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Major Tatash: "The lows of the job"


Sal Taybrim
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((SB118 - The Raven))
 

::Tatash watched as Dal headed out with the engineers, the little reclaimed science machines rolling ahead of them like sniffer dogs. It would be a slow process, The Below was more then just a few empty corridors, it was something altogether more awful judging by the first few telemetry feeds coming through the small screens on the logistics station set up in The Raven.

 
Slavers, the worst kind of scum operating right under the nose of Starfleet and the thousands of civilians spending their lives blissfully ignorant above their heads. But now they had Oma-Saan firmly under control and his little friend as well, the ring well and truly starting to collapse::
 
Whittaker: Any news from Dal?
 
::Tatash peered up to look at his friend and gestured with a finger to the console::
 
Tatash: Slow, but steady. It might take a while but it's going well.
 
Whittaker: :: nodding :: Alright. :: beat :: I'm just going to make a call.
 
::Tatash nodded and continued to watch the process through the monitors, although his mind wandered. While the here and now took precedence, he'd caught side of that floating bed returning draped with a blanket with a figure underneath it.
 
Each Marine had their 'in case of' plan, and Hughes had joked before that he'd like something simple. His parents undoubtedly would be informed by Sal of the terrible situation, but he'd made it clear that his body (like most of them) would be buried 'at sea' according to some ancient terran traditions.
 
That meant a touching send off from the hanger bay, a flag hanging over a re-purposed torpedo before being launched towards the nearest star to begin one final journey. A somber, but fitting departure.
 
Still, that wasn't enough. At least not to Tatash.::
 
Tatash: =/\= Tatash to Captain Tem.
 
Tem: ?
 
Tatash: =/\= Can you meet me in the Raven?
 
Tem: ?
 
::He waited a few minutes before the young Captain appeared with the rest of the equipment in the beam in site. She wasn't her usual smiling self, but in fairness none of them could be expected to be.::
 
Tem: ?
 
Tatash: I wanted to speak to you face to face. Raisillius isn't really the sort for this, and I confess I am still at heart an alien to a lot of Starfleets customs with regards to...
 
::He paused, not knowing the right word to say. But Tem nodded, while the Marines were as always tough as nails, having someone with more of a heart in the upper ranks was a requirement to stop them from succumbing to a complete lack of sympathy::
 
Tem: ?
 
Tatash: Yes. The service will be held as soon as medical gives us clearance to recover him. A usual send off, but, I would ask as a personal favour if you and the pilots that knew him would fly honor guard for his...vessel.
 
Tem: ?
 
Tatash: Hughes always spoke highly of you, when he actually did speak. He recommended you for promotion himself, I just agreed. "She can fly rings around Raisillius as well as she can the station." I believe was a choice quote.

Tem: ?
 
::Tatash shook his head a little, he was so used to suppressing his own emotions that he didn't realise how deep grief ran in other races, although his tone changed when he saw her struggling to keep her composure.  ::
 
Tatash: Save your sorrow for the service Jandara, don't waste your tears here. ::he offered a soft smile, gesturing to the puddles still forming:: they would just get washed away.
 
Tem: ?
 
Tatash: I'll leave it in your hands. Feel free to help monitor this situation, I need to go and start... ::he frowned:: writing a eulogy.
 
Tem: ?
 
::Tatash nodded once more before heading off quietly, the drama of combat and action starting to wear off as he slumped against the wall of the turbolift leaving the Dungeon behind.
 
He couldn't cry, Gorn didn't have the need for it. They were an arid race and to have their bodies leaking at every opportunity would be a death sentence, but still he felt that hit. There was no anger, no rage to redirect his emotion or a mission to occupy himself with.
 
Now there was him, his thoughts and the dull, terrible ache that radiated through his chest.::
 
Tatash: Hold lift.
 
::The machine stopped, waiting permission to continue it's incline from it's lone passenger, who was now sat with his head resting in his hands, wracked with tearless sobbing.::
 
 
--

Major. Tatash

Marine Lead

SB118 Operations

C239108T10

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