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Cmdr JFarrington

Shades of Black

Shades of Black

Reflections on a Haunting Battle - A Joint Log by the Crew of Manticore

Adm Atragon, Capt Sovak, Cmdr Farrington, Cmdr Garnoopy, Cmdr Mele, Cmdr Precip, LtCdr Chalice, LtCdr Hilee, LtCdr Mizu, LtCdr T’Prise, Lt Jaz, Cent t’Tamarak

 

Sovak surveyed the aftermath of the battle, the ruined science station, still sparking, engineers working on almost every console, and the damage control displays on his own panel blinking red at every troubled spot. Extensive damage was being reported throughout the rest of the ship, and sickbay was overloaded with injuries. The cloak was not operating, exposing Manticore to the Arcturan ships pursuing her.

 

Sovak replayed the events in his mind, as was his custom, studying the terminal that had recorded them. The inaccurate intelligence report was a bit disconcerting, but not unusual for war-time situations. The Admiral had changed tactics to accommodate, and had prevailed... barely. Something else about the battle bothered him, but he had no idea what that “something” was.

 

He checked the event log again, pouring over it, correlating it with the events he had experienced, and found everything in order. He glanced at Commander Farrington, who was busy at OPS. If she were confronted with the same dilemma, she would say, “Something didn’t feel right”. Though his own feelings were tightly controlled, and he could find nothing logically wrong with the data he perused, he would still have to agree with her. In all the events that had led up to, and subsequently through, this last battle, something didn’t feel right.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Taking a deep breath to center herself, Jami Farrington turned from OPS towards Captain Sovak. His eyes shifted and his face suddenly grew taut, but only for a second. It was a fleeting expression Jami had seldom witnessed in the Vulcan Executive Officer. Misgivings?

 

What the Federation News Service was now calling “The Arcturan War” made less and less sense. Even with the assassination of the Consul General and the Arcturan attack on the science outpost, the jumbled intel that Manticore had received set off all kinds of alarms. But, as she swiveled the OPS chair away from the console for a quick stretch, she realized that the worst alarm the battle had set off was a personal one.

 

She had fallen back on her medical training to give her focus, and, as she stretched her legs, the macabre irony of the situation came full force. She had slipped into a frame of mind learned during her residency on a deep space vessel that served the poorest of the poor in the far reaches of the galaxy, when she had been cloistered in surgery, literally up to her neck in critical patients whose planet had been devastated by an unimaginable disaster.

 

She focused. On the task. Saw the body before her as something that needed fixing, as parts that needed rearranging or patching or replacing, a puzzle to be solved. The disconnect blocked the distraction a patient could become, the possibility that the patient’s life could soon be over. All this had translated into the battle.

 

She focused. On the ship. On its parts. On the shipyard as an adversary, on the ships roaring towards the Manticore as projectiles to be avoided. She absented herself from the reality of sentient beings being destroyed, losing their lives, leaving families and friends behind.

 

She reported clearly. Succinctly. Systems, shields, power allocations, personnel movements, fighter positions, shipyard destruction, ship damage, bay damage, fighter damage, injured, dead. She had become what she abhorred as the tactical display on the main viewscreen marked blue for friendly, red for hostile, yellow for neutral -- or in this case neutralized. That she would use a mindset meant to save lives in order to focus on taking them was ironic beyond comprehension.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Attempting to ignore the buzz of activity on the bridge around her, Keb diligently followed orders. Every now and then, she would completely change the ship’s course. First up, then down, then backwards for a while, then towards the borderline, then away from it. Manticore zigzagged through empty space like a child’s toy boat in a bathtub. The overall direction was away from the shipyards, parallel to the border and yet deep inside it, but nobody would have guessed that from any given snapshot of their position and vector.

 

Quietly she hummed to herself, to keep the nerves at bay. Some words of the song My Airplane slipped between her lips: “We can go up, we can go down, but the way we’re going now, we won’t get off the ground...”

 

She changed course again, an abrupt switch that resulted in a 160-degree turn on one axis and a change in pitch upwards that made everyone swivel slightly and then feel themselves pushed into their seats.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Swaying slightly with the movements of the ship, Garnoopy sighed, looking at his bridge panel. Once again into the breach they sailed. Once again they came out having bloodied the nose of some culture. It seemed like they were on a rinse and repeat cycle some days.

