Four hours after increasing speed, the senior officers were standing around the briefing table listening to T'Pol relate the, by now familiar, information regarding the Kreetassan vessel's location and transmissions. T'Pol was grateful that Commander Tucker was not in attendance, although she was concerned that he had apparently not ordered Hess or Jenkins to attend either. The old information duly summarised, she added that she had received a subspace transmission from Kreetassa. It had confirmed the on-board complement; three medical officers headed for the IME conference on Earth, as well as four crew, and also provided the name of the vessel, Treleishkah, and some limited specifications
"Treleishkah?" Archer asked, wrapping his mouth carefully around the word.
T'Pol nodded. "Yes, Captain. I believe it is named for a small, light-boned, flighted animal indigenous to Kreetassa."
T'Pol looked for confirmation from Ensign Sato. She was feeling more herself since they had left the noisy, disordered environment of space dock. The ship's normal deep-space routines had been re-established and the structure of her life had fallen into place around it. She was carefully scheduling several periods of meditation throughout the day and made sure she held herself to them. This had occasionally made her slightly late, but, she reasoned, it was more logical to arrive a few minutes late if it meant she could be sure she would be calm and effective. She expected that her typical punctuality could resume with time. The missed meals and lost hours of sleep were of more concern, but at least neither was increasing.
Having related Treleishkah's specifications to the assembled officers, she proceeded to summarise the results of her detailed scan. Treleishkah's power signature was not detectable at this distance which, given the improved performance of the upgraded sensors, suggested that they were either cold, apart from the still signalling beacon, or with emergency power only.
"So they may not have life support any more?" Archer asked her.
She nodded a reply. "And we will not arrive for another approximately 60 hours."
There was a long pause as the implications filtered through the assembled. T'Pol focused on the middle distance, fighting the urge to close her eyes. The wave of compassion for the seven, potentially dying people on Treleishkah almost overwhelmed her composure. She desperately tried to detach from the sadness, to notice it rather than feel it, to let it go. Even as she struggled a second strong emotion, consternation at her loss of control, arrived.
Mother
And finally, as she always did at her weakest...
Elizabeth
Her heart clenched and knotted. Tears, she was dismayed to realise, were nearly inevitable.
Lt. Reed was her inadvertent saviour, taking the opportunity of her silence to discuss the apparent weapons fire. He had appeared unbidden on the bridge the moment the detailed scan was completed, the much relieved Ensign Wendall rushing away. T'Pol surmised Reed could have had no more than 2 hours sleep in the past 30 hours. Despite being neatly presented, his weariness was evident.
"The scan confirmed that there was weapons fire. It appears to date to around the same time as the initial distress call. The Neptunian sensor array has confirmed they detected no other ships in the area that might have caused it. As far as I can tell, there is only one weapons signature, and it doesn't appear consistent with Klingons, or anything else in our database. We don't really have any information on Kreetassan weapon signatures, though, so it seems most likely that the weapons fire originated from Treleishkah itself."
T'Pol considered this before answering; taking another moment to ensure her voice would be steady. "Ensign Mayweather may be right that the purpose was to get us to increase our speed. We did, after all, do just that."
Ensign Sato shook her head. She had her arms folded across her body and her gaze was directed at the table, eyes slightly unfocused. "I still think they would modulate the distress signal to do that. We gave them a list of coded emergency frequencies as part of the cultural exchange and that would be a much more efficient way, especially if they are low on power."
T'Pol arched an eyebrow. "I agree it does not seem logical with the information we have, but I see no better explanation."
Archer nodded to her. "I guess we will ask when we get there. Which will be about 60 hours, you said?"
"Indeed. At current velocity we will arrive shortly after 0100 in three days' time."
"Okay," Archer acknowledged. " T'Pol, run more scans periodically as we get closer and present them at daily briefings. We could use some more detail of exactly what we are heading for. Meanwhile, I want everyone to prep for both rescue and a recovery. Travis, keep everyone apprised of our estimated time of arrival. Everyone arrange to be on duty for that. Well rested, please."
