Fallen Heroes Part II Chapter I
Posted: Fri Mar 30, 2018 8:51 pm
Hey guys, after uploading the prologue a few weeks back, here's the official first chapter. Since each chapter is a bit lengthy for a forum post, I've split them in four.
The story's about a young man who became a member of the Q Continuum, only to get stripped of his powers and immortality when he decided to help the Federation in their hour of need. Now, with Starfleet on the brink of war, he has to find a way to make a difference as an ordinary human being.
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Fallen Heroes Part II - Chapter Ia
Starbase 9 – June 27, 2380 – Stardate 57486.4
The last few hours have been hell. The five admirals gathered in Starbase 9’s main office have never felt so powerless in their lives, sitting at their table, tapping fingers against the tabletop, having reduced their communication to rich variations of concerned expressions.
“Still no word from the fleet?” Admiral Simon Winkler asks, breaking the uneasy silence.
“None yet, Simon,” Fleet Admiral Owen Paris says. The mildly obese admiral, based at Starbase 9 since his predecessor Admiral Bywaard died in the line of duty, is pacing back and forth while excruciatingly slow seconds pass by single file. They’re all awaiting news from the front—news they undoubtedly will not like. It’s been too long.
Suddenly, the image on the viewscreen behind Admiral Paris changes from the Federation logo to Captain Keith Harriman, alive and well. The admirals turn their attention to the viewscreen, which would’ve been easier if Admiral Paris weren’t blocking their view. He quickly steps aside so they can see Harriman sitting in the ready room of his top-of-the-line starship. The lean captain has the tired-but-centered gaze of a man who has recently seen battle. “Captain Keith Harriman of the USS Achilles, reporting in. I’m afraid I have little good news for you.”
“Any… good news is welcome,” Admiral Paris says.
“Do you want the bad news first?” A nod from the admiral prompts Harriman to continue. “The Altonoids have taken over Station A-12.”
“We know, Captain. An hour ago, a smug Altonoid hailed us from the station and informed us of their victory. All defending Federation ships have been destroyed. They told us there were no survivors on our part. If that is true, it will be near impossible to ascertain what really took place there.”
“They were wrong about that, Admiral,” Captain Harriman says with a hint of a smile. “We have found three survivors. They’re docking with our ship right now. We can’t wait to hear their statements.”
“First damn good thing I’ve heard all day!” Admiral Paris glances over his shoulder to meet with concurring looks from four other admirals. His voice grows dark as he refocuses on Harriman. “What about the fleet? Where were you?”
Harriman must have anticipated this question. “Moments after we heard we were to provide assistance, a massive fleet of Altonoid warships attacked us.”
This doesn’t surprise Admiral Paris. Still, hearing his bleakest worries confirmed is as painful as he had feared.
“We lost thirty-one out of forty-two vessels. I am sorry, Admiral. We were unable to join the battle for Station A-12.”
“We were told that there were no survivors at all,” Admiral Paris says after a grave pause. “And we weren’t expecting to hear from you anymore, Keith. The survival of at least a part of your fleet is good news. Hurry to Starbase 9 and find out why Station A-12 fell.”
“Yes, sir. Captain Harriman out.”
As the Federation logo reclaims its rightful place on the viewscreen, Admiral Paris takes a deep breath and faces his colleagues. “We have a lot of work to do.”
Nedron System, USS Achilles – June 27, 2380 – Stardate 57486.4
Captain Keith Harriman stares at his faint reflection in the translucent desktop screen and runs a hand through his hair, which is graying at an alarming rate. No wonder, with all the battles he has seen.
He rises up from his desk and keeps his unfocused gaze fixed on the monitor. “I should’ve told them, Keith,” he says. “I should’ve told them about the exact circumstances of our survival. But how was I supposed to explain it to them?” He directs his speech to the empty screen, as if he were still speaking with the admirals. “This is not just between the Altonoids and the Federation; there was a third party involved. They told us to hide in a nearby nebula, and when we did that… they used unfamiliar technology to create a subspace well that drained the enemy fleet’s energy. They saved our skins, but I don’t know who they are.” He shakes his head. “I have to find out more about this mysterious deus ex machina. Whoever helped us, they might help us again.”