 

It seemed as though Garnoopy was just too tired to object anymore. He had fought with Atragon so very many times it was as old and musty as a library book. Besides, at some point he had to assume Atragon knew what he was doing -- though that was a stretch.

 

For now Garnoopy would do his job with half the heart he normally carried into it. The mission seemed out of touch with reality and Garnoopy was feeling the same way. The only one with any sense, it seemed, was Precip. “Why are we doing this?!” he had exclaimed. Now that he thought of it he was sure Kyle would also be throwing his hands in the air wondering what we were doing. So maybe there were two people with sense on board.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Reading the incoming reports from the security bay, Mitar Precip was in a state of disbelief. He could not believe he actually stood up to Atragon on the bridge and told the Admiral his plan was a mistake. Worse, Precip had done it front of the entire bridge crew. His subsequent dismissal from the bridge was entirely appropriate. What he couldn’t believe more was that he saw this coming, that he had called Kansas to the bridge, and he still had not changed his course.

 

Since when had he become so stubborn, so defiant? What made him a tactical officer of more experience than the Captain and the Admiral combined? What made him an expert? The role of a Tactical officer was simply to maintain defensive and offensive operations, internal security, some communications and long range scanners... as he recalled from his cadet days. When did he add analyst and advisor to the role?

 

Well, at least Faldek was alive, and Precip had seen on his simple LCARS tactical display in the security bay that Matt had landed too... albeit a bit fast. They had survived... something Precip didn’t think would happen. For the most part, in his mind, the plan was a success... the Arcturian yards were out of commission. But as he had surmised, the fighters could not inflict enough damage to the objectives assigned to them. Manticore had to come back for another attack run and finish the job. And from what he felt the ship endure, it took a beating.

 

He glanced at his LCARS screen one last time before walking to the other end of the bay to blow off some adrenaline. Manticore was at warp nine, but not cloaked; that had Mitar worried. But what could he do? He had gone against the plan... been sent to this security bay for foolishly saying that the plan... the Admiral’s plan... was too risky... a mistake. As tactical officer, his job was to analyze and advise command of the appropriate tactical moves. But the Admiral did not need a tactical advisor, and it wasn’t Precip’s responsibility and probably not desired by the senior staff for him to take on that mantle anyway. It was best he stay where he was and out of the command staff’s way.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Alarms and klaxons intermixed with the constant flashing from the warning indicators on the main console in engineering would indicate to anyone, including the untrained eye, that a most grievous situation existed on Manticore. The mission was, from what Hilee had gleaned, successful, if one could call meeting their objective and attempting to escape back across an invisible line drawn in space, while tearing through the sector at maximum warp, blind, and severely over-stressing the limits of the ship, successful.

 

Commander Garnoopy and his repair teams were giving their all to restore what systems they could while main engineering was doing their best to hold the ship together for as long as possible. It was well into the hour that Hilee had reported as the estimated time before the ship could face a full blown systems failure should it keep up the maximum effort the dual star drives were straining to maintain.

 

The damages done from incoming fire coupled with the subsequent systems failures were massive. The fact the crew was still alive was a miracle and a testament to the effectiveness of the refit the ship had undergone. The new enhanced power grid buffers, routing, and hardware had saved the crew when the system went into imbalance. The new triple redundancy systems along with miles of fiber optic cables and switching stations proved well worth the time and work involved to refit the ship.

 

Hilee had received confirmation from Mr. Ramirez that the shuttlebay fire was being handled and repairs to the fighter craft were underway. Hilee supposed this was one way for a new ensign to become familiar with the intricacies of engineering duty and one he bet Ramierz would not soon forget. Hilee had personally hoped for a different introduction to the ensign’s career, but at times experience was a better teacher.

 

Hilee had the urge to leave his post and assist in the repair efforts going on throughout the ship, but was aware of his duty. The engines were putting forth every last vestige of speed and power they could muster. He could practically feel and hear their agony. The main engineering section had not been spared the effects of this battle and would require lots of repairs, much like the rest of the ship.

