FYI to new readers...Future's Present is the sequel to Future's Past, which involved time travel. Thanks for your patience and reviews!

Ali


Future's Present 3


USS Enterprise, Stardate 41480.1, 2010 hours

Tasha was pacing inside the Hologym, pondering what combat workout she should choose, today.

Level 9 was too easy for her. She needed to work out, and had the time slot saved in the Hologym for herself. Originally, she'd wanted to do an aerobic/calesthenic workout, knowing it would improve her stamina. But she was in the mood for a good fight.

The Enterprise was enroute to Sora, where protests had escalated to violence from insurgents opposed to Federation membership. Though the insurgent group was a radical minority opposed to Federation rule, they still presented dangers to Sorian citizens who had voted earlier to move past territorial status, and seek full Federation membership.

The Sorian government had supplied Federation ships with high-grade dilithium for the past 10 years. They worried greatly that commerce would be interrupted by the increase in terrorism by those opposed to Federatio membership, and requested to meet with Federation officials regarding their options. Enterprise was the closest ship in the fleet.

Tasha wanted nothing more than to prove she was back, strong as ever, stronger than she'd been before she was stranded on Earth. She needed to be challenged. Worf was busy, having taken tactical duty that evening to relieve her at 1600 hours, so their planned Level 10 duo battle was out, for now.

But Tasha didn't feel like waiting. Trying to focus on anything but the emptiness she felt, she entered codes into the Hologym for a Level 10 martial arts battle for a single user. Warnings popped up from the computer as she entered the information, but she overrode them. Level 9 is too easy, she thought. I'll be fine.

I just need to punch someone, and I don't want it to be anyone I care about.


USS Enterprise, Sickbay, 2130 hours

If Natasha Yar still were scrawling observations into the spiral notebook that she and Will Riker kept during their time stranded in the 21st century, she would have added a lesson she learned in the 24th: Waking up in sickbay means two things: One, you're not dead; Two, you've probably screwed up.

Tasha's first lucid thought was that she'd finally been hit by one of those Kansas City Metro buses that seemed to have her targeted while she was on Earth. She heard something beeping, chanced opening one of her eyes, and was blinded by the overhead exam lights in the Enterprise Sickbay, where she'd already spent far too much time, lately.

"Oh shit. . ." she muttered, and then the pain hit, like a vise around her head. She squeezed her eyes shut again. "I don't think the sim went well . . ."

"That would be correct, lieutenant," Beverly Crusher made no attempt to hide how irked she was. "You have a concussion, among other issues. Lie still—."

Crusher held a hypo spray to Tasha's neck, and Tasha involuntarily jerked as medication was jet-absorbed through her skin.

"Ow—," Tasha winced.

"Oh, quit it!" Beverly said, her patience worn thin. "You've got a concussion, a fracture of your left parietal bone, your left arm is broken in four places, your left elbow is dislocated, four bones are fractured in your right hand, your right thumb is dislocated . . . those are just the skeletal injuries. Oh, and the hairline fracture in your third cervical vertebrae. And you're lying here whining about a hypo spray?"

"I wasn't whining," Tasha protested.

"Worf carried you in here, and he told me you'd taken on a Level 10 b—."

"Wait, Worf carried me in here?" Tasha tried to sit up.

"On a biobed for cervical spine precautions—don't even think about sitting up!" Crusher put her hands firmly on both of Tasha's shoulders, pushing her back onto the bed. She didn't need to push hard. The hypo spray rid Tasha of the headache, but the vertigo would remain for at least another hour. Her head was spinning enough that it would keep her in bed for twice that long. "You need to lie down while the knitters are working, especially with a c-spine fracture."

Tasha was humiliated enough to want to cover her face with her hands, but she couldn't move her left arm. It was completely immobilized, bent at the elbow and wrapped all the way up. She felt the stinging sensation of the knitters working in the midst of her forearm. Her elbow didn't feel right.

"So, my arm's broken?"

"Fractured and dislocated," Crusher said. "The ulnar nerve was severed, also."

"What time is it?"

"2130 hours," Beverly replied. "Dr. Selar called me when you came in."

"Oh," Tasha replied, chastened that Dr. Crusher had come in when she was off-duty. "Thanks for coming in to take care of me. How long do I need to stay in here?"

