Author's Note: ::looks down ashamed:: ... I actually forgot to post this yesterday. :( Sorry... Don't be too mad...
/-/-/-
Year Eleven: 2382
White mist rose from his lips, rising in the air before disappearing into the still smouldering land.
The Lieutenant Commander's back ached and his feet stun, his legs rubber after the day's activity. He closed his eyes tight, blocking out the sight of the ruined green valley, of the deep trench he was sitting in, of the muddied faces and bloodied clothing, and smouldering, smoking ground. Shut out the sight of the dark sky, the stars just out of his reach. Against the growing cold.
He breathed steadily, straining his ears againstthe silence. It sounded like it was a peaceful night. He could hear some kind of bird chirping off in the distance- he knew it wasn't really a bird, it was actually some kind of rodent. The sounds of flames lapping against wood brought him back to long camping trips in the mountains by his home on Earth. Cards slapped on the table; short, quiet laughter sounded from his friends in the trench with him.
But he had learned to hear past all that months ago. Two years ago.
"Hey. James!" He jumped at his name, looking up quickly at the other guys. The Captain smirked at him, a Bolian cigar in his mouth, puffing on the thing as he held up his cards. "You gunna play or what?" His eyes moved to the short Ensign. Then he shook his head.
"Baronich not getting in on Taks?" The Lieutenant teased with a laugh. Baronich rolled his eyes, shifting against the loose dirt, digging his elbow into the ground.
He listened past the sounds almost recognizable as a quiet night. He heard the distant sounds of shuttlepods, of phaser fire, of smouldering ground and burning grass. He blinked his eyes closed. He could almost fall asleep there, even on the uncomfortable uneven ground that was their pathetic protection.
"Get down!"
Instinct took over, bringing Baronich's body into a ball, ducking deep into the dugout trench. He winced at the resounding shudder of a torpedo digging deep into the valley. Opening his eyes into the darkness, all he saw for a moment was the white vapor that was his breath. He lifted his head up, looking over to see the card table toppled over and his comrades preparing themselves.
In a moment, he acted, and suddenly the world exploded around him. Grabbing his phaser rifle, he spun around and searched the perimeter.
The chirping ceased. The campfire-like flames ceased to sound so tranquil, becoming a horrifying death, an obstacle to avoid. The light cover of phaser fire grew to a constant buzzing. Ground exploded, shaking beneath his feet.
Baronich looked to his right. The Captain was motioning for them to retreat. Baronich looked back at the horizon, noticing the oncoming forces. He started firing, covering the younger ones who were trying to run and escape. The Captain yelled at him, but he couldn't hear. His hand pulled on Baronich's shoulder. He nodded and followed, climbing over the dirt wall.
His lungs burned from the cold night air, his muscles straining against him as he ran. He ran blindly, eventually dropping into a small hole created from one of the torpedoes. He fired a few times, aiming blindly at the enemy before running out of the pit and continuing forward.
Another trench came into sight and he jumped in. Ducking some at the sound of a falling torpedo. He looked up to find another man sharing the shelter. He smirked at the insignia on his sleeve and recognized the man as a member of his team.
"Hey, Ben!" He shouted, grabbing his arm. They needed to leave, to keep moving. Ben crumbled under his touch, collapsing onto the bottom of the hole. James looked down at him; his face was gone.
He started running again, stopping less and less the farther he got from his starting point. Light began to creep over the horizon before Baronich finally stumbled upon headquarters.
He looked around expectantly. The phaser fire had receded at some point in the night, the torpedoes ceasing long before. He had expected everyone to be there already. But as he looked, he saw none of them. His rifle held limply at his side, he paced throughout the makeshift complex. It wasn't until he stumbled upon the back room that he found any of them. He noticed the Captain was in the far corner and the short Ensign- he never did learn his name- nearby.
A young man bumped into him as he entered the room. He turned numbly to look at him, but he said nothing. His eyes turned back to the room. Pale faces, bloodied cloth, mangled wounds- it was nothing he hadn't seen before. Baronich looked away and walked from the room.
/-/-/-/
/- At the Same Time
Lieutenant Svala Shanti rubbed his face as he leaned back against the wall. He couldn't remember the last time that day that he had stopped moving. He couldn't remember the last time he ate or had a drink of anything. He listened closely and for the first time realized that the torpedoes had stopped.
"Lieutenant! Get a move on!" He looked up with a jolt, finding the doctor rushing past him into the back room. Shaking his head, he pushed off the wall and followed her.
A Lieutenant Commander stood in the door. He put out his hands to move him away, but sparred no time to find out how he was. He was no doctor, no medic, checking the walk-ins wasn't his job.
The Telterinite rushed to the back where the doctor was kneeling over a patient. The man was barely alive. Shanti injected him with an enzyme to allow the transporter to lock onto him. Then repeated the process over and over again until all but the dead had been brought to the ship. When he finished, he looked up and saw that the Human was gone.
"Thank-you, Lieutenant. Go back to your ship, we've got it from here."