 

The dilithium chambers were working as well as could be expected under the circumstances, but were beginning to show wear and fatigue. Hilee knew there was minute fracturing and degradation in the crystals. The power required for repairing and stabilizing the very structure of the ship were taking their toll. Rerouting and switching to the new backup systems had been a blessing in disguise. The new systems had not been designed to carry the load of the primary systems, but were holding up well under the strain.

 

Looking over and summarizing in his own mind the extent of damage around him, Hilee could not help but imagine the extent of the damage to the rest of ship, especially the damage to main sickbay. He could only hope Eva had not been injured. While her name had not shown up on the casualty list, he prayed it remained that way.

 

Working to keep the engines and power needed while receiving progress reports from the various teams, checking off the items, and advising Commander Garnoopy on progress, was keeping him busy. The battle may be won, the Manticore had survived another day, but at what cost?

 

* * * * * * *

 

Moving to the rear of the main science lab, T’Prise opened an access panel, revealing the rungs of a ladder recessed into the bulkhead that allowed crew members to enter the jeffries tube. The fire, caused by disrupted plasma circuits, that had destroyed the sensor monitoring station was contained. Ensign Jaxa was working on stabilizing those systems deemed critical in their damage assessment report. Given the minimal allotment of power allocated to science resources, they were forced to chose what systems to bring online very carefully.

 

Climbing into the access panel, T’Prise begin to move down the ladder. Sensors, of course, were the most crucial; without them Manticore was literally blind. The wide-angle active EM scanners on the long-range sensors had been severely damaged and would require a considerable amount of work to become functional again. The passive neutrino imaging scanners had fared only slightly better and would also need extensive repairs. Along with the sensor arrays, the analysis instrument cluster had also suffered considerable damage. Its repairs also topped the list of critical systems, as without the analysis instruments they would have no factual interpretation for what the sensors detected.

 

Pausing briefly in her descent to check her location, T’Prise pondered the metaphor represented by the sensors and analysis instruments. Like their equipment, the Manticore science team required an individual to see and feel the situations with which they were presented, but it also required someone to logically assess them. Like the ship’s systems, when individuals collaborated well the science team functioned within normal parameters, however, when systems became damaged and unsynchronized, chaos ensued.

 

The damage report from the bridge indicated that the main science station had been destroyed. It would be irrational to assume that its destruction had not caused some sort of injury to the officer attending it. Although enough time had yet to elapse for the casualty report to make its way to all the departments, the fact that she had not been contacted by either the Admiral or the Captain to assume command of the science department indicated that Commander Escher had probably not been killed or severely injured. However, this did not negate any of her culpability for the situation.

 

If the Commander was injured, T’Prise was responsible for those injuries. Had she not made the recommendation that they implement slipstream emitters into the quantum cannon design, the Commander would not have insisted that T’Prise be in the main science lab, monitoring those systems and instead she would have been on duty during the campaign. As a subordinate, and not the department head, it was logical to assume that her well being was much less valuable than the Commander’s. It was also another clear indication that quantum slipstream was dangerous. The Federation had yet to reach the level of understanding which would allow them to safely implement the technology.

 

Reaching her destination on deck ten, T’Prise opened another access panel and stepped out, closing the hatch behind her. Although she had disabled the slipstream emitters using the controls in the lab, it would be prudent to manually inspect them and ensure that the highly concentrated antimatter they drew power from was properly secured. If the monitors had been incorrect for any reason, the highly volatile material could easily destroy or severely disable the ship, she could attest to this fact from first hand experience. The slightest radiation leak would be cause for instituting isolation protocols of phaser control and the surrounding areas. Given that sickbay was immediately above her on deck nine, and currently overrun with casualties, it was critical that the inspection be performed right away.

 

* * * * * * *

 

The corridors outside of sickbay and and main reception center were lined wall to wall with injuries. For a time, there was even a queue of turbo lift requests for deck nine, holding some of the lifts in suspension until the previous one stopped was evacuated. Nurse Nancy had triaged according to injury status, as per her training, and was being ever so helpful, waddling back and forth with bandages, dermal re-generators, Tylenol and other treatments allowed by the nursing staff. She was always glad to do more than rustle PADD’s around and assign biobeds -- and the dreaded bedpans.

