Alas, The Sweet Sorrow

Posted on Sun Aug 1st, 2021 @ 10:51pm by Lieutenant Commander Hamish Brott

852 words; about a 4 minute read

Mission: Prologue: Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow
Location: Bellwether Station | Operations

“Bon voyage!” shouted the blue-skinned jovial Bolian whose fingers were dancing in the air, curling and wiggling back and forth, soon to be followed up with an expressive gesture of blowing kisses to the departing crew. For the past several months they had become more than his station mates, his colleagues; friendship was probably not what they expected to build while stationed at Bellwether, but they each in their own way had made a friend in the large baritone Bolian that was seeing them off. He was their Commanding Officer, but that was something he rarely asserted and hardly ever reminded anyone of.

He had already said goodbye to them in private, and again as a whole during their last breakfast together as a crew, but goodbyes were never easy for Lieutenant Commander Brott. In fact, they were his least favorite thing about serving on Relay Station-97: people came and went so frequently that by the time he had begun to truly get to know them and understand them as individuals, they were being reassigned. Sometimes, it was because they requested it, other times because a better posting came along that lured them away. Though the truth be told, Starfleet Command did not like leaving anyone stationed on RS-97 for too long. Brott was the exception to that general rule. Brott was the only exception to that. From time to time, someone stayed more than a year, but Brott was determined to only leave the station by torpedo casing, and the last laugh would be on him because there was no way that he was fitting into a torpedo casing.

One by one they were stepping onto the transporter pad and being beamed aboard a transport that would take them to one of the nearest Federation starbases where they eventually would find their way to their next posting. The last to leave though was Brott’s favorite person of this latest bunch of crew albeit he did not let it ever be known that he played ‘favorites’ per se. However, the woman in question had no problem letting it be known that Brott was not her particular cup of tea. She raised her brow as she saw the Bolian approaching, and quickly turned to face the Petty Officer struggling to drag their duffle bag onto the transporter pad with them. “Time is of the essence, Petty Officer,” she said flatly. There was no sign of agitation in her voice, but it was there.

The transporters shimmering effect engulfed the Petty Officer who had been their Chief of Operations for the past six months. Soon, Peters was gone as was his duffle bag, but before Doctor Sutara could position herself onto the transporter pad and seek refuge aboard the transport, large Bolian arms had found their way around her waist and gravity was stripped away as Lieutenant Commander Brott hoisted her up in the air and pressed her against his large torso. The Vulcan’s dark eyes widened in discomfort. “Put me down, Commander,” she said squirming from his tight grip.

Lieutenant Commander Brott was what Ensign Jennifer Ames had referred to as a 'hugger' Brott may have very well been a hugger, but Doctor Sutara was not by any means. The Vulcan was not amused nor was she thrilled about the close contact with the Bolian. The Bolian had let out a jovial chuckle. "If you insist, Doctor," he said as he lowered the woman.

"I do," she replied as he began to lower her. Once her feet touched the deck and his grip loosened, Doctor Sutara eased towards the transporter pad. It was her turn to leave. "It has been...an experience to serve alongside you Lieutenant Commander Brott," Sutara said as she raised her hand and gave the traditional Vulcan gesture. "May you live long and prosper" she finished.

The Bolian cheeks had turned a shade of fuchsia. He wanted to personally see the woman off. Brott stepped behind the transport console and operated the aging technology. "Energizing" he announced to the Vulcan who gave not the slightest indication that she was leaving anyone or anything behind. The shimmering effect engulfed the Vulcan woman and second by second less of her was there with him until she simply was not, but her time there as the Station’s Medical Officer would linger in Brott’s Bolian heart and tender soul. She, like many of those before her who had served aboard the station with him, had left an impression upon him.

He would be alone on the station for a couple of days, at least until the relief transfers began to arrive by transports and ferrying starships. The station could run with a skeletal crew, even as skeletal as one who knew what they were doing as the United Federation of Planets and Starfleet Command had already begun setting up for the station to become unmanned in the near future if it was not entirely decommissioned and scrapped. Brott, however, hated being alone. It was a punishment about as worse as death to such a socialite as the jovial Bolian.

 

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