[USS Vanguard] A few words? Er.....
- From: "Kieran Darkwater" <kdarkwater@xxxxxxxxxxx>
- To: ncv80221@xxxxxxxxxxxxx
- Date: Wed, 09 Jan 2002 16:45:58 +0000
Kieran sat quietly, towards the back of the lounge area, rueing his attitude
slightly. Where most of the crew seemed quite open and friendly, he remained
at a table on his own, with only his glass of milk for company.
*It's your own fault,* he told himself, sipping from the chilled liquid
again, *you had to be funny when you could have been open, and now look
where you are.*
Santos:... Kieran Darkwater: step forward
The glass slowly drifted down from his mouth as his eyes, and only his eyes
moved to look at the Captain, talking from the front. One hand tried to
nonchalantly drift up to his face and remove the smear of white from his top
lip as his face gradually turned redder as though to emphasise it. Obedient,
if nothing else, Kieran rose and made his way between the press of people,
turning sideways in several places in an effort to avoid brushing against
people, flinching inside at several points as friendly slaps on the back
caught him by surprise.
Santos: Thank your department head, Zena. She tells me that you're not as
big a pain in the...Bussard collector as we may think. Somehow, someone,
somewhere thinks you have promise.
Santos held out his hand, and Yeoman Challis placed a velvet box in his hand
as Kieran looked up into the hazy blur of faces staring up at him,
swallowing hard as they swam in his vision. Finally, as the captain started
talking again he found the familiar features of his Department Head to
nodded to him, as though to confirm the captain wasn't lying. Had he been
watching, it might have been amusing, but up there in front of them all...
Santos: Ensign Kieran Darkwater, for bravery, for courage, for keeping an
amazingly clear head under fire, I hereby promote you to the rank of
lieutenant, junior grade, with all rights and privileges. Congratulations!
I'm sure the rank will fit you well.
He pinned the hollowed out circle to his collar, and shook his hand, a firm
solid grasp that felt like an anchor, dragging him to centre stage as the
mob started to press forward. He turned, smiled a slightly forced, sickly
smile, and raised one arm, half in thanks half in warding, and made to step
away as the dreaded words sounded out.
Santos: Say a few words, lieutenant. I'm sure we want to hear what you have
to say.
"I doubt..." he began, in a somewhat hoarse, throaty whisper, already
hearing the mutterings from the front row, where they at least realised
there was something being said that they couldn't hear: the rest didn't
realise he'd started yet. He stared at his feet for a moment, breathing
deeply as his chest tightened up, feeling the prickly sweat begin at the
base of his spine and slowly, slowly crawl upwards.
"Um..." he began, looking up, and clasping his hands together as they almost
instinctively began to crawl up to his collar. "M-m-most of you have already
h-h-heard what h-h-happened down on Angel One, so I w-w-wont repeat it:
b-b-bravery, and clear-h-h-headedness come from knowing that you h-h-have
faith in the people behind, in front of you, and with you in spirit. It's
not so much a p-p-personal achievement, as a validation of a c-c-crew that
w-w-works together."
He swallowed hard, looking up briefly before swallowing again, and backing
away from the 'podium' spot, until he bumped into a counter, at which point
he lifted one arm self-consciously again, and nodded, hoping they would all
move off to something else, realising the spectacle was finished. The icy
sweat prickled across his neck, just as the Captain stepped away, moving to
talk, and the crowd suddenly seemed to dissolve into a much smaller number
of individuals talking and mingling as he gasped for breath, and turned to
the nearest door.
Off>
Sorry for the delay, everyone, my computer's been fried and I've had limited
access.
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