It's Too Early For This (open)
Jul 21, 2014 5:38:37 GMT -8
Lieutenant Robin Star and Lt. Commander Alyssa Jenison like this
Post by Lt. Commander Liz Sur'Shess on Jul 21, 2014 5:38:37 GMT -8
She probably had someplace she should be. Unfortunately for everyone, she was finding it difficult to summon up the energy to care. It did appeal in some ways, she knew that--getting her hands dirty, helping patch things back together in a fusion of proper technique and their own haphazard way of getting it done most efficiently, in the way that would work best as the techs shook their heads in disbelief. What was it Cobus said--if you haven't made the techs groan in horror, you've not done your job right. Something like that. It was a good motto, and a sort of game. 'How Far Can We Push the Starfleet Techs Before They Snap?'
Liz wasn't in the mood for games.
So instead of doing something useful and productive, fighting through her caffeine-fueled exhaustion, she was sitting in the lounge, one leg thrown over the arm of the chair she was sitting in, staring at the planet far below. She'd needed the view. Returning to her quarters after a long night of helping patch the computer system back together, getting power flowing properly again, she'd found that the only thing she could see from them was the station: a girder, a few blinking lights, and a couple windows that might have been quarters themselves for all she knew. It hadn't been pleasant, so she'd left, seeking out some better place.
She supposed she'd found it. Two coffee cups, one empty and the other still half-full, sat on the table next to her, and she was alone. Coffee and no company. Perfection. She could brood in peace, far away from the eyes of anybody who'd try to talk her out of it...because despite B'ranon's pretty words on the bridge, she was still caught wondering what she could have done. Knowing what she should have done, what should have been her first instinct and what her mind desperately wished would happen every time she replayed those moments in her mind.
But it never happened, because the past was set, every bit of it. Every moment that she should have done something, should have seen. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw a succession of images, a cacophony of color--alerts, power spikes, whisking people away, the tingle of a transporter beam from inside as she was whisked away so unceremoniously from any ability to help. Maybe, though, maybe if she'd jumped into quicker action on the Talon...why hadn't anybody thought to find biosigns, to lock on that way? She should have stepped into the gap, should have made sure every member of their crew came home, that they could grieve properly....
Though hope still warred on that score. It hadn't taken long for the rumors to start, rippling out from who-knew-where like an oncoming tide. Captain Monroe wasn't dead, Zaan had lied, he was still alive and hopefully well somewhere on the rogue Ea'n'Dra ship and he'd be coming back as soon as the Hyperion caught them up, surely. She could feel the hope of it in her chest, a rippling little thing that struggled for life against cynicism and experience. Together, Jenison and Monroe would have a very good fighting chance, even against a ship full of loyalists. Jenison was tough, Liz knew that beyond the shadow of a doubt, and Monroe had proven himself quite capable of handling a fair fight, or even an unfair one.
If he was alive, maybe they'd be okay. Maybe they'd come home, and the crew would be whole once more, absent the gaps that usually littered it after a mission went so horribly wrong. Maybe, maybe, maybe....
It wouldn't change history, though. It wouldn't change the fact that she'd managed to mess it up again, that her track record of slips was growing larger by the minute. Their crew was being picked apart, bit by bit, this quadrant pulling them away as soon as they were far enough from help that there was nothing to be done about it. A silent swirl of conspiring maniacs, out to kill them joined with the erratic nature of space diplomacy. And she, caught in the middle of it, letting them slip away from her. Again. And no matter how much she feared it, it kept happening. The phantom of dreams, nearly one every night now, stacked up in her mind--Robin standing over her impassively as he shoved her into a black hole, Robin and Kinin and B'ranon lying dead, their blood on her hands....
And when had B'ranon gotten close enough to her to be in her dreams, for crying out loud? That was something else she'd promised herself--people were dangerous because if they got close, they could hurt you. Hadn't she told herself that? Sure, some people managed to get there no matter how hard she tried. Robin, for one. And she cared about others, a few that she knew she couldn't lose or else. But it was still dangerous, and every time the circle grew, she felt the failure more sharply, and feared it all the more.
After all, the more people one cared about, the more it would hurt if they went missing.
Tag: Any
Liz wasn't in the mood for games.
So instead of doing something useful and productive, fighting through her caffeine-fueled exhaustion, she was sitting in the lounge, one leg thrown over the arm of the chair she was sitting in, staring at the planet far below. She'd needed the view. Returning to her quarters after a long night of helping patch the computer system back together, getting power flowing properly again, she'd found that the only thing she could see from them was the station: a girder, a few blinking lights, and a couple windows that might have been quarters themselves for all she knew. It hadn't been pleasant, so she'd left, seeking out some better place.
She supposed she'd found it. Two coffee cups, one empty and the other still half-full, sat on the table next to her, and she was alone. Coffee and no company. Perfection. She could brood in peace, far away from the eyes of anybody who'd try to talk her out of it...because despite B'ranon's pretty words on the bridge, she was still caught wondering what she could have done. Knowing what she should have done, what should have been her first instinct and what her mind desperately wished would happen every time she replayed those moments in her mind.
But it never happened, because the past was set, every bit of it. Every moment that she should have done something, should have seen. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw a succession of images, a cacophony of color--alerts, power spikes, whisking people away, the tingle of a transporter beam from inside as she was whisked away so unceremoniously from any ability to help. Maybe, though, maybe if she'd jumped into quicker action on the Talon...why hadn't anybody thought to find biosigns, to lock on that way? She should have stepped into the gap, should have made sure every member of their crew came home, that they could grieve properly....
Though hope still warred on that score. It hadn't taken long for the rumors to start, rippling out from who-knew-where like an oncoming tide. Captain Monroe wasn't dead, Zaan had lied, he was still alive and hopefully well somewhere on the rogue Ea'n'Dra ship and he'd be coming back as soon as the Hyperion caught them up, surely. She could feel the hope of it in her chest, a rippling little thing that struggled for life against cynicism and experience. Together, Jenison and Monroe would have a very good fighting chance, even against a ship full of loyalists. Jenison was tough, Liz knew that beyond the shadow of a doubt, and Monroe had proven himself quite capable of handling a fair fight, or even an unfair one.
If he was alive, maybe they'd be okay. Maybe they'd come home, and the crew would be whole once more, absent the gaps that usually littered it after a mission went so horribly wrong. Maybe, maybe, maybe....
It wouldn't change history, though. It wouldn't change the fact that she'd managed to mess it up again, that her track record of slips was growing larger by the minute. Their crew was being picked apart, bit by bit, this quadrant pulling them away as soon as they were far enough from help that there was nothing to be done about it. A silent swirl of conspiring maniacs, out to kill them joined with the erratic nature of space diplomacy. And she, caught in the middle of it, letting them slip away from her. Again. And no matter how much she feared it, it kept happening. The phantom of dreams, nearly one every night now, stacked up in her mind--Robin standing over her impassively as he shoved her into a black hole, Robin and Kinin and B'ranon lying dead, their blood on her hands....
And when had B'ranon gotten close enough to her to be in her dreams, for crying out loud? That was something else she'd promised herself--people were dangerous because if they got close, they could hurt you. Hadn't she told herself that? Sure, some people managed to get there no matter how hard she tried. Robin, for one. And she cared about others, a few that she knew she couldn't lose or else. But it was still dangerous, and every time the circle grew, she felt the failure more sharply, and feared it all the more.
After all, the more people one cared about, the more it would hurt if they went missing.
Tag: Any