"You're welcome—again—and the rest of the night, at least," Beverly replied. "The fractures are easy to heal. It's the severed ulnar nerve and moderate concussion that takes time. I won't be releasing you to regular duty for at least the next 24 hours, more likely 36 hours. This isn't your first concussion, and based on your track record, it probably won't be your last."

Tasha's mouth fell open. I can't be off duty for 24 hours! "Dr. Crusher, we're heading into a hostage rescue situation," she protested. "Two different away teams will be going in for rescue and negotiations—."

"Yes, they still will be," Crusher replied. "And no, you won't be on either team. You've really done it to yourself, this time. This latest round of injuries involves serious nerve damage and a moderate concussion, and although you'll recover completely, it won't happen overnight."

Tasha drew a breath to argue, but Crusher cut her off.

"Well, what did you think was going to happen, Tasha?" Beverly said. "If I didn't know you better, I'd say you enjoyed being in sickbay, because it seems like you're in here all the time. You're perfectly healthy, but you've got one of the longest injury files on record with Starfleet Security, and that's across the entire fleet. And then you got sewn up six or seven times on Earth—."

"Four times."

"Four times, seven times, whatever," Beverly threw her arms up, and as she did, Captain Picard walked through Sickbay's main doors, clad in fencing gear, fresh from his own workout. He waited politely outside the treatment area, but his expression was sour as Beverly continued lighting into Tasha Yar. "How long are you going to keep doing this to yourself?"

"I don't go into these simulations intending to get hurt," Tasha argued. "I'm in there so I can learn to avoid being hurt."

"One of these days, you're going to get hurt so badly that I won't be able to do anything to help you," Beverly replied, closing up her tricorder in preparation to speak with Picard. "And you're so flippant about it! As much as Sickbay personnel enjoy taking care of people, you have no idea what it does to us when one of our own is critically hurt. You have no idea. So think about that while you're lying here tonight and be more subtle in the future. Fractures and concussions don't constitute a workout."


Beverly turned away and conferred with Picard, and didn't try to conceal her frustration. She was understaffed, and already had too much on her plate. Picard listened patiently, then strode to Tasha's bedside.

"Lieutenant," he began, his voice terse.

"Sir," she replied.

"I'll not waste my time, nor will I waste yours," Picard said. "Dr. Crusher has informed me that you're going to be in here for the remainder of the evening, recovering from another preventable injury. Sickbay is currently understaffed, awaiting six nurses and technicians who are enroute for assignment, here. But our trip to the Persephone sector added three more days to their travels, and your most recent stint here has compounded Sickbay's staffing issues. Since you therefore owe them, I'm going to kill two birds with one stone and have you remain in here, assisting with anything they need until that personnel shuttle arrives."

"Sir, I—," Tasha began. She could feel her face flushing. Three shifts in Sickbay? She wasn't trained for that. Her expertise was security. They had a hostage rescue situation that would be happening in less than 40 hours. Who was going to handle tactical while she was sitting around in here? And what was she going to do? It wasn't like she was licensed to do anything. She'd be more hindrance than helpful.

"Your protests are falling on disappointed ears, lieutenant!" he raised his voice, not caring that his words now could be heard by everyone else in Sickbay. "You've become insubordinate and undisciplined. You need an attitude adjustment, and they need help. This kills two birds with one stone. You have your assignment."

"Yes, sir," she replied, swallowing her utter shock, angry mostly at herself.


USS Enterprise, corridor just outside sickbay

Picard thought he'd gotten away, weaving through the crowded, Deck 12 corridors, trying to evade a steaming mad Beverly Crusher. She caught up to him, anyway.

"Captain, a word?" Crusher asked.

"If this is about Lt. Yar, I don't want to hear about it, doctor," Picard said. He'd counted on chain of command being an argument deterrent. But Crusher followed him right into the corridor, weaving between others crowding Deck 12th main thoroughfare so she could speak with Picard while he was trying to escape the one individual who could yank his command without being brought up on mutiny charges.

"Well, you're going to hear about it," she said, no longer caring who overheard. "I cannot permit this assignment!"

"You are understaffed," Picard countered. "You said it yourself only a minute ago. Relief personnel aren't scheduled to arrive for four days."

"Trained relief personnel," Beverly reminded him. "There's a huge difference between someone who's trained and licensed and a hyperactive security chief with a death wish and rudimentary medical training—at best—who would rather be anyplace else in this universe than in Sickbay."