Shanti nodded, his green eyes glancing over the make-shift building. He sighed, walking away from her. Tapping his commbadge, he returned moments later to his ship. He didn't know what he was expected to do. Technically his shift was going to start soon, but he doubted that after ten hours of volunteer work on the surface he would be expected to perform. Comforted by the thought, his weak legs lead him down the corridor.
The ship shook subtly. As a tactical officer, he recognized the moment as the shields failing. They weren't under fire, but he was sure that they had been attacked just as the troops on the surface. The Federation had surprised everyone with a sudden attack on the area. They took over Talos and Dekari space without much of a fight. The Alliance managed to get a foot back in. Ground troops had been deployed to take back the planets; Beta Fleet was fighting for the two planets' territory. Galios was overrun and Denobula was to be next to fall under Federation control. Everyone knew Trill was the target after.
His unconscious mind led him back to his room. He hadn't reported back in and at that moment he didn't care.
He was dirty and not entirely sure how he had gotten that way. The vague memory of a man pulling him to the ground entered his mind. He stood, zombie-like before the sink, staring at his reflection. His short red hair was standing wildly. His normally blushed yellow skin was pale in his exhaustion. Dirt covered the golden scales on the sides of his face. The Telterinite pulled clumps of dirt from his hair, smoothing it down. His green eyes watched his mechanically actions indifferently.
Shanti sighed- the sound more like a groan. Shaking his head, he collapsed onto the bed. He would sleep just for a little while, then report in. That's what he told himself.
/-/-/-/
/- At the Same Time
The arm thrashed against her, fighting away every attempt she made at restraining him. Again, he lunged at her, nearly toppling her with his force. Lieutenant Brooke Harper struggled for breath as she steadied herself, forcing her tired brain to find balance.
She looked up, watching as two security officers grab the Vulcan's arms. The first glanced at her, taking only a second away from his harsh demeanour to ask, "Lieutenant?"
"I'm fine. Get him down to the surface."
"Yes, ma'am."
Her hand rose to her masked face. Underneath the elaborate plastic protection, she could feel a bruise forming. She looked away from her gloved hand, eyes searching out what more she could do as her legs led her to a group of patients being transported.
The breath left her lungs and a moment later she found herself in the midst of a new kind of chaos. Patients, who had lost a sense of order or understanding, milled around in circles and straight lines, walking away from their protectors and the doctors trying to organize, tag, and catalogue them. Doctors, frustrated, grew annoyed at the lot. Security officers wrangled the patients into an ordered line only to watch them walk away. Other security personnel twitched nervously in their protective gloves, ushering the violent ones. More officers- crewmen, medics, security- piled bodies in lines, one next to the other, shoulder to shoulder as if marching into battle on their backs.
Harper watched two such officers dropped a young man into the line. He wore no uniform; his body was clad in a tight multicoloured thing, something her siblings still wore. It was an image long ago burned into the depths of her mind. Eyes ajar, even in death. Mouth gaping open, blood drooling from the side. Skin pale, drained of the very essence of life. It was an image that no longer scared her. In her three months in her new assignment with the affected victims, Harper had already seen sixteen like him. Seven more were to his right; some uniformed, some civilians; some young, some old. All laid with their arms and legs tangled and outstretched, their dignity gone in their deaths, their faces frozen in eternal disbelief that their end had come so quickly, so painfully, so unexpectantly.
Looking down at the boy for a long moment, she couldn't help but think that there were far worse ways to die. Far better, but also far worse.
Her eyes trailed away from the lifeless corpse, wandering instead over the lifeless faces of the living. Perhaps there were worse ways to die, but there was certainly no worse way to live.
/-/-/-/
/- At the Same Time
With soft brown hair just falling into his eyes and Betazoid deep brown eyes, just pale enough skin and a handsome smile, he had been one of the most popular guys in his school. Good grades, a sharp mind, something of an athlete. Everyone loved him.
But as a Betazoid, he knew what a lot of people thought of him. He had joined the Academy because of it. To show them something. To prove to his parents and his friends that he would make it in something. That he was brave. That he was courageous.
He was in the top of his class. Physically fit and brilliant. They had simulated everything he could possibly go through. The sounds, the lights, the problems, but not the fear. Not the danger. Not the death. Nothing ever could. He wasn't even out of the Academy. He was only technically in his fourth year, he was still a cadet but called an Ensign. People were dying too fast for anyone to graduate properly.
They started him out with an easy job- that's what they called it. A stint in the quietest area in the Alliance. It was near the Disputed Lands, but people said that the planets in the area didn't really care about the war, not about the Alliance or Federation. It wasn't going to be a problem. He would spend the last year of the Academy in a safe post getting some experience. Gods, where they wrong.
Two weeks after arriving on the Olivia, the Federation attacked. No one had expected it. Thirty seven dead from his ship in that attack alone. Mostly acting Ensigns and doctors just out of school ran the Infirmary. They didn't know what they were doing any more than Ensign Andri Kee.
They taught him in the Academy how to control his emotions. Gave him classes to help him deal with the loss of friends and coworkers. Told him what to expect. Old soldiers told their experiences. But it was all words in a book, all distant voices that meant nothing. It was like walking into a museum and looking and reading and listening, and knowing that understanding was so far beyond one's reach.
