Post by Deleted on May 9, 2015 13:27:25 GMT -8
They have always said that the expirations of plants was beneficial to humans and, as Victor arrived in the atrium, he did note a change in the air quality. Whether it was imaginary or real, he didn't dwell on it past a large intake of breath at the threshold before striding across the hard surface. The atrium felt as out of place as Victor did on the moonbase. Some plants reminded him of home and some were wildly exotic. Now and then, as someone walked past him, he could detect the scent of food from the long buffet, but he wasn't all that hungry. He had satiated that craving over the past week, though it hardly made up for the long deprivation at the hands of the pinkies, despite their intentions with that viscous slop to keep them all healthy.
He ignored the decor and surveyed the occupants instead. Kehlt was somewhere on the base, under constant security, waiting for transport home and Victor knew that the Klingon would be going stir crazy by now. At least they had that in common. The base was just another cell but, instead of barriers, there was nothing to separate one person from another.
Starfleet was here, though not officially. Shiny pipped officers were left behind by the Hyperion as it went on with its mission to rescue the remaining captives on that godforsaken planet. The officers left on the base walked with the stiff-backed demeanor of those accustomed to giving orders, and Victor had spent the past week talking with a number of them, most notedly counselors and admirals. They worried about what was next for him, about his mindset, but the war had given them little choice. While there had always been a revolving door in the upper regions of rank on board stations and starships, it had become much worse. Many had died, many had resigned their commission following the devastation. Victor, as a well-trained Commander, was a hot commodity, even after his capture.
Probationary.
The word stuck in Victor's brain like a bramble that refused to let go. Sitting down on one of the raised edges around a particularly fragrant plant, he continued to people watch as he gnawed away at that mental bone.
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He ignored the decor and surveyed the occupants instead. Kehlt was somewhere on the base, under constant security, waiting for transport home and Victor knew that the Klingon would be going stir crazy by now. At least they had that in common. The base was just another cell but, instead of barriers, there was nothing to separate one person from another.
Starfleet was here, though not officially. Shiny pipped officers were left behind by the Hyperion as it went on with its mission to rescue the remaining captives on that godforsaken planet. The officers left on the base walked with the stiff-backed demeanor of those accustomed to giving orders, and Victor had spent the past week talking with a number of them, most notedly counselors and admirals. They worried about what was next for him, about his mindset, but the war had given them little choice. While there had always been a revolving door in the upper regions of rank on board stations and starships, it had become much worse. Many had died, many had resigned their commission following the devastation. Victor, as a well-trained Commander, was a hot commodity, even after his capture.
Probationary.
The word stuck in Victor's brain like a bramble that refused to let go. Sitting down on one of the raised edges around a particularly fragrant plant, he continued to people watch as he gnawed away at that mental bone.
Tag Any