Waiting Game
Posted on Sat Sep 6th, 2025 @ 6:05am by Captain M'Raz
1,068 words; about a 5 minute read
Mission:
Collating Data
Location: Conference Room | Deck 1 | USS Roosevelt
Timeline: MD 004 - 0345
The USS Roosevelt, now functioning as Starfleet Command, was parked near Starbase 343. Near but not docked. Admiral Chester Stillwell, currently in command, would not make that mistake again. If the enemy could arrive quickly, he reasoned, then they must be able to move just as quickly. He had submitted a proposal to the Security Council that its members should also be housed on vessels that could move quickly. He had received a polite, though vaguely worded response, indicating that the matter would be taken under advisement.
That had been two days ago.
Politicians, he muttered under his breath, as he stood before the holographic data display that now took up two walls of the Deck 1 Conference Room. The former captain, dead in the Sol System attack, had collected ship models; Stillwell's first act after coming on board was to send them to the starbase for storage until family members could be found who might enjoy them. Stillwell did not. In every model, there were memories and these days, too many of them were bad.
He had turned one of the conference room chairs toward the display and sat, long legs stretched out before him, with a cup of coffee resting on the slight rise of his belly. Both he, nor his aide of more than ten years, were somewhat disreputable in appearance. The stubble decorating the admiral's jaw was entirely silver while his aide's was red-gold with patches of skin still showing through; both men had dark circles under their eyes.
"Any updates on the Third Fleet," Stillwell asked, his light blue gaze tracking to the fleet data, still mostly in the red and no amount of haranguing his team of analysts had done a bit of good in changing that situation.
"They know to update the board immediately, Sir," Lachlan Wallace said over the rim of his own coffee mug. Years working for the Admiral had made him a consummate juggler, whether that was the number of items he held in his hands or the number of tasks that all needed to be done at the same time. "Last report indicated that Admiral Ross made it to the Allegheny but nothing since then."
"They took the brunt of the first attack," Stillwell said, "being the standing fleet for Sol System. We'll be lucky if any of them got out." He took a sip of tepid coffee, shaking his head at the board. "That whole system lost," he said, gesturing toward the map which now showed the entirety of his home system in a sickly green color, "lost. And not a bit of useful data."
Wallace remained quiet. He understood both what the Admiral was saying and what he wasn't. Their job was to get organized, figure out a way to fight back. Thoughts of home, of family and friends, and what was happening to them (or had happened to them already) wouldn't help. No, those thoughts were reserved for the quiet of a man's bunk ... the few minutes he got to be in one.
"The communications group wants an hour," Wallace said.
Stillwell grunted. "I asked them to figure out a way we can communicate safely. We have to assume that these ... Borg ... will be listening. Going to make it a lot harder to contact our people until the word gets out. We're going to need ships, small and fast, to run a courier mission to the Fifth, Sixth ..."
A small ping from Wallace's heavily modified PADD caught both of their attention. "Security Council, Admiral. They're requesting your presence immediately."
"About time. I'm going to need ..." Stillwell said as he rose slowly to his feet and placed his mug on the Conference table. Wallace finished the thought between one breath and the next.
"Already hanging up in your Ready Room," Wallace answered. "And yes, it's been cleaned. You have enough time for a quick shower and a shave, I think, while i give your boots a bit of polish."
Stillwell gave his aide an appraising look, nodding almost at once. He had risen through the ranks as much for his adroit understanding of politics as his command ability. "Agreed," he said with a tired sigh. "Here's hoping its good news. I want to get them all on a ship as soon as possible."
Stillwell made use of the sonic shower and shaved two days' worth of silver-white stubble off his face, barely looking at himself in the mirror as he did so. His thoughts were on assets, deployment strategies and development of an early warning system as well as lines of retreat. Over the past week, it had all become a too familiar circular track that haunted those rare moments when he didn't have something else to do. Every action depended on several other actions and there were just so many gaps.
"Maddening," he whispered and found himself yawning at the mirror. As he exited the bathroom, he saw Wallace dozing over a pair of immaculately polished boots. He picked them up quietly but something gave him away. Who knew with Wallace ... creak of a joint, blinking too hard, something. He caught his aide's gaze and said, "I'll be down there for awhile. Get some sleep." He grinned wryly. "I know you have every transporter tech on the ship trained to let you know when I come back on board."
Wallace grinned cheerfully as he gathered up the supplies and stowed them away in a box in the closet. A lot of things were going old school these days. There were shortages and it wasn't looking to get better any time soon. "Aye, Sir," he said, smothering a yawn. "See you in a couple of hours."
"I"m planning of getting some sleep when I get back on board," Stillwell said as he walked out of the Ready Room and headed for the turbolift.
"I'll believe that when I see it," Wallace said. The Bridge Break Room had a small couch, he'd nap there. If he went to his quarters, he wasn't sure anything would get him up again. As he exited the Ready Room, he found a security officer waiting for him.
"Admiral said you're to sleep in your quarters," he said with an apologetic look. "I'm permitted to use force if you decide to be difficult." He smothered a yawn of his own. "Please be don't difficult."
Admiral Chester Stillwell
Starfleet Command
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