Worst Critic

[Brian Graham 0]

Chief Security Officer’s Duty Log

Lt. Cmdr. Brian Graham Recording

USS Morningstar

Stardate 200512.15

 

Nuts, crazy, insane, ludicrous, ridiculous, impossible, panic, fear, anger, despair, weakness, wrath, concern, and chicken were the words used to describe Brian’s feelings and reactions after the most recent turn of events aboard the Morningstar. The last word made its way in there because Brian had been hungry at the time. Strange alien beings with strange spores that strangely lodge in ones lungs that caused strange, though very real, symptoms.

 

Brian sat pouring over all of the reports that cluttered his desk. Most of them were officers’ reports on scrambling to help stricken crewmembers get to Sickbay until falling prey to the spores themselves and either getting themselves or being carried to Sickbay. Some reports were of breaking up conflict as some crewmembers became panicked over their mounting symptoms, lashing out at others, all of the normal reactions that occur when you have no idea what is happening to you. Practically the entire security force had been mobilized to deal with what was going on.

 

Brian’s eyes stopped reading at that moment and he just stared at the opposite bulkhead for a moment, not taking his gaze away as he slowly placed the datapad on his desk. Where had he been during all of this, as crisis and havoc engulfed the ship, people in dire need of assistance, some having to be literally carried to sickbay? As tempers flared and self-preservation seemed to warrant causing a disturbance or riot, where was the Chief!?

 

“Sickbay,” Brian said, disgusted with his own self as he said the words. He had been one of the first to be laid out by the spores. When he should have been in the midst of things, locking down the ship, breaking up fights, carrying fallen comrades, he was fallen himself. It was a difficult thing for him, confronted so blatantly with his own weakness, completely helpless as events unfolded around him and unable to do anything about it. He would have had a valid excuse if he had been unconscious, but no, he was awake through it all.

 

No one had jeered him about it, but Brian did enough of that himself. His rational side told him it was not his fault, just something that went along with life in Starfleet, how no one could predict that that would happen, be glad you are still alive; and then something else kicked in, Brian wasn’t sure what it was, his own personal secret demon that ridiculed him when something occurred that was indeed out of his control, but it somehow convinced him it was his fault, he could have avoided it, done something more, overcome, but he wasn’t strong enough.

 

Sometimes he could banish the thoughts, but sometimes they persisted, usually at time like this when he was alone with nothing to distract him, very recently after the events, when he had the time to question everything, especially his performance.

 

Brian snatched up the PADD quickly, intent on banishing the forces of mental evil by countering it with work. Again immersing himself in the reports cleared the last strongholds from his mind and Brian could look at himself as a being worthy of life again (though he sincerely doubted everyone saw him that way). He dispatched four security officers, two to sickbay to guard Amun, just in case someone lost their professionalism and decided on some vigilante justice, and two to the cargo bay with Amun’s crate, mostly just as a precaution to prevent tampering. Really, Brian wasn’t sure what to do about the thing, but it seemed careless to just let the thing sit there.

Edited December 15, 2005 by Brian Graham