TITLE: Dear Annie ("Shockwave")
AUTHOR: Mara Greengrass
AUTHOR'S E-MAIL: fishfolk@ix.netcom.com. Feedback is better than chocolate.
PERMISSION TO ARCHIVE: Yes, just let me know.
CATEGORY: Gen
RATINGS/WARNINGS: G
SUMMARY: Hoshi writes home *during* the events of "Shockwave."
DISCLAIMER: Enterprise and all its crew belong to Paramount and many other entities with expensive lawyers. I am making no profit from this story.
NOTES: And some of you thought I couldn't pull this off...oh, ye of little faith. Ha, but Captain Average believed in me. So there.
DEDICATION: For Jessica, of course, who sent me my virtual hug when I needed it so badly.
* * * * *
Dear Annie:
I'm in such turmoil, I'm not certain how much sense I'm going to make, but right now I just need to get my thoughts in order, and if writing to you is the best way, then so be it.
Somehow, at this moment it's easier to write to you than record a personal log, because this way I can pretend you're sitting here with your arm around my shoulder. I can even hear your voice saying, "Hoshi, babe, it's gonna be okay. I promise. Even if I have to personally beat someone up to make sure of it." I wish there was someone you could beat up for me, but I'm not sure who it would be.
By the time you get this, you'll probably have heard all kinds of things about why we're returning to Earth. I know how rumors and innuendo travel, who better? Don't believe it. Don't believe any of it, because I'm sure it's all lies.
We were invited to visit a mining colony, it sounded fascinating, and I was looking forward to learning about the matriarchal structure everyone was talking about. My impression was that it was the reverse of what we had on Earth, except these men only gained full equality a few years ago. The first shuttle to go down to the colony had Jon, Trip, T'Pol, and Malcolm. Malcolm was piloting, and he was very concerned about the safety protocols we'd been sent, because apparently the mining process creates this gas that can explode in the presence of plasma.
He closed the plasma ducts, I know he did. The word anal does not begin to describe Malcolm, so if he said he closed them, they were closed! As he's been saying over and over, there are redundancies built into the system specifically to be sure of these things. They were closed!
But there was an explosion. God, I can barely even think about it. The colony was wiped out in an instant, 3600 beings, entire families, just gone in a flash. And our shuttle thrown around like a cork floating on the ocean in a hurricane, blown away by the shockwave from the explosion.
I had to search the surface for survivors. I had to look at acre after acre of charred buildings. There was nothing left. Nothing. Just destruction.
And, once again, those long moments until we found out if the shuttle had survived the explosion, until we could get them back on board, get Trip into sickbay. I was ready to explode, between seeing him lying unconscious on a biobed, and the Captain demanding that I find survivors on the colony. I wanted to tell Jon to go to hell, drape myself over Trip, and just sob.
But I didn't, I stood there and did my job and told the Captain over and over what I'd seen. Nothing left. He just couldn't believe it, but he hadn't seen what I'd seen. He hadn't scanned the surface over and over, hoping this time the result would be different.
When Jon gave up beating *that* dead horse, he switched to Malcolm, who was busy beating himself up. They argued over whether there was any way the plasma ducts could have somehow opened, or malfunctioned, until T'Pol intervened and separated them.
Since then, Trip, Malcolm, T'Pol, and I have been analyzing the data backwards and forwards and upside down and sideways, but it just doesn't seem to make sense. There's simply no reason for the explosion to have occurred, yet it happened, and it happened while our shuttle happened to be entering the atmosphere.
The Captain reported what happened to Admiral Forrest, and Starfleet recalled Enterprise. Just like that. After everything we've gone through, after all our discoveries, they cancelled the mission and ordered us home.
It's strange. I didn't intend to be here, I didn't even *want* to be here, they practically had to kidnap me to get me aboard. And yet, I find myself devastated by the thought of the mission cancelled. Maybe it's just watching my shipmates' utter dejection.
The Vulcans are saying perhaps humans aren't ready, that maybe we should wait another few decades before we set out. Yet another example of Vulcans not understanding humanity: to them two decades means working someplace else, then starting over, to us it means letting someone else take our place. Maybe Travis or I might be young enough to start over on another ship, but for Jon and Trip and so many others, this is it. An ignominious return to Earth, the end of their career, perhaps.
It's the end of Jon's dream, the thing he's worked for his entire life, the culmination of his father's work. Trip wanted nothing more than to keep his beloved engines running, especially to help his friend Jon. Travis is depressed, worried that no other job will seem appealing after ten months piloting Enterprise.
I told him that if anyone blames Jon for what happened in my hearing range, they'll get an earful from me, and I meant it! Captain Archer, Jonathan Archer, he's a great man and a great Captain, and I, for one, refuse to let him be blamed for what happened. Even if he seems to be blaming himself.
We followed all the protocols. That shuttle was impeccably maintained. We did nothing wrong. But several thousand beings are dead anyway.
The Captain just called senior staff to a conference. I wonder what else has gone wrong. I guess I'd better send this now, because if we have another crisis, it could be a long time before I get to write again. Tell everyone you know that we did our best to represent Earth to the rest of the universe.
I guess I'll be seeing you soon. It's what I wanted, just not the way I wanted it.
