well, what of it? She'd survived more competent assassination attempts.

"Rho. Charlie. Echo dash eleven fifteen. Alpha Sierra Epsilon."

And lived in a world where she didn't need any clearance code bar "I'm the empress of the Terran Empire."

"Clearance code confirmed. Proceed to docking bay five."

Correction – as empress, she'd never needed a clearance code at all. Her face had launched a thousand ships, and unlike the Iliad, it never took ten years to raze her foes' planets to the ground.

She frowned as she guided her shuttle in. So far, this was going better than…well, not better than she hoped, but better than the worst case scenario of her being dead. But then, every scenario was better than that. Best case scenario was her returning to her own universe, taking the throne, and ripping the hearts out of every cretin who'd opposed her. The scenario of her landing the shuttle, getting off, and seeing a group of armed Starfleet personnel approach her wasn't best or worst case, but it was certainly…a scenario.

"Hello," she said.

She saw one of the officers grab his phaser rifle even tighter. Squinting through the docking bay's light (still too bright for her liking), she was able to make out an insignia on every one of the grunts' uniforms – a shark of some kind. Or what she assumed was a shark, they'd been extinct on her universe's Earth for centuries.

"If you please, Captain," one of the grunts said.

"Captain?" She couldn't help but smile. "I think you've been misinformed. I'm not a captain anymore."

"Oh, and Pike is?" The grunt smiled. "Well, we'll see what happens."

Philippa's smile faded – she didn't like it when soldiers smiled. And she liked it even less when she was in the presence of people who knew more than she did.

And "Captain?" It was insulting. In her universe she was the ruler of the largest empire the Alpha Quadrant, nay, the galaxy, had ever seen. In this universe the Federation was a paper tiger that didn't even have the balls to leave blood on its teeth after tasting it.

Nonetheless, she followed the 'shark people.' One corridor after another, all of them looking the same, all of them without any ornamentation. She noticed that the personnel around her were trying to look the other way, but weren't doing too good. And unlike the crews of the Discovery and Enterprise, they weren't using the colour-coded uniform scheme that some moron at Federation HQ had mandated. They weren't even using the old scheme of blue and gold/silver. Nup. Just black. Good old fashioned black. Not unlike the insignia that trill imposter had given to her on Qo'noS.

"Here," shark leader one said. A door hissed open. He smiled again, mimicking the shark on his shoulder. "Try and make a good impression."

I'll kill you for this. She smiled. "I'll do my best." Slowly.

Plans of murder aside, she nonetheless walked in. If they were going for drama, they weren't doing a good job – there was just a desk with two men seated at it. No darkness, no lights, no mirrors. So either the people running this station were fools, or they were giving her the respect she deserved.

"Ah, Philippa," one of the two men said. "Sit down."

She walked up and took a seat. She'd have preferred to stand, but the people before her were in charge, so for now, she'd play their game.

"Had a good trip?" the same man said.

"Pike trusts me."

"What did you tell him?"

"That I had a meeting to attend to with Federation personnel."

"And?"

"And that was all. Your Christopher Pike is loyal."

"That he is," the other man said, his tone conveying that he wasn't too happy about that. "But enough about Pike, let's talk about you."

She shrugged. "What's there to say?"

"Well, for starters, we can acknowledge that you're not the Philippa Georgiou of this universe, that you're the former empress of a parallel universe, and that if people knew this, your life would get very uncomfortable."

Philippa sat there. People knowing her secret…well, that wasn't unexpected. Problem was, the two men in front of her weren't among those that she knew…knew. Question was, were they intending to use that as leverage?

She cleared her throat. "I would like to point out that if the people of the Federation found out, your lives would get very difficult as well."

"Perhaps," said the first man. "Perhaps not. But then, that's not what we're really here for is it?"

"I can't say. You haven't told me."

"Quite right." The first man smiled. "My name is Harold Smith. And the man beside me is Admiral Alexander Marcus of Starfleet Command."

The first man stuck out his hand, but Philippa didn't take it. She didn't shake hands with those who refused to give their real names, let alone the branches they worked for. Admiral Marcus though…that was a name she recognised. Something about victories, starships, and a lot of dead klingons.

Harold, if that was his real name (which it wasn't – she knew a lie when she saw one) withdrew his hand. "I see you don't trust us."

"Men like you, women like me…we don't get to the positions that we do by trusting people."

"Oh, but I do trust people." He gave Marcus a shove. "I trust my good friend here because we happen to be on the same page as to the future of Starfleet. Me, and every other MACO on this station who's got an axe to grind."

"But you don't trust me," Philippa said.

"No." Harold lay back in his chair. "I don't."

Philippa got to her seat and began pacing around.

"Well can you blame me?" he asked. "You're impersonating a dead woman with an exemplary record. You're the emperor of a galactic empire that would make even the klingons blush from what I've heard. And I doubt that you have even the slightest bit of genuine loyalty towards the Federation."

