Blast From The Past

Posted on Oct 27, 2015 @ 6:48pm by Commander Jacob Crichton
Edited on on Oct 27, 2015 @ 6:50pm

Mission: Civil War

= Blast From The Past =

(cont'd from "The Prodigal")



LOCATION: USS DEMETER

SCENE: De-Facto Offices of the President of the Federation

STARDATE: [2.15] 1027.0647



TIME INDEX: Before "On Merit"



Alexander Towers was conducted down a corridor into an unassuming office for the President of the Federation. It was spartanly appointed, with only a black polished desk equipped with a holographic workstation, a high-backed chair with worn-out padding, and a window behind the desk that looked out on the fleet and E-4. It was an impressive view, but the rest of the office looked like it could have belonged to some low level functionary. The room's owner, looking somewhat small set against the high-backed chair with bad padding, grinned broadly as Towers entered, immediately standing to gesture towards an empty seat opposite his desk. Towers spared a glance at this seat - it, too, looked like it had been in used for at least a decade, the indentations of all its previous occupants well worn into its faux-leather finish.



"Lt. Colonel Towers," Thoris P'trell beamed. "It's very good to meet you, please have a seat."



"Mr. President," Towers said, lowering himself into the offered chair.



"I hope you had a safe journey," P'trell said, resuming his seat once more. "I understand you were stationed at the Bolian front?"



"Yes sir," Towers nodded. "My unit was under orders from Edgerton to find and evacuate a group of citizens trapped in Bolkinua."



"This was after the Romulan advance?" P'trell asked, sounding somber.



"It was," Towers nodded. "We found who they sent us in for, managed to extract them. Then we get new orders. These civilians we just risked our asses trying to save are anti-Federation terrorists, working with the Romulans, and that we were to execute them on the spot. We refused."



"And so Edgerton had you declared traitors, too," P'trell nodded. "An unfortunately familiar story in these trying times."



"I imagine so," Towers said flatly.



"Well then," P'trell said, abruptly changing his tone along with the subject. "I suppose you're wondering why I asked to meet with you."



"I am, sir."



"As you know, we're in the process of rebuilding the Federation government," P'trell said, leaning back in his high-backed chair. "We need a Marine Commandant, someone to help us organize and coordinate the marines who managed to meet us here."



"Me, sir?" Towers asked, raising an eyebrow. "Surely there's someone with more experience-"



"Political experience, yes," P'trell nodded. "But not battlefield experience. We're on the brink of an all-out civil war, and I want someone worth a damn to make sure our army will be ready for it. I've taken a look at your record. You served admirably as Commanding Officer of GATEWAY Station, on the front line of the Dominion War. Your crew was responsible for holding it against full-on Dominion assaults on two separate occasions. As it happens, Colonel Towers, you're exactly the man I want for this job."



Towers absorbed all this praise without a single change of expression. He sat stone-faced for a moment after P'trell had finished speaking, long enough to make the newly minted Federation President wonder if he'd accidentally offended the marine. Then Towers nodded, once.



"I'll do it," he said.



P'trell blinked, but then he smiled. "Good. You'll be issued command codes, as well as quarters and an office aboard the DEMETER. We will compile a list of candidates for your staff, I think you'll find we have quite a few talented administrators among our ranks."



**The sword of the Federation run by 'talented administrators',** Towers thought grimly, but he nodded.



"Of course, Mr. President," Towers said. "I can get started immediately."



"Well, you can take the afternoon at least," P'trell said with a chuckle. "Believe me, Colonel Towers, this job will be a lot of work. Take your rest where you can find it."



"Understood, sir," Towers said. This drew another laugh from the President.



"Thoris, I think," P'trell said. "We'll be seeing a lot of each other over the coming days, I expect. No need to always stand on ceremony."



Towers did a quick mental checklist of his standing orders so far: take the afternoon off, and refer to this grinning Andorian politician by his familiar name, rather than his honorific. For an instant, Towers wished he was back on the Bolian front. Then, in a flash of guilt, he remembered the faces of the men he'd lost there. Not a hint of this thought process flickered across his features, however. Towers' expression was carved from stone: his cool, calculating eyes, the determined set of his jaw... these things were universal constants.



"Mr. President," Towers corrected smoothly, and in a tone that could brook no further disagreement, not even from the most powerful man in the Federation. "It's a question of respect for your office, sir."



P'trell's expression seemed to ripple, and Towers couldn't tell if he'd pleased or annoyed his new commander-in-chief. But the politician was back in an instant, smiling and offering a hand for Towers to shake. Towers shook it, and found himself impressed with the strength of P'trell's handshake. The President had much to learn about his new office and its associated responsibilities, but he did not seem to be weak willed.



