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Unseen, Part 1

Posted on Tue Jul 18th, 2017 @ 12:02am by Captain Varik Raymond

Mission: Mission 1: Dangers Unseen

He knew that they were talking about him, but he didn’t care. Raymond was stymied. He was at a loss to figure out where the duldrumwas coming from. On one hand, he had been incredibly proud to be returning to Hope. On the other, he had weeks ago admitted, it was a return in a capacity in which he did not feel fully capable. One one side of the coin, there was a bright, hope laden mission which would bring Varik and his crew into first contact opportunities with a long list of new potential Federation allies. Flip that coin, and there was the heavy burden to bring more friends into the fold, and the potential of creating enemies with errors as simple as the slip of the tongue or a misunderstanding of etiquette.

The malaise had started at the end of an intracranial pain that had started just behind his eyes and gradually, over the course of several days, spread across the entirety of his grey matter. That particular pain had lasted for several days, during which he had decided that as the new Commanding Officer of a medical relief vessel-cum-ambassadorial courier, that the optics of checking into Sickbay would cause too much a stir in the rumor mill and too much degradation of confidence in his fortitude and thus ability to lead from a place of strength.

Then, there was the Kohlinahr. It stopped making sense to him. What had once been a series of comforting refrains, simple statements that could collectively dictate one’s most logical next move had become meaningless non-rhymes that perpetuated dogma and rhetoric. At this point, even the one that kept him locked in two of the three ample spaces he had been provided aboard the ship for his private use was mocking him, twisting his mind into a snaking walkway of recursive processing and invalid results. As such, he was stuck.

It was not that he wasn’t working; he was: poring over the mission profiles for the Inconnu parade route was consuming him. As he shifted from one remotely studied culture after another, he a was adjoining peculiarities and particulars of each culture and tying them to the circumstances and impetuses of others. In the confines of his pulsing mind, he could fit it together into a complete picture of the region. The problem was that none of them needed The Federation or for that matter, Starfleet. Each culture was already somehow fortuitously protected by some natural perturbation of local space, such as nebulaic bordering or harmonic gravitation of dual star system, washing the entire system into a sensor blind – and each one that wasn’t was well acquainted with either colonized sister worlds or nearby allies that had sworn mutual protection and had proven that relationship solvent by dissolving prior invasion forces. It was for this final circumstance that Raymond himself had suggested sending a non-explorer, typically armed to the teeth, to make the diplomatic overtures that the Typhon Think Teams intended. Though he had originally though that a Nova or Nebula would have been the proper choice to make this excursion due to their largely non-menacing aspects and much lower armament profile.

The needs of the many outweighs the need of the few or the one. The words sifted themselves blankly through his skull, and occasionally, he would order internal sensors to survey a portion of the ship: the bridge, the main lounge, the arboretum; wherever he might find the largest number of gathered crew.

They seemed fine. Everyone was functioning within desirable parameters and all team were well matched and achieving their goals. No need for a morose commanding officer with the sour expression many crew would take to mean displeasure with their work. It would not do to just wander the corridors, lost in thought, parsing through headaches, and waning and lagging from the fatigue of stress, indecision and haltingly stymied passion.

So he hid. For weeks.

 

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