His first experience left him cowering in the corner. Engineering was alive with everyone running about trying to repair, trying to boost power, trying to save everyone's life. It was obstructed by sudden fires, glowing in the dim lighting. The flashing alarm, the incessant buzzing only served to increase the tension, to make him just that much more scared. He didn't know what to do. Couldn't remember anything he had learned. Couldn't even remember his own name.
As the weeks past on, he learned. Bodies still frightened him, still made him sick. But he no longer vomited at the sight of them, and only sometimes the memory of them. The alarms still scared him, still make him nervous. The rocking and the shuddering of the vessel unnerved him. His calm was still hard to maintain during battle. But he was better.
He blinked quickly, breathed deeply as he worked fixing the impulse engines. He had heard that the battle was over, but he didn't feel it. The alarms might have been on, they might have been off. His ears were still ringing; he couldn't hear. His hands were shaking and his breathing was ragged; he couldn't control the adrenaline running through his veins.
"You okay, kid?" Kee looked up sharply at the Lieutenant. He nodded shakily with quick, short motions. The Lieutenant nodded back, but Kee knew he didn't believe it. He stopped working, shut his eyes and took a deep breath. Releasing it, he tried to return back to work.
/-/-/-/
/- At the Same Time
The fist came from the left, then the right. He took the hits, muffling his groan. He back up, watching and blocking the throws as he waited for an opening. He groaned again, feeling the bruise forming on his jaw. Anger flared in his eyes. He wasn't going to lose. He twisted his attacker's arm, flipping him onto the ground. Positioning his body on top of the attacker, he leaned his weight into the man's throat.
"Uncle! Uncle, man!"
The Ensign laughed, standing and offering a hand to his fellow officer. When his friend was on his feet, he rubbed his chin. "Damn, that hurt." He hit him on the chest. "What was that for?" Broya Alexsi laughed again, grabbing his things and toweling off his face.
"What are you complaining about? Those damn scales of yours cut my hand."
"Oh, you poor baby." The two laughed again, their bodies finally feeling the weariness of the adrenaline leaving their systems. "What do you say we grab a bit to eat?"
"So you can regale me with yet another story about your stint on the Carter?" The other Ensign snickered, shaking his head. "I don't think so. I'm going to bed, waking up early, and then standing for six hours as I watch absolutely nothing. Sorry, we can't all be big shots like you with all that experience under our belts."
Alexsi shook his head. "Fine, have it your way. I'm gonna hang around here, I guess."
"See ya later." Alexsi nodded and his friend walked off. He shook out his arms, cracking his neck, preparing for his normal workout- a series of different katas strung together, mixing Human, Vulcan, Trill, Vigolian, and a little Klingon maneuvers together.
He did it for show. While he was known for being at the top of his class in everything tactical related while at the Academy, he was also known for making up some of the craziest tall-tales and telling them to the younger officers. Everything about him screamed ego. The way he spiked up his short black and blue hair. It was a new style on Vigo for the rising stars of the Alliance planet. His off duty clothes reflected his wealth. Most people thought he was an ass, but that didn't mean he wasn't sharp.
He liked to tell stories about his time on the Carter. How brave he was. How courageous. How he saved some guy on the crew once. He especially liked to tell that one, and as often as he could, making it more and more graphic with every telling. But people listened.
He had been serving in Talos space when the Federation attacked. He was injured during the battle- another tale he often retold endlessly- and had been reassigned to the border to recuperate.
Alexsi finished off his workout with several quick punches, moving agilely in circles, then ended with a bow. He yawned, rubbing his eyes. Work hours seemed to drag on, but he never felt as if he had enough time afterwards.
"Ensign Alexsi?"
He looked up, squinting, changing his eyes to see the figure in the distance. The Lieutenant was unfamiliar, but that didn't mean he wasn't a member of the ship. "Yeah?" he called over to the Lieutenant.
"You've got new orders," the Lieutenant said as he walked into the exercise room.
"Orders?"
"You're being reassigned. Epsilon Fleet."
/-/-/-/
/- At the Same Time
Riker leaned back into his desk chair, sighing and rubbing his eyes when he heard the door chime. He looked up, waiting for the doors to slide open. When they did, they revealed the slim figure of an Alliance Captain. Riker looked him over, taking in his light hair and dark eyes before noticing his fraying uniform and the patches of dirt on the arms and chest. Finally his eyes rested on the smudge along his jawline. He was in his thirties and had obviously received the promotion due to the death of his own Captain. It took Riker a moment before he realized the truth of that thought.
"Admiral Riker," the man said with the slightest of nods and the faintest southern drawls.
"Captain Griffin?" The man confirmed his name with a bow of his head. "What can I do for you?"
"Well," he said with a sigh as he walked to the front of Riker's desk, "I want Captain Data."
"You want Data? For what?"
Griffin wet his lips, rolling his tongue over ending by biting his bottom lip. He glanced around the room; his skittish motion revealing to Riker that it was a nervous gesture. "I've heard… around," he said with an awkward cocking of his head, "that the poor man has some… people not so eager about him having his own command."
"He has one. Here on Enterprise."