Archer directed the last comment towards Reed, who nodded vaguely in acknowledgement.
"Alright, dismissed."
The group broke up, Travis returning to his station and Reed moving to exit the bridge.
"Malcolm?"
T'Pol turned her attention to Hoshi, as indeed did Reed, albeit much more slowly and with very poorly concealed annoyance.
"I wanted you to listen to the distress call," Sato said.
"Why?" Reed replied "You're the linguist and I don't know the first thing about Kreetassan. What use would I be?" He half turned away from her as if to leave, but did not actually do so.
Hoshi pursed her lips, but replied calmly. "I realise that, but there are these other sounds. Kind of like... pulses? Given that we've detected external weapons fire I thought they might be hand weapons? Could you take a listen?"
To T'Pol, it looked like Reed would very much like to refuse, or at least put it off until later. He glanced at Archer and then at T'Pol herself as if reminding himself where he was and to be professional. "Alright." he said, following Hoshi to the communications consol. He started as Hoshi handed him her earpiece, turning it slowly in his hands.
"Oh, for goodness sake! My ears are perfectly clean, you know!" Sato snapped sharply, massaging her temples.
T'Pol heard Archer's intake of breath. He caught her eyes and then pointedly rolled his. T'Pol was not entirely sure what he was attempting to communicate by this, but she raised her eyebrow and inclined her head slightly as if she did. To her relief, this seemed to satisfy him leaving her free to excuse herself from the bridge. She could feel her tension rising and knew she badly needed to meditate. She did wonder briefly whether she too should attempt to identify the pulses which Sato had mentioned. Reed was now listening to the distressed call looping through the ear piece while Sato, squinting, indicated the time references of the recording in which she was interested.
"Here at 4 seconds... again at 9... 17..."
"Hmmm..."
Later, she would listen later, T'Pol resolved, and headed for the relative sanctuary of her quarters.
Oh crap. Staff meeting.
He'd had every intention of going, only he had lost track of the time. Pulling himself further down the service tube, Trip wondered why nobody had bothered to try to contact him when he failed to show up.
Is a reminder too much to ask?
Perhaps Lt Hess had covered for him? She'd been doing that a lot lately.
"Too much," Trip said aloud, grimly, to himself.
Never asked her to.
He had to talk to T'Pol. He wasn't sure how it had happened but they were back to avoiding each other, the closeness from right after...
Elizabeth
... had just melted away, somehow. At first, it was just isolated, difficult moments; moments when solitude felt easier and easier felt necessary. It was mutual and mutually understood. But over time, it had gotten worse, rather than better, ducking away from each other in corridors, skipped meals, rearranged schedules.
And now, now he had just completely failed to show up to a meeting. And no one had minded enough to try to call him. They were all still making allowances, giving him space.
Never asked you to.
It hurt his pride. He wondered idly how long he'd have to be missing before someone would start looking for him. He wondered if T'Pol had been glad he was not at the meeting. He forgot the relay he was working on was live and burnt his hand.
Trip hissed, then swallowed. He held up his hand to the portable light to assess the damage. Parts of his fingers were an angry red and the skin was blistered in a few places. The stinging sensation was joined by a dull, painful throb. Trip flexed his fingers and the throb became a scream. He hissed again. He considered swearing.
"Fuck," he said experimentally.
"Son of a..."
Didn't help. He flexed his fingers again, bracing against the pain and this time feeling a wave of endorphins behind it. Shouldn't this hurt more? he wondered. Probably...
He flexed his fingers again, slowly turning his wrist, looking over his raw, angry skin. Shard of pain... endorphins. He did it again.
There was a strange allure to this. The quiet thrum of the engines echoing down the service tube. The white-blue light. Flex...pain...endorphins...flex. Yet, the realisation was dawning that he would have to go to Sickbay. An untreated burn on his hand was un-concealable and would undoubtedly raise concerns. Not normal behaviour.
