Disclaimer: I don't own The Last Ship, et al.

The Lottery

My heart raced, pounding hard against my chest cavity, a machine gun's rapid fire, banging around against my ears now as I watched Dr. Scott walk off the ship without looking back. The sun was high in a gorgeous blue sky. A throng of official looking people waiting for her below. Beyond them was an angry crowd of people flanking the scene on all sides. Two uniformed guards (Army) at Dr. Scott's side. I glanced down the port side at the line of sailors. Most faces of my shipmates were the same as mine. Stoic. Shocked. And set in stone. Unwavering against Captain's orders.

I dared myself to steal a look at him. His face was the same as it always had been: jaw set, eyes intense and clear and fixated on the horizon – looking beyond the mess at hand – far beyond his decision to turn her over to authorities. I felt sick. I swallowed hard, once again seeing Sorensen's last moments in the deep recesses of my mind – blood, thick, dark, red – everywhere, an unstoppable force.

And then Dr. Scott's placid face.

Her resolve strong.

Her will even stronger.

She had been tested.

Tested and she passed.

Or had she failed?

Rage overtook the crowd.

The scene swallowed her whole.

She didn't look back.

She didn't look for help.

And then she was gone.

Gone forever.

The woman who saved us all.

While we stood tall on the Nathan James to pass judgment.

And then I woke up.

The dreamscape … always the same … always damning – always reminding me of something I'd seen in my mind's eye before and yet – I could never place it ... a movie, perhaps a book.

It had been only sixty hours. Five days and counting since Dr. Scott killed (murdered, executed, extinguished) that hack, Sorensen. And within that time, I'm pretty sure I developed a full-blown ulcer and had become an insomniac. My stomach was tied in a perpetual chaos of knots – churning and twisting and not at all like the queasiness I felt for the first few days on the Nathan James – instead it was a relentless force of pressure created via its own volition, one that only bolstered by my stresses and weaknesses.

Sleep evaded me. Every time I closed my eyes all I saw was that watery image of Sorensen's face from behind the plastic lab windows, blood oozing out of his orifices. His death happened so fast, I barely registered that there was a problem, until it was too late. But in my dreams – the events were in slow motion – each second was amplified and I always seemed to wake up feeling a bazaar sense of misplaced guilt. Like I should have done something to stop what I already knew had started to play out.

And then invariably I stopped myself … because if I really dug down deep enough, I knew I would unearth the truth: that I wanted him dead too.

And then I would think of my mother.

And the son she raised.

And the man she was sure I would become.

And I wasn't sure what to make of it all.

Would she condemn me?

Would she understand me?

Would she still love me?

Call it redemption. Call it vengeance. Call it retribution. I'll call it whatever makes sense, but the fact remained: he killed my entire family.

Something I didn't find out until the extraction from the Vyerni was completed. And I'll be honest; this was a hard fact to comprehend. And it ended up being the central thought in my mind before the vaccination trials began. The fact that this virus was a weapon – 'weaponized' was how they termed it – someone (Niels Sorenson) had modified the virus, adding a human gene and turned it into a weapon … and killed my family. And five billion other people worldwide. Weaponized. The more I thought about the magnitude the more disgusted and angry I became. Weaponized.

Sometimes all I could think about was my family – my amazing family, quintessential American family – and the slow, miserable and painful death that they endured to this weapon … a virus with the intent to kill. Other times I thought of my friends and the friends of my friends – mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, aunts and uncles and school teachers and baristas in coffee shops and bag checkers at the grocery store – a multitude of nameless, faceless victims … and the wave of nausea would come and fester in my stomach. More than half of the world's population ceased to exist, the number was staggering. And disheartening. And I can admit, I hated that bastard Sorenson for it. Weaponized.

If the court of public opinion was the jury, I'm fairly certain Sorensen would have hung for his crimes anyway. But Dr. Scott apparently took what she needed from him and killed him in the process (on purpose) … and now she was confined to her quarters. And this was a hard pill to swallow.

