SET 017: Rojar VI Moon Charting, "Magazine"

Posted on 18 May 2013 @ 3:16am by
Edited on on 18 May 2013 @ 11:07am

880 words; about a 4 minute read

Mission: Episode 03 - Frontier
Location: USS Galileo: Holodeck, LTjg Liyar's Quarters
Timeline: MD9 0813

ON:

Liyar watched dispassionately as the last of the holographic bodies programmed into his tactical simulation fell to the floor, its head snapping back against the force of directed energy. The rest of them littered the floor in a sea of random, faceless entities. The sounds of steady phaser fire filled the range as Liyar charged round after round, emptying the power cell into the oncoming horde of running holograms. Liyar's hands moved quickly, quietly across the weapon he was holding. Celldrop. Reload. Gauge. Max. Safety. Fire. It was muscle memory, neuronal reflex. The next wave of holograms came, but he remained aware and capable through the entire simulation. Not a single mistake. No hesitation. No fear. He was just as competent as he'd always been. He switched to the phaser tucked away in his back holster and began the next program. Fire. Fire. Fire. Quickly, three of the holograms dropped.

Liyar's eyes were cold and calculating, merciless, as though exorcising a need to kill, not to keep fit. It ran through his mind again and again. He'd frozen. He had never frozen. Not in fifty years of training and pushing and pushing. Not on the Kir or the Mal'krath, not on the Han'shir, in Nariae nor even the deepest depths of the Sas-a-Shar desert. Not when the lone, stately columns of the Romulan senate began to crash into the earth and the planet was ripped apart under his feet, lightyears away, but he had felt it and lived it, felt his skin sear itself from his bones, his insides melt and spill out onto the cold dirt, wet and green in the palms of his hands, the sticky rind of meat and flesh. He had heard the chorus of wails echoing through the streets, a people who would never be known, never be heard, never ever again. Who knew their demise, their death. The epitome of hopelessness. Again and again and again the story had played out in his mind.

He had never frozen.

He had always pulled through, did his job, survived. And when there was nothing left to do, when it'd all been said and done, when death soaked the ground like a plague, he'd tried to take them back. He hadn't just stood there like a child while the fear and panic of those around him rendered him mute, immobile. Not like that. P'Jem had been different. Hadn't it? Hadn't it? They'd told him it was, those counselors. Told him he'd done something worthwhile. Convinced him his actions hadn't been those of a naive sedirakranh, wishfully complying to the demands of the enemy. Fire. Fire. Liyar's fingers were white-knuckled against the phaser.

Another hologram flailed uselessly as it thudded to the ground. Liyar looked up at the chronometer and stilled. Just like that. A minimum of five hours had passed since he'd entered the range, woken from a dream, blindingly furious at his own ineptitude. He tossed the holographic weapons onto the deck and pressed the palms of his hands against his eyelids. What was happening to him? Was Neo right? Was his mind so far-gone that he couldn't remember his most basic lessons in control?

He wiped the back of his hand against his nose and breathed out. He needed to let it go. It was done. Over with. It'd been three days ago. They'd all moved on. Here he was. He kicked the phaser at his feet and grabbed his uniform jacket off of the gate. "End program." He stepped out of the arch and ignored the stare he got from a crewman at his disheveled state. He had a mission in fifteen minutes. He would be prepared.

He'd barely enough time to get in the sonics, change into a proper uniform and - shave, god forbid - he thought as he watched himself in the mirror, running his hand over the matted stubble at his jaw. At least it was something he could fix easily. That done, he scowled at himself in the mirror and watched his facial expressions with odd detachment. He looked like a clown, like someone was possessing him, moving his body, his fingers, his legs, his arms. He was a puppet. He shook the thoughts off. His eyes weren't bloodshot exactly, but he could see the bags that formed under them. He pressed a fingertip under his eye. He'd really let himself go. His hair went to his chin when combed all the way down and came in thick waves that tried to curl messily. He waved it off. Nothing to be done. He'd need time, later on. Giving up, the comb went back into the medicine cabinet. He'd do it when they got back. Eat something. Make himself halfway livable, convince his shipmates that an actual sentient being occupied his body. He shucked on his jacket and picked up the kit by the door, running a hand through his hair as he exited his quarters and made his way down to the flight deck.

OFF:

Lieutenant (JG) Liyar
Diplomatic Officer, VDF/SDD
USS Galileo

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