Right. Sickbay.
He manoeuvred himself carefully out of the service tube, taking care not to bash his sore hand, even as he continued rhythmically flexing his fingers. He opened a nearby panel left-handed, extracted a burn dressing from the first aid kit concealed there, and wrapped it over the worst of part. The pressure of the dressing caused another shock of pain. He found he didn't mind it.
Should he mind that he didn't mind?
The corridors were relatively busy. He walked past loads of people, several of whom clearly noticed his wounded hand. A few offered small sympathetic glances but no one stopped to help. Weird. He would have in their place.
Before, anyway.
None of the occupants of sickbay seemed to notice his arrival. Hoshi was seated on a biobed, eyes closed and head bowed, massaging her eyebrows. Dr Phlox, and a redheaded woman Trip didn't know, were both perplexedly peering at a medical scanner, at a PADD, and back again.
"I've never seen anything like it. Have you?" Phlox didn't sound particularly concerned, or anxious, but rather just amiably befuddled.
Trip noticed Hoshi flinched slightly as he spoke.
"No... I haven't," the stranger answered him. Her voice, perhaps in deference to Hoshi, was pitched quite a bit quieter than Phlox's. She frowned a little, picking up a second scanner and pointing it at Hoshi's head. When the results supplied by the second scanner apparently matched the first, the woman clicked her tongue in frustration. She then pointed it at her own head, causing Trip a small internal chuckle, and then pointed it back at Hoshi with a small shrug.
"It's not the scanners, then. Just two impossibly-identical headaches, two days apart. Are you sure it went away entirely, Hoshi?"
Hoshi's name sounded weird to Trip in the Scottish accent. He watched as his friend nodded. She didn't look great, if he was honest. He felt a small stirring of concern.
"I did give her an analgesic," Phlox sounded dubious of his own words.
"Not enough to have lasted nearly two days, though," replied the stranger, at which Phlox nodded in immediate agreement.
"It went away entirely after the first shot, and I felt fine until a few hours ago, and now it's back" Hoshi sounded like she had said this more than once. She let out a small grunt of discomfort.
"Sounds like it's time for another shot then," the stranger said, kindly, retrieving a hypospray from the cart behind her.
"I guess it's still just a headache, although a thoroughly peculiar one," Phlox said, throwing up his hands a little. He continued, "You must come back immediately if the pain returns. In fact, I want to see you tomorrow, no matter what." Phlox glanced at the woman, now administering the hypospray to Hoshi, and she nodded.
Hoshi emitted a small sigh, her head rising and her shoulders relaxing in relief. She opened her eyes and immediately spotted Trip.
"Trip!"
Phlox and the stranger looked up startled. She spoke first, alarmed. "Oh, your hand!" She walked quickly towards him, collecting another hypospray as she went.
"Burn?" she asked as she manoeuvred him to the closest bed.
"Who the hell are you?" Trip demanded. His tone was much harsher than he intended, but the stranger's expression remained warm.
"I'm Alice Harper. The new doctor?"
Right, thought Trip. Obviously. He'd forgotten all about there being a new doctor. Hell of a thing to forget, he mused.
"Painkiller," Harper said, but paused before administering the hypospray, waiting for an acknowledgement.
Trip, pondering the strange mystique of the pain, wanted to tell her to skip it. He knew that would raise questions however, so he merely nodded. It worked almost at once, a cool iciness flowing into his fingers, the throbbing diminishing and then falling still.
"What happened?" asked Hoshi.
"Plasma relay."
Hoshi screwed her nose up sympathetically, and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Nasty. Are you okay? I've got to go back on duty..."
Trip nodded that he was fine. Hoshi gave his shoulder a small squeeze as she left.
Harper had finished scanning his hand and was now opening an irrigation kit. Trip looked past her for Phlox and was surprised to see that he had vanished.
