Altered States

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It was over…finally done, or so they thought. They stood on the bridge with heavy hearts, each man silent with the inner weight of his own conscience. Then Admiral Volsky closed the book he had been reading from, slipping it slowly into his uniform breast pocket. The poem he had read carried a dour sentiment, and an equal burden of guilt. He knew that the ship had been responsible for much harm, fighting in three wars across two centuries. The damage they had inflicted on the mirror of time was easily seen, the cracks webbing out through the months and years to change the reflection of history. Yet there was no way to fully understand exactly what they had done, or so they thought…

We have been blundering about with good intentions for the most part, thought Volsky, yet blundering still. Fedorov launched his mission to find Orlov for every good reason, yet he could not control the outcome. It seems that every mark we have left on the days of the past must inevitably work its way forward in time to some resolution, some consequence, and we cannot hope to measure or even know the whole of what we may have done.

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