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Duvet Days

Posted on Tue Jun 16th, 2020 @ 11:29pm by Director Winston Hastings
Edited on on Fri Jun 19th, 2020 @ 11:52pm

Episode: Dark Days Lay Ahead
Location: Belfast, Ireland, Earth
Timeline: Day 1 at 2100

[Hastings’ Residence, Belfast, Ireland]

As Deputy Director of the Federation Security Agency’s Internal Affairs Divison, he had just returned from an anti-corruption investigation on Luna. Winston Hasting’s literally flopped, in an overexaggerated comedic fashion, aiming to get a much-needed nap. In the background, he could hear his wife Elizabeth Hastings pottering about in the rooms downstairs and the birds tweeting outside.

The room was completely dark. The joys of modern technology. With a simple voice command the glass windows in the Hastings’ master bedroom would become completely opaque. This benefitted Winston. No matter where in the world, or infact galaxy, he had been working, he could always come back to his own house in Ireland, and immediately fall asleep – regardless of the time of day.

4 Hours Later….

The four hours of sleep Hasting’s had had, were abruptly interrupted by his wife barging into the room, running over to his bedside and shaking him.

“Winnie, wake up! Wake up, Winnie! Something has happened in Paris.” She ejaculated loudly. The air of panic in her voice, immediately jolted the former Starfleet Commander from his sleep. He sat bolt upright, taking his wife’s forearms in attempt to stop the shaking.

“What’s going on Beth?” he murmured, “Computer, Federation News Service on holo-display.”

As he straightened himself up in the bed, propping his back with a pillow, Beth teetered on the edge of the mattress. The holo-display glowed into life, flooding the room with the blue, reds and greens of the news stream. Processing the information as fast as it appeared, Hasting’s unconsciously placed his arm around his wife’s waist in a protective manner.

For the next 10 minutes they sat watching the live stream, as more information was reported by the lead anchor, a young looking Vulcan woman, in a pinstripe traditional garb. While she didn’t look a day over 25 in human terms, thanks to the Vulcan life span she was probably closer to 55-60. Appointed due to her logical, calm, reassuring voice, she was an asset in a still developing crisis. The people would trust that the news she was delivering was accurate and without hype.

The holo-display changed, as the stream transition from the Anchor’s studio to a live feed outside the Palais De Le Concorde. A much more spirited, and adrenalin fuelled human male was now presenting the news briefing. He spoke at a fast pace;

“This is Malcom Gregg, FNN Earth Correspondent, live at the Palais De Le Concorde. There are a lot of rumours being reported, but I have it from 2 sources that President Iden Morr has been assassinated, as she approached the podium to give a speech during her inauguration dinner. We don’t know much else at the moment, as this is a developing story. The Palais remains on lockdown. We can corroborate reports that, much like in San Francisco, London and Tokyo, Starfleet Security personnel have been deployed the streets of Paris.”

Jesus Christ. Hastings’ mind was running a mile a minute. The Federation President assassinated. How could this possibly happen. He immediately felt sorry for the Director of the Federation Security Agency, who’s whole world must be falling apart right now.

It wasn’t long before the house comm system started to be inundated with incoming transmissions. They muted the system, so they would not have to speak with anyone while they processed the day’s events.

Minutes turned into hours. They continued to watch the news stream in, Beth had retrieved hot tea from the landing replicator and was now sitting atop of the bed, propped up against her husband. Winston and Beth sat there discussing the information as it came in, living in a bubble of FNN Breaking News updates.

They were both frightened out of their skin, when there was a knock at the door. No, not the front door of the property, but the actual door to the Master Suite. Their bedroom.

Following the knock, a young Ensign, in a gold coloured Starfleet uniform entered the room. Beth jumped up from her seated position and ran over to him.

“BILLY!” she exclaimed as she grappled him into an embrace. Ensign William Hastings’, one of three triplets, stood in his parents’ bedroom returning the embrace from his mother.

“Ma, calm down.” He retorted, taking his mother by the hands and withdrawing himself from the embrace. The flame haired, Ensign stood back and turned to his Father, who was still seated.

“Dad, I’m here to escort you to Paris. The President would like to see you.”


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