Lieutenant JG Ollie Bergmen - The one we lost among the stars
CPT Arianus
(( Deck 16, USS Tennessee Williams ))
(((Seven days ago…)))
The crew of Tennessee Williams used to joke that nothing exciting ever happened during these scientific missions. The crew came and went; the mission stayed the same over the past twenty years. Just some remembered that single accident, which happened almost a decade ago, where, during the exploration of a nebula in the Beta Quadrant, the decaf from the replicator was coming out stale, and that was it, as Tennessee Williams has never made headlines in FNN. Even on Frontier Day, they were quadrant away, researching slugs.
Some called old, good Tennessee the last stop, yet they were mistaken. It wasn't exactly a place where your career was sent to die. But it wasn't far from that.
In hindsight, she would give anything for that to have remained true. That journey was supposed to be routine, standard colony equipment delivery, a warp transition of maybe a little over a week. Her roommate, a Bajoran engineer, even joked just a couple of hours ago about that - Prophets willing with that new warp core upgrade, they'd be planetside with their cargo in good time. Prophets, it turned out, were not willing. Or, perhaps, something in that nebula, they stopped next to make some scans, had other plans. Either way, from the moment they jumped into the warp, things felt wrong. She was on her post when it happened, monitoring a warp plasma flow to the engines on deck 16. She monitored the gauges as the order to jump came, and they translated to the warp. A familiar nausea hit as reality momentarily buckled. Smarter people would have told you that the phenomenon was related to the change in gravimetric polarity so close to the warp bubble resonators, but she never cared, nor complained. She simply got used to it.
Maybe that's why she felt right away that something was wrong. A second later, the warp engines howled, the plasma conduits above her began to shake, and the deck beneath her boots thrummed. A heartbeat later came a jolt so violent she thought they'd been hit by a torpedo. Tennessee Williams bucked and heaved. Loose tools clattered across the deck, and from the hallway, the ship's intercom sounded XO's voice, drowned out by another voice from her combadge, demanding the answers she didn't have.
oO Did they hit some gravitational shear? Some subspace turbulence? Oo
She closed the channel. There were more pressing matters than babysitting her JG worries. Her crew exchanged nervous glances, sweaty and wideeyed. Warp shouldn't be bumpy, and this was something more. This felt, and by all the data seemed, like they'd hit a reef in an ocean that wasn't supposed to have any. Their liaison from OPS tried to lighten the mood with a weak grin.
OPS guy: Just another day in deck sixteen paradise, right?
She might have chuckled if she hadn't been biting her tongue in fear. In the decade she served in Starfleet, she had never felt a jump like this. Something was horribly amiss. But she didn't have a single clue what was happening. Nor did she get a warning to brace. Tennessee Williams lurched again as if some gargantuan hand had swatted them. The whole ship groaned. She felt a sudden sideways tug, gravity plating momentarily losing its mind. Her stomach shot into her throat as down briefly became left. She heard the siren of a red alarm. A hyperwrench floated past her face. Then, crunch gravity snapped back, slamming everything and everyone down into the darkness deep.
(( Starbase 211, Tertiary Hangar ))
(((Three days ago…)))
When he received his commission as a helm officer, he never imagined that this would be his first service assignment. Deep down, he had always dreamed of serving on a ship like Constitution III or Sovereign, at the helm of one of those legendary vessels featured in the breathtaking space stories his instructors passionately shared. That wish now felt so distant to him, so blissful.
His runboat lacked any distinctive markings or unique features that would set it apart from the thousands of others that traversed the stars. It was an unremarkable craft, its surface a dull gray, worn by time and the elements, reflecting the Federation's utilitarian design. The only hints of its identity were its grim name, etched in bold letters along the hull, and the Trill FMAO logo, a stark reminder of its ominous purpose. To the casual observer, it would seem just another cog in the vast machinery of space travel, but not to him, nor to the others in the SB211’s tertiary hangar. They were those who knew better and understood the weight of its mission.
He took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment pressing down on him as he lined up with others. They formed a solemn aisle in front of his runabout's loading ramp, a stark reminder of the duty that lay ahead. Glancing to his side, he noticed lines of torpedo casings draped in the Federation flag—each one a silent testament to someone who had once lived, someone with their own hopes, dreams, and families...just like him.
He fixed his gaze ahead, honing in on the command delivered with a steady authority that sliced through the heavy atmosphere. As six pairs of hands carefully lifted the first coffin, a palpable heartbeat seemed to unite the gathered crew, binding them in an unspoken vow. It served as a stark reminder of the actual cost of a Starfleet mission — a weight they all shared — aware that with each departure, they carried not only the physical remains of those lost but also the promise on which the Federation and Starfleet were built.
(( Starfleet Mortuary Affairs Operations Center, Trill ))
The six polished marble slabs forming the monument at the entrance hall stood in solemn tribute, quietly affirming the gravity of this facility's purpose. Olliver Kimmi Bergmen paused before the monument, his gaze drawn to the endless cascade of accidents, locations, dates, and casualties meticulously inscribed on its surfaces…
…
Borg First Contact ⬝ Wolf 359 ⬝ SD 44002.3 ⬝ (11,194)
…
Second Battle of Chin'toka ⬝ Dominion War ⬝ SD 50913.2 ⬝ (31,611)
…
Synth revolt ⬝ Mars ⬝ SD 238504.05 ⬝ (92,143)
…
The Frontier Day ⬝ Sol ⬝ SD 240104.14 ⬝ (103,629)
…
…each name and number seemed to whisper stories of tragedy, a poignant reminder of the lives affected and the incidents that had shaped this place's legacy, as the cool marble grounded him as he contemplated the weight of history captured in this haunting remembrance. He must have been lost in thought for quite a while when a gentle tap on his shoulder snapped him back to reality.
SFMC Master Sergeant: Lieutenant Junior Grade Olliver Bergmen?
Ollie shifted his gaze from the marble monument to the face that had spoken to him and nodded in response. The marine offered a faint smile, giving him a reassuring pat on the shoulder as if to boost his confidence or assess who JG Bergmen really was.
Demetry: It’s an honor to have you here, Lieutenant. I’m Master Sergeant Ian Demetry, your guide and instructor for your role as an honorable escort. If you can follow me to the escort lounge, the familiarization with the escort instructions will begin in twenty minutes.
Ollie didn't know whether he should say anything, ask anything, or nod in compliance and follow the sergeant. His mind raced, searching for the right words. Still, before he could gather his thoughts, the sergeant abruptly turned on his heel, not waiting for Ollie, and the sharp click of his boots echoed in the narrow hallway as he strode purposefully toward a long corridor branching off to the side of the building.
Reluctantly, Ollie Bergmen took a deep breath and followed…
TBC
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Lieutenant JG Ollie Bergmen
Operations Officer
U.S.S. Artemis-A
A240009JC1