Literary Challenges : The Library Computer
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Join Date: Dec 2007
05-10-2011, 07:19 AM
It had been a long, painful past few days. The
n had been scouting out several systems deep in romulan territory that were suspected of being independent. Jaeih knew why Starfleet had her in this position. A romulan could relate to other romulans, and show them that the Federation would consider their interests. A romulan might trust another romulan more.
Knowing that didn't ever steal away the pain, though. Some of the planets were just isolated colonies, cut off over the past few decades from the rest of the galaxy. They lived fairly comfortable lives. But others...
Others were little more than refugee camps. The starved, dirty faces of men, women, young and elderly all alike in their loss of hope and will to live. It reminded her too much of those early years, just after the incident.
She looked out from the window. The vast nebula that had been the Hobus star filling the view screen. She frowned, turning away from it.
Instead, her eyes came to settle on a familiar shape, wide at the base, then slowly narrowing until it came to a sudden curved neck. A bottle of
ale... now empty. It sat next to a holo-image of a family. A tall, rugged but strong and smiling man, an outdoorsman or farmer. A woman with short hair, and wearing a Centurion's uniform, a young Jaeih. And a girl, no older than 10, perhaps, standing in front of them, holding a stuffed shelat doll.
Jaeih reached for the bottle, her eyes more focused on that than the picture, and she sighed. “I remember this one, Oren.” She smiles a bit wistfully, with a hint of old pain to her eyes and in the corners of her mouth. “Our first bottle together... you'd made it yourself. It was horrible.” She chuckles lightly, turning it over to read the label again.
“I still think you were mad, keeping it all these years. It was just a pick-” She chokes on the word, then sets the bottle down, trying to compose herself. After a few minutes, she wipes the wetness from her eyes and takes a deep breath.
Her commbadge chirps, and she sighs something halfway between both resentment and relief. “S'tarleya here, what is it?”
“Admiral Nyvra, ma'am.”
Her expression brightens some. “Put her through to my desk, I'll be with her in just a moment.”