Shipboard Sunset

Posted on Apr 07, 2016 @ 5:37pm by Captain Michael Turlogh Kane

Mission: Fortress: Earth

"SHIPBOARD SUNSET"

(Continued from "The Armageddon Button")

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Captain's Log, supplemental - as another day aboard the Phoenix comes to an end, we settle in for as much rest as we can get before our imminent arrival on Earth...

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Location: USS Phoenix, en route to Earth
Stardate: [2.16]0407.2130
Scene: Main Bridge, deck 1 (saucer section)


Aerdan Jos gingerly touched his right antenna with his forefinger. The appendage was still painful, and he was sporting a midnight blue bruise all along its stalk, but at least it had not been torn out. Now *that* would have been painful, proper pain that fired every nerve ending in the body. Male Humans had a similar pain - something to do with blunt-force trauma to their bizarrely-shaped genitals - but at least they could protect the afflicted area in daily life. Andorian antennae were not supposed to be hidden away, however. They were superb sensory organs, able to detect electrical fields, sub-sonic sounds, and subtle changes in air density and temperature. All the information they collected was transmitted down specialised ganglia to the brain tissue at their base, and as long as any damage was not to the brain, the antenna would eventually repair itself or grow back. In the meantime, the pain had to be borne.

It was a physical trait that Aerdan shared with Rr'llk, the Kaferian Ensign who currently occupied the Operations station. It was Beta Shift's time to work on the Phoenix, and most of the senior officers were off duty.

Aerdan felt a certain kinship with Rr'llk. Kaferians were sentient insectoids, with wide-set compound eyes, a pair of clicking mandibles and a set of long, waving antennae. Native to the third planet of the Tau Ceti system, Kaferians were extremely friendly, and although with a population numbering around only half a million, were expert geneticists and members of the Federation. There were less than two hundred of them in Starfleet, and the Phoenix was lucky to have Rr'llk among them. They did not usually wear clothing on their hot, wet homeworld, but Kaferians were an accommodating people, and wore the regular Starfleet uniform, sans boots.

Like Chaucer, the Gorn in Engineering, Rr'llk communicated through the use of an external universal translator that sat on his ventral exo-skeleton, approximately where a Human's chest would be. When he clicked his mandibles in his own form of speech, the external translator spoke out his words in a pleasant voice that sounded perennially happy. Even when Rr'llk was feeling glum or said something sarcastic, the translator's voice spoke it out in warm, friendly tones, often completely misconstruing the meaning behind Rr'llk's words to comic effect. It had not happened yet, but Aerdan was waiting for the day when Rr'llk was on duty in an emergency situation. Listening to the Kaferian's translator warmly and happily reporting catastrophic damage to some deck section or reeling off a casualty list would be a surreal moment.

Aerdan smiled to himself, a small thing that nobody saw. Here he was, sitting on the bridge of the deadliest starship in the quadrant, surrounded by aliens. A Kaferian at Ops, Humans at Flight Control and Tactical, and an Andorian in the centre seat. It was one of the wonders of working in Starfleet, a testament to the wonderful diversity in the fleet, and by extension, the Federation. Both were amazing institutions, hammered out over the past two centuries, that brought together wildly different cultures and peoples from all over the quadrant, and made them into friends by promoting peace, cultural respect and exchange, and mutual trade and defence. Nothing like the Federation had ever been seen in the known galaxy before.

So it hurt his heart that some Humans were trying to destroy it. The Neo-Essentialists were some sort of radical splinter group of Humans who thought that their species did too much for the Federation for too little gain. It didn't seem enough that their planet had been made the capital world of the Federation, nor that they were the most numerous species in Starfleet, nor that they bred fast enough to replace any losses they might suffer when in the service - Aerdan stopped himself right there. Three out of every four members of the crew of the Phoenix was Human, and not once, not *once*, had Aerdan or any other non-Terran had to deal with a racism issue. The Neo-Essentialists were not representative of Humans in the same way that the Aenar were not representative of all Andorians.