I rolled over and got dressed in the dark. I had been 'asleep' for two hours. My shift started in another hour and everything would be busy and I wouldn't feel so much like jumping out of my own skin. I exited my cabin and headed down the p-way for the gym. My eyes burned from fatigue, my legs felt like rubber bands, my stomach twisted, hard right and then left. I entered the space and was thankful it was empty. The air was cold and smelled slightly of salt water and sweat. I started my circuit, keeping my mind busy with counting repetitions and it worked for now: avoidance and adrenaline, a beautiful combination.

###

I squirted water into my mouth and looked around the desolate space, once used for a sickbay after the Solace rescue mission. My thoughts returned to the Captain and Dr. Scott and the fight against the Immunes or the Ramsey's as they'd dubbed the campaign. My reprieve over now, any clarity on the situation quickly evaporating into more of the same: uncertainty and ambivalence. My stomach pinched. Guilt claimed me again. I rose and walked toward the door and then turned around. I paced, silently berating myself, the shame spiral just too intense to stop now.

There was no way out of this mess for me, I decided then. The sooner I resigned myself to the fact that my hands were tied, the better. I told the truth in that testimonial meeting with Garnett. Of course I did – I wouldn't have lied – but now I only wish I said more! I wish I gave some color on how uncomfortable and horrible it felt to even be in the vicinity of that creep. I thought of the toxic teddy bears I'd heard about and the 'breathing on people thing' he said he did. I thought about how smug that fucker was!

My head began to pound, throbbing in tandem with my churning stomach and I let it eat me alive, devour me. Because I felt rotten about it, the whole mess of it – the guilt of wanting him dead – the helplessness of not being able to do anything or say anything to either help Dr. Scott or help myself out of this mess because of my rank.

Frustration festered now, pricking at me like a sewing machine's needle – I felt rotten to the core about the treatment of this woman whom I admired so – this force of a doctor I had trusted with my life … this strong woman who'd fought for everything she ever needed … from a naval destroyer … to a primordial strain … to dozens of monkeys … to the rescue of the Captain and Tex.

This incredible woman I used to look at like she was a lone warrior among us – this visionary woman who saved my life and gave me this chance – to stand here, right here, right now and not worry about the virus or my health or my longevity … and yet, I could do nothing to change the outcome of her confinement … her incarceration.

She was ousted. Off limits. Sequestered.

###

The door opened and I stopped pacing. It was Wolf Man. He smiled and nodded with his usual brand of bravado and began to work out. I watched him, counting his repetitions now. I sat down again and felt the panic slowly ebb from my heart and stomach. His presence a mere distraction. A welcome one. He lay down on the bench and picked up a barbell with a couple hundred pounds on it.

"You okay, Miller?" came his Aussie baritone as he gritted his teeth.

I nodded in the affirmative and stared at him still, watching the details of his arm muscles as he worked them out. He heaved another repetition and then another and another.

"Miller!" he called more firmly as he sat up. He moved his forearm across his forehead. "You all right, mate?" he asked again, crossing the space toward me.

"Oh yeah, sorry … I thought I answered," I said, searching his eyes for something, maybe some kind of answer.

He sat down across from me and squirted water into his mouth. "You don't look so well, brother," he deemed with his swagger, his intense, all-seeing eyes not missing a beat.

"Yeah, well …," I nodded.

What was I supposed to say? I'm lost. I don't know what to do. I have nowhere to go. Anxiety is eating me alive.

"Well what?" he prompted, cocking his head. He swiped his forearm across his brow and stared at me. "Something's wrong, boss," he persisted.

"Yeah," I agreed, looking away.

I can't eat. I can't sleep. I have nowhere to go, no escape from my demons.

"Listen … you look like shit," he said more directly now. "Like something's eating you alive," he added, catching my eyes.

"Nah, I'm doing all right," I lied. I made to stand on my rubber band legs.

