I had this chapter done three days ago, but was too busy to post. Sorry 'bout that. =P
I don't own Star Trek (much as I'd like too). And though I am taking many creative liberties with Mandana, I don't own her, either.
Also, I love reviews. If you could review that would be amazing. I love feedback. :D Read away.
Childbirth is the single most painful experience of my life. Caught between lucidity and oblivion, I am not so far gone that I don't perceive physical sensation, though I can't make much sense out of it. The one thing that keeps me anchored in consciousness is the human, who never leaves my side. I'm not sure if that is because he senses I need him, or the fact that my hand is so tightly clamped around his wrist, that to leave me means to leave his limb behind as well. I can almost imagine that, instead of some alien Federation officer, it is my husband, standing beside me where he belongs.
After an eternity of pain, I experience one moment of clarity as the sound of a newborn's cry pierces the fog. My newborn. My son. Hearing his first strangled cry is a welcome sound to my ears, and for one brief moment fills me with such elation I feel like I'm flying (a very good feeling, as opposed to many of the other sensations I've experienced the past week). And then exhaustion falls on me like a ton of bricks, and I black out.
When I wake up (hours later, I assume), I am all alone in the sickbay. Half of my professional mind is outraged at this fact. What kind of operation are these Federation types running! Were I in the position of the doctors on this Federation ship, I would not have left a traumatized patient all to her lonesome, no matter how brief a period. They know nothing about the circumstances under which I came here, or about my new crippling fear of being left alone. At the very least, the chief surgeon could have left one of his nurses in charge to ensure that I don't wake up and walk off.
But, despite this slip-up, I can't maintain any sort of anger at my rescuers. My body, which hasn't seen a drop of moisture in days, no longer cries out for water. Or food, for that matter. The other various pains I experienced on the evac shuttle are all gone, carried away by the strong medication I have received. And I am not tired. I feel as though I have slept for days (for all I know, I have). In short, I feel almost one-hundred percent again.
With my own body feeling fully repaired, I gingerly prop myself up on one elbow to get a better look at my surroundings. My impression of the sick bay is that it is small and white, until I see the archway leading to the main entrance. I figure I must be in just one pod of the entire medical bay. I am lying on the fourth of the five bio beds in this pod, far enough away that I can't see directly into the other ward. My only view is the a bland white curtain that covers the entrance and offers me a small bit of privacy.
Mine is the only occupied bed in the pod, which explains why the individual curtain around my bed isn't drawn. Above me I can hear the familiar beeping of machines monitoring my vitals. I recognize some of the other equipment scattered about the space, but most of it looks archaic. Almost as though I've been transported into a documentary about pioneer medicine. My first impressions of the Federation are not good ones. Yes, they rescued me, and yes, they have healed me, but it seems a miracle they managed even that with the ancient equipment before me. I frown and lean back against the bed, crossing my arms over my chest. I notice, also, that the clothing I boarded the evac shuttle with is gone, replaced by a starched white hospital gown.
My eyes continue to roam around the room, searching for some sort of color among the sterile blandness, but instead they find a cradle, directly across the room from my bed. At the same moment, my hand subconsciously moves to my now flat, childless belly. My original thought that I have been alone in the medical pod was wrong. Of course they leave my son with me. And despite myself, I smile. There is nothing I want more than to hold the infant in my arms, as the first and only memory I have of him is an ear-shattering cry.
I could call for assistance-I know that is what I should do-but now that my life is in no danger, I will play my encounters with the Federation beings differently. And that means not relying on them for such a simple task as holding my baby. Keeping my eyes on the archway, I slowly push myself up out of bed. The irony of this situation is not lost on me; I remember a time when I would've given any patient who tried this an earful. After what I've been through, I know it isn't a wise idea to try to walk over and pick up my baby. But logic takes a backseat to emotional need just now, as I gingerly lower my feet to the ground.
The moment my hands release the bed, my legs give out and I drop to my knees on the tile. Only then do I remember that, upon being freed from my metal prison back on the evac shuttle, I was unable to stand. Not using your legs for almost a week really takes its toll. Nevertheless, I grit my teeth and push myself back up. It takes me a couple more tries before I can finally walk on my own, albeit a bit shakily. My eyes turn back to the entrance of the pod, half expecting to see one of the medical staff on the Federation ship glaring back at me from the curtain. I don't see anyone.
