Hello loyal readers, new and old! I'm finally back with another chapter. It's been a while, I know. Whew...so I decided to do some fall cleaning around the ol' Drake homestead... One thing led to another, and next thing I knew, I'd caught up on a bunch of projects that had been laying dormant for months, and it was a week later! I guess I should put more effort into KEEPING my place tidier. I hope you all enjoy this chapter, it has character development, internal conflict and Captain Piett!
Commander Tharcourt awoke as the alarm at his bedside sounded. He checked the time to find that it was ten-hundred. It took him a moment to remember why exactly he had slept in, and he figured that at least nobody would hold it against him today. He started to sit up, and realized that he was sore. Everything was sore. Drakken let out a grumble, something about getting too old for high-intensity missions, followed by a lot of what Freya would call 'Effin and blinding'. He grunted as he rolled out of bed, and realized that this was the first night he had spent in his old bed since Thorne had joined the team. He paused and inhaled. Yes…that's why his sheet smelled like flowers.
He looked over at the bedside table, and spotted the box of chocolates and gloves he had gotten for her just before the team had left for their mission. He suddenly felt like an intruder, a trespasser into the young woman's most intimate space, and he shook his head. If this had been Felian's bed or Ekks', it wouldn't seem so strange…the commander commandeering their bunk to recover after running himself ragged. It being Freya's…that was a different story.
"Kriff…enough of that." He muttered to himself, and sat back down on the bed, pulling on his boots. Apparently, his bodyguard had divested him of his footwear and his blaster, but had left him fully dressed otherwise. Not the first time he had slept in his uniform, and he thought that it probably didn't benefit the garments much in appearance.
He left the room and ventured down the short hall, and into the commons area to find Mets and Coleth involved in a low but serious discourse on sports, and Gallen laying on one of the benches, listening to music and throwing his little ball into the air and catching it listlessly. As he entered, the troopers all sent him greetings of varying propriety, and he didn't bother to correct them. They all looked about as worn as he felt.
"Who's on duty?" He asked.
"Daraay's on watch, sir." Mets answered. "Felian nabbed Lago, and they're cleaning the rest of the weapons and gear from the mission."
"Alright…good..." The commander returned, processing the information. "Got caf?" Without a word, Coleth poured a cup and handed it off to Tharcourt, who took a long drink of the now-lukewarm beverage. "That's better…" He mumbled. "Any word on Thorne…on Dall?"
"Not yet, commander." Gallen replied. "They'll probably be in bacta the rest of the day…especially Ensign Thorne. Dall might get out sooner. He wasn't as…tenderized as she was…" Drakken shot the sniper a dissatisfied glower and he shrugged. "Not makin' fun, sir. I sure wouldn't have been that talkative in her shape. I'd just be wanting painkillers and spotchka." Tharcourt exhaled.
"Yeah…she's tough, corporal. I knew she was, but that kind of surprised even me."
"Hell of a woman, sir." Mets quipped, and Tharcourt snapped his head in the scout trooper's direction. Mets didn't flinch. "And a hell of an officer."
"I'll give you that." Commander Tharcourt stated. "As you were." With that, he walked into his office and sat behind his desk. He tapped his index finger on the tabletop a few moments, planning out the day. Breakfast…then after-action report…then a report to Lord Vader. He stopped that train of thought dead in space. Report to Vader. Then after-action report, then he would go get some chow. It was important to prioritize, especially when dealing with the deadly warlord.
He drew out a datapad, and began typing everything he had learned from the interviews with the rebel prisoners the day before; The ship Vader was searching for had been to the depot, but only for a quick refuel before leaving. The rebels at the base had seen a young blonde man in an X-Wing who may possibly be Skywalker, but there was no evidence to confirm this. None of the rebels knew the name of the person or persons directly responsible for the destruction of the DS-1. It was probably that their command was keeping Skywalker's name and whereabouts confidential. He added his hypothesis that the rebels keeping the refueling station open, and a cache of weapons on-site pointed to planned continued operations against the Empire. With that, Commander Tharcourt signed and dated the correspondence and sent it to the office Vader received his messages through.
