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Amazing how in 39 years some things are routine, launches, commissioning,
duties. All routine all something you got used to. Standing off to
one side
he watched the ship begin to slip out of it's moorings and away from the
spacedock.
Tradition required all senior staff to be on the bridge to watch the ship
leave, to be expected.
He looked over the table and the faces of the young officers who helmed
the
vessel. They were all so young, so hopeful.
Hopefully that wouldn't change............
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Cmdr. Dante Graves
USS Marakesh
Dante found himself a bit surprised that the crew had settled in so well
in there new homes. It seemed even more than he had.
The shakedown was going smoothly enough, and he fond himself with a
little extra time on his hands. The only continuing problem was the EMH
program.
The holographic doctor was a spitfire. She was programmed with an
attitude. Obviously some young cadet thought it would be funny.
The doc would have to be totally deleted and rebooted to fix her, and
Dante wasn't willing to go that far... yet. Unless the Captain ordered
it, or it drove the Chief Medical Officer into a psychotic frenzy. Both
were very possible.
With the time Dante had free, he outfitted his quarters with a bit of
personal flair. He hung pictures of his horses, his impressive
collection of replicated "Shootin irons" and his prize possession. An
original .45 Colt, black powder pistol. The inscription on the wooden
handle read, "To Wyatt, with love."
Even with Dante's love of the Old Western style, he never could figure
out why a instrument of destruction was given as a gift especially from
a loved one. Nor did he know who Wyatt was. He had meant to do the
research, but he never found the time.
As his apartment took shape, he took out his next prized possession. It
was a holo-picture of his father. He was dressed as Jesse James,
complete with the bandit's trademark black hat. From the pictures he'd
seen of the Old West gun slinger, Dante's father was the spitting image.
He slid the base of the picture on a shelf, and smiled. Dad would be
proud. He was about to tame a new west. Space.
Graves sipped at his replicated Terran soda pop admiring his handy work.
It was feeling more and more like home.
He glanced at the chronometer on the wall, and smiled. He still had
plenty of time.
Slipping out of his quarters, Dante walked briskly to the holo-deck. He
nodded casually to the few crew members that passed him. Tonight, though
was his to get lost.
Standing in front of the deck's door, he contemplated a brief moment.
"Computer, run program Mars Colony four. Add a Terran Palomino horse.
Engage."
Dante stepped into the barren red desert landscape of the Mars planet.
With the programming parameters, the atmosphere was class M. Standing
there before him was a beautiful spotted horse impatiently pawing the
dusty ground. It was saddled and ready to go.
Dante leapt on the powerful beast with the glee of a child in a toy
store. He lightly kicked the beasts flank into a flat run. For now, all
was perfect. Alone, on a dusty landscape with a horse and nothing but
peaceful running room.
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