Science Vessel USS T'Pol
Night shifts sucked. Lieutenant Marie Stovall was barely holding her eyes open to keep watch on the display that although was nondescriptly idle, strained her eyes and kept her awake. She was very tempted to fall into that sweet abyss known as sleep, but she knew it would diminish her chances of getting that astrometrics position she was hoping for. Her coffee had gone stale too. She hadn't the strength left in her legs to walk over to the small metallic slot on the other side of the room, and ask the computer for a new one. So all she had to look forward too was looking at this beeping tachyon indicator. Wait tachyons?
"Sir I'm picking up elevated tachyon readings." She reported straightening up from her slouching posture.
The Bolian Commander Kot ascended from the slender center seat and moved to rendezvous with the Lt. on the other side of the room. "Coming from where?"
"Directly in front of us"
"Drop us out of warp" he called to helm. "Captain Zendman to the bridge"
The ship did a slight shutter as the dropped to impulse. The entire bridge speechless with the mortal terror and shock of something not seen for 30 years. The Borg.
Starbase Deep Space 9
"We commit this body to space, in the hope she may not be forgotten." Admiral Clark said in a stoic yet saddening tone.
The torpedo fired, sending Commander Karen Andrew's lifeless body to the outer reaches of the station and into the big swirl of light and color they called the Bajoran Wormhole.
The Admiral hated doing this. For the past week, 2800 Dominion ships from the Dominion War-which had been sent to the future by the Prophets-had occupied the station. When they invaded, the Scottish woman gave her life to see everyone she could evacuated the station. And now her Fiancé and commanding officer, James Kurland, would never know the joys of marital bliss. She didn't deserve this, no one deserved this.
"Admiral" Kurland said in a dark and obviously heart-broken tone.
"Beamer" He said calmly. "No need to stand on formalities here James."
"Beamer, I want to thank you for performing the funeral. Karen would have appreciated it."
"I'm so sorry I couldn't have performed a lighter ceremony today. I know how much she meant to you." Beamer could see the hurt in his face, a consuming hurt that makes one want to lash out against all who hurt him. He'd been there himself and it almost lead to loss of soul analogous to loss of loved ones and their souls. Dealing with the Dominion diplomatically may have been the right thing for the station, but it might not have ridden James of his demons.
James wasn't sure he'd be ok if it wasn't for the ad-Beamer. He seemed to understand what he was going through, and that simple understanding is what made haunting reality of Karen's death more bearable. Since Karen had no father she looked up to Beamer, and he'd always been there. He understood why he'd reach out. A man who doesn't remember anything of his race or past, who lost his adopted family in the tragedy of Delta Vega.
He and Beamer were the last ones to leave the quaint little bar known as Quark's-naturally Karen's favorite spot considering her Scottish upbringing-. He realized just how much it was affecting the blue skinned, blue haired, antennae yielding Admiral. He hurt as much as he did. He blamed himself the same way he did, irrationally. Both of them did everything in their power to see DS9 was taken back and Karen didn't give her life in vain, and then some. It's not anyone's fault but Kar'Ukan's, for stabbing her in the back when she stayed manning her station at OPS. Then why did it seem like it?
Beamer made his way to the turbolift and asked the computer to take him to his office-a habit he developed naturally-. The Director of Deep Space Intelligence may have seemed like a daunting title when he first started the job a month ago, but he slowly grew into it. He had a spacious office with a gorgeous view of the Wormhole-not as gorgeous as the view from the promenade's second level but just as nice-and all his antique "Video Game" systems neatly on their shelves like trophies to be admired.
Beamer immediately went to go slouch in his chair and yield to his overly empathetic nature by started to cry. Karen was his protégé and he felt as though he let her down. Never in the universe would he find someone like her. Funny and witty, caring to a fault, and a person with a lot of untapped potential. Oh Karen, you poor poor girl. It should've never been this way.
He sat there for what seemed hours, musing over a lost officer that mattered so much in his twisted confusing life. He finally yielded to his fatigue and went back to his quarters to wait for Alpha shift via a deep slumber. He did not sleep well that night.