On this day, April 28 in 1789 there is mutiny on the HMS Bounty.
Three weeks into a journey from Tahiti to the West Indies, the HMS Bounty is seized in a mutiny led by Fletcher Christian, the master’s mate. Captain William Bligh and 18 of his loyal supporters were set adrift in a small, open boat, and the Bounty set course for Tubuai south of Tahiti.
28 kwietnia 1789r., dokładnie 223 lata temu 54 członków załogi HMS “Bounty” podniosło bunt na pokładzie żaglowca brytyjskiej floty królewskiej dowodzonego przez kapitana Williama Blighta, który dzięki trylogii pisarskiej Charlesa Nordhoffa i Jamesa Normana Halla „The Bounty Trilogue” z 1932 oraz trzem ekranizacjom filmowym (1935, 1962, 1984) stał się niewątpliwie najsłynniejszą rebelią na pokładzie w historii żeglugi…
There was something metaphorical about the emptiness of the arching corridors in the S’chn T’Gai abode. It was so still, so quiet—so different from the kind of peace Jim had grown accustomed to from being in space.
On the Enterprise, there had always been sound: low hums, chimes, and beeps, chatter and a constant presence of background noise. But it’d become so much more personal than generic mechanical feedback after a certain point. Once the promises were made and the ancient words spoken, Jim found himself rife with harmonious impressions–thoughts that both were and were not his own, conversations he would perceive with his mind instead of his ears.
It was comforting, had become part of him.
A person could easily grow accustomed to being surrounded by noise, he learned…could even discover pleasure in its company. And for one who had embraced it and reveled in subsequent contentment for years, losing the companionship of sound would feel as miserable as the sudden loss of something utterly vital.
It wasn’t the first time silence had threatened Jim. Even after he’d accepted promotion and damned himself to a life of being grounded on Earth, he’d done what he could to help his situation. At home and in the office, the environmental system had always been ordered to play white noise on the lowest setting so he could close his eyes, wrap himself in it, and feel whole again.
And when that beloved voice frequented Jim’s mind no more, he’d talk to himself. Each night while lying in a bed much too big for one, he sent an unspoken love letter along silver skeins and threads. His mind softly whispered words that would never be received over a bond linking him to someone who no longer wanted him. But just knowing that Spock was somewhere safe and alive—and possibly happy—was enough to lull Jim to sleep, despite how his heart ached.
Now, however, none of these old comforts could lessen the pain of his wounds and the only sound Jim heard was that of his own footsteps. They gently tapped against polished faux wooden floorboards, echoing throughout grandiose hallways filled with luxurious Vulcan decor. This wasn’t his house; he couldn’t command the computer to play background noise and disrupt the environment everyone else was used to.
That was the least of his worries, however. The bond Jim carried with him was no longer their bond, but a torn and broken road in his mind which led to a void.
It led to nowhere at all. And that’s exactly where Jim was going, himself.