He then began an after-action report, vaguely wondering as he started who actually read these things. He was two paragraphs in when his desk beeped, signaling an incoming holomessage. Drakken did his best to fix his hair and straighten his uniform in case it were someone important, then he pressed the blue button. A half-scale hologram of the upper-half of Agent Veruna appeared on his desk, and Tharcourt smirked at the intrusion.
"Hey Tharcourt." She greeted, her usual cocky smile on her face. "I wanted to drop you a line and see how everything was going."
"It's…going." He answered, and held up the datapad. "Up to my eyes in reports after my last mission."
"I heard you cleaned out an entire rebel base…yet again." She said it as if the idea barely registered. The ISB agent appeared to lean toward him. "Kriff, sweetie…you look like hell." Drakken rolled his eyes.
"Thanks, Veruna." He droned. "I really appreciate that."
"No, no." She returned. "I mean I totally dig the sexy battle-damaged bad-boy look, but you look like you've gone a round with a wookie and came in second place, man."
"It was a little rough out there." Tharcourt admitted.
"I heard that too. Oh! How is Thorne? I heard she got hurt pretty bad. The little cutie's like…not too damaged, is she?" Veruna had a concerned look on her face, and Drakken sighed.
"She'll be alright." He said. "She's taking a long bath in a bacta tank. Had a run-in with a devaronian and they had a brawl. Guess it was his last."
"Crink me sideways. I fought a devaronian once…but I had a blaster." Veruna was silent a moment. "How you two doing?"
"Veruna." Tharcourt said in a threatening tone.
"Oh…right…you two aren't together." She shot back sarcastically. "Hm. Glad you got her out of that…situation she was in though. Congrats on that, by the way. I knew you could be devious if you put your heart into it."
"Yeah…I'd rather not talk about that." Drakken said.
"Well snap me down, if you're not in a mood today, sweetie." Veruna commented dryly. She sighed. "I forgive you though. You prolly got a lot on your mind with Thorne in the infirmary and everything you have to do to get ready for your big move." Of course, she knew about that too. Veruna seemed to know everything, and it came as no surprise that she was already apprised of his team's upcoming move to the new ship in two days.
"Yeah…it's been a real…"
"Pain in the ass?" The intelligence operative offered.
"Yeah."
"Well, I'll leave you to your business, Drakken." Veruna said. "Tell Thorne I said get well soon. Oh! And I'm working on a case. I may need some extra muscle here in the next few weeks. Think you can lend widdle old me a hand?"
"I…"
"You still owe me, Drakken." She reminded him tersely.
"Ugh…alright." He said defeatedly. For a split second, Veruna closed her eyes. He couldn't see her hands, but could almost swear she pumped her fists in the air. He cocked his head curiously "Wait…what do I have to do?"
"That is classified, darling." Veruna answered with a sly smile. "I'll let you know more closer to the date. You take care of yourself, Drakken...and take care of Thorne."
"I'm sure I will." He said.
"See you soon, Commander Tharcourt." Veruna said, her bearing and tone mocking decorum. She winked. "Veruna out." The holographic image disappeared, and Drakken leaned back in his chair and inwardly groaned. Piett had warned him about owing her, and he wondered what potentially dangerous and likely strange mission she had in store for him. It's not that he didn't like Major Veruna. She had helped him rescue Freya, after all. It was just hard to fully trust an intelligence officer who was spying on him for the Empire. That, and she could be…annoying.
It was beyond blatant that she was attracted to him. And she wasn't shy about breaking the bonds of every etiquette known in the galaxy to profess it. He imagined that a lot of men or women would more than enjoy her overtly sexual innuendos. Tharcourt just found them crass and a little juvenile. Much like most of her personality. She was indeed very attractive in an odd way, but at her age, to him, she came off as the kind of woman who was trying to remain the eternal teenager. The way she used the modern slang of young people, her pastel-pink highlights, the skin-tight pants she wore, it all felt like she was trying too hard. Maybe he was reading too much into it, and it was just who she was.
"Moving along…" He muttered, and refocused his attention on the datapad in front of him and the report he had to finish. It took all of twenty minutes to get down all of the details of the take-down of the rebel base. He concluded the report as always with a statement of casualties, and destroyed, missing or expended weapons, ordnance, fuel, blaster cells and equipment. He signed and dated the report, and sent the electrodocument to SF command.
