What have we wrought? What has Embry spawned out there? I feel it wrathfull and angry, full of hate. They have me restricted to this bed 'recouperating' from my injuries. This is nothing if what Embry believes will come to pass does.....I do not want to be around. I feel there are only two courses of action; fall into the trap of self pity and what I did, or face the reality of my actions, and deal with it.
I believed Embry's device to be the lesser of two evils; allow the xenophobes to live on, or destroy them with a device he had altered in ways I knew not, in a manner that might somehow create a greater evil; it seems my choice was wrong. I cannot pretend I did not know. Once discharged, I must leave 643 and take on whatever it is I helped Embry create, as needs be, only the volunteers among my crew should journey with me......I have to believe it will be a one way trip.
I get out of the 'Big' Chair and tell Morgan; "Uno, you have the bridge...". "Aye, Captain.", he states and takes my seat.
What does the Admiral Turner have in mind? I wonder...With his love for all things that go boom in the night, or any time of the day for that matter, it probably revolves around some new offensive weaponry. Time will tell...I will have to peruse the latest files I was ablle to acquire from the research section to see if there are any hints there!
once secreted away aboard the USS Dewey by Col. Steile’s most
excellent staff, I am left to my quarters, and my privacy.
once the door closes with that familiar whoosh thump whirl click,
the lights dim, and a nice neon blue glow rises from the floor.
I turn around to enter what I expect to be another cramped hideaway
room aboard another marine cruiser like I am accustomed too. I am met
with a cool blast of fresh air in the face.
I gaze upon a spacious room with low ceilings, the décor is a Muted Black
Tharlarian Leather, Glazed Tiberium Steal, and awash in a perfect ambient
blue light. The desk is amazing. I can feel my blood pressure drop instantly.
I think, wow, this is better than my office on the Nevada, and I’m a stow-away.
Either Star Fleet Ergonomics has mastered this or I need to join the Marines!
I drop my gear, wash up, make another drink. Well, There is much to consider.
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yes, there is probably too much to consider, therefore, I shall just tie one on.
As the drinks go down I try to forget,
I change the songs, I attempt to occupy my mind until sacred sleep comes, but tonight, I will not be so lucky, for my mind rapidly descends back to those dark times, those dark places.
I can feel the thunder, the static in the air, it is just beyond that hill now, my ears go numb and I feel my head separating once more from my body, there is a powerful awareness of inner emptiness, and I am once again, Experiencing Nothingness.
I regret the time I have spent with Tasson Embry.
I can hear him repeating,
it is our ability nonetheless,
to carry ourselves,
beyond despair . . .
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The minutes turn to hours as I pour over the collected intel reports, scientific essays and technical schematics of a number of various projects, none of them triggering a EUREKA! reaction from me... my eyes getting red, my vision blurred...and I haven't even had a drink yet! Yes, time for a break. I head out of my ready room and tell Commander Phelps I can be found in the Blue Grotto (our ship's version of 10 forward) and take the turbolift there.
Returning the greetings and salutations of the crewmembers there, I ease into an unoccupied seat at the bar and order a Risan Sunet. Halfway through I realize that the crew has left me to my solitude, for which I am both thankful and apprehensive. Uh, oh! I think they know the "old man" is lost in thought! Not wanting to raise their curiosity level, I decide to get some fine scotch from my quarters and head back to my ready room to continue my search for clues to the Deputy Fleet Admirals' possible intentions. I thank the bartender, Saul, and head for the door chuckling under my breath...HIS parents DEFINATELY had a strange sense of humor! The poor chaps' full name is Saul Vent Green...
I awake to a constant beeping, my terminal is like a trapped
coal miner, always tapping, always tapping to remind me that it is
there. It is still alive and needs assistance.
I have a mailbox full of things to attend to. Fortunately,
I slept at the terminal and it is easy to silence.
I reach for my Topomax Hypo Kit that Dr. MIkey gave me, a quick
injection, a wave of nausea, and poof, I am as good as new. A wonder
of modern medicine. I clear my throat, Coffee, Hot, Black. and it suddenly
appears in front of me.
First I review the progress of Ensign Snow on TAG04-302LE, very impressive.
Let’s see, new recruits, Ensign Sorvak and Gordan are kickin arse. Let’s send out some promotions, consolidate the Tactical Team, move some people around. Coffee, Hot, Black.
The Solace is waiting for the Nevada near the Midway, The Nevada is waiting for the Dewey. Excellent, I will be here a couple more days. The Booty Bay is Heading out to the Nevada, and the Centurian is not far behind. I love it when a plan comes together.
Before I attend to the meeting with Col Yoshinda and Major Anderson, I decide to stop by the bridge and check on the Centurions rediness, While I surprised some with my unanounced arrival, all handled the occasion with the professionalism I would expect.
Within a minute or so I had a complete rediness picture. Major Anderson had handled things well. I told the OOD to make ready to depart, prepare to engage the impulse drive and ready the docking clamps to disengage.
Alert the docking bays to finish operations within 15 mins as by then we will begin the disengaging process; that wreck of a fighter craft Ghostface gifted to us should just be bulldozed out of the bay and back onto 643 we have no real use for crumpled scrap metal at this point in time.
