This story’s
original contest version, which remains largely unaltered by its
“canonization,” you can find here. Specifically … I provided little other
than some editorial dry-brushing, and the short scenes that begin and end the
narrative; these additions better place it within a
“Ghosts”
By Scottish Andy
(with Joseph Manno)
I watch them leave
me... and realize that this was for
I can live with that. Ours was an affair of
the heart... but it flowered in the heat of the moment. Otherwise, it would
never have been.
Those two, though?
Unless I miss my guess... that is a love for the ages.
I like Parihn—very
much. She is a match for him, body and mind, heart and soul—in every way. I would say more than a match, but... I know
Men…
clueless.
Of course, they do
have their moments: Already gently solicitous after learning of her condition,
he takes it a grandiloquent step further... and carries her back to the
runabout. It's absolutely unnecessary... and one of the sweetest, most romantic
gestures I've ever seen.
Well, perhaps not absolutely clueless.
A moment later,
they’re gone.
I reenter the house.
Jessamine left earlier today, back to Starfleet as of this morning—at the
behest of both Cicero and me. It’s for the best.
I’m very tired… and so
alone. I find myself drawn to my sitting room, thence to what Jess always
called my “memory drawer.” I take out what I want, and hold it in my lap.
Is it natural that, as
the last man I ever truly loved leaves me, my thoughts turn back to the first?
***
I surrender my station to Ensign Shaw and move with the rest of
the Alpha Shift crew to the turbo-shaft at the end of the hallway, staying
silent but listening to their light-hearted chatter and allowing it to soothe
me. I’m feeling… slightly off my game today, and glad that my duty shift is
over.
I’ve been thinking too much of him.
As we all crowd into the turbolift I notice that Esteban is
already there, having come from the science labs several decks up, and he manoeuvres beside me so he can speak.
“Hey Angela, want to join me in the Rec
Room?” he asks hopefully.
My own feelings of unease and the direction my thoughts had
taken today make me suddenly feel the urge to refuse. “I’m sorry, Esteban, not
right now. There’s something I need to attend to in my quarters. Maybe I’ll
join you later in the mess hall.”
His smile flickers just a little and his disappointment is well
hidden, but I still see it. He manages not to push further and gives in
gracefully. The turbolift deposits us on Deck Six and I head to my quarters
without looking back, leaving Esteban in the car with my friends.
I stride into my quarters and allow the door to slide shut and
lock before letting slip my confident demeanour and
easy smile. Although for the most part it is becoming easier to say that such
is once again becoming my ‘default’ emotional state, the fact that I still have
to concentrate to maintain it means I have some way to go before it feels
natural to me.
Sinking down onto the lounge chair opposite my bed, I let out a
small sigh and begin to tug at my boots. The first one comes off easily, but
the left foot requires an energetic kick to free it. My sigh of relief as it
comes loose is transmuted into an annoyed growl as I hear the damn thing knock
something over in the next room. Esteban’s no-doubt well-meaning offer seems to
have raised an automatic defensiveness in me and I feel I know exactly why.
Getting back up and subconsciously smoothing down my gold
uniform skirt, I stalk into my living quarters but I’m brought up short on
assessing the scene.
It’s a sign, I think wearily. I hate signs. I wonder what this one is supposed
to mean, bereft of context as it is.
I see that, in a seemingly impossible move, the boot has
deflected off the room divider and knocked a holo-picture
off my desk.
To be exact, his picture.
Ignoring the offending piece of footwear, I sink to my knees and
retrieve the holo-pic from the carpeted floor.
Instead of carefully replacing this most treasured possession of mine back in its
proper place, I move round to sit at my desk chair and activate the terminal’s
recording function.
Already uneasy all day from some unknown source—possibly from a
lack of shore leave—and feeling alternatively sorry for and irritated at
myself, I feel that an examination of my thoughts will help me
feel better.
Reclining back in the chair and locking myself in place by
resting my feet against the edge of the desk, I gaze longingly at the face of
Lieutenant Robert Tomlinson and once again give voice to the thoughts that will
not leave me in peace.
“Ensign Angela Martine’s Personal Log, Stardate
3023.35,” I begin in the traditional manner. “It’s been nearly nine months and
I still miss him. It still hurts. All
it takes is for me to forget myself, then I turn round
and expect to see him pop up from under a console, walk through a door, or hear
his voice over the intercom from one of the other phaser rooms.
“I know he’s not there anymore, but the only way I can find any
release is to forget the incident ever happened and pretend to myself that he
really is in the next room or
somewhere else in the ship, and keep that ‘knowledge’ in the back of my mind.
Of course, this leads me straight to the next precipice where I forget that I’m
pretending and I almost call him, or address the next person I hear enter the
phaser control room as ‘Lieutenant Tomlinson’.