Now finished with his work for the day, Drakken took it upon himself to finally take a shower and change into a clean uniform. He almost considered sending the one he'd taken off to the incinerator, but decided that it probably had a few more missions left in it, and tossed it in his private laundry bin. A shave and a tooth-cleansing later, and the commander felt a little better. The hot water had at least helped the sore muscles. He strapped his ever-present blaster to his right leg, and pulled on a fresh set of gloves. Then with a friendly greeting to Daraay, standing guard outside the door, he made his way to the mess hall.
It was one of the rare times he showed up during normal mess rotation, and he felt a little out of place amongst all of the officers in the dining room. Fortunately, few of them recognized him more than just by reputation, and he hopped into line behind some stormtrooper commander with sideburns that made Drakken think of moss growing up the side of a tree. Thankfully the queue moved forward with mechanical efficiency, and he soon found himself only a few Imperial officers away from the first meal he'd had in forty-eight hours.
"Drakken, old man." The greeting came from behind him. He looked back to see Piett standing beside the line.
"Oh. Hello, Firmus." He returned. "Didn't know you came down here to eat."
"There's two officers messes on this ship, and I like to alternate." The captain replied. "Besides, the other one is serving steamed vegetables. I heard this one has fish. One must choose their battle wisely." Firmus looked at the young officer behind Tharcourt. "You mind, ensign?" He asked politely. The young man looked shocked that the captain of the ship had actually addressed him.
"Oh, no sir. Please, go right on ahead, sir." The ensign said graciously. Piett nodded a thanks, and cut in line as Drakken drew a tray from the stack.
"Well, kind of glad you're here." Tharcourt said. "Thorne's still in the infirmary, and I don't really know anyone else here." Piett raised an eyebrow.
"Still no good at making friends, I see." He remarked with a dry smirk. Drakken shrugged.
"Always better at making enemies." It was now his turn at the serving station, and the mess sergeant greeted him.
"Commander Tharcourt, good to see you, sir." The portly man said. "Your young friend not joining you today, sir?" The server dumped a wad of something resembling baked aquatic life on his platter.
"Not today, Sergeant Faine." The commander answered. "How's work?" A dollop of vegetables in white sauce landed on his tray.
"Oh sir, you know…" Faine returned. "An army fights with its stomach."
"Yep." With that, Tharcourt moved on, and waited until Piett had been served. The captain of The Accuser led him to one of the smaller tables, where two junior officers had just sat down. As Piett and Tharcourt took their seats, the young officers excused themselves, feeling that dining with the captain of the destroyer and a special forces commander was too fine of company for them. The two sat across from one another, and began to slowly pick at their food.
"How goes the world of special operations?" Firmus asked as Drakken took a bite of the main course. He grunted his approval at the flavor, and pointed his fork at his old friend until he had finished chewing and swallowed.
"I always liked to think of it like this…" He began. "The pursuit of a guerrilla force is a lot like hunting an animal with a dozen heads, a hundred deadly claws and the ability to fly and to cloak." Piett gulped down a spoonful of the vegetables and squinted.
"Oh come now, you make it sound impossible." He stated.
"Maybe it would be…for even a legion of regular soldiers." Tharcourt countered. "But for one person, or a small group who knows the monster inside and out, knows its weaknesses and where it likes to bed down, it's not so hard to…find it at least." He shrugged and went back to eating.
"So that's how you see what you do, hunt down the invisible monster." Piett stated curiously. "I always wondered that. I see the allure in it." Tharcourt gave him a look as if to say he was daft. "Well, what do you do when you catch the beast? What is it you see your team doing right now?"
"Well, to be honest, we're trying to beat it to death…one head at a time. With willow-switches." Drakken sighed. He took half of the water in his cup in one swig.
"That's a rather glum assessment, don't you think?" The captain returned. "You've many successes so far."
"Yeah, but the beast still has many heads, and a bad habit of growing new ones." Tharcourt said. "Fighting insurgents is not something big government can do easily. Remember, I was one of them back in the day." Piett nodded.
"Well, what would you do, then?" He asked. "If you were in charge of all of this…" He motioned around the room. "How would you fight them, Drakken?" Piett interlaced his fingers and propped his chin on them.