"I don't buy that for a minute," he said, setting a firm hand on my forearm. I sat down again. "Spill it," he said, looking around. "Just you and me, pal," he said directly.

I looked around and heard my heart again, thumping wildly into my ears. I swallowed hard and thought about this – the idea of shedding some of my guilt, wondering now if it was even possible given that I felt it had become part of who I was. I hesitated. I thought of my mother (dead). And Dr. Scott (imprisoned). And then it hit me … the familiarity of my dreamscape.

"Have you ever read a book called 'The Lottery' by Shirley Jackson?" I heard myself ask him then.

He shook his head, "No mate."

I swallowed hard again and took a deep breath. "Well, it's a really provocative story I read when I was in fifth grade about this town of people and how they are getting ready for this annual ritual they have," I breathed, the lieutenant listening intently now. I continued. "And as the book opens, the townspeople do all these mundane things in the process to get ready for it," I explained. "And the whole time you're reading it, the author builds the story such that you think the winner of the this lottery will get something … but you're not sure what, it all seems pretty benign …," I went on.

"But it's not …," Wolf Man presumed.

"Right … not at all because then there's this awful turn of events in the last part of the book when the name of the winner is drawn out of this black box – I remember it's a woman, a wife and mother – and she doesn't want to be the winner. She protests heatedly, but then even her husband just resigns himself to her fate … he even encourages her to accept it – and then finally the reader becomes privy to the real reason for the lottery – that the 'winner' is stoned to death by the rest of the townspeople …," I relayed, trying my best to articulate this lingering, defining memory I had.

"Really?" Wolf Man pondered. "Wow."

"Yeah … and then people begin to pull stones out of their pockets – kids too – and throw them at her … aiming at her … hitting her head, hitting her everywhere …," I said, my heart racing. "And the thing about it is, they don't even know why they're doing it anymore," I said. "If you go back and read the book again, you realize that some of the elder characters don't have all the facts – but they do remember one protocol – to use stones …," I recalled. "So whatever the ritual had stood for had been lost over the generations … and so now all that remained was the brutality of murdering someone – a neighbor, some innocent person – it's … awful … and alarming … the definitiveness of their blind decision to just … stone her to death …," I breathed, my heart twisting.

"That's a horrible story for a kid! Someone made you read that?" Wolf Man asked incredulously.

"Yeah," I answered, thinking now of my fifth grade teacher, Mrs. Watson and how she'd probably died from the virus along with most of the kids that were in that class with me … the not so nameless and faceless victims. I exhaled sharply.

"And this book is troubling you?" he prompted quizzically, his serious eyes searching mine for answers.

"No – I mean – yeah … it's not the story … just so much as what's happening with Dr. Scott and the fallout … it made me think of it …," I exhaled (and dream of it), quickly trying to reign my heart in as I dangled on a precipice somewhere altogether foreign.

"And who is she in this story?" the diligent soldier asked curiously now. "One of the villagers? Or the winner of the lottery? The one who gets stoned? Or the one who throws the first stone?" he persisted, asking the harder questions, an intonation of sarcasm there too.

I looked at this fearless man now, knowing that I trusted him but also accepting that I was marking myself in some fashion (as what I had no idea) – except that a great many of the Navy's lines seemed to be blurred now and maybe that was the whole point – that things weren't as they were supposed to be or as they seemed anymore.

"I don't know – maybe a bit of both – I mean if we're talking about Niels Sorensen, he was the only one who was gonna 'win' that lottery eventually – but if we're talking about blind punishment – like what's happening with Dr. Scott and her confinement … maybe she's part victim … ," I tried to articulate.

"Hmm … and part executioner," the more experience soldier answered as he stared at me. "Maybe they both are," he added reflectively.

I didn't answer that. I didn't look at Dr. Scott like she was an executioner. The Immunes, lining doctors up … the Immunes, blowing New Orleans up – they were executioners – but not Dr. Scott, no … even if her actions were calculated, there was still a large, gray area, one laden with self-defense and self-preservation.