The three survivors of the Station A-12 disaster should be arriving soon, so he pushes his thoughts about this potential new ally aside, rubs the fatigue from his eyes, and exits his ready room to enter the bridge.
The USS Achilles, first vessel in its class, has an absolutely state-of-the-art bridge. It shares a good number of design elements with other Federation starships, but there are a few remarkable differences. Immediately noticeable is the sizeable holographic viewscreen, capable of projecting holographic recreations of people and their surroundings onto the bridge itself. The way it is incorporated, it has become a partial holodeck, making anyone and anything it displays appear as if they’re physically present. Though the deployment of holographic viewscreens isn’t groundbreaking territory for Starfleet, it has never been issued in this form before, taking up almost a quarter of the bridge.
Another novelty is the U-shaped holographic LCARS interface hovering behind the captain’s chair in the back half of the bridge. While the exact advantages of having a semitransparent LCARS panel floating around aren’t quite obvious to the uninitiated, the designers couldn’t resist implementing it anyway. For everyone who remains unconvinced of this bridge’s newness: its color palette consists of every tint of beige, giving the bridge that modern yet comfortable finish that is so typically “twenty-three-eighties.”
He doesn’t notice right away that he has the bridge crew’s rapt attention, because he finds himself transfixed by the tiny holographic wreckages slowly drifting among the stars that fill the front of the bridge—a grim reminder of a costly battle. “As you were,” he says to his crew once he realizes they’re awaiting orders.
“We’ve cleared the area, sir,” Lieutenant Junior Grade Ernest Baxter, the chief helmsman, says. “Commander Tony Q’s shuttle has docked with our ship. Shuttlebay 4. Captain Rinckes should be meeting up with us soon.”
“Good.”
“The subspace well has completely dissipated,” Baxter adds. “We are free to navigate.”
“All right, Lieutenant. Have Captain Rinckes dock in the same shuttlebay, and then signal the fleet to follow us to Starbase 9 at maximum warp.”
“Aye, sir,” Baxter says as he refocuses on his boomerang-shaped workstation.
Banishing worry from his expression for his crew’s sake, Captain Harriman steps into the aft turbolift. Once the doors close, he smoothens his already smooth uniform and lets out a deep sigh. “Deck 3, shuttlebay 4.”
* * *
One short turbolift ride later, Harriman enters the shuttlebay as the second Type 11 shuttlecraft alights on the landing platform. The closing bay doors shroud from view the Achilles’ graceful stern and the infinity of stars behind it. As everything on this ship, the shuttlebay is ultramodern and equipped with all the latest bells and whistles. No holographic interfaces floating around here, though.
The captain walks over to the rear of the shuttles. Which shuttle will open its entrance hatch first is uncertain, so Captain Harriman strategically positions himself somewhere in between. After half a minute, the left shuttle opens its hatch—a big ramp that functions as aft bulkhead when unopened. As it lowers, it gradually reveals the aft compartment. Once it hits the deck with a soft thump, two figures emerge: Commander Tony Q and Ensign Emily Murphy. Tony Q leans on the ensign’s shoulder while she helps him descend the ramp.
At most 5’8” tall, the 18-year-old commander is shorter than expected. Is this the man who repeatedly saved the Federation with his borrowed powers, earning him the rank of commander at a ridiculously young age? His condition appears to have worsened since the last time Captain Harriman spoke with him, even though that was less than half an hour ago. Tony Q’s pale face contrasts with his dark hair, and that phaser wound above his right hip clearly requires medical care. Ensign Murphy—pretty, brown-haired, probably not much older than the commander—supports him, keeps his knees from buckling. Captain Harriman, notably taller than the two of them, looks at the legendary Tony Q, someone he has heard many stories about, and sees nothing but an injured, tired kid.
Tony Q tries to straighten his shoulders while he’s still leaning heavily on Ensign Murphy. “Commander Tony Q and Ensign Emily Murphy requesting permission to come aboard.”
“Permission granted.”
