I Don’t Do Bullet Points
Posted on June 29th, 2011 by Douglas McKnight

Leaning back in his office chair, McKnight silently considered the monitor before him, more particularly the task now playing out upon that monitor. Like much of what had fallen into his lap this past week, the task was fairly novel for him. Not that writing reports was entirely unfamiliar territory him, of course; sadly, there was just no escaping that aspect of the job once the bastards put you in charge of a department. But the knowledge that said report was definitely going on to Starfleet Command, and that upon receipt, someone in a fancier uniform than his own was definitely going to actually read it…well, that was bracing. He sort of wished now that he’d thought to ask Blackthorne about any finer points of presentation before he left, but he’d soon committed himself sternly to the premise that if it was that important, he’d know it, and besides, he was soon to lose his command anyway.

Even so, the two thirds full glass of dark beer resting to his right DID represent what he’d called his compromise drink. The aliens- Kalandans, the computer had provided once things had calmed down and he’d thought of that as good to know- had finally been deposited on a suitable new world located snugly within Starfleet’s sphere of influence, left behind not only with the supplies they’d need to survive and eventually flourish, but also an array of new satellites in orbit which would ensure no transmissions were sent off to their homeworld until they’d developed the means to physically escape the no call zone. Trust but verify was a policy he’d always consistently endorsed. Hopefully, said means would involve warp drive next time, but that was next time. If nothing else, he’d ensured that this time, nature HAD furnished them with the dilithium they’d need to try their hand at faster than light travel some day, if they could just figure it out. Personally, he was confident enough on that score; for good or ill, less advanced did not mean less intelligent in this case. Regardless, the crisis was past, and now he wanted to celebrate by taking the time to have a drink and properly admire the view that his Ready Room afforded before he needed to vacate it. But he wasn’t sure he wanted to get Scotch type relaxed while writing off a report to the admiralty.

On the plus side, he’d finally completed the more matter of fact basic details. The statistically unlikely encounter, the unforseeable combination of events and circumstances which necessitated the boarding action…and all that followed. He was confident at least that these events and the actions taken in response stood for themselves, so he made sure not to let himself get defensive about any of it.

“In conclusion, our current best guess is that the development of spaceflight capability, rudimentary or otherwise is unlikely within the next ten years, given the task of building up a viable colony with their recent losses in manpower. Certainly, building a second sleeper ship without the industrial base that produced the first one is not possible within their lifetime. Even so, rudimentary spaceflight is theoretically possible within that timeframe, so I recommend occasional recon flybys.

“Finally, I must reiterate that from start to finish, the away team performed admirably. I’m sure every one of them would state they were simply doing their jobs, and technically this is true, so I’m not nominating anyone for any specific commendations (Barring Lieutenant Kuari. She’s up for promotion in a couple weeks anyway, so there’s no harm in bumping that a little.), not least of which since I’m honestly unsure if I actually have any authority to do so. But I go on record as expressing my official appreciation for the diligence and initiative (Particularly Commander Busard, circumstances detailed above.) shown, and the lives unquestionably saved on both sides. Commander Harper in particular demonstrated exceptional versatility, first in the grasp of diplomacy that helped defuse the initial meeting, and second with the well aimed shot that saved this ship in the nick of time from an improved explosive device. What’s that saying? You can get more with a kind word and an optimized firing solution than you can from just a kind word.”

Signing this and soon after deciding it was fit to send, McKnight took up his beer, swiveled the chair around and allowed himself a genuinely relieved grin. And who knew? Maybe later, he’d allow himself that scotch as well. It WAS a hell of a view.