The Weight of Command

Posted on Wednesday July 8th, 2020 @ 3:49pm by Captain Franklin Johnson

322 words; about a 2 minute read

Computer, begin log.

After what has come to be known as the Battle of the Bright Nebula, I have found myself in a particularly bad situation. After directing my bridge crew to continue operations to Starbase 47, I departed the bridge for this very Ready Room to release my emotions. After an hour of....

A few noises indicating adjusting ones position in a chair, following by ruffling of clothing and a heavy sigh.

After an hour of crying....I have come to appreciate more the responsibilities placed on my shoulders. I lost twenty-five crew today, with well over thirty-six crew members hurt or injured during the battle. A lot of those that died were due to my inability to predict the situation, allowing a photon torpedo strike to hit our unshielded hull. This resulted in a direct strike to the port-side crew mess on deck six.

Had I been faster, they would be alive.

Another sigh is heard, followed by more adjusting position in a chair. The Captain is quiet for around two minutes before continuing.

I miss her. I miss Dezayas. The Gorn I knew on the S.S. Shipman's Quest. We had a....delicate relationship, and we kept in touch through my years in the Academy. Sometime before my graduation we lost contact. I think we used each other for support, and she showed me the ropes during my first year or so on that civilian freighter. I think after everything, I just want to get back into contact.

The Captain is silent again for a minute. During that time, there's the sound of someone shuffling a hard metallic object across the desk, much like sliding a PADD across a surface towards you. A few taps and clicks are heard.

Maybe at Starbase 47, I'll take the time then. I need to find my center again after everything. After my failure.

Computer, end log.

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