This was not black and white and though, wrong, her actions previous to this event, should have proven the type of person she is – that she's a woman of her word – that she 'would stop at nothing' to make sure she succeeded … that she would indeed go to the end of the earth or to this darker, unimaginable place to solve this problem … to find the cure and save the world.

"You feel badly," Wolf Man deemed now. "You were there, you watched it happen and let me guess, you're not all that upset that he's dead," he triangulated wisely. "You're conflicted … on one hand – she offed public enemy number one – and on the other hand, you know she was wrong," he stated evenly, dissecting my conflict aloud.

"Pretty much sums it up," I conceded, my heart alighted that maybe I didn't feel so differently than others. "I feel … bad or guilty, and not because I could have done anything to prevent the outcome," I said with haste. Wolf Man nodded in assent. "But because – Dr. Scott, she's amazing – she saved all of our lives! And now … she's ostracized … it's just so hard … so hard to imagine how bad things got so quickly," I sighed.

"Hmm … you have to realize – there's no right or wrong answer here – but there is protocol and she did kill Sorensen, admittedly, from what I hear," he stated evenly.

"I keep having these weird nightmares of her leaving the ship and a throng of angry people going after her … like 'The Lottery' … it's just –"

"Listen mate," he cut me off. "Chandler – he's the best man on the helm I've ever encountered – he's the best strategist there is … so maybe he has a plan," he deemed, his eyes searching mine, trying to impress his position to just fall in line on me.

"I couldn't agree more, I'd follow him anywhere, I trust him of course," I defended. "Except that … if I'm gonna be honest – harsh confinement like this with a damning end like this, isn't a strategy or a plan or even a consequence – it's a sentence without a trial," I countered now, finding my footing in the debate.

"No, no … this is the preservation of protocol, mate – the integrity of this vessel is at stake – I mean, what would happen if he didn't do anything? Didn't act? She murdered the guy…," he breathed. "If he does nothing it looks like he condoned it," he persisted strongly. "Shitty position to be in, no matter what," he deemed.

"I get it, he's pissed off … angry at her and the position she's probably put him in – but Sorensen was a toxic monster, literally – and with all due respect, you weren't here!" I sighed with frustration, my heart on fire as I stared at him. "You weren't here when the vaccination trials started after the rescue off of the Vyerni," I sighed, my thoughts circulating around Dr. Scott's bravery, knowing she was about as green as I was in the way of soldiering.

"I heard she fought to get the Nathan James in the first place … that part I heard, but beyond that … what rescue?" he asked of me now.

"Yeah … against everyone's advice – XO, Green and Burk – she insisted upon getting on the Vyerni to rescue the Captain and Tex from the Russians because she knew all they really wanted her and her vaccine," I breathed, searching his eyes (doesn't he see how she should be revered or forgiven, perhaps not forgiven, just not isolated from people who might still care about her?).

"Ah, right, the fallout after rescuing Bertrise," he recalled now.

I nodded in assent. "I just don't get how none of her prior triumphs have been factored into this decision – ostracizing her, confining her like a common criminal – I'm not sure if it sends the right message … she saved us all … it seems like he's just pissed at her for something –"

"Personal?" Wolf Man interrupted, cocking his head.

"Maybe … when everyone found out the virus had been weaponized by that asshole …," I said, shaking my head. "She was completely trusted by everyone … almost every sailor on this ship wanted to be screened to be one of the six," I stated, rehashing some of my own thoughts on the matter. "Don't you see … by then … the Captain and Dr. Scott – they were a team – in fact, during the trial … one of the more solid memories I have is that they were there … in the thick of it together and how they really cared, beyond the peril of the trial, they seemed so … cohesive …," I muttered, at a loss for words.

"Trust has been broken, man …," the wise Aussie stated simply then.

"I'll give you that," I acquiesced.

