WARNING: This fic is OC-oriented, so if you are opposed to OC's, please leave now. However, if you're feeling adventurous, I'd be very happy if you gave her a chance. Constructive criticism only, please! And I welcome reviews like a kid welcomes Christmas presents.
Enjoy!
The stale taste of replicated Earl Grey did nothing to improve an early-rising ensign's already stormy mood. Her roommate didn't believe in actually cooking things, preferring to rely on technology rather than traditional methods… like a tea kettle. She caught her reflection in the window, the thick dark brown hair carelessly braided over her shoulder and her vivid blue eyes most apparent against the backdrop of the city. One of the few things she didn't like about Starfleet- the apartments they assigned you didn't always have stellar views. A real shame, especially in the London area. There were so many lovely rural views that better suited her tastes than the sterile view of modernized London. Her thoughts were interrupted by the computer's chirp.
"Amelia Collins, incoming transmission from Admiral Collins," the automated voice announced, and Amy grimaced. She had been afraid of that. Quickly walking over to the standard issue display screen on her desk, she fussed with her pajamas in futility before reaching down to tap a button on the monitor. It sprang to life and she snapped to attention.
"At ease, ensign," her father rumbled in deep, gravelly tones. His black hair, dotted with white and grey, receded to a sharp widow's peak which drew attention to the severe thick salt-and-pepper eyebrows that framed a set of bright blue eyes, much like his daughter's. Everything about this man was severe, from his eyebrows to his crow's feet, from the hard glint in his eye to the set of his mouth. This man exuded rigidness. Amy hoped to god that her years at Starfleet wouldn't harden her like they had so obviously hardened this man. She finally relaxed out of attention, minimally, as the Admiral began to speak.
"You aren't dressed already, Amelia? You're set to embark the Odyssey at 0800 hours."
"Yes sir, I only live three blocks from the docking station, and it's only 0600, sir," she replied in a clipped, precise London accent. But when the Admiral's eyes narrowed, she winced.
"Excuses like that won't get you far, ensign. Why do you think you were assigned to Deep Space Nine?"
"Because I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and I managed to save a life because of it?" Amy couldn't keep a little of the acid from her voice.
"Amelia!" Her father barked, and she instinctively snapped to attention once again. "You're not a teenager any more, Amelia. You need to start taking yourself, and your duties, more seriously. I know you wanted to be assigned to the Enterprise, but I honestly don't think you're ready for it. Deep Space Nine is just temporary, until you prove to me that you're ready for greater responsibilities."
"Yes, sir," Amy replied stiffly, crossing her arms in a way that she later hoped didn't demonstrate her surly attitude too openly.
The Admiral sighed, leaning back in his chair with a soft chuckle. "Stubborn to the last. You look so like your mother…" Another sigh, and Amy looked away, an embarrassed blush creeping into her pale cheeks- her mother had passed away several years ago. He sat up suddenly, and the professional glint was back in his eyes.
"Ensign." She snapped back to attention, recognizing his formal tone.
"Attend to your duties diligently at Deep Space Nine. Take the initiative. Show me that you're responsible, and are capable of handling greater things. Then we'll talk. I want monthly reports of your progress there."
"Yes, sir," she responded, knowing the conversation was drawing to a close.
"And… Amelia?" His voice softened, and Amy looked up in surprise. Her father wasn't really one to get emotional.
"Yes, father?"
"…Good luck." The Admiral terminated the link, but Amy could have sworn she saw him blink back a few tears before his face was replaced with the Federation insignia.
Amy blinked back a few tears, herself, touched by her father's unexpected display of emotion. She wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her bathrobe and headed to her closet. The doors swung open, and there hung her uniform, the turquoise shoulders contrasting sharply with the crisp black torso and pants. It came easily off the hanger, and she donned it hastily. Walking over to the floor-length mirror, steady fingers fastened the single pip onto her collar, designating her rank. She looked up at her messy, frazzled hair in disdain and quickly finger-combed out the braid, smoothing the flyaways before reaching up and expertly looping her hair together in a tight French-braid, the tail just barely touching her mid-back. Scooping up her Commbadge quickly, she pinned it on to her uniform, just above her heart.
Finally satisfied with her appearance, she smoothed the creases in her uniform anxiously, picked up her standard-issue duffel bag filled with her personal effects (that couldn't easily be replicated) and walked out the door, locking it behind her.