"Yes, he's the Captain. But," Griffin sighed, looking around the room once again, "he's not the one sitting in the Ready Room. He's also not the highest ranking officer here. He's also not the one everyone thinks really calls the shots, if you know what I mean."
Griffin met Riker's gaze as he said his final sentence. The man stared at him, his look bordering on a glare. With a sigh, he looked down and pushed his chair back. He stood and walked around his desk. "You know, I know better than most people the kind of prejudice Data has against him. Maybe even more than Data does, but he's the Captain of this ship and I don't-"
"Whoa, whoa!" Griffinheld up a hand and shook his head to get Riker to stop. "Look, I'm here to give him a command, not take away from it."
"His own command?"
"You sound like he can't handle it."
"No, just that no one recently has been around trying to give him one."
"Don't see why not. An android can handle some things better than either you or I ever could." He paused and wet his lips again. "Anyway, I still want to offer the transfer to him."
Riker looked down, looking up as he asked softly, "Why are you doing this?"
"My officers die a lot quicker than any of yours ever have a tendency of doing. I need good leaders, good Captains. But they like their ships." The man shrugged. "All these people bitching about Captain Data would never have the nerveto get in the ditches. Never. I don't know the man, but I know he's a good Captain and he's good at what he does. What I don't know is whether or not he has any pride- an ego, I mean. If he's the kind of guy who wants to show up those arrogant bastards." Riker looked away for a moment. It struck him that he didn't really know. Data had never struck him as having any sort of an ego, but that was just Data. Maybe he didn't know how, maybe he was innocent enough not to realize that it was an integral part of Human nature. "He'll command his own team."
"In Epsilon Fleet?" Riker's voice was harsh, disdainful. But when he caught Griffin's eyes- the man's face reeking of offence- his face softened and his head bowed in apology. "Foot soldiers?" was his quiet query.
"Guess you could call us that."
Riker nodded thoughtfully. "I have no real say in any of this, you know that, right?"
"But as his direct commanding officer, you do have to approve the transfer."
"You know that's not what I meant." Griffin shrugged; Riker shook his head. "I'll call him. He should be on the bridge by now." Griffin nodded, clasping his hands in front of him as he waited for Riker to return to his desk. Pressing the intercom button, he called for the android.
"Yes, Admiral?"
"Could you come into my Ready Room?"
"Of course, Admiral." Griffin had never met Data, and had only once seen a picture of him. He imaged him to be tall, towering over even Admiral Riker's build. He had thought his eyes would be lifeless, void of any emotion. He couldn't imagine any other reason for the others' distrust of the android. He imagined, too, that Data's voice would be monotone, computer-like, perhaps lethargic. In a matter of moments, this image was crushed.
He turned to see Captain Data walk through the doors. He did not tower, instead he stood nearly the same height as him. His voice, as he had heard, was warm. Professional and yet still courteous with a melodious rhythm to it. And his eyes, while oddly mechanical, were not unlike a Vigolian's. They held emotion- a faintly detached curiosity, covered with a professional air of politeness, much like his voice. "You needed something, Admiral?"
"Yes. This is Captain Griffin. He wants to speak with you about something."
"Captain?"
"Captain Data." The Android nodded as a greeting. It was odd. Griffin had almost doubted his ability to mimic Human gestures. There were so many things the other Admirals had led him to believe and, despite that, he still found himself fascinated by the android. "I have a job for you, if you're interested."
The android looked away from him, looking to Riker almost as if seeking permission, or confirmation perhaps. He cocked a single eyebrow; Griffin saw a flash of amusement flare in his eyes. Looking to Riker, the Admiral was smirking so subtly and shrugging his shoulders in a nonchalant way. Griffin smiled. "So are you?"
/-/-/-/
/- A Few Days Later
Lieutenant Harper shifted her satchel on her back, sighing as she looked about herself. The Promenade of Deep Space Nine was crowded, busy with the dead and wounded from planets near by. Doctors rushed around the open hallways and, nearly lost in the moment, she felt compelled to join them.
She walked around them, twisting through the bunks, trying to avoid looking down at the faces. It had been a long time since she had been confronted by plasma burns and phaser wounds; she had been working on Betazoid with those infected for far too long.
But it didn't take long for her eyes betrayed her. They began to roam, and before long found the still form of a young girl. Seven or eight. She was Telterinite with long fiery red hair and yellow tinted skin. Harper looked around, but all the doctors and nurses were occupied. She thought to yell out to one, but the noise would prevent any from hearing her. Allowing her satchel to fall on the ground besides the bed, Harper knelt over the girl. Her face was burnt. Harper ran a hand along her jaw. The girl was dead. Closing her eyes, she whispered the only prayer she knew- an old Vulcan one- and covered her face with the light blanket draped over her small body. Then she stood, turning quickly away.
Harper had seen it before. She had been assigned to watch the young children infected. It was heart breaking seeing a child so void of life. It was only made worse when she realized it was easier to see them dead. She slung her satchel back over her shoulder and marched quickly away. Harper looked away only once more, catching the eye of another Telterinite, only he was nearly her age. The Lieutenant caught her eye, but looked away shortly after, rushing to carry a man wounded in the leg to a nearby bed.