“So far I’ve managed to avoid saying it aloud and the compulsion
is gradually fading, it’s just… at
nine months later I would have expected to make some progress into dealing with Bobby’s death, in coming to accept that it’s happened—and what it
means for me.”
I do of course realise that I am, in
essence, repeating the various log entries I’ve made over the intervening
months. However, the problem in dealing with an event—or consequences
thereof—that you can’t accept is that the same questions keep resurfacing in
your mind, never getting satisfactorily put to bed, merely put out of mind
until the next bubble of memory pops.
“When I do remember—or I’m forcibly confronted with the truth—I
still don’t know if it hurts more that I didn’t get to marry him, or that if I
had I would have been left as his widow. I just cannot stand that the Romulans picked that
day—our wedding day—in all the hundred-plus years they’d had to choose from
before and seemingly endless months since, to make their reappearance.”
“I miss his smile, his soft voice, the twinkle in his eyes when
he gave me orders—knowing that they’d be the only ones he could give me, The One Who Will Not Be Tamed. I miss the way he’d
hold me at night, always aware of my mood and on hand to rouse me from any
nightmares. I miss… the scent of him. I was never able to place it, to
determine what it most reminded me of either in whole or in part, but then, I
never did try to analyse it.
“I was just content, knowing that it was, that it made me feel safe
and loved, because it was him.”
I feel myself begin to well up, the words thickening in my
throat. I slowly spin my chair around and gently clasp Bobby’s holo-pic with one hand, while I trace a caress over the
projected face’s cheek and jaw-line. I feel a single tear spill out of my left
eye, and can’t help but whisper, “Oh Bobby, I miss you so damn much…”
I take a moment to collect myself then state,
”Computer.”
“Working,” comes the mechanical-sounding female
voice of the
“Erase last sentence and continue recording.”
“Affirmative,” it replies, then lapses into silence.
“Captain Kirk was entirely supportive of accommodating any
career options I might have wished to pursue, and I was very grateful for that.
In the days following the Romulan incursion he had no
problem in signing off on shift changes in order to give me an easier time of
it, as a sort of on-the-job bereavement leave. However, once I discovered that
this was the case I went to him and directly requested no special treatment.
“He agreed, and despite the circumstances, gave me that smile of his. The one where you can
see that yes, he is sorry for your
loss, he does grieve with you, and
that he is proud of you all at the
same time. I’ll say that for the captain, though. He’s never one to hide his
feelings—unless he wants them
hidden.”
I feel myself frown again, and order the computer to pause
recording again. The fact that I’m still
mentioning Captain Kirk’s regard after all this time means… what? That I want
more from him? Why so I feel the need to keep mentioning it as I get farther
and farther from Bobby’s death?
Another part of my mind answers with a question. Why do you still need to list the reasons
you miss Bobby? Isn’t that even less justifiable and merely memoralising
your pain? By constantly remembering all these things and not moving on you’re just reopening old wounds
that you’re not even allowing to heal properly.
I consider my feelings very carefully on this matter, as I have
mentioned the captain in almost every log entry that I’ve made since Bobby’s
death. No, it’s not quite what I thought.
I do want more from the captain, but…
it’s his regard alone. I want to make him proud of me again, make him glad that
that I’m still a part of his crew. I don’t love him, or even desire him. I love
Bobby…
I shake my head, trying to ward off the cycle starting again.
It’s so much easier to move on with your life when your reason for living
hasn’t been ripped from you… and the ripping didn’t stop with him, as this
huge, empty void in my heart can attest to. Wounds take time to heal naturally,
and this wound isn’t one that can be forced or hurried, for all our modern
medical technology and practices.
In even being able to consider moving on, however, lie the seeds
of healing and eventual recovery. In this respect, the support my friends here
on the
“Computer, resume recording,” I instruct again as I gently
replace Bobby’s holopic in its spot on my desk.
“Affirmative.”
“My shipmates and friends have all done their best for me, and I
am proud to both know them and call them so. At the beginning they almost
overpowered me with their emotional support, changing shifts, babysitting me,
making sure I was included in their social calendar. Esteban got everyone to
ease off once he realised what it was actually doing
to me, and that I just needed some time to be alone.
“After that I got as much space as I could handle, but with the implicit invitation to join in with
them whenever I needed to. A finer group of friends I doubt I will ever find.”
A smile works its way onto my face at the fond memories of overeager friends
falling over themselves in trying to make me feel better, one surfacing more
often than the others. “And then there’s Esteban himself.”
“He’s a good man and a fine officer, and would no doubt make an
attentive husband and a great father, but...”
