The Weight of Command

Posted on Sun Aug 24th, 2025 @ 12:41pm by Captain Mitsu Sato

688 words; about a 3 minute read

The silence was louder than the stars. Mitsu sat alone in her ready room, the lights dimmed to match the mood clinging to the corridors of the Eclipse. Outside the view port, the Adelphous System had long since disappeared from sensor range as the Eclipse warped away towards Starbase 24. She hadn’t removed her dress uniform yet. It clung tightly at the collar, reminding her with every breath that the memorial service had been real and that two of her officers were gone.

Rogers. Oku. Their names echoed in her mind in a way that reports and casualty logs couldn’t capture. Clean text on a screen lacked the heat of Rogers’ calming presence or the way Oku's laughter had brightened the room. Words had failed her at the ceremony. They failed her still.

She stood, slowly, walking to the desk and placing a hand on the Padd she hadn’t signed yet. It was the official incident report, containing the final entries along with the recommendation for posthumous commendations. All of it sat in front of her like a test she wasn’t sure she wanted to pass. Her fingers hovered over the Padd, then withdrew and turned to stare out through the view port.

She had tried over and over to tell herself that this was part of being a Starfleet officer, of being a captain. That there would be times when she, along with other members in Starfleet, would have to face the loss of another officer. But it wasn’t a comfort. It wasn’t even convincing. To her, the truth was simpler and harder: she hadn’t been prepared. Not for this.

Mitsu had trained for diplomacy, science, and exploration. She had studied command principles, memorized Starfleet protocols, shadowed captains who made it look effortless. She had told herself, many times, that she was ready. But nothing in the manuals taught you how to send letters to parents or how to sleep the night after your first officer died buying your crew precious seconds of survival. Nothing prepared you for the moment you realized the choices you made, or didn’t make, would echo in the lives of others forever.

She turned away from the view port. Mitsu had made the call and given the order to send the team to that station. She had given the order that had resulted in the deaths of two of her officers, though no one had accused her of anything. At least, not yet. A part of her knew it had been the right call. Rogers had agreed. The mission had been low risk. The bio anomalies barely registered on the threat scale. Everything had pointed to the mission being simple and routine. That is, until it wasn’t.

And now the blood was on the deck. Mitsu sat down at her desk again, slower this time. “Computer,” she said softly, “begin personal log."

Waiting for the soft beep to indicate that the computer was recording, she spoke softly. “I lost two officers this week. Commander Karl Rogers, my First Officer, and Ensign Noa Oku, science officer. Both died on an away mission gone wrong.” She paused. “This was the first time I’ve lost people under my command. And I know it probably won’t be the last. But right now, that feels like an unbearable truth.”

She looked at her reflection in the darkened screen across the room. The face looking back seemed tired, too tired for how early in her captaincy it still was. “But I need to remember this feeling. Not to dwell in it, but to respect it. To never treat life aboard this ship like numbers or names in a duty roster. They were people. And they were mine to protect. And even though the events that happened were unexpected, I can't help but feel as though I've failed them.”

Mitsu paused again, searching for anything else to say. There was nothing, at least nothing that felt right.

“Computer, end log.”

Mitsu sat in the quiet that followed and finally, gently, reached for the Padd. This time, she signed it.

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