Captain’s log, supplemental.

 

Many years ago, someone very important to me shared a pearl of wisdom that I have adhered to ever since:

 

“Having the courage to stand up for one’s convictions is crucial when sitting at the heart of a bridge, especially when those convictions put us at odds with our superiors.”

 

People are always under the mistaken impression that as a Captain, we can go about things in our own way and follow our own path. It’s true to an extent, and that is often where we come into our own as commanders, but the inevitability of orders hanging over one’s head acts as an anchor to keep us in the here and now. We all have orders to follow: orders we sometimes despise. What we do about those orders says a lot about who we are as officers, as captains… and as people.

 

So, despite my vociferous protestations to the contrary, Commodore Ekwueme has ordered Venture to return to Starbase Eleven. It would seem the good Commodore has no patience for my desire to oversee the continued search for the Enforcer crew. Even when I argued that the presence of Commander Henry aboard the ship made us the perfect unit for the task, I’m told it is a mission beneath our station: that we must tackle new brush fires. Every fibre of my being is telling me this is the wrong decision, and that our search could yet yield results that Scarborough’s won’t. Attached to this log is my official protest to the Commodore’s decision, but, reluctantly, we are now en route to the Starbase. Upon our arrival, Commander Henry will report to the station for evaluation. What the future holds for the rest of us is uncertain; I have been given no indication as to the nature of our new orders, or which fire we will put out next.

 

While I have faith in the abilities of the Scarborough crew and I hope I am proved wrong, I can’t shake this ill feeling that our removal from the search is going to prove…

 

…fatal.

Slipping into her usual orbiting pattern above the planet M-11, Venture had once again arrived at Starbase Eleven, mere weeks since she had begun her journey along the Gorn border. Shuttlecraft and transporter beams alike began the usual process of disembarkation that came with a starship’s arrival in port, and this was no exception, even with the suddenness of her return. Whilst many went about their business with freedom, those acutely aware of what had transpired recently were already in the process of being debriefed, having their logs reviewed and, ultimately, pulled apart.

With the evening drawing in and finally feeling the need to get rest with sleep alluding him during their travels, the commanding officer was relieved to finally tuck himself beneath the bed sheet and rested his head upon the pillow beneath. His hands travelled beneath the duck feather pillow and propped him up a little, his eyes dropping almost instantly until, finally, sleep caught up with him. It was a restful sleep, too, for there was none of the usual to-and-fros that would result in the captain waking from his slumber multiple times during a night. No, this sleep was so peaceful that he didn’t even hear the communiqués from the bridge; the door chime to his quarters ring out; or even the footsteps that inched towards him. Soon, a figure lurked over the sleeping man, watching him for a moment before reaching out, and placing the fingers of their right hand on the captain in an effort to jolt him awake.

“Captain?”

“FUCK ME!” Thaddeus yelled as he bolted up and damn near headbutted the figure who had been lingering over him. Thankfully, the figure retreated just in time to avoid a broken nose, or worse. Attempting to get his breathing in order, the Captain took several deep breaths and focused on the individual now standing further away.

“Natalia?!” he finally spoke, confused by the presence of the tactical officer in his bedroom at such a time. “What’s going on? What’s wrong?” he queried when calm enough, knowing the woman well enough that she would only disturb him if it was a serious matter.

It was then that his focused eyes moved past the security chief and landed on the two yellow shirts standing behind her, at an even safer distance.

“Captain… I need you to get dressed and come with me sir,” the Russian replied in her trademark drawl, but quieter and more defensive than usual; not at all like she would usually be.

“And go where, exactly?” he inquired, swinging his legs off the edge of his bed and planting them in the incredibly furry slippers beside his bed.

“Into custody sir,” the Russian responded with a very audible sigh, “…you’ve been relieved of your command aboard Venture, effective immediately…”