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by Edward H. Bart IV
[editor's note: this takes place after Mission Log
4]
Captain Thomas
R. Johnson jerked awake, opening his eyes to the darkness of his bedroom.
He rubbed his bleary eyes, flicking away dried dirt from the corners
of his eyes. His heavy breathing did nothing to still the beating of
his heart. He kicked off the blanket and swung his bare feet down to
the soft carpet.
Jumbled images floated
in his mind, blurring the line between reality and fantasy. He stood
up and walked towards the head. The lights came on automatically, sensing
his presence. “Whoa! Dim lights!” Johnson barked at the computer,
shading his eyes from the lights.
The computer complied,and
Johnson dropped his hand. He blinked, adjusting to the light. He stared
at himself in the mirror. A lock of brown hair jutted out at an odd
angle to the rest of his hair. He patted it down, but it remained insubordinately
upright. Johnson gave a resigned grunt. He reached for his black robe,
which hung over the back of an armchair next to his bed. He slipped
it on, knotting the belt in front of him.
He swept his eyes over
the floor around his bed, aided only by the dim lights over the sink
and by the blue glow from quantum slipstream that shone through the
windows in his quarters. “Ah, there you are.” Johnson bent
and picked up a pair of black moccasin style slippers. He sat on the
edge of the bed, slipping them on his feet.
He walked into the living
room of his quarters, heading to the small replicator. “Computer,
hot tea, decaf, with milk.”
“Unable to comply.
Replicator power to Decks 4 to 8 are temporarily unavailable due to
repair efforts.”
Johnson heaved a deep
sigh. He shrugged and padded towards the door, heading out into the
corridors. Again, Johnson blinked at the lights in the Courageous’s
hallways. After several blinks, Johnson resumed walking, heading towards
the nearest turbolift. The door slid open for Johnson, allowing him
to enter the small transport. The door slid shut again.
When Johnson did not
immediately offer an command, the computer prompted him. “Destination?”
“Oh, uh, what time
is it?”
“Shipboard time
is currently 2354 hours.”
“Oh, the mess hall
probably will have people there,” Johnson mumbled to himself. He
coughed slightly. “Deck Eleven.”
The turbolift began
moving with an imperceptible jolt. A short moment later, Johnson stepped
out into another identical corridor. Johnson tightened his robe’s
sash, and walked down the bright corridor. So far he hadn’t seen
a single soul. The late hour was probably the reason, Johnson thought
to himself.
After a short walk,
Johnson reached the large faux wood doors that was the entrance to the
crew lounge, Eleven Forward. Through the frosted circular windows, Johnson
could see the place was dark. He expected that at this time of the night.
He keyed in his authorization code, opening the doors to let him in.
The undulating lights
from the quantum slipstream cast the nearly empty lounge in odd patterns
of blue and white. Johnson walked in, only to be surprised to see a
lone man sitting at a table near the large bay windows. His back was
to the entrance of the lounge. The captain neared the seated man, and
recognized the familiar blue smock of his friend, Hartman, the ship’s
doctor.
The doctor was staring
intently at a PADD in his hand, oblivious to the new arrival. Johnson
made his way through the tables toward Hartman’s table. He put
a hand on Hartman’s shoulder.
Hartman jerked around,
nearly knocking over his silver mug. “Who?!” he gasped.
“Hey, it’s
just me, Tom.”
Hartman looked up at
Johnson and sighed. “You scared the crap out of me. I didn’t
hear you come in.”
“Sorry, didn’t
mean to do that,” Johnson apologized. “What
are you doing in here? Burning the midnight oil?”
“Oh, this? Yeah.
I’m so behind on all my reports and paperwork, I need to catch
up.” Hartman shrugged, gesturing to the number of PADDs arrayed
on the table. He looked back up at Johnson. “What are you doing
here?”
Johnson sighed. “I
just had a weird dream. I guess maybe it’d be better called a nightmare.
Anyway, I just woke up from it, and I thought a cup of tea would calm
me down a little. The replicators on deck 8 are down, so I thought I’d
come in here. Didn’t expect anyone in here.”
“Sorry,” Hartman
smiled. “I came in here because it was quiet, and I knew I’d
have some privacy.”
“Oh, I’ll
leave after I get my tea,” Johnson said.
Hartman shook his head.
“No, that’s okay, I don’t mind. I need a little break
anyway.”
“Okay,” Johnson
nodded, turning to the bar at the far end of the lounge.
“Oh, while you’re
up, could you get me a refill?” Hartman raised his mug towards
Johnson.
“Sure, what are
you having? Tea? Hot chocolate?”
“No, coffee,”
Hartman answered.
Johnson paused. He sniffed
at the mug. “Coffee? Really? You hate coffee. At least, that’s
what I thought.”
Hartman smiled tiredly.
“Well, I used to. I kind of started drinking it a few weeks ago,
for a little jolt. I can tolerate the taste now.”
“Wow. That’s
different,” Johnson murmured. He shrugged and carried the mug to
the bar. He flipped up the end of the bar, and walked behind the bar
to the replicator. “Oh, Ed? Cream, milk or sugar?” he called
out to Hartman.
Hartman turned in his
seat. “Oh, plain. Black.”
“That’s strong.”
Hartman raised his hands
in the air. “I got a lot of work to do tonight.”
“Okay.” Johnson
turned back to the replicator, putting the mug on the pad. “Coffee,
hot and black,” he requested.
The empty mug shimmered
and black liquid appeared, faint steam rising from the surface. Johnson
lifted it out of the replicator cubicle and set it on the bar counter.
He turned back to the computer. “Hot Tea, decaf, with milk.”
A cup of tea on a saucer
appeared on the pad. He lifted the saucer up carefully, and picked up
the coffee in his other hand. He walked slowly back towards the table
with the beverages.
Johnson set the mug
down on a clear spot in the midst of the PADDs, and set his tea down
across the table. “Mind if I sit here and drink it here?”
“Nope. Be my guest,”
Hartman gestured to the empty chair across from him.
“First, get your
feet off,” Johnson said, pulling the chair out from the table.
Hartman slumped as his feet dropped to the floor. The doctor shifted
in his chair and sat up.
“Sorry. Was just
resting my feet.”
“That’s ok,”
Johnson slid into the chair. He lifted the teacup up to his mouth and
blew on the creamy liquid.