When she got there, the shuttle had already landed, even though she wasn't due for another thirty minutes. Amy caught sight of the pilot, and nearly fainted. It was… it appeared to be… Declan Keough, captain of the U.S.S. Odyssey! That meant three things. First, that the Odyssey was going to be her transport to DS9; second, that her father pulled some strings that he shouldn't have; and third, that he talked to Keogh himself and convinced him to greet her in person. Normally, that would be a huge honor, and Amy would be lying to herself if she said she hadn't always dreamed of seeing the inside of the Odyssey someday. But how was she ever going to escape the "Admiral's daughter" stigma if he kept treating her like she was special?
Keogh, who had been leaning against the shuttle, stood up when he caught sight of Amy, straightened his jacket with a tug, and strode over to her. Her pulse jumped and Amy dropped the duffel bag, snapping to attention. The Starfleet captain waved his hand in a dismissive gesture.
"As you were, Ensign. I'm sure you know who I am."
"Uh, yes, sir! Captain Keogh, of the U.S.S. Odyssey, sir," Amy stated, her anxiety barely concealed. Keogh chuckled, patting her on the shoulder.
"Relax, Ensign. You look like you're about to be taken before a firing squad," he said laughingly before extending his hand. She took it after a moment's hesitation, surprised at his firm grip. When he released her, she had to resist the urge to massage the blood back into her hand. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Amelia. Your father has told me so much about you."
"Thank you, sir, but the pleasure is mine," she managed around an inward grimace. "You're… something of a legend back at the Academy."
A little ego-stroking can't hurt, right? Especially with his type.
"Well, is that so?" Keogh said, preening his feathers. "Shall we be on our way, then?"
"Yes, sir," she replied, scrambling into the shuttle after him.
"I'll let you take the helm, Ensign. You won't get much of a chance at it once you get to Deep Space Nine. It's good to stretch your wings every now and then."
"Thank you, sir," Amy replied, sliding into the seat at helm while the captain made his way into its twin. She did the routine check, making sure everything was operating normally before turning in her seat to face Keogh.
"Whenever you're ready, Ensign," he said, nodding to her implied request. She turned back around, her fingers flying over the buttons on the console expertly. The shuttle hummed to life and after a few moments the docking clamps disengaged. The shuttle touched off, rising slowly from the landing pad. As they made their slow ascent into space, the monologue that Amy had feared began.
"You know, Amelia, your father and I served together on the Odyssey for years, before he got promoted. I've never met a more honorable, dedicated man. He accomplished many great things, even before his appointment to Admiral. He rose to every challenge presented to him and always went above and beyond the call of duty. It was an honor to serve with him."
"Thank you, sir, I'm sure that means a lot to him," Amy provided, unsure what else to say.
"We still keep in touch," the captain went on as if Amy hadn't spoken. "He never stops talking about you. He'd never admit it to you, Amelia, but he's really proud of all you've been able to accomplish in your short time at Starfleet. Which is why it's all the more important to do your best at Deep Space Nine. Prove to him that one little mishap won't keep you from your goals. He expects great things from you. We all do. And who knows? Maybe someday you'll get to serve on a real starship. Have you ever thought about serving on the Odyssey? Picard, he's a great man, but he's gotten soft with old age. Between you and me, I'm not sure he has what it takes to command a starship out there on the frontier. Out there you have to make snap decisions, hard choices. You can't let your emotions get in the way; you have to be willing to sacrifice a few lives for the greater good. Picard does not fit that bill."
"I'll… keep it in mind, sir," Amy replied, working very hard to keep the irritation out of her voice. She was beginning to take an inherent dislike to this man. Luckily, before the Captain had a chance to continue, they caught sight of the Odyssey. Amy's mouth dropped open- the ship filled the shuttle's entire view-screen! She'd heard stories, but it was hard to imagine the sheer size of it until it was staring her in the face. Keogh tapped his Commbadge and issued the first of many orders on this venture.
"Keogh to Odyssey. Open the doors to Shuttle-bay 2."
