| Author | Message | ||
     Cdr. Sieven Drexler |
The week had been anything but restful. For Sieven, it had been a frustrating mess playing 25th century phone tag with Starfleet/Milky Way personnel who apparently had no concept of managing priorities. Sieven carefully debated an issue with the officer on the other line, apparently someone who’s superior was someone important, but gained little ground in the twenty minutes or so they spent parleying. Sieven glanced at the chronometer, and in the final seconds before the rift closed, he concluded the argument abruptly enough that the officer on the other line stared back blankly before opening his mouth to say something, only for the communication link to suddenly wink out. He smirked slightly, but it was more of a façade for the deep frustration he felt over the issue. Part of him sat relieved, though, that the contact had been severed. For the last two days, he felt as though he’d been dealing with a completely different organization than the one that he’d enrolled in several years earlier. It had seemed as though the war really had changed things over there. Starfleet, once defiant and proud, now seemed lost and confused beneath its own diplomacies and bureaucracies, with no hope of regaining that legacy that was no shattered under the heels of the Klingon and Romulan Empires. He was saddened by the looks on decorated Starfleet officers who seemed to envy Coronado’s situation from afar. Sure enough, he could not help but sympathize. The work they’d done in M64 was one of epic and heroic actions and events. Did they envy the victory that the Defenders had found, or did they envy the chance to start over? The people of the Defenders of M64 were witnessing the birth of a new intragalactic alliance, a new Federation of planets that would no doubt rival its predecessor. The failed UCIP lay nineteen million light-years away and part of him felt compelled to keep it that way. The Defenders had grown beyond the old policies, and left behind the corruptions that plagued Milky Way organizations for millennia. Indeed, he felt much as though he’d spent the last ten years writing a poor piece of literature and had sudden inspiration to discard the first draft and begin anew. Perhaps the metaphor wasn’t so far off, he thought, and left the CIC for his quarters. The corridors were abuzz with talk of news from the Milky Way, whispering midshipmen crowded around the lounge-like areas of some corridors and told stories, and others were hunched over a PADD, intently reading a letter from their family. Some cried tears of happiness, while others cried tears of grief. Some of the crew were able to rest easy knowing the news from the Milky Way, but for others it only served to shake up the pot of stress that had already been boiling over. Loved ones had been reunited; others had been torn apart and lost to uncertainty. Antipodes of every emotion were found in every corridor on every deck on every ship. Sieven entered his quarters and immediately went for the bookshelf. He traced his finger along the bindings of each book, having always admired the craftsmanship of leather-bound literature. With a quick tap, he concluded his reverie of the bookshelf and sat at his desk. Without incident he activated his console and noticed he had incoming messages. He skimmed through the subject headings of each message, noting reports and staff meetings and various other administrative things. He was ready to set them aside to read later, but three new messages were delivered to him at that very moment. His stare at the subject headings was one of uncertainty, but his eyes weren’t deceiving him. He opened his mouth to say something, but he was completely caught off his guard. Very soon, though, understanding set upon him. His contact from Starfleet, the one person he’d sent a message to through the Catapult, had replied. Not knowing what to expect, he opened the message and began reading it. That night, it would be excitement and anticipation that kept Sieven Drexler awake, not fear. BTC |