The Prosecution Rests

Posted on Fri 26th Oct, 2012 @ 1:16pm by Colonel Horatio Drake

620 words; about a 3 minute read

Mission: http://sb109.sim-station.net/index.php/sim/missions/id/2
Location: SB Protector, Main Infirmary
Timeline: Post-Bretagne

ON:

He could feel himself covered in the sweat and dirt that seemed to carry in the air on the Bretagne. Despite being in his environmental suit he felt unclean and had an overwhelming sense of claustrophobia, despite never suffering from it.

The Bridge itself looked much the same – he could see emergency power was on and the light from the few terminals that were online complimented the eerie red glow of the red alert strips. He knew that this wasn't real. These nightmares had started off lucid and terrifying immediately after the death of Patrick. As the year progressed he seemed to have more awareness of the fact that he was in a nightmare – however they never yielded control of them to him.

The bodies were scattered in very much the same positions that he remembered with the addition of one – the lone body sitting in the command chair. As Ashton walked around to get a better view he instinctively went for his hand phaser – regardless of his awareness of where he was, he could not control his actions or thought processes. As expected the figure, who sat in a Tactical Lieutenants uniform – Ashton’s old uniform – had a twisted, contorted and disfigured face. His deadly stare was fixed on the viewscreen. Ashton allowed himself a glance at what he was transfixed on – the scene was that from the Kobayashi Maru simulator, about halfway through the scenario – a test that was still used for Starfleet cadets.

Suddenly the figure jumped up from the chair and raised an accusatory figure at Ashton. “What would you do in this situation?”

“I... I... don’t know”. The fear was evident in his response.

“Exactly, you don’t know... you failed this at the Academy and you failed it in service.”

“Patrick... I... listen to me...” Tears were now running down his face, but his gloved hands were unable to wipe them through his helmet.

The shrill voice increased in intensity, “You are not fit for command! You have constantly made the wrong decisions in your life... you constantly made the wrong decisions in my life... and look at what happened”.

Despite Ashton recognising the figure as Patrick, he knew that it wasn't him... his voice and tone were completely alien to him.

“I have always tried to make the right decisions... I’ve always tried to do what I think is right...” his defence was weak, at best.

“It doesn’t matter what your intentions were. Your actions caused the death of a crewman and the serious injury of another... on this ship!”

Inside he wanted to argue with this imposter... he had them perfectly formed in his head but when his mouth opened, only weak ramblings seemed to emerge.

The figure now moved to sit back in the command chair. “The simple fact is that because of you, people suffer. Because of you, people die. You have no option... you know what you must do”.

=====

Ashton sat bolt up-right and suddenly regretted the autonomous move. His lungs screamed out in pain, showing their discomfort by catching the oxygen he was so desperately trying to get in. He could feel himself covered in sweat as he took a few seconds to re-adjust his senses to the fact that he was indeed back in Protector’s Infirmary.

He lied back down and gave himself a few minutes to catch his breath and calm down. Glancing to his right he saw a PADD he had been using earlier for his report, lying on the table next to him. Grabbing it he punched a few buttons, returned the PADD back to its main menu and started to access a standard Commissioned Officer resignation form.

OFF:

 

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