 

Working by Nancy’s side in an attempt to get people processed as fast as humanly possible, Nurse Bellamy was making her way back and forth between the corridor where injured flowed in from different parts of the ship and the main nurses station, where her colleague was giving the minor cases first aid and light dermal regeneration. All the nurses were busy but calm, trying to bring some kind of order to this chaos. Treating what they could, while ordering med techs around, evaluating patients, and sending the major case in as the doctors finished with their previous patients, was not easy work. Anastasia made a mental note to thank Dr. Chalice, when everything had calmed down, for putting them through the drills prior to the attack. The preparation was indeed well warranted.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Chief Mele had left Dr. Chalice in charge of sickbay more than once, and her intuition kicked in after the actions by the fighters took hold in her consciousness. She was no longer distracted by her surroundings, and did not need to be supervised, clearly by the way she was assigning tasks and really focusing on the poor folks that got so banged up. There were unconscious being brought in, those that were burned, and a few that required immediate surgery because of limbs being crushed during the upheaval in onset war. The internal injuries were not diagnosed as quickly because blood did not meet the skin as fast, and patients were being sorted by the nursing staff running a tricorder over them.

 

Then came Vilanne’s job. After the sorting ritual, she met with each injured person, or their caretaker for those unconscious, and determined the quickest plan for health. Some required surgery, some required medical apparatus, some just skin regeneration. Meds were given to those in need, but mostly local pain anesthetics were the necessary hypo.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Eva’s worst fears were confirmed as she followed Dr. Mele back to sickbay. Manticore had been hit, they were still alive, but considering the number of wounded lining up for medical attention, Eva wondered for how long. The Trill doctor shook away, once again, the overwhelming feeling that they had walked right into a trap, before nodding in the nurse’s direction, acknowledging the situation: Nancy treating a patient for minor burns as Anastasia waved more wounded through triage. Sickbay per se was slightly less chaotic due to Vil’s quick dispatch of all medical personnel, but still, everywhere she looked, burned, maimed crewmembers lay or stood, getting treated or awaiting treatment.

 

Eva frowned when she noticed that one of the surgical bays seemed out of order, but the moment was not for idle chit chat or curious inquiries. Side stepping patients and med techs, Jaz joined Kyle who was already by Escher’s biobed. The emergency lighting somehow managed to make the chief science officer look even worse than he had on the bridge.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Mele gave pause, along with a brief little sigh, then went to work getting a scan more concrete than a field tricorder reading on the victim laid out before him. Jaz had already given the patient something for the pain, as well as a hypospray to begin healing the extensive burns practically covering his body, save for a few areas here and there. As the scan continued, Mele’s fears were realized; but thankfully, most of the burns were second-degree. They’d be somewhat more painful for Malcolm, but there seemed to be little loss of epidermis, eliminating much need for time-and-labor-consuming skin grafts. There was also little worry about scarring. Granted, all these could be remedied with modern medicinal procedures, but they also involved a fully functional sickbay and a dedicated team, neither of which was on board Manticore, current situation taken into consideration.

 

Ah, and then there was the concussion. Kyle had initially diagnosed it as a heavy concussion, but after scouring the results of the scan, he realized that there seemed to have been no loss of consciousness. The injury was still severe, but nowhere near as bad as it could have been. He took a step back from the biobed, taking a moment to collect himself, gave Eva a nod to indicate he had things under control, and commenced the arduous task of “stitching” up yet another battered humanoid body.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Jaz took Mele’s nod as a sign that he could handle the situation with Escher, and turned around to determine who was being treated and who was still waiting. Sickbay was a sight for sore eyes. The Trill doctor stopped for a second to take a look at the wounded, hoping Richard wasn’t among them, and felt a slight relief when she didn’t see him anywhere. Eva switched her brain into an analytical mode; there would be time to think after the wounded were all taken care of. She passed Jaiysa, working on a patient, as she headed towards the nurse’s office, which was over flowing with wounded, quickly letting one of them know she was back and could take patients, before heading back towards the main sickbay with a crewman in tow. He was clutching his burned left arm. Diagnose, Patch up, Next... That was the only thing to focus on for now.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Jaiysa was just starting to realize that the stinging, spreading pain of a burn was making itself known along her right lower back; one of the primary surgical suites had conflagrated somewhat in the early moments of the battle, with her and a patient inside it, and it was taking a surprising amount of effort not to dwell on the flames and the damage they had caused. But that would keep; that was for another time.