“Good, I was afraid we’d come all this way for nothing,” Tony Q says in a halfhearted attempt at humor.
Captain Harriman coughs politely before saying, “We’re currently headed for Starbase 9.”
“Good.”
Another moment of silence follows. Once again, Captain Harriman is the one to break it. “I have scheduled an interview with you both six hours from now. Commander, I think it would be best if you let our physicians take care of your injuries first.”
Tony Q gives a sad nod.
Captain Harriman presses his combadge. “This is Captain Harriman to transporter room 2. Beam Commander Tony Q directly to sickbay.” A metallic “aye sir” acknowledges his instruction. About three seconds later, Tony Q dissolves into countless blue particles.
Now that Tony Q is off her shoulder, Ensign Murphy’s exhaustion is beginning to show. Before she can react accordingly, dizziness gets the better of her and Captain Harriman has to be quick to catch her. He’s not exactly quick enough to prevent her from collapsing, but at least his reaction softened her landing. He crouches down with his arms around her.
“I’m sorry,” Ensign Murphy says, blushing. As a capable and fit security officer, she must be unaccustomed to losing her poise like this, especially in the company of a starship captain.
“It’s okay. You’ve been through a lot,” Captain Harriman says with his gentlest voice while he hopes no one will stumble upon them. It might take some explaining as to why he’s embracing a beautiful ensign on the shuttlebay floor.
“Is Tony going to be all right?” Ensign Murphy asks. “I’m no medical officer, but I could see he was weakening.”
The captain sees she is beyond tired and even a little upset, so he keeps using his gentlest voice. “Our doctor will take good care of Commander Tony Q. Well, I suppose he’s not much of a Q anymore.”
“He’s human. You saw him. No immortality. No godlike powers. Just an ordinary man.” She draws in a sharp breath. “I feel sorry for him. I think he underestimates the effect it will have on him.”
He gives her a reassuring pat on the back and helps her stand up. “I suggest you take some rest before the interview.” Benching his gentlest voice for now, he reverts to his standard authoritative voice. “If you walk to the exit, one of my officers will take you to your guest quarters.”
“Yes, sir.” The captain’s kindness has given Ensign Murphy new strength.
Captain Harriman tries to put the friendliest smile on his slim face. “Dismissed, Ensign.”
“Thanks, Captain.”
Once the ensign has left, concern pushes aside Harriman’s friendly smile. He directs his attention to the other shuttle, which carries the third and final survivor of the Station A-12 ordeal. A minute passes without a hint of activity from the motionless shuttlecraft. Harriman decides against contacting the shuttle’s occupant to ask what’s keeping him, opting for a patient attitude instead, and seats himself cross-legged on the floor near the shuttle.
His mind wanders during this rare moment of downtime and tries piecing together answers from what little information it possesses. The takeover of Station A-12 was a blatant act of war, and a diplomatic solution is unlikely. The Federation prides itself on its quest for peace among all species, yet finds itself preparing for another war, and will call upon Harriman’s combat experience. He will lend his expertise and fight to the last man, if required, to defend its citizens, homeworlds, and ideals, but how he wishes he could point the Achilles to the nearest star and explore the quiet seas of deep space.
With a hiss and a metallic thump, the shuttle hatch begins to open, ridding Harriman from his somber musings. He rises to his feet.
Down the ramp staggers Captain Stephan Rinckes, his attire as battle-worn as the man himself. His uniform jacket is missing; his torn, command department red shirt is showing instead. Cuts and bruises cover the visible parts of his skin, and his knuckles are swollen. His narrow eyes, partly covered by loose, dark-blond strands of hair, are cold and bloodshot.
Whatever happened on that station, it wasn’t pretty.
Avoiding direct eye contact, Rinckes walks up to Harriman and greets him with an absentminded nod in lieu of a bloody handshake.
Captain Harriman suppresses the urge to steady his colleague and lets him stand on his own. Even in his injured state, Captain Rinckes has the brawn to fend for himself, and showing pity will probably not be appreciated. “Captain Rinckes, welcome to the Achilles. My name is Keith Harriman.”
