Shattered Edges

Posted on Mon Nov 1st, 2021 @ 3:28pm by Subcommander Kaiae t'Lien

852 words; about a 4 minute read

Mission: Chapter V: The Calm Before The Storm
Location: Kaiae's Quarters, Ourainavassa
Timeline: 238703.06

Had anyone viewed Kaiae's quarters at the moment, any report might have termed the scene "There appears to have been a struggle....", which would in all fairness be accurate. Unfortunately the struggle was not against an assailant so easily slain or contained as the usual varieties.

They had less than nine weeks to save their families; less than nine weeks until disaster became catastrophe and billions of their people died; until the homeworld and many of the core worlds vanished forever. She would never see home again. (The first victim of her rage, her tea cup had gone flying across the room, impacting in a shower of ceramic fragments and flecks of tea.)

The Senate; the Praetor, the planetary governors; doing nothing. For all the anger she had inadvertently revealed to Mannerheim as to the actions and inaction of the Federation--it would have been quite understandable to simply stand by; they were....opponents; But once committed, to turn their backs after, after pledging assistance, after they embarrassed themselves before the universe in accepting it...for all that, her deepest anger and blame was at their own leaders, for a dereliction of duty so deep she imagined executing most of them, green blood running freely on the polished floors of the Hall of State. (A tiny sculpture, had gone flying across the room; it was metal, but impacted the opposite bulkhead with a thwang!!!!.)

Areinnye had vanished, probably dead. Charges of treason had been read and proclaimed against Kaiae and most others who had followed. Raven had bizarrely and against all sense and entreaties not to, renounced their RSE registry; and now had vanished herself at a critical juncture. There was a Borg on her ship, and, far more worrying, apparently a self-resurrecting Tal'Shiar override coded so innately and deeply into their main core that they might have to literally pull it to get rid of it, that might let the Terrans, or the Tal'Shiar, take control of the ship at any time. (A book, once owned by one of her great-great-grandfathers, had followed the sculpture through the air.)

They were backed into a corner, practically on bent knee before the humans and the Dosadi; and now despite all the potential danger, even the Terrans; a reckless move in baring her cards to them that may have netted them a ship to use, but she knew well had been the sort of gambling that was the last, desperate resort of the damned; the sort she had long judged in others. (Several PADDs this time went flying.)

She'd broken up three fights in the last two days, between her own men or between her crew and their allies. Not to mention the entire affair at the Pearl; or similar if less involved incidents before it. She felt like she was losing control of the officers and crew who followed her; unable to enforce or maintain proper discipline. A failure as a commander; unable or barely able to even maintain control of herself. (The bedclothes had been torn in two with an angry scream; and catching sight of herself in the small mirror on the wall, as if she no longer knew herself; as if she was as much an enigma to herself lately as she was to a stranger. The mirror, unlike the mug, was made of 'shatterproof' material; but it shattered at her strike nonetheless, albeit with its tessellated fragments remaining mostly in the frame as designed.)

Now, she stood nearby, ever-so-slightly bent forward and breathing hard, blood dripping from the hand and arm that had made the strike to the mirror, before finally collapsing to her knees on the floor. She was uncertain how long she stayed in this posture, time seemed to blur in odd ways; but eventually, breathing slowed, Kaiae's surroundings came back into firmer focus along with the here and now; now there was blood on the deck, and on her uniform. Slowly, she forced herself up, looking around at the destruction she had wrought and blushing a deep olive and a weary sigh. This would take valuable time to clean up; time better spent checking how the sweeps on the ship for the mission were coming. She frowned down at her hand, though; that she couldn't put aside for later so easily. She grabbed part of the torn sheets and wrapped it, at least that would prevent blood from getting all over the ship at large. Hopefully, she could get in and out of the medical ward without anyone asking after the cause that had brought her there; but she was already considering appropriate answers--an accident, or a training injury--if she found herself pressed on the subject. That would be the death of what little was perhaps left of good order and discipline aboard for certain, if the crew learned she was tearing apart her own quarters like a child.

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