EP 5 ACT 1
Leonard climbed the long ladder toward the control room of the computer core, inspecting the partially repaired central column of glass and plastic as he went. The Romulan Murak had led a group of helpers in clearing most of the debris caused by the Captain's actions the day before to make way a refit and the reinstallation of isolinear chips. Thankfully most of the damage was cosmetic - there seemed to be an inordinate number of repacement frames in nearby stores, and he expected repair to be both speedy and straightforward. Thankfully there had only been a few control rods in the core assembly when the Captain had run amok - those items couldn't easily have been replaced had they been smashed.
Looking down past his feet to the lowest two levels of the core's shaft, Leonard could see civilian volunteers still busy sorting the dumpster loads of information chips and isolinear rods into categories for re-insertion. The old-style command chips, mostly red, crimson, black and white in colour, had been easy to pick out and once inserted into the lower levels of the core brought automated systems of the command section that weren't damaged mostly back on line. A link to the main navigational deflector on the ship's prow, plus the external SDF, IDF and deflectors networks, remained the only working systems on the forward passenger section. Once the core was sorted out, all that remained was to reinstall network systems for each area on each deck, and then make the several hundred or so specialist repairs to local computer network infrastructures. (Leonard suspected there was another core in the Passenger Section, and he'd yet to examine the Yacht's core, but for now the Command Section's core was enough to be getting on with) All in all, it was a nightmare workload, but would give Leonard the satisfaction of total familiarisation with the ship's unorthodox design in the process.
Hedrik, meanwhile, had holed up in the core's high control room following an unexpected all-clear from O'Hara - apparently, seconds after he'd been rendered unconscious by the holograms she had also been violently struck down. Such a blow to the back of the head would have incapacitated if not killed most people; however, there was something about the Orion genetic make-up that gave her highly accelerated healing, much like the Klingons. Not wanting to sit idly in the makeshift sick bay, she'd insisted on working. So, in the core's highest room, the fateful place where Hedrik and Leonard had previously (and accidentally) activated the rogue K'Tani holographic defence programme that had caused them so much personal harm, she was set the task of accessing the fixed network of computer monoliths and local caches surrounding the core itself.
At her personal request amid the unorganised hubub of civilian helpers, Leonard had politely instructed everyone to stay out of the Orion woman's way while she worked. But as the morning's hours had passed with no word from her, the German engineer had grown uneasy about Hedrik's abilities. She was, according to Ensign Souveson, a felon, "nothing more, nothing less". Although the Lieutenant Commander usually kept an open mind about such things (wanting to make his own mind up about people by their deeds), he finally decided he wasn't sure about the full extent of her skills, and became fearful that she might even make unintentional mistakes.
Leonard stepped onto the narrow metal grill gangway leading around the concave ceiling toward the control room on the far side, his boots echoing loudly with each step.
"Who is it?!" demanded a muffled Hedrik urgently from across the way.
"Lieutenant Commander Leonard," he replied, quickening his pace slightly.
"Just a minute," came the excited response.
As he reached the control room door, pushed almost shut, Leonard paused, waiting for her to ask him to enter. As the seconds passed, he became suspicious about the dimly lit interior. Gently he eased the door back. "Miss Hedrik?" he said softly.
Pushing the door aside revealed an empty corner followed by an empty chair beside the main control console (in standby mode). He expected to see the young Orion woman standing beside the observation window, but instead, the deep green skinned woman lay seductively on her back, completely naked amid the thick, soft fur carpet directly before him.
"Oh!" Leonard retracted immediately, pulling the door hastily to behind him and pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry, I didn't know.." His pale complexion flushed patches of red, mostly around his neck and jaw, the heat of embarrassment itching at his collar.
"No, wait! It's okay, Ottmar!" Hedrik called, thinking the man was running away. "You can come in, I don't mind."
Leonard froze outside the door, his hand still gripping the metal handle. "But... you're naked."
