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Lt. Commander
Join Date: Dec 2007
Posts: 120
# 85 Holosuite 4
06-03-2011, 05:32 PM
The Resolution was a fine ship, with a fine crew, but ever her Captain needed a break from time to time. With the state of the Federation, Mark Sharp was one of the younger Captains within the fleet, having risen from the ranks of an Engineer. He missed that job; the problems were less… problematic and never on the verge of an all-out galactic war. Most of all he missed that sense of satisfaction of a completed job, the hum of the warp core and the cute blonde he used to work beside.

The ship was ordered to return to Earth Space Dock, to take on supplies, rotate the duty officer crew and to replace part of the port nacelle which had sheered clean off when a Ferengi merchant tried to ‘negotiate’ his way out of a long prison sentence after a run in with some, in his words, ‘Legitimately acquired Borg technology’. In long travel times such as this, Mark could escape to his haven; Deck 11, section 3, just past cargo 2, take a left, a right, another right, remember to smile at the crew, everything is fine, a final left and there it was, Holosuite 4. Not the biggest on the ship and it often malfunctioned, but it was hardly used in a part of the ship where the weary Captain could go undisturbed for an hour here and there.

As he approach the door, he tapped the panel to open his favourite program. Being of Scottish nationality, one would expect him to go to a place that reminded him of home, the lush Scottish hillsides with breathtakingly beautiful skylines, lochs and treelines that would go on for miles. However, this was not the destination choice. The doors swung apart with the familiar ‘whoosh’ of the pistons on each end, signalling Mark to leave behind his training and relax.

The moist and humid air hit him like wall, but also embraced him like a welcomed and long missed friend. The heat was sublime and he could already feel the sun warming his skin, reaching deep into his bones. The breeze that came off the sea breathed new life into him; the sand at his feet began to warm his soul. He was in perfection, he was free.

A small tropical beach on a deserted island was his sanctuary. Mark didn’t know if such a place existed back on Earth as he had created his hideaway here on the ship, not that he cared anyway. With each sound of the gentle sea waves lapping against the shore he began to unwind, the beat of his heart began to match the pulse of the slow and sultry waves. Taking his boots off he finally felt the warm sand and the shells between his toes, if anyone was about they would have heard his sigh of relief. A log hut lay ahead, a modest structure to say the least, open on one side, facing the beach, letting the light shine in, the thatched roof rustling in the breeze as if to welcome him home.

His jacket was thrown against the floor as he picked up a book and a pen, something never seen in the days of PADDs and Bio-Neural Gel Packs. Sitting himself on the lip of the wooden floor, his feet resting on the spot on the sand where the sea met the beach, he began to write…
“Captain’s Log….”