Stories of Samuel Bishop

[Sam]

Part Three: Toy Soldiers

Spoiler: Stardate 96165.8Show

Stardate 96165.8 (2nd March 2419)

It happened again. Two years later, it happened again. He was so close to the action, and yet, it was so far away from him. Two years ago, he had failed. Two years later, he still felt as if he had failed.

The mission was a hollow victory. He didn't like the mission parameters when he got them, but in the week between his orders and the attack, he had convinced himself that it was fine, that the mission was going to be fine, and that they were going to launch a devastating, if not decisive blow against the enemy. This was no doubt to Nimitz's plan, which he held in high regard. But the overarching shadow, that they were warping in with limited intelligence, was omnipresent. And it had been confirmed when the Endeavour and the Pegasus warped into the system. A mission that could have been undertaken by a strikeforce of Romulan ships, or Klingon ships, or hell, Federation ships with cloaking devices, was undertaken by them.

It's not as if Sam wasn't glad that the mission went without a hitch, that they didn't lose anyone until they were hit by the Isolytic devices. But the very fact that he found himself a passive observer hung over Sam, taunting him. Two years ago, he was nothing but a passive observer. Two years later, nothing had changed.

And now, they were once again in limbo, picking up the pieces of their "heroic" and "valiant" effort. All ready to return to normal as if nothing happened. All the while, the Azedi were preparing their revenge. They would not take that attack lying down. They would mobilise and regroup, and attack. And the cost of that attack would be more than seventeen dead souis.

There was a nagging feeling at the back of Sam's mind. A hidden, suppressed thought. That he wanted this war with the Azedi. He wanted to play soldier, to do the thing he was good at. He wanted to be more than a passive observer. He wanted in on the action.

Two years later, he still felt as though he was just a fish in a barrel. A small fish in the middle of a very large, and very dangerous barrel.

[Sam]

Spoiler: Stardate 96643.1Show

Stardate 96643.1 (23rd August 2419)
Sam pulled ahead of Brie, giving a short burst of speed to give him momentum as the pair reached a hill. They were completing a gruelling Olympic style triathlon, and at the 4 mile mark of the run, they were both very much feeling the effects of the brutality they were putting their bodies through. With almost no training, it had been expected that one of the two would have called it off during the cycling leg, but a combination of grit, determination to beat the other, and sheer stupidity, kept them going. They had been rather chatty at the start, but that quickly subsided as the pair just tried to keep breathing. Sam hoped that if he was able to just stay in front of Brie for the next mile, he might frustrate her enough for her to expend her energy and for him to take the crown.

The pair continued up the steep, winding slopes, jogging past the evening walkers and sightseers. The pair looked very out of place compared to these tourists. Sweat soaked and mud streaked compared to clean and pristine.

The incline suddenly levelled out as the pair reached the summit, and Sam could see the descending path down the hill. He could also hear Brie's breath behind him, hot on his heels. Suddenly, he saw movement from the corner of his eye; Brie had moved to his right and was attempting an overtake. If Brie got the lead now, he'd find it hard to keep in front going down the hill, and with her younger and fitter physique, he wasn't sure if he could muster enough strength for his own overtake.

"Out of the way, old man," Sam heard Brie exhale from just behind his right ear. Perhaps the fatigue had riled him up more than he realised, and he found himself swerving right to block off Brie's route and force her to drop back and overtake from the left, causing her to lose the momentum she had gained. Brie seemed unerring in her path and continued to try to go right.

"Back off Valencia," Sam exhaled back. There came no response, and Brie dropped out of Sam's peripheral. He had done it. Or had he? Instinct told him to look back. Brie wasn't there anymore. He scrambled and looked to the left, wondering if Brie had somehow gained the agility and energy to try to go left, but she wasn't there either. Sam forced his body to stop.

"Gabriella?" he called. There was no response. Concerned and breathing very heavily, Sam backtracked along the route, ready at any moment to resume his run, just in case this was a ruse to make him stop. That's when he saw footmarks on the side of the hill; a giant brown streak bordered by green grass, leading down the hill. The hill had a light forest growing around it, and Sam peered over the hill down the leafy detritus covered slope, to see more slip marks. She had fallen. Foliage blocked his view at the bottom.

"For the love of God," he cursed and then took the plunge, making a controlled descent down the side to try to find her. His hand went to his pocket and his fingers curled around his combadge, ready to call if Brie had been injured in the fall. Then, as Sam reached the foliage, he found himself spiralling in the air, as his foot got caught on a root, and the next thing he knew, he was face down in dirt, the wind knocked clean out of him.

"How'd... you... fall?" came Brie's voice to his left.

"I... was looking for... you, idiot," Sam replied and turned his head left. Brie was in an almost similar position to him.