Inside, Hedrik propped herself up on her elbows, realising she had made a mistake with this man. 'Oh, you noticed,' she muttered ironically to herself. For several seconds, she teetered on the edge of a decision. Having grabbed for her clothes, she suddenly changed her mind, leaping to her feet and gracefully crossing to the door. Holding the handle firmly, she yanked the metal door aside, pulling the opposite handle swiftly out of Leonard's own grasp and causing him to stumble forward in the process.
"That was the general idea," Hedrik said, leaning teasingly against the door frame.
The German's face was inches from her soft undulating chest. Her full-on, green nudity was quite breath-taking for Leonard, but such a man would never have seen this situation as an opportunity. He had been raised far too politely and with many morals. Behind the lenses, his bright blue eyes flitted from her fallen, wild hair, delicately framing her enticing expression, down her firm shoulders, her breasts and then quickly back up to her eyes. He made certain he would not look at her most intimate place (that he acknowledged was not more than a few inches away from his own at present).
Leonard conceded to himself that he found the woman intensely beautiful, (that much he was certain about), but by approaching him in such an up-front manner as this she had made herself unreachable at the same time. Despite his own outstanding physical attributes, the German had never been lucky, or indeed intentionally headstrong, with women during adulthood - and it now showed painfully. His inexperience was blatant when it came to romantic behaviour, in fact, but working hard as he did, he never felt cheated by it or that he was missing out.
If Winston Winston, Leonard's old roomie from the Academy, had gone without female company for more than a week, the native New Yorker became melancholy, yearning for love and reacting to every female in sight (or even out of sight). Whereas Leonard had never found physically being on his own as odd, it was just the way it had always been.
Without another word, Leonard turned and walked quickly away, leaving Hedrik to rock her head back and kick herself for her stupidity. Returning to the main console, she disinterestedly flicked a switch, and her morning's hard work returned to the multiple screens. Slipping into the soft leather chair, feeling its coldness sticking to her naked skin, she wondered if Leonard suspected that she had not been working at all, choosing instead to follow her lust and lie in wait for him. But then she decided that such a man so fragile emotionally would probably be more concerned with his own reaction than her moral principles or level of efficiency.
* * *
Two eagerly consumed replicated coffees later, the Captain (standard double sweet decaf) and the Commodore (Columbian extra strength black filter, no sugar) had read through Lirik's reports. Christian raised his brows several times while perusing through the analysis of K'Tani weaponry and technology, and shook his head at the detailed report about Lirik and Reb's visit to the magnetic planet and the K'Tani planetary shield generator they subsequently found there. By the time he reached the padd detailing the rescue of the two surviving crewmen and retrieval of key supplies from the USS Papillon followed by the journey to the Fantasy, he had joined Jackson's more relaxed posture.
Finally the two command officers both sat back, Jackson puffing her cheeks. "You and Reb have certainly been busy since leaving us," she said, glancing at Christian who was scrolling back through the reports and frowning hard.
Christian cut to the chase. "What about this transmission you picked up? Can we hear it?"
Lirik smiled and held up a finger, as if saying "exactly, Captain" and depressed the table's inset padd. The words were played over the audio speakers once, then twice. Both Jackson and Christian looked at the computer analysis Lirik displayed on the small table monitor.
"There's no doubt about it. That signal definitely originated from the Fantasy," Christian said. "Yeoman," he said the word almost as a put-down, reading from another of Lirik's padds, "are you suggesting that this girl who you assaulted on the bridge was the same person who sent the message?"
Jackson intervened, interpreting Christian's unwarranted intent. "If what the Yeoman supposes is true, Captain, then the girl wasn't just having any old temper tantrum. Rather she was deliberately trying to stop the ship from going to warp and escaping those K'Tani pursuers."
"Right," Lirik nodded hard, in shock that the Captain should think him capable of casually assaulting a child, despite his knowledge of the other man's current blind hatred toward his Medusan heritage. "I looked all over the known parts of the ship for the girl early this morning, but it came as no real surprise when I couldn't find her. That's why I came down here. I assumed that if she is some kind of agent for the K'Tani, then she might try to destroy the runabout, or damage any intelligence we may have gathered."
