A Letter, dictated but unset in a drug-fuelled haze

Posted on 15 Feb 2014 @ 1:58pm by Commander Andreus Kohl

634 words; about a 3 minute read

circa Episode 4 ("Exodus"), MD 06

[ON]

Oh, mother, dear mother,

I've done something stupid.

I don't think you would approve. Or maybe, I simply assume you wouldn't approve. If I'm honest, I don't even know if you approve of my entire career. I can't imagine you would have any objection to my desires towards diplomacy or healing, but you've never told me what you think of Starfleet. No, that's not true. But you've never told me what you think about me in Starfleet. About my being an officer. I know you would prefer it if I were nearer to you. You would prefer it if I served the temple. You say it's in my blood. You don't say it in words, but it's like I'm betraying my blood, by following the path of my adoptive parents. And then whenever I try to talk about it, to talk bout my career, you change the subject. You probably think your'e being subtle, but it happens every time. You talk about the legends of Starfleet, the kind of Starfleet that existed when you were a child. And then we're done with talking about me.

I've done something stupid. I faced the Borg. And lived. I still can't decide if facing the borg, or living, is the most stupid of my decisions.

Heh.

Mind you, facing the Borg directly, challenging that Borg drone, may have been the only thing that saved my life. And by my life, I don't mean the continued beating of my heart, but my spark, my me. Because I faced the Borg, it struck me, and it left me for dead. None of the drones tried to assimilate me the way they did others among the crew. They left me for dead, and I was pretty close to that. I feel like I'm laying in a sarcophagus now. I'm trapped. Trapped. I'm speaking to you now from a biobed aboard Galileo. This might be my home now. And I don't mean the ship. I mean the bed. They don't know if I'm going to be able to walk. I can't move my legs and theres too much swelling around my spine to run the tests, or gather any meaningful results from the tests.

I don't know if it's me or the painkillers talking... But I want to come home. I haven't set foot on dear Nelphia since... since a very long time. Wow. I can't even remember how long; not exactly. I stay away because I don't want to see them, and it's not even really their world. Well. Her world. Not their anymore.

There are options for me here, of course. No matter what the diagnosis, there are always treatment plans or surgeries. If they can't undo the damage to my body, there's varieties of mobility assistance technology from every world in the Federation. And, well, Argelius II doesn't only trade with the Federation now, does it? At the end of the day, Father Starfleet loves me for my mind, doesn't he? There will always be work for me to do, value for me to create, even if not, perhaps if not away missions.

I'm thinking all of these things, telling me these things, but I feel like I should be learning from you. I should be home, home-home; I should be learning the ways of the temple. Your followers are few. I don't even know if you have a mentee or a disciple to pass on your way of things. I never thought that was my problem or concern. I have my own legacy to sort out. But now I'm staring at the ceiling, worrying about yours.

...Why is that?

... I don't know.

Computer...

Save draft...

I need some sleep.

[OFF]

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