If Lt. Ghostface insists on continuing to turn perfectly good fighter vessels into parts material he may end up as the most overqualified sanitation engineer on the Centurion.
That is all, I have a meeting to be attending. I left the bridge to a chorus of Aye Sir's
I made it to the meeting at about the same time that Major Anderson began to pull the Centurion out of her berth at 643. Soon we would rendevous with Admiral Turner and the rest of the Task Force, and begin our new mission, first as usual mission brief for my XO Col. Yoshinda and Major Anderson.....I let myself in.
"Tasson Embry must die!", screamed LT Martinez, his face set in defiance, his eyes wild. Then, just as suddenly his outburst had occurred, he pitched face down onto the table before him, unmoving.
"Damn" I thought to myself. I hit the intercom panel - "Medical emergency in Security!"
Mr. Matthews, who had been nearest to Martinez was already at his side checking for a pulse. "No pulse, Captain", he said, as he and LTJG Lang removed Martinez from the seat, placing him on the deck to begin CPR.
The door opened and the CMO and his Head Nurse burst into the room. "Out of the way, you two", Dr. Brackett yelled at Matthews and Lang. Nurse McCall scanned Martinez with her medical tricorder. "No pulse, no brain function, Doctor", she reported. Brackett took hyposprays from his kit, injected the lifeless form of Martinez, and then began to use his portable resuscitation unit on him.
A strange silence engulfed the room as the Medical team worked on their patient. After only a short while it was obvious to the even the most untrained observer that Martinez wasn't responding to treatment.
Dr. Brackett reached out, touching Nurse McCall on the arm. She looked at him, reading the look on his face and ended her efforts. Slowly, showing a look of defeat, the CMO looked to me and said "I'm sorry Captain, he's dead. I'll get him to medical for an autopsy right away."
I think for just a second. "No, don't do that. Prep him for transport to Solace. Let them do the autopsy over there". "Why?" asks the Doctor.
"Martinez died during questioning here. I want no one saying that we did anything wrong, or that my Medical Department covered anything up." "Having Commander Mikey's staff on Solace do the autopsy keeps us, and you out of things." "Understand, Sir", was his response.
"Kelly, you and L'Krain get him over there ASAP. I'll let Solace know what's going on.".....
Col Yoshinda was waiting for me in the meeting room, he began to stand, I quickly told him no need, although we have not served together long we had come to have a mutual respect for each other.
I told Col. Yoshinda about our up coming mission, some of the perameters and expectations I wanted set for the crew and ourselves.
He was on board, his questions sharp and well put. He is a fine example of the best that Fleet academy has graduated over the years.
I finished the brief and Col. Yoshinda adjurned, as he left he said he would relieve Major Anderson for him to meet with me, as he had not made it yet. That was o.k. at this point leaving port was hectic and demanded attention, probably a poor time set for the brief on my part. I sighed never enough time in a day or days in a week. Col. Yoshinda would get the Centurion to the rendevous point, while I met with Major Anderson.
Mr. Martinez had a very high radiation level, which proves he was in contact with some form of weapon of unknown origin. Also, inside his chest cavity there was something like insect eggs, as if he was a big incubator. I must run some more tests...
"Captain Arriving" is sounded throughout the ship as I board the Dewey for departure. Although this is my fourth command, the thrill is still the same as the first. Fear is also there to temper the excitement and prestige of being trusted with all the power of this vessel and projecting the will of the Federation across the quadrant. I have never been able to fully describe the elation of it...nor the trepidation as the faces of dead crewmen also come to mind...everyone of them as clear as the day my orders lead to the death of each, 57 total...17 in one mission alone. "Lord give me the wisdom not to repeat that again and if I must, the strength to bear it."
The price of command...responsibility and guilt. How may more faces will I add. There will be more because I will not stop, responsibility demands it. There are not enough willing to accept the responsibility of command and live with guilt. How many young captains do we lose in the first 3 years of command...20%...30 maybe. Perhaps the Klingons are right, maybe we are weak, but we do not lose our souls to it.
"Ship, this is the captain. We depart together for the first time in order to support TF-72. Trust in your training and each other. I expect everyone to focus on the mission and their jobs. Our ship bears a proud name...lets work together to make it shine."
"The Captain has the bridge. Coms request departure..."
Coms: "Dewey is cleared for immediate departure, Captain"
"Helm, take us out and a follow Navigation Program A to way point 1 best speed per standard fleet protocols."
Helm: "Aye Aye, Captain. All docking clamps released, 10% impluse reverse, 10 seconds...30% impusle, pitch up 27 degrees, rotate to starboad One Three Eight degrees mark 5....perpare for warp upon clearing the docking zone...
"Mr. Shevay, I want her back in the the same shape...no scratches on the new paint. You have the bridge," I say and grin encouragingly as I depart. I guess I looked that young once but I can't remember it.
I hope Admiral Turner is enjoying his room. We will have to make do with using my quarters as a ready room for this mission. An Admiral must have a Command and Control Suite at his disposal. Lets see what the Admiral has in store for us....
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