“Yes, I’ve heard of you,” Captain Rinckes says calmly. Gaze still lowered, he conjures an unexpected smile, which doesn’t match his worn appearance at all. “That’s an impressive ship you’ve got.”
“Thank you, Captain. Maybe she’s not as formidable as the Sundance, but—” Harriman realizes halfway that if the Sundance were still intact, the haggard Captain Rinckes wouldn’t have arrived in a shuttlecraft.
“The Sundance was a good ship,” Rinckes says before Harriman can apologize. Rinckes’ insincere smile disappears as his demeanor hardens, and his voice adjusts to match. “She had a fine crew.” He rubs a fist against his tattered shirt. “A damn fine crew.”
Then, for the first time since his arrival, Rinckes fixes his eyes on Harriman. Those eyes… Unspeakable fear, unbridled anger, overwhelming sorrow—all wrapped up in a thousand-yard stare that catches Harriman completely off guard, unsettles him to the core. It’s as if he’s standing face to face with a man deprived of soul. Hypnotized by Rinckes’ icy stare, he looks into those empty eyes, unable to avert his gaze.
Harriman gasps for air before he’s able to say, “My God! What happened to you?”
Rinckes doesn’t respond. His mouth forms a thin line on his expressionless face.
“Can you tell me what happened, Captain?” Harriman tries again.
After a few uneasy seconds, Rinckes formulates a reply. “Permission to retreat to my guest quarters,” he says without changing his tone of voice or his blank expression.
Questions about Station A-12 will have to wait. This is not the steadfast Captain Rinckes he has heard of; this shell of a man has been shaken by whatever terrible events befell him and needs to recover. With forced positivity, Harriman says, “One of my lieutenants is waiting by the exit. He will escort you to your quarters. Don’t forget to visit sickbay for a checkup.”
Rinckes begins walking to the exit.
“Report to my office in five hours for an interview,” Harriman calls out after him. “I need to know exactly what happened before I report to Admiral Paris.”
Rinckes halts, turns around, and says wearily, “I’ll talk.”
Once the troubled captain has disappeared around a corner, Harriman unnecessarily smoothens his uniform once again and mutters, “What a day.”
The story's about a young man who became a member of the Q Continuum, only to get stripped of his powers and immortality when he decided to help the Federation in their hour of need. Now, with Starfleet on the brink of war, he has to find a way to make a difference as an ordinary human being.
====================================================================================================================================================================================================
Fallen Heroes Part II - Chapter Ia
Starbase 9 – June 27, 2380 – Stardate 57486.4
The last few hours have been hell. The five admirals gathered in Starbase 9’s main office have never felt so powerless in their lives, sitting at their table, tapping fingers against the tabletop, having reduced their communication to rich variations of concerned expressions.
“Still no word from the fleet?” Admiral Simon Winkler asks, breaking the uneasy silence.
“None yet, Simon,” Fleet Admiral Owen Paris says. The mildly obese admiral, based at Starbase 9 since his predecessor Admiral Bywaard died in the line of duty, is pacing back and forth while excruciatingly slow seconds pass by single file. They’re all awaiting news from the front—news they undoubtedly will not like. It’s been too long.
Suddenly, the image on the viewscreen behind Admiral Paris changes from the Federation logo to Captain Keith Harriman, alive and well. The admirals turn their attention to the viewscreen, which would’ve been easier if Admiral Paris weren’t blocking their view. He quickly steps aside so they can see Harriman sitting in the ready room of his top-of-the-line starship. The lean captain has the tired-but-centered gaze of a man who has recently seen battle. “Captain Keith Harriman of the USS Achilles, reporting in. I’m afraid I have little good news for you.”
“Any… good news is welcome,” Admiral Paris says.
“Do you want the bad news first?” A nod from the admiral prompts Harriman to continue. “The Altonoids have taken over Station A-12.”
“We know, Captain. An hour ago, a smug Altonoid hailed us from the station and informed us of their victory. All defending Federation ships have been destroyed. They told us there were no survivors on our part. If that is true, it will be near impossible to ascertain what really took place there.”
