<USS Avalon> The Path: Lines of Fate Part 1 by Junior Lieutenant Anthony Manson

The Path

Lines of Fate: Part 1

by Junior Lieutenant Anthony Manson

Anthony got into his quarters with a twinge of unease in his system. After 
hours of running back and forth, exhaustion had also accompanied him. This type 
of business was not something he did often, but when called for it, it bugged 
the hell out of him. Today seemed to be full of crew members running around 
doing systems checks, updates, repairs, and all other assignments as if they 
were late to fulfill it and the dateline closed upon them like jaws of a hungry 
shark. He worked with most of them who were on the bridge, constantly directing 
and re-directing them to their tasks. Some of them gave instant relief that he 
was there; though he didn?t quite understand this, all they had to do was ask 
someone aside from him. But no matter. Some of them which he came to work with 
on a fairly regular basis had treated him like there was some bridge that 
wasn?t there before. He had worked with them also on a fairly casual basis, but 
now it seemed different.

And he could tell why. Most of them had made sure to call him by his rank. He 
wasn?t completely comfortable at all with this formality as they- when he was 
an Ensign- had chose to go about addressing themselves in their first names. It 
was a small relief from the rigors of military order and etiquette that came 
with the standards of Starfleet life- even if they were all at the time of the 
same stature. And now that it had changed, everything that he grew comfortable 
with went on to a new level. He didn?t like that, and had immediately made the 
decision that if this extra-busy work would happen again, which no doubt it 
would, he?d make it as it was before his little advancement. It would take some 
time, for he wasn?t used to becoming the encouraging one, but the effort was 
worth it. And since Alder had somehow come into the mainstay of these little 
"retreat," he could request for his help- he was better at it after all.

He also realized that that was an indispensable trait that Anthony didn?t 
possess.

Discarding his uniform in exchange for a comfortable pair of lounge pants and 
nothing else, he sat himself on the chair that was furnished with a metallic 
table. Atop of that was a computer terminal, but his intention wasn?t to access 
the terminal; instead he reached for a mound of paper that was in a neat pile 
that laid next to it. A black cup of wooden pencils only furthered the outlook 
of the table, but that was it. The paper, which was rough and thick, was a gift 
from his art teacher at the Art Institute in California. Paper wasn?t used 
these days as modern technology had enabled the artist to complete their 
artwork with as little as a few words. His art teacher, Mr. Lugo, didn?t like 
the idea that art had become a science and technology and no longer a technique 
to cherish and practice with joy. 

It was also given with a word of advice that Anthony was meant for great 
things. At first he sort of drew back, wondering if the teacher was talking to 
the right person. Mr. Lugo believed he was, and Anthony could not reject it 
since it was going to be rude and otherwise showing a lack of manners. He 
believed that he had the talents for the arts, but he didn?t believe of the 
"great things" Mr. Lugo had mentioned. Not following entirely with his 
teacher?s words and at that time, not at all convinced he was meant for such 
things, he took the gift out of respect. Mr. Lugo was probably the closest 
person he had to a mentor and an awkward conclusion that he was also like a 
father figure. His teacher had pressed on about the impending future of his 
life, and told him that as long as he kept the gift of art with him, like lines 
to composite heading towards the final and finished end; it would lead Anthony 
to his path. 

Until today, Anthony didn?t take much into consideration about that. Being in 
Starfleet hadn?t changed that view, but maybe the teacher was right- and now 
things were starting to turn for the better. Shaking his head a little to clear 
his mind, he made sure that he had a pencil marked as "2H" in a light grip. He 
wasn?t clear on what he was going to draw, instead, he let his mind do the 
imagining for him- taking the pencil where ever it wanted to go.

Within a few minutes he found a form. It took a form of a woman with wings, but 
it was crude and lines were just shaping the contours of her body, and other 
lines that needed erasing to clear the rendering some more. He gave it a quick 
glance to make sure he was where he needed to be; although at the beginning 
letting the mind have complete autonomy- a form needn?t be spoiled, and began 
sketching again. After a few moments, the picture had taken a more life like 
form. Hair that flew in wild streaks, and her face facing the skies making it 
look as if she went against the wind. Her body in the air with wings of an 
eagle that spread apart and revealed it?s feathery pattern. If there was color 
to it, he?d have her skin in a fair tan with brown hair and maybe a deep blue 
set of eyes, or green. Her outfit would basically be light colored, and the 
overall composition of this being would be like an angel. But he didn?t see 
that, Anthony saw more of an explorer with the gift of flight, and as
 he made a few more sketches to reveal the land below her, it only furthered 
that picture in his head. 

Unexpectedly, the computer screen lit up, and Anthony?s attention went to it 
like a moth to fire. It annoyed Anthony since his concentration was focused 
upon this piece, and the interruption- he hoped- would be worth it since once 
the break of that mental image of the "angel" soaring through the air, there 
was little hope he could conjure it up again.

The screen flashed with two words, "Incoming Message."

Anthony sighed, but placed the paper down and the pencil to it?s home. Quickly 
he commanded, "computer, load message."

"Please confirm access," the familiar female voice of the computer replied.

"Manson, nine gamma two. Voice verification for this terminal for future 
reference." There was a hint of irritation in his voice as he quickly looked 
back at his drawing. It was not done in the least, but most of the contours 
were there which gave quick relief- he could go back to it if he wanted.

"Confirmed, message loaded," The text came in, small and in white against the 
black background. He quickly looked at who it was from. Apparently from Alder, 
who had very little to say. He found that strange, if it was that short, he 
wondered why Alder hadn?t bothered to just talk over the comm or face to face. 

Squinting his eyes a little bit, he read quickly. His eyebrows lifted up in 
surprise for what Alder had to say. 



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