"An Affinity for Action" - Part 1"
Ambassador turned commander, Ian Lamont stood silently on
the bridge as the last of the corpsmen beamed out along with the dead Romulan
Gai'Shian soldiers. The bridge was finally
quiet but the silence held an unusual, deadly quality that was
disquieting. The background noises of
the computer systems were gone with many of the bridge stations smashed or
otherwise ruined by weapons fire. The
air was filled with the charred, acrid stench of burned wiring and electrical
fire intermixed with a strong coppery scent of drying Romulan blood. Wiring hung from the ceiling in clusters
giving the bridge a surreal feel like one was immersed in a thick, electronic
jungle.
With the Charon now secure and the Quantum Fury having
attached a tractor beam there was little to accomplish on the bridge. Its systems were in ruins and its critical
functions had been transferred to auxiliary control. Lamont unbuttoned his uniform top and pulled
it off tossing the soiled garment, stained multiple colors from Caitian and
Romulan blood, onto a nearby chair as he took a seat at the barely functional
helm station.
The viewscreen was still operational though Lamont had no
idea how given the volume of weapons fire which had left dozens of dark, black
scars crisscrossing the bridge. Somehow
they were all still here and still alive. The Charon was in one piece for now with engineering scrambling with
tape and glue in hand to keep her various parts held together. Outside on the viewscreen the nebula still interfered
with visuals, but through the static and haze Ian could see the engines of the Quantum
Fury which had come to their rescue.
Tapping on the helm console he checked their course and
speed. It was the same as when he had
checked it half an hour ago. The captain
had left him in command of the bridge only there was precious little remaining to
command. Not that he sought such a difficult
and demanding thing. Shutting off the
helm console he flexed his hands which were still sticky and green. He rubbed them on his uniform pants, but the
blood could not be so easily removed. With a sigh, Ian leaned back in the helm officer's chair with the face
and expression of the dead Romulan he had killed still vibrantly vivid within
his mind. Killing was not a contingency
he had ever expected when he had been assigned to the Charon. She was a science ship and not equipped for
heavy combat. Taking a life to save his and
the others around him was justified? Or
was it?
The captain seemed almost gratified in the aftermath of the
carnage and Lt. Tyrax's thoughts were her own as her Vulcan stoicism cloaked
whatever she might think or feel. Lamont
felt restless and anxious sitting in the chair. He didn't have the emotional vocabulary to deal with the
experience. It was raw, visceral, and completely
unexpected. He was an ambassador, one
versed in the arts of negotiation and patience. His duties included preventing conflict not participating in it. How could he stay true to his duty and ideals
now that he had violated all of them himself? He had crossed a line, but it now seemed impossible to step back behind
it.
Ian stood and took a deep breath attempting to push aside
the internal conflicts within him. Externally there were far more important issues at hand such as keeping
the ship in one piece, caring for the wounded and the deceased, and escaping
the dangers of the nebula. The Quantum
Fury would help to keep any additional Romulan hunters at bay with its weapons,
but that begged another question which had no answer. Who had been trying to kill them and
why? Why had a planet of people been
sacrificed? Who was involved, what were
their goals, and most importantly where had they escaped to?
Lamont had no faith in the Romulan's to administer justice for
the crimes committed. The Galae would
likely stay far away to avoid involving themselves in a political incident and
would mostly likely attempt to cover up the evidence. The Tal-Shiar might investigate in back
channels, but their methods would ensure that if justice was served no one
would know about it – ever.
That left two Federation starships, one badly damaged, far
from home in less than friendly territory to either take up the matter or
retreat. A burning fury suddenly
replaced Lamont's worries. The logical
choice was to lick their wounds and return home leaving this matter for fate to
sort out. How could the captain do
anything else? She had lives to defend,
duties to uphold, and a responsibility to protect both the ship and the
reputation of Starfleet. Going rogue in
hostile territory against orders with a damaged ship to find a well equipped
and dangerous adversary was suicide. Lamont knew it. Rehu knew
it. Nothing would be done. The lives lost in this bloody affair were forfeit
and would forever remain so.
Fueled by rage, Ian picked up a twisted piece of charred
debris and hurled it into the air in a momentary release of emotional
pressure. The piece of twisted metal
slammed into the helm console which cracked as its controls flickered and went
dark. Lamont stared at the damage in disbelief
that he had caused so much damage and that his outburst had generated so much
power. He momentarily cringed realizing
he would catch hell from the captain, but found comfort in the fact that the
rest of the bridge was so badly damaged perhaps it would go overlooked. The helm station sputtered and emitted a tiny
cloud of smoke as something electrical within crackled and then went silent.
The bridge seemed like a fitting place for him at the
moment, he mused. Internally he was
filled with emotional and intellectual chaos and was surrounded by ruin. It oddly mirrored how he felt. Tumbleweeds blowing across the bridge would be
the perfect accent to the isolation he suddenly felt along with his inability
to do anything to remedy recent events. No amount of words could heal the wounds that had been savagely inflicted. No negotiations, sleight of hand, or political
maneuvering would recoup the blood spilled or bring back those who had paid the
ultimate price.
Gritting his teeth, Lamont turned and resigned himself to
the captain's chair. Falling into its
blood soaked cushions he did nothing to prevent them from staining his own
uniform. Blood begot blood. He had spilled it today at his own hand,
tasted it, smelled it, and saved it. The
bridge dripped with it. An entire planet's
had been poisoned.
And despite his upbringing and values, Lamont, his mouth
fresh with its bitter taste now seemed to lust after more like an insatiable
vampire. He wanted those responsible for
this catastrophe. He wanted them more
than anything he had ever wanted. Their actions
had created a trigger in time which when pulled had cost untold lives on the
planet, forced Romulans into combat, destroyed whole Romulan ships and crews,
inflicted a heavy toll on the Charon and her personnel, and forced Lamont to
kill. Those that had created such
calamity had to be found and had to be held accountable.
The Charon could not simply walk away from this. She had to respond to this gross offense
against the universe. She had to live up
to her name and assist in escorting those responsible to the depths of hell
where they belonged. He didn't know how to
accomplish this and couldn't explain the passion within him, but his own blood
boiled in anger at the events he had witnessed. Right or wrong, duty or not, the Charon had to respond to this
attack. They had to respond and respond they
would.
With Romulan blood seeping into his uniform from the wet command
chair, Lamont silently swore he would do everything in his power to give voice
to those who had been sacrificed by a chain of events they had no power to
stop. They couldn't leave here empty
handed. He would see to it that they
didn't.
[To Be Continued…]