"If that's true, then why am I here?"

"Because I'm guessing that you like power. That even if you aren't the queen bitch of the galaxy, queen bitch of a starship might be the next best thing."

Philippa stopped pacing and walked forward, smiling like one of the sharks she'd seen over, and put her hands on the chair. "Should I tell you what happened to the last person who called me a bitch?"

"Preferably no."

"Shame. It's quite a story."

"I'm sure it is." Harold gestured to the seat. Smile fading, Philippa took it.

Someday, I'll kill you as well. "Alright. So you want to give me a starship. Why?"

Harold nodded towards Marcus. The admiral met Philippa's eyes, and she flinched. Impressive. Few people were able to get her to do that.

"Starfleet is at a crossroads," Marcus said. "And it's already headed down one of them."

She smiled. She could already tell where this was going.

"Less than a year has passed since we just escaped destruction at the hands of the Klingon Empire, and already Starfleet is in the process of turning its attention back to exploration.

She decided to play the game. "Isn't that its mandate?"

"Some would say that."

"And let me guess, people like Christopher Pike is one of them?"

"Pike, and a whole lot of other captains. Plus, people who will be captains within the next decade."

"And you're not one of them."

"No. I'm not."

"I'm shocked," Philippa said, smirking. "Absolutely shocked."

Marcus ignored the barb. "Space. The final frontier." He sighed. "We both know that's not true don't we?"

"If you're worried about an incursion from my universe-"

"I'm not worried about your universe, I'm worried about mine. Or rather, what's in it." He began counting on his fingers. "Klingons. Romulans. Tholians. Nausicaans. Them, and every other threat that's lurking out there." He sighed. "Final frontier? The final frontier isn't space, the final frontier is the borders of the Federation. That's the frontier I'm interested in." He nodded at Harold. "And a few others."

Others that aren't Starfleet. She looked at Harold. What branch of the Federation are you from anyway? Section 31? When I was on Qo'noS, I never actually agreed to anything.

Whatever the answer was, she knew she'd have to wait to get it. In the meantime, she could get answers of a different kind.

"Alright," she said. "So you're an old war bear who's disappointed that the children aren't fighting in the playground." Marcus opened his mouth but she raised her hand. "Believe me, I sympathize. Your Federation is far too soft for my liking. If it's too soft for yours, then we have that much in common."

Marcus smiled.

"So, you want to give me a ship. Presumably you want someone whose beliefs align with yours in a position of power so that when the children start fighting again, someone's there throwing rocks rather than sand. Am I right?"

Marcus nodded.

"But of course, this comes with caveats, no? I report to you, you keep my secret, I take actions that may conflict with the values of the Federation?"

"Something like that."

"Hmm." She put a hand to her chin, trying to convey the idea that she was taking time to consider the offer.

In truth, she'd already decided. She'd take it. Not for their sakes, but for hers. The Discovery had already travelled between realities. If she could get her own ship, spore drive or no, perhaps she could get it to occur again. Slim as her chances were, they'd be much better with a ship of her own to command.

"What about my crew?"

"Like-minded, as best as I can allow," Marcus said.

"As best as you can allow?"

"That's my offer. And bear in mind, if you screw up, that's going to reflect on me."

Yes, but if dear Philippa Georgiou is discovered to be a fraud, you get to claim ignorance don't you?

"You don't have to choose right now," Harold said. "But-"

"Fine. I'll take it."

Marcus said nothing. Harold clapped his hands together. "Well done. Very good."

Oh do shut up. "When shall I expect to hear from you?"

"From me? Nothing. Officially, this meeting never occurred. But if Captain Pike gets a communique from Starfleet Command requesting a transfer…" Harold nodded to Marcus. "You'll know where it came from."

"Hmm." You're far more dangerous than you're able to hide. But at least you're offering me something real.

She'd play the game though. She understood Marcus's intentions, and understood Harold well enough to get that they aligned with Marcus's view of the world. They'd get a captain they could trust, and she'd get a step closer to regaining her throne.

"Now then," Harold said. "If there's anything-"

"Tea," Georgiou said. "Green."

Harold nodded and Georgiou couldn't help but smiling.

Politics. Agendas. Backstabbing. Vested interests.

She'd missed this.

A/N

Idea for this came from reading that CBS is considering a Georgiou spinoff series. It's an idea I'm frankly mixed about. On one hand, there's already one Star Trek series on air, plus at least two more planned, so announcing a fourth seems to be jumping the gun a lot. On the other hand, if you are going to make a spinoff series, Georgiou is an ideal character to do it with IMO, in that we could get from here what we didn't get enough from Lorca - morally ambiguous Starfleet captain working for a government that has "idealism" written into its DNA. Plus the whole ex-emperor thing.

Course if it happens, it isn't going to happen like this, but hey, that's what oneshots are for.