Post by Admin on Apr 7, 2016 23:37:05 GMT
Paradise Lost
Postby Atton Jetrel » Wed Aug 22, 2012 11:31 pm
"Paradise Lost"
Every Gods damned day, this war became worse. Sitting in the sewers of a Cosan city, held hostage by shop keeps, bartenders, and members of the tourist trade. They wielded make shift disruptors, sporting rifles and weapons that were usually considered tools. This had to be his low point of the war. The problem was, that bar kept being set lower and lower. Oh how he longed to be a naive boy again, his nerves getting the best of him as he sat in a plush tactical chair, as outclassed Tzenkethi ships stayed beyond the safety of the Aquarius' viewscreen. Those supposed horrible days felt like paradise now.
A war isn't really a war form that vantage point. Blow up a few ships from the safety of your Ambassador Class starship, a ship that was outstripped only by the two Galaxy Class ships that had been rolled off the line. He'd sit diligently, if not soberly on duty. After that, it was business as usual, more lost sobriety and clothing. No, to experience war, you had to get in the thick of it.
That happened on Kathalia V. Evacuation was a messy business. Civilians of all sorts, terrorized that the enemy could drop into orbit at any moment, and annihilate everyone. Only that time, it was true. It was a triple whammy, Kathalia was. To see the human element as he struggled the value of hundreds of healthy refugees over a handful of desperately sick few. To experience sheer terror as the Tzenkethi chased him and the last shuttles off Kathalia, watching shuttles left and right of him be destroyed, as he defied the odds and made it back to Aquarius. Luck, but not full luck as it would have it. Crippled by the shuttle crashing into the bay. A free spirit locked in a hoverchair. The war had irony he learned. His first trip to Risa, destination of the galaxy, as a paraplegic.
Looking back, he should have just given up there. It didn't get easier. Despite arduous, if effective rehabilitation and getting closer to Jocelyn, he constantly questioned himself. His ability, judgement, worth. He'd come too far though, to go back home in a chair. He built himself a suit to assist in his walking, and defied everyone in taking his first steps months before they thought he could.
Atton was reforged, and it was time for the Federation to take the offensive in this war. It should have been glorious. Being placed in command of a large ground offensive, to take back Tau Beta, while Starfleet and the Tzenkethi clashed in epic scale in orbit above. Shoulda, woulda, coulda. A quaint human expression. Shoulda, if Julia hadn't decided to tag along, and battle him for command the entire time. Woulda, if he'd just put her in her place like he should have. Coulda, if he hadn't taken a disruptor bolt to the leg. His good leg of course, that hadn't been mangled and patched back together after Kathalia.
For all that though, the heavy cost in life it had taken to secure Tau Beta and everything else, he could have at least been satisfied. Instead the Aquarius was crippled, and Jocelyn... That's what he kept coming back to. Just as the idea of a different life began to bloom in his mind, it was stamped out. If not for himself, for her, he'd reasoned so many times. Now what? He languished on Deep Space 3. Forced to investigate a murder he didn't care about, he'd taken the easy path to comfort with an old lover, now it filled him with shame and regret. It had blinded him to the fact that she herself was the murderer, and a double agent for the Tzenkethi. He showed her no mercy. Was it because of the betrayal, or that it was the first decent chance he'd gotten to lash out at the Tzenkethi for all they'd done to him. Taken from him.
That's how he justified it. He had to justify it, lest he let in the knowledge that he'd taken the most precious part of himself, and perverted it to do something horrific and unthinkable among his people.
He left for Cosa worse for wear. No reason to care, no reason to care about anyone. Demoted, striped of rank, the last thing he had to take pride in There weren't many Lieutenant Commanders at his age. Arriving at Cosa only made things worse. Before that, everything bad that had happened could be blamed on the Tzenkethi. If he hated them enough, killed enough of them, one day, things might go back to the way they were. Now he was presented with what Federation citizens could do if stripped of the order and protection their government provided. Anarchy and chaos. The ones that didn't have the good sense to evacuate declared the city open season. Rioting, looting and all the depraved things people did when removed from law and order.
He hated these people, for what they'd done to themselves, simply over fear. For everything he'd endured, these people had lost all reason over simply being asked to leave and get to safety before the Tzenkethi arrived. All sorts of people thrived in chaos like this, and of course he had to be taken captive by those he couldn't entirely morally hate. These special sorts of idiots, had the stones to think that if they took a few officers hostage, they'd get the guns, supplies and man power they'd need to hold off the Tzenkethi in some sort of grand stand worthy of Klingon song.
They were idiots. Well meaning idiots, but idiots none the less. If it were some looters, or a rape gang, or something like that he could have put them down, and been safe in the belief he'd made the universe a better place. No. Now he had to convince these people to give up their foolish stand. How was he supposed to do that when he didn't see the point in anything anymore? Getting Madison and Jericho out alive could have been a decent enough reason, but not really for him.
He had to believe in it, and he still had one thing to believe in. It was, in essence, who he was. Defiance. He bowed down to no one, to nothing. Not fear, not pain, not injury, not loss, and certainly not authority. Not the authority of the universe, that tried to break him day in and out, that told him to give up and lay down. Live a common life of insignificance.
This war had made his life a hell, but it was his hell. He still controlled it, shaped it as he pleased. He could go home to Betazed, if he lived through this, to not having a want or need. All he had to do was bow to his mothers wishes. He wouldn't. He couldn't. He hated this life, but he'd made it, by himself alone. He could still turn it around. He had too.