“So what brings
you in here at uhhh...” Hartman glanced at his PADD, pressing with
his thumb. “Midnight?”
“Zero hundred hours
already?” Johnson frowned.
“Yeah. Oh oh oh
oh.”
Johnson looked askance
at Hartman. “What is it?”
“Just saying it
differently. Oh oh oh oh. Zero zero zero zero.”
“That’s silly.”
Hartman grinned. “Hey,
I haven’t had any sleep for over 23 hours. I’m entitled to
some aberrant behavior.”
Johnson looked at Hartman.
“Maybe you ought to call it a night.”
“No, I’m fine.
I’ll work for a little while more. I’m so far behind, I gotta
do this.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. What about
you? You sound like you’ve got something on your mind? What happened
in that dream?”
Johnson sipped at his
tea and set it back on its saucer. “Well, I can’t really remember
it clearly, I only remember parts of it.”
Hartman nodded, looking
at the captain.
“It was like, I
was on trial for something.”
“A court martial?”
“No, I’m not
sure. Kind of. I remember a guy wearing a big black and red outfit,
with a stupid hat.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. It just
seemed familiar. It wasn’t a Starfleet uniform, I know that.”
“Do you think that
was the judge?”
“Maybe. I remember
he was talking. Or yelling. Yeah. I remember now, he was saying that
I didn’t do my duty. That I wasn’t where I was supposed to
be.”
“Where were you
supposed to be?”
“I think the Alpha
Quadrant. He said, ‘Why did you take your ship away from where
it was needed?’ Then I said I was supposed to be somewhere else.”
Johnson sipped again at his tea. “I think after that, the scene
changed, and I was on the Kitty Hawk, the first one. It reminded
me of the Battle at Gore.”
“Ah, when the Cabot
was attacked. And uh, Sarah, your wife was lost.”
Johnson nodded wordlessly.
“Do you think those
two things are connected? Are you feeling guilty about it again?”
Johnson shook his head.
“No, I think I’ve dealt with it well. I’ve been seeing
the ship’s counselor every other week, you know. He said I was
doing fine. Besides, when I woke up, it wasn’t really guilt I was
feeling. It was more like fear and anxiety. Kind of like there was something
I was supposed to do, but I forgot to do it and I messed up bad.”
“Ahhh,” Hartman
nodded. “Maybe you’re feeling bad about what happened with
the Galaxy.”
“Maybe,” Johnson
shrugged, rubbing the handle on the teacup. “God, that was... I
wish... Ah. I don’t know.”
“No, go on, what?”
“I just wish I
did things differently. I wish all of these people hadn’t died.”
“You did what you
had to do.”
“I don’t know.
Lieutenant Ruiz didn’t deserve... none of the crew deserved that
to happen.”
“It’s very
tragic what happened to Ruiz, but you’ve got to trust your decision.”
Johnson rubbed the bridge
of his nose and hissed a sigh through his gritted teeth. He nodded affirmatively.
“That’s right. I can’t ‘what if’ myself to
death. Like what you said about Sarah.”
Hartman froze for a
moment, an apprehensive expression on his face. “What did I say
about Sarah?”
“Just what I said-
that I couldn’t ‘what if’ myself on what I did at the
Battle at Gore, when I fired on the U.S.S. Cabot. You know what?
That was even in my dream. The more I run it through my mind, the more
I recall from that damn dream.” Johnson shoved the nearly empty
teacup away from him. “Damn it. I’m up.”
“What?” Hartman
furrowed his brows at Johnson.
Johnson cocked his head
at Hartman. “I’m awake. Wide awake.” He looked at his
teacup. “Might as well be pure caffeine. Shouldn’t have come
down here. All this walking around and talking has gotten my brain going.
I can’t stop thinking about last week. I can’t stop thinking
about that dream I had. I can’t stop thinking about all the million
little things that I’ve got to do tomorrow.”
He stood up, and faced
the bay windows and the quantum space outside. He gestured to his head.
“My neurons are firing at warp speed. Probably look something like
that, out there.”
Hartman stifled a yawn.
“Yeah, I know how that feels. I’m sorry.”
The captain turned to
look at his friend. “Nah, it’s not your fault. Thanks for
listening to me.”
“You’re going
now?”
“Yeah. I had no
idea how much work you were buried in. I better let you get back to
work.” Johnson picked up his teacup and saucer, walking towards
the replicator.
Hartman twisted in his
seat. “You know, I don’t mind. If you want to talk more, that’s
fine with me. That’s what friends do.”
Johnson smiled. “I
know. Thanks. But I think I’m just going to walk around the ship
a little. You need to finish up what you’re working on.” The
teacup clattered on the saucer as Johnson set it down inside the replicator.
“Yeah,” Hartman
nodded, glancing at his PADDs on the table. “Good night. Hope you
get some sleep.”
“Thanks, Ed,”
Johnson waved, as he exited the lounge.
Johnson shoved his hands
into his robe’s pockets as he made his way to the turbolift. A
crewman passed him. The young man gave the captain a short respectful
nod. Johnson nodded back, noticing the crewman’s quick glance at
Johnson’s attire.
Johnson entered the
turbolift, and looked down at his black moccasins. “Ah. Uh, computer,
Deck Eight.”
After the turbolift
deposited him onto the right deck, Johnson made a beeline for his quarters.
He tossed his robe onto his bed and opened his closet. In moments, he
was now wearing his standard black duty pants and a grey undertunic.
He didn’t see the need to wear a full uniform since he wasn’t
on duty. “Better than walking around in a bathrobe and slippers,”
he murmured to himself.
Johnson adhered his
combadge to his shirt, and slipped his feet into his boots. He stepped
back out of his quarters, and paused. He looked to his left, spying
nothing but an empty corridor. He looked to his right, seeing more of
the same. With a shrug, he started walking, headed to the right.
It must have been ten
minutes ago, Johnson thought to himself, since he left his quarters.
“And I’m still not sleepy,” he sighed. The captain stood
in front of a newly repaired EPS junction. He knew it was in this particular
area since the black scorch marks from an explosion hadn’t been
cleaned up yet.
Johnson popped off the
cover and set it down onto the deck, and stood back up, inspecting the
damage control crew’s handiwork. He crossed his arms and took a
step back, staring at the EPS relay conduit.