Lieutenant Shanti struggled forward under the weight of the wounded Ensign. The man winced as he was lowered down onto the bunk. He sighed, squinting his eyes as if to stave off exhaustion. Then Shanti looked up, finding a nurse quickly coming to his aid. Shanti gave her a small smile before he straightened and looked around.
He hadn't been sent to the station as an assistant medic. He hadn't even gone to the Academy for such a thing. He was a tactical officer and a good one if his commendations meant anything. His ship had returned to Deep Space Nine with the intent to deliver the wounded from Dekari; he had been ordered there to meet his newest commanding officer.
With a sigh, he rubbed his eyes. Returning to the far side of the Promenade, he leaned over and scooped up his satchel. He'd never had much and knew he couldn't have much with him where he was going. Some of his things he left with his friends, the rest was shoved into the small bag. Mostly it was a couple of uniforms, a few PADDs- pictures and letters and the like. He didn't own much else.
As he found himself approaching the turbolift, he looked up to see a Lieutenant Commander approaching. The man had curly blonde hair caked with dirt. He knew immediately that the man had come from Dekari. His pace was slow and sluggish; Shanti knew he needed to sleep just as badly as he needed to bath.
"Conference Room Three." Shanti looked over at the man, surprised when he called the same level that he needed. He stood in silence, even as Shanti took him in longer. He was pale, pasty from his exhaustion and stress. His green eyes were clouded and he paid no attention to his fellow occupant. It didn't offend Shanti; he expected nothing from the man.
James Baronich looked up only when the turbolift halted. The doors slid opened and he stepped out. The Telterinite sharing the turbolift followed him. He rubbed his face, ignoring the dirt on his hands that he was spreading over his face. Stifling a yawn he looked up and turned into a door, glancing curiously over his shoulder at the Telterinite who continued to follow him.
It was a part of his nature, carefully grown and nurtured by his career in first Starfleet and then Alliance Fleet. But his level of alertness was dangerously low. He couldn't focus ever since he stopped moving and boarded that starship from Dekari to the station. He sank deep into one of the many chairs in the room before he noticed that there were others around him.
One was the Telterinite who was awkwardly standing off to the side. He was dirty and didn't look like he belonged on a starship. However he was not nearly dirty enough to be a part of Epsilon Fleet. He didn't have any insignia on him either.
Baronich looked to another in the room- the only female. She sat comfortably in the middle chair, tapping her fingers against the hard surface. She was Human, at least appeared to be, with tied back brown hair and naturally tanned skin. She seemed more rested than the others among them. He could tell she had lived planet-side.
A Vigolian stood in the back corner, his arms folded over his chest. He looked mean- a big guy with an imposing glare and unnatural eyes. But Baronich had long ago learned to read through such a façade.
The door opened and Baronich looked to a young Ensign. He was green- probably a few weeks out of the Academy. The Ensign was shaky, nervous as he approached the table. He glanced about the room before sinking into a seat.
Baronich looked him over. He hated having newbies on his team- they had a tendency of dying too easily. Of crying at night. They weren't the kind for Epsilon Fleet, and yet the older guys were dying or needed on the ships. All they had left were the kids.
The door reopened minutes later. Baronich looked with half interest at the next member of his team. It took a moment for him to remember his training. Chairs shuffled against the floor and Baronich sluggishly remembered to snap to attention.
"As you were," the Captain called to them. Walking around, he slowed at the corner chair. Baronich watched him hesitate before sitting at the head table. He knew about his Captain- Captain Data. He'd had a few rough goes at commanding a ship. He was an Enterprise brat- hadn't left the ship since its maiden voyage. Nothing was wrong with that, he just wasn't sure how he felt about the android taking command of something he'd never experienced.
Data looked around the room. Two who had been standing before he entered, approached the table and seated themselves after him. He knew all five of their names, had memorized their achievements and their faults, had read anything about their personalities he could find. With a deep breath he looked around them and prepared to speak. "Our first assignment is to guard the city of Ish'rou on Dekari…"
/-/-/-/
/- A Few Days Later
The Enterprise hummed sluggishly, imitating the general mood of its crew. Admiral Riker, himself, sat slouched in his ready room, rubbing his face and stifling yawns. Riker twisted his wrist, twirling the liquid and staring out into the starry landscape.
He was so miserable, war did that to people he guessed. But the more he thought back, the less he could grasp onto the feeling that is happiness. There was once a time when everything seemed so perfect. He was happy. But as he thought and searched his memory, he couldn't remember how that felt. There was once a time when his eyes befell the image of beauty, when he couldn't believe that she belonged to him. There was once a time when he laid in her bed, held her in his arms, and felt as if he could live like that forever. But those days seemed so long ago. He was merely a child, unaware of the complexities that laid in his future.
His life had moved on, he lost the only love of his life, only to find her again and hold her at arm's length. He remembered those days with clarity, clung to those moments. Clung to the moments when she returned to his bedside. Their wedding. Their children. But no matter how they filled his heart, they still cut such a deep hole inside him. Being so far away, in so much danger. He wanted so badly to return to a time that he could barely believe ever existed. To find a feeling he couldn't find anywhere within him. With every day, every hour, that past, those feelings seemed to slip through his fingers like sand returning disturbed to another place entirely.
