Out of Sorts/Out of Time
"Did you hear that Captain Kirk is on board?"
Gillian Taylor spun on her colleague.
Ensign Killex, a bright-eyed Denobulan, took too steps back. "Are you all right, Doctor?"
Gillian smiled. "I'm fine. You just caught me by surprise."
Killex raised both eyebrows in question. "Do you know him? He's a living legend!"
"I sort of do. It's a long story."
"Oh?" Killex leaned forward.
"A really long story."
"I see." Killex deflated a bit. "Well, I guess we are pretty busy."
Gillian regarded the chaotic disaster that was eventually going to be the Enterprise B's state-of-the-art xenobiology lab and chuckled. "I'd say so," she said, and the two of them got back to work unpacking crates of supplies and equipment. Gillian was glad for the distraction, anyway. Such a conversation would lead into scary I'm-not-actually-from-this-century territory, and she'd heard enough lectures from the Department of Temporal Investigations to know that she needed to keep her mouth shut. It was hard, especially since her scientific career seemed to miraculously burst into existence seven years prior with no previous publications or valid educational degrees to justify it—she thought momentary of her PhD, which she had never actually gotten around to framing.
Starfleet had given her a posting—more like a glorified internship, she thought—on a science vessel once she returned back to the present with Kirk, but after four years of cataloguing microbes while full-fledged officers and scientists with actual twenty-third century educations did the real work, she had missed her whales too much.
Not that they were doing all that badly without her. Those whales were the most well-looked-after beings on the planet. Gracie's calf had been born healthy and thanks to the careful ministrations of the New Cetacean Institute, had given birth twice more since then. Gillian had worked with the Institute for two more years before a colleague, impressed by her work, had recommended her for a position aboard the Federation's newest flagship, the Enterprise B.
Of course he'd be here.
In the past seven years, they'd only exchanged a handful of subspace communications, enough that they could still call themselves friends and not distant acquaintances. She felt like all she ever did was talk about her whales, but Kirk never seemed to mind. He listened intently and asked questions about how they were doing, which made her feel less ridiculous. She may not know anything about this time aside from what she'd been able to cram into her skull in her free time, but she knew everything about those whales. Being the foremost authority on humpbacks in the galaxy made her feel a little less small and out of place. Talking with Kirk helped, too. She could never tell if his stories were made up or real—That Sybok guy had to have been made up—but it gave her a sense of stability to know that she had someone out there in this huge unfamiliar galaxy she could talk to.
And now he was here. On the Enterprise. Probably up on the bridge. She had more work to do that she could conceivably comprehend, but it would only take a moment to slip up to the bridge and say hello.
How professional is that? Come on, Gillian.
She sighed and heaved a genetic sequencer into place against one of the lab walls. She'd have to see if she could catch him in his off time. He was probably taking to Captain Harriman right now, doing his best to find an excuse to slip into the captain's seat for old-time's sake. In one of their conversations, he had said how he never felt the same connection to the Enterprise A that he had his old ship, but she could tell that he still loved it. That's probably why he was here, now, she mused, gathering up a handful of blank PADDs from a crate. Retired or not, James Kirk needed to give the Enterprise a proper send off. It just felt right.
Which was more than could be said for her at this moment.
Gillian regarded the lab with the sense of overwhelmed panic that struck her every now and then when she thought about just how out of place she was here. She'd gotten this posting fair and square, but she knew she didn't deserve it. She picked up one of the PADDs and fiddled with it, marveling at this piece of technology which everyone else on the planet—in the galaxy—knew how to operate. Seven (and three hundred) years ago, camcorders and compact discs were the newest craze, and now, one could hold an entire library of videos and music on one of these silly handheld computers. She set the PADD down, her mild anxiety getting more and more sour.
What would it hurt to go see Kirk?
"Hey, Killex? I'm going to step out for a moment. I'll be right back."
That was when the ship went to red alert.
"I don't have enough room in sickbay. Can ve use…Doctor Taylor?"
It took Gillian a second to recognize the officer who had entered the lab. "Pavel Chekov?" She laughed. "I didn't recognize you without bandages around your head."
"Good to see you again," Chekov said with a small smile, though she could tell he was rapidly approaching his wits end.
The ship shuddered under the assault of the mysterious energy field in which the Enterprise was trapped.
"Yes, the refugees can absolutely stay in here," she said, letting the small talk drop. "It's a disaster, but there's room. Do you need any help in sickbay? Killex has some medical training."
"That would be wery helpful, Doctor. This . . .ship," he said the word with a touch of distaste, "has no medical staff until—"
"Tuesday, yeah," she finished. "There's only a few of us here to help set up all the labs."
She turned to Killex, but the Denobulan was already heading for the door.
Chekov led a dozen or so people into the lab before giving Gillian a parting smile.
"I'll let Captain Kirk know you're here vhen I can."
The ship was suddenly hit by a jolt that threw everyone to the ground amid the clatter of collapsing equipment.
Gillian met Chekov's eyes as they regained their footing. "How about we help these people and try not to explode first?"
"Sounds like a plan," he said and vanished out the door.