"It's not too bad, but it is second degree in some places. I will need to clean and dress it. Painkiller holding up okay?" Harper asked.
Trip nodded that it was.
"Alright. Let me know if you need more though. Plasma burns don't half hurt."
Why the hell is she telling the chief engineer how much plasma burns hurt? mused Trip to himself. "I'm Commander Trip Tucker, Chief Engineer."
"Not your first plasma burn then," said Harper, correctly guessing what had prompted the introduction.
Trip forced a smile and shook his head.
"Very pleased to meet you, Commander. This will sting a bit..."
"Trip's fine," said Trip, automatically, pondering the stinging sensation of the cool saline on the burn.
"Trip, then."
"Where's Phlox?" he asked her.
Harper looked over her shoulder, seemingly surprised not to see the other doctor there.
"Oh. He was here a moment ago? Would you rather I fetched him?" She did not sound at all offended.
Trip shook his head indicating she should continue. He hadn't meant he wanted Phlox to treat his hand, and thinking about it, he probably preferred a relative stranger. Harper worked methodically and largely in silence, speaking only occasionally to check on his discomfort or announce a new stage of the procedure. She had none of Phlox's overt chirpiness, for which Trip was currently grateful. He seemed to recall she had been trained by a largely Vulcan team, but she did not really have a Vulcan demeanour either, and whenever she did catch his eyes, she offered him a concerned smile.
Trip realised he perhaps should be doing the talking. He would have before. "You're Scottish?"
"Yeah, I am."
"What part of Scotland?"
"Montrose originally, then near Inverness, then Edinburgh."
"Oh." Trip waited for her to ask where he was from, although, if she could pick his Florida accent, he suspected she probably wouldn't. Then, quite unexpectedly, Trip Tucker collapsed into tears.
Phlox felt a little ashamed of himself. He really shouldn't have left Commander Tucker in the hands of a stranger, particularly given that he had not had a chance to warn Harper. His rationalisation to himself at the time, that he had wanted to update Hoshi's medical notes, had been a flimsy veil. The truth was that he simply did not want to face Tucker today. He'd retreated to his office to hide and to eavesdrop. Fortunately, despite his failure to prepare her, Harper had quickly determined the gist of the story from the Commander's gasped apologies, and performed admirably. She had sat with him for well over an hour, listening, murmuring short affirmations, admiring photographs. By the time Tucker had left, hand treated and bandaged, he had been calm and even offered Harper a small, but genuine smile as he went.
Right now, Harper was reviewing the relevant medical files, to fill in the gaps in the story, and was looking thoroughly depressed.
"You handled that beautifully," Phlox offered, meaning it.
She turned to face him and let out a small sigh, ignoring the compliment. "My God, what a horrible thing." It sounded like all she could think of to say.
Phlox sat down next to her. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have allowed that to happen, unexpectedly, on your third day. I should have at least warned you."
Harper ignored the apology as well. "What a brutal, cruel, utterly unfair thing." She shook her head at Elizabeth Tucker's medical file, seemingly lost for words again.
"I'm sorry, Alice," Phlox repeated.
Harper furrowed her brow a little, apparently registering what he was saying this time. "Don't be. This whole thing must have been awful for you, too. No reason why I couldn't handle it."
"It was awful. Losing that little girl was losing family. I was heartbroken." Phlox was a little surprised at himself, sharing such personal thoughts with a woman he barely knew.
Harper gave him a long, sad look. "I'm so sorry," she offered. Phlox saw her reach as if to touch his hand before apparently changing her mind her mind. The moment slowly passed.
Phlox's Pyrithian bat bustled about her cage, nattering and rustling her wings. Phlox walked over and fed her one of the Treshu worms Harper had brought aboard, to the bat's considerable appreciation.
"You've spoiled her, you know, bringing her these."
"Sure, they love their Treshu worms, don't they?"