Another person collided
into Johnson, jarring the captain’s train of thought. A PADD bounced
off the deck.
“Oh, excuse me,”
Johnson said, turning to look at the other person.
“Well, eyes front,
crewman. Watch where you’re going,” the other man said. He
looked into Johnson’s eyes. “Oh, excuse me, sir. I didn’t
know it was you.” The man snapped into an old fashioned military
salute.
Johnson recognized the
other man’s light brown hair and square jaw. “Ah, Lieutenant
Dawson, is it? Major Ironsides’s second in the Marines, right?”
“That’s correct,
sir,” the younger man answered.
Johnson returned the
salute with a faint one of his own. “At ease. It was my fault,
I wasn’t watching where I was stepping.”
“Well, I wasn’t
paying attention myself either.” Dawson knelt to retrieve his PADD.
“I was reading,” he gestured with the PADD.
“Ah, what were
you reading?”
“Inventory reports,
sir.” Dawson displayed the front of the PADD to Johnson. “Major
Ironsides has me in charge of inventory this week.”
“Oh,” Johnson
nodded. “Is there a problem, or...?”
“Oh, not at all,
sir,” Dawson shook his head. “It’s S.O.P. after a major
engagement, such as the one we had last week. We expended a lot of,
er, resources. A new inventory has to be taken, and new personnel requirements
have to be drawn up.”
Johnson’s lips
pressed in a tight line. “In other words, we used up a lot of ammunition
and lost a lot of people.”
“Yes, sir.”
Johnson looked at the
pulsing EPS conduit. “Not quite what you expected, was it, Lieutenant?”
“Sir?”
“Last week. Being
put to use even before we’ve entered the Borderlands.”
“Ah, I see. Well,
begging your pardon, Captain, but a Marine’s job description doesn’t
always match what a Marine ends up doing. When we’re called for
a mission, we do it.”
Johnson nodded grimly.
“Yes, your people did very well considering.”
“I still think
we could have...”
“There’ll
be enough of that, Lieutenant,” Johnson looked at Dawson. “I’ve
been running through it entirely too much for my own good as well.”
“You have?”
“Yes,” Johnson
turned to face Dawson. “The site is thousands of light years behind
us, but the decision is still only a few inches from my frontal lobe.
What’s your first name?”
“Uh,” Dawson
blinked, a slight frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. “It’s
James, sir.”
“Ah. Pardon me,
the name had escaped my memory. Do you go by Jim, Jay, or anything like
that?”
“No, sir. My name
is James.”
Johnson smiled, nodding.
“Okay. So, tell me, James, how have you been settling in on the
Courageous?”
“About as well
as can be expected, sir,” Dawson shrugged.
“And what does
that mean?”
Dawson shifted on his
feet. “Permission to speak freely, sir?”
“Granted.”
“This is the longest
effin’ hitch I’ve signed on for. Five years, with over six
months’ deployment time. Like you said earlier, we’re still
not even at the designated zone yet, the Borderlands. So basically,
we’ve had to sit around with our thumbs up our asses, while you
Starfleet Regs run around keeping this ship running and getting in all
kinds of situations.”
“That’s pretty
damn free,” Johnson remarked.
Dawson gave the slightest
hint of a smile. “I’m not going to kiss your ass, sir. I wanted
to say something, and I said it.”
“I’m not sure
if you did say anything other than a veiled insult to the regular Starfleet
crew,” Johnson smiled.
“My point is this,
sir. We’ve had nothing to do for nearly six months. Last week was
the first time we really went into action. You can’t really settle
in until you’ve finally gone into action. I can tell you this,
sir. Everyone down in the barracks below decks is ready for anything
else, now. That’s the way you want us to be, when we get in the
Borderlands. So I’ll say this. We’re all settled in just fine.”
“I see,” Johnson
nodded. With a vaguely amused tone, Johnson raised an eyebrow. “You
do realize we’re not invading the Borderlands?”
“I know that, sir.”
Dawson gave Johnson a determined smile. “However, the people who
live in the Borderlands might think otherwise.”
“Ah.”
“If there’s
nothing else, sir, I need to be going.”
“No,” Johnson
shook his head. “Thank you, Lieutenant.” He watched the young
Marine walk away from him. The other man paused and turned.
“Sir?”
“What is it?”
Johnson asked.
Dawson stepped back
to Johnson. “I just wanted to tell you this, I bucked for this
post. I fought hard to get on this ship. Why? I’ll tell you, sir.
Out there in the Borderlands, the Marines are more than just military
muscle. Our assignment isn’t just to go in, shoot everything that
moves, then retreat. We’re honest-to-God representatives of the
Federation, looking to advance the cause and principles of the Federation
and Starfleet.
“I’m really
looking forward to this assignment. I’m looking forward to setting
up camps on planets that nobody else from the Federation has ever been
on. I’m looking forward to meeting new species that we have not
ever heard of before. I’m looking forward to finding things that
no one else has found yet.” The lieutenant fell silent, but the
twinkle in his green eyes didn’t fade.
Johnson smiled broadly.
“Me too, James. Me too.”
Dawson nodded, returning
Johnson’s smile. He turned crisply on his feet and resumed his
walk down the corridor.
Johnson turned his attention
to the exposed wall. The repair work seemed adequate to Johnson, so
he replaced the wall cover. Bits of carbon particles came away onto
his fingers from the marks on the wall. He wiped his hand on his black
trousers and checked the nearby wall panel readout.
“Computer, status
of replicator power to Decks 4 to 8?”
“Power is currently
unavailable, due to rerouting.”
Johnson rubbed his chin
and clucked his tongue. “I wonder what’s taking so long?”
He set off down the corridor to the turbolift.
Johnson stepped out
from the turbolift, looking around Engineering. The usually dim chamber
was less than bustling, compared to all the captain’s previous
visits. To be sure, most of the captain’s visits either coincided
with a crisis, or were during peak work hours. Neither were the case
at this time.
The skeleton night crew
were spread out throughout the engineering room, monitoring their work
stations. The Quantum Slipstream Drive sparkled merrily, nestled between
the two large warp cores in the rear of Engineering.
Johnson wandered forth
deeper into Engineering, looking to the side, where the Chief Engineer’s
office was located. He tried to remember the name of the Engineer on
duty during the night shift. The name rose to memory easily.