This is precisely why you don't leave traumatized patients alone. I think, though I'm grateful no one has come in to yell at me yet. It takes me an embarrassingly long time to shuffle across the floor, and each time I stumble I flinch at the resulting noise, expecting someone to hear and come running. But no one shows up, so I continue on. And at last I take my final step and reach the cradle where I am positive my son has to be.
And glancing down into the small crib, the last few minutes of humiliating struggle become worth it. There lies my newborn, swaddled in blue and sleeping peacefully. A forest of dark hair covers his head. Even at his newborn age, I can't help but notice the resemblance to his father as I reach down and stroke his cheek with my finger. The infant sighs and snuggles deeper into his blankets.
"That was painful to watch," I hear a drawling voice say, his tone light-hearted. "Next time you might want to call for help. We don't bite." My head snaps up to see a human male in a blue uniform, leaning against the doorjamb with his arms crossed. I am surprised that I can recognize him as McCoy, the doctor who was called while I was slipping in and out of reality. His smile is disarming and good-natured, which puts me on alert instead of calming me down like he no doubt intended. Suspicion is a trait bred into Rihannsu, and I can't help but wonder if these Starfleet types have an ulterior motive to rescuing me. I can imagine my father and my husband, the few of my own kind who aren't put off by the idea of at least considering to negotiate with the Federation, telling me that the notion is ridiculous.
In my mind, Nero rolls his eyes and sighs theatrically. You're such a cynic, Mandana. Try to be optimistic about something, for once. His traditional line to me, whenever I brought up the dangers of mining and how I feared for his life every time he left on a tour in the Outmarches. More recently used when he told me he was going to put his trust in Spock to save our planet. I was in favor of taking what we needed to save ch'Rihan by force, and objected to the plan of negotionations, believing that trusting the Vulcan would be our downfall. And Nero smiled, kissed me gently, and said Spock was all the Rihannsu needed.
My stomach twists as I realize how wrong he was. Something went horribly awry with his plan, and perhaps my cynicism was justified. The image of my beloved home disintegrating beneath the brilliant fury of the Hobus supernova brings hot tears to my eyes. I blink furiously to clear them before facing the doctor.
I turn and straighten from my stooped position by the crib too fast, causing the blood to rush from my head to my feet. I am hit by a wave of dizziness, and I curse myself and my reaction as I sway on my feet. McCoy is by my side in an instant, gently grabbing my elbow to keep me upright and steers me towards the bed. I want to wave him off, tell him I'm capable of walking back myself, but I know I'm not. I've ignored common sense since waking up, and decide it's time to start listening to it. So I allow McCoy to help me back to the bio bed. Ulterior motives or not, he seems genuine in his concern. He leaves me on the bed and returns moments later with my son in his arms.
"See? Here to help." The doctor smiles down at me.
I don't acknowledge him as I take my son, holding him close to my chest. The boy yawns and squirms in his blanket. His sleep disturbed, he opens his eyes. I suck in a breath at their brilliant emerald color; that's one particular trait he seems to have inherited from me.
"What are you going to call him?" Doctor McCoy asks, standing by my shoulder. I consider not answering him; not because of my suspicions about his intent (what possible advantage could telling him the name of my son give the Federation?), but because I'm not sure I can talk around the lump in my throat. That supernova image is still very prevalent in my mind.
"He is named for his father," I say after a pause, when I'm sure I can speak without blubbering. "Oren." Then, taking the conversation in a completely different direction, I look up and meet the human's eyes. Something that I should have noticed upon first waking is just starting to raise alarms in my head: The fact that, aside from Oren, I am the only Rihannsu in sick bay. I remember waking up, alone on the shuttle, calling out and hearing no response. I think I know what it means, but I have to be absolutely sure. "Did you find any...any others on the shuttle? Did anyone else survive." I ask.
The doctor gives me a look that can only be described as sympathetic, though it seems to go much deeper than that. It is the expected response, and I know exactly what it means. "Then my son and I are the last of our race." I say, barely above a whisper. I look down at Oren, who is staring up at me with his large green eyes. One tiny hand has freed itself from the blankets and reaches for my face. I take it gently in one hand, caressing the small limb with my thumb. The last of the Rihannsu.
"The last of your race?" McCoy says, raising an eyebrow and sounding confused. "Did something happen to Romulus?" My mouth thins into a line. Surely the Federation is not so uninformed that they don't know of the tragedy that has occurred on the other side of the Neutral Zone! The last I heard from my husband, he had a Federation escort to Vulcan! How do they not know that the Hobus star destroyed ch'Rihan!