Love,
Hoshi
AUTHOR: Mara Greengrass
AUTHOR'S E-MAIL: fishfolk@ix.netcom.com. Feedback is better than chocolate.
PERMISSION TO ARCHIVE: Yes, just let me know.
CATEGORY: Gen
RATINGS/WARNINGS: G
SUMMARY: Hoshi writes home *during* the events of "Shockwave."
DISCLAIMER: Enterprise and all its crew belong to Paramount and many other entities with expensive lawyers. I am making no profit from this story.
NOTES: And some of you thought I couldn't pull this off...oh, ye of little faith. Ha, but Captain Average believed in me. So there.
DEDICATION: For Jessica, of course, who sent me my virtual hug when I needed it so badly.
* * * * *
Dear Annie:
I'm in such turmoil, I'm not certain how much sense I'm going to make, but right now I just need to get my thoughts in order, and if writing to you is the best way, then so be it.
Somehow, at this moment it's easier to write to you than record a personal log, because this way I can pretend you're sitting here with your arm around my shoulder. I can even hear your voice saying, "Hoshi, babe, it's gonna be okay. I promise. Even if I have to personally beat someone up to make sure of it." I wish there was someone you could beat up for me, but I'm not sure who it would be.
By the time you get this, you'll probably have heard all kinds of things about why we're returning to Earth. I know how rumors and innuendo travel, who better? Don't believe it. Don't believe any of it, because I'm sure it's all lies.
We were invited to visit a mining colony, it sounded fascinating, and I was looking forward to learning about the matriarchal structure everyone was talking about. My impression was that it was the reverse of what we had on Earth, except these men only gained full equality a few years ago. The first shuttle to go down to the colony had Jon, Trip, T'Pol, and Malcolm. Malcolm was piloting, and he was very concerned about the safety protocols we'd been sent, because apparently the mining process creates this gas that can explode in the presence of plasma.
He closed the plasma ducts, I know he did. The word anal does not begin to describe Malcolm, so if he said he closed them, they were closed! As he's been saying over and over, there are redundancies built into the system specifically to be sure of these things. They were closed!
But there was an explosion. God, I can barely even think about it. The colony was wiped out in an instant, 3600 beings, entire families, just gone in a flash. And our shuttle thrown around like a cork floating on the ocean in a hurricane, blown away by the shockwave from the explosion.
I had to search the surface for survivors. I had to look at acre after acre of charred buildings. There was nothing left. Nothing. Just destruction.
And, once again, those long moments until we found out if the shuttle had survived the explosion, until we could get them back on board, get Trip into sickbay. I was ready to explode, between seeing him lying unconscious on a biobed, and the Captain demanding that I find survivors on the colony. I wanted to tell Jon to go to hell, drape myself over Trip, and just sob.
But I didn't, I stood there and did my job and told the Captain over and over what I'd seen. Nothing left. He just couldn't believe it, but he hadn't seen what I'd seen. He hadn't scanned the surface over and over, hoping this time the result would be different.
When Jon gave up beating *that* dead horse, he switched to Malcolm, who was busy beating himself up. They argued over whether there was any way the plasma ducts could have somehow opened, or malfunctioned, until T'Pol intervened and separated them.
Since then, Trip, Malcolm, T'Pol, and I have been analyzing the data backwards and forwards and upside down and sideways, but it just doesn't seem to make sense. There's simply no reason for the explosion to have occurred, yet it happened, and it happened while our shuttle happened to be entering the atmosphere.
The Captain reported what happened to Admiral Forrest, and Starfleet recalled Enterprise. Just like that. After everything we've gone through, after all our discoveries, they cancelled the mission and ordered us home.
It's strange. I didn't intend to be here, I didn't even *want* to be here, they practically had to kidnap me to get me aboard. And yet, I find myself devastated by the thought of the mission cancelled. Maybe it's just watching my shipmates' utter dejection.
The Vulcans are saying perhaps humans aren't ready, that maybe we should wait another few decades before we set out. Yet another example of Vulcans not understanding humanity: to them two decades means working someplace else, then starting over, to us it means letting someone else take our place. Maybe Travis or I might be young enough to start over on another ship, but for Jon and Trip and so many others, this is it. An ignominious return to Earth, the end of their career, perhaps.
It's the end of Jon's dream, the thing he's worked for his entire life, the culmination of his father's work. Trip wanted nothing more than to keep his beloved engines running, especially to help his friend Jon. Travis is depressed, worried that no other job will seem appealing after ten months piloting Enterprise.
I told him that if anyone blames Jon for what happened in my hearing range, they'll get an earful from me, and I meant it! Captain Archer, Jonathan Archer, he's a great man and a great Captain, and I, for one, refuse to let him be blamed for what happened. Even if he seems to be blaming himself.
We followed all the protocols. That shuttle was impeccably maintained. We did nothing wrong. But several thousand beings are dead anyway.
The Captain just called senior staff to a conference. I wonder what else has gone wrong. I guess I'd better send this now, because if we have another crisis, it could be a long time before I get to write again. Tell everyone you know that we did our best to represent Earth to the rest of the universe.
I guess I'll be seeing you soon. It's what I wanted, just not the way I wanted it.
Love,
Hoshi