"My point precisely," Picard replied. "Lt. Yar has combat medical training, and can be well-utilized for minor problems. However, I don't think she has a death wish, at all."

"You aren't just punishing her, you're punishing me, too, sir!" Crusher said.

"She's under orders to do whatever you deem suitable, based on her training and also on the injury restrictions that you placed on her. And sometimes you can be pleasantly surprised, if you give someone a fair chance."

Crusher took a breath to protest again, but opted to hold it, instead. This was going nowhere. "Yes, sir," she said.

"Dismissed to your new challenge, in your overwhelmed department."

"Thank you, sir," she replied, and returned—quickly—to Sickbay.


USS Enterprise, sickbay, 2200 hours

Where Jean-Luc Picard was irritated at his security chief, Will Riker was positively furious. He arrived just after Picard's pronouncement that she would be stuck in Sickbay, for awhile.

"You mind telling me what the hell you were doing taking on a Level 10 by yourself?" Will practically hissed at her, so infuriated that the arteries at his temples were standing out from his flushed face. She still wasn't allowed to sit up, so she had no choice but to either take her licks, or pretend to be sleeping.

Oh boy, don't mess with him, Tasha thought to herself. He's not kidding, this time.

"I wanted to simulate hand-to-hand combat in a terr—," she began, describing that she'd programmed a scenario based on what she was likely to face in a hostage rescue on Sora.

"I think Dr. Crusher's right," he remarked. "Maybe you do have a death wish."

"I don't have a death wish!" she protested, louder than she'd intended. Others in sickbay turned to look at her. "

"Get some sleep," Will said, backing up, still angry at her. "Enjoy your assignment here. I needed you to be on that mission because you survived an insurgent takeover on Turkana, and that's what we're trying to avoid on Sora. You didn't just screw up, you let me down, and you're letting down an entire population that could have benefited from your experience and your advice about how they can avoid becoming another Turkana. I'll be leading the away mission and Ensign Liang will be taking your place while you're in here. Have fun with that."

"Be careful, sir," she remarked, her face flushing again. A sudden sense of deep uneasiness spread through her about the Sora mission. Ordinarily, she and one of her officers would have flanked Riker and anyone else on a hazardous mission, but now the Enterprise was down its security chief.

"Look who's talking," Will snapped. As he turned to leave, he fired one, last missile at her. "Don't call me."


Sickbay, 0100 hours

On a Galaxy-class starship, Sickbay took up a good portion of Deck 12, sharing that level with biological sciences labs and departments. By 2300 hours, the lights throughout Sickbay's patient care areas were dimmed so patients could get some rest. All but the most critical of patients had restricted visitors at this time, and the adjacent labs and biological sciences areas also located on Deck 12 had a skeleton staff. Personnel numbers quadrupled on Deck 12 during the day.

Lately, their numbers had shifted. A total of 8 personnel had been transferred off the ship, including six Sickbay personnel. But only one nurse had arrived to replace them. Dr. Crusher had assigned Ensign Nurse Diego Martinez to dayshift to give him time to acclimate and orient to a galaxy-class sickbay.

Suravi Bhat, an advanced-practice nurse who had been part of the rescue mission to retrieve Riker and Yar from Earth, had transferred to night shift at the request of Beverly Crusher to fill staffing gaps that came up when Admiral Quinn and Lt. Com. Remmick visited the ship two weeks earlier, and now, she was dragging.

Bhat had never worked nights, but already liked the relative independence it offered. Sickbay wasn't as crowded. There were only two physicians on duty at night, and as an AP nurse, she had an extended scope of practice. She liked the autonomy, but wasn't fond of the hours or the lack of interaction with other Enterprise staff, especially one in particular who was assigned to days. He had been so sweet, even stopping by Sickbay after his own shift just to say 'hi'.

"So, what are you smiling about?" the voice came from a darkened patient care area, from Tasha Yar's bed. She was wide awake, and had noticed Bhat grinning subconsciously. Lt. Yar was allowed finally to turn her head, but wasn't cleared to sit up, yet.

"Still can't sleep?" Bhat said.

"I'm just thinking too much," Tasha stated, outright. "It would really help if I could get up and move around."

