NCC - 86105
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March of Time

Posted on Sun May 19th, 2013 @ 7:10pm by Lieutenant Ciaran McIntyre

Mission: Character Background
Location: Faculty Office Space [Starbase 332]


Tick, tock, goes the clock...

The timepiece was nothing but a hyena. With every clunk of its hands, mocked him and pushed him inexorably towards an uncomfortable future. Twelve years meant nothing to Starfleet and now he had to sit on a bridge, albeit a very comfortable bridge, and pretend that twelve years meant nothing to him.

The pounding of the clock's hands gave way to him scratching his unkempt beard. Starfleet Academy had turned him into a dithering academic and he had no plans to change that in the next twenty minutes. A high-pitched tone in the distance indicated the end of a class and the end of his self-indulgence.

McIntyre realised with a jolt that he had been sitting staring at the march of the clock hands for over an hour. You'd think you'd notice it more on a clock. He thought to himself as he pulled his bedraggled form grudgingly to its feet. He felt disconnected from himself and he had done ever since he had arrived on Starbase 332. Teaching was an interesting distraction but the nagging pain of losing his ship and his crew snapped at the back of his mind more often than he cared to admit.

What of now? He was seconds out to his shuttle's boarding call. The uniform he wore was crisp and pressed although he knew he would look like a freshly wrecked shuttlecraft by the time he arrived aboard his new assignment. There was always something which would get in the way of a good first impression.

He was there in that moment, standing in front of Lieutenant Stanley, the statuesque Strat Ops officer with the gleaming hair and the salubrious smile. He saw the high sheen of the Lieutenant's boots as he shame-facedly took in his own and the smile on the Lieutenant's face never shifted.

He had been eased into his work by the Lieutenant but if he had known then what he knew now, he would have more than scuffs on the leather uppers of his boots.

The clock continued its march onwards. The tattered face of his Grandfather's timepiece reminded him of the mist which so often rolled over Arran and completely obscured the mainland of Scotland beyond. On those days you would have believed you would drop off the end of the world if you took a boat into the ravenous straits.

Today he felt the same.

The unmistakable chime hushed the clock and cleared the fog from the Lieutenant's mind. "Shuttlebay three-one-two to Endeavour transfers, we will be departing in ten minutes."

Once more unto the breach.


Lieutenant Ciaran McIntyre
Chief Security & Tactical Officer
USS Endeavour


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