From my Star Trek novel, Oaths.
Let me set the scene for you. Dr. Elizabeth Lense has been working
non-stop for days trying to fight a viral hemoragic fever that has an
entire planet, including most of her ship’s crew, under quarrantine and
a death sentence. She’s just been ordered back to the quarters she
shares with the security chief for a few hours of rest.
The door opened to the cabin Lense shared with
Domenica Corsi. Like the rest of the ship, it was quiet and empty. No
noise in the hall, no chatter, just the constant background hum of the
engines.
“Lights, one quarter.” The room dimmed to a point that Lense could
tolerate. The silence, however, would get to her. “Computer, play
Vivaldi’s
Four Seasons.”
The sounds of a string quartet filled the room and Lense collapsed into
a chair. She massaged her temples, trying to relieve some of the
eyestrain.
The computer beeped.
“You have a message from Lt. Commander Corsi.”
A message? That’s not like her, Lense thought. She opened her
eyes?there was no music. She must have fallen asleep in her chair and
slept through the entire piece. “Computer, time?”
“The time is now fourteen hundred hours, twelve minutes.”She
did some quick math in her head?she’d been asleep a little over two
hours. “Tea, semi-hot, extra sugar, lemon, and caffeine.” The
replicator hummed and she took the suddenly appearing mug in her hands
and sipped. “Play the message.” She turned to the viewscreen on the
wall, but there was no picture, just audio.
“Hey, roomie. I know we’re both incredibly busy, with me trying to
keep things running smoothly down here and you playing with your test
tubes. I’m down here at the spaceport– we’re keeping the lid on here.
There are a lot of people who are trying to get in here and find a way
off the planet, and I’m keeping my hands full keeping the ships
grounded. I don’t want to distract you, so you’ll get this message when
you get it. No rush– if you get it and it’s necessary, there’ll be
plenty of time.
“From what I understand, there’s a chance that I may be stuck on
this planet for a very long time, either living out the rest of my days
here or just taking up a good two meters of it. I’m not worried about
it. I know you’re doing your damndest up there, but we’ve all gotta go
sometime. But there is one important thing you’ve gotta do for me.
“If I don’t make it off this planet, I want to make sure that my
little brother gets the axe. It’s a family heirloom, been in the family
for years and years and years. He always complained that I got it. It’s
under my bed– I never found a good way to hang it on the wall. He’s on
Cestus III, living in Pike City, his name’s Roberto. You’ll find– Get
back here, you!” Lense heard a sudden scuffle of background noise and wondered just what was going on down there.
“Got to get back to the situation at hand. You have to get the axe
to Bobby, or I’ll haunt you from one end of the galaxy to the other.
And don’t worry about me. If I had to, I’d have commandeered a
shuttlecraft to get down here and do my job. This is what I’m supposed
to be doing, just like you’re doing what you have to do. Corsi out.”
Terrific, thought Lense. Somebody else haunting me. Just what I needed.
She thought about Domenica Corsi, a woman that she’d shared a cabin with for a year and knew almost nothing about. Yes, but nobody knows anything about her. Except maybe Fabian.
Her eyes drifted to the drawers under Corsi’s bed. The
axe? What was that all about? Knowing Core Breach, it’s probably some
old Klingon cleaver, designed to slay seven targs with one blow.
She got down and knelt in front of Corsi’s bed, then opened the
drawers.
She didn’t see it at first– then she saw a wooden case about a meter
long, in the back under some civilian clothes. She emptied the drawer
so she could get at it, and took it out.
It was wood, but it had been sealed with a fixative; she couldn’t feel
the wood grain. It had a clear top, and through it she could see the
axe.
It wasn’t a Klingon axe at all. It looked like it was human made, and
apparently very old– the handle was made of wood and it was beginning
to show signs of age. The axe head rested on what looked like a
triangular pillow, a deep blue with white stars on it, and showed wear
on the red paint. This was no ceremonial weapon, it had been used.
And down at the bottom of the case on the glass, there was a brass
plaque. The inscription read:
A firefighter performs only one act of bravery in his life,
and that’s when he takes the oath.
Everything he does after that is merely in the line of duty.
In Memoriam — September 11, 2001
Lense knew the date, and realized what she had to be holding.
She reverently placed the box down on Corsi’s unmade bed, then turned and left to go back to sickbay.
We still remember. And we will still remember.
FWIW, all the proceeds from my Amazon sales today are going to the
September 11th Fund.