"Doors to Shuttle-bay 2…. Open, sir!" came the reply, and the occupants of the shuttle watched as the shuttle-bay doors slid open. Once the doors locked into place, Amy maneuvered the shuttle in and gently touched her down. As soon as the shuttle-bay doors were closed, she ran the standard-procedure system checks before opening the shuttle door and shutting down. The Captain got off first, then turned around and looked at her expectantly. Amy grabbed her duffel bag before snapping to attention.
"Permission to come aboard, sir?"
"Granted, Ensign. Welcome aboard the Odyssey."
"…And this is the bridge. Your father worked tactical back when we were both ensigns, at that very terminal. You can take a closer look, if you'd like…" Keogh gestured to the terminal, and the officer working there stepped aside, giving Amy a disdainful once-over. Her eyes tightened- another who just thought she was some spoiled brat. Like she asked for all this?
"No, no, sir, I don't want to interrupt," she tactfully declined, backing up a few steps and allowing the tactical officer to resume his post.
"Well, Amelia, have I left anything out?" The Captain put a guiding hand on her elbow as they made their way back to the turbolift.
"Well, sir… The only things you haven't shown me are Sickbay and the lounge," Amy reminded him quietly. "And my quarters," she tagged on as an afterthought.
"Well, Ensign? Which would you prefer?"
"Sir?"
"Sickbay, the lounge, or your quarters? Which shall it be?"
"Oh, definitely my quarters, sir," she replied, gesturing to the duffel bag still strung over her shoulder.
"Ah," he agreed. "Deck 8." The turbolift sprang to life, and soon it came to a stop, the doors swishing open. Amy stepped out after a gesture from Keogh, and quickly fell into step behind him as he escorted her to her quarters. As they walked, she noticed several crewmen in groups of two or three. When she approached, they continued their conversation in significantly lower tones, but watched her from the corner of their eyes. She gritted her teeth and smiled tightly at each one whose eyes she met; no need in picking a fight.
"After a couple hours of leisure, I want you to report to sickbay, where you will act out the remainder of your voyage on the Odyssey," he explained with a wave of his hand.
"Yes, sir."
"Ah, here we are," he said as they came to a stop in front of the quarters which were temporarily hers. He tapped on the pad by the door for a moment, and it swished open. She walked in and turned around to face him, coming to attention.
"Thank you, sir," she said formally. Keogh smiled as if he were indulging a child.
"We'll be at DS9 before you know it."
Too soon. All too soon.
After two hours of "rest," which entailed sitting in her chair while drumming her fingers on the desk, lying in bed while swinging her foot off the edge, and pacing the floor relentlessly, Amy reported to Sickbay. Upon seeing her, the chief medical officer exhaled impatiently and strode over to her. She snapped to attention.
"Ensign Collins, reporting for duty, sir." He waved away her handshake, clearly not wanting to be bothered even with introductions.
"Dr. Mitchell. Look, I don't have time to be babysitting a transit. Just… stay out of the way." Leaving Amy in shock, he scuttled back to his office, grabbing a data padd before shutting the doors behind him. She looked around in embarrassment before noting that the sickbay was luckily clear of patients. Deciding that she might as well be useful, as well as feeding her minor OCD, she grabbed a free data padd and headed to the storage cabinets, cataloguing the medical supplies thoroughly.
One hour passed into two, and two into three with minimal activity. Dr. Mitchell ignored her whenever he had to tend to a patient, and kept to his office otherwise. After another hour of inventory, again, Amy set the padd down and plopped onto a bio-bed. She just barely had time to breathe when a call came for her.
"Lieutenant Harrison to Ensign Collins."
"Collins here."
"Please report to Transporter Room 3 in fifteen minutes. We'll be arriving at Deep Space Nine shortly."
"Yes, sir. Collins out." Finally. Amy could only hope that things would go more smoothly on the station than on this blasted ship.
Clocking out with the Doctor, she practically ran to her quarters where she grabbed her still-packed duffel-bag, made the bed, and locked the door. From there she walked quickly to the turbolift that would take her to the transporter room. The doors to the lift had just opened when the whole ship shook. She made it out of the lift and down the hallway. Amy almost reached the transporter room when a larger impact sent Amy headlong into a very firm-looking wall. A strong pair of arms grabbed her before impact, and once her feet were steady underneath her she straightened and looked up.
"Ensign Collins, right?" Her savior asked in an urgent tone.
"Yes, sir, why?"