He stepped into the
office, only to see the wrong person.
“Fonda?”
The ship’s Chief
Engineer, Lieutenant Commander Fonda, was seated at her desk, poring
over PADDs. She looked up, equally as surprised to see Johnson as he
was to see her.
“Captain?”
Johnson stepped in front
of the desk. “What are you still doing up? Your shift was over
hours ago. Don’t tell me you’re pulling another double shift?”
“Fine, I won’t,”
Fonda replied.
Johnson smiled and sat
down in the chair provided in the office. “So, what are you still
doing up, anyway?”
“Wasn’t tired,”
she replied. “I couldn’t sleep.”
Johnson cocked his head
to the side, gazing at Fonda. “Janelle, are you still having those
bad dreams?”
Fonda paused and looked
up to the captain. She shook her head. “No, not for a long time.
Not after I finished therapy.”
“Yeah?”
“Well, sometimes
I do dream of it occasionally. But that’s usually more like a representation
of fear, or anxiety. The counselor I used to see said it might happen.
My mind is working on something, and it pulls that memory out to be
a symbol, or something.”
“That’s funny,”
Johnson smiled. “That happened to me tonight. I had a weird dream
earlier tonight. I guess it was a bad dream otherwise I wouldn’t
be obsessing about it. In a part of it, I relived the Gore battle, firing
on the Cabot, watching it blow up.”
“Oh, I see.”
“Yeah. Dr. Hartman
said the same thing you just said. That it most likely was my subconscious
dealing with some sort of anxiety.”
Fonda leaned on the
desk. “What are you anxious about?”
Johnson drew in a deep
breath and expelled it through his mouth. “Oh, uh, last week. And
I guess, about the war in general.”
“Ah.” Fonda
nodded. She raised an eyebrow. “How’s Lisa? Have you talked
to her lately?”
“Well, I talked
with her last week, before everything happened. She’s doing fine.”
“Mmhmm,” Fonda
nodded, glancing out the clear partition that divided her office from
the rest of Engineering. She looked back at Johnson. “Have you
ever told her about us?”
Johnson turned his head,
breaking eye contact with Fonda. He looked at the warp cores. “Uh,
I just remembered, I came down here to ask about the power to Decks
4 to 8. I can’t get a cup of coffee in my room.”
“Yes, I know. Something
else cropped up. Minor crisis. Very minor. We took care of it really
quickly. You should be glad you still have water, we’ve made sure
that’s on.”
“That’s good.
So when do you think the replicator system will be up and running?”
“Before the start
of the morning shift,” Fonda nodded firmly.
“Good. That’s
good,” Johnson nodded. “Uh, how’s Renée?”
“She’s doing
just fine. As a matter of fact, she’s starting Grade One soon in
school.”
“Wow, already?”
Johnson shook his head. “Time certainly does fly by.”
Fonda nodded. “She’s
growing up fast. Just recently, my parents sent me a new holopicture
of her, and she’s grown another ten centimeters since the last
holopicture I have of her.”
“Really? That sounds
like a lot,” Johnson nodded, crossing his legs.
“Well, it’s
just a growth spurt. Children have them at that age. Then again during
puberty.”
“Right. That, I
remember.” Johnson sighed. “Does it bother you that this is
happening while you’re away?”
Fonda looked down at
her hands, her fingernails tapping on the dark black desk top. “I’d
be lying to you if I said no.”
“I’m sorry,”
Johnson shook his head. “I shouldn’t have asked for you to
sign on for this mission. You should be closer to home.”
“Oh, no, don’t
be sorry, Thomas,” Fonda reached out a hand across the desk. “It’s
allright. I made my choice to transfer along with you. You didn’t
force me to do it.”
“I know,”
Johnson nodded. “But I should have considered that before offering
the post to you. I didn’t even think of it until about a month
into the mission, after the incident with Zandria Soran.”
Fonda hissed a short
sigh. “Let’s be pragmatic. You and I both know that I’m
considered tainted goods. No matter what I do, there’ll still be
that black mark on my personnel record. Few other captains in Starfleet
would have me on as a Chief Engineer.” She ran a finger over her
gold pips on her collar angrily. “Mon dieu, I’ve been
a lieutenant commander for nearly 11 years! It’s obvious.”
“I know, and I
wish there was more I could have done for you, but...”
“You saved my job.
You kept me in Starfleet. And you’ve saved my life on more than
one occasion. For that, I am deeply grateful.”
Johnson reached over
to pat Fonda’s outstretched hand. “You’re my... friend.
There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”
“And how are your
parents handling a young girl in the house again?”
Fonda leaned back, withdrawing
her hand as she crossed her arms. “At times they love her to death.
At other times, they swear she will be the death of them.” She
gave Johnson a thin smile. “They recently moved from the country
to a villa in Asniéres, to be closer to Paris.”
“Asniéres?”
“A small town just
outside Paris.”
“I see,” Johnson
nodded. “That’s right, your mother’s still active in
Starfleet circles.”
“Right, from time
to time, she gives lectures, even though she’s retired from Starfleet
Academy.”
“It’s good
to be active.”
“Yes, it is.”
“You avoided my
question earlier.”
“What question?”
Fonda smiled a tight
smile. “You just did it again. Does the subject bother you? If
so, I’m sorry for bringing it up at all.”
Johnson leaned forward
in his chair, propping his arms up on his knees. He intertwined his
fingers together. “No, it’s fine. It’s okay. I just didn’t
expect the subject to come up at all. Um, no. No I haven’t told
Lisa about it. I mean, there’s nothing to tell.”
Johnson looked up, looking
at Fonda. “Why? Do you think I should?”
“Oh God, no,”
Fonda shook her head as she leaned back in her chair, smiling. “No.
I was just wondering. It just popped up in my mind.”
Johnson held his gaze
on Fonda for a silent moment. Finally he nodded. “Okay. Um, well,
I should get going.” He gestured to Fonda’s desk. “Obviously,
you have work to do.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Good night,”
the captain said, as he rose from his chair.
“Good night, Thomas,”
the chief engineer replied.
Johnson walked out of
the office, gnawing on his lower lip. He paused before stepping onto
the waiting turbolift, glancing back to Fonda’s office. He shook
his head slightly as if answering a silent question. He stepped into
the turbolift.