"The... race..." she began, as she tried to get up.

"... is still on," Sam replied and the pair attempted to best the other in getting up so that they could continue the race. Brie, having had more time to grab her breath, was the first one up and ready to run, but then she froze.

"Erm... Captain..." she muttered.

Sam looked up. Around them were a group of four people, two Ferengi, one Trill, and a Bajoran. The Trill and one of the Ferengi were pointing phasers at them. The other Ferengi was carrying what looked like two blocks of white powder, whilst the Bajoran was carrying a sealed crate.

"Captain?" the Ferengi carrying the blocks garbled. "Did the hewmon say Captain?"

"It's the narcs!" the Bajoran squealed. "They're on to us! Shoot them!"

Brie and Sam moved in sync. Brie launched a dropkick against the Ferengi with the phaser, and he went flying backwards, a phaser blast firing into the air. Sam charged at the Trill and went in with his shoulder, ramming it into the Trill's chest. He shot backwards, and found himself pinned against a tree, coughing blood. The phaser was dropped. Sam went to reach it, and then found his vision obscured by thick white powder, as a powder block exploded against his head. Sam wheezed and puffed, aware of Brie attempting to smack the ears of the Ferengi who had thrown the block. The Ferengi was quicker, and lifted the second powder block up, smashing it across Brie's face. It exploded upon impact. Brie wheeled away, screaming in pain as the powder got into her eyes, nose, and mouth, coughing violently.

"Valencia!" Sam grunted and tried to take some steps towards her, but he felt a sharp pain in his back, followed by another. Sam's brain chimed through the pain to inform him that, as he had been shot with a phaser on stun a number of times, this felt like another one of those times. And with that reassuring thought in mind, Sam lost consciousness.

[Sam]

Stardate 96786.1

(14th October 2419)

“Xedi blood is on my hands, Tasha,” Sam said, looking at his blurred hands through the glass he had in his hand. “After all that work. All those attempts to save Xedi lives… it was all for nothing, in the end,”

“That is not true, Sam, you know that,”

“It’s true, Tasha. What is the point of saving one life, when your actions lead to the deaths of millions? Those lives that were saved… for what? So they could see their planet burn? So they could see streets run thick with Xedi blood? So that they could be hunted down and massacred by their own people? How can you say that is better than death?”

“Are you saying that you get to decide whether a life is worth saving based upon what might happen in the future?”

“No, I’m saying that it would have been better to die at the hands of someone you thought was the enemy, than at the hands of someone you thought was your friend,” a pause. “Can you imagine it, Tasha? Just imagine, for a moment. That one day, those people who swore to protect you, turned around and labelled you an enemy. Just think. You’re working here, as normal, and Gabriella marches in with her MACO Team, brands you an enemy of the state and arrests you. Just because you are Starfleet and nothing more. Because that’s what the Xedi are facing. That’s what we caused, Tasha. That’s what I caused,” Sam stands, walking towards the window.

Tasha said nothing, sipping her drink.

“All this time… all this time… I thought that what I was doing would save lives. And now I wonder if we had taken decisive military action sooner, could we have saved lives?”

“It was you who told me, Sam, that the ends do not justify the means,”

Sam chuckles mirthlessly. “That is a hard stance to take when the means lead to more death,”

“I can’t tell you if what your actions… our actions, were correct. We don’t have the liberty of travelling to different timelines to see if other actions would have been better. You know better than any that this is what command is about. You took charge of the situation and attempted to solve it for the better. You should not fault yourself for attempting and failing to understand the situation before making a decision. That’s command basics,”

“At some point, you need to take decisive action, Tasha. That’s what I didn’t do. I didn’t take decisive action. I didn’t take decisive action on Federation relations, I didn’t take decisive action on intel, I didn’t take decisive action on the Dominion. That’s what I didn’t do. We were always on the backfoot for this. I wanted to switch it around, I wanted us to be on the forefront and not just react. But the opportunity never came,”

“That’s just it, you’re faulting yourself for an opportunity that didn’t come,”

“No Tasha, that’s not it. You shouldn’t wait for an opportunity to arise. You should fashion one and take the initiative. That’s what we should have done,”

“And the lives lost?”

“Would have at least had meaning,”

There was a silence.

“It’s up to us, as those still alive, to give their deaths meaning, Tasha. I can’t change the past now. What’s done is done. But I can strive to at least make sure that those Xedi aren’t dying in vain,”

“And how will you do that?”

“Making sure that we learn from our mistakes here,”

“The audit, yes,”

“And to make sure that we make things right,”

“How are you going to do that?”

