Guidance Systems

[H.G. Reed 0]

The doors of her quarters slid shut, providing sanctuary from the rest of the ship. Sighing, she leaned against the wall, closing her eyes and attempting to centre herself, focusing on the ambient hum of the warp engines. Several moments passed, but the peace she sought could not be found. Frustrated, she pushed away from the wall and moved into the centre of the room, stopping before the bookshelf. Reaching up, she retrieved her sextant from its display case.

 

Mariners from ancient earth had used this tool to navigate their way across uncharted waters, through storms and tempests, into the brave new worlds awaiting discovery. This sextant was her talisman, a reminder of why she was here, a guide to help her navigate. It was something she had clung to through her training at the Academy, something that symbolized the lofty principles of the Federation. Now, mere months out of training, on her first assignment, those principles suddenly seemed hollow, well-meaning but idealistic, like the praise offered by her crewmates for discovering the means by which to track the Romulan ship.

 

Clutching the sextant, she began to pace, back and forth, back and forth, her actions mirroring the circling thoughts spinning in her mind. Although the rational part of her brain recited meaningless platitudes about duty, honour, and being a Starfleet Officer, it did not change the fact that lives had been lost because of her. The crew of that ship was gone, never to return, and they were gone because of her actions, because of her. Intellectually she understood that a war had been averted, and countless lives had been saved, but did the ends really justify the means? She had only been performing her duties, but was that a justification in and of itself?

 

She would never even know whom it was that she had killed, and did not want to even think about the possibility of all the innocent people aboard who were also only doing their duty. She had blood on her hands and the matter weighed heavily on her conscience. Although she had thought her training had prepared her for the responsibility of life and death decisions, she was finding no fortitude or resolve to strengthen her against a sudden feeling of despair. She was not using her career to explore brave new worlds; people were dead because of her actions. She was a failure as a Starfleet officer, and more importantly as a person of conscience. The sextant, which she now gripped tightly in her hand, was cutting into her skin, yet the feeling of pain did not even register.

 

Her moral compass was spinning out of control and she did not know how to stop it. She needed guidance, the kind her sextant could not provide, and now she had no idea where to find it. Somehow, she had gone from the idealistic realm of Don Quixote to the darkened domain of Lady Macbeth; her world had changed in blink of an eye. The unreachable star had disappeared. She had taken lives and now she would have to live with that.

 

Silently, H.G. slumped to the floor, hugging her legs to her chest in an effort control the anguished sobs wracking her body. Pressing her face to her knees, she wept, the sextant discarded, forgotten on the floor beside her.