Johnson strolled through
the dark corridors in the area that had been nicknamed “Belowdecks”
by the Marines. Most of the decks below Engineering level were taken
up by the Starfleet Marine Contingent and by the Bajoran Militia. So
far, there hadn’t been much of a problem between the two groups.
Both shared common goals and disciplines.
The Marines were ready
to fight, honed by years of training, both mental and physical. The
Bajorans were also ready to fight, honed by years of Cardassian occupation
and oppression.
Johnson reminded himself
that they weren’t just soldiers. As Corporal Dawson had told him,
these men and women were also here for a different purpose, a greater
goal.
As Johnson neared his
destination, he caught a whiff of burning incense. The aroma wafted
out from an open doorway. Johnson stepped in front of the doorway, glancing
inside. Amid the flickering lights of burning candles and smoke from
incense holders, Johnson made out a kneeling figure at the far end of
the Bajoran Shrine.
The supplicant’s
long shock of white hair told Johnson all he needed to know. Johnson
stepped inside the shrine, and stood by quietly next to the doorway.
“Hello, Thomas,”
the Bajoran said.
“Hello, Raven,”
Johnson returned the greeting. “I hope I’m not intruding on
you.”
“No, you’re
not,” Raven said, slowly getting onto his feet. “I just didn’t
expect you down here at this hour.”
“Well, I did,”
Johnson replied. “I know you prefer to come here during the late
hours, when no one else comes here.”
“Yes. I prefer
to hear only my mind, not the minds of others as well,” the tall
half-Bajoran said. He walked up to Johnson, and sat down on one of the
wooden benches. He gave a quick gesture for Johnson to sit as well.
“What brings you here, my friend?”
Johnson sat down on
the bench, clasping his hands together on his lap. “I guess I wanted
to talk.”
“About what?”
“Well, about stuff.”
Raven inclined his head,
looking at Johnson. “Anything in particular? Would it be regarding
the dream you had?”
“You looked in
my thoughts?”
“It’s hard
not to see them when they’re right on the surface of your mind.”
“Yeah, that’s
true. I have been thinking a lot about it.”
Raven adjusted his brown
robe. “Why?”
“I guess, because
I haven’t realized how much I’ve been thinking about it. Subconsciously,
I mean.”
Raven nodded solemnly.
“Yes, oftentimes our dreams are subtle indicators, sometimes even
warning signs. I am reminded of a quote. The name of the person who
said the words has been long since been lost to history, but his words
live on. ‘Many a man has seen himself first in a dream.’ Sometimes
dreams are a mirror to ourselves.”
“Hm. Maybe that
was me, then.”
“Pardon?”
Raven gave Johnson a quizzical glance.
“Oh,” Johnson
smiled. “There was a scene in my dream, where I was on trial. The
really weird thing was, it wasn’t a regular court martial. It was
like something out of a history PADD. The judge wore a big red flowing
robe, and a hat. A black hat? He yelled at me. Said something like,
‘What are you doing here? Why are you out here?’ I can’t
remember exactly.”
Raven steepled his fingers
together. “Would you like me to... look?”
Johnson paused for a
moment, considering the question. “No. Thanks, but no. I’d
rather do it on my own.”
“Very well. So
you think the judge was yourself?”
“I don’t know.
It kind of makes sense, but I don’t think so. It was someone else,
I’m sure.”
“What do you think
he meant by his questions?”
Johnson picked a piece
of lint off his black trousers, sighing. “I guess I have been asking
myself that in a way. I mean, what am I doing out here, 30,000 light
years away from Earth, and counting?”
“It’s your
mission. You’re following your orders.”
“Yes, I know that.
But, why did I pick this? I could have chosen a different ship, one
based in the Alpha Quadrant.”
“What brought this
on?”
Johnson shrugged, looking
at the striped circle and oval symbol at the front of the shrine. The
religious icon hung on the bare wall, lit by the candles beneath it.
“I guess it was the latest reports I got from Starfleet Headquarters
last week.”
“Before or after
we found the Galaxy?”
“Before.”
“I see. Go on.”
“Well, as I’ve
briefed you and Ironsides, it hasn’t been going along so great
for Starfleet. And I, I guess I felt bad I wasn’t around to help
out.”
“I see.”
“And you know what
else I realized recently? This mission is just like my last mission
with the Kitty Hawk, when I went out on the borders of the Federation,
exploring. I was away from the action a lot too.”
“I see,” Raven
nodded sagely. “And are you feeling guilty about that?”
“I don’t know.
Maybe.” Johnson stood up, and paced down the aisle between the
benches. “And it’s not even me that could be useful. The Courageous
could be helpful. Starfleet builds their biggest warship, and they send
it away rather than keeping it close to home, to take part in the war
effort.”
“But we are taking
part in the war effort, Thomas. That is our mission parameter. We are
seeking new allies and new resources to bolster our fight against the
Dominion. The Federation’s supplies are finite. As this war drags
on, our resources dwindle. I’m not aware of the latest projections,
but it’s possible our resources could run out before the Dominion’s
resources do. Then they’d win by default.” Raven interlaced
his fingers and put his hands on his lap. “I don’t know about
you, but that’d be a bitter loss.”
“Yeah.”
“But we will prevent
that outcome, by our work here.”
Johnson walked back
to the bench Raven was seated on. “I know that. Still, I can’t
help but feel I should be back home. Like I’m avoiding something
by being out here.”
“Ah. So you feel
destined to be in the Alpha Quadrant.”
Johnson chuckled. “I
know it sounds grossly egoistical of me to say something like that.”
“Hmm,” Raven
gave a slight shrug. “If it’s any reassurance, by definition,
you cannot avoid destiny. If it’s meant to happen, then it shall
happen, regardless of your actions. In fact, your actions very well
could be part of destiny.”
“That’s kind
of depressing. Don’t I have any freewill?”
“Of course you
do. I was merely speaking literally. However, the universe is not a
literal place. There are many shades of meanings, all that will be revealed
in the fullness of time.”
Johnson rubbed the bridge
of his nose. “I think it’s a little too late in the night
for such thoughts.” He smirked.
Raven smiled in return.
“I’m due to begin a surprise inspection shortly, in Barracks
4A.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.