"Huh. Didn't know you took an interest in this sort of thing." Tharcourt commented.
"How often have we had to converse since we got promoted?" Firmus asked in return. "Remember Drakken, I'm the one who always pressed you into thinking outside the box for ideas."
"Granted." Drakken stated. "Well…I would put less emphasis on the big gray killpower of the Imperial military." He stated. "More small teams like mine. Some aerial, some recon, others maybe specializing in direct-action…backed up by regular army and navy units restructured as quick-reaction-forces. You have to have small, self-sufficient units that can get in quickly without a big show, then do their job and get out with minimal impact."
"You would have a smaller military of specialized troops." Piett summed it up. "You know that's counter to our doctrine."
"Yeah, I do." Tharcourt said emphatically. "All these resources, perfect for fighting an invading military from across the galaxy. Useless against a small band of poorly trained farmers and street-rats with stolen blasters…fighting for a dead dream. Isn't that ironic?" For a moment, Tharcourt couldn't decide if he were referring to the rebels or his own rebellion as a youth.
"Bold statement. Is that truly the nature of it?" Piett asked.
"Yes...we need to be focusing on humanitarian aid."
"Wh…what in the stars does humanitarian aid have to do with war?"
"Nothing. Not a damned thing. But if the Empire went around doling out aid to struggling systems and ending slavery, while at the same time fighting the rebels with small, precision units…perhaps making each terrorist attack seem atrocious, we could win this thing. We could win it by winning the hearts and minds of the galaxy, Firmus. Not by blowing up planets because one rebel came from there."
"Drakken…" Piett exclaimed in a hushed voice. "That is borderline treasonous, you know that?"
"How is wanting to win the war I'm fighting treasonous? I fight for the Empire. For peace and security. If I had my druthers, I'd just as soon it be over and done with." He took another bite. "You can't win a war like this by killing one insurgent, then creating ten more by coming down hard on civilians." Piett sighed.
"It's not that I don't agree with what you're saying…" The captain spoke. "It…it makes a lot of sense. It's just…you mustn't be so critical toward our Empire about it." Drakken shoveled more of the food into his mouth, no longer caring about the taste. His body craved calories, and he made a note to grab a protein bar on the way back to the office. He finally took a break from eating to address his friend's last comment.
"I love the Empire…just…" He exhaled. "Nevermind. I did want to ask, I mean, if you knew yourself…what is the deal with this Skywalker fellow? I feel like I've been off chasing this dangerous, wanted terrorist, and I have no damned clue who he is or what he did exactly." Firmus looked around to make sure that they weren't being eavesdropped on, and leaned across the table.
"You really don't know? He was the rebel pilot who blew up the DS-1. Singlehandedly, I believe."
"I…I heard that, but I thought it was just a rumor." Drakken muttered. "How? How did one pilot destroy an entire battle station?"
"Nobody knows." Piett answered. "Lucky shot, I guess. Probably hit some critical spot just right and caused a chain reaction. Remember the Corvette Viscera?" Drakken nodded that he didn't. "The enemy hit the forward battery with a projectile explosive, and they think the torpedo breached the turret at the ring. It went straight through, into the hold containing the tibanna gas for the turbolasers. It tore the whole ship in half." He scoffed. "Anyhow, Lord Vader found out that this Skywalker was responsible, and that he is somehow linked to some old enemy of his from back during the Clone Wars. That's about all I know."
"How did he find out?" Tharcourt asked. "I've squeezed about every rebel I've captured for information, and they don't know anything."
"A bounty hunter." Piett stated. "He hired some bounty hunter to gather intel."
"Whatever works, I suppose."
"Hn. Personally, I don't trust that filth. What do you think about bounty hunters, Drakken?" Tharcourt thought for a moment.
"Years ago, back when I was about seventeen, a bounty hunter came to Garos…we brokered a deal with her for some black-market munitions, quality, highly illegal stuff. You know, surface to air launchers, heavy blasters, that sort of thing." Piett hummed in agreement. "She delivered on them, and even stuck around and helped my unit take out a separatist tank column." He smiled a little. "What was her name? Sugar or Sugi, something like that. Zabrak girl, and one hell of a fighter. I almost lost my…" He cleared his throat. "…sensibilities to that girl." Piett smirked and shook his head. "So yeah, I guess I trust bounty hunters…as long as they have some sense of honor about what they do."