"Are your people so misinformed they are unaware when an entire system of planets is obliterated mere light-years from your Federation space?" I snap.
The doctor's expression has gone from confused and sympathetic to one I cannot place. He pauses for a long moment, processing my words. At last he answers, in an inflectionless voice, "By a supernova, right?"
I look at him from the corner of my eye. "Yes."
My answer is met with silence, a longer pause than before. And throughout this pause, McCoy doesn't take his eyes off of me. I can almost see the wheels turning behind his grey-blue eyes. Once I realize he won't be saying anymore, I look away and turn back to Oren. His eyes are growing heavy-lidded.
"If you'll excuse me for just a moment, miss," the doctor finally says, his voice sounding detached. I sneak a glance upward to see him turn on his heel, a faraway look in his eyes, still wearing that odd expression. And then he's gone, and it is just Oren and I in the pod.
Before I have a chance to rekindle the fire about his negligence of leaving me alone, a young human woman wearing a pressed white uniform enters the pod. Her long corn-silk hair is pulled into a conservative bun at the nape of her neck, and a pleasant smile lights up her porcelain face.
She introduces herself as Nurse Chapel, and from the looks of her she seems to have just graduated from the Starfleet Academy. Politely, I tell her my name, which I had forgotten to tell McCoy. And he had forgotten to ask. We small talk for a while, but it is mostly her who carries on the conversation. I know she is here just to make sure I don't wander off, and I see no reason for her to hide that fact behind friendly words and a perfect smile. If anything, her kindly chatting is getting on my nerves. She acts as though my being in the sick bay is normal, that me being trapped, alone, on a shuttle, surrounded by hundreds of Rihannsu corpses for a week is normal, that the loss of everything in my life I've ever held dear is normal. I want to take her by the collar of her perfect white uniform and scream at her to shut up, but because Oren has fallen asleep in my arms I refrain. Instead I stare at the sheets of my bio bed, nodding politely in response to Chapel's drivel.
It is too long before before McCoy finally returns, a human in gold uniform trailing behind him. I recognize this man, as well; the human who found me on the evac shuttle, the first face I had seen in days. After four days pinned beneath a bulkhead, his face was the most welcome sight in the universe. Now, seeing him enter the sick bay wearing an expression that matches Doctor McCoy's, I want him to go away. Because no person with such a Vulcan-esque look can bear good news (unless the messenger is, in fact, a Vulcan). I have had enough bad news to last a life time. I don't need to hear anymore.
At a glance from McCoy, Chapel shuts up (thank the Elements) and stands at attention. The doctor dismisses her and she hurries off to perform other nursely duties. I am left with the two grave-looking men, and a feeling of uneasiness making a come back in the pit of my stomach.
"I am James Kirk, Captain of the U.S.S. Enterprise," the man in the gold uniform says. He looks young as well, though his eyes say he's seen more than the average adolescent human. "You know my chief surgeon, Doctor McCoy."
I nod. "And I am Mandana t'Keras," I answer, fixing my green gaze on the captain.
"I have a few questions to ask you, Mandana."
The captain pauses, as if waiting for me to say something. When I give no indication of a verbal response, he continues: "I'll just cut right to the chase then. Doctor McCoy tells me that you believe Romulus was destroyed."
Before I can angrily correct him that I saw my planet disintegrated outside the window of the evac shuttle, he holds up a hand and continues. "I'm not going to deny it didn't happen. The damage to the vessel you were found in is extensive enough to have come from a...a supernova. In fact, it would explain a great many things.
"If that's the case, then I have a lot to tell. But before I get to that, I need to know one thing." Here Kirk pauses again and looks at me intently. "Mandana, does the name 'Nero' mean anything to you?"
I blink when I hear the name, wondering how to respond. "The name Nero could belong to anyone." I say. They couldn't possibly be referring to my husband. There must be thousand of other beings bearing the name "Nero". The name itself on ch'Rihan is unusual, the common form being 'Oren'; for my husband, Nero was merely a nickname. Of course they aren't talking about him! It's just a coincidence...
"He was a Romulan, commander of the mining ship Narada-" Kirk continues, but stops when I suck in a sharp breath. At the mention of his vessel there is no doubt in my mind they are talking about my Nero. And at that exact moment other pieces of information that I ignored before now loom in the front of my mind, seeming so obvious. I knew something was wrong before, but now I struggle to find something right. Spock is the Vulcan my husband said would save ch'Rihan. But ch'Rihan is dead. Spock is here. Nero is not here. What does it mean? Subconsciously, I hold my son tighter to my chest.