He set down his mug, the continence having gone cold an hour before. He sighed, rubbing his eyes again. He didn't seem to have any time for sleep any longer. His nights were filled with charts, with maps, with statistics and numbers, with plans and attacks, with reports and lists of names. He moved half on autopilot, half on necessity. He was in a constant fog throughout the day, and night he stared in numb horror at the shear number of what he needed to accomplish.
"Admiral's Log. Stardate: 38201.17.
"With Data gone, I've officially promoted Byron to Commander. As first officer, he's basically in command of the ship. I only step in for battle and lead the fleet from here…"
Byron looked up from the Captain's chair. He gripped the armrests in a prelude to standing, but Riker waved his hand and began his stroll around the bridge.
"It means we have a new chief tactical officer." He looked up to the young man standing before the tactical console. "Another young face, barely old enough to be out of school. Another name in front of a man, a life. One I doubt I will invest too much time to learn because I know the likelihood that he will still be standing on my bridge in a month from now."
He was a scrawny boy of twenty-five with a tuff of orange brown hair and a pathetic attempt at whiskers. He stood half a head shorter than Riker. He was a rail, no fat and no muscle on his body. The silky material of his Alliance Fleet uniform glistened against his skin.
"Enterprise's dynamics have been confused lately. This is now the second time she is without a proper Captain, but I can't bring myself to appoint a Captain over Byron. I trust him- I know him. And I think if he has the luck to survive another year or so, he will be Captain."
Riker paced along the perimeter of the bridge. He patted the shoulder of a Lieutenant, smiled and nodded at an Ensign, nodded again the Lieutenant at Helm as he peered over her shoulder. She nodded back and focused on the con. He sighed as he turned back to Commander Byron.
"ETA?"
"Twelve minutes." His only response was a curt nod.
His attention was redirected to the screen where stars streaked by, a disorienting view for the unaccustomed eye. "Open a channel. Let's hear what's going on."
The static crackled, the voices crying over top of each other. Riker felt himself cringing internally, wincing at the cries, his stomach turning in knots, but he didn't allow anything to be visible. Weakness couldn't be seen, couldn't be detected.
"Helm?"
"Eight minutes."
Time was his tormentor. It past slowly, agonizingly, taunting him with the horrors of war, with others' pain. It past quickly, but only when he wished for slow moments and a break from his life. Night was timeless, seconds stretched into eternity as he tossed and turned with insomnia. Battle too was timeless, speeding by and slowing down at random increments.
"Three minutes."
The tension spiked. No one moved from their positions, no one moved their eyes from the consoles, but Riker knew they all waited, listened, prepared mentally for what they all knew would come in just moments. Riker turned, finding Byron already standing just to the left of his chair. Riker looked down to it for a long moment, longing rising in his chest. He stepped closer to it before he looked up to the tactical officer. The Commander was nervous- he hid it well but Riker had learned long ago to see through such a façade. He trembled even though it was not his first fight.
"Forty seconds."
He turned to watch the blurred stars fade back into the points of light. Flashing lights zoomed across the screen still, red blurs that erupted into brilliant explosions. Objects that were once uncertain points, were now clearly identified as several dozen starships. Riker peered out. There was an invisible line that seemed to identify them at first, but just as they arrived, they began to converge, to mix with each other in a deadly blend of red.
It was silent for a moment. The firing seemed distant, unheard inside the bridge. The comm seemed quiet even though frantic voices continued to chatter in the background. Every battle to him seemed surreal. He felt detached, indifferent. It helped him coop.
But with battle there came a moment that it erupted around him, became real for short bursts. When he remembered to yell orders, when his ship took fire and he rocked with the floor and stumbled past sparking conduits, when he marched through the chaos of his bridge.
"Tactical!"
/-/-/-/
/- Soon After
A noise to his left made Barclay jump. He tried to calm himself; it was just a broken conduit sparking under the explosion. He knew this, for he heard it often, everyday perhaps. But still he was surprised by these kinds of noises; still battle pumped adrenaline through his veins in unnecessary amounts; still he heard things louder and eerier than his rational mind knew them to be.
Barclay moved on, dragging and stumbling his way through the corridor. They were already a mess, filled with fallen support beams and scraps of destroyed plating. He tripped with every step he took, the weight he was hauling snagged and caught on the obstacles, but even so he could not bring himself to look down at his feet, to see where and when to step more gingerly. Every time his foot fell just above the ground, resting on something other than the floor, he knew by the feel just what it was. But he never looked. He could see them in the distance, where his sights remained, but he never looked when he grew too near to them.
The weight pulled on his shoulder. He sagged under the burden, and yet he pressed onward. It was necessary. He couldn't look, because then he would see it. See the horror he knew surrounded him. He couldn't stop, because then he would be too scared to start again. He couldn't slow, couldn't stop, couldn't look down. So he tripped and floundered and forced breath in and out of his lungs because he had to.
Barclay turned into a new, previously unseen corridor. It was much like the last. Littered with dead things. Dead conduits, charred plating that couldn't be reused, dead… dead things.