“I don’t know yet, Tasha,”

“You’ll figure it out, Sam. Just make sure you are making a clear decision. Do not let the lives of the Xedi weigh down on your conscious. You were not the one who pulled the trigger. Remember that,”

Sam sighed. “Has Gabriella come in to see you yet?”

“She has,”

“And how is she dealing with this?”

“It’s a different situation to yours. She understands that death is part of her job. She tries to focus on the survival of the team,”

“She does a very good of that,”

“It’s when she starts to blame herself for the loss of a team member is when we get troubles,”

“How’s everyone else? Morale wise?”

“We’re okay. They’re okay. I think things are just a bit nervy with the situation unfolding, but we’ll pull through. The ship always has,”

Sam nods. “It has,”

[Sam]

Stardate 100966.8 (19th December 2423)

Sam leaned back in his chair with a weary sigh, his gaze sweeping over the promenade as if seeking solace in its familiar sights. When asked whether the Itrin were the ones who had been laid low by the wrath of the Confederacy, his thoughts unbidden returned to the irradiated world he had visited so many years before.

Diaderi, a world wiped clean of life, its ruins standing as a grim monument to the might of the Azedi and the folly of those who opposed them. Yet more than destruction lingered there, a plea etched into the silence of that dead world; those who would oppose the Azedi would never know peace. It was not a warning born of arrogance or malice but of desperation, as if the silent spirits themselves were begging to be heard.

The thought made Sam tremble involuntarily. He caught himself quickly, glancing around the promenade; it would not do for an Admiral to show weakness. Drawing the steaming cup to his lips, he sipped the tea and let its warmth chase the chill from his spirit.

Had it been folly, he wondered, to ignore the warning? Had they, in their ambition, overstepped their bounds, unknowing and unheeding of the ancient truths? The Egyptians had once believed that magic was as real as the sun and stars, that it governed life as surely as gravity governed the heavens. To invoke it recklessly was to court disaster, for some forces were better left untouched.

In reporting the warning that was being deployed throughout the vastness of space, had he, however unknowingly, set the curse into motion? At the time, Sam had thought little of it. It was but a grim relic of a battle long past. But since the discovery of that warning, they had known no peace. The Azedi seemed to pursue them with a single-minded vengeance, their every move shadowed by destruction. Victim after victim, ship after ship, life after life, all swept away by the tide of destruction the Azedi had unleashed.

He gazed out at the stars, each a beacon of life and promise scattered across the infinite void. How often had he marveled at their brilliance, at the sheer audacity of creation to set so many lights in the heavens? Starfleet had always sought to embody that same audacity. Not through strength or conquest, but through its ideals. Peace could not be commanded at the tip of a phaser, nor could unity be built upon the rubble of shattered worlds.

He exhaled slowly, his breath steadying him as he rose from his seat. The promenade stretched before him, alive with the gentle murmur of voices, the hum of the station as it carried on, indifferent to his inner turmoil. He took a moment to observe the scene around him, the subtle tapestry of life unfolding in every corner: a young ensign laughing brightly with a companion, a captain engaged in measured conversation, a family seated together over their evening meal. These were the moments for which Starfleet worked. These fleeting, fragile glimpses of life were the purpose behind every star charted, every mission undertaken. Without them, what was it all for?

And yet, it was not only for these lives that he laboured. His thoughts turned, unbidden, to the Azedi. How often had he considered them as adversaries, as an implacable force standing in opposition to all that the Federation cherished? Yet was their wrath so incomprehensible? They were a people scarred by war, driven to rage by the echoes of their own destruction. Their fury was no different to that of any wounded creature, their enmity a desperate cry for survival in a galaxy that had given them little solace.

It struck him, then, how deeply interconnected they all were. Starfleet’s principles demanded more than simple defence; it demanded compassion, the courage to extend understanding even to those who would strike against them. To deny the Azedi their right to heal, their right to self-determination, was to deny Starfleet’s very purpose. Peace was not a prize for the deserving, nor the privilege of the victorious; it was a birthright shared by all who dwelt beneath the heavens, no matter how far they might have fallen.

The path to peace would not be an easy one. The Azedi were proud, and their distrust was not without reason. But patience and diplomacy, however tiresome, were the only true weapons Starfleet could wield in such a conflict. To abandon those principles in the face of difficulty was to abandon the very ideals that made them who they were. If Starfleet could not fight for the Azedi’s chance to reclaim their future, to rebuild what had been lost, then it had no business calling itself a force for good.

If there was to be peace, it must be sought with open hands, not clenched fists. The stars would bear witness, as they always had, to Starfleet’s efforts. And perhaps, in time, even the Azedi might see their own reflection in the ideals they so fiercely opposed. For in the end, it was not strength or power that would guide them, but the unyielding belief in the right of all peoples to live, to thrive, and to dream beneath the eternal light of the heavens.