"You'll receive the meeting schedule by this evening, as well as minutes from the previous meetings," Thoris P'trell explained as he conducted Towers gently to the door. "I'm sure you'll get along with the other council members."



"Yes sir," Towers said automatically.



"Well then," P'trell said, smiling again. "Thank you for coming in, colonel. I look forward to working with you."



"Thank you, sir," Towers said. He turned, leaving P'trell to his spartan office, glad to be out of the politician's den and back in what felt like the real world.



=[/\]=



LOCATION: USS PHOENIX

SCENE: Jake Crichton's Quarters



TIME INDEX: After "The Prodigal"



Jake had taken an early day, leaving Rochemonte in charge in Main Engineering. The young woman was still working diligently with Chaucer, trying to achieve the shield boost they'd promised. Their spacewalk had been successful, and the physical modifications made to the shield generators were already producing some impressive results. but Cindy Rochemonte would not rest until she'd managed the 10% that Jake had requested. Jake had felt bad about leaving her behind to work on it while he went back to his quarters, but then he remembered how he'd only seen his kids for a few hours that week, and decided he could live with the guilt of abandoning Rochemonte to her work.



Ben and Dahlia had suggested they help Jake make dinner. Jake had accepted, deciding that he could always replicate something later on if the dinner turned out to be a disaster. Jake didn't have anywhere near the culinary skills that his wife, Xana, had cultivated over her lifetime. She'd managed to pass on some fundamentals to the kids, but even they were still only enthusiastic amateurs. Jake had eventually decided to sit back and watch as Dahlia instructed Ben to add yet another handful of garlic to the lumpy mess that had, in more optimistic times, been intended as mashed potatoes. Ben wasn't satisfied with just one handful of garlic, and so he dropped in two... and these on top of the six handfuls that Dahlia had already requested. Jake could practically taste the garlic all the way across the room. He took a long pull off the bottle of beer he'd opened for himself, and tried to focus on the fact that at least he was spending some quality time with his children.



"Something's burning," Dahlia said suddenly, looking over at Jake.



"Don't look at me," Jake said, putting his hands up in an attempt to deflect any incoming responsibility. "You fired me after the tomato dicing debacle."



"The meat is burning," Ben reported, staring in through the window of their oven at the haphazard meatloaf he and his sister had put together out of diced vegetables and some replicated ground beef. The plan had originally been stuffed peppers, but Ben had gotten some on his hands and then rubbed his eyes, and then dinner preparations had to be suspended for nearly 15 minutes while Jake helped his son flush out his eyes. Dahlia had filled that time dicing up the piles of garlic that Ben was now using to ruin their mashed potatoes.



"Let's turn the oven off," Dahlia said, as if she'd chosen that course of action from a list of equally sensible alternatives. "I think that would be a good idea."



Ben nodded, and reached out to shut off the oven. His sister joined him to peer in through the oven window at their ruined attempt at an evening meal.



"I don't want to eat it anymore," Ben said, wrinkling his nose at the smell of the burnt meatloaf. "Let's have ice cream."



"Good idea," Dahlia nodded gravely.


"Nice try," Jake said, rising from the table to join his children in the kitchen. He made sure the oven was turned off, then helped Ben and Dahlia try to wave away the stink of burnt meat. The PHOENIX's environmental controls would spirit away the worst of the smell after a few minutes, but it was strong enough that Jake decided he couldn't wait. Once the air in the kitchen had started to filter through, the stench began to fade. Ben's arms had gotten tired well before then, and he'd wandered back over to the counter to stick a chubby finger into the bowl of lumpy potatoes. He scooped up a sizeable sample, which disappeared quickly into the young boy's mouth. It didn't stay there for long, though; Ben's eyes almost crossed at the overpowering taste of garlic, and he opened his mouth to let the lump of mashed potatoes drop to the floor with a dull *plop!*



"Gross!" Dahlia said.



"Ben!" Jake chastised. "Clean that up!"



"Too much garlic," Ben said. The boy stuck out his tongue and started to scrape at it with his fingers, in a desperate attempt to cleanse it of the offensive mashed potatoes.



Then the door chime for their quarters sounded sharply. All three of them froze, looking towards the door to their quarters. Ben continued to absently brush away at his exposed tongue, but otherwise nobody moved.



"Who could that be?" Jake said finally, and he started towards the door. Dahlia continued to desperately fan away the stink of the burnt meatloaf, while Ben looked out with the practiced disinterest of a 6 year old.



Jake thumbed the control on the console next to the door. The screen blossomed to life, giving Jake an odd fish-eye view of the corridor right outside his door. A musclebound man with black hair, brown eyes, and scar tissue poking up from the collar of his uniform filled the screen. As Jake watched, the man reached out to activate the door chime once more. The chime filled their quarters again.