 

For now, she'd let herself fall into a rhythm, a strange sort of steady movement like a pulse which she rode along, letting it carry her forward until it was over, with the chafing at her back a constant reminder of the urgency of the injuries around her. In the back of her mind she allowed herself the luxury of hating the grimness that now saturated the bay, wondering what had happened, and -- the low harsh drone at the bottom of this discordant tune -- suspecting a trap, for which she was happy to blame either the Arcturans or the Federation. But the forefront of her mind was all action, keen on doing the job, keeping her fingers moving deftly from hypospray to laser to regenerator, keeping her dark eyes moving in rhythm with her steps, flicking from patient to patient, lighting on one as yet untended near the door.

 

It was a young woman, eyes wide and frightened, and a little blank, disconnected; she reached out automatically at the Rihan's movement towards her, then recoiled slightly seeing who it was. Jai ignored her tentativeness, took her by the arm silently pulled her forward -- a quick examination showed a long cut bleeding freely through her thick, dark hair. "Sit," she said briskly, gesturing the woman to a (for the moment) empty biobed, beginning a scan to determine the extent of the trauma. The woman just stared at her as she worked, and Jaiysa mentally added shock to the list of injuries. Not that it was surprising. It was all shock in the long run, when the blood had stopped flowing. War is na meant to be fun.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Manticore sped on, its dual warp cores working at maximum to put distance between them and the battle site in order to quickly outrun its pursuers. Sovak checked the damage repair status board, again. Long range sensors were still down, so the Arcturan ships could be just outside her detection range. However, with the unexpected additional speed, it was unlikely they were still being pursued. Since Manticore could only maintain this speed for another 1.47 hours, they would soon find out. With a few deft presses of the membranes on the board, he increased the priority on repair of the long range sensors, and watched for a few moments, as the repair hierarchy adjusted itself to accommodate the changes. Satisfied, he moved on to the personnel rosters.

 

A good number of the crew were either being treated, or waiting to get into sickbay. The duty roster required quite a bit of his attention to shift personnel to cover critical areas, matching qualified personnel with position openings, and taking into account time restraints, as several crew members had been on duty for well over the protocol limits. It was all a simple equation to his logical mind, so he was able to quickly shift personnel and post the new duty rosters with a minimal amount of mental effort, while a greater portion of his mind still poured over the battle event log he had studied earlier.

 

He was still somewhat perplexed by it all. Each item in the events log was a simple piece of a complex scenario that should easily and logically fit, like puzzle pieces, into a large equation that would give a comprehensive view of the entire eventuality. The crews’ actions, past, present, and future, could be then calculated and the best course with the highest chance of success could be easily chosen. But something about this equation did not seem to fit. He could not put his finger on it, but it still seemed that something was amiss. Either his math was at fault (since that was in his direct control he highly doubted it) or something else was wrong. Manticore did not seem to … how could he describe it … fit into the equation as easily as it should. It was almost as if she didn’t belong there.

 

Sovak shook his head at the illogical bent of that last thought. Not fit into the equation? That made no sense. Maybe his math was at fault. With a mental sigh, he began the calculations, yet again.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Jami swiveled her chair beneath the OPS console once again, to take stock of the ship’s condition. Extensive damage to decks fourteen through twenty-four, sections D through F. That would have been where the Arcturan ship had come beneath for a point-blank hit, poking a hole in the shields before the attacker had been vaporized. That may also have been the cause of cloak failure -- but that was Chief Garnoopy’s domain. That, and the long range sensors were not something for her to worry about, at least not until they were functional again and ready for power allocations. For the moment she had enough on her plate. A quick glance to Keb eased her mind about the helm officer; she seemed to be a bit more relaxed than she had been during the battle, though her expert piloting skills were being tested in a circuitous zig-zag course to compensate for Manticore’s visibility.