“They were wrong about that, Admiral,” Captain Harriman says with a hint of a smile. “We have found three survivors. They’re docking with our ship right now. We can’t wait to hear their statements.”
“First damn good thing I’ve heard all day!” Admiral Paris glances over his shoulder to meet with concurring looks from four other admirals. His voice grows dark as he refocuses on Harriman. “What about the fleet? Where were you?”
Harriman must have anticipated this question. “Moments after we heard we were to provide assistance, a massive fleet of Altonoid warships attacked us.”
This doesn’t surprise Admiral Paris. Still, hearing his bleakest worries confirmed is as painful as he had feared.
“We lost thirty-one out of forty-two vessels. I am sorry, Admiral. We were unable to join the battle for Station A-12.”
“We were told that there were no survivors at all,” Admiral Paris says after a grave pause. “And we weren’t expecting to hear from you anymore, Keith. The survival of at least a part of your fleet is good news. Hurry to Starbase 9 and find out why Station A-12 fell.”
“Yes, sir. Captain Harriman out.”
As the Federation logo reclaims its rightful place on the viewscreen, Admiral Paris takes a deep breath and faces his colleagues. “We have a lot of work to do.”
Nedron System, USS Achilles – June 27, 2380 – Stardate 57486.4
Captain Keith Harriman stares at his faint reflection in the translucent desktop screen and runs a hand through his hair, which is graying at an alarming rate. No wonder, with all the battles he has seen.
He rises up from his desk and keeps his unfocused gaze fixed on the monitor. “I should’ve told them, Keith,” he says. “I should’ve told them about the exact circumstances of our survival. But how was I supposed to explain it to them?” He directs his speech to the empty screen, as if he were still speaking with the admirals. “This is not just between the Altonoids and the Federation; there was a third party involved. They told us to hide in a nearby nebula, and when we did that… they used unfamiliar technology to create a subspace well that drained the enemy fleet’s energy. They saved our skins, but I don’t know who they are.” He shakes his head. “I have to find out more about this mysterious deus ex machina. Whoever helped us, they might help us again.”
The three survivors of the Station A-12 disaster should be arriving soon, so he pushes his thoughts about this potential new ally aside, rubs the fatigue from his eyes, and exits his ready room to enter the bridge.
The USS Achilles, first vessel in its class, has an absolutely state-of-the-art bridge. It shares a good number of design elements with other Federation starships, but there are a few remarkable differences. Immediately noticeable is the sizeable holographic viewscreen, capable of projecting holographic recreations of people and their surroundings onto the bridge itself. The way it is incorporated, it has become a partial holodeck, making anyone and anything it displays appear as if they’re physically present. Though the deployment of holographic viewscreens isn’t groundbreaking territory for Starfleet, it has never been issued in this form before, taking up almost a quarter of the bridge.
Another novelty is the U-shaped holographic LCARS interface hovering behind the captain’s chair in the back half of the bridge. While the exact advantages of having a semitransparent LCARS panel floating around aren’t quite obvious to the uninitiated, the designers couldn’t resist implementing it anyway. For everyone who remains unconvinced of this bridge’s newness: its color palette consists of every tint of beige, giving the bridge that modern yet comfortable finish that is so typically “twenty-three-eighties.”
He doesn’t notice right away that he has the bridge crew’s rapt attention, because he finds himself transfixed by the tiny holographic wreckages slowly drifting among the stars that fill the front of the bridge—a grim reminder of a costly battle. “As you were,” he says to his crew once he realizes they’re awaiting orders.
“We’ve cleared the area, sir,” Lieutenant Junior Grade Ernest Baxter, the chief helmsman, says. “Commander Tony Q’s shuttle has docked with our ship. Shuttlebay 4. Captain Rinckes should be meeting up with us soon.”
“Good.”
“The subspace well has completely dissipated,” Baxter adds. “We are free to navigate.”
“All right, Lieutenant. Have Captain Rinckes dock in the same shuttlebay, and then signal the fleet to follow us to Starbase 9 at maximum warp.”
“Aye, sir,” Baxter says as he refocuses on his boomerang-shaped workstation.
