LtCol Wes Greaves – Among the Stars Again

[+ Arturo Maxwell]

Absolutely loved this! ❤️

 

 

((Wes Greaves’s Quarters, Deck 12, USS Octavia E. Butler))

The moment Wes stepped through the door, the silence hit him. For the first time since reporting aboard the Butler, he had a chance to stop and breathe. The quarters were large by Starfleet standards, but compared to the spacious accommodations he’d enjoyed during his assignment on Earth, they felt downright cramped. Still, they were functional. A desk, a small sitting area, and a viewport offering a glimpse of the stars streaking by at warp—all the essentials were there.

 

On the floor near the bed sat his duffel bag, standard issue and well-worn from years of use. Beside it was a small cargo pallet, a single stack of neatly secured crates that had been transferred from the cargo bay. These contained the rest of his belongings: mementos, tools, and personal effects that wouldn’t fit in the duffel.

 

Wes took a moment to survey the room, his eyes lingering on the bare walls. They were impersonal, almost clinical, and felt more like a temporary billet than the sanctuaries he’d created aboard the USS Thor or the USS ‘Oumuamua. Those ships had been his homes in a way that few other places ever could be. The camaraderie of the crew, the sense of shared purpose, and the memories of countless missions all seemed to echo within those spaces. Compared to those warm memories, this room felt hollow, though he knew it would take shape over time. For a brief moment, he thought of the Cascades back on Earth, the towering evergreens and misty mornings tugging at him with a pang of nostalgia he quickly set aside.

 

“Time to get this place in order,” he muttered to himself, stepping over to the pallet and releasing the securing straps.

 

The first item he unpacked was a small, carved model of a starship—a simple but detailed recreation of the USS Thor. He’d had it commissioned during his time on Earth, painstakingly ensuring every detail matched his memory of the ship that had been such a significant part of his life. The lacquered wood caught the dim light of the room, its sleek lines evoking memories of missions that had defined his career. Wes placed it carefully on the desk, adjusting it until it faced the door, a quiet nod to the ship and the crew that had been his home for so long.

 

Next came a small, weathered journal. Its leather cover bore the scuffs of frequent use, and the edges of the pages were slightly frayed. Inside were entries written by his great grandfather, detailing his time as a combat engineer during the Earth-Romulan War. Wes thumbed through the pages briefly before placing it reverently on the shelf above the desk. The journal reminded him of the lineage of service he was part of—a lineage that stretched back generations, rooted in dedication and resilience.

 

A box containing a set of holophotos followed. He pulled out a few—a snapshot of his family during a hike in the Cascades, a candid shot of the Marine detachment on Duronis II, and one of Private Paul Newson. The latter gave him pause. Wes stared at the image for a long moment, memories of that tragic mission flooding back. Paul’s sacrifice had been a turning point for him, shaping his approach to leadership and responsibility. With a deep breath, Wes placed the photo beside the model of the USS Thor, a tribute to a fallen comrade.

 

The last crate held practical items: tools for field repairs, a portable holo-emitter loaded with outdoor scenes, and a compact hydroponic kit. The kit, a small indulgence, contained a fern native to the Pacific Northwest. He’d grown it from a clipping taken six months ago, and its presence here was a quiet reminder of the forests he loved. The fern was more than just a plant; it was a piece of home he could carry with him, a living connection to Earth.

 

As he worked, Wes couldn’t help but reflect on the journey that had brought him to this point. From his days as a young enlisted Marine to his current role as Marine Detachment Commander, the path had been anything but linear. The challenges, the losses, and the victories—all of it had shaped him, reaffirming his confidence in returning to a role he knew well and genuinely enjoyed. Serving as a detachment commander was second nature to him, a position that felt like coming home to a familiar and fulfilling purpose.

 

He moved to the viewport and stared out at the stars, their light unchanging and indifferent. The transition from Earth to the Butler wasn’t just about adapting to smaller quarters. It was about embracing the unpredictability of life aboard a starship, where every day brought new challenges and opportunities. He allowed himself a moment to wonder about the crew he’d come to know, the missions that lay ahead, and the bonds that would inevitably form. There was a certain excitement in the unknown—a sense of purpose that could only be found out here, among the stars.

 

Turning back to the desk, Wes picked up his datapad and brought up the Butler’s recent mission logs. His role wasn’t just about commanding the Marines; it was about ensuring they were ready for anything. He began drafting training schedules and brainstorming ways to integrate his team with the Starfleet crew. Cooperation would be key, as it always was.

 

As he worked, Wes’s thoughts wandered to the Marines under his command. Some were seasoned, with years of experience etched into their confident stances and sharp movements, while others were fresh out of the academy, their eagerness tempered by uncertainty. It was his job to shape them into a cohesive unit, to instill the discipline and camaraderie that had been the hallmark of every detachment he’d led. He relished the challenge—this was the work that felt most meaningful to him.

 

The datapad buzzed softly in his hand, a reminder to check in with the ship’s department heads. He made a mental note to schedule a meeting soon. Understanding the Butler’s overall mission parameters and establishing strong inter-departmental relationships would be critical. The Marines didn’t operate in a vacuum, and Wes knew from experience that success often hinged on how well the entire crew could collaborate under pressure.

 

He set the datapad down and glanced around the room. The walls still looked bare, but they didn’t feel quite so sterile anymore. The model of the Thor, the photos, the fern—each item was a piece of a story, fragments of a life lived in service and adventure. It wasn’t home yet, but it was getting there. And for now, that was enough.

Edited January 2 by Arturo Maxwell

[Alora DeVeau]

So glad to have @Wes Greaves back!

[Lhandon_Nilsen]

Darn you Max, you beat me too the punch. I wanted to post about this

[Wes Greaves]

Thanks guys! Glad to  be back!