Manoora to Manoora

Posted on Mon Aug 15th, 2016 @ 2:54pm by Captain Julius Whitlam

Mission: Writing Challange - Mail Call
Location: Captain's Quarters
Timeline: MD02 - 1820hrs

Captain Julius Whitlam always felt there was something entirely liberating about being underway on a mission. He was conscious of that feeling as he entered his quarters at the end of their first full day underway. He loosened his collar and walked to the replicator; although the day was officially over, his work was far from finished and he needed a boost.

“Coffee, strong, hot,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. The warmth of the cup and the aroma of the blend wafting up to his eager nostrils was enough for him to briefly believe it wasn’t replicated water molecules and resequenced stimulants. But it would do the job and do the job he needed it to do.

Coffee in hand he sat at his desk and activated the terminal. It opened immediately into his inbox and he was greeted with the same long list of unread messages that he had left behind in his ready room only moments before. Most of them were memoranda and status reports into which he was copied, rather than being directly for his attention. But even the fleet-wide alerts required some of his attention so he would continue to plough through.

Before he plunged into those reports, he wanted something more relatable to kick start this latest session in front of a terminal. He scanned through the subject lines, skipping past messages that were obviously broadcast messages or CCs. Admiral Gilhouley’s latest memo to all captains on his interpretation of recent changes to the rules of engagement was important, but hardly enthralling reading, while the fleets engineer-in-chief’s warning to all refit Excelsior-class ships about a potential discrepancy in their warp coil efficiencies literally had nothing to do with him.

There must be something more engaging here, he thought as he scrolled down and took a tentative sip of his coffee.

Then he saw something stand out amongst the blizzard of subject lines, something that clearly didn’t belong among the bureaucratic, highly formal syntax of the other messages. “MANOORA TO MANOORA,” it said and straight away captured Whitlam’s interest.

He opened it and discovered that it came from a school back on Earth. Manoora Primary School in Cairns, Australia. The text preamble was from the school’s principal, introducing herself and the school and explaining that the school assembly had a message for him and the crew of the USS Manoora.

He placed the coffee cup down on the desk and straightened in his chair, a smile brightening his face as he leaned forward and activated the video file.

The screen flickered and he looked on to a school hall filled with a few hundred students, dressed in a bright yellow uniform. He could pick out children of dozens of Federation species and every one of them – even some of the Vulcan kids – were smiling brightly.

“Good morning Captain Whitlam!” all of the kids screamed excitedly in a cacophony of voices that broadened the smile in Whitlam’s face. There was something about the enthusiastic chorus of children’s voices that made a smile impossible to resist.

Two human students – one boy and one girl – stood at the front of the hall, clearly the designated speakers. The girl spoke first, “Good morning Captain Whitlam and the crew of the USS Manoora,” she said, reading from a PADD. “I’m Tabitha Perkins and this –” she gestured to her colleague, “- is Colin Hackett, and we are the school captains of Manoora Primary School on Earth. We wanted to send you this message to thank you for defending the Federation against the Dominion and to wish you good luck in your missions.”

The boy, Colin, looked down at his PADD as he picked up where Tabitha left off. “We hope that you and all the crew of the USS Manoora keep safe when you are fighting the Dominion. Not just for all of us on Earth but for all of the Alpha Quadrant. And when you are back on Earth, please visit us and try one of our canteen’s famous Manoora Special Rolls.”

Whitlam chuckled and felt a sting in his eye as the captains stood to the side and the rest of the assembly chorused once again. “Good luck, Manoora!” they shouted at the top of their lungs and the video ended.

The captain sat back and breathed in deeply. He looked across the desk at the pictures of his wife and children he kept there and the war suddenly felt even more personal to him. It wasn’t just his family he was fighting for, but all those families and future generations. And they knew he was out here fighting for them. The last thing in the universe he wanted to do was let them down – any of them.

He took another sip of his coffee then forwarded the message to the ship-wide distribution with a simple message - Another reason why we fight.

Then, before delving back into the bureaucratic blizzard of messages waiting for him, he sent the image pattern of the Manoora Primary School student assembly to the replicator and added one more picture to his desk.