The eagle can fly again

Posted on Mon Dec 2nd, 2024 @ 1:47am by Rear Admiral Jarred Wallace & Major Samuel Braddock

1,584 words; about a 8 minute read

Mission: Mission 0: In the beginning....
Location: Various
Timeline: MD 02 0945

ON:

“Ninety Nine”
The man lowered himself down and pushed himself back up.

“One Hundred”
He lowered himself down and pushed himself up before popping upright to his feet. Taking a towel from a nearby chair, he wiped the sweat from his brow.

The air was cold and bracing but the lights were softly lit in the small living room that held Major Samuel ‘Sam’ Braddock, Federation Marine Corps. Lushly equipped, it had soft carpeting that muffled any sound, modern decorations, a kitchen, and a bedroom with a holoprojector that had enough materials to keep him occupied for a long while and windows that simulated every single weather pattern you could ever find on Earth so realistically, you could smell the Seattle rains and the copper heat of the Sonoran Desert with a push of a keypad.

All in all, it functioned as a highly effective gilded cage. Initially he’d fought and tried to escape until his keepers had found a way to keep him inside. First, they placed a shackle on his ankle with a neural suppressor. If he so much as crossed into a boundary without permission, he’d be asleep before he even hit the ground.

Then there was the movement.

Every so often, he’d feel a vibration or a shift in the floor that the inertial dampeners couldn’t quite cover, then when his door opened for the meetings with his captors, he’d be in a different hallway or an entirely different room.

When he was summoned, he was prodded with questions by an eerily calm psychiatrist who asked him how he was feeling and then would ask about the circumstances of how he got here and his intention. Every time, his answer was always the same “I don’t know.” The last thing he wanted was to show his growing frustration with being trapped like a rat in a cage. All of these carefully curated measures to keep him contained combined with the mandatory therapy sessions made him feel more like an exquisitely cared for pet rather than a person.

Every so often, his therapist would reveal pieces of information, almost to provoke some sort of reaction. Over their sessions, he’d learned that the Marines had largely been deployed as a border reaction force and as a result, the Borg had managed to infiltrate Starfleet on Frontier Day. By the time the Rapid Reaction Force could respond, most of the fleet had either been scattered or decimated. More than a few of his friends had been killed or assimilated before the Admiralty could even twitch. Now, it was an entirely different Starfleet and a much darker Federation.

Every time he thought about it, it stung. To him, this was a split second of a hypothetical- first he didn’t believe it before he saw the images and footage, unable to help be transfixed as countless ships were destroyed and cities burned as they were fired upon- all by their own people.


Walking into the sonic shower and stripping off his sweaty clothes, he turned the dial so high that it would make his teeth vibrate and felt the dirt and sweat strip itself from him. Activating the water, he quickly washed himself and rinsed before stepping out and drying himself off.

Putting on some fresh clothes- a nondescript blue physical training uniform consisting of sweatpants and a black shirt with a green stripe across the chest, he made his way back into the living room where he was greeted by a beeping from his console. First, Sam ignored it until the beeping grew louder and more urgent.

Walking over to the console, he leaned over and gave the screen a quick tap, watching a short text message appear on the screen: THERE IN FIVE MINUTES.

Giving the screen a quick swipe, the text vanished. Sam sat down at the desk and watched the door for his reluctant visitor. He heard the door chime sound- a mere formality before the heavy doors opened and his captor, a psychiatrist in Medical Teal walked in.

A lone figure stood just inside the doorway, “How are we today?”

Sam raised his eyebrow. “Not bad, not great, Captain. To what do I owe the honor, sir?” he asked, leaning on the counter in the small kitchenette. “Can I get you anything- water, coffee?” he asked, never taking his eyes off of the man.

“Well, you have a visitor coming later today, how do you feel about it?” he asked

Sam gritted his teeth, then relaxed. “That depends on the purpose of the visit- is it a social call or is there yet another officer here to gawk at me like a zoo animal, sir?”

“Some Rear Admiral, looks like he’s seen some things” the medical type said “He and some hot looking aide are in the waiting room, now if you don’t want to meet him that’s fine he said it can wait.” the man said

“Respectfully, sir. Typically when an Admiral gives you an option, it never truly is. I’m betting that he’s going to walk behind you in about a minute or so and deliver his proposal.” Sam said, rather matter-of-factly. He’d seen his fair share of Admirals and Generals throw their weight about.

The clunk of a cane on the floor settled the first part of the discussion, “And Marine Captains generally like to think they do all the hard jobs.” The man's scarred face and a discolored eye seemed to set a tone, “How about we go for a little walk?”

Sam motioned for the door. “After you, sir.”

The woman behind him in a tailored gray suit stood just far enough back holding a briefcase, her brown hair tied back neatly.

Sam released a small sarcastic remark without snapping to attention per protocol. “Captain’s usually do. Major’s, less so, sir.” he said, falling a half-step behind the Admiral’s left side. He had seen the scars and the eye and wondered why this man hadn’t taken advantage of the wonders of Starfleet Medical to repair them, but then again, some people enjoyed bearing their scars.

After a few moments he spoke “If you’re done hiding in this little menagerie of burnt out former officers, I have an offer for you, all you have to do is give me six months and you can walk away, or you can stay, no other conditions.” Sensing he may have piqued his interest he continued “Things went sideways and off the reservation after the whole Frontier Day mess, there’s a lot of that stuff that people don’t know, there’s more some shouldn’t know including how close to the edge things really went and now the rest of the sharks are smelling blood in the water, waiting for the next opportunity to strike and not all of those sharks wave the flag of a foreign power.”

Raising his eyebrow. “So am I the little fish to draw them out or do you want me to do some hunting, Admiral?” he asked, rounding on the man.

“The last five years have seen a large number of events, a Romulan infiltration very high up in security and intelligence, infiltration by external forces leading to the high casualty count on Frontier Day, there are some in Starfleet who feel that this was a lapse of a few select individuals, they may be right, but if there are some who’d believe the next threat in through a wormhole, or just beyond the edge of explored space, I think fear is a bad idea, I think we need to pick up the pieces and do what Starfleet did best, you feel up to the challenge?” he said turning to show the collection of scars and the discolored eye.

Sam waited for the man to finish his spiel. “Where do you need me, sir?” he asked. Overall, the assessment wasn’t wrong. Every empire and government had a cycle every twenty years or so where their enemies would take their shot in an effort to destabilize an enemy’s government. Sometimes it was insidious, other times it was a grand gesture. This time it was the latter by an enemy that you couldn’t prepare for. By the time they announced their presence, it was far too late to resist.

The older man smiled and looked at the other man, “A shuttle will pick you up in three hours taking you to Jupiter Station, Slip Two, USS Tecumseh and if your expecting some little ship I’ve got news for you, it’s an Ascension class, a big purpose built carrier.”

"I take it she needs a CAG, sir?" Sam asked

"She does, The original candidate washed out and no one has met the Captain's criteria for the level of experience he wants, and he doesn't want a trigger happy CAG either, still interested?" the older man smiled.

"Of course, sir. I'll report immediately. Mind giving me authorization for a fresh uniform? I've noticed things have changed a bit in the last few years." Sam said.

"I'll arrange that and the briefing package, the three squadrons of fighters plus the recon flight are marshalling nearby." The admiral paused "Captain Lowe is fully rated on every type of fighter you'll have as part of your wing, including the new Phoenix type, don't let him jump behind the stick without a wingman."

End

 

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