"Hm. I suppose. I still don't like getting involved with them." Firmus countered. Drakken finished off his meal and his water. "Well, I suppose we should get back to our duties. Glad we had lunch. Almost like old times, eh old friend?"
"Almost." Drakken said half-heartedly. "I think I'll get some training in, and check on my people in the infirmary." He stood and picked up his tray. "Thanks for the company, Firmus. Come down to Delta-7 and visit sometime."
"I will certainly try." Piett said with a nod, and left to return his tray. Tharcourt walked his tray to the back of the mass hall at a lazy pace, handed it off to a food-service droid, and left the cafeteria.
Drakken felt irritated again. He didn't know why exactly, he just knew he had to blow off some steam. He marched down to the training hall, and signed himself in. Without any hesitation or thought, he went directly to the firing range, slammed his fist against the 'Seven Meter' button, and just as the first silhouette target flipped up into position, Drakken had drawn his blaster and instinctively fired three bolts into the center ring. The target fell back, and he holstered his pistol. A new target popped up, and once again, he had cleared his SE-14r from the holster before the target had even locked into position. He fired twice into the chest of the humanoid-shaped target, and sent one bolt into the head. The target reset, and he holstered his pistol and hit the 'Stop' Button.
"Damn it…damn it all…" He muttered. Drakken stomped over to the arena and drew his blaster, setting it to 'stun'. He pushed the dial up to eight, and walked out onto the floor as the training droids emerged from the deck. He closed his eyes for a moment, his breath becoming heavier, angrier. The droids activated, and Drakken sent a bolt into the first one then dove to the left, rolling out of the line of fire as stun bolts whizzed past. He came up to a kneeling position, his blaster at full extension.
"Damn you." He growled, deactivating a second droid with a shot from his pistol. "Damn you!" A third went down, and he felt the first stun bolt hit him in the left shoulder. Tharcourt leapt to the right, rolled, and let his momentum carry him to his feet. He fired three blasts into another training droid, and a single bolt into the fifth one's head. "I…hate you!" Another stun bolt hit him in the back, and Drakken let out a loud grunt of pain. He spun about and dropped to his back, firing three bolts into the droid that had shot him. He then rolled onto his stomach and fired two blaster rounds into the seventh droid before pushing himself quickly to his feet and staggering out of the way of the final droid's attack. His movements were too slow however, and he was grazed in the left arm just as he fired a flurry of shots toward the droid, finally hitting it several times.
"Bastard…" He grunted, then stepped shakily toward the deactivated droid. He raised his blaster pistol and fired into the motionless training aid over and over again. "I hate you…" He growled. "I crinkin' hate you!" For a brief moment, it was not a useless simulation droid in his mind. It was Vader. It was a separatist battle droid. It was Tarkin. It was his mother, his father, it was that devaronian who had hurt Freya. He snapped back into reality, and drew his finger from the trigger guard of the blaster.
Tharcourt looked around. Eight combat simulation units were laying around him on the training hall deck. He also suddenly realized that three young junior officers, the training hall captain, and half a dozen stormtroopers had gathered in a knot, and were staring, wide-eyed at the scene of carnage. They were silent, all completely bewildered that some commander had just strolled in with a pistol and wrathfully wiped out eight droids by himself, taking three stun bolts like they were nothing in the process. Drakken huffed, spun the pistol, and holstered it. He pulled his hat low, and marched past them as if nothing had happened.
"Sorry 'bout the mess, captain." He mumbled as he passed.
"Not a…problem…sir…" The captain returned in a quiet tone, watching the terrifying officer storm off.
"Who the frack was that?" One of the young lieutenants asked.
"I think it was one of those special forces guys." Another stated. "Best just to stay outta their way." He motioned with a finger to the stormtroopers, who went back to their training.
Drakken trudged back to his team's small wing. As soon as he entered, Gallen informed him that Dall was back from sick bay, and was in his bunk asleep. Taking it as the first and only good news he'd gotten in the last two days, Tharcourt went into his office and sat at his desk, staring at the ceiling. He tried to console himself with the fact that Dall was at least alright, but his mind was still filled with things he didn't want to be there, and it was all encompassing. It was as if a torrent had been unleashed.