I didn’t realize I was taking up so much of your time,” Johnson
said.
“It is no problem
at all, not for my friend,” Raven reassured him. “But first,
would you like to join me in a prayer, for the start of a new day?”
Johnson looked at the
Bajoran symbol, then back at Raven. “Sure. I’d like that.”
Raven nodded, and walked
towards the shrine. Johnson followed him, and kneeled next to him.
The captain whistled
to himself, rounding the corner as he headed towards a large set of
tan interlocked doors. He stepped up to the doors, and they slid apart,
allowing him through. He stepped onto a large tan surface, in a brightly
lit room.
He noticed two figures
at the far end of the room, moving slowly. One of the figures was translucent
green. Johnson walked across the tan surface and recognized the other
as his other friend, Ambassador Favor.
Favor was dressed in
a loose fitting exercise jumpsuit. He stood in front of a Romulan female.
Johnson saw it was a hologram, dressed in a skintight green leotard.
The Romulan was moving in smooth, measured motions, while speaking.
He couldn’t understand a word she was saying, but recognized it
as Romulan.
Favor was mirroring
the woman’s motions, moving his arms and hands in parallel motions,
bending his knees as he moved his hands from the right to left.
Johnson crossed his
arms, watching Favor for a moment. The Romulan finished a series of
motions, then stood still. Favor did the same. Then he looked over at
Johnson. “Hey, Tom.”
“Hey, Nathan. What
are you doing?”
“Learning llaekh-ae’an.
I suppose you could call it Romulan tai-chi. It’s based on their
‘laughing murder’ style of martial arts.”
“That’s interesting.
How come it’s untranslated?”
“Well, it’s
an original Romulan holoprojector. Selari gave it to me as a going-away
present on Romulus.” Favor gestured with his bare foot at the small
grey octagonal projector beneath the holographic female.
“Oh. But you could
have run it through the universal translator matrix.”
“I could, but then
it’d be too easy. And no matter how good the translator program
gets, you lose the little things, the little nuances. And in my business,
that can make a world of difference.”
“Yeah. I know your
habit of listening to things unfiltered through the universal translator.
I suppose it’s what makes you one of the better diplomats we’ve
got in the Federation Diplomatic Corps.”
“Yep. I’m
a cunning linguist,” Favor grinned.
Johnson barely cracked
a smile. “You know, you need to retire that joke,” he wagged
a finger.
Favor shrugged and chuckled.
“I guess so. Hey, what are you doing here?”
“Ah, well, I couldn’t
sleep, so I was wandering around on the ship, hoping I’d tire out
a little,” Johnson shrugged. He walked towards a large cabinet
that lined one wall. He pressed on the doorpad and the cabinet opened
up. “No luck there, so I thought I’d shoot some hoops. Then
I’ll be able to sleep. What about you? I didn’t expect to
see anyone in the gym at this hour.”
Favor picked up a towel
on a nearby bench and wiped his face. “I have a telepresence meeting
in about two hours. Since the time is different there, I have to be
up and alert for it. You know how it is.”
“Yeah, it’s
the same when I meet with Starfleet Command for mission debriefings.”
Johnson pulled out a basketball from the cabinet, and pressed the doorpad,
closing it up. He gave the orange ball a few test bounces off the tan
deck.
The Romulan hologram
started moving again, giving instructions.
Favor looked at the
hologram. “Khoi.” The Romulan dissipated in a photonic
fog.
Johnson held the basketball
against his hip, chuckling slightly.
“What?” Favor
smiled.
“Nothing. It’s
just... that’s a very sexy looking woman.”
“Really,”
Favor deadpanned. “I didn’t notice.”
“Yeah, right.”
“I am engaged,
if you recall.”
“I know. That’s
not really what I was laughing about. A thought just struck me.”
“Oh. Did it hurt?”
Johnson shot Favor a
stare. “Ha. Ha.”
“Sorry,” Favor
replied. He sat on the bench, putting his socks back on. “Go on.
What were you thinking?”
“Well, just uh,
‘sex sells.’ ”
Favor laughed. “It
certainly does.”
“It’s just
odd to notice it in a Romulan holoprogram.”
“Sex’s pretty
much a universal constant.”
“Yeah. I’m
sure there’s a Rule of Acquisition for it.”
Favor shook his head.
“Actually, no there isn’t. It’s a no-lober. Or in other
words, a no-brainer. Every Ferengi knows it, so it doesn’t even
have to be set down in the Rules.”
“Well, that still
proves my point.”
“True. Besides,
who’d want to learn llaekh-ae’an from an old overweight
grey haired Romulan male?”
Johnson chuckled again.
“Right.”
“You know, I even
have the codes to make her nude,” Favor smiled conspiratorially.
Johnson grinned and
shook his head. He bounced the basketball and looked back at Favor.
“Hey, you wanna play a game of HORSE?”
“Sure, let me get
my shoes on,” Favor said, tugging on a white shoe. “What time
is it?”
Johnson walked over
to a black computer interface on the wall. “It’s almost Four
hundred hours.”
“Oh. Could we make
it a game of TARG? I’ll need time to shower before the meeting.”
“Sure. TARG it
is.” Johnson turned to the interface. “Computer, standard
regulation basketball hoop and court.”
“Full court or
half court?” the computer inquired.
“Half court.”
Within the second, a
basketball hoop set on black pole materialized at one end of the gym.
Black stripes appeared on the tan deck, marking off the court and freethrow
area.
Johnson dribbled the
ball over to the newly appeared basketball court. He tried a jumpshot,
but the ball bounced off the clear backboard, rebounding back to him.
He caught it easily, then pulled off another shot. The ball sank into
the red rim this time.
Favor jogged over to
Johnson. “You can go first.”
“Okay,” Johnson
nodded. He stood at the top of the freethrow grid, and shot a flatfooted
throw. The ball rebounded off the backboard and fell down through the
rim.
Favor grabbed the ball
and walked over to Johnson’s position. He looked at Johnson. “Do
I have to make it the same way you did, or can I jump?”
“Eh, doesn’t
matter, as long as you do it from where I did.”
“Okay.” Favor
gave a short hop, shooting the ball towards the basket. It hit the backboard
high, and bounced off, missing the rim entirely.
“That’s T,”
Johnson declared, snagging the ball as it bounced off the court.
