Commodore Daffyd Johnson - I Did What I Had To Do
Quinn Reynolds
((Unnamed Planet – Time Index: Early 2367 ))
He had thought everything was proceeding according to his intentions. He had the away team's shuttle, severing them from their ability to catch him. The only choices he faced were which supplies to provide them with so they could survive until the Gorkon picked them up, and whether to relocate to the other side of the planet or change planet entirely. Probably the latter. The Gorkon wouldn’t stop at one away team.
The last thing he remembered was a whine from the sensor receiver and a surge of panic. He awoke, coughing in a smoke-filled cockpit. Blood and burns on his face from the sparking cockpit in front of him, and a sharp pain in his chest. He tried to move, but he realised the force of the crash had deformed his seat, pinning him in place.
He braced and pushed against the console to earn himself relief from the discomfort, and maybe a chance to slip away. It was futile. And then a grinding whirr sounded from behind him: the shuttle hatch.
Neathler: Ready?
Pace: Response
zh’Tisav: Ready.
Through the smoke, his blue eyes landed on the sensor receiver. A faint smile crossed his face, and he shook his head. Clever. Very clever. If there was a trait he appreciated and valued, it was intelligence. So he waited. Daffyd was rarely beaten, but he knew when he was. There was nothing else he could do except show grace in defeat.
Neathler: Johnson, we’re coming in.
zh’Tisav: Put whatever weapons you have down.
Pace: Response
They came into view. A human woman with short dark hair and dark eyes, the pips of a Lt. Commander pinned to her uniform. An Andorian, so tall she had to stoop inside the shuttle, a Lieutenant. The shortest of the all, an Elaysian with coppery hair and a single ensign’s pip.
Neathler: I think you have some explaining to do.
He coughed again, another faint smile crossing his face. Treated like a naughty schoolboy. In theory, there should be a “sir” appended there—until a conviction, he was still a commodore. But as the Andorian looked down and sneered at him, hand on hip, it was clear they had no intention of affording him that respect. Perhaps they’d even earned that right. He doubted it had been easy to chase him down through space and time.
Then the Andorian planted her boot on the chair, letting her weight do the work. A sharp huff of air rushed out of his lungs, and a quiet groan of pain sailed along with it.
zh’Tisav: This is the “F around and find out” portion of today’s lesson.
Johnson: ::He struggled to keep his voice even, the hurt shredding his vocal cords,:: So I see.
Pace: Response
zh’Tisav: You’re lucky we’re Starfleet officers. The Imperial Guard would have no qualms making you die slowly for what you did.
Johnson: For... ::he grimaced, pointlessly trying to brace himself against the console and win back a little space, sweat beading on his soot-stained brow,:: ...stealing?
Neathler / Pace: Response
That was the funny thing about time travel. They had caught him. And if their companions were as adept as this group, they had also stopped his plans. Which meant his crimes were theft, and an attempt to change the timeline. There was a distinction between intention and success. Daffyd, to his regret, had not succeeded.
Evidently, that thought hadn’t occurred to the Andorian. He saw the shift in her mood; her antenna dropped back against her skull, her eyes flashed through the smoke-filled gloom of the cockpit. And she pushed on the chair, prompting another sharp gasp of pain from him.
zh’Tisav: Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Did you bother to think about what ripples changing the timeline would cause!? It’s all gone! The Federation, the Klingons, Romulans… Andoria is gone, my family is gone… ::Her voice broke.:: My children... ::She pressed harder, causing the chair’s frame to creak in protest.:: I’ll kill you!
Her words didn’t sink in. Pain was not a grease for comprehension. Something snapped, or popped, or otherwise abruptly ruptured, somewhere near the bottom of his ribcage. A rush of warm copper filled his mouth, and he coughed, this time splattering blood across the sparking console. Daffyd touched a hand to his lips, staring at it in dazed disbelief as it came away red. Of all the ways he thought this might finish, murdered by an intemperate lieutenant was not one of them.
Johnson: ::Mumbled,:: It seems you might have.
Neathler / zh’Tisav / Pace: Response
His vision swam, his breath a ragged wheeze, and he coughed up more blood, watching in morbid fascination as sparks landed in the vital crimson drops. Perhaps this was the best thing. He’d been so very tired, for so very long. Reaching the end wasn’t so bad. He felt darkness reaching out to claim him, breathing ice down his spine, and he closed his eyes, recalling his most precious memory.
Johnson: ::Murmuring,:: I’ll see you soon, my loves.
Neathler / zh’Tisav / Pace: Response
--
Commodore Daffyd Johnson
Fugitive at Large
United Federation of Planets
simmed by
Commanding Officer
USS Gorkon
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