Sickbay had been restored to its usual order, although rearranged slightly to accommodate a supply of the more conventional medications which Harper was used to. She had had done most of the arrangement herself. She had something of a knack for it, Phlox thought. A knack both for the logistics of the rearrangement itself, and also in not making changes which would be too disruptive.
Overall, Phlox was quite pleased with how well she was settling in. It was strange to share space with another doctor after so long, particularly one who was a little too senior to really be considered a student and yet still not senior enough to really be a colleague. He'd been practicing medicine for a little longer than she had been alive, and yet by the rules of her world, she was ready to work independently. Phlox was worried about clashes down the road.
Still, Phlox reasoned, what had just happened with Commander Tucker was a solid argument against the original plan of an intern. Moreover, Phlox considered teaching junior doctors more a duty than a joy and someone needing constant supervision would undermine the point in the first place. He had told Archer she was here so he could find more time for his research. This was true, of course, but there was also the other reason.
"You know, Alice, my osmotic eel is marvellous for the treatment of burns." Harper's treatment of Tucker's burns had been perfectly competent, but Phlox had rather hoped she might be willing to employ some of his techniques with his crew.
She smiled, taking it in the proper spirit. "I do know, and I'm looking forward to trying it, but in this particular case... it was a difficult conversation to bring an eel into."
She has a point, Phlox thought. Even after all this time many of the crew were still perturbed by his more outlandish creatures. Phlox could think of at least some members of the crew who would likely much prefer Harper's highly refined pharmaceuticals and astringent-smelling gels. The thought made him a little sad.
Harper cleared her throat. "Doctor? Not terribly professional for my third day... but would you mind if I just ducked out for a coffee? I'm feeling a bit drained."
"Your shift just ended, didn't it?"
"Aye, it did, but I'll stay for a bit so you can work on your research paper some more. Your deadline's coming up and, according to Ensign Sato, the Kreetassans might be in some trouble. We could get busy. I just need a coffee; it'll only take a minute."
Phlox smiled. "Actually, I could use a snack, myself. Let's go together."
The walk to the mess hall passed companionably, filled with discussion of the osmotic eel's reproductive cycle. Beta shift had just started and it was a while before the bulk of alpha shift typically ate their evening meal. Accordingly, the large room was mostly empty except for a short line at the coffee machine.
"It was broken earlier," Chef explained as Harper sculled her coffee and Phlox pondered the wide selection of salads.
"Was it? I bet that caused a fuss..."
"It did. I'm surprised you couldn't here Lieutenant Reed's grumbling down in sickbay!"
"And did the Lieutenant get his coffee in the end?"
"No. He gave up, loudly, ages ago. Only just got it fixed."
Harper, suddenly thoughtful, turned to Phlox. "Actually, Doctor, could I stretch the friendship and ask for five more minutes off?"
"But of course. You are doing me a favour, remember?" Phlox watched curiously as she abruptly got another coffee from the machine.
"Fence to mend. Five minutes," she said by way of explanation, hurrying off holding the second coffee. Phlox turned back to further ponder a Caesar Salad.
Malcolm Reed still hadn't slept. He had tried again, for a few hours, after finally extracting himself from Hoshi and that damnable distress call. The pulses she'd been so worked up about had been barely audible amongst the static. Moreover, when Malcolm had eventually heard them, on what felt like the hundredth loop, he'd had no earthly idea what they were, 'hand weapon' or otherwise. Hoshi had pouted at him a little, as if he had failed on purpose. In fact, all he had wanted was to identify said pulses as quickly as possible, and get some damn sleep.
And yet, after returning to his quarters, Malcolm had just lain awake. He'd stared at the ceiling. He'd tried reading David Copperfield. He could never remember being so utterly tired, free to sleep and yet so utterly unable to do so. At length, and in some desperation, he'd decided it was a circadian rhythm thing and that he would have to try sleeping, as he did usually, through gamma shift. And, although likely no one would have minded (or noticed), he decided as a point of honour to work beta shift in the Armoury instead of gamma shift, as planned.