"That's hard to come back from … broken trust, stuff like that takes time," he sighed. "And … you feel it … and I think that's natural – given their history of successes together, their prior cohesiveness – things on the ship are unbalanced with their mutual trust broken presently …," he summed up.

"Yes …," I sighed, nodding my head.

"But I must all say, don't you think some of your unease stems from the fact that you agree with me on some level that what she did was wrong, even though Sorenson truly deserved to pay for his crimes with the ultimate sacrifice –"

"Yes and yet … she 'won' the damn lottery!" I exclaimed incredulously. "She was all but thrown overboard, stoned to death … no trial here, and I understand that's S-O-P, but seriously … our world isn't the same place it was six months ago! Hell, the Navy isn't the same!" I ranted, sighing heavily.

"No, it's not," came the Captain's unmistakable baritone from behind us just then.

My blood ran cold and I stood up along with Wolf Man, meeting the very eyes of a man whom I very much admired and completely misunderstood (at the moment). He stood tall and assuming, even in sweats and a workout shirt, a reminder of his stature and status.

My mind went black. "Sir –"

"As you were," Chandler stated evenly, giving nothing away via his stony face. "May I join you?" he asked of us then.

"Yes, Sir," Wolf Man responded firmly.

To my surprise the Captain sat down on the bench. I followed Wolf Man and sat down next to him, facing the Captain. The senior officer sighed and looked between us for a beat, his lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes steady, clear and focused despite the recent surreptitious propaganda attacks set forth by the Immunes.

"I'd like you to know I wasn't eavesdropping," Chandler said evenly then. "I hesitated just outside the doorway when I heard you speaking about the vaccination trial," he added smoothly, letting us know exactly how much he'd heard.

"I apologize for speaking out of turn," I sighed heavily, wondering if there would be some kind of punishment in store for me now.

"You weren't, Miller," Chandler answered. "What I heard was an ensign speaking with his lieutenant in confidence … you're good … with me, you're good …," he sighed heavily.

Wolf Man cleared his throat. "Sir … if I may speak freely," he said then, his eyes searching for approval.

"Always," nodded Chandler. "Miller and I were discussing … debating, maybe debating would be a more appropriate term –"

"My decision to confine Dr. Scott," the Captain finished for him.

"Yes, Sir," Wolf Man conceded with a nod.

Captain Chandler shook his head and looked down at his hands, folding them on the table in front of him, he twirled his wedding band around his left finger with his right hand and I wondered what was going through his mind. I felt a small pinch of sadness and thought about my parents and their incredible marriage. He looked up and found my eyes.

"I'm sure yours isn't the only debate," Chandler sighed, his eyes never wavering. "May I ask you what lottery you were talking about before? Right before I came in you mentioned some kind of lottery and … a … stoning?" he asked of me then, his voice modulated, somehow disarming.

"Yes, Sir … it's just a book we were talking about before, called 'The Lottery', I read it when I was a kid," I explained.

Acknowledgement crossed over the Captain's face then. "Yes … Ashley, my daughter, read that book … oh … it was weird, right? The winner of the lottery isn't a winner? It's a crazy story," he peppered me now.

"Yes, Sir," I confirmed, my eyes searching his for answers, for a spark of recognition or a dawning.

"And whom do you think Dr. Scott is in the story?" he wondered. "The winner?" he asked of me. "And who is Sorensen? Another winner? And who do I represent … the townspeople?" he sighed heavily, his mind obviously on overdrive.

"I … Sir … I meant no disrespect," I backpedaled, my heart racing, plummeting into my stomach now.

"Sir …," Wolf Man began. "It seems that the analogy has many pieces to it, really, when you think about it – and we, Miller and I agree on one thing – that Sorensen would have been the 'winner' eventually," he sighed. "But … that Dr. Scott, while she made a poor decision of passion – was in the end, perhaps part victim, part perpetrator – and it is here that Miller's anxiety over her confinement stems from," he articulated carefully on my behalf.