But the thought lingered there, hung around in the back of his mind like a surly child waiting to be punished. Whenever an internal threat rose to the security of the Federation, there was invariably a Human involved in it. Khan Noonien Singh, for example. Humans Starfleet Admirals like Matthew Dougherty, Edmund Dupree, and now Richard Edgerton seemed especially vulnerable to corruption in a way that did not affect other high-ranking officers of other species.

Was it a Human failing? For all their positive qualities, did Humans hide darker hearts? Perhaps many Humans secretly agreed with the Neo-Essentialists, but until now had no way of acting on their feelings. Under a new xenophobic leader they could unleash their own pent-up bigotry upon off-worlders and feel good about it. Not all of them would, but many more might have chosen to do nothing while Edgerton's regime installed itself, and in a way, that was worse. When the fleet arrived at Earth and toppled the Neo-Essentialists, would an effort be made to find the source of Humanity's love of violence, and so prevent groups like the Neo-Essentialists from rising ever again? It was surely possible. Vulcans and Andorians had done it. But Humans were different - they were so individually different, broken down into such diverse cultural and ethnic backgrounds - that it might not be possible to get them to admit they had a problem.

Was it just possible, Aerdan wondered as the Phoenix sped towards her destiny, that Humans had gone too far this time?

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Scene: Main Engineering, deck 36 (drive section)


Cindy Rochemonte was silently monitoring the plasma injector calibrator while it did its thing. It was a foregone conclusion that the calibration would be perfect and reveal no underlying problems anywhere, because the plasma injection system was tied in to so many other systems that if a fault developed in one, it would invariably be noticed in another. Anyway, ever since the Engineering department's numbers had been beefed up, the workload around here was much easier to handle. Nearly three hundred engineers were now working around the ship, and that meant regular hours once again for those who had born the brunt of all the hard work since the Phoenix had fled Earth. Now, though, they were likely heading into a battle when they finally returned home, and that meant diagnostics and calibrations of all ship's systems.

She looked around. She was the only officer on duty. Everyone else - Jake, Chaucer, Jonathan, Asta - were all off-duty. She was in command of Engineering, and it felt good.

{{Lieutenant Rochemonte?}}

Cindy turned around to see Byte standing at the entrance to the Engineering deck. The android was watching her with fixed interest. It raised its eybrows. {{Am I intruding?}}

"Hello, Mister Byte," said Cindy, stepping away from her work. "Just a routine calibration. What can I do for you?" She put her hands behind her back and watched the android. It was her first real interaction with it, despite being shipmates for almost two years. She sometimes saw Byte as it attempted to look comfortable hanging out in the Vulgar Tribble, standing alone by the bar or sitting by itself at a central table watching everyone laugh and seeing the sparkle of friendly banter. Everybody said hello to Byte, but nobody sat down with it if they had a choice, always moving away and leaving it alone to just sit there by itself. She often wondered if the android was lonely, but then remembered the absurdity of assigning complex Human emotions to a artificial brain, even one as amazingly advanced as a positronic one.

Byte stepped forward, glancing around the half-empty deck. {{A quiet night, Lieutenant?}}

Cindy chuckled. "Your small talk sub-routine is working perfectly. Is there something you want?"

Byte looked confused for a moment at her choice of words. Then its features brightened. {{Yes. For the past several days, I have been running a series of system diagnostics. I have encountered a recurring problem with my memory banks that I cannot explain, and have decided to seek assistance from Engineering.}}

"A recurring problem?" asked Cindy. "Can you elaborate?"

{{Not fully, I am sorry to say. A diagnostic of one specific databank of memory cannot be completed. When I attempt to access it, I cannot. The diagnostic repeatedly becomes stuck on a self-perpetuating loop.}}

Cindy frowned. "You cannot access your own memory banks?"

{{I cannot access one *specific* databank,}} said Byte pointedly. {{It appears that my operating system is having problems interfacing with it. I am unable to resolve the problem alone.}}

"I see. Are your basic systems being compromised in any way?"

