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Lt. JG Tatash - "Solitude"


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((SB118 Holodeck))

::As the holographic sun started to set the picnic wound down and perhaps to no real surprise Tatash found himself stood alone once more. Most of the human’s (or near enough) had departed to locations unknown without offering an invite, Vitor and the Captain had shared a quiet word before going their own separate ways and now it was just him left as the last few attendees departed through the archway.

Still, it wasn’t exactly unexpected. Regardless of his performance or personality he was still the proverbial elephant in the room, even with the cheerful apron wrapped around his front he still seemed to be a relic from a prehistoric age in Earths past, a menacing hulking creature who was more alien then most of the other races that served aboard the ship except perhaps for Puddles, but most humanoids seemed to have an affinity for charming furry creatures that didn’t quite extend to grumpy reptiles.

Even on Cestus it had taken a long time for people to finally integrate fully and get over these minor prejudices. Despite the Federations almost utopian ideal of collective harmony, it still only truly extended to those that matched the humanoid norm, that combined with hard feelings from Starfleets sad involvement with the Gorn’s civil war was bound to leave him at a disadvantage.

His golden eyes scoured the surroundings for anyone else who might be malingering before finally tapping his finger on the arch terminating the program, leaving the holodeck nothing more than a golden gridded box waiting for the next fantasy before stepping out through the door into the large corridor beyond.

Activity bustled around him, and for a moment he was reminded of the time he first set eyes upon 118 from a shuttlecraft’s window, this huge blue mushroom seemingly growing larger and larger in the [...]pit glass until finally it seemed so large it couldn’t even possibly exist. It was truly a testament to the best and brightest the quadrant had to offer. More amazingly perhaps was out of the dozens of miles of corridors he knew exactly where he wanted to be as he stepped into the nearest Turbolift.

Tatash: Deck 454. Section C.

((Deck 454 – Section C – Right Docking Bay Door Utility/Mechanical)

::The lift certainly moved faster then he was used too, almost leaving his stomach by the holodeck as it rocketed up towards the crown of the station, finally opening the doors with a hiss onto a rather drab looking corridor. It was narrower than the others, and certainly missing the trappings of the more civilian friendly area’s, the lighting dull and the temperature warm enough to make him feel content, which meant for others it would be uncomfortably hot.

A single door rested against the wall, which he opened with a quick entry of his security code revealing a smallish room beyond stacked with numerous crates marked a couple of decades ago, if it wasn’t for the stations perfect air scrubbers and filtration he had no doubt the whole area would be covered in dust and the faded murals left on the wall indicated this used to be some sort of small observation lounge from when docking relied on people as well as sensors to watch a ships position.

What drew him to it was two things, first was the silence. Outside was nothing but vacuum and several layers of fireproofing meant that any noise from the dense machinery behind the walls that opened and closed the monstrous shipyard doors was muted.

Secondly, was the breath taking view the slightly dirty window offered. A sweeping panoramic of the main docking bay designed specifically to give a view of anyone entering or leaving. He could see the Columbia being attended by the tiny little yellow worker bees, swarming around her with new hull plates and cabling as they repaired the vicious looking damage done to her by the Ferengi, with a few even giving the hull a fresh coat of paint. He had no doubt she’d be as good as new by the time they returned, but she was dwarfed by some of the other ships. Odyssey, Vesta and Sovereign Classes gracefully moored like beautiful tropical fish floating in a pool, their sleek lines and elongated, elegant nacelles contrasting to the squat and ugly appearance of the older Nebula class.

He felt just like the Columbia must feel in that docking bay. The old workhorse, who may not be as pretty as her newer cousins, maybe not as fast or as durable or packed with the latest wizardry and gismos, but she has it where it counts. That’s what he had too, idly thumbing the new pip attached to his collar as he gazed across the docking bay before tugging out the silver flask Gavin had given him earlier at the reception.::

Tatash: Here’s to us, Columbia.

::He took a swig of the strong smelling liquid, immediately wincing as it fought back. Synthahol never quite managed to get it right, never gave that same bite in the throat as the genuine article. Nor did it have the same fire or after-taste, the same history of every grain distilled in the process. The sensation was almost overwhelming, and he had no doubt he’d have to hold his breath before going past any security checkpoint as it lingered on his pallet. But for this moment, it was the perfect accompaniment to a lonely moment of contemplation.::


Lt. JG Tatash

Security Officer

USS Columbia

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