 

Fire in the shuttlebay had been contained, but damage to the fighters and the bay remained. Bay Chief Remillard reported she had everything well in hand. Fire in the medical complex was out; Jami made a mental note to find the cause and make sure it didn’t happen again, though she was certain that Cmdr Garnoopy would do the same. The smoldering bridge science console reminded Jami that the Engineering Chief had his hands full. It was going to be a long road home.

 

* * * * * * *

 

As the Manticore escaped the shipyards, A9 moved up to the tactical console to look over Kansas’s shoulder and make sure no Arcturan ships were following. He was satisfied that their getaway was clean and he saw that Sovak and Jami were dealing with the repair reports and ship status. Sovak was his usual stoic self and Jami seemed to be doing her best to emulate him, moving efficiently, sparingly and almost automatically. He recognized this as a coping method on her part, as he knew how she felt about war, the loss of life, or any of the Federation’s darker needs. He wanted to offer her support or consolation, but felt it would compromise her delicate act of hyper-efficiency. There would be time enough for emotions later, now that they had survived.

 

A9 paused for a second to realize that he had been mentally “holding his breath” ever since the fighting began. He knew Manticore had to prevail, but he must have had reservations buried deeply within, the unknown roll-of-the-dice of war, the coin flip of battle. Yes, Manticore had survived -- but at what cost, and was it worth it? He had to be resolute in his command of the mission in order to keep the crew focused, efficient, and as safe as possible. He could not show anyone his reservations, even though he harbored many. They had survived the attack, but now they had to make it safely back to Federation space, they had to heal the ship and the crew, they had to keep knowing that their efforts and sacrifices were worthwhile. Now, he had to continue his act, showing the crew that “good” had prevailed and the ship was on course back to home -- even though it wasn’t.

 

“Captain Sovak, Commander Farrington, continue repairing the sensors, the cloak, and the general ship damage. I need to make an inspection tour of the ship. Contact me if something comes up.” A9 headed to the turbolift without meeting Jami’s eyes, knowing that he would have shared too much emotion. “Sickbay,” he called to the TL control and it whooshed him efficiently away from one arena of emotion to another that would be even more raw.

 

As the lift arrived and the doors opened, A9 found himself in a morass of human suffering. The hallway from the lift to the main sickbay doors was being used as a triage area and those who were able to turn their heads or eyes looked see who the latest injury was going to be. He had to quickly adjust his pace and gaze to one of concern, not panic. He needed to show his crew that morale was still up, while their bodies were down.

 

A9 paused at each person who wasn’t being fussed over by a med tech and offered what encouraging words seemed most appropriate. He just needed to see them stiffen in their own resolve to know that he was providing them with the only thing he could right now: leadership. This was where his years in command were going to pay off the richest dividends. This was why the ancient British sailing ship commanders wore those red coats, to hide their own wounds from their crew, so they could continue to bolster spirits in the midst of battle.

 

A9 finally made his way into sickbay proper and instead of being relieved by its antiseptic orderliness, he was shocked by its barely-controlled chaos. Seeing the number of patients being treated simultaneously, he was immensely proud and grateful for his amazing medical staff. They were performing miracles with the limited space and resources aboard, while being faced with a mountain of wounded that was constantly threatening to overwhelm their best efforts. He stayed out of the way of everyone bustling around the room and just made quick eye contact with Dr. Mele, while noting the status of the doctor’s patient, Lt. Commander Escher. When he had Kyle’s attention for those few seconds, he simply mouthed “thank you” and headed for the door.

 

Once outside, A9 headed away from the people waiting on their turn with the doctors and moved to a more remote turbo lift. “+COM+ A9 to Science. Lt. Commander T’Prise is now acting chief while Lt. Commander Escher is being tended to in sickbay. His wounds do not appear life threatening. Please focus all energies on working with engineering to repair the cloak and the sensors. A9 out.”

 

Working around to the next lift tube, A9 continued his tour of the ship, doing his best to note the state of his people and the condition of his ship while staying out of the way of his amazing crew as they worked to bring Manticore back to full strength. Still, he walked as a man at a funeral, remembering his Lao Tzu: “There is no glory in victory, and to glorify it despite this is to exult in the killing of men. . . . When great numbers of people are killed, one should weep over them with sorrow. When victorious in war, one should observe mourning rites.”