Byte seemed to look inside itself, the way it did when someone asked it a question it did not have a ready answer to. {{Not at all. It is just this one problem. It is somewhat....}} The android trailed off for a moment, searching for the right word. Then it spoke again. {{...frustrating.}}

Cindy nodded, already growing bored. She wasn't certified to work on Byte anyway, and she doubted anyone in Engineering was except Jake. "Well," she shrugged apologetically, "Commander Crichton is off-duty right now. He's probably in his quarters if you want to check in with him there. I'm sure he'd be happy to help."

Byte considered her words. {{I do not wish to disturb him.}} Then it came to a decision. {{I will return in the morning. Please inform Commander Crichton of my visit when he reports for duty.}}

"Yes, sir," said Cindy as Byte turned to leave. The android outranked her too, she thought unhappily.

She sighed and got back to work.

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Scene: Captain's Quarters, Deck 2 (saucer section)


Michael Turlogh Kane put the peel from the banana he'd just eaten into the replicator and watched it dissolve in a fizz of light. He held a steaming cup of valerian tea in one hand, and tiredly turned from the replicator. It had been a long day, and aside from that altercation with Cade Foster, he had spent most of it on the bridge. The Phoenix's arrival on Earth was imminent, and a confrontation of some sort with Edgerton and the remaining Neo-Essentialists was almost guaranteed. Thinking about it threatened to keep him awake at night, hence the banana and fancy tea.

He passed by his mirror, but avoided looking at himself. Too often these days he did not like what he saw in his own reflection - the grim, downturning mouth, the exhausted eye, the wrinkles on his skin. No longer young, no longer renewable by a buoyant spirit. Mortal and ageing.

The voyage home was almost over. The Phoenix was about to join the fleet and lay siege to Earth in order to topple Edgerton and his Neo-Essentialist fascists. The Federation would be restored.

And then?

Kane sipped his tea. He had not thought that far ahead. Perhaps it was not important. For the past two years, he and his crew had been living hand to mouth, on the run across the quadrant, fleeing from one safe port to another, trying to stay alive. He fleetingly remembered the terrible feelings of loneliness in those dark days, when nobody except a handful of Starfleet personnel knew the awful truth about what was happening on Earth, of being branded outlaws and terrorists, of carrying the constant burden of his own second-guesses in everything he said and did.

For a moment, Kane smelled the charred meat of Drake's ruined torso when he pushed the luckless El' Aurian into the path of Rawyvin Seth's disruptor, and he put his nose to the lip of his cup to smother out the memory with the real smell of the valerian root. Solomon Arn and Samantha Perry, both dead. And tortured Thomas Varn, dead but somehow alive again thanks to some sort of technological breakthrough that could do what only God used to be able to do.

The shadows lengthened. The hour grew late.

He thought of his crew, some at work, some now at rest around the ship. Their stories were just as real as his, whether it was James Barton's struggle to reconcile his years on Limbo to life in Starfleet, or Kassandra Thytos' daily battle against her memories of Barbossa and a world of colour that she could now only see in memories, or Jake Crichton's efforts to manage his crumbling family against his commitment to his work, or Eve Dalziel's endeavours to help everyone make sense of the madness they were living through. All of them were already heroes, and even if they fell at the last, it had been a worthwhile struggle in their magnificent ship - mast, hull and spar.

He got into bed, feeling a surge of warmth in the cool gloom of his quarters. There was a happy ending in store. He could feel it - for this one moment in time, he was sure of it. Barton would make peace with his history, Kassandra would cease defining herself by her disability, Jake would have the home he always wanted, and Eve would gain the reward of a thousand smiling faces of the crew.

And Kane? He was proud, so proud to be among them. When he was gone, they would carry on together, forged together by the fire of resistance to oppression. Their long journey was almost over. Just one last effort.

Michael Turlogh Kane surrendered to the imperative, falling into a peaceful sleep.


And on the horizon, home shores came into view, blue on distant blue.

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NRPG: MOAR EMO


Jerome McKee
the Soul of Captain Michael Turlogh Kane
Commanding Officer
USS PHOENIX


"He speaks an infinite deal of nothing!"
- Shakespeare's "The Merchant of Venice", Act 1, Scene 1.117

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