Setting Up Home

Posted on Thu Feb 19th, 2009 @ 12:56pm by Lieutenant Commander Wesley Kemmer

800 words; about a 4 minute read

Mission: Citadel Prime
Location: Personal Quarters

Wesley Kemmer almost hurried back to his quarters after his brief but telling first meeting with Commander Arkham. Several things about what happened and what was said bothered him a little, including the ever so slight smirk that crossed her scarred face when he knocked her back on her drink offer. He’d also accepted the offer of a more informal meeting a bit too quickly as well. It was as if she knew about his ‘problem’, and of course she should; she’d mentioned that she’d been with Intel for twenty-six years, and presumed part of Section 31 for a portion of that time too, though the rumours never amounted to much, just whispers and speculation, so she must have done her own research on him as well as he had on her. Serving with her was certainly going to be interesting, and most likely trying – but then Wes had always liked a challenge, to take on the hard things no-one else wanted to; he’d made a career out of it.

Back in his quarters, he attended to his bag and started to unpack the few belongings that he had brought with him, and in fact owned. With just a few memento’s, a few pictures of family, his sister mainly, and just one of his wife and daughter. He took it out of the case and looked at it longingly, and sadly. He gave a heavy sigh, again reliving the pain as he always done. There were times when he wondered why he kept it, why he kept the painful memory alive and in plain site. He wondered, but the answers eluded him. He was better at finding information from files and people than searching within himself.

He put the photo on the side table beside the bed, and headed for the replicator with a small vial. “Water; five degrees Celsius.�

The glass materialized with his order and he shakily took it and sat on the edge of the bed. Opening the vial, he took out two of the small white capsules, put them in his mouth with a sip of the cool water and swallowed. The relief from the pain was slight, very slight, but workable and would get better over the next five minutes or so. He made this a short break in his busy schedule of unpacking his bag and drank the rest of the water, afterward placing the glass in the magic hole in the wall from whence it came.

As he walked past the desk, or what would normally pass for a desk in miniature world, the terminal situated on top of it came to life. He walked, or rather limped around to see the screen, the drugs not quite kicking in to full effect at this early juncture, and saw the three messages waiting for his attention. One was for the senior staff briefing, one of those standard Starfleet meetings that made sure everyone knew what was going on. Of course it was his job to know what was going on and pass that knowledge on to the rest of the crew, or at least what they needed to know pertaining to their jobs. He was reminded at that moment about what the Exec had asked him to do and thought that he should really get on with doing something about it – his assignment to the Archimedes was somewhat of a surprise to him, as were the mission details until he was almost aboard.

Another message was pertaining to the psych evaluation meeting with the Archimedes’ counsellor. Kemmer hated these; they were usually so fake and postulating that they were meaningless. Of all the babble that Starfleet personnel usually spoke of, psycho-babble was the least appealing to hear or talk about. Still they were required by all Starfleet personnel and so he pushed it into the back of his mind to attend the meeting… one day.

The last was for his medical. He’d already taken one of these after his last assignment, before this assignment, and for some unknown reason the Chief Medical Officer of the Acheron insisted on giving him a physical as well, poking and prodding those implements in his general vicinity made him uncomfortable. He always maintained a personal spatial bubble around his frame, that nothing else should touch or cross; a boundary of personal space. Again though, these things were required by Starfleet to be completed, and it was because of all these required things that Wes much preferred working in the field, effectively only answerable to yourself… until the mission was over. The medical in any case was another of those meetings that Kemmer was going to be putting off as long as he was able.

He was in no rush, no rush at all.

 

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