Banishing worry from his expression for his crew’s sake, Captain Harriman steps into the aft turbolift. Once the doors close, he smoothens his already smooth uniform and lets out a deep sigh. “Deck 3, shuttlebay 4.”
* * *
One short turbolift ride later, Harriman enters the shuttlebay as the second Type 11 shuttlecraft alights on the landing platform. The closing bay doors shroud from view the Achilles’ graceful stern and the infinity of stars behind it. As everything on this ship, the shuttlebay is ultramodern and equipped with all the latest bells and whistles. No holographic interfaces floating around here, though.
The captain walks over to the rear of the shuttles. Which shuttle will open its entrance hatch first is uncertain, so Captain Harriman strategically positions himself somewhere in between. After half a minute, the left shuttle opens its hatch—a big ramp that functions as aft bulkhead when unopened. As it lowers, it gradually reveals the aft compartment. Once it hits the deck with a soft thump, two figures emerge: Commander Tony Q and Ensign Emily Murphy. Tony Q leans on the ensign’s shoulder while she helps him descend the ramp.
At most 5’8” tall, the 18-year-old commander is shorter than expected. Is this the man who repeatedly saved the Federation with his borrowed powers, earning him the rank of commander at a ridiculously young age? His condition appears to have worsened since the last time Captain Harriman spoke with him, even though that was less than half an hour ago. Tony Q’s pale face contrasts with his dark hair, and that phaser wound above his right hip clearly requires medical care. Ensign Murphy—pretty, brown-haired, probably not much older than the commander—supports him, keeps his knees from buckling. Captain Harriman, notably taller than the two of them, looks at the legendary Tony Q, someone he has heard many stories about, and sees nothing but an injured, tired kid.
Tony Q tries to straighten his shoulders while he’s still leaning heavily on Ensign Murphy. “Commander Tony Q and Ensign Emily Murphy requesting permission to come aboard.”
“Permission granted.”
“Good, I was afraid we’d come all this way for nothing,” Tony Q says in a halfhearted attempt at humor.
Captain Harriman coughs politely before saying, “We’re currently headed for Starbase 9.”
“Good.”
Another moment of silence follows. Once again, Captain Harriman is the one to break it. “I have scheduled an interview with you both six hours from now. Commander, I think it would be best if you let our physicians take care of your injuries first.”
Tony Q gives a sad nod.
Captain Harriman presses his combadge. “This is Captain Harriman to transporter room 2. Beam Commander Tony Q directly to sickbay.” A metallic “aye sir” acknowledges his instruction. About three seconds later, Tony Q dissolves into countless blue particles.
Now that Tony Q is off her shoulder, Ensign Murphy’s exhaustion is beginning to show. Before she can react accordingly, dizziness gets the better of her and Captain Harriman has to be quick to catch her. He’s not exactly quick enough to prevent her from collapsing, but at least his reaction softened her landing. He crouches down with his arms around her.
“I’m sorry,” Ensign Murphy says, blushing. As a capable and fit security officer, she must be unaccustomed to losing her poise like this, especially in the company of a starship captain.
“It’s okay. You’ve been through a lot,” Captain Harriman says with his gentlest voice while he hopes no one will stumble upon them. It might take some explaining as to why he’s embracing a beautiful ensign on the shuttlebay floor.
“Is Tony going to be all right?” Ensign Murphy asks. “I’m no medical officer, but I could see he was weakening.”
The captain sees she is beyond tired and even a little upset, so he keeps using his gentlest voice. “Our doctor will take good care of Commander Tony Q. Well, I suppose he’s not much of a Q anymore.”
“He’s human. You saw him. No immortality. No godlike powers. Just an ordinary man.” She draws in a sharp breath. “I feel sorry for him. I think he underestimates the effect it will have on him.”
He gives her a reassuring pat on the back and helps her stand up. “I suggest you take some rest before the interview.” Benching his gentlest voice for now, he reverts to his standard authoritative voice. “If you walk to the exit, one of my officers will take you to your guest quarters.”
“Yes, sir.” The captain’s kindness has given Ensign Murphy new strength.