"You know who I am talking about," Kirk says, looking me directly in the eye. I stare levelly back at him, trying to hide my unease and suspicions. What happened?
"Yes. I know him. The man you are referring to is Oren tr'Keras, more commonly known as Nero," I say in a monotone. "My husband."
The responses from the doctor and the captain are not reassuring. They both tense up, as though I might suddenly jump off the bio bed and attack them. As though I have suddenly become incredibly dangerous. If I was sure of my ability to walk, I would've taken Oren and ran. But weak as I am, I can only lie here, listening to words I don't want to hear.
"Is something wrong?" I ask, though their expressions have told me enough. McCoy looks away, seeming to have gained a sudden interest in the floor. He stares at it so intensely I begin to wonder why it doesn't burst into flames. Kirk doesn't change his stance.
"Mandana..." his tone has the awkward and sympathetic qualities I know all too well. I close my eyes, praying he doesn't say what I know he will. "I'm sorry to tell you, but your husband is dead."
The first time I ever saw my husband, he wasn't expected to survive. Mining accidents were notoriously nasty, and the cause of more fatalities than any other profession on ch'Rihan. Even military careers. Nero's particular mining accident wasn't any different. If anything, it seemed out of the ordinary with its gruesomeness. Everyone on staff in the medical center was amazed he had survived the transport to the planet. And, because everyone thought he was as good as dead anyway, no doctor wanted the job of telling the family that their loved one had passed on or the unique grief felt when one lost a patient. In terminal cases such as this, politics took over and the futile task of saving the doomed patient fell to the doctors at the bottom of the food chain.
At the time, that happened to be me. I was only a year out of the Rihannsu Imperial Academy of Medicine, the youngest of the seven female doctors in the entire complex. And the most loathed, seeing as the only reason that I had been accepted into the RIAM was because of my father, Nyril tr'Verraet, a senior member of the Senate. The Verraet House was famous for its controversial views that often contradicted the common beliefs. It was also well known that, similar to other Houses, every decision the Head of House made was for power gain or wealth increase. They saw my entry into RIAM as nothing more than a convoluted scheme to grab more status than the Verraet House already possessed.
I had multiple aunts, uncles, and cousins with various levels of political power spread throughout the Empire. My sister, the eldest in the family, was in line to take my father's place on the Senate in due time. And my two brothers were senior centurions in the Fleet, filled with promise to move higher up the command chain. I was expected to follow in their footsteps and boost the power of my House. But, after my mandatory tour with the military at age twenty, and despite pressure on all sides to take up a career in politics, I made the decision to join the medical field. I realized during my tour that I had a ridiculous fear of heights, and by extension, flying in any space vehicle. On the other hand, as a child of politics, I had always found the issues boring, the social gatherings pretentious, and the other Heads of House insufferable. My life-long desire had been to help people, and I didn't see that possibility available in any other occupation.
Though my father did not completely approve of the career I had chosen, I was his youngest child and had him virtually wrapped around my finger. Anything I asked for, I got. So it was off to medical school for me, while Nyril scrambled to save face and find an explanation that would make my medical pathway a step up in Verraet House's power. Ridiculous as his excuse was, people bought it and I paid the price.
I was accustomed to getting anything I wanted in life, so Academy life was a shock for me. I soon realized that, outside my father's sphere of influence, life was difficult. For the first time in my life I'd had to work for something, and work hard. But I wanted this badly, and by the time I finished all the graduating exams, my degree in Rihannsu medicine was well-deserved. I wasn't at the top of my class, but I was pretty dang close. Then, despite my impressive academic career, the real world took every chance to douse me in cold reality.
Because of the House I came from, despite all the power in the Verraet name, the controversial opinions attached and Nyril's explanation for my unusual career choice made me the constant object of loathing. It took me forever to find a steady position in a lesser medical center, and even then I was at the bottom of the proverbial totem pole.
So it was, on that fateful night, I arrived at Operating Theater Two, sterilized and determined to save the life of a man who was thought to be already gone. I can still see Nero lying on the gurney, pale as the walls of the theater, covered in more blood than I thought any Rihannsu had in his whole body. There were other personnel in the room, of course, and as a formality there was even a cosmetic surgeon on hand, on the slim chance the miner on the table survived. But I would be the one most impacted should the broken patient not survive.
