Ensign Sival: Falling

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James Scott Schumann

Nov 14, 2021, 6:04:11 AM11/14/21
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(( Holosuites, Deep Space 9 ))

Sival lived for these moments. The way he felt suspended in mid air. How the cold wind rushed past his face and body. For a moment, he was spared the weight of the world and all that was keeping him in place. Now he was free to move in any direction he wished. 

Sival grasped the metal bar of the glider more tightly with his right hand as he released his left hand to adjust his goggles. But as he touched them, he had a daring thought - to take them off. He did so, pulling the strap up off of his head then letting go. He watched as his goggles fell below, being occasionally lifted by the invisible eddies of the wind. 

Now he was free. Just him and the world, with no filter in between. 

Sival had always been fascinated with the wind. At an early age, while his neighbors were playing with sehlats, Sival was building and riding sailboats, as he was fortunate enough to have lived near one of Vulcan’s few large lakes. He loved how he could adjust his sail and go any direction he pleased despite the wind’s adversity. Because of that adversity. He worked with the wind, learning to navigate among it. He soon extended this skill to parasailing and hang gliding, as well as to life’s winds and storms in general. 

Sival continued to glide, swooning left, then right. Sometimes he would go down, pick up incredible speed, then shoot off forward, rising up triumphantly in the open sky. In that moment Sival felt the power of being completely in control. He felt like he could do anything.

He went on like this for 20 minutes, until the glider had descended so low that there was not sufficient distance between himself and the ground to dive out of a stall. He bent his knees and pulled them up towards his chest, then he extended his legs so they were perpendicular to his body.

Sival: Computer, end program. 

The sky, ground, hang glider and all fizzled away into an array of orange hexagons on a black wall, leaving Sival standing in an empty holosuite. 

Sival exited the room and stepped down the narrow stairs that led to the main level below. He had almost reached it when his path was blocked by a man standing on the bottom stair. 

Man: Doctor Sival? It is Sival, right?

The human was a study in beige. His tattered jacket was checkered with various shades of it. His jacket was open and a shirt could be seen in yet another shade of beige. His trousers and boots were colored it as well. Even his hair, mustache and goatee were some shade between brown and blonde that they may as well be considered beige, too. 

Sival: Yes, that is correct. And who would you be?

Man: I am… a friend.

Sival raised an eyebrow. 

Sival: I know the names and appearances of all of my friends. Since I do not recognize you, logic would dictate that you are not my friend. 

The man smiled.

Man: The universe is a most illogical place, doctor! Especially now! Please, let’s find a seat at one of the tables. 

Sival scanned the room. It was poorly lit, littered with small, round tables, some of which were placed in shadowy corners. It was one of these tables that the Man motioned toward.

Sival hesitated. 

Sival: It would be improper for me to accept your invitation without an introduction first.

The man’s eyes narrowed.

Man: We’ll do plenty of introductions, then I will extend a very curious invitation indeed!

Not the answer he wanted. The wind was blowing in the wrong direction. He adjusted his sails and followed the man, as it was clear that was the only way he would get more information.

Ensign Sival
Medical Officer
USS Juneau, NX-99801
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