"Or use the runabout to get away," Jackson added, "I mean, the Fantasy would hardly be in a position to stop her."
"Whoah, whoah, whoah!" Christian raised his hand. "As far as the Bajoran girl is concerned, this," he smacked the screen of the padd with the back of his hand and tossed it on the table, "is all pure speculation."
"Mind control," Souveson chipped in.
"Excuse me?" Christian said dumbfounded.
"Sorry, Ensign?" Jackson asked.
"I was just thinking how they could have influenced the girl so quickly - what with the Bajorans and others races having been in the Outer Zone for only eight weeks, Commodore," Souveson explained weakly.
"Maybe she isn't Bajoran at all, but her appearance has been surgically altered," Lirik suggested. "We don't know much about these K'Tani, so currently we shouldn't rule out anything."
"Then we could have a much bigger problem," Souveson was engaged, her mind racing. "For all we know the K'Tani could be allies with the Dominion. My God, maybe the girl is a Changeling?"
"I wouldn't have thought that likely, Ensign," Jackson said, peering over her new spectacles. "Though unfortunately, Captain, any of these theories would concur with the communication diagnostic not being able to verify her race."
"From experience," Christian folded his arms, "we Starfleet officers can rely too much on these sophisticated diagnostic systems. Sometimes they are plainly wrong - that's why they give a percentage of accuracy rather than a definitive answer."
Lirik smacked his thighs with the flats of his hands, trying to bring the discussion back on track. "Logically speaking, I think it more likely the girl originates from the Outer Zone, though at this stage her racial origin is irrelevant. Captain, one thing is for sure - the girl's age," Lirik said. "If you think back to the K'Tani who attacked us in the Hangar on Helub - they were also child-like in appearance."
"They were small, I grant you that," Christian complied, "but they were also completely covered from head to foot, so there's no way to be sure. Anyway, they certainly didn't behave like children."
"But," Souveson interrupted, now confident in her participation, "the K'Tani who took over the ship yesterday - the ones in the holo-program - they were very much adult."
"Well whoever the hell the girl is she sure had me fooled," Jackson said. "She chatted just like a normal little girl would about lots of things all the way to the medical area, then ran off to play with some other kids as soon as we got there. So if she is the agent then the K'Tani must know something about our cultures to be so convincing."
"Sir," the Ensign spoke up again, looking off into mid-distance, then pinning her eyes on the Captain. She suddenly realised how attracted she was to his boyish looks, even when his mood was grouchy. "There's something else that doesn't fit. Yesterday, when you and I were pinned down on the secondary bridge and looking at the internal scans of the ship, we saw only the two main groups of people; one in the shuttlebay and the other in the beauty spa. The couple approaching our position we now know to have been Lieutenant Commander Leonard and that Orion woman, but aside from them, there were no other life signs on board." The Ensign frowned. "If this girl said that she was hiding in the observation lounge during the incident, then why didn't the internal systems recognise her?"
"Perhaps she's another holographic program?" Jackson suggested.
"I really don't like the sound of that at all." Christian shook his head, "Anyway, we halted that part of the computer core's functions and she still remained among us, so she would either be some kind of self-generating, self-sustaining hologram we haven't come across before, or she is indeed a real person." Christian drew his index finger along his lips. "We should first find the girl and try to verify who she is. I'd like more evidence before I go pointing fingers at children, Mister Lirik - like a voicematch. O'Hara could examine her as well, try and establish whether or not she really is Bajoran."
Lirik nodded. "Very well. But there is one other thing," he stood and walked over to the wall monitor, calling up a still image of the hostages in the shuttlebay as recorded by the runabout. "Lieutenant O'Hara told me about the bodies of the Vekarian senate guard you discovered in the turbolift." He turned back to his superiors.
"Ah yes," Christian tossed the padd he was holding casually onto the table, "our other mystery."
"What did O'Hara say about their cause of death?" Jackson asked the Captain - realising she hadn't been appraised of the autopsy.
"Their hearts were…crushed," Christian couldn't think of a better word to describe it. "By a humanoid hand."