Then, the final straw, there had been no coffee. He'd not handled it well, if he was honest.
Trudging to the Armoury, Malcolm knew full well he was too tired to work on anything dangerous. Reluctantly, he had settled down to work on some of that not especially essential paperwork that was nevertheless demanded by Starfleet. The stuff he was three quarters convinced that no one at Starfleet actually read.
The sound of the Armoury door opening made him look up with a start. It took him a moment to place the figure but, when he did, it answered both the question of who she was and how she had managed to wander into the Armoury. To Malcolm's distaste, the computer let medical staff go pretty much anywhere. He supposed, grimly, such programming was essential for emergencies, although for a moment he considered trying to slip in a new subroutine.
She walked over to his desk and unexpectedly placed the coffee she was holding down in front of him. Malcolm regarded it with a slight sense disorientation, his pending declamations on the restricted nature of the Armoury momentarily forgotten. It smelled good.
At length, he asked, "How did you get coffee?"
"There's coffee now."
"And you brought me coffee?"
Harper nodded agreeably.
Malcolm was good at reading people. He understood facial expressions and body language far better than his reserved, slightly awkward, manner suggested. This contrast, he'd reflected in the past, was useful to him. He knew how to press the advantage of being underestimated. Harper, however, was no sort of challenge at all. Her face was unusually expressive, slight muscle twitches seemingly reflecting her every thought. Currently, for example, discomforted bemusement at the lengthening silence was gradually replacing her former expression of utterly scrutable goodwill.
"Why did you bring me coffee?" he asked, voice gravelly.
"I heard you wanted coffee...?"
Malcolm briefly pondered the unwelcome prospect of scuttlebutt, reaching as far as sickbay, about the fact he wanted coffee. Perhaps the scene he had made in the mess hall was worse than he'd been telling himself.
"Aren't you a Doctor? Shouldn't you be telling me to cut back on coffee?"
She appeared to ponder this for a moment before replying. "I have concerns about what that much hypocrisy would do to a warp field."
Malcolm pondered her, not sure how to respond. She HAD brought him coffee, though. "Well, I'm not a warp field specialist but I think it's fine as long you keep your Smug Factor under six."
"That could be a problem in my case. I am a Surgeon, after all."
"And do you ever have a conversation in which that doesn't come up?"
Harper pondered this without any evident rancour. "Occasionally." With that, and a small smile, she turned left.
Malcolm realised he'd forgotten, in the end, to admonish her that the Armoury was restricted. He sipped his coffee. It was black and unsweetened, which was fine. The mug warmed his hands. The door opened again. This time it was Ensign Wendall who, expecting an empty room, startled at the sight of his boss. Wendall dithered indecisively a few meters from Malcolm's desk, holding a PADD.
"Is that for me?" Malcolm asked eventually, causing Wendall's eyes to bulge slightly. Malcolm carefully inventoried his own expression and smoothed it to a better approximation of congeniality. Wendall was a brilliant weapons engineer by Malcolm's estimation, but he was damn nervy and currently, Malcolm noticed with consternation, blushing. Two open books in five minutes, Malcolm thought.
"Um... yes, but... I thought you were working gamma shift, sir?"
"I couldn't sleep, so I took it upon myself to change my own roster. I hope I won't be in your way."
"Should... should you be drinking coffee then? If you can't sleep?" Wendall stammered.
"It's been medically prescribed."
Wendall chuckled nervously at this quip, despite obviously having no way to understand it. Oh brilliant, thought Malcolm. When did I become that sort of boss? "Do you want to give me the PADD Wendall?"
"Not really, sir," said Wendall, doing it anyway.
Malcolm was almost relieved when the contents were only an audiological analysis of Hoshi's distress call pulses. He forced his eyes to focus on them.