“Damn. Anyway,
you know, I’ve noticed a lot of other constants, other than just
sex. Things like familial ties, basic notions of morality, things like
that. You’d be surprised at how many similarities you can find
between many different cultures.”
“Oh really?”
Johnson murmured, lining up another shot. He jumped and released the
ball. The shot didn’t go through, hitting the rim and bouncing
back towards Johnson. He jumped to grab the ball as it bounced over
his head. “I suppose that’s true. Earth had to go through
that period of self-realization, before the countries and governments
united.” He passed the ball to Favor.
Favor nodded, grabbing
the basketball. He dribbled for a moment, before standing at the freethrow
line. He tossed the ball up, and it went into the basket neatly. “Nothing
but net.”
“Easy shot,”
Johnson shrugged, taking Favor’s place. He shot quickly, throwing
the ball in an easy arc. It passed through the rim.
“Well, I haven’t
played basketball for a while. I need to warm up a little.” Favor
took the ball from Johnson’s hands. “You know, that’s
one of the most frustrating aspects about my job.”
“Basketball?”
“No, the obvious
realization that most cultures are alike in many respects,” Favor
answered. He setup another shot, but his throw fell short of the rim.
“So many wars could be ended, if people would just stop shooting,
and start listening to each other.”
Johnson walked towards
the bouncing ball, and picked it up. “Well, there are still some
differences. I mean, you can’t exactly call a human the same as
a Vulcan.” Johnson ran towards the basket, shooting a basic layup
shot. The ball went over and in the basket. Johnson grabbed the ball
as it dropped in front of him. He threw the ball to Favor.
Favor caught the ball
as it bounced off the deck towards him. “No, you see, that’s
one of the obstacles. People get hung up on the small niggling details.
They set up mental prejudices, a thousand little details and labels
with which they can separate us from everyone else. Red blood versus
blue blood. Pointed ears versus antennae. Bluies, pink fleshbags, spoonheads,
roundears, split faces, turtleheads.” Favor bounced the basketball
in time with his litany of derogatory terms and epithets as he continued.
He stopped and sighed.
“It’s really sad and stupid.” He dribbled the ball up
to the basket, shooting the same layup shot. It rolled off the rim without
going in.
“A,” Johnson
said. “And I guess you do have a point.”
“It’s like
Shakespeare said in Merchant of Venice, I think that’s the
name of the play- ‘If you prick me, do I not bleed?’ ”
“Shylock, right?”
Favor nodded, and tossed
the ball to Johnson. Johnson walked to the halfcourt line, and lobbed
off a long shot. It overshot the basket, going over the backboard completely.
Favor grabbed the ball since he was still near the basket.
Johnson groaned. He
looked at Favor. “I suppose that would explain part of the problem
with the Dominion, why the war is dragging on so long.”
“Ah, you’re
starting to get it,” Favor said, walking to the rearmost corner
of the court, standing slightly behind the basketball hoop. “With
the Changelings, there is a real biological difference. And there’s
even a real basic different mindset, a different psychology, if you
will. Solid versus Changeling. If you prick a Changeling, they don’t
really bleed.”
The ambassador held
the ball up, lining up the shot. He let fly with the ball, and it arced
over to the basket, sinking in. “Yeah! A Vulcan Three-pointer!
Make that!”
“No, no, no,”
Johnson shook his head, running after the ball. He grabbed it and jogged
over to the corner where Favor remained standing. “You can’t
call that shot a Vulcan Three-pointer. They make it by a precise calculation
of trajectory, gravity, and velocity, so it goes over the backboard
and into the net perfectly. You just threw it up in the air and prayed
it went in.”
“Well, whatever.
You still have to make it, or it’s a T, for you.”
Johnson sighed and dribbled
the ball, staring at the basket. After flexing his knees, he shot the
ball. It impacted against the back of the backboard and dropped down
to the deck.
“T!” Favor
shouted.
“You’ve still
got T-A,” Johnson reminded him. Favor shrugged as he strolled over
to the bouncing ball.
“Anyway, back to
what we were talking about,” Favor cleared his throat. “Part
of the problem with negotiating with the Founders are the basic real
difference between them and the rest of the galaxy. From what we know
about them, they’ve evolved and survived, always in isolation,
knowing they’re different. They’ve grown to distrust us Solids.
And nothing we’ve done has helped change their perceptions of us.
And by we, I mean all Solids.”
Favor lined up another
shot, off the top of the freethrow circle. It went in.
Johnson trotted over,
grabbing the ball on the way to Favor’s position. He quickly made
the same shot. “I guess we’re guilty of the same thing too,”
the captain shrugged, watching Favor retrieve the basketball. “I
know quite a few admirals who would rather just see the Founder homeworld
be turned into ashes, rather than see them co-exist alongside us here
in the Alpha Quadrant.”
“Exactly,”
Favor nodded. “Let me guess a common statement, ‘How can we
trust them when they never stay the same? How can we trust aliens that
could, and have, infiltrated Starfleet Headquarters, spying on us?’
Am I right?”
“That’s almost
verbatim,” Johnson smiled. “And that’s almost exactly
the problem. How can we get each side to, as you say, just stop and
listen to each other? How can we get each side to just stop shooting,
without getting into a Pakled Standoff with each other- without each
of us holding a phaser to each other’s head?”
Favor sighed and shrugged
his shoulders expansively. “If I knew that, this war would be over
in a second.”
Johnson sighed too.
Favor shook his head.
“Really, I can think of just one thing. It’s not an easy solution,
not a sure one. But it’s a simple one. To use your allegory, someone
just has to drop his phaser.”
Johnson harrumphed.
“Good luck telling Starfleet Command to institute a complete ceasefire.”
“Like I said, it’s
not an easy solution, and there’s no guarantee the other side won’t
blow our collective heads off.” Favor dribbled the ball around
the court, looking at the basket. A loud chirping reverberated throughout
the gym.
“That’s not
my combadge,” Johnson stated.
“Oh crap, that’s
mine. I had an alarm set so I would know to go to my quarters and prepare
for the meeting,” Favor explained. “Sorry, but I gotta cut
this short.” He tossed the basketball to Johnson
“No problem, go
and get ready,” Johnson waved him off. “Just remember, I was
winning.”
