Disclaimer: Paramount, as everyone knows, owns Star Trek Enterprise and everything in it. Original characters are my own. Tia Anlor, a refugee from the planet Aura, was introduced in 'Golden Girl, Revised'. Reverend Patricia McCabe, Enterprise's UESPA-imposed Chaplain, was introduced in 'Cross and Crown', and her alter-ego appeared in 'Pulsar'. She has been aboard for 16 days.
This is the 21st story in this series (counting the AU episode 'Face in the Dark Mirror'). This story takes place two days before 'Treaty|Violation' and more than a week prior to 'Humiliatum'.
Later works will include 'Life Goes On', 'Sufferance', 'The Court Martial of Hoshi Sato', 'Extreme Prejudice' and 'Fractured'.
Rated 'T'. Mature themes.
"When you are unexpectedly reunited with your one true love and he does his best to avoid you, what will you do?"
Clara
By JMK758
Chapter One
A Plea for Help
Mother Patricia McCabe OSJ, the new Chaplain of the Starship Enterprise, stepped into her quarters and waited until the door closed behind her. She took a deep breath to try to calm herself and to get her anger under control. She stepped to her desk, moving very carefully, as if were she to surrender control for even an instant, she would be unable to regain it.
Reaching behind her neck, under her long chestnut hair, she undid the tiny clasp holding the royal blue cloth collar, removing the cross she wore suspended before her breasts. She turned the jewel around, looking at the red, white and gold emblem, trying to draw strength and succor from it. She brought it to her lips, kissed it before setting it down on the desk, adjusting the blue bands so they lay flat, upward from the cross in a large V.
She didn't think of it, ever, as removing a burden; but for the first time in her Liturgical life she was finding it, and other things, more of a symbolic cross to bear than a literal one.
Undoing the top button on the back of her blue shirt, the one that held the high stiff white collar of her shirt, the color of which indicated her Calling, fastened about her neck, she then undid the buttons on the cuffs of her sleeves. "Computer," she called, gratified to hear the answering 'chirrup' from the machine. At least something worked here without giving her an argument. "Activate Interactive Program 'Clara'. Privacy mode: Double encryption."
A moment later a woman's simulated face appeared on her desk monitor. This was not a real person, but a representative image of the program, designed so that the members of her Order could have someone to look at, a pair of eyes to respond to.
'Clara' was a sophisticated interactive program commissioned by her Order for use by its members on deep space missions, in situations where there was no one to consult with. For those whose duties involve being Counselor to their flock, it was often found that they themselves had no one to turn to on delicate, confidential matters. For that purpose was Clara (short of clarity or clarification) created, to act as a sounding board where no other existed.
It was equal parts analyst; both of herself and others and private repository of her thoughts, which could in turn help in organizing those thoughts.
"Well, Patricia," the blonde woman's face changed in a manner with her synthesized voice, both as natural as could be fashioned by the best programmers of the Order, "double encryption. You haven't used that since you got into that fight with Archdeacon–."
"Shut up!"
She turned away, reaching again under her hair to continuing to unbutton her shirt, then reaching up behind her back when she had gone as far down as she could, to undo the last of the buttons. More than once she envied her male colleagues, who had buttons down the front. She had appealed through the proper channels more than once for a change; only to be frequently told that it ruined the lines.
She privately suspected some staid arch-bureaucrat somewhere lived in constant fear that someone just might get a sideways peek through a gap in the buttons of a woman Priest's shirt and the heavens would burst into flame.
x
She forcibly curtailed these thoughts. She had enough to be angry about without dredging up old irritations.
She pulled off the shirt and hung it up in her closet alongside the other uniforms she wore. She reasoned that since she had been wearing it for little more than an hour, it had plenty of life in it. Sitting down at her desk, she started undoing the fastenings of her shoes, but a blinking message on her monitor caught her eyes.
Superimposed over the face of the woman were the words 'Do you wish to terminate interactive vocal?' Beyond the blinking words, Clara occasionally moved eyes and facial expressions in a way much like a human would as she waited.
"No. Just be quiet for a minute." The blinking letters disappeared and Clara waited.
Patricia finished removing her shoes, stood up and pulled off her black pants, folded them over the same hanger under the royal blue shirt. Clad now in bra and panties, she closed the closet door and opened a drawer beside it, removing a white robe, which she pulled on and cinched. Then she sat down at the desk. "Resume Interactive Vocal." She fought down the automatic urge to apologize.
"Well, you're in a mood." Clara observed. "I detect heightened blood pressure, increased respiration, unusually high muscular tension, and though your face is 18 percent redder than usual I doubt it is because anyone has made a pass."
"Funny." More than once she had questioned the sense of humor of this program's designer. She had to admit, however, that it was an excellent counselor. Having the ability to tap into ship's systems from medical to personnel, it could mimic a remarkable degree of insight, especially as it got more and more use, and could develop a large database of its host subject; Patricia herself. "As if anyone would."
"Don't discount it. You're a very attractive woman." Patricia was, in fact, a young forty, and it would be many years before the first strands of gray or the first lines started to hint her age. "How are you getting settled in?"
"All right. Settling into my new ship, meeting my new flock these past two weeks, just spending the time getting acquainted, not throwing my position at anyone, just… settling in."
"How is Malcolm Reed?" Clara was incapable of forgetting their many conversations that centered on this officer. Patricia leaned back until her shoulders rested against the back of the chair, sighed and said feelingly;
"Malcolm Reed is a damned Bastard."
x
For a long moment there was no reply. Patricia figured this was built into the program, a way to either give her a moment to organize her thoughts or to mimic a human's reaction, which would be to take a moment to decide what to say in the face of her impassioned declaration.
"Would you like to talk about why 'Malki' Reed, the man you were set to marry, the love of your life lost for so many years and now found aboard this ship, seemingly the source of all your joy and hope aboard Enterprise, is now a 'damned bastard'?"
Patricia took a deep breath and held it until her lungs started to hurt; then released it all at once, sagging into the chair. It didn't help her temper. "It started this morning.…"