He shifted the weight, pulling it with him. The ship rocked, sparks flew too close to his right ear, another beam strained and shifted. Barclay grimaced, shaking and holding back his fear. It echoed off the walls around him. He wasn't used to what he was doing, wasn't used to being anywhere but the open space of engineering.
The ship groaned and so did the weight clutching so firmly to his shoulder. The weight pulled at his neck, tearing the skin gently but not ripping it. His shoulder was numb and his legs had long since started to burn. He was tired and wanted to stop and rest. But he continued on.
As he moved down the hall, everything slowly became obscure, harder to see as the hallway became covered in a thin layer of smoke. He blinked hard; his eyes were starting to burn. He coughed, his breathing becoming even more laboured and he struggled to get enough air to fuel his body.
"Stop!"
Barclay jumped at the hoarse order. He looked down at the weight he carried through the halls, surprised by the sudden words coming from the man. "Commander?"
"Stop. On the right. A… plasma leak. Fix-" his ragged breath quickly turned to ragged coughing, his body convulsing.
Barclay wet his lips carefully as he tried to continue helping Commander LaForge to remain standing. He looked over his commanding officer and friend, noticing how much worse he looked. He was paler; his uniform was soaked through with blood. "You have to get to Sickbay."
"And you have to fix that leak before it spreads all over this level and we can't contain it."
Barclay looked back, his watery eyes having trouble finding what Geordie's could easily see. It suddenly dawned on him that he had no tools of any sort with him.
"Take a thin shard of metal. Use part… tear some of your shirt… wrap it around your hand… pull out the… the-" another spasm of coughs raked his body. Barclay nodded as he surveyed the floor around his feet. It was the first time he had looked down. Slowly he nodded.
"Yes, yes. The plasma conduit runs right through… Okay, I'm going to have to sit you down." Geordie nodded. He moaned, though Barclay knew he was trying to hide his pain. His body fell along the wall, though Barclay was carefully to keep him from catching his back against anything.
"Over there." Geordie's hand weakly lifted away from his body to gesture off a meter down the corridor. Barclay scrambled over there to find the fallen piece of mangled metal. It was thin enough. His eyes wandered back to Geordie. The engineer was wincing in pain, but his focus was squarely on Barclay. More nervous under the pressure, he went to work, ripping his sleeve from its seams to cover his bare hand. He winced harshly as the steam erupted from the wall. He felt the heat even through the tough material. He placed the long shard over the hole, his hand shaking even as he held it in place. The hot steam blew over it. Barclay blinked rapidly, his eyes stinging and his sight blurring as he watched the metal liquefy over the damaged conduit. It was crude, but after a few minutes the hole was sealed and green smoke stopped billowing out into the surrounding area.
He let himself smirk at his accomplishment, taking the moment to rest. But the moment passed quickly when he heard a soft gurgling sound behind him. He looked. Geordie's eyes had fallen closed and Barclay couldn't tell if the man's chest was moving through the thick haze. Barclay was too shocked to do anything for a long stretch. When he found his legs again, he rushed to Geordie's side. Barclay had no tricorder, not that he knew anything about medicine, but he saw the man's chest move. He was alive for now.
Barclay draped his arm back over his neck and grabbed his side, pulling him up onto his feet. With Geordie no longer conscious, he had to drag him most of the way. Barclay counted his steps, registering every second that passed, unconsciously computing how much longer it would take. He wasn't far- around the corner and just down a little bit farther.
He could see it. He stumbled, but his sights never moved from the flow of people through the door only ten meters away. He coughed, gasping in air, dragging Geordie the final few steps.
A clean shaven young man took the burden from Barclay, relieving him of the weight. Another man helped Geordie onto a hovergurney and floated him into the far bay. A woman put her hand on his back. Barclay looked down at her, his brows creased. She ushered him inside. Barclay looked over to see that Dr. Crusher was already hovering around him. He was in good hands; he made it.
"Sit down, please, sir." Barclay turned to look at the woman, then down at his leg. His uniform was ripped at the hip, the gash trailing down to just above his knee. His leg was a dark red and the makeshift bandages were already soaked through. Looking back up at the woman, he collapsed onto the bed.
/-/-/-/
/- About the Same Time
"Don't forget about your meeting with-"
"Zidana Jentu. Yes, yes, I know. Todd, you worry too much."
"I don't worry too much- I just have a lot of things I'm a little worried about."
"Ha, ha, very funny."
"I thought so."
Pell snickered at the well rehearsed banter between her old friend and the young Trill. "You know, I could use an assistant like you."
The man shrugged. "Eben's okay, I guess."
"Oh yeah," she started sarcastically, "Him and all that personality he has." Lwaxana snorted, thinking of the thirty year old Trill and his monotoned voice.
"Council meeting's in ten minutes. And Ambassador Vala Kin wanted a few minutes with you afterwards."
"Tell her she's got five."
"She wanted ten."
"She's got six and that's all I have."
"Actually you have an hour."
"You better not have told her that."
"No, I told her you'd have ten."
"Fine, fine. Ten minutes. That it?"
"Yep."
"Okay, get outta here."