It was infuriating. He was annoyed, and it was for reasons he thought were dead and buried. He scoffed. No…Tarkin was dead, but not buried. The seps were all gone. Period. His parents were probably still alive, the pacifist idiots were no doubt too cowardly to die. Vader was…neither dead nor alive for all he knew…and he frankly didn't want to. One thing was for sure though; his past was most certainly buried a long, long time ago. It was just being exhumed too much of late. It was like war…he was much happier not thinking about it.
But now he started thinking about Freya. He hoped she would be getting out of medical soon. He realized that he missed her, and that he'd been trying to keep his mind off of his friend all day. He remembered how badly she'd been hurt on the mission, and though he tried to joke about it, to remark on how resilient and strong she was, Drakken felt sick to his stomach, realizing how close he had come to losing her. Freya was the best friend he'd ever had. Tharcourt had known Firmus since he had graduated academy, and had always considered him a true and steadfast friend. But Freya was different. In the short time he had known her, they had grown closer than Tharcourt ever thought he could to someone. Maybe that's why he had kissed her…
Alright, so he still had feelings for her that went beyond the pale of mere friendship. He had to allow himself to admit that and move on. Maybe one couldn't just turn those kinds of things off. Drakken lit a cigarra and inhaled deeply as he questioned now whether or not he was in love with her, or if it was just animal attraction. Drakken grimaced. How pathetic it felt to be so distanced from affection to not be able to tell the difference. He liked her, and that's all he knew. That in itself felt so wrong to him. She was his ensign, his subordinate and a teammate. Not to mention that he was almost old enough to be her father, for kriff's sake. That was almost revolting. At least Veruna was close to his own age…
He shook his head. Nothing good could possibly come out of this train of thought. He took out his personal datapad and brought up the novel he had been reading. He had stopped at the part where the purrgil hunting ship, in its pursuit of its dangerous quarry, had come across another vessel drifting through the emptiness of wildspace;
The next day, a large vessel, a Purrgil hunter named The Rachel did tack towards us. At the time, we were making good speed through the emptiness, but she came quickly upon us, searchlights ablaze, a double watch and all sensors scanning the region.
"It's bad news she brings." The old Manxman said, and our captain had opened comms with her.
"Have you seen the white Purrgil?!" Called Ahab.
"Just yesterday!" The Rachel's captain did answer. "Have you seen a small hunting craft adrift?"
Throttling his joy, Ahab answered no, and was preparing to board the ship, when the captain of the Rachel quickly took to an escape pod of his ship and made his way to us. Soon he was aboard, and was recognized by Ahab as a fellow from back home, but there was no salutation.
"Where was he? - not killed! - not killed!" cried Ahab, closely advancing. "How was it?"
It seemed that the day before, The Rachel had spotted a school of Purrgil, and had sent off their hunters, all four of the ships, in pursuit. It was during the fray that the great white Purrgil had breached from the herd. Making such a lucrative target, one of the hunters, with nine aboard, had fastened to the beast. Then with a lurch, the Purrgil had disappeared into space, as sometimes happens. Quickly, they recovered their three small ships and the men, and in doing so had by necessity put much time and distance betwixt themselves and their missing craft. After, they had quickly taken wing in the direction of their missing ship, all beacons lit and all frequencies open, calling after them.
The story told, the Captain immediately went on to reveal his object in boarding. He desired our ship to unite with his own in the search; by cruising through space some ten kilometers apart, on parallel lines, and so sweeping a double vista, as it were.
"I bet the captain had much money tied up in that ship." Stubb said. "Or some gear of great cost he wishes to recover."
"My son!" Cried the captain to Ahab. "My own boy was aboard her! I ask you…I beg you! I will pay to charter your ship for two days, and I will pay well."
"His son!" cried Stubb, "oh, it's his son he's lost! I take back what I said - what says Ahab? We must save that boy." Indeed, despite our captain's iciness as he listened to the poor captain's tale, we knew he should immediately agree to help, despite our mission.
