Personal Log Stardate 63644.7

I recently returned from a meeting with the Command personnel in charge of Starfleet Medical at Starbase 23 with less than glorious news. Apparently my staff and I are still under close review with the Medical Council, with potentially disastrous results for all involved. The Medical board seems intent on making us pay some penance for our most recent actions, and though I have tried to explain to them countless times the extraordinary conditions that existed not only on that planet but also on Starbase 231, my words seem to continually fall on deaf ears."

Ben's words sounded hollow even to himself as he recorded this newest personal log, the duty performed by every commanding officer of every ship, base, and facility throughout Starfleet. It was a way of recording history through the eyes of those that lived it, a way to see how past events were shaped by those that made those decisions, and a way to provide deeper analysis of each situation by later historians. Ben Thrace understood this, and there had once been a time when he was as eager to record his thoughts and goals and accomplishments for posterity as any invigorated commander. But now, as he realized that this could be one of the few remaining entries he did on Starbase 231, as he did as a Commander, he knew that this task no longer held that joy.

Placing the recording on pause, he moved away from his desk. Something about being there in such an official capacity seemed wrong, that his words were lacking in meaning only because he no longer felt them. Much of what he had said came from the position of a man too tired to do any more, and that was not the message he wanted to send to the future. Deciding he needed a break from all of it, he left his office and headed for the station's gym.

There were few things about combat training that Benjamin loved. In fact, he found the whole notion archaic and insipid in the worst way. He was a scientist, not a pugilist. But at the same time, he knew it was an area that all officers needed in order to at least attempt to handle themselves in potentially deadly situations. A necessary evil Edwin had called it during their last sparring match, and then he had thoroughly trounced Ben four times, sending him to the mat on his back with much humiliation.  Once in the gym, Ben decided that he would at least attempt to practice the techniques Edwin had shown him, hoping to best his partner in their next match. Though in the back of his mind he knew the hope was in vain, it gave him something else to focus on for the time being.

Changing his clothes quickly, he donned the traditional recreational wear, a slim gray set of fatigues with a dark green ribbon crossing his chest and down his sides. He then stepped up to the large heavy bag hanging in the corner of gym. Strapping on the gloves, he started the warm up punches on the designated targets as he moved about. The entire process was simple: His mind regulated it down to a coordinated equation, a mathematical formula for hitting the targets, inducing the desired motion, and applying the proper force to illuminate each target. Simple calculations of distance and time and force flowed through his mind then, elementary physics and alegbra flowed in and about him with each movement as he thought of the most efficient ways of achieving the desired results. His medical mind soon turned to correlating the strikes to various body parts and positions, noting the damage he was doing his "enemy" and how much time would be required for one to recover from the injuries he inflicted.  He became completely engrossed in the whole process, slowly letting his mind go, relishing the opportunity to focus on something so simple.

He was so engrossed in fact that he didn't hear the doors to the gym open, and didn't see his father approach. But suddenly the visage of Thace Senior filled his view, and stopping suddenly upon seeing his father's smiling face, Ben took off his gloves and stared at James.

"Glad to see you are not moping in your office," James stated quickly while Ben attempted to catch his breath.

"I am not....moping," Ben replied just as quickly, though his words were slightly taxed by his breathing. He stood back and watched as his father meandered around the bag, striking out at it a few times himself. He didn't seem particularly interested in anything but was instead merely plotting around.

"How did the meeting go?" He asked as he finally rounded to face Ben. For a moment, Ben considered giving his father the brush off, not wanting to dive into the whole issue once again and rehashing the disastrous meeting. But things had changed greatly between the two men over the past month of them living together, and while they were not as close as the traditional Father and Son pair, they had made great progress. Knowing this, Ben was not about to back track.

"I am just not sure how much more I can take Father," Ben said in a rush. He nearly collapsed from the sudden revelation, his fatigue having more to do with his emotional state than anything physical.  "I spent three hours locked in that bloody meeting, attempting to explain to Richter more than anyone the extraordinary circumstances surrounding everything that I have done, that has occurred on this base and beyond it, and yet nothing. The man used to be my favorite professor, but today....today I met a man I had never known. He was oppressive and intolerant, and cruel, and throughout the entire ordeal he seemed to derive pleasure from sapping any victory I achieved from me. At first I thought that he was doing me a favor being hard on me, but the longer it went on and the more I thought about it the more I was certain it was anything but."

