Blood On His Hands

Posted on Saturday 19 November 2016 @ 11:39 by Lieutenant Caleb Mitchell
Edited on on Sunday 4 December 2016 @ 10:42

Mission: Old, New Ship
Location: London
Timeline: Thirteen Months Ago
1085 words - 2.2 OF Standard Post Measure

London has survived for almost three thousand years, and in its almost three thousand year history, it has gone through a lot of changes. But there are some things that haven't changed or at least changed substantially for over one thousand yeas. Among those would be Big Ben, Buckingham Palace, the Tower Bridge, the Underground and of course pubs. Caleb had spent a lot of time there during his Academy days and had at one time or the other visited all of those places, most of them only once. It was the general culture of the city, its rich history that first drew his interest. The many pubs were also a big hit with the young student, as were the numerous theaters in the West End, where he spent most of his time while in the city.

Then when his mother moved there his junior year, he'd spent, even more, time there. It has been more than two years since he'd been back to the city and had been looking forward to the visit since his father, had surprisingly come up with the idea. His parents had been estranged since he was a child, that they had all agreed to come together, even if only for the afternoon, was encouraging. The only real disappointing thing for him was that Scott hadn't come with him. He supposed though that, that wasn't altogether a bad thing, he supposed, he wasn't sure if he wanted to have thatconversation with his family, or if it was quite time for Scott to meet his parents. They were living together of course, but Scott had just moved in and it was still too early in their relationship to know if it was going to be permanent, or even truly long term.

There was a great pub, The Midnight Sun that had been one of his favorites in his student days. He had enjoyed himself, dancing, chatting up some of the guys and drinking a little too much of real alcohol, but it hadn't been the same as he remembered. He'd gone back to the hotel, his mother had moved back to the Seattle area, alone of course and he had slept in the next day, something he rarely had a chance to when he was on a ship.

He'd awoke with a bit of a hangover, but after some aspirin and some coffee, he had soon felt better, or at least alive. He pulled out his private communicator and called his mother and father, separately, of course, and confirmed that the plans hadn't changed and they were going to meet at The White Horse Tavern at exactly noon. His hotel was a good eight blocks from the meeting place, but he decided to walk rather than take a hover taxi, or the bus. Since he was due back on the Hera, the next day, he packed his bags, made sure the had all of his belongings and went downstairs just before eleven, to check out. He left his bags with the concierge and started his walk.

He was about three blocks from the tavern, when an Andorian woman rushed towards him from a side street, "Please," she said as she came up to him, "you've got to come help me. My husband has been had a heart attack, he's in our store!" Caleb wasn't sure why she hadn't just used her communicator to call for real medical help, but, he reasoned, perhaps she had just panicked. So, he pulled his out, but couldn't reach anyone. This struck him as curious, weird even, but with her pulling on his arm and with the anxious look she gave him he decided he could figure things out later. So he followed her down the small side street till she led him to a small store that sold antiques and curios from various cultures and worlds. He followed her inside, eyes searching to and fro in the dimness of the shop's interior. Then he saw an Andorian man crumpled on the floor, he rushed over to him and bent down beside him. Xenobiology had not been his strong suit but he figured that he could still check the carotid artery in the neck. Just as he reached down to do that, he caught a glimpse of the wife in his peripheral vision, coming towards him. He didn't think anything of it until she put some kind of metallic about the size of a tricorder wand against his neck. He felt a surge of electricity run through his body and he pitched forward unconscious.

He came to, sometime later, unsure of how long he'd been out. The Andorians were gone and the shop completely deserted. It took him another minute or so before his limbs stopped shaking and his ragged breathing returned to normal. Caleb checked himself over and to his astonishment found everything besides his communicator had not been taken. That puzzled him to no end and he wondered why he'd been attacked. Rather than deliberate on it, he was a counselor not in Intel, he knew he had to report it. The White Horse was only a few blocks away. He quickly checked his chronometer and found it was 12:10. He took off at a dead sprint headed to the inn.

He was less than a half block away when he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. An instant later he saw a light so bright that he was blinded by it for a time. He was blown through the air for twenty feet landing awkwardly and snapping his left collarbone. The heat from the explosion his eyebrows off. He staggered to his feet, pushing the pain away from his conscious mind. Ten meters ahead of him, the sidewalk was buckled and warped. Smoke seemed to be coming from everywhere all at once, it hung heavy in the air, like a small, but dense patch of fog. As he took a step forward, and then noticed the bodies strewn on the ground in front of him. Part of Caleb knew he stop and at least check them out, but his focus was focused was on his family and those in the White Horse. But, when he came up to the remains of the building he knew it was too late for anybody inside. His face drained of color and he began to sob, barely able to stand.

TBC

Caleb Mitchell
Counselor
USS Merlin