Captain Harriman tries to put the friendliest smile on his slim face. “Dismissed, Ensign.”
“Thanks, Captain.”
Once the ensign has left, concern pushes aside Harriman’s friendly smile. He directs his attention to the other shuttle, which carries the third and final survivor of the Station A-12 ordeal. A minute passes without a hint of activity from the motionless shuttlecraft. Harriman decides against contacting the shuttle’s occupant to ask what’s keeping him, opting for a patient attitude instead, and seats himself cross-legged on the floor near the shuttle.
His mind wanders during this rare moment of downtime and tries piecing together answers from what little information it possesses. The takeover of Station A-12 was a blatant act of war, and a diplomatic solution is unlikely. The Federation prides itself on its quest for peace among all species, yet finds itself preparing for another war, and will call upon Harriman’s combat experience. He will lend his expertise and fight to the last man, if required, to defend its citizens, homeworlds, and ideals, but how he wishes he could point the Achilles to the nearest star and explore the quiet seas of deep space.
With a hiss and a metallic thump, the shuttle hatch begins to open, ridding Harriman from his somber musings. He rises to his feet.
Down the ramp staggers Captain Stephan Rinckes, his attire as battle-worn as the man himself. His uniform jacket is missing; his torn, command department red shirt is showing instead. Cuts and bruises cover the visible parts of his skin, and his knuckles are swollen. His narrow eyes, partly covered by loose, dark-blond strands of hair, are cold and bloodshot.
Whatever happened on that station, it wasn’t pretty.
Avoiding direct eye contact, Rinckes walks up to Harriman and greets him with an absentminded nod in lieu of a bloody handshake.
Captain Harriman suppresses the urge to steady his colleague and lets him stand on his own. Even in his injured state, Captain Rinckes has the brawn to fend for himself, and showing pity will probably not be appreciated. “Captain Rinckes, welcome to the Achilles. My name is Keith Harriman.”
“Yes, I’ve heard of you,” Captain Rinckes says calmly. Gaze still lowered, he conjures an unexpected smile, which doesn’t match his worn appearance at all. “That’s an impressive ship you’ve got.”
“Thank you, Captain. Maybe she’s not as formidable as the Sundance, but—” Harriman realizes halfway that if the Sundance were still intact, the haggard Captain Rinckes wouldn’t have arrived in a shuttlecraft.
“The Sundance was a good ship,” Rinckes says before Harriman can apologize. Rinckes’ insincere smile disappears as his demeanor hardens, and his voice adjusts to match. “She had a fine crew.” He rubs a fist against his tattered shirt. “A damn fine crew.”
Then, for the first time since his arrival, Rinckes fixes his eyes on Harriman. Those eyes… Unspeakable fear, unbridled anger, overwhelming sorrow—all wrapped up in a thousand-yard stare that catches Harriman completely off guard, unsettles him to the core. It’s as if he’s standing face to face with a man deprived of soul. Hypnotized by Rinckes’ icy stare, he looks into those empty eyes, unable to avert his gaze.
Harriman gasps for air before he’s able to say, “My God! What happened to you?”
Rinckes doesn’t respond. His mouth forms a thin line on his expressionless face.
“Can you tell me what happened, Captain?” Harriman tries again.
After a few uneasy seconds, Rinckes formulates a reply. “Permission to retreat to my guest quarters,” he says without changing his tone of voice or his blank expression.
Questions about Station A-12 will have to wait. This is not the steadfast Captain Rinckes he has heard of; this shell of a man has been shaken by whatever terrible events befell him and needs to recover. With forced positivity, Harriman says, “One of my lieutenants is waiting by the exit. He will escort you to your quarters. Don’t forget to visit sickbay for a checkup.”
Rinckes begins walking to the exit.
“Report to my office in five hours for an interview,” Harriman calls out after him. “I need to know exactly what happened before I report to Admiral Paris.”
Rinckes halts, turns around, and says wearily, “I’ll talk.”
Once the troubled captain has disappeared around a corner, Harriman unnecessarily smoothens his uniform once again and mutters, “What a day.”