Countdown from Thirty

Posted on 25 Mar 2015 @ 9:43pm by Commander Andreus Kohl

916 words; about a 5 minute read

"Computer, please record a communique to Doctor Pola Ni Dhuinn aboard the USS Olympius," Andreus Kohl said, giving verbal instructions to the onboard computer from the comfort of his quarters. "Oh, and do me a favour? Redact any explicit references I make to the NIMBUS exercises or to the USS Nautilus. Red flag your redactions for me after I've finished recording. Thank you."

Kohl was sat at his desk, facing the LCARS interface. The LCARS system chimed with a distinctive feedback to indicate it was recording him.

Dear Pola,

I really am sorry I'm not there to speak with you in person. We should talk about- well, until we can, I'll tell you a story.

You're not going to believe what happened to me today on the Bridge. That first time you met me in the old Sickbay aboard Galileo, this probably isn't the future you imagined for me. It was one of your first days as Chief Medical Officer, and I was your new nurse, stumbling into your Sickbay, while suffering from acute stress reaction. My body had gone cold, I was rambling incoherently and evasively, and lying to you, and generally acting as if I had a head injury. I don't imagine you ever thought I'd be sitting in a Captain's chair only a few years later.

I was standing at my duty station on the Bridge when I noticed it. There hadn't been an appreciable change in the sensor readings on my console in about thirty minutes, and my attention had begun to drift. I was just standing there, staring at how the stars were streaking on the viewscreen. It was only in my peripheral vision, at first, that I noticed the command chair was empty. The Captain must have stepped off the Bridge for a moment, I assumed. Perhaps to visit the head? I turned my head to confirm the emptiness of the command chair, and then I craned my neck to look at every face on the Bridge. I smiled at each of them, in case I caught their eyes, but it wasn't their eyes I was looking for. I was looking at their necks. At their collars. At their rank pips.

I was the senior officer on the Bridge. I think almost immediately, my adrenal glands began releasing adrenaline and norepinephrine into my body. As I took the paltry few steps from my duty station to the command chair, my heart rate increased. I felt out of breath from the effort. My booted feet touched the deck in heavy, uncertain steps. I couldn't feel my feet at that point; they were numb; all I know is they felt heavy. It's as if all of my dread of failure was pooling in my feet.

I came to stand directly in front of the Captain's chair. My breathing was still too fast, and I took in the view. There was only a few degrees of difference between the line of sight from the command chair and from my own duty station, but the view was unrecognizable. When I was standing there at the heart of the Bridge, it was like my peripheral vision had expanded to take in the full breadth of the saucer section, including every being within its bulkheads.

My knees buckled, and I had no choice but to sit in the Captain's chair. I grasped for the arm of the chair desperately, and used my upper body to lower myself gracefully into the chair. Otherwise, I was about to drop like a stone in a glass arboretum. I sat in the chair, and my breathing became pained. It felt like I could feel the blood rushing through every, individual blood vessel in my body, and it caused my head to hurt to no end. Detachment was setting in. I couldn't believe I was truly, technically, in command of an entire starship. My perceptions were wavering; it was like my brain was shutting down, shutting in on itself. It was acute stress reaction, all over again. The sheer weight of responsibility -for all this Starfleet hardware, for all these beings, for myself- it was nearly too much to bear.

I was starting to sweat, and I wiped my brow with the back of my sleeve before anyone might notice. I tilted my head back gently, and forced myself to breathe in deeply. In my peripheral vision, I saw movement on the chair's armrest companel. There came an LCARS feedback beep as well. My heart sank. It was the Klingons; I just knew it. Our sensors were detecting a Bird of Prey dropping its cloak, as it shot out our engines, and transported its shock troops aboard our vessel.

This time- this time I would have to fight the Klingons. I don't have you to protect me from intruding Klingons this time. You with your forcefields and the transporters... This time it was my duty to fight, and my duty to die.

I tilted my head downwards to confirm my suspicions by reading the companel.

I laughed. I laughed as hard as my restricted diaphragm would let me laugh.

The only change on the companel was the chronometer signaling the beginning of a new hour. There were no Klingons. There was no attack. There was no duty to die. There was only the passage of time. Only a total of thirty seconds in the command chair. Only thirty, but they were mine.

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