Part I - Boys' Weekend
Posted on Mon Jan 27th, 2014 @ 2:51pm by Lieutenant Commander Horatio Hawke
Edited on on Wed Jan 29th, 2014 @ 11:55pm
Episode:
Trauma
Location: Pike City & Coronado Mountains, Cestus III
Timeline: October 26, 2390
OOC: This is the first in a series of posts that documents Hawke's incredibly difficult first month on Cestus III. My apologies in advance to any psychologists in the audience for any errors I've made, but sometimes you've just got to take dramatic licence :)
It was the third day on Cestus III when things took a turn for the worse for Horatio Hawke.
The survivors from the USS Endeavour had been dropped off by the USS Scimitar and been debriefed by Fleet HQ. Appropriate condolences and somber congratulations on a successful mission were heaped upon them all. There was even a special remembrance ceremony for Captain Byrne, Lieutenant Thiffault and the others who made it back. That was nice.
But after a day of that, Horatio was ready to get the hell out of there. Unfortunately, Fleet HQ had a different idea. The survivors had to be ‘rehabilitated’ and undertake counselling before they could be passed fit for service. Ten seconds after receiving this news, Horatio took leave. It seemed like a good idea at the time – some time off to relax and recharge the batteries. Even if the conditions of his leave confined him to Cestus III.
In an almost unbelievable stroke of luck, two of Horatio’s oldest friends were at Cestus III as well. So he looked them up. Lieutenant D’Aureth was posted to the shipyards there on Cestus. Horatio hadn’t seen D’Aureth since graduation over twelve years earlier. They’d kept in touch, of course, but they hadn’t been in the same space in that entire time.
Even more amazingly, Lieutenant Bram Chifley’s ship was visiting Cestus III en route to Earth for decommissioning. Bram was Horatio’s best friend; had been since they met at Orientation Week at the Academy. They’d crossed paths several times in the years since graduation and Bram even visited Horatio in the hospital while he recovered from his injuries at Ollara IV.
Bram and D’Aureth hadn’t required much convincing to take a couple of days leave and once it was all sorted, the trio rented a shuttle and set out for the Coronado Mountains.
“Why the hell are we going to the Coronado Mountains?” Bram asked as they loaded up the shuttle.
“Why the hell not?” Horatio said, dropping a case of ‘supplies’ into the starboard cargo compartment.
“Yeah, Bram, you used to love camping and getting out of the city,” D’Aureth interjected. He was sitting in the pilot’s seat supervising the other two load up.
“The lazy Andorian is right,” Horatio said, gesturing a thumb toward D'Aureth. “You remember that trip we took to Cape York?”
“You mean the one where I got malaria?”
“Oh it was not malaria!” Hawke scoffed. It’s true, it wasn’t. But Bram did get pretty sick and they were deliberately out of contact from anyone who could help. One of the other friends in the group that trip was a medical cadet, so it wasn’t like he was completely out of care.
“It could have killed me!” Bram persisted as he walked down the ramp to retrieve the second last container.
“Bullshit!” D’Aureth scoffed.
“Yeah, you were never in any real danger,” Horatio said, grabbing the last container. “Besides, Harrington provided you with excellent care.”
“You know, Harrington dropped out of medical school,” Bram reminded them.
“And yet you’re still alive,” Horatio grinned. “Go figure, huh?”
Soon after this, they were off. Hawke and Chifley, both being pilots, shared the pre-flight while D’Aureth made himself as comfortable as he could. They took off from a private shuttle base on the outskirts of Pike City and headed for the Coronado Mountains.
The shuttle was a Starfleet surplus Type-6 shuttlecraft named Wendy’s Gift. Horatio spared no time wondering just who ‘Wendy’ was, eager as he was to fly a shuttle again. He had flown the Type-6 countless times in his career – as had just about every Starfleet pilot – and he was pretty fond of them. Bram tried to take the pilot’s seat, but Horatio would hear none of that.
“Fine,” Bram sulked. “But I fly us home.”
“Whatever, man," Horatio teased with a playful wave of his hand.
He was thinking about the last time he had flown one of these Type-6 shuttles; it was back on the Swiftsure. Then he smelled it. The odour wasn’t overpowering or awful, but it was definitely chemical and out of place. It was a familiar smell, but he couldn’t quite place it.
“What’s that smell?” he asked as he cast an eye over his console to make sure there wasn’t any catastrophe about to befall them. The board was clear.
D’Aureth stood up and leaned on the back of Horatio’s chair, sticking his face into the forward area of the cockpit and sniffing loudly. “Smells like one of Bram’s,” he said, attracting a whack on the shoulder from the co-pilot.
“Shut it, D’Aureth!”
The Andorian laughed heartily and tousled Bram’s black, wavy hair. “I’ve missed you, Bram,” he said before turning to Horatio and adding casually, “Its hydraulic fluid. Shouldn’t be anything to worry about. It’s probably coming from your chair.”
The engineer got down on his hands and knees and examined the base of the chair. He stuck his hand underneath and pulled it back out with a light brown liquid spoiling his otherwise blue fingertips. “Ah-ha!” he said triumphantly. “What did I tell you?” He stood up and wiped his hands on his shirt. “I can fix it when we land if the smell bothers you. Then we won’t lose the security deposit, too.”
Horatio heard him, but didn’t register the comment. His mind had wandered off. It was light-years away and in another time.
“Hawke!”
He snapped back and looked at the Andorian, “What?”
“I said I can fix it when we land if you want,” D’Aureth repeated.
“Yeah, okay!” Horatio said, a little harsher than he meant. “It’ll have to wait until we’ve landed at the camp site.”
D’Aureth and Bram exchanged a look and laughed. “Bloody hell, man,” Bram said. “He just said that. Maybe I should fly?”
Horatio ignored him and just shook his head. They were almost there by then and a few minutes later the shuttle landed at the reserved camp site.
The following two days were not nearly as relaxing or enjoyable as Horatio thought they would be. He found himself irritated by his friends and wanted nothing more than to be left alone. There were good times, but even then he felt removed and worried; it felt like a dark cloud hovered above him.
When they went fishing, Horatio would not engage in conversation. When they climbed a nearby peak, he clambered up ahead of them to negate any chance of banter. And on the second morning, he awoke before them and went for a long walk, not getting back to the site until just before lunch.
“Where’d you go?” Bram asked with a concern that Horatio failed to notice.
“Just for a walk,” he said, trying to ignore the tightness in the pit of his stomach. “I just needed to clear my head a bit.”
“Everything okay?”
He nodded after a brief pause, “Yeah, it’s okay. Nothing to worry about.” I hope. “We should start packing up, yeah?”
Bram nodded, but the concern on his face didn’t abate.
There were times over that weekend that he felt a sudden fear wash over him. Even when it wasn’t strong, it always seemed to be there in the background; clouding his mind. What the hell is wrong with you, man?
He assumed his dark mood was because of the Endeavour. Seeing the ship he had grown to love and the captain he respected lost like that was not an easy thing. But that didn't seem like an adequate explanation for it. He wasn't the first survivor of a starship's destruction, and plenty of them seemed fine.
He chastised himself on more than one occasion. Just relax and enjoy yourself. Forget about the Endeavour and what happened. You couldn’t save her.
You couldn’t save her.
Lieutenant Horatio Hawke
Assignment Pending