I trail off again, uncertain of where I want to go with this—if,
indeed, I want to go anywhere with it. It’s the first time I’ve considered
anyone else for marriage since... well, you know by now. Maybe it’s because he
always manages to be around to offer a hand back up when I sink too low, but remains
in the background or out of mind when I’m okay. Like just now in the turbolift.
This is the first ‘off’ day I’ve had in a while, yet there he was, ready to
take my mind off of it instead of waiting in his usual place in the Rec Room.
“I know he thinks the worlds of me, even that he’s in love with
me. I had thought it might turn out to be a ‘schoolyard crush’, as he made his
feelings plain while we were all cadets at Starfleet Academy, but as the years
progressed it became obvious that he loved me then as he does now. Esteban and
Bobby were always competing for my affections. I’m sorry to say that it wasn’t
even close; I fell in love with Bobby the first time I saw him and I just don’t
feel that way about Esteban at all.
“Or, at least, I didn’t.”
I raise my hand to my mouth in surprise that that admission made
it out into the open. Am I betraying
Bobby by considering someone else—when I’m still mourning his loss? Or is this
bone-deep, soul-crushing sense of loss pushing me to do so, that I won’t feel
so alone?
I turn back round to face Bobby’s picture and again feel the
sharp pain of loss. I lift it up again. “Am I just moping, memorialising
my pain, clinging to you in a perverse display of loyalty?” I ask the only man
I’ve ever loved. “The ‘sign’ that I’m so convinced of, what is it telling me?
That I do need to complete my grieving, my mourning for a lost love—and a life-to-be? Or is it telling me to
move on and stop wallowing in this quagmire of renegade emotions that continues
to surround me whenever I let my defences down? I
wish I knew, but I’m just so mixed up. It doesn’t help that we haven’t had
shore leave in far too long. The whole crew is feeling slightly run down, and
it’s adding an extra edge to my troubles. Cooped up for so long—
A building realisation opens my eyes
wide, and I feel something akin to a breakthrough as I voice a thought that has
never occurred to me before. My words are coming faster as if I feel the need
to get it all out and articulated, before it vanishes like early morning fog in
the sunshine.
“Or maybe it’s oppression, with the weight of past history and all-too familiar
surroundings pushing down on me with an almost tangible force. The ghosts of
the past casting a shadow on my future.
“I hadn’t wanted to leave all my friends behind and move
somewhere new while feeling so vulnerable. I’m doing better now, and if what I
need to stop treasured memories from becoming bludgeoning reminders of what
I’ve lost is to distance myself from them, then I may finally be ready for it.
This timid and fragile person I’ve become of recent months is not who I am. I am stronger than that.
“Possibly even more importantly, don’t want my mixed-up feelings
getting me into a bad situation with Esteban. He is a dear, sweet man, but he wants from me something I cannot give,
either honestly in present circumstances or at all, if our previous history is
taken into account.
“My life needs new direction, somewhere to head to rather than retreat or run from. I never seriously considered
transferring off, but perhaps I should take up Captain Kirk’s offer of support.
With his recommendation behind me I can get another posting almost anywhere
else in the Fleet.” I can feel myself get more excited by this prospect, in a
way that hasn’t happened for a while. “Maybe I should try for a Command
position instead of merely a Ship Operations posting!”
My eyes alight on the picture of my lost love once again, and he
smiles at me, encouragingly it seems, approvingly, with that knowing twinkle in
his eyes. I suddenly know, with a
blinding clarity rivaling that of a new supernova, that this is the right path
to take whether it be here on the
The death of the old must
give way to the birth of the new.
“Things do happen for
a reason, and even if I never understand why Bobby was taken from me,
apparently today is the day that I am finally able to start putting the past behind
me. I’ll speak with Captain Kirk to discuss my options for transferring into
the Command track program at the next available opportunity.”
My path now clear once more, I decide on a final reflection to
round off this log entry which began as more of the same yet resulted in an
epiphany.
“It seems that if you ponder a trouble or a problem long enough,
the answer does eventually come to
you, as it did for me here and now. Maybe I have
been slowly moving on with my life, all the while paying tribute to the man I
loved in the manner I was most comfortable with, instead of merely indulging in
useless sentimentality and procrastination as I have—unfortunately—previously
thought. Time may not heal all wounds,
but it usually gives perspective for when you’re finally ready to begin the
healing process.
“I love you, Bobby Tomlinson, wherever you are now, and I will
always carry part of you with me wherever I go.
“It’s now time for me to continue my journey once again.”
***
And now, my journey is
almost over.
I’m not so
melodramatic (or inconsiderate) that I’ll die happily just now, but I really
don’t think I’ll last out the year… or that I want to.
I know you’re waiting,
Bobby… and you, too, Esteban… in that place where there’s no jealousy, but only
love.
It won’t be long now.