"Anxiety?" Chandler asked, his curiosity piqued, a flicker of recognition crossing over his features.

I said nothing. I felt nothing and everything all at the same time. My stomach twisted, acid churned and my face heated … with embarrassment or maybe nausea … or both. I looked down and away.

"Sir …," I cleared my throat. "It's really just regret," I sighed, swallowing hard. "I just … I wish when Garnett interviewed me, I … I wish I spoke up more on Dr. Scott's behalf," I said, finding my voice again. The Captain nodded in assent. "I wish I offered more color on how horrible it was to watch her face while she worked with Sorensen – you probably didn't realize, Sir – but she … she really went out of her way to get what she needed and most of the time she looked … I don't know …," I sighed, my voice trailing off, I shook my head.

"Like what, Son?" Chandler asked of me.

I exhaled. "Like she wanted to vomit," I blurted out. "She looked like how I felt, Sir … ," I admitted. "She looked like – someone who was spending time with someone who killed her family – like … someone who had her hands tied and was doing what had to be done … and … she was especially shaky or … repulsed … after spending time with him in his quarters … alone –"

"You left her … alone … with him …," Chandler whispered, but not in judgment. He closed his eyes briefly.

"Yes, Sir … she insisted on it …," I sighed. "But we stood right outside, listening for a struggle … hoping for one most of the time," I reported quickly.

"I see," he said stoically. "And … if you could tell me now everything you wished you had told Garnett … what would you say?" he incited.

I glanced at Wolf Man; he nodded in assent. "I … I would impress upon you to think about how amazing of a person Dr. Scott is …," I sighed, training my eyes on his. "I would ask you to remember that even though she was bound to secrecy earlier on that she did what you said she would do – that she went to the end of the earth to get that strain to make that cure – that she delivered on her promises …," I respectfully reminded him. "And that she became a sailor on this ship …," I breathed, my confidence gaining. "She started as an outsider and then she rescued you, put herself in harm's way for the greater good of the Nathan James … just like any of us would have …," I exhaled, his serious eyes softening now. "And that even if she let you down on a personal level and has lost your trust … and even if you're mad at her about other stuff … I would like to remind you that she still has value, she still deserves some friendship or visitors or an outlet …," I exhaled sharply, my voice quivering now. "And that like it or not she's still the person who's tenacity and intellectual prowess we have to thank for our lives and our health right now … and that it's likely we would have never gotten out of Baltimore alive without her cure …," I exhaled, my heart pounding now with adrenaline and relief.

Chandler pressed his lips into a thin line and made a sidelong glance at Wolf Man and said, "Passionate ensign, here."

"One of the best," Wolf Man agreed with a small satisfied smile.

Chandler smiled in tandem and then said, "Miller, it's important for you to understand … that yes – I am disappointed in Dr. Scott's actions on a personal level and that our trust has suffered because of it – of course it has … because she … she's part of my team … she's … my friend … but that cannot equate to leniency …," he exhaled, his breathing hitched, betraying himself slightly now.

"Yes, Sir," I answered, my eyes trained on his.

"And I'm sure you also understand that she admitted to killing the man and that's not something we could ever tolerate or condone – even in this case – where we all wanted to bring harm to Sorensen and make him the 'winner' of his own damn lottery!" he stated passionately.

"Yes, Sir, I understand," I acknowledged, feeling slightly better knowing the Captain felt conflicted as well.

"Some kind of sanction was necessary … except that … to you and possibly a great number of others on this ship, my sanctions seem … harsh or unfair because of the good she's done … and because … she's our savior …," Chandler articulated carefully.

"I'm not sure," I stated evenly, navigating carefully now, somewhere deep in this gray area I had created. "I mean … on one hand she's a hero … and on the other – she let him get the better of her – I just … maybe you didn't see that look in her eyes, Sir …," I reasoned softly, knowing I was trespassing into dangerous territory. "I just … frankly, I don't know how she even spoke with him at all, let alone behind closed doors like that …," I sighed, still searching for answers myself.