"Yes, Ambassador."
Lwaxana smirked as she shook her head, watching the boy go. But, looking back at him, her smile faded as she realized that he wasn't a boy any longer. Oh he had been, all those years ago, he had been young and filled with enthusiasm and spunk. But he had grown up so much in those years, but luckily for him he hadn't yet been tarnished too badly by all the political nonsense. As he turned the corner heading back to her office, she realized she had no idea how old he was. All she knew was that, by the end of the year, she was going to be looking for a new assistant when Tayd left for the next step of his career on Trill.
"Are you listening to me?"
"Do I ever listen to you?"
"How am I supposed to know? You're the telepath." Pell sighed, glancing down the hall. It wasn't uncommon for Lwaxana to stop outside the council chamber doors and wait for everyone to enter. Many other Ambassadors milled about, some slipping into the chamber.
"You're still coming over to my house for dinner, right?"
"Had you been listening to me earlier," Pell said with a smirk, turning to face Lwaxana, "you would know the answer."
"So you're still coming."
"Cheater." Lwaxana just gave a wicked smirk, glancing over at the growing gathering of Ambassadors and their aids. "So is this Mr. Homn making it from scratch?"
"Of course. The replicated stuff just doesn't taste right."
"Not enough Tritonion to go around."
"Yeah. We need more."
"We need Galios back."
"Yeah, well that's not going to happen for a while." Pell sighed, shaking her head. She turned to the side, rubbing the back of her hand. "Anyway, what we need now is to reinforce the Dekari area, if we can get her back, we might have a chance at getting Galios back and then…" Lwaxana's voice started to trail off as Pell stopped listening to her. Her brows creased and she cocked her head to the side as she watched the Denobulan aide rush inside. He was hurried and frightened; Pell worried what news he could possibly be bringing. She noticed no other aide was rushing to anyone else's side.
Ambassador Phiff stood surrounded by some of the others, arguing good naturally with them. His aide moved up beside him, a silent movement that aides seemed to be so good at. Phiff leaned and the younger Denobulan whispered to him. Phiff's smirk faded almost instantly, and his face flushed even paler than normal. His eyes moved down to catch the floor before looking up in search of Lwaxana. Pell glanced over at her friend to see if she had noticed. Lwaxana's rant had ended and her focus was on Phiff.
Lwaxana had found his pleading eyes. They had been youthful once, a very long time ago. But now their once youthful joy had been replaced with a fear, one so deeply imbedded within them she could no longer separate it from every other emotion she felt whirling through his eyes and mind. She had known the moment that his aide had stepped into her sight the news that he carried with him.
/-/-/-/
/- About the Same Time
Red globes spiralled toward the planet. Riker held his breath as two ships under his command sped between them. The one rocked brutally under the strain, the other erupted in a fiery blaze. His eyes fell closed for only a second, mourning the action they had known was necessary. A third and then forth volley were sent hurling toward the Denobulan surface, three more ships became crippled, one other was destroyed.
"Take out those ships!"
In past years, Riker had trusted his tactical officer to be there, to be ready to follow his orders. He had never turned to look before, but that day he firmly planet his feet, twisting his body. The young man was shaking as his hands worked hastily to complete the task ordered. Riker turned, satisfied, and watched as the Federation shields deflected the torpedoes.
More torpedoes swarmed the planet, and more ships gave their shields or themselves to stop them. Riker frowned as he looked among his fleet, its numbers diminishing before his eyes.
The DeForest veered left. Its shields shuddered under the strain of seven photon torpedoes crashing into its shields. Jayton's ship came up from underneath the Enterprise, the Fitzgerald guarding Denobula from two torpedoes. Its shields nearly collapsed, but it continued fighting. The Warbird was to the Enterprise's right. Captain Ivinch had been injured several days before, Riker knew it was her First Officer that was in charge. He was young- recently promoted- and was sticking close. Lastly his eyes fell onto the Voyager. He didn't know Captain Janeway well, but she knew how to fight inventively- at least her crew did. Her pilot swerved elegantly through the maze of fire as her tactical officer delivering damaging bows.
But as he watched the scene play out, all he managed to do in reaction was blink. He watched as ships were destroyed, as the surface of the planet was hit, as his fleet crumbled and all he was able to do was blink. Over the years war, he saw, was all the same. Scenes replaying themselves. Over the years he found himself expecting the next moment, reciting the lines he knew by heart, mourning his favourite characters and watching as the meaningless minor characters were eliminated. Over the years he had found a hardness, an ability to watch these moments play out repeatedly and not break down and cry, to not run and hide, but to watch objectively and see every detail he never noticed as a young officer. Details like the shape of the smoke that followed the destruction of a ship, the way a piece of debris floated away, the glow of a photon torpedo, the shape one takes on just before being embedded into a ship.
But there were certain things he never grew cold of. Certain things he began to notice early on in the scene. There were always two sides- the one that was going to win and the only that was going to lose- and he could always tell which he was going to be on near the middle. It only took five hours for Riker to know where his fleet stood. No, it only took half an hour to know they were going to lose. It took five hours to admit that they had lost Denobula.
/-/-/-
Hope you enjoyed. :)
