99342.2
CMDR Bastion, Kelly
USS VINCENNES, EXECUTIVE OFFICER’S PERSONAL LOG
First Officer’s log, stardate 99342.2.
I've not really left a proper log entry lately, have I?We’re back at home base. Repairs are underway. The injured are healing. But, the Betreka Nebula continues to haunt me.
Our mission? Locate and retrieve starship Prometheus, in the company of a veritable fleet of starships.
The outcome? Vincennes was crippled and put out-of-action for at least three weeks, the Captain put out-of-action for at least the same, and I got my first real taste of solitary command.
Is it really a ‘command’ if the ship can’t move and the crew is sorely demoralised?
That’s probably one for the philosophers to handle.
Doctor Kahuk tells me that Captain Meadows should regain consciousness any moment now. He’s been saying that for two days now. But it’s a testament to him and his team that she’s alive at all, really, much less about to wake up. I was on the other side of the bridge when it happened, by the helm station, but what I saw was quite gruesome. We were all flung about in the unexpected explosion, of course, but the captain was standing by the aft science station analysing some probe data when that console exploded. She took a full-frontal shower of debris, was flung over the centre railing, then a chunk of support structure fell on her torso after she landed. We were all bumped and bruised in that explosion, but the Captain took the brunt of it.
I was certain she was dead when I reached her.
The Doc says she took shrapnel through both kidneys and her liver, suffered a collapsed lung and broken ribs, and endured severe head injuries, which were compounded by restricted blood-flow in the immediate aftermath. He expects her to make a full recovery now that she’s out of surgery, but it was touch-and-go for a while there.
The Captain would, of course, be proud of Vincennes and her crew. The ‘Queen V’ nickname for this vessel predates my own arrival as it does hers - and, frankly, most officers on this ship - but I finally understand it now. Vincennes not only survived yet another attempt on her life, but she managed to limp out of that damned nebula and pull her crew out of danger despite catastrophic damage, that would assuredly have completely crippled any other vessel. I’m not superstitious, but… at some point you have to wonder, is the ship itself looking out for you?
Do these starships, upon which we depend for life, actually start to take on a character of their own? The Captain would say yes, but I had my doubts until this week.
Meanwhile, everybody aboard - even officers and enlisted personnel without engineering or medical qualifications - pulled together to help the damage control and emergency medical teams wherever they could. I would like it to be formally noted that USS Vincennes suffered ZERO fatal casualties during our recent incident, and that is wholly as a result of the skill, dedication, and comradery of her exceptional crew.
I’ll be recommending a large number of commendations in my final report to Command.
But now, we’re just… sitting here. Waiting for the old girl to hum back to life. Waiting for our captain to wake up.
Waiting.
It’s a little eerie, to be honest. I’m getting PADDs handed to me, but they’re all just… reports. Nothing I can action. I feel a little paralysed.
Anyway. Now that Vincennes is in DS13’s care, I’m ordering rotating shifts of shore leave for our entire crew aboard the station. They won’t want to go, but that’s the beauty of orders - they won’t have a choice!
Personally, I’m studying the logs of the initial briefing of our aborted rescue mission.
Something about it doesn’t sit right with me.
//SIGNED//
Commander Kelly Bastion,
First Officer,
USS Vincennes