"Oh my-!" Jackson was shocked.
"What?" Christian saw the genuine shock in her expression, and then saw the same on Lirik's face. "What? Am I missing out on something here?"
Lirik glanced over at Christian. "It is said that the Ore - the wandering people who helped defeat the K'Tani, did so with their bare hands, such was their physical prowess."
Christian thought for a moment. "Lieutenant Commander Leonard told me that he found an Ore object - a staff or spear, I think - in the K'Tani hanger the day before the invasion. His tricorder indicated it had been driven into the metal deck by a humanoid hand. The unusual thing was that it had been placed there recently."
"But that's not possible," Souveson said, walking over to the table. "I heard that the entire Ore people were massacred in the final weeks of the war."
"One or more of them could have survived," Jackson said.
Lirik saw Christian staring off into null space and tried to follow the Captain's thought processes. "You suspect the Helan are involved somehow," Lirik stated matter of factly.
Christian frowned. "I never said that. But the Qovakians I have spoken to don't seem to know a lot about the Helan, saying they have had contact only since peace returned several years ago."
"From what I've seen they are hardly a military race. Their connection is surely circumstantial?" Souveson said, unexpectedly animated.
"Not necessarily," Jackson leant forward. "I think Mister Lirik can back me up on this; since my arrival to the Outer Zone, I've heard little talk of the Ore, or their massacre. I have seen much evidence of the K'Tani occupation and the rebellion and ensuing war, but I don't think I've seen one image of the Ore people - not even a dedication plaque. Kind of strange for a race that saved the whole of Qovakia, don't you think?"
Lirik had his own information and thoughts on the subject, but opted to continue the brainstorm rather than divulge all he knew at this juncture. He tapped on the display screen showing the image of the survivors lined up in the shuttle bay. "There's another thing. This holographic program that brought you to your knees," Lirik grinned inside as Christian flashed his eyes toward him, "was clearly some kind of security measure installed by the K'Tani when they possessed the Fantasy. The program appears to have been simply to round everyone up and keep them under armed guard until otherwise instructed. But why did they separate the Helan from the rest of the survivors?"
"Not just the Helan," Souveson looked a little shocked. "Ambassador Narli was also segregated along with them. And they were all under heavy guard, as if they were some kind of particular threat."
"What has Ambassador Narli got in common with the Helan?" Jackson asked to no-one in particular.
Lirik wondered briefly about that. He knew Narli of old, as did Jackson, but neither of them could think of a possible connection with the K'Tani at this stage. He held up the Vekarian minister Re Lorken's transparency. "Perhaps this is the key. It's a communique between Qovakian officials which makes specific mention to the Andorians - as well as the Romulans and the K'Tani. I've been trying to transcribe it, but it's in a written form of language unique to the inner cadre of Qovakian members - a secret code, if you like."
"Bridge to the Captain," the voice over the runabout's intercom broke the intense atmosphere. Christian stabbed the table padd.
"Christian here, go ahead Reb," he had recognised the young man's voice immediately.
"The Helan leader Ganhedra is up here, saying we need to change course. But Ambassador Narli reports a faint distress signal in our direct path. Some kind of SOS."
"I'm on my way," Christian stood and turned to the two women. "This can wait until our staff meeting later. If you don't mind, I'd like a moment alone with the Yeoman."
Jackson grasped Lirik's arm as she passed, feeling the shield tickle her skin, then let go. "You did good work, Yeoman," she smiled, glancing back at Christian briefly. Lirik smiled a gentle response and watched the Commodore and Souveson go. He became totally aware of the Captain waiting tensely behind him. Slowly he turned and faced the sour American, attempting a look of meekness and apology.
"I've already let Reb off the hook concerning your disobeying orders, I assume you will take full responsibility for what happened?" Christian spoke with distaste so clearly in his voice.
"Of course, Captain," Lirik replied quietly.
