Near Miss

Posted on 23 Aug 2016 @ 4:25am by Lieutenant Colonel Cassandra Blackburn

691 words; about a 3 minute read

Mission: Errand of Mercy
Location: Officers Quarters, Starship Redemption
Timeline: ED3

Blackburn ran into her quarters, having not stopped from the flightdeck. She was distraught and could feel her hear racing, trying to jump out of her chest. She threw her service cap on the couch and pulled her tunic off, letting it drop to the floor. She entered the bathroom, activating the cold water tap in the basin. She plunged her hands into the cold water, before splashing it onto her face. She did this a few times until her breathing slowed down, becoming more regular. After a few moments she looked up, catching her own image in the mirror. A wet face: her black hair askew and damp. She felt disgusted by what she saw.

"What the hell is wrong with me?" She asked her own reflection, recalling the disastrous speech on the flightdeck to the new Marines just minutes before. When she found she couldn't answer her own question, she became furious. Her heart rate stated up again. She was angry at her situation, angry at Rhyan and Sutherland and all the others - and angry at herself.

"God, damn it!" She screamed, suddenly punching the mirror, shattering it. She felt the trickle of blood from her knuckles and the bite of the pain that accompanied it. Her rage slowly subsided. She picked up a towel and wrapped it around her hand, stemming the bleeding. She walked back into the barren lounge of the quarters, the unpacked crates of personal effects still sitting there.

She sat behind the desk, covered in padds containing unread messages from members of the Detachment, mostly from Bourne. With a sweep of her arm she pushed them all off the desk, hearing them clatter on the floor. She spun on the chair for a few moments, looking at the ceiling, cradling her wounded hand.

In truth she had never felt so trapped. At least when she was on the run from Starfleet she had a sense of control over her immediate future - here there was none. She couldn't back out the mission without being shipped back to Starfleet Medical for telepathic intervention, nor could she run as they would pursue her again relentlessly. The only way out was to follow through with the mission and hope the President delivered on her promise of a medical discharge. She was certain that the mission would result in a slaughter - the Redemption was known for it - and she wanted no part in it. The presence of Marshall hung over her as well - his mere presence meant more pain to come. She'd had enough of death.

There was one way out, one which she had never seriously considered. It crept into her mind now, tugging at her senses. She opened her desk drawer and rummaged around, finding her hand phaser. It was uncharged. She rummaged around some more, finding a power cell, and loaded into the grip of the weapon. She checked the charge and set it to a reasonably high setting; enough to do the job but not to blow out a bulkhead.

She removed the safety and placed the tip of the phaser under her chin, facing upwards. She felt her thumb on the trigger button, mere millimeters from sending her to oblivion. She held the pose for a few moments, then snorted. She reapplied the safety and threw the weapon onto the desk. This wasn't her style - she always had known that - and she now knew for certain that she was not any real danger to herself. This way out was not an option now, either.

She sighed, racking her brains for another solution. Her mind refused to comply, becoming groggy with the fatigue of the morning and as an effect of the pain. She removed the towel, looking at the lacerations on her hand. She pulled out one of the bigger pieces of glass, tossing it aside, before wrapping her hand in the soaked towel again. She got up, walked to the door and left for sickbay, leaving the broken quarters and a thin trail of blood behind her.

OFF

Major Cassandra Blackburn
Marine Detachment Commander
USS Redemption

 

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