Lt. Cmdr Robin Hopper: The Roads Not Taken
Robin Hopper
((OOC – Sorry for the slowness in getting into this scene. Between a transition at work and the non-stop birthday get-togethers of Aug/Sept in my family, I’ve just been flat out over here!))
((Elysium – Deck 6, USS Artemis-A))
Robin sat by the window, looking out at the glistening planet below. It would almost look peaceful, were it not for the scattered field of ship detritus floating in orbit around it, and the army of work bees sent to collect the salvageable pieces and the fragments deemed large enough to be dangerous, should they re-enter the planet’s atmosphere.
Somewhere out there, she knew, were the broken pieces of the USS Cambridge. The ship had been lost, along with 80 percent of her crew, only weeks after leaving drydock. The Captain, Sobal – a Vulcan woman – had taken the ‘logical’ choice, it seemed, as her crew of mostly young and fresh-from-the-academy officers turned on the bridge crew and activated the ship’s self destruct sequence… Looking down at the PADD she was holding, Robin looked again through a list of the casualties. She so easily could have been one of them, if she had taken the posting offered to her.
Her eyes flicked to the other side of the page – the much shorter list of survivors. It briefly occurred to her that she might try to contact them, see how they were doing, out of some sense of… Guilt? Obligation? She didn’t know. It was strange. She didn’t even know any of them. But it was hard not to wonder. If she’d been there, serving as the ship’s First Officer, could she have changed the Captain’s mind? Could the Cambridge have survived? Or would she too have died?
The sound of someone near her clearing their throat caught her attention.
Silveira: Commander, it's good to see you. Do you mind if I sit?
The hypotheticals were nearly enough to drive her crazy – and she found herself actually grateful for the interruption, and turned away from the window, setting her PADD down on the table to look up at the speaker. Silveira, by the unique accent with which he spoke.
Hopper: No. Um, no I don’t mind… ::Gesturing to the opposite seat:: Sit down, Lieutenant.
As he took his seat, Robin checked her drink – a virgin “painkiller” cocktail. While he hadn’t expressly forbade it, she couldn’t imagine Dr. Adea being thrilled if she was drowning her sorrows in alcohol (or even its straight-laced cousin, synthehol). But the tropical fruit juices and coconut cream were, at least, a pleasant reminder that not everything in the universe was terrible.
Lt. Silveira leaned back in his seat and smiled, though she couldn’t help but notice a sombre tint to his smile, no longer gleaming quite so freely as when she had first met the man the week prior.
Silveira: So I heard you stuck around a little longer. Got into another fistfight?
Hopper: Not exactly. ::Taking a sip of her drink:: But we’re all paying for our mistakes, one way or another.
He shrugged, stirring his coffee with the spoon. She could tell it wasn’t the type of response he’d been hoping for, but she frankly didn’t have much jocularity in her at the moment.
Silveira: Not the most pleasant experience I know. But you made it through. As that old expression goes “Just get back on the horse and ride the same path where you fell”.
Hopper: Somehow that’s less inspiring after the last fall should have killed you… ::Shaking her head, sighing:: Feels a bit like tempting fate getting ‘back in the saddle’, don’t you think?
Silveira grinned and took a long sip from his coffee before slowly putting it down and leaning back again. Robin remained unmoved, slowly spinning her glass back and forth in her fingers on the table surface.
Silveira: Isn’t risk part of our business? It doesn’t do you any good if you dwell too much into that near death experience. ::He opened his arms widely:: But I am a simple Tactical Chief not a Counselor. Just offering friendly advice and an apology for literally handling you like I did in the jeffries.
Robin scoffed – and a tightness in her chest reminded her to take calm, measured breaths.
Hopper: Oh. Is that why you stopped by? Frankly, Mr. Silveira, your clumsy maneuvering was and is the least of my problems… But, if it will make you feel better, by all means. You’re forgiven.
Silveira: Response
She lifted her glass and took another sip, emptying it except for a film of coconut foam that coated its interior, then set it down between them.
Hopper: Well, just don’t make a habit of it. Next time, I’ll be taking revenge… ::Sliding her glass over to him:: Tell you what – if you want to make it up to me, go get me another drink. A Moscow Mule… with one shot of the ‘real deal’. Getting up and walking over to the bar hurts.
Silveira: Response
She left him to attend to the drink, turning her attention back to the PADD in front of her. The names of the survivors were still there, haunting her. After staring at them for a good long while, she finally closed the list. A message from her would do no good… only serve as a reminder of all the other roads not taken – the myriad ways things might have gone otherwise. She wasn’t about to rub that in all their faces just so she could get a little weight off her own shoulders.
Looking up, she noted Silveira again. Perhaps she was being too hard on him. After all, it wasn’t his fault all this had happened. If either of them at that table were to blame, she supposed it was her. Her face softened, ever-so-slightly.
Hopper: How are you coping, yourself?
Silveira: Response
TBC