"I personally don't condone your actions taking the runabout away like that, but the Commodore has convinced me of your reasoning behind it. Your subsequent actions on the magnetic planet and in the asteroid field were commendable and the information you have gathered will come in useful, as will the two crewmen and all the supplies retrieved from the USS Pappillon. But let me make one thing plainly clear," Christian stepped closer to Lirik, "as long as I'm in command on this ship you'll get no special treatment. Diplomat or no diplomat, if you disobey my orders again I'll personally throw you off the ship at the nearest available location. Got it?"
Lirik was on thin ice and he knew it, despite having the weight of Starfleet law behind him. He nodded his silent acceptance and felt the Captain brush past him hard as he quickly exited. He was about to sit down and return to his research when the Captain called to him: "I require your presence on the bridge, Mister Lirik. Secure the runabout."
* * *
Ganhedra fiddled with his sleeves nervously, waiting beside the centre chair for Christian to appear. As soon as the nearby turbolift doors parted, he was babbling wildly.
"Please, just give me a few moments," the Captain raised a flat hand toward the old but very excited humanoid. "Mister Narli, have you translated the signal?"
The Ambassador sat in his chair not awkwardly, but as if the chair had placed itself under him, such was his gate and general commanding demeanour. "I have," he informed them proudly. "It is transmitting on a short range normal space frequency. Although the syntax may be a bit off, it reads along the lines of: emergency, help, rescue immediate, death soon…and then follows the co-ordinates. It repeats every few seconds."
Reb called over from the helm station - Christian noticed the part-Ferengi had removed his trademark leather jacket (thrown casually over the back of the seat) and had his sleeves rolled up revealing sinewy and downy olive forearms. "The signal is coming from the border of that nebula directly ahead, from a narrow strand of asteroids."
Christian raised both hands, palms extended and turned to Ganhedra. "And you don't want us to go there, right?"
"My people are wise to this nebula, Captain," the old man calmed slightly, relieved to be having his say at last. "It is a dangerous region of space - separate from the Qovakian union, with no protection for Qovakian citizens. There are a number of independent nations within, all of whom are aggressively territorial, some even fanatical isolationists, much like the Tholians. I would recommend we turn here before we encounter any of their patrols."
"During the last occupation, were they aligned to the K'Tani?" Lirik asked, pushing forward.
Ganhedra paused, thinking about the answer. Lirik exchanged a quick surprised look with Christian. "No," the old man finally said, "they were not. But some of them are every bit as hostile."
Jackson dropped ungracefully into the seat to the right of the Captain's chair. "We are Starfleet officers, Ganhedra, we have a duty to respond to a distress call whether from a potential hostile or not."
Lirik raised his eyebrows at Jackson's gung-ho comment, but it was surprisingly Ensign Souveson who spoke. "Captain, as your Tactical Officer I should point out that we are far from battle-ready should we be drawn into conflict." Jackson turned her head, raising an eyebrow at having her word questioned by the junior, but Souveson pretended not to notice. "With no sustained warp drive, no weapons, shields or transporters, we have no means of defence and very limited rescue capability."
"Only a bad workman blames his tools, Ensign," Christian said, slipping into the Captain's chair in support of his fellow command officer. "The Commodore is correct, we are obligated to respond." Christian stabbed the small arm of his chair, pleased to be performing a more 'normal' Captain's duty. "Engineering!"
"Leonard here, Captain," the German accent was controlled, if a little quiet.
"Standby to take us to full impulse."
"Confirmed." In the engine room, Leonard crossed his fingers and preyed.
Christian turned to the Commodore. "Our best hope of rescue is via the runabout. Prepare an away team and report to the shuttle bay immediately."
Jackson nodded - she couldn't quite bring herself to say 'aye sir' just yet. Her personnel and command experience was all she needed to make the correct team selection. "Commander Struckchev, Ensign, Miss Warnerburg," she said to the surprised looking older woman. Smacking her commbadge: "Lieutenant O'Hara, please report to the shuttle bay for an away mission."
"What?!" came the mid-Atlantic voice. "Commodore, you can't be-"
"Save the dramatics, Nurse," Jackson snapped, "and just get moving." Tapping the commbadge again cut off O'Hara's continuing protests. The Commodore nodded to Christian, smiling, as if to say 'I can handle her, don't worry'.
