Death Sentences
Posted on December 9th, 2015 by Kathryn Harper

Commander Kathryn Harper awoke with her cheek partially resting on a PADD; its imprint reddened her pale skin as she lifted her head to get her bearings. The only light in her temporary quarters aboard the Odyssey came from the holo-projections of the computer, which helpfully provided the time: 0243. She rubbed her face and eyes and blinked a few times, then looked around. The faint glow illuminated her desk which was covered in a chaotic jumble of PADDs, along with a half-empty bottle of whisky and a glass with a finger of the amber liquid still remaining. As she took the glass and swallowed its contents with a slight grimace, she remembered why she had fallen asleep here – the seemingly impossible task of rebuilding the 42nd Fighter Wing.

The first half of the bottle had apparently fueled her earlier search efforts, but she had must have gotten sidetracked, as evidenced by the computer’s display of the names of the deceased. As her mind cleared, Kate began to absently look at some of the PADDs without really seeing them. After going through so many applicants the profiles seemed to blur together, and she dropped the PADDs back on the desk in frustration. With a deep sigh, she poured another few fingers from the bottle, once again seeking its refuge to escape the ghosts of the dead, as had become her habit since the war’s end.

Doctor Kymar had declared her to be in perfect physical health, even after all she had been through in the past few months. Tears threatened to escape the corners of her eyes as they narrowed at the list of the dead while she growled, “Perfect. Fucking. Health! What the hell did I do to deserve that, when none of them apparently did?” Kate took a generous drink and chided herself for even entertaining such a ridiculous notion as supernatural universal karma. She was no more or less deserving of life than her wingmates, but through some combination of skill and chance, she sat here and they were dead, and neither the universe nor any gods gave a shit. Unfortunately, in the face of another wave of self-doubt, this burst of reason faded quickly and did nothing to stop the guilt for simply living from threatening to crush her.

And of course, on her desk sat many more asking to take their places, volunteering to join a force that had been decimated twice in the past few years. To Kate, at this point, it seemed like a suicide mission. Of course, she understood why they kept signing up. Even after seven years as CAG, flying such a high performance machine was still an almost sexual rush for her; the visceral thrill of its responses to her desires along with the feedback of the ensuing G-forces made her feel particularly aware of being alive. Finishing the glass and pouring another, she leaned back in her chair and mused that for some, a shorter, fully-realized existence might be preferable to a longer, average life.

That sentiment didn’t assuage the feeling that choosing someone to join the Sharks was to sentence them to death. She had already outright declined most of the candidates’ applications, perhaps unreasonably, and had only accepted the best of the best in hopes that they would be the most likely to survive. Admiral Blackthorne had already challenged her rejection of one Second Lieutenant Kimiko Suzuki, who had apparently demonstrated exemplary skill in piloting the prototype stealth ship Aquarius during the wargame they had conducted during her absence. Kate had rejected the fresh Academy graduate for relative inexperience in the field, but the once the Admiral questioned her decision, she grudgingly relented.

Kate’s standards were high, but she respected Blackthorne’s judgement of skill. After all, he had survived his career as a fighter pilot. Would she? Given the injuries she had sustained on the bridge, she once thought herself safer in a Mustang than aboard Atlantis, but after several close calls in the cockpit, Kate couldn’t help but to wonder how she could possibly have survived what she already had, much less what the future could bring. The tears finally began to flow at the thought of dying when she had so much to live for. Her career, her parents, and now Lexy, all so important to her, but Kate found herself no more deserving than any of the lost, who also presumably had lived for someone or something. It felt wrong to allow herself the happiness they could not have, and in the chaos of her emotional state, she couldn’t distinguish between the feelings that she should have died with her comrades, the guilt for recruiting and training them, and the terror of that death actually happening.

Kate emptied her drink once more and turned off the computer’s display, no longer able to bear the sight of the list. Her fingers unconsciously released their hold on the glass, which fell to the floor and bounced, landing unnoticed on its side. She buried her head in her arms on the desk, and grasped with one hand for the bottle as her tears turned to deep choking sobs. Sleep would not come until her tears and whisky were exhausted, the alcohol’s path to merciful oblivion providing some measure of respite from the emotional tempest.