Lt. Cmdr. Roger Hartmann - "Best Man For The Job"

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Amanda Nordstrom

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May 29, 2022, 10:08:07 PM5/29/22
to USS Thor

 

((7 Forward Lounge, Deck 7, USS Oumuamua))

 

Greaves was a good man.  Roger had both seen and read about how Greaves had handled himself - and seen his past record as well. The man was good.  Very good.  Good as a marine, good as an FO.  It was noticed.  And Roger himself?  He’d been in Starfleet a long time.  Maybe if he hadn’t been through the war, he might have stayed even longer, but right then, he was tired . Weary.  Ready to be done. 

 

That was why he had written up his resignation, and it was ready to submit as soon as everything from that last mission was wrapped up.  One thing he had already put forth, however, was a recommendation for Wes Greaves to fill the void that would be left after his departure.  Perhaps it was odd, but Roger felt he was the right choice.  Something in his gut told him.  And Roger always listened to his gut.  Oh Greaves had said something about going back to a Marine unit, but the older FO was skeptical.  

 

Hartmann: Tell me something.

 

Greaves: Shoot.

 

Roger turned just enough to look Greaves straight in the eye, blue meeting blue. 

 

Hartmann: Are you really sure that going back to a marine unit is what *you* want?

 

The marine held that gaze, unwavering, strong.  That was what Starfleet needed, a man like him, a man like him in command, either as a first officer, maybe as a captain some day.  They didn’t need someone who was old, busted, and worn out.  They needed younger, stronger men in that position, ones like Lt. Commander Wes Greaves.  He hadn’t lied when Roger had told him why he’d given that recommendation, but it all depended on whether that man would accept it.  The question hung in the air as Greaves considered it for some time before he finally looked away and sipped at his beer.  

 

Greaves: You fought in the war. You ever look back on it and miss it?

 

Hartmann: What? 

 

No one had ever asked that before.  Roger frowned and stared down into his drink, the latest refill untouched, the dark metal visible through the clear liquid. Did he miss it?  He pondered the question for himself, but Greaves continued on.  

 

Greaves: I was too young when the war kicked off, but that’s why I joined Starfleet. Why I joined the Marines. It was the threat of the Dominion and the Borg. Something existential that Starfleet barely held the line against. I wanted to be with those men and women holding the line. That’s why I became a Marine.

 

Roger turned the glass around a couple of times, the metal clinking against it.  It was amazing what they could do with prosthetics those days.  It was also a reminder of what had happened, what he’d been through. Did he miss it?  Yes.  He did.  

 

Hartmann: I look back…yeah.  Yeah, sometimes I miss it.  I miss the sudden rush when someone’s shooting to kill, the thrill when you just barely get away but still manage to outwit the enemy, and that moment when you hit your mark.  It was sweet.  Exhilarating. Even intoxicating.

 

He lifted his gaze and levelled it back at the marine. 

 

Hartmann: But there’s plenty about it that I don’t miss too.  We’re Starfleet.  We’re supposed to stop conflict, not start it. 

 

Greaves: Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not out here looking for a war, but I fought plenty of skirmishes when I was enlisted. Lost some good people…. (voice fading away)

 

Roger nodded.  He’d been there too, seen too many shot down, killed in the line of duty.  Some under other people’s command, some under his.  His comrade perhaps had similar thoughts, and probably tried to drown them with that beer.  

 

Hartmann: I hear you.  I’ve been there too.  

 

Greaves: Do the job long enough, it happens to all of us. I don’t miss that. What I miss is the intensity of the comradery. I’ve never felt more at home, more safe, and more in tune with any people in my life than I have sitting in the back of a shuttle with a bunch of my Marines riding into battle. That’s what I miss.

 

No one missed losing men.  Comrades.  Friends.  But Roger also understood what Greaves meant about that comradery.  He got that too. But he was tired.  It was time for him to go.  

 

Hartmann: Being in combat does that.  You form a connection.

 

Greaves: Thing is, I’ve gotten a bit of that serving on the Thor too.

 

And once again, Roger was with him there.  He lifted his gaze, inhaled a bit, then took a long pull that emptied it completely.  Smacking it against the bar, Koryan moved to refill it, but Roger lifted a hand to stop him, and the bartender nodded and put the bottle away.  

 

Hartmann: I get that.  You’re with a ship, a crew.  You form bonds.  Like you said, you feel safe, protected, and in tune.  Who wouldn’t want that?

 

Greaves: Response

 

Hartmann: But here’s the thing.  The Thor was a mighty fine ship, but if she’s put back into commission, it won’t be for a long time.  By that point you’ll be on another ship.  Whether it’s here or somewhere else, I don’t know, but it won’t be the Thor. 

 

He swerved around to wholly face Greaves, leaning heavily against the bar as he studied the younger man.  Even with that conversation, Roger knew he’d made the right decision.  What happened now was all up to the man across from him. 

 

Greaves: Response

 

Hartmann: Think about it. I’ve already said my piece.  

 

Roger stood, and with his one remaining biological hand, clapped Greaves on the shoulder before he strode out of the lounge.  He’d put in the recommendation, but that was as far as he could go.  If Greaves wanted to stay green, that was his call, but Roger was still just as firmly convinced that he would be the best man for the job.  


-- -- 
Lt. Cmdr. Roger Hartmann
Acting First Officer
USS Oumuamua
M239008AD0
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