As the Kosovan, French Canadian and Alaskan followed the Commodore into the turbolift, the Captain turned to Lirik. "Man the tactical station, Yeoman. Keep an eye on navigational sensors for any ships. Ambassador, you may hear them before we see them."
Narli and Lirik waited for the Captain to return his gaze to the viewscreen before they exchanged a mutual look of begrudging discontent - not for doing the tasks they had been asked, but for having to take orders from what they regarded independently as a Starfleet Command hot-shot. Both held their tongues, but any onlooker could see their contemptuous thoughts clearly in their expressions.
As the ship rapidly approached the string of asteroids, the purple-green gasses of the nebula filled the entire screen, part-bathing the bridge crew in its colour and light.
"Runabout Hudson standing by, Captain," Jackson said across the commlink.
"Helm, hold position here," Christian waited for Reb to slow the ship to a low enough halting speed. "Proceed runabout."
* * *
The Hudson lifted gracefully off the hangar deck and turned swiftly toward the open bay doors. Christian was impressed by the piloting of the vessel as it swept up and over the length of the Fantasy and away from them - he presumed it was Struckchev at the helm. In a sense, Christian thought, the Commander, having been the first officer of the downed USS Papillon, was every bit his equal. The only differences were that Christian was several years younger, and also the one to whom Starfleet had granted a command.
"Hudson, anything?" Christian asked after nearly a minute's silence.
A pause later, Jackson spoke. "We've found her, a small vessel - we suspect it's a science vessel by its sensor configuration - crashed into an asteroid. There are two humanoids aboard, both weak life signs."
"The ship's badly damaged - sensors indicate they were attacked and their own tactical capability destroyed," Souveson added. "I detect no other vessels nearby."
"They breathe the same air as we do. I recommend we beam them directly aboard," O'Hara's voice cut across the signal.
"For safety's sake, we should treat them on board their own ship if possible," Struckchev retorted.
"I don't think you have that option," Warnerburg said, "their engine has just started a cascade failure."
"Beam them out!" Jackson almost yelled in the heat of the moment.
Warnerburg had already instinctively made a pattern lock on the survivors, despite the Commander's misgivings. In seconds, the two unconscious humanoids had been beamed into the temporary triage on the conference table in the rear of the vessel. The Commander raised shields, moving the Hudson away as the damaged ship briefly convulsed in a white ball of light and was gone, along with most surrounding rock.
"They both have extensive internal injuries," O'Hara reported to the Commodore as the older woman entered the aft section. She raised an eyebrow noticing the Nurse had now also removed her shirt (along with her jacket it was also too blood-stained to be worn), leaving only the Starfleet standard issue vest, somewhat straining to capacity around her ample bosom. "They appear to be in a form of neural shock, their level of brain activity is extremely low. I'd say it was some kind of natural response to injury."
"Can you treat them?" Jackson asked.
"I can treat anyone," O'Hara said sarcastically, "but whether I can make them better I don't know yet. I don't exactly have a proper sickbay to determine their physiology, let alone the proper equipment or medicines for administration."
Jackson stepped away and hit her comm badge. "Jackson to Fantasy, both survivors are aboard and we are returning to the ship."
"Lieutenant O'Hara's helpers are standing by in the shuttle bay, Commodore. I then want just you and the Commander to take the shuttle back out and standby for further orders," the Captain advised, his voice echoing through her insignia badge.
"Understood," she said and turned back to O'Hara. "Can I assist you?"
"Elevate that arm and press hard beneath the wound," O'Hara manhandled one of the alien patient's wounded arms toward the Commodore, brown blood trickling out of the broken skin.
Jackson stepped forward and complied, standing very close now to the younger Lieutenant. After a minute or so, Jackson took the plunge. "Your attitude has got you into a lot of trouble in the past, hasn't it, Lieutenant?"
O'Hara appeared not to hear, cleaning and dressing numerous surface wounds while taking intermittent scans of brain activity with her medical tricorder. "Is that a statement or a question, Commodore?"