And he did. Just barely. His vitals were stabilized, but at so far beneath their optimal performance levels that that status could change in a heartbeat. I attribute the success—if you could call it that—of the nerve-wracking operation more to Nero's stubbornness rather than any actual skill on my part. Sure, I did everything right by medical standards, but as doctor, I could only do so much to help the patient in the little time I was given. By all accounts, Nero should have died long before he went under the knife. And yet, ten hours, countless blood transfusions, and three cardiac revivals later, the man was out of the operating room and sent to the wing of the complex reserved for those patients who need more intensive care. He had made it this far, but nobody expected him to pull through the night. Including me.
Along with trying to keep a doomed patient from dying, I had the unpleasant job of telling the family that the odds of said patient surviving more than a few hours were unfavorable. Waiting rooms were for patients only; the friends and family often times went home and waited for a comm call, or huddled on the lawn beneath the sprawling park-like grounds of the medical complex and waited for news on the condition of their loved one. The latter was more probable in cases as serious as this, and that was the first place I looked. I didn't have to go far out of the building before being accosted by frantic family members of patients, all begging for an update. I lifted my hands, asking for silence. A deathly hush fell over the crowd.
"I am looking for the family of Oren tr'K—" I started, but didn't have a chance to finish before a young man and woman pushed their way forward, followed by half a dozen other Rihannsu. From the cut of their clothing, I identified them all as miners; all but the woman, who was dressed in civilian clothes and appeared to have just been dragged out of bed. Of all the people in the crowd, she looked the worst; her eyes were bloodshot puffy from crying, her hair was pulled into a bun so messy it resembled little more than a nest for a small rodent, and, judging by the green-bronze tint of her hands, she'd been wringing them for hours.
The man she leaned against, a tall skinny fellow who reminded me more of a twig than a person, looked better, but not by much. His mop of hair hung like a dark curtain in front of his wide, worried eyes. He had one arm around the woman, holding her like his life depended on it. A brief survey of the other six showed they similar wore expressions of worry..
"How is he?" the man holding the woman asked in a thick voice. I looked at the mob of other patient families, the ones who had attacked me upon leaving the medical complex, huddled in their respective groups and throwing glances our way.
"You'd better come inside," I told them, for the sake of patient confidentiality. The group of eight followed me into the indoor waiting area, which was all but abandoned at that time of night. Only the emergency ward was open, on the far side of the medical complex. I was alone with the eight friends and family of Nero.
In my best empathetic voice, I informed the group of Nero's condition, and broke the news as gently as possible that he might not survive the night. The woman put her hand to her mouth and buried her swollen face in the jacket of the twig-man. A small hiccuped sob shook her body, though she tried to suppress it. The six miners behind the couple all seemed to be looking at the ground. The only one who didn't seem to be on the verge of tears was the scrawny bean-pole miner trying to console the crying woman.
"Can we see him?" he asked. The thickness from before was gone, and his expression was almost Vulcan in its detached manner. I shook my head.
"In his condition, it would not be a wise idea for him to have visitors. The effect would most certainly be negative—"
"If he's not going to survive, where's the harm?"
I frowned slightly. "We don't know that he won't survive. The odds are slim, but he's surprised us by making it this far. There is a chance he'll pull through."
"He'll make it. He has to," it took me a moment to realize the surprisingly strong voice came from the crying woman. She looked up, drilling me with such an intense stare I took a step back. "We've gotten through worse. But if he doesn't—" her voice faltered, but she pressed on, "—well, you know. I need to see him again."
She didn't need to add the word that ended her sentence for us all to know it was there: "I need to see him again, alive." The rest of the group murmured their assent.
The fact of the matter was, even if Nero hadn't been in such a critical state, I could easily have lost my job and ruined my already fragile career by allowing them in between visiting hours. But, were the roles reversed, I'd want to see my friend/brother/father/distant relative once more, just in case they didn't pull through. I exhaled through my nose, thinking. And I made a decision.
"Alright, fine," I said at last. "But I can't let an entire mob of people up there to see him. I will allow one person. The rest of you will have to wait outside."
Twig man looked back at the other six miners, then pointedly down at the women. It didn't take a genius to know she would be the one that the group of eight would send up. She detached herself from the man's side and I led her to the turbolift, while the others obediently exited to the waiting room. At the time, I thought allowing the woman (who I later found out to be Nero's sister) into his room was trivial. Should I not be caught in the act by one of my coworkers, this would not affect me in any dramatic way. I had no way of knowing that it would alter my life in ways I could have never foreseen.