Postby Atton Jetrel » Wed Aug 22, 2012 11:31 pm
"Paradise Lost"
Every Gods damned day, this war became worse. Sitting in the sewers of a Cosan city, held hostage by shop keeps, bartenders, and members of the tourist trade. They wielded make shift disruptors, sporting rifles and weapons that were usually considered tools. This had to be his low point of the war. The problem was, that bar kept being set lower and lower. Oh how he longed to be a naive boy again, his nerves getting the best of him as he sat in a plush tactical chair, as outclassed Tzenkethi ships stayed beyond the safety of the Aquarius' viewscreen. Those supposed horrible days felt like paradise now.
A war isn't really a war form that vantage point. Blow up a few ships from the safety of your Ambassador Class starship, a ship that was outstripped only by the two Galaxy Class ships that had been rolled off the line. He'd sit diligently, if not soberly on duty. After that, it was business as usual, more lost sobriety and clothing. No, to experience war, you had to get in the thick of it.
That happened on Kathalia V. Evacuation was a messy business. Civilians of all sorts, terrorized that the enemy could drop into orbit at any moment, and annihilate everyone. Only that time, it was true. It was a triple whammy, Kathalia was. To see the human element as he struggled the value of hundreds of healthy refugees over a handful of desperately sick few. To experience sheer terror as the Tzenkethi chased him and the last shuttles off Kathalia, watching shuttles left and right of him be destroyed, as he defied the odds and made it back to Aquarius. Luck, but not full luck as it would have it. Crippled by the shuttle crashing into the bay. A free spirit locked in a hoverchair. The war had irony he learned. His first trip to Risa, destination of the galaxy, as a paraplegic.
Looking back, he should have just given up there. It didn't get easier. Despite arduous, if effective rehabilitation and getting closer to Jocelyn, he constantly questioned himself. His ability, judgement, worth. He'd come too far though, to go back home in a chair. He built himself a suit to assist in his walking, and defied everyone in taking his first steps months before they thought he could.
Atton was reforged, and it was time for the Federation to take the offensive in this war. It should have been glorious. Being placed in command of a large ground offensive, to take back Tau Beta, while Starfleet and the Tzenkethi clashed in epic scale in orbit above. Shoulda, woulda, coulda. A quaint human expression. Shoulda, if Julia hadn't decided to tag along, and battle him for command the entire time. Woulda, if he'd just put her in her place like he should have. Coulda, if he hadn't taken a disruptor bolt to the leg. His good leg of course, that hadn't been mangled and patched back together after Kathalia.
For all that though, the heavy cost in life it had taken to secure Tau Beta and everything else, he could have at least been satisfied. Instead the Aquarius was crippled, and Jocelyn... That's what he kept coming back to. Just as the idea of a different life began to bloom in his mind, it was stamped out. If not for himself, for her, he'd reasoned so many times. Now what? He languished on Deep Space 3. Forced to investigate a murder he didn't care about, he'd taken the easy path to comfort with an old lover, now it filled him with shame and regret. It had blinded him to the fact that she herself was the murderer, and a double agent for the Tzenkethi. He showed her no mercy. Was it because of the betrayal, or that it was the first decent chance he'd gotten to lash out at the Tzenkethi for all they'd done to him. Taken from him.
That's how he justified it. He had to justify it, lest he let in the knowledge that he'd taken the most precious part of himself, and perverted it to do something horrific and unthinkable among his people.
He left for Cosa worse for wear. No reason to care, no reason to care about anyone. Demoted, striped of rank, the last thing he had to take pride in There weren't many Lieutenant Commanders at his age. Arriving at Cosa only made things worse. Before that, everything bad that had happened could be blamed on the Tzenkethi. If he hated them enough, killed enough of them, one day, things might go back to the way they were. Now he was presented with what Federation citizens could do if stripped of the order and protection their government provided. Anarchy and chaos. The ones that didn't have the good sense to evacuate declared the city open season. Rioting, looting and all the depraved things people did when removed from law and order.
He hated these people, for what they'd done to themselves, simply over fear. For everything he'd endured, these people had lost all reason over simply being asked to leave and get to safety before the Tzenkethi arrived. All sorts of people thrived in chaos like this, and of course he had to be taken captive by those he couldn't entirely morally hate. These special sorts of idiots, had the stones to think that if they took a few officers hostage, they'd get the guns, supplies and man power they'd need to hold off the Tzenkethi in some sort of grand stand worthy of Klingon song.
They were idiots. Well meaning idiots, but idiots none the less. If it were some looters, or a rape gang, or something like that he could have put them down, and been safe in the belief he'd made the universe a better place. No. Now he had to convince these people to give up their foolish stand. How was he supposed to do that when he didn't see the point in anything anymore? Getting Madison and Jericho out alive could have been a decent enough reason, but not really for him.
He had to believe in it, and he still had one thing to believe in. It was, in essence, who he was. Defiance. He bowed down to no one, to nothing. Not fear, not pain, not injury, not loss, and certainly not authority. Not the authority of the universe, that tried to break him day in and out, that told him to give up and lay down. Live a common life of insignificance.
This war had made his life a hell, but it was his hell. He still controlled it, shaped it as he pleased. He could go home to Betazed, if he lived through this, to not having a want or need. All he had to do was bow to his mothers wishes. He wouldn't. He couldn't. He hated this life, but he'd made it, by himself alone. He could still turn it around. He had too.