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Excerpted from "Shades of Black" Above

 

As the Manticore escaped the shipyards, A9 moved up to the tactical console to look over Kansas’s shoulder and make sure no Arcturan ships were following. He was satisfied that their getaway was clean and he saw that Sovak and Jami were dealing with the repair reports and ship status. Sovak was his usual stoic self and Jami seemed to be doing her best to emulate him, moving efficiently, sparingly and almost automatically. He recognized this as a coping method on her part, as he knew how she felt about war, the loss of life, or any of the Federation’s darker needs. He wanted to offer her support or consolation, but felt it would compromise her delicate act of hyper-efficiency. There would be time enough for emotions later, now that they had survived.

 

A9 paused for a second to realize that he had been mentally “holding his breath” ever since the fighting began. He knew Manticore had to prevail, but he must have had reservations buried deeply within, the unknown roll-of-the-dice of war, the coin flip of battle. Yes, Manticore had survived -- but at what cost, and was it worth it? He had to be resolute in his command of the mission in order to keep the crew focused, efficient, and as safe as possible. He could not show anyone his reservations, even though he harbored many. They had survived the attack, but now they had to make it safely back to Federation space, they had to heal the ship and the crew, they had to keep knowing that their efforts and sacrifices were worthwhile. Now, he had to continue his act, showing the crew that “good” had prevailed and the ship was on course back to home -- even though it wasn’t.

 

“Captain Sovak, Commander Farrington, continue repairing the sensors, the cloak, and the general ship damage. I need to make an inspection tour of the ship. Contact me if something comes up.” A9 headed to the turbolift without meeting Jami’s eyes, knowing that he would have shared too much emotion. “Sickbay,” he called to the TL control and it whooshed him efficiently away from one arena of emotion to another that would be even more raw.

 

As the lift arrived and the doors opened, A9 found himself in a morass of human suffering. The hallway from the lift to the main sickbay doors was being used as a triage area and those who were able to turn their heads or eyes looked see who the latest injury was going to be. He had to quickly adjust his pace and gaze to one of concern, not panic. He needed to show his crew that morale was still up, while their bodies were down.

 

A9 paused at each person who wasn’t being fussed over by a med tech and offered what encouraging words seemed most appropriate. He just needed to see them stiffen in their own resolve to know that he was providing them with the only thing he could right now: leadership. This was where his years in command were going to pay off the richest dividends. This was why the ancient British sailing ship commanders wore those red coats, to hide their own wounds from their crew, so they could continue to bolster spirits in the midst of battle.

 

A9 finally made his way into sickbay proper and instead of being relieved by its antiseptic orderliness, he was shocked by its barely-controlled chaos. Seeing the number of patients being treated simultaneously, he was immensely proud and grateful for his amazing medical staff. They were performing miracles with the limited space and resources aboard, while being faced with a mountain of wounded that was constantly threatening to overwhelm their best efforts. He stayed out of the way of everyone bustling around the room and just made quick eye contact with Dr. Mele, while noting the status of the doctor’s patient, Lt. Commander Escher. When he had Kyle’s attention for those few seconds, he simply mouthed “thank you” and headed for the door.

 

Once outside, A9 headed away from the people waiting on their turn with the doctors and moved to a more remote turbo lift. “+COM+ A9 to Science. Lt. Commander T’Prise is now acting chief while Lt. Commander Escher is being tended to in sickbay. His wounds do not appear life threatening. Please focus all energies on working with engineering to repair the cloak and the sensors. A9 out.”

 

Working around to the next lift tube, A9 continued his tour of the ship, doing his best to note the state of his people and the condition of his ship while staying out of the way of his amazing crew as they worked to bring Manticore back to full strength. Still, he walked as a man at a funeral, remembering his Lao Tzu: “There is no glory in victory, and to glorify it despite this is to exult in the killing of men. . . . When great numbers of people are killed, one should weep over them with sorrow. When victorious in war, one should observe mourning rites.”

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