"Ensign Sato asked me to deliver it to you personally and..." Wendall trailed off.
"With a message...?"
Wendall nodded anxiously.
"...A passive aggressive message urging me to actually try to identify the ruddy pulses this time, because she can't do everybody's job for them?"
"More or less sir."
"Then you needn't deliver said message, Wendall." answered Malcolm, in what he hoped was a kind voice and was pleased when Wendall visibly relaxed.
"For what it's worth, sir? I think this falls under her job."
Confused, Malcolm looked at Wendall, who, after a pause continued, "…I mean… I don't think hand weapons made those sounds. The waveform is all wrong; it's stupidly inefficient for a weapon, irregular and much too complex. I think they are transmitting information. So… communications job."
Malcolm found himself smiling a genuine smile. By Ensign Wendall standards, this was a touching declaration of fealty and support. "I don't suppose, Ensign, that you would be willing to write a report analysing the waveforms against known hand weapons? I'll help you catch up on your other work later, when I'm not so knackered."
"I'd be pleased to, sir."
After Wendall, much relieved, exited again. Malcolm pondered his words. Transmitting information? What the hell…?
Travis ran his fingers through Fabrecia's black curls. She was silky all over and all tangled up in his legs and her bedsheets. She arched her back at his touch and leered at him, a big hungry smile on her face. My word, Travis thought for himself, I need to stall for time.
"Will you teach me to play canasta?"
Her laugh was even bigger than her smile, full and throaty. I doubt she's ever tittered in her life, Travis thought appreciatively.
"Who told you I play canasta?"
"Your roommate. Hey, we're not expecting her soon, are we?" Travis eyed the door with mock anxiety.
"Alice? Nah, she promised she'd make herself scarce till I go on shift. So, you'll have to be dressed by then, unless you're planning to seduce her too."
"Excuse me, who seduced who? You planned this enough to clear your roommate out in advance."
Fabrecia laughed again. She ran her fingers along his chest, her fingertips electric. "You, apparently, pumped my roommate for embarrassing secrets."
"Your roommate volunteered information. Apparently, she decided to help me out." As he spoke, Travis brushed her cheekbone with his lips.
"Nah, she was helping me out. She's my latest wingman."
"What sort of wingman brings up canasta?"
"She is a pretty bad wingman," Fabrecia chuckled, her hand now running down his back. "She tell you anything non-embarrassing?"
"She said you did triathlons and she told me about your dogs."
"The dogs are a little embarrassing…"
"I like dogs. I like people who like dogs." This was true. Travis did like dogs and the people who were kind to them. He'd like a few dogs one day.
"Do you like me?" Her hand was gently gripping his ass now.
More stalling, thought Travis. "What do you think of Enterprise so far?"
"God, I love her. I love flying her. Racing through the dark at warp factor-fucking-4! There's nothing like it is there?" Her enthusiasm had actually distracted her from Travis's body to both his regret and relief.
"I hope these people are alright though…" Fabrecia said her tone markedly different to a moment ago. Her voice fell further as she continued "…they won't be though will they? They aren't answering us. We are going so fast, but it's not fast enough is it?"
Concerned by her sudden melancholy, Travis put aside his own doubts and answered optimistically. "They might be. Kreetassans are a little idiosyncratic. There could be all sorts of reasons they aren't responding, or not even realise we're expecting it. It doesn't mean that they're…in trouble."
He substituted the last two words instead of 'all dead' at the last moment. It had been more than 24 hours since Commander T'Pol had detected weapons signature and the subsequent increase in speed. The mood was tense. Nobody was sure what they would find when they got there. There was nothing unusual in that, of course, but something about this mission was getting to people. There had been a disastrous briefing that morning. Captain Archer had tried to gamely to generate some team spirit but the meeting had quickly degenerated, nonetheless. In the end most of the time was spent by a tetchy Hoshi arguing with a ragged, report-wielding, Malcolm about the significance of some random noises on the distress call, while Trip and T'Pol silently avoided each other's eyes. Even Archer had an air of defeat about him by the end.
