Uneasy Beginnings
Posted on Tue Dec 10th, 2019 @ 1:14pm by Lieutenant Aenar Torek
978 words; about a 5 minute read
Mission:
Food for the Gods
Location: Transport ship & USS Calypso
Timeline: Between 'Eye in the Sky' & 'The Tribute'
ON
Aenar woke in a pool of sweat.
Swivelling his legs off the side of his bead, he removed the thin, tangled duvet. Gripping the edge of the bed, he breathed deeply.
It’s just a new assignment … Nothing to worry about, he rationalised. You’ve done this before … .
The feeling of unease did not leave him. Looking out at the viewport he reflected that this was the same as before, and the time before that. And before that. All the way back to the time they moved from Valo III. Something deep inside. Something he had to manage the Counsellor had said.
Valo III never left a Bajoran, it seemed.
The Bajoran breathed, slumped at the edge of the bed.
Easy enough for her to say, he reflected unkindly, before banishing the thought. Everyone his age had suffered. Whether by the Cardassians, or Dominion, or both. Bajorans weren’t unique there. His Betazoid Counsellor deserved more than his bitter thoughts.
Still, he rubbed at his stomach. That physical unease always surfaced at this time. Didn’t matter whether he was moving to big school, the university or the Academy. It was the same panic. Taking deep breaths, he steadied himself, felt the beads of sweat across his brow, his shoulders.
A deep, shuddering breath.
He got to his feet. Stretched the sleep from his limbs. Observed the warp field through the viewport.
En-route to the Calypso. Nothing new. Done this before. Galaxy-class. Science ship.
Aenar smiled to himself, grabbing a thin shirt, then a pair of trousers.
Nothing to it.
His clothes felt clammy against his skin as he moved from the bed.
0340. Most passengers were asleep.
He wasn’t most passengers – too much of that edgy, spiky energy. Too much fluttering in his chest. Too much uncertainty. Aenar needed a distraction. He nodded at the few crewmembers he passed. Must look like a mess, he thought. red-eyed, rank breath.
Chief Science Officer is new, teased his subconscious. The man’s stomach backflipped.
Change was never easy.
Steadying himself next to the holodeck array, he punched in a program. Torek-Alpha-One. The Main Computer for the USS Pleasant accepted the request. The doors opened, and Aenar stepped through into the South Louisiana bayou.
Warm and humid simulated weather, approaching midday, maxing out his comfort level. More sweat, clean this time. The sweat of hot weather, of effort. Of clear thought. He began his stretches. Running was hardly his favourite exercise, but it wasn’t like he could box at 4am. Slowly his sleep-sluggish body responded to his demands.
Ship is bigger. Bigger than any before, niggled that subconscious. Aenar dry-heaved.
2394. Galaxy-class cruisers had been in service for thirty years at least. Not even top of the line anymore. An exploratory cruiser, like the Luna-class. Like his last assignment on the Ganymede. Aenar finished his stretches, set off running through the muggy Louisiana afternoon.
Sweat pouring.
Liberation ship. 2369, Enterprise. 2374, four more. The significance wasn’t lost on him. He felt he owed Starfleet, most Bajorans did. The Resistance ensured they could survive, Starfleet that they could thrive. Aenar couldn’t fathom why the Galaxy-class Calypso affected him so. Breath caught in his lungs.
It had been the same with Kentucky, William Morgan, Starbase 201 and the Ganymede.
A debt of gratitude, maybe. Humid here. A favoured place on Earth. Home from home. His foot slipped, lost his footing in the hummus of dead leaves and mud. Aenar stumbled and righted himself, running his course. To the bridge and back. Sweat pouring ,enough for tonight.
Three days at least to Calypso.
Aenar tugged at the snug right sleeve of his uniform. The shuttle should be docking at any moment with the Calypso. He wondered at the reception he would get – they had been operating for some time from what he could gather. Continuing missions tended to produce closely-knit crews from what he had read in the mission analyses. His stomach heaved. Aenar closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Calm, now. All over in ten minutes.. The shuttle was close to entering the bay.
The Bajoran marvelled at the size of the ship. Old-school. Mid-century. Held as many people as his local town did growing up. Graceful. He knew the Enterprise had docked at Deep Space Nine. Several others had, several times. Never seen one so close up as it loomed in the porthole. They were less a ship and more a symbol. A smile creased his lips. His mother hadn’t quite trusted the Federation or Starfleet. His father still didn’t.
But hear them talk about the Enterprise. First ship in to Bajor. USS Galaxy herself was part of Operation Return. The Galaxy-class vessel was something else. Beyond affiliation. Beyond the mundane … maybe.
He tugged at his left sleeve. He was proud to serve aboard a Galaxy-class ship.
The shuttle entered the bay. Settled as it landed. Aenar’s stomach fluttered in a way that had nothing to do with the piloting. He steadied himself as the rear door of the shuttle lowered to form a ramp to the deck. A solitary Yeoman waited for him.
The Bajoran adjusted the strap of his overnight bag – change of uniform, essential hygiene materials – and extended his right hand.
Light glinted off his d'ja pagh as he glanced around the shuttlebay. Aenar’s stomach ceased backflipping. He was home.
‘Torek Aenar. I heard you’re in need of a Chief Science Officer?’
OFF
Lieutenant Torek Aenar
Chief Science Officer
USS Calypso
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