"The situation wasn't ideal …," Chandler acknowledged then. "And to her credit … she did let me know how uncomfortable she was," he admitted, glancing at Wolf Man. "But we all have to do things we don't want to do some of the time," he reasoned, shaking his head, he looked down and away.

"But to answer your question … ," I said, redirecting the conversation. "Once you said … that no matter what would happen that we would do it together – that there would be no more secrets on this mission – and maybe … maybe the scuttlebutt surrounding Dr. Scott's sentencing has been confusing … so maybe we could settle this here on the Nathan James, ourselves … or have a mediator and not wait to just turn her over to an authority that may not understand her the way we do–"

"So, I should explain myself to crew?" Chandler asked then. "We have no time for a trial, we're at war," he stated reasonably without judgment.

"No, not a trial … I don't know – what I do know is that I'm conflicted – because I owe my life to Dr. Scott … whereas, I owe my parent's demise to Sorensen …," I stated evenly. "So I hated him, I can't deny that nor can I deny that I'm glad he's dead," I continued. "And I for one am glad he's not walking around breathing on people anymore – I wouldn't have killed him myself or anything – but … I can admit, I wanted to see him … win that lottery …," I sighed on the truth, demonic as it may seem.

"You know, Wolf Man," Chandler said then. "If I ever needed a speech-writer, Miller here would win the ticket," he smiled, the fire back in his eyes.

"Yes, Sir," the lieutenant smiled broadly and I felt one cross over my face.

The Captain stood then and we rose with him. "Let's go, Miller," he stated then. "Why don't you come along," he added, nodding at Wolf Man.

"May I ask where we are going, Sir?" I asked of him as we suddenly moved out of the gym and onto the p-way.

"Sure, we have no secrets here," he chided. "We're headed to see Master Chief to tell him all about the lottery so you and he can hash out a speech for me about this mess I've gotten myself into …," he smiled tightly. "And then we're going to see Dr. Scott to inform her that she didn't win that lottery – and that while her actions were not condoned – that we …," he breathed. "No … that I … I still believe in her and her efforts to bring the cure to the masses … and … that she may move about the Nathan James freely again and get her work done …," he stated evenly. "And that's a start … trust will follow …," he added with that same satisfied smile where I could only smile too.

"Thank you for giving me a chance to speak freely, Sir," I said as we walked with purpose, stress and tension dissipating with every step now.

"You bet … and don't let those opportunities go by again, if you're ever in a position to defend someone … you have to trust the process, even though it may seem broken at the moment …," he sighed, turning to Wolf Man. "You would have gone to Master Chief with him?" he inquired now.

"Absolutely, Sir," the lieutenant answered.

"Satisfied?" he asked of both of us now as we arrived at the bridge.

"Yes, Sir," we answered in unison as we rounded the corner.

"Captain on the bridge!" came Lieutenant Granderson's call.

And as the events of the next hour passed and I watched (and participated) in a discussion with my superiors about the sentencing and sanctions that were to be lifted from Dr. Scott with my steadfast lieutenant, the all-seeing, sage-like Wolf Man at my side to guide me (thankfully), I finally felt the tension that had ravished my body over the last five days slowly dissipate until all that remained were my rubber band legs as we eventually moved down the p-way to the lab to speak with Dr. Scott.

And later, as we emerged from the hangar and moved to the deck where all hands were assembled – all I could do was look out across the glittering, wild blue yonder, with the sun high in the sky just like my dreamscape – a satisfied smile on my face as Dr. Scott once again stood side-by-side with Captain Chandler, where he glanced at her and she at him from time to time, their friendship and trust on the mend now while he delivered his speech, outlining the details of Sorensen's death … stating with certainty that while his death was not condoned, it was the end result of his own actions and crimes against humanity.

And that while there was no clear 'winner' in this case; perhaps the crew (myself included) and world at large would eventually sleep better at night knowing that Sorensen had met his fate.

END