It had been a thoroughly miserable start to Travis's day. Contemplating the pensive, but delectable Fabrecia, he thought about how much she had improved it. He hoped he could cheer her back up. "You'll be on the bridge when the rescue goes down, you know. We are due gamma shift tomorrow."
Just over 24 hours to go, he thought.
Fabrecia looked at him in some confusion. "I thought the Captain wanted you on shift when we arrive? I assumed I'd be getting a different shift."
Malcolm's right, thought Travis. They don't read the manuals. Aloud he said "You'll still be on, as my backup. It's hard to say for sure until we arrive, but chances are I'll fly the rescue shuttlepod while you…"
"Try not to crash a stationary starship?" she said, smiling again.
"…be ready to pilot the ship out of danger," Travis countered.
"Then there I shall be. Poised for heroic withdrawal." She bit her lip and moved in slowly and kissed him.
That, thought Travis, is enough stalling.
...request assistance...adrift... heavy damage...
...request assistance...adrift... heavy damage...
...static pulse request assistance static pulse adrift static heavy damage static pulse...
...static pulse request assistance static pulse adrift static heavy damage static pulse...
...staticpulse requestassistance staticpulse adrift static heavydamage staticpulse...
Boring.
LITERALLY boring.
Hoshi almost laughed.
Today. They would get there tonight. Finish my shift, ignore Phlox's irritating summons, shower, sleep, get up, rescue mission.
She wanted it to be over, but more, she wanted it to have been over. She wanted to never listen to this fucking distress call again.
Fuck you, Malcolm. Fuck you too, Wendall, and fuck your fucking report.
...request assistance...adrift... heavy damage...
staticpulserequest assistancestaticpulse adrift staticheavy damagestaticpulse
What are you?
The headache was so bad that even screaming to herself, in her head, made her flinch.
Even whispering.
"…Hoshi?" Archer's eyes were wide with alarm. He was not the only one. Malcolm was rising out of his chair.
Archer, eyes locked on her face, slowly raised his left hand and touched a finger to his mandible, just below his left ear. Hoshi copied him with her right. She looked at her fingertips. They were smeared with blood.
Strange flashes in her peripheral vision were demanding her attention. Something smelled of peach. She could only look at her bloody fingertips.
And then…
…time had passed.
She wasn't where she was before. She was lying down, she wasn't wearing her uniform, but something made of light cotton. Her headache was gone, a cool emptiness in its place. She squinted against strong lights. Voices.
"ICP is still normal…"
"… Sorry, they put WHAT in her brain? When was this?"
Screw-worm
" um... glucose normal...no fever... white cells normal... electrolytes, calcium normal... liver enzymes normal... we need imaging..."
Hoshi thought she could recognise some of the voices. Where was she? She thought about getting up. Her body didn't answer her.
"Are you sure her ear was bleeding before she hit her head?"
"Yeah, it was bleeding before she collapsed. I'm sure. I saw it before I saw her fall."
Captain Archer. That last voice was the Captain. Worried.
"Aye, alright. We need a cranial imaging series. Help me lift her? Let's get cervical spine too. Did we get prolactin yet? The ECG?"
Scottish. Harper.
"Is she awake?"
Denobulan. Phlox.
"Hoshi? Hoshi? Can you hear us?"
Phlox's face. Hoshi tried to respond, or even smile, but she couldn't seem to coordinate herself to do so.
Harper's face appeared as well. "She could be post-ictal? Hoshi, you're in sickbay. You collapsed on the bridge."
I did? That sounded right.
...static pulse request assistance static pulse adrift static heavy damage static pulse...
"Hoshi? Can you squeeze Liz's hand for me?"
Liz? Liz Cutler? Hand?
Then, there was Liz Cutler's voice. "Nothing."
...pulse...
screw worm
…darkness.