Jake looked over at his kids, who were watching him curiously. Then he returned his attention to the screen. He could scarcely believe who he was seeing, but old habits died hard, it seemed. Jake stepped back from the door, and deactivated the lock.



"Come in," he said.



The doors parted, and in walked Lt. Colonel Alexander Towers. He was every bit the soldier that Jake remembered. His posture was perfectly erect, his eyes moved smoothly around the room, probably identifying any structural weaknesses, escape routes, and potential improvised weapons. He was still tall (though not as tall as Jim Barton, Jake thought), still built like an armored shuttlecraft. Jake even recognized some of the scars that criss-crossed the colonel's cheeks.



"Commander Crichton," Towers said simply, standing at awkward attention just inside the door.



"Colonel Towers," Jake said.



Towers' eyes flicked to Ben and Dahlia in the kitchen, then back to Jake. The colonel's nose twitched - Jake realized he could smell the burnt meatloaf, too.



"I hope I'm not interrupting," Towers said.



"Oh, no, it's fine," Jake said, looking over his shoulder at his kids. "We were just... well... actually, yes, you are interrupting."



Towers absorbed this without any change in his expression. He was exactly how Jake remembered him.



"I understand you've been made second officer of the PHOENIX," Towers said. "Congratulations. You deserve it."



"Thanks," Jake said. "Permission to ask what you're doing here, sir?"



"I was hoping we could talk," Towers said. "It won't take long, but I think it might be best if we do it alone."



Jake sighed, and looked back to his kids.



"Dahlia, Ben," he said. "Go to my room. Replicate yourselves a pizza. I'll join you there in a little bit, and we'll watch some old movies or something, okay?"



"I want ice cream," Ben whined,

"Maybe later," Jake said. "Go now, please."



Dahlia took her little brother by the hand and guided him up the hall towards Jake's room. The young girl glanced back over her shoulder at Jake as they went. Jake smiled at her reassuringly. When they were gone, Jake looked back to Towers.



"Have a seat," Jake said, gesturing towards the kitchen table. Towers pulled out a chair and took a seat. He glanced around Jake's quarters once more as he did so. Jake made a point not to join Towers at the table; instead, he lingered in the kitchen, watching his former CO with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion.



"You're doing well," Towers said. "I'm glad."



"Yeah, they leave a mint on my pillow every morning," Jake said. "What do you want, colonel?"



Towers sighed. "You didn't always hate me, Crichton."



"I don't think I hate you now," Jake said, folding his arms and leaning against the kitchen counter. "You have to think about someone to hate them."



"So you've moved on, I take it," Towers said, meeting Jake's stare without any trace of fear or shame. Jake's knees went a little water as he felt the weight of Towers' regard settle on him once more. It took him back to his days on GATEWAY, with the Dominion War raging. Towers hadn't always been the easiest CO to work for, but Jake had to admit that much of his work ethic, his attention to detail, and his ability to improvise had developed and flourished under Towers' command. Part of that had been the demands of the war, and part of it had been Towers' own sky-high expectations, but it was enough that Jake found he couldn't bring himself to despise Alexander Towers in the way he wanted to.



"Moved on," Jake agreed with a nod. "You could say that, yes."



"You have a lovely family," Towers said. "I remember the girl. She's Gene McInnis' daughter, isn't she?"



"Yes," Jake said.



"The boy is your son," Towers said. "I see the resemblance."



"Permission to speak freely, sir?"



Towers arched an eyebrow. "You're off duty, in your quarters. You can say what you want."



"You didn't come here to catch up," Jake said. "It's not your style. So what the hell do you want?"



Towers nodded. "Alright. You're right. I'm not any good at this everyday pleasantries shit."



"You never were," Jake said, with half a grin. "How'd they talk you into taking the Commandant job, anyway?"



"The president asked," Towers said. "When your commander-in-chief asks you to do something, you do it."



"And what if your commander-in-chief is a deranged admiral with delusions of empire?" Jake asked. Towers' gaze once again settled on him heavily, and it was all Jake could do not to look away.



"I left as soon as I realized what Edgerton was," Towers said. "It was the best I could do."



"And before that?"



"Before that," Towers said slowly. "I had written you off. I thought you were a traitor."



"Your vote of confidence means so much, sir," Jake said, the sarcasm in his tone giving his words an extra bite.



"That's enough," Towers said, with sudden finality. Despite himself, Jake clammed up. "I know you haven't forgiven me after what happened with the phobophage -"



"Cute nickname for it," Jake said. "I still think of it as 'the thing you almost fed me to.'"