Ben swung at the bag again, but his effort was half-hearted and the bag barely moved. "I am just so tired. This is not what I wanted, not what I envisioned for myself. I never wanted a command, never sought it. I just wanted to do my work, do my research, and instead they pushed this upon me. Now that I have settled in, that I have an exceptional staff of brilliant officers, they want to remove me from it! I tried and tried to explain, to fight for myself and my people, but my explanations were just not up to par apparently."  Ben finished his statement, his eyes down cast. He didn't want to see his father then, see the judgment that he knew was in his eyes. He heard his father moving about the gym, and finally looking up he was treated to a strange sight: His father had changed his shirt and was wearing one of the workout fatigue tops, and was also sporting some boxing gloves.

"I thought you could do with a live target," he said with a grin as he secured his mouth guard. Ben gaped at his father, not sure to really believe what he was seeing.

"You shouldn't be doing this, not in your condition," He said softly. He and his father rarely talked about the fact that the Elder Thrace had Irumodic Syndrome, but this was one time that Ben would have to break the moratorium.

"I'll go easy on you," James said with a wink, and moved closer to his son. The two men squared off, and Ben decided then that it would be he that took it easy. It would do no good to inflict a brain injury on his father. Ben paused briefly to consider the fact that just a few years ago he would have given anything to punch his father. In that instant of hesitation, his father acted. The first blow was as strong as it was surprising. He struck Ben first in the chest, then his second swing clipped his jaw. Ben barely reacted, pulling his head back just in time to only receive a glancing blow. Dodging left, he brought up his own fist and aimed a quick but light jab for his father's face. The punch had a solid connection, but there was little emphasis behind it. Frowning, James rounded on his son and caught him in his abdomen. The punch was even stronger than the first, and it very nearly knocked the air from him.  Ben danced back, and two quick punches ( a jab followed by a right cross) generated distance from his Dad. He eyed James suspiciously, wondering why his father was acting so strangely, challenging him in this manner, but he never had the time to truly finish the thought before his father set upon him again.

The two men continued to box, their circling movements almost in sync the entire time despite each man's fatigue.  Ben continued to pull his punches, not wanting to hurt his father, but James didn't have the same concern. He seemed intent on inflicting as much damage as he could.  Finally exhausted, Ben dropped his guard just long enough for his Father to land one last punch and send his son to the ground. There Ben stayed.

"Get up!" Came the gruff command from James. He stood over his son, glaring at him with an intensity that Ben had never seen before. He stared at him for a moment, and then finally complied.

"What? You won alright? I'm tired, and I am done with this." Ben tossed his gloves to the wall and watched as they smacked against it and fell to the ground. He heard his father growl and he turned to face him.

"Why did I win?" James demanded.

"What?"

"WHY DID I WIN?" James bellowed. His voice rang through the gym, and Ben's eyes widened.

"What the hell is wrong with you? Why? I don't know, you just did, I pulled my punches--" Ben started, but that was all he got to say before he was interrupted by his father.

"Precisely! You pulled your punches! That's why you lose. Always. You think that if you just reason with people, if you just stay calm and explain everything rationally, you will be just fine and everything will turn out OK. But Son, I am here to tell you, and I have been teach you this all your life, that sometimes no amount of explaining will do the trick. Sometimes, you just have to haul back and punch them square in the mouth." James was grinning now, sweat gleaming on his forehead as he worked himself up once again. Now it was he that was panting.

James finally removed the gloves he was wearing and tossed them to the floor. Then sitting down next to Ben, he leaned against his son's shoulder. "You hold back so much, you reign so much in, and it is a wonder you don't explode. I have always worried about you in that regard, that your ability to handle certain pressures would be too much. The way you reacted to me about Rebecca all those years ago was a clear indicator to me, and I have watched you over the years and I know you are no better at processing. And now with all that is happening to you--the base, me, Kathryn-- I wonder how you will manage any of it. But I do know one thing: You won't get anywhere holding back. Let go Son, let it out. Fight for what you want. Otherwise you will lose everything."

Ben looked over at his father. They had never really talked like this, and even growing up it had never been the easiest thing for them to do. Again he was struck by how much they had changed, and how their relationship had grown in such a short time. He was suddenly stuck with a new and very profound sadness at the thought of losing him.

"I am not saying you will win every time Son, in fact I know you won't. But at least if you fight, you will have done all you can, and that is all anyone can ask.  Besides, Thrace men never give up." James stood up then and grabbed his other shirt. Ben continued to stare, and finally he stood as well.

"Don't worry Father, I'll be sure to bring pride to our line in true family fashion," Ben said lightly.  James moved to the door as he prepared to exit.

"You have always done our family proud Son," He said as the doors parted.  "And me," He added softly, and once again Ben was left in surprise as his father quickly disappeared down the corridor and the doors closed behind him.