You're My Favourite Mistake

Posted on 24 Feb 2018 @ 6:53pm by Lieutenant Lake ir-Llantrisant

864 words; about a 4 minute read

Previously on Star Trek: Galileo:

Lake ir-Llantrisant’s Personal Log, Supplemental:

I did it. I did something. I had hours, too many hours between myself and the start of my shift in Sickbay. Sleep is elusive. Sleep isn’t the answer.

I found something. Two things. I suppose I found two things.

I found a reference to a Pakled vessel that had gone missing in a remote area of space. The reference is incomplete; there is no crew manifest to cross-check. But what I can’t ignore is the sector where the Pakled vessel was last recorded by marker buoys. The Pakled vessel went missing along the southern border of the Federation. That’s right in the midst of the operational area of one of Starfleet’s next intended deployments.

I did it. I found something else. I dug out my abandoned application to the USS Galileo-A. I did it. I submitted my application to Starfleet OPM. Maybe it is destiny? Maybe it was the smart thing to do.

And now the continuation…


[ON]

Lake ir-Llantrisant’s Personal Log, Supplemental:

I’ve made a huge mistake.

As one of Earths’ great bards used to write, over and over.

What am I doing? What did I think I was doing? What made me think I would want to serve aboard the USS Galileo? For all the good that ship and its crew accomplished, I can’t exactly consider its history illustrious, nor preeminent. The ship was destroyed, after it had crashed more than once. I know. I know these things. I dated one of her senior science officers. He told me things, at night, under the influence of alcohol. The Galileo was staffed by a brilliant and heroic crew that was beleaguered by nightmares left and right. Everything from Klingon renegades, to alternate universe soldiers, to metaphysical manifestations. Not to mention the career suicide of her Commanding Officer.

Why would I want that for myself? Out past the outskirts of the Federation? I like my comfort. I like my holodecks plentiful without any waiting or lineups. I like my replicators highly-intelligent, with mega-brains filled with literally every recipe in the galaxy. I like my friendly, M-class planets within six hours transit by shuttle, for whenever I get a craving to be immersed in water, or sunlight, or shade. I like to sit in the shade. Why can the harsh environmental systems aboard starships never figure out how to create proper shade, I ask you?

Six months. Can you imagine? I’m going to be commuting aboard Galileo for six months before we reach our area of operation. What’s there to do aboard a starship for six months of warp travel? I’ll have my work. That’ll be-- that’ll be something. It’s not exactly a massive crew, but they’re a diverse bunch, and many of them are refugees from the old Galileo. By all accounts they’ve been to Areinnye and back to survive their last mission. I imagine I’ll spend half my time navigating those emotional landmines, and half my time begging them to even show up for their counselling sessions. Let alone show up on time.

But what about the rest? The rest of it. One’s duty shift only consumes so many hours in the day. Will I have to spend more time eating? I suppose I could learn how to cook. I’ve never noticed the difference between replicated and home cooked meals but… eh… I have to pass the time somehow. I could read all of those stories I haven’t had time to read, but I’ve started to wonder if there’s a reason I could never find the time. I’ll need to find someone to hta’dva. I’ll tell you that for free. I won’t survive six months all on my own.

I know I’m scared. I still can’t even visualize what it would be like to face it. To face my empty home back on Starbase 74. I mean-- it’s irrational. I lived alone when I lived there before. There’s been literally no recognizable change. Except for the transitions, for those moments in between. Kellin won’t show up on the turbolift. Deborah will never be shopping for earrings on the promenade, not ever again. I’ll go to my office, and I’ll go to my bed, and everything will be exactly the same, but they won’t be there around the edges. These people, these friends, I was once very close to, but who had drifted to acquaintances. It’s strange how keenly I can feel their absence, in the wake of their deaths in the line of duty, and yet when I was living aboard the starbase, I never missed them when I didn’t see them.

Perspective is a funny thing.

It plays tricks on your memory.

It changes your mind.

It makes you make mistakes.

End log

[OFF]

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