Jake's mind traced back to that faraway day, back when he'd still served aboard GATEWAY, with Towers as his commanding officer. The station had been infected with a malevolent alien force, some unseen psychic force that seemed to feed on fear itself. It was able to appear in any shape, wear any mask. It defied all their attempts to contain or destroy it. Eventually, they'd discovered a way to drive the creature away... but their plan had required bait. And so, Towers had ordered that Jake be used, without his knowledge. They'd told him his wife, Xana, had been wounded, that she was dying. They let Jake's fear for his wife's safety draw the creature to him. They'd rescued him at the last moment, saving the station and its inhabitants in the process, but Jake had never been able to forgive Towers for the incident. The way that Towers had so coldly turned Jake's love for his wife into a weapon, with seemingly no regard for what he'd put Jake through... that had been the moment Jake Crichton had decided he couldn't trust Alex Towers.



"It was a desperate situation," Towers said. "I don't regret doing what I had to do to protect my crew."



"I know," Jake said. "You sleep real well at night, I'm sure. I still don't know why you're here, though."



Towers frowned. "I have news. You'll want to hear it."



"News from you?" Jake asked, almost laughing. "What could you possibly have to tell me that I would care--"



"It's about your wife," Towers said.



Jake stopped. Towers nodded.



"I saw her," Towers said. "On Bolarus."



"You saw Xana?" Jake asked, his eyes wide. His mouth felt suddenly dry, and he had to lean even harder against the countertop to avoid losing his footing altogether.



"Edgerton sent my unit there to find her," Towers said. "He told us she was a valuable political asset, and that we were to extract her at all costs. He didn't say who she was, but I recognized her as soon as we tracked her down."



"Is she okay?" Jake asked. "Where is she? Is she--"



"Crichton," Tower said, holding up a hand. "Please."



Jake stopped, but he stepped forward to take a seat at the table with Towers.



"The Romulans had recently taken the city," Towers said. "Xana Bonviva-Crichton had been running a clandestine operation there for several days, evacuating civilians out of the city. We found her just before a Romulan patrol swept into the area. I lost some good men trying to hold our position while we waited for extraction. Eventually, we had to fall back. You wife didn't want to go. She always was stubborn."



"That sounds like her," Jake said quietly.



"Eventually. we convinced her to leave the area," Towers continued. "We met with the evac shuttle and got her off the planet. I checked in with command to report mission complete, and that's when the new orders came through."



Jake nodded, feeling a little sick. "They wanted you to kill them all."

Towers nodded. "That's right," he said. "Xana, and all her little helpers we'd pulled out of Bolkinua. They wanted us to shoot them on the spot and dump their bodies."



"So why didn't you do it?" Jake asked.



"I'll try not to be offended that you had to ask," Towers said. "I don't know what you think of me, Crichton, but I don't shoot unarmed people, especially not unarmed civilians. Whatever Edgerton said they'd done, I thought they deserved a trial. My unit agreed."



"And that's when you got a big fat target painted on your back too," Jake sighed. "Join the club."



"Xana returned to Bolarus," Towers continued. "Last I saw, she was heading away from the fighting. She was okay, last I saw her."



"DId she... give you a message for me?" Jake asked, hating the hopeful crack in his voice a s he said it. Towers shook his head sadly.


"I don't think she imagined our paths would cross," Towers said. "I certainly didn't."



"But she's alive," Jake said.



"She was, a few weeks ago," Towers said. "I wish I had something more definitive, but I though you would want to know."



"Thank you sir," Jake said. "I appreciate it."



Towers nodded again, just once, in his customary fashion. "Alright then."



"Yeah," Jake said. "I'd invite you stay for dinner, but..."



"But you still don't like me," Towers finished for him. Jake laughed.



"I was going to say there are questions as to the dinner's edibility," he said. "But... yeah, you're right."



"I won't apologize for what I've done," Towers said, as he rose. "But I want you to know, I didn't do it lightly. All of the decisions I made back in those days... none of it was done lightly."



"We won," Jake said. "It's over."



"We did," Towers said. "Well, thank you for taking the time to hear me out, Commander Crichton."



"Thank you for telling me," Jake repeated.



Towers got up and left, and Jake went to sit at the table to toy aimlessly with his half-finished bottle of beer. After a few minutes, Dahlia and Ben came out to join him. Jake Crichton clutched his children close and thought of his wife.



=[/\]=



NRPG: It ended a little more abruptly than I meant for it to, but I have to go in to work and I didn't want to wait until later tonight to send it out. MOAR POSTS!



Shawn Putnam

a.k.a.

Jake Crichton

Chief Engineering Officer

USS PHOENIX



and



Lt. Colonel Alexander Towers

Marine Commandant

Currently operating out of the USS DEMETER