To Phlegethon
Posted on Mon Jul 7th, 2025 @ 6:52pm by Lieutenant Sivek
Edited on on Mon Jul 7th, 2025 @ 7:42pm
946 words; about a 5 minute read
Mission:
In The Nick Of Time
Location: Federation Prison Transport XG-447
Timeline: 2388
The prison transport's engines were a steady presence under their feet. They weren't loud, and they were not distracting--just there, like a pulse. The interior lights were set to a muted white--far too cold to pass for comfortable, too soft to qualify as institutional.
Sivek sat in the center row, a silent hinge between two Federation marshals. The restraints pinned his wrists to a band at his waist, though he hadn't moved in hours. The manacles gleamed ceremonially in the soft lighting, but they were shiny for nobody at all.
The marshals wore matte black suits with those curious bolo ties Starfleet Rehab favoured. One marshal smelled faintly of old paper and mints. The other hadn't spoken since they broke Earth orbit the night before.
Across from them sat the Starfleet Rehabilitation representative. Young. Human. A professional uniform cut precisely at her shoulders, pale blouse buttoned to the throat. A purple hummingbird brooch pinned at her collarbone. It was the only patch of colour in all that grey. Her eyes kept skimming the data PADD in her lap, though Sivek doubted she was actually reading.
A Starfleet security detail lined the perimeter of the cabin: four gold-shirted officers, chest armour donned, rifles cradled with careful impatience. One of them--a bald man with a smudge of age across his jawline--kept flexing his fingers around the the grip.
The first marshal stood abruptly, muttering something about the head, and disappeared aft.
Sivek turned, slightly, toward the young woman. "Your brooch," he said, his voice low and smooth as though he might be discussing ambient temperature. "I find it aesthetically pleasing."
She did not look at him. Didn't blink.
"My mother once wore a pendant. A hummingbird, though I believe the artist intended it to resemble the ruby-throated species indigenous to the North American continent." His words dropped into the air likes little stones into a dry wishing well.
She kept her eyes fixed on her PADD.
He tried again. "Hummingbirds are drawn to impossible things. A flower that never opens. A memory that no longer exists."
The bald security officer snapped forward, voice sharpened almost to the point of a spear. "Shut your mouth."
Sivek complied. His eyes snapped downward, the only real sign he'd heard at all.
The officer stepped closer. "Look at me when I'm talking to you," he spat.
Sivek did not.
The man's anger inflated, expanding to fill every corner and crevice of the cabin. "Do you remember Edgar Baldwin? Lieutenant Commander. Damage control specialist on the Renommée. My brother-in-law. Thanks to you, there wasn't anything left of him to bring home in box." His voice cracked on the word home. "Do you remember him at all?"
Silence.
"Of course you don't. You don't remember any of them. You think they were just variables in your equation. Numbers on a data slate."
Sivek's eyes shifted a slight fraction. It may have been an acknowledgment.
The officer slammed his hand onto the seatback at the end of the aisle. It was as sharp as a whip-crack.
"My wife--she hasn't smiled in six years. And did you think about his husband--what he's like now?" His voice trembled, rage clawing at the edges of his words.
The remaining marshal--the one still present--pushed to his feet, palms open. "Fred, that's enough. Back off. You're done."
Fred turned on him, eyes wild.
"You think about while you sit in your cell and polish your equations. You are scum."
The young woman rose, one hand outstretched in that automatic, useless way.
The second marshal came rushing from the rear of the cabin, putting an arm around Fred.
"Hey," he said calmly with subtle hint of placation. "Why don't we get ourselves a cup of coffee in galley?"
Fred's gaze remained firmly on the prisoner, his lower lip trembling. Finally, he spat onto the deck at Sivek's feet before turning sharply and following the second marshal aft.
Silence folded back into the cabin.
The remaining marshal looked to Sivek. "I'm sorry about that," he offered, careful not to give too much sympathy to Sivek. "You alright?"
The prisoner nodded without word and returned his eyes forward, staring at nothing in particular.
The woman sat again, her hands fidgeting at the hem of her blazer.
Sivek tilted his head, eyes briefly meeting hers. "He is correct," he said.
Her brow creased. "What?"
Sivek's voice remained steady, a gentleness very out-of-bounds for a Vulcan sounded. "The security officer. His assessment of me is correct. My actions were selfish. They resulted in the deaths of seventy-one individuals. Including his brother-in-law, Lieutenant Commander Edgar Baldwin. I knew him. He played violin in the forward lounge. He collected twentieth-century vinyl recordings and bowled in the holodeck every Wednesday night. He had a partner, Lieutenant Choi Gwang-seon. They were due to vacation on Risa three weeks after the incident."
The words unspooled with no tremor. No dramatic pause was taken.
Sivek turned his eyes forward again. "I regret his loss. As I regret them all."
The woman pressed her lips together and looked down.
Sivek turned again to the hummingbird. The small violet curve of its throat shimmered each time she shifted her breathing. It seemed to almost be alive. He fixed there, and the cabin quieted. He continued to watch the brooch, and thought--without warmth, without despair--that somewhere in the swirl of probabilities, all those voices still existed.
Then he folded himself back into the silence.
A Post By
Lieutenant Sivek
Chief Engineering Officer
USS Herodotus DTI-30656
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