Favor smirked as he
ran over to the bench against the back of the gym. He scooped up the
Romulan holoprojector and his towel. He ran out the other set of doors.
Before he left, he looked back at Johnson. “It was good chatting
with you, Tom. See you later.”
“Yeah, same here,
Nate.” Johnson dribbled the basketball back to the equipment cabinet.
He sighed and propped up the basketball up in his hand. “Well Yorick,
now I’m tired, but I’m not gonna be able to sleep with all
these new thoughts running around in my head.”
Johnson sipped at his
iced coffee, stepping onto the bridge. He glanced around at the night
crew, quietly working at their station. Lieutenant Kyle twisted in the
command seat, glancing behind her. When she noticed it was the captain,
she stood up. “Captain on the bridge,” she announced.
The others stood at
attention.
Johnson waved his clear
mug. “As you were.”
The crew nodded and
returned their attentions back to their workstations. Kyle continued
to look at Johnson, still standing next to the command seat.
Johnson shook his head
at Kyle’s unspoken question. “You can sit back down. I’m
not coming on duty early.” He stepped past the tactical station,
rounding the seats in the center of the bridge. He sat down in one of
the adjacent seats next to the central command chair.
Kyle sat back down,
and remained slightly tense. This did not go unnoticed by Johnson. He
gestured with his chin. “Why is it that everytime I come onboard
while you are on duty, you always look at me as if my only reason for
being here is to criticize you?”
“I’m sorry
if that’s the attitude I seem to be projecting, sir. That’s
not my intention.”
“I’m a fairly
good judge of body language, especially human body language. Does this
concern my behavior towards you while we were in Romulan space? If so,
I’ve already explained the situation and apologized to you.”
Kyle shook her head,
her light curly hair bouncing as she did. “No, that’s...”
Johnson raised an eyebrow.
“Okay, perhaps
I’m still... apprehensive. You know I want my own command, sir.
This is my stepping stone up the chain of command. I do need your approval,
otherwise my plans are shot.”
“Your plans?”
Johnson smiled slightly, and sipped at his iced coffee. “Let me
tell you an old joke that Raven told me a long time ago when I was in
his Survival Course in the Academy. He asked me, ‘How do you make
God laugh?’ I told him that I didn’t know. He replied, ‘Tell
Him your plans.’ ”
“I see,” Kyle
nodded.
“That was my reaction
too. I’ve come to see the utter truth in that. I’ve seen many
people, myself included, end up places they never expected to be.”
Johnson shrugged and stared at the ice cubes in his beverage mug. “Oh
sure, I know some people who ended up exactly where they want to be.
But that usually required many sacrifices. They gave up other expectations.
They gave up friends. They gave up parts of themselves. And nine times
out of ten, when they finally get there, they’ve changed so much
that they don’t want what they originally wanted in the first place.”
Johnson looked back
up at Kyle. “If you just want my approval, all you need to do is
take care of my ship. Take care of my crew. And follow my orders. Then
when each personnel review comes around, I’ll write up a good report
on you. However, if you screw up, you had better damned well know why
you screwed up, and avoid doing it again. You’re my second officer.
That gives you a little room for error. You’re learning. Just remember,
you can’t move forward without learning something. Not on my ship.”
“Yes, sir,”
Kyle nodded.
“Now, is the replicator
power back to Decks 4 to 8?”
Kyle blinked and was
struck for a pause. “I’m not sure, sir. I haven’t received...
I think there was a report...”
“I didn’t
expect you to know that off the top of your head. Just call it up on
the chair and tell me.”
“Yes, sir,”
Kyle nodded. She looked at command seat’s armrest console, thumbing
through several menus. “Okay. Yes, replicator power has been restored.”
“Good. Now I can
have some tea in my quarters,” Johnson nodded. He stood up. I’m
going into my readyroom to check my e-messages. Then I’ll go back
to my quarters and try to get at least two hours of sleep before I go
on duty.”
“Yes, sir,”
Kyle nodded, standing up.
Johnson walked to the
side of the bridge, towards his readyroom. He glanced backwards. “As
always, contact me if something serious occurs.”
“Of course, sir,”
Kyle nodded. She sat back down in the command seat as Johnson entered
his ready room.
Johnson blinked his
eyes several times as he yawned. He tapped his combadge to stop its
chiming. “Johnson here, what is it?”
Kyle’s voice came
on. “Captain, you’re needed on the bridge.”
Johnson stood up and
stretched his arms, twisting his torso. His spine cracked as he bent
to the right and the left. He walked out onto the bridge. “Okay,
Lieutenant. What is it?”
Kyle stood by the command
chair, as several crewmen walked across the bridge. Johnson looked around
the bridge, seeing other crewmen taking up stations. “What’s
going on?”
“It’s the
change of shifts, sir. I just wanted to inform you that I was going
off duty.”
“Oh,” Johnson
frowned. “Oh! I fell asleep in my readyroom, didn’t I?”
“I assume so, sir.”
“Well then, good
morning, Lieutenant.”
“Good night, Captain.
And thank you for your advice. It gave me a lot to think about.”
“Sorry about that,”
Johnson murmured.
“What do you mean?”
Kyle frowned lightly, looking up at the captain.
“Nothing. I hope
you get a good night’s sleep.”
Epilogue
Johnson opened his eyes
to Ironsides’s elbow prodding Johnson’s arm. “Captain?”
“Yes, Major?”
He looked over at Ironsides sitting in the chair next to the command
seat. Johnson crossed his legs, and leaned against the command seat’s
armrest.
“I think you have
several reports to read in your readyroom.”
“I do?”
“You probably will
need to spend several hours in there, reading the reports. I’ll
make sure you’re not interrupted.”
Johnson stifled a yawn,
covering up his mouth. “Yes, I think I’ll need a few hours
of uninterrupted time.”
“I thought you
might, sir.” Ironsides lowered his voice to a whisper. “Didn’t
you get any sleep last night, sir?”
“Not really,”
Johnson whispered back. “I had a lot on my mind.”
Johnson stood up. “If
you need me, Major, I’ll be in my readyroom.”
Ironsides stood up and
took Johnson’s place in the command seat. The captain walked into
his readyroom and sat on the small sofa against one wall. He kicked
off his boots and propped his feet up the sofa’s armrest, closing
his eyes.
|