"You're chief medical officer now. Dr. Mitchell is dead."
As they ran to Sickbay, the man explained that Bajoran rebels, who had been lying in wait behind one of Bajor's moons, began firing on the Odyssey almost as soon as they were within transporter range of the station. The shields were down in preparation for transport. The first shot hit Sickbay full-on, killing the Doctor and two of his patients, as well as several other crewmen who had the misfortune to be on that deck before the emergency shields went up in the hallway, and the main shields were back online. They were on their way there now to salvage what materials they could before setting up a temporary sickbay in the lounge to treat the wounded.
With the help of red-jacket Bell, Amy had managed to evacuate the lounge and set up a makeshift sickbay there. She sorted the wounded into three categories; yellow- major injuries, but stable; red- critical condition; and black- terminal or deceased. A quick scan of the patient, a mark on their hand, and a seat on the floor before moving on to the next one. There was no time to waste, and the injured seemed to be coming out of the woodwork.
"Where are all these people coming from?" Amy called to Bell as they scanned their patients.
"Did you feel those tremors just a few minutes ago? They must have scanned explosives onto different parts of the ship while our shields were down," he replied, taking one patient's hand and marking it yellow before moving on. She nodded her understanding before tapping her Commbadge.
"Collins to Bridge, I'm running out of space down here, and they just keep coming. I don't have the staff to treat these people!"
"Captain here- sorry, Ensign, but you're going to have to make do. Once we've got these bastards, we can contact DS9 and beam down the critical patients."
"Yes, sir, but please hurry! Collins out."
Amy scanned a young woman briefly, but she could tell just from looking at the foot-long gash in her side that there was no saving this one. She picked up the woman's hand and marked it with a black dot before letting go. The woman's hand closed around her wrist, and Amy turned back in surprise.
"Doctor…" She whispered. "Am I going to make it?" Amy patted her hand gently and smiled reassuringly. She always hated this part.
"You're going to be just fine. Now, I've got to go see my other patients, but I'll be right back to take care of you, okay?" The woman relaxed her grip, slumping from exhaustion. At the same time, another blast sent Amy careening backwards, straight into her now two-time savior.
"We seem to be making a habit of this," he said with a weary smile as she caught her balance.
"That we do," she agreed. "Okay, now that we've categorized them, we need to treat the critical patients as best we can until they can be transported to DS9."
"Yes, sir," Bell responded, setting to work after she briefly explained what to do for each injury.
A good half-hour later, relief finally came.
"Ensign, prepare to be beamed directly to the station with your patients. Your belongings will be sent later."
"Yes, sir." A few moments later, Amy was looking around a large, grey, dimly lit room now filled with all her injured. She had no sooner stood up than a tall, extremely attractive young man came out of what was marked as the infirmary- thank heaven, he was wearing medical blue. He spotted her and immediately changed course, stretching out his hand.
"Doctor Julian Bashir, chief medical officer of DS9. You must be Ensign Collins. I was informed of the situation, but I do suppose you'd better bring me up to speed on your end," he said as he pulled out his scanner.
"Yes, sir. I categorized them with the standard yellow, red, and black. I did what patching up I could under the circumstances, but I'm afraid if some of these don't get treated in the next five minutes, they could shift from critical to terminal."
"Excellent thinking, Ensign. And might I observe that the 'patch-ups' are quite well done? Here, help me get this one into the infirmary."
After several grueling hours of treating, healing, and body-bagging, the situation was finally under control. Julian leaned against the wall of the infirmary, smiling wearily at an equally tired Amy who was bracing herself on the edge of a bio-bed.
"You handled yourself brilliantly, Ensign."
"Thank you, sir, but please, call me Amy," she replied with an exhausted grin. He returned the smile with a friendly wink.
"Then I insist you call me Julian. Why don't you go see Captain Sisko, and have someone show you to Quark's. I'll buy you a drink. You deserve one after a day like today."
"Yes, sir," she replied, not without enthusiasm, and marched toward the door.
"Oh, and Amy?"
"Yes, s- Julian?" Amy turned, halfway out the door.
"Welcome to Deep Space Nine." She smiled and headed to Ops with a slight bounce in her step. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad here after all.
Thanks for reading! Well, please let me know what you think! I can't grow as a writer if I get no criticism!
TBC
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