Post by Lt. Commander Cobus Rok on Jan 19, 2013 13:06:22 GMT -8
As he awoke, Cobus noticed that the console in his quarters was violently blinking and blooping in that most impatient fashion that only meant one thing: a message marked critical priority was coming through. "Computer, what's the date and time?"
Twenty minutes. That was all the sleep that normal people needed, right? Considering that he was lying naked on his couch with no memory of having ever taken his clothes off, twenty minutes probably wasn't enough.
Cobus sat down at his desk and opened up the message. **Message from the Captain**...
By the end of the first sentence Cobus was sitting up straight and fully awake. He'd read it again several times to be sure he hadn't missed anything.
Shell-shocked, he wandered back to the couch and sat down. The Bacohl device he'd been given had wedged itself between two of the cushions. Apparently he'd gone to bed with it. He hadn't looked at it too closely and had probably breached a protocol or two by taking strange alien technology to bed without reporting it. He'd assumed it was just a wrench, or a screwknob, some trinket of mostly sentimental value. When he placed it on the coffee table in front of him and pushed the big triangular button, he realized that he'd never been more wrong.
The captain's words were still echoing in his head: "purge all record of the Bacohl...
A purple light began blinking at the apex of the device and all it once it began to unfold on invisible hinges. It arranged itself into a smooth convex disk; parts that had once seemed awkward and out of place suddenly had purpose. The device whined, and that small blinking light became a persistent glow as the emitter powered up. A three-dimensional schematic of the Bacohl construct rose from the disk and expanded to fill the room.
no notes, papers, or reports...except through my office...
Rising to his feet, he wandered the room, exploring the different areas of the construct. He was already making hopeless plans to convert the data into a holodeck program so he could bring it up to its full size. The amount of detail was more than he could've ever hoped for. If ever there was proof that the Bacohl were in fact their trusted allies, Cobus was standing right in the middle of it.
action or inaction...failure to comply..."
Torqued. He ran a hand through his hair; it was still damp from the hasty shower he'd taken. There were two options. No, there were three, and two of them involved lying to the Captain and a potentially premature end to his Starfleet career. The third option was full disclosure, and it meant that his small piece of Bacohl tech would most likely be locked away in some classified Starfleet bunker for his next three lifetimes. One might argue that their current diplomatic relationship with the Bacohl was delicate and that maybe it would be better if he were allowed to retain possession of the "gift," but Cobus wasn't actually that naive, or optimistic.
He didn't want to betray anyone, not the Captain, Starfleet, Whull, or the Bacohl. It made him remember something that Whull had said: "Would you die to protect your people? Would you keep secrets, even if it meant your death?"
Whull had seemed to understand the concept of duty. In all likelihood, Whull probably expected, or even wanted him to turn the schematics over to his superiors. That wasn't the real issue though, was it? The real issue was that Cobus didn't want to give it up. Trill memory was better than most, but there was something about the physicality of the object itself that made it so much harder to let go.
Whatever previous excitement he'd had about writing his report had vanished, and more than anything he wanted to just get off the ship, even if it was just for an hour. His hand reached out and touched the device. It powered down and refolded itself into a useless-looking jumble of parts, and if it had just been a wrench or a screwknob, he knew that he would've kept it, as stupidly risky as that might've been. But it was something, and maybe even something that might help to solidify Starfleet's trust in the Bacohl. Or something the Federation might use against them.
He wrote the Captain a short reply:
//Whull gave me a data device with complete schematics of the Bacohl construct. Device and analysis to be delivered with my report.//
His finger hovered indecisively over the "send" option for several seconds before he mustered up enough conviction to carry through with it. Instead of the relief he'd expected to feel, he found that the knot in his stomach had tightened. Hopefully the Captain would let it wait until he'd had at least a few hours to sleep. In case it was perceived as a more immediate issue, he went to go find some pants.
End Rok
Twenty minutes. That was all the sleep that normal people needed, right? Considering that he was lying naked on his couch with no memory of having ever taken his clothes off, twenty minutes probably wasn't enough.
Cobus sat down at his desk and opened up the message. **Message from the Captain**...
By the end of the first sentence Cobus was sitting up straight and fully awake. He'd read it again several times to be sure he hadn't missed anything.
Shell-shocked, he wandered back to the couch and sat down. The Bacohl device he'd been given had wedged itself between two of the cushions. Apparently he'd gone to bed with it. He hadn't looked at it too closely and had probably breached a protocol or two by taking strange alien technology to bed without reporting it. He'd assumed it was just a wrench, or a screwknob, some trinket of mostly sentimental value. When he placed it on the coffee table in front of him and pushed the big triangular button, he realized that he'd never been more wrong.
The captain's words were still echoing in his head: "purge all record of the Bacohl...
A purple light began blinking at the apex of the device and all it once it began to unfold on invisible hinges. It arranged itself into a smooth convex disk; parts that had once seemed awkward and out of place suddenly had purpose. The device whined, and that small blinking light became a persistent glow as the emitter powered up. A three-dimensional schematic of the Bacohl construct rose from the disk and expanded to fill the room.
no notes, papers, or reports...except through my office...
Rising to his feet, he wandered the room, exploring the different areas of the construct. He was already making hopeless plans to convert the data into a holodeck program so he could bring it up to its full size. The amount of detail was more than he could've ever hoped for. If ever there was proof that the Bacohl were in fact their trusted allies, Cobus was standing right in the middle of it.
action or inaction...failure to comply..."
Torqued. He ran a hand through his hair; it was still damp from the hasty shower he'd taken. There were two options. No, there were three, and two of them involved lying to the Captain and a potentially premature end to his Starfleet career. The third option was full disclosure, and it meant that his small piece of Bacohl tech would most likely be locked away in some classified Starfleet bunker for his next three lifetimes. One might argue that their current diplomatic relationship with the Bacohl was delicate and that maybe it would be better if he were allowed to retain possession of the "gift," but Cobus wasn't actually that naive, or optimistic.
He didn't want to betray anyone, not the Captain, Starfleet, Whull, or the Bacohl. It made him remember something that Whull had said: "Would you die to protect your people? Would you keep secrets, even if it meant your death?"
Whull had seemed to understand the concept of duty. In all likelihood, Whull probably expected, or even wanted him to turn the schematics over to his superiors. That wasn't the real issue though, was it? The real issue was that Cobus didn't want to give it up. Trill memory was better than most, but there was something about the physicality of the object itself that made it so much harder to let go.
Whatever previous excitement he'd had about writing his report had vanished, and more than anything he wanted to just get off the ship, even if it was just for an hour. His hand reached out and touched the device. It powered down and refolded itself into a useless-looking jumble of parts, and if it had just been a wrench or a screwknob, he knew that he would've kept it, as stupidly risky as that might've been. But it was something, and maybe even something that might help to solidify Starfleet's trust in the Bacohl. Or something the Federation might use against them.
He wrote the Captain a short reply:
//Whull gave me a data device with complete schematics of the Bacohl construct. Device and analysis to be delivered with my report.//
His finger hovered indecisively over the "send" option for several seconds before he mustered up enough conviction to carry through with it. Instead of the relief he'd expected to feel, he found that the knot in his stomach had tightened. Hopefully the Captain would let it wait until he'd had at least a few hours to sleep. In case it was perceived as a more immediate issue, he went to go find some pants.
End Rok