Gillian was so busy tending to minor cuts and bruises while stowing as much of the larger equipment out of the way that she didn't even notice when the ship stopped shaking.
A small child in a verdant robe tugged at her sleeve. "Are we safe, yet?"
Gillian looked around. "We're not shaking anymore. Let me see."
She stepped to the communicator panel on the wall and hailed the bridge, but she couldn't get an answer. She turned to the small computer access panel to her right. "Computer, what is the ship's status?"
She always felt like an idiot talking to the computer out loud, but soon a list of details began to appear on the small screen. She held her breath as she read. Hull breaches. Casualties. System failures. The energy field, whatever it was, had ripped a hole in the Enterprise just as they had been about to escape from it.
Nearly destroyed before we even launched.
She turned to the refugees, wondering if it would be smart to leave them here while she went looking for ways to help. Her deliberation was interrupted by a chirping from the comm panel.
"This is the xeno lab."
"Doctor Taylor," came the voice of the operations officer. "We've dispatched a security officer to look after the refugees in the lab. Please report to sickbay."
"Absolutely. I mean, understood."
The security officer arrived and Gillian headed into the corridor, wondering how useful she could be in sickbay. Her scant first-aid training was limited to humans and Vulcans at present.
Her thoughts were interrupted by none other than Montgomery Scott and Pavel Chekov moving down the corridor with the looks of those who had just suffered fatal wounds. Their pale faces were emotionless and their eyes seemed determined not to focus on anything.
"What's wrong? Are you alright?"
Scott gave her a sad smile. "Aye lassie. We're alright. But the Captain isn't."
"Captain Harriman's . . ."
"No," Chekov said, his composure mere millimeters from falling apart completely. "Captain Kirk. He vas . . ." he shook his head and kept walking and she could see tears gathering in the corners of his eyes."
"Oh my god . . ."
Scott placed a hand on Gillian's shoulder, his normally youthful eyes looking suddenly older than she ever thought possible. "The captain saved this ship. Wasna even his own, but he saved it just the same."
She swiped away the beginnings of a tear. "I'm on my way to sickbay," she said. "I don't know how much use I'll be there, but if you need my help with anything else . . ."
Scott nodded and then turned to follow Chekov.
By the time Gillian arrived at sickbay, the tears were flowing freely, but she grabbed a tricorder, blinked through the loss, and began to tend to the wounded.
After an hour, those that needed help were now healing, and those that didn't were helping the wounded rest. Gillian was exhausted, but she was glad she had been sent here. The reporters who had been conscripted as nurses were useless, and Killex, the only one who knew what she was doing, was hopelessly overwhelmed. There were no other officers to spare as the rest were supervising emergency repairs or rescuing crewpersons trapped in the destroyed sections of the ship. Out there, Gillian would just be in the way. Here, she could actually help.
"Can I get an anti-inflammatory?"
One of the reporters handed her a hypospray. "I think this is it."
"You think? You're gonna have to do better than that."
"Here," another voice from her left answered.
It was one of the refugees, a woman with a kind smile and wise eyes. She was holding out a small medical device which Gillian accepted.
"It's not aspirin, but it'll do what you need."
Gillian regarded the device and then the woman. "You know . . . are you . . .?"
The woman shook her head. "No time travel. I spent a little time on Earth a few times in the past."
"The past? What makes you think I—"
The woman winked at Gillian. "I know. Don't worry. Your secret's safe with me. I'm Guinan, by the way."
Gillian moved to a young girl with a splinted broken leg and began to pass the humming device over the inflamed area which began to heal as the swelling subsided.
"A dermal regenerator. Right." She turned to Guinan who she noticed seemed a little out of sorts. "I'm Gillian. Are you OK?"
The woman shook her head. "No, but I will be. The Nexus . . .well . . .I'll be fine. That energy ribbon is something I hope I never experience again."
"Me neither."
"How about you?"
"Me? I'm fine." Gillian stood up and handed the dermal regenerator to another reporter.
"Are you sure?"
Gillian nodded, hoping the tears wouldn't return. There was something . . . motherly about this woman and the thought of breaking down in front of her seemed embarrassing somehow. "I just lost a friend of mine. But from what I hear, he saved this ship. So I should be thankful, right?"
"Thankful, yes," Guinan said. "But you're still allowed to grieve."
"I will. Later."
Guinan nodded. "You might want to show that 'nurse' how to use that dermal regenerator you gave him."
Gillian saw the man turning the thing over in his hands like a forgotten relic.
"I'll do that. Thanks."
"For what?"
"For mentioning aspirin. For not making me feel like I have no place in this time. For listening."
"Well, listening is what my people do best," Guinan said with an incline of the head. And with that, she turned to help two other refugees who were cleaning up shattered glass from the deck.
Gillian took a cleansing breath and got back to work, her thoughts of James Kirk fading from a raw burn to a dull ache as she helped the others. Others who were alive because of him. On a ship he had saved.
She didn't feel better, but she did feel more stable. More coherent.
She felt connected to the galaxy around her in a way she'd never felt before.
She was a part of it, no longer just a confused observer.
"Here, hand me that dermal regenerator before you glue your eyes shut," she said, grabbing the device from the man's hand.
See you around the galaxy.