Breathe

[Tachyon 0]

“Breathe”

Stardate 0612.15

Lt. Cdr. Arthur Dent

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Energise. Reset. Target. Energise again. Reset.

 

In the space of those moments Dent's life was compressed to a fraction of a percentage of a ratio of the corresponding sides of similar triangles of the wavefunction of the inverse sine of nothingness, extending outward to infinity like the wings of an albatross with an inner-ear problem. And like this metaphorical albatross, Dent's life (which was largely metaphorical in and of itself) was off balance and spiralling out of control.

 

The situation, fortunately, is not as dire as the above paragraph seems to depict. In fact, Dent is in a rather tenable position, considering that for the first time in his short term memory no one is shooting at him, yelling at him, or tempting him to violate diplomatic protocols. The only problem about which Dent must worry at the moment are the pesky voles.

 

The voles in question are on the decrepit Cardassian shipyard—for lack of a better term—that the Lewis is orbiting. In order to proceed with the plan to rebuild Aegis, the voles must be exterminated. Wiped out. Eliminated.

 

Dent continued to operate the transporter, beaming as many voles away from the structure as possible. The task was not an easy one: the vole lifesigns were hard to isolate. The shipyard was emitting four types of radiation (none of it harmful to humanoids, thankfully) and several strange power emissions that he could only guess were malfunctioning reactors. This, combined with the vole ability to so flawlessly blend in with it surroundings, made it hard for the Lewis' targeting scanners to get a clear lock on the life forms. He had managed to beam roughly 5% of the voles out of the shipyard. Dent recalibrated the targeting scanners and selected another spot.

 

The memories of the past month were still fresh in his mind, but they were fading quickly, becoming a blur against the backdrop of a life that had started to move too fast. Now they were rebuilding Aegis!

 

Still there were so many unanswered questions. The whole Breen dilemma made Dent worry about Aegis' probable survival. Who was to say that the Breen were not coming back? Or were they on a lunch break before launching another salvo against the quadrant? Dent found himself wanting some sort of news—even bad news. Instead, all he had was an empty feeling in his stomach, a feeling that would not go away no matter how much he ate at each meal.

 

For right now, Aegis was the common tie that held them together . . . having to bear such memories alone in the midst of a brand new posting with an unfamiliar crew would be too much for Dent. Yet would rebuilding Aegis rebuild their own shattered beings? Dent had not felt whole since Aegis' destruction; his stay on the Lewis felt almost like a dream in comparison to the solidity offered by Aegis. But he wondered if bringing the station back would help heal him, or if it would lead to more frustration, more blood, more tears. How can one bottle lightning twice?

 

The hyperbolic curve of the solid of revolution extended in a parallel arc to the cross-sectioned axis of the single instant of experience of Dent's tangled existence. Lines radiated outward in a seemingly random order, but each one glowed with its own energy, sparkling in the otherwise dull tedium of reality.

 

Energise. Reset. Target. Energise again. Reset. Breathe.