"I will not." Says Ahab. "Men, prepare to engage sublights. We have wasted much time here, and I want underway in three minutes." The poor captain of the Rachel stood silently, dumbfounded for a few moments, before almost falling back through the hatch into his escape pod, and returned quickly to his ship. As we parted, we watched the Rachel as she beat to and fro in a zig-zag way, searchlights sweeping the emptiness. She moved with a spirit and a liveliness that almost seemed cheerful and frolicking, but by her still halting course and winding, woful way, you plainly saw that this ship that so wept with icy dew, still remained without comfort. She was Rachel, weeping for her children, because they were not…
"He left them…" Drakken muttered to himself. The captain in his story had abandoned his contemporary in his search for his missing crew and his son…for a twisted sense of duty. Tharcourt halfway understood what was going through Ahab's mind, and didn't like it. The old captain was wrong. You must let your goals, your obsessions…even your duty be set aside to do what is right. He shuddered. It all seemed a little too relevant at the moment. And here he was reading to get away from everything…
His desk beeped out an incoming call, and Tharcourt pressed the blue button beside the speaker. It was Doctor Vayne, reporting that Freya's bacta cycle was nearly over, and had been completely successful. She would be getting out soon, and he could come up and meet her. Drakken thanked the captain, and pulled on his cap as he stood. He stepped out into the commons area. Felian, Coleth and Lago were in the room, and the commander quickly apprised them of the news.
"Thorne's getting out of bacta. I'm going there now." He stated on the way to her room to pick up some clothing for her to change into.
"That's good to hear, sir." Felian returned.
"Glad she's okay." Lago stated. Drakken didn't stop to answer. He entered her room, and picked through her clothing, selecting what looked to be one of her best tunics, along with her clean skirt and a fresh undershirt. He placed her code cylinder into the pocket of her tunic, and sat these on her bed. Drakken took her belt in hand, polishing the buckle neatly with a towel from the refresher until it shined under the light in the ceiling. He then placed a fresh and clean cap onto the stack, and her knee-high sandals, they being cleaner than her still dirty boots. To top it off, he wiped off her new gloves and put them in with the bundle. Forming it all up into a stack he could manage, Tharcourt left the office and headed up to the medical bay.
As he entered the medical office, he was greeted by Vayne. Again, the doctor explained that though she had made a full recovery, Thorne would still have a bit of a headache, and may feel a little woozy for a day or so, and it would take a couple of days for her to be back to one hundred percent. They walked into the treatment room, and he noticed the three orderlies already at work on the bacta tank. One of them keyed in a sequence on a terminal, and the blue liquid began to drain from the large cylinder. Then with precision borne of repetition, an orderly opened the tank and carefully removed the breathing tube from her mouth, and withdrew the needles from Freya's arm, covering them with a patch of gummy rubber. They transferred her onto a bed, and Vayne nodded to Tharcourt.
"She should be waking up soon, commander." The doctor advised. Drakken walked over to the bed where she lay, the orderlies drying her off with clean white towels. He watched her for a few moments, and finally her eye twitched. Her head lolled from side-to-side, and she groaned weakly.
"Thorne?" Drakken said in a low voice. "Freya?" She slowly opened her eyes, blinking against the harsh white light. Her vision seemed to finally focus on him, and she opened her mouth, made a sound, then cleared her throat before trying again.
"Drakken?" She asked tiredly. "Well…am I awake?"
"Yeah, you're back with us, Freya." He answered. "How do you feel?"
"Ugh…like I was jus sleepin' in goo…" She muttered, looking around. Her green eyes paused on him and she squinted a bit. "Drakken…had me some right lovely dreams…and some…not so good uns." She tried a little smile. "Ye came to see me rise from the dead, did ye?" He scoffed.
"Yeah. Brought you some clothes too." He said. "Whenever you feel up to it, I figured you can get dressed, and we can go out someplace nice for dinner." She smiled even more brightly.
"Aye? Can we eat at that lovely little cafeteria wit' all the pretty gray walls an' that nice view a' the dishwashin' droid?" Drakken snickered.
"Of course, my dear ensign. I know it's your favorite dive."
"Lovely."
And so ends a very psychological chapter in this saga. What did you think? Please leave reviews and send me some PM's so I know how my story is being received. Another chapter will be coming out in the next few days, so stay tuned my loyal readers! Until then, Cheerio!