Jackson ignored her diversion. The truth in fact was that when Jackson had heard her son expressing strong feelings for this nurse less than a fortnight ago, she couldn't resist the curiosity of browsing through O'Hara's personnel file. The detail within described the woman's hot-headed nature very well. "Shooting your mouth off won't win you any respect from Command officers, believe me."
O'Hara stopped what she was doing, placing her hands on her hips. "Look, Commodore, when it comes to the treatment of patients, I'll speak my mind and I won't mince my words, whether senior officers like it or not."
"That's not what I'm saying," Jackson felt frustrated by O'Hara's persistent knee-jerk reactions. She tried a different approach. "I didn't have the luxury of a commission like you, Lieutenant. I joined Starfleet as a regular crewman - a very long time ago, I might add, when you were but a lustful glint in your father's eye. I worked my way up the ranks - scraping my way up in some ways. But I persevered, year by year, listening and observing all the time, knowing what chains to pull, who or what to avoid, where my weaknesses and strengths lay, even who to suck up to when the occasion required."
"That may have been fine for you, Sir. But I'm not the grovelling kind," O'Hara smirked. "Besides, I heard this all before at the medical school and I know my psyche profile very well. So I admit, I have a bit of a temper. So what? That didn't stop me getting good grades, and doesn't make me a bad officer or, more importantly, a bad medical officer."
"Maybe not among a Starfleet crew, who are trained to tolerate all sorts. But this situation is totally different. We need to bring order where there is none, we need to discipline people for their own safety. A firecracker like you could easily compound an already difficult scenario," Jackson ignored her open mouthed protests. "Take the advice of this older woman, Lieutenant. If you want the Captain to listen to you, then you're going to have to do it the hard way. You may be the most experienced medic amongst us, but to the Captain you're just a nurse doing the best she can. If you can learn to work as part of a team, follow the protocols you were urged to adopt at the white boot camp, you will earn his respect - and mine for that matter. What's the worst that could happen: that you'll have to learn when to keep that," she pointed at the nurses mouth, "well and truly buttoned?"
O'Hara almost smiled, so she was surprised to feel a couple of tears rolling down her cheek. She had an almost head-rush feeling, like a wave of euphoria, and when she focused again she saw the Commodore welling up also. Her thoughts had suddenly turned away from her patients to the last time she had seen Lieutenant Jackson, the Commodore's son and her on-off handsome beau.
On the morning of the attack he had quietly written her a note, thinking she was asleep, and placed it on the pillow next to her head with a large replicated Cardassian Primula rose. She had smiled watching his fit body ease tightly into his security uniform, dark skin pronounced against the tan collar, muscles pressing firmly against every seam.
Laying there in a cocoon of warmth she had suddenly thought it odd to be so very far away from home - in an alien territory, sleeping in a strange bed, alone in her lover's apartment. It was even more odd that his mother (who also happened to be the HQ commander) had been in the next room for most of the night. With a couple of hours snooze time before reporting for duty, O'Hara had gazed up through the overhead skylights at the increasing traffic departing the Helub space port. Slowly she had watched the formation of the electromagnetic storm with its purple and orange clouds and telltale flashes of green and yellow whiplash energy, not knowing that its beauty belied its true intent that would eventually lead to the downfall of the Qovakian Government and the exodus of survivors.
"Lieutenant!" Jackson physically shook the nurse's arm and the woman suddenly snapped out of her reverie. "Are you okay?"
"I'm - I'm fine," O'Hara replied, though her face suddenly cracked into an unpleasant sobbing. The feeling of such misery hadn't been with her since childhood, and she felt embarrassed that this emotional outburst was taking place in front of her lover's disapproving mother.
Instinctively, Jackson walked around the runabout's table and embraced the Lieutenant, wondering why at the same time she herself had begun to feel very unhappy and shed a few tears. Neither had mentioned the young man - but both were thinking of him in their own way, sharing their mutual (and hopefully temporary) loss in the sisterly embrace.
* * *
***
ACT 2