Excogitations in Darkness

[Cptn Corizon 0]

Darkness engulfed the forward observation lounge. It was quiet. Granted at 0200, the lounge usually wasn’t the most active place in the world, even when the ship was on standard duty. Nothing was standard at the moment, however. The Excalibur limped along at Warp 2, taking extra care as every little blip in subspace seemed to break something. What was going to be a challenging mission--scouting a rough and tumble alien base with dozens of unknown races, where law and order was only a few steps past anarchy--had suddenly become something more important. Now their mission to the base was going to be a full on layover as Excalibur’s engineers scrapped together materials to rebuild the field coils, and the various departments resupplied the ship.

 

Standing alone in the lounge, Captain Ah-Windu Corizon sighed heavily. He’d watched the teams leave for their missions from the lounge, remaining long after pondering the merit of their mission. It was if a sudden, cataclysmic reaction had occurred in his psyche. While he’d never been comfortable with this mission--he still couldn’t quite stomach the thought of helping prolong the Dominion’s totalitarian rule over billions of individuals--the mounting toll on his crew had started to join the festering questions on his conscience.

 

The Federation stood for liberty of all individuals, not just those lucky enough to be born in the embrace of the Federation. Peoples from across the Alpha and Beta Quadrants, some of whom had been the fiercest of rivals, had laid down their lives side by side each other to prevent the spread of tyranny and oppression during the Dominion War; now, because it was politically convenient, those same brave souls were being asked to work alongside the very people whom they’d once fought against to help continue their domination of lesser races. In a word, it was disturbing.

 

Corizon had always considered himself a servant of the Federation. It was his duty to carry out the will of Starfleet Command and by extension, the Federation Council, not to question his orders. In the past, that seemed easier. In the past, it was a requirement for his position. During his occasional stints of fieldwork, he had to rely on trusting his orders. If he stopped to question them, he’d likely end up dead. He told himself it was better that way, that even though some of the decisions that were made, some of his actions, were morally questionable, they were made in the best interest of the Federation. Now he wasn’t sure.

 

It was true that this mission was mostly his own doing. After all, he’d been the one to promise assistance in locating the Founder’s to secure the aide of the Dominion in recapturing the wormhole. Looking back, he should have told them to go straight to hell; but he hadn’t. Instead, he’d agreed to do the ‘diplomatic’ thing and offer the Federation’s assistance in locating the Founder’s.

 

Morally, ethically, he still hadn’t been able to savvy that decision. True, it was in-line with the Federation’s position of mutual cooperation towards peace, and it offered an opportunity to strengthen the relationship between the former foes if the Excalibur succeeded in returning the Gods to Olympus. On the other hand, it was decidedly – uncomfortable - for the Federation to simultaneously say they didn’t approve of totalitarian dictators while helping prop up a failing theocratic oligarchy that’d seen her better days come and go.

 

In the past, these questions were easier to rationalize, to validate. After all, only he had to live with the guilt, and only he had to pay the occasional ethical and physical price. Maybe that was why he’d started having the thoughts that were forming in his brain; it was not just him who now had to live with the problems, might have to pay a price in blood. And as the toll on his crew grew, as the number of letters he wrote to loved ones mounted, it was becoming glaringly apparent to him that this mission wasn’t kosher. Starfleet Officers should not be asked to die for a mission counter to the ideals that they swore to protect.

 

What was he to do? He was a soldier. For all Starfleet’s trappings as an explorative body, they still maintained military tradition and duties. If you were given an order, you were expected to follow it. Question it sure; note, heavily, your protestations, but carry out the orders. Soldiers weren’t to be politicians. The moment the military dictated political policy, was the moment the door was thrown wide for the rise of a dictatorship.

 

It left him in a delicate position. If he were to no further violate his principal of non-interference in politics (which had already been strained near breaking point), he had to complete his mission, even if he deeply opposed it. That brought about his conundrum; if he didn’t believe in the mission, how could he expect his crew too?

 

All of the excogitation he’d done had not brought him any closer to a riposte that satisfied him. Was it enough that he had these thoughts? Could he continue to bury them deeply enough to hide them from the crew? Again the answers seemed just out of his reach.

 

Darkness pervaded the room and his thoughts. At some point in the very near future, he feared, he would have to answer those questions, and when he did… he might not like the way they blanks were filled in.

[Kansas_Jones 0]

I admit it, you made me look up Excogitations. My vocabulary has now expanded. Don't be making the XO Kitteh think now with the big words. :-P

 

Nice log Cappy! w00t w00t.