Nice try, Bhat thought. "If you stood up now, you'd have a headache as a reward," she responded. "Your cerebral spinal fluid is almost at 100 percent, but the membranes still are irritated. There is some minor swelling on the left side of your brain, and it must recover on its own. Most likely your circadian rhythm was thrown off by the injury, also."

"So, you were grinning. . ."

"Yes, I was," Bhat said.

"Were you grinning about the same thing I'd heard the rumor about?"

Bhat stared at her. "I have a rumor?" she asked. Bhat didn't know whether to feel honored that people cared, or horrified that people were into her business.

"A couple of days ago, I saw Julio Barajas with the same grin on his face during a lull at tactical comm," Tasha remarked.

"Was he really?" Bhat asked, her eyes alight with adolescent-level anticipation, hoping to hear that someone else really was interested in her. "What did he say about it?"

"Nothing," Tasha replied. "Just daydreaming. He didn't need to say anything, and frankly, he's too much of a gentleman to say much about it."

"Yes, I think so," Bhat replied. "So, we have a rumor?"

"It's not a secret," Tasha assured her. "I think it's great!"

"I'm glad you think so," Bhat replied, glancing at the readings on the biobed. "At about 0300 hours, we can allow you to sit up for a 10 minutes at a time. If you don't have any vertigo or headache, you'll be able to move around."

"Sounds like a plan," Tasha replied.


Sickbay, 0630 hours

The vertigo had abated by 0330 hours, so Tasha was allowed to walk around Sickbay, although she was tired enough by then to sleep. The immobilizer wasn removed from her arm about an hour ago, and it had healed well. She still had some numbness to her fourth and fifth finger, which was normal for an ulnar nerve injury. Sensation would return in time, Dr. Selar told Tasha.

Dr. Crusher wouldn't allow Tasha to leave sickbay, and she was relegated to shower in sickbay's locker facilities. She ordered up her regular uniform to wear that day, even though she'd be in sickbay, amidst a sea of blue uniforms, plus a few green uniforms from the biosciences division also located on Deck 12.

Deanna Troi stopped by Sickbay as Tasha was in the shower at 0615 hours.

"How is she doing?" Troi asked Suravi Bhat.

Bhat kept her voice low. "Embarrassed, but philosophical," Bhat replied. "She's viewing her temporary assignment as an opportunity to learn more. I think she has more aptitude than she gives herself credit for. She has good instincts."

Troi nodded. Bhat didn't need to say much more. Natasha Yar had taken care of Will Riker when he'd sustained serious burns on his hands and arms while they were stranded in the 21st century. She'd also bailed him out when he'd become inebriated one evening just before they timewarped back to the 21st century, literally hauling him up the stairs to their apartment and treating a sprained ankle he'd sustained while wobbling out of a bar that evening.

And those were just the bail-outs that Bhat knew about.

Troi nodded in agreement to Bhat's assessment. "I'll stop by later in the shift."

"I'll be unconscious by then, probably," Bhat replied. "I get off duty at 0700."

"I thought you were on dayshift," Deanna said, now aware that the fatigue she sensed from Bhat didn't necessarily mean she wasn't a morning person. It meant that Bhat had been up all night, and really wanted to give report to her relief, then be relieved of duty so she could trudge back to her quiet cabin and collapse into bed.

"When the reinforcements arrive, I will be back on dayshift!" Bhat replied.

"You seem excited for reasons that aren't entirely work-related," Deanna pressed.

She couldn't just sense it, she'd seen it. Suravi Bhat unconsciously smiled, because she had been spending quite a bit of her off-duty time with Julio Barajas, a security officer who had also been on the Away Mission traveling through time to rescue Enterprise officers stranded in the 21st century. Barajas was a security officer, but his nature was gentle. His strengths tended to run more with communications than with cracking heads. He seemed to Deanna to be a good match to Bhat, who was one of the least combative individuals aboard the ship. She could sense similar thought processes and compatibility, and little of the usual nervousness evident to her when people began dating.

Bhat's dark features flushed a bit. "Well, I'm seeing someone who works days, so this makes things easier," she admitted.


USS Enterprise, Sickbay, 0645 hours

Shift change was going on, with nurses and technicians filling each other in on how the night shift went. The face-to-face report left Tasha out of the mix, and with nowhere to sit down, since her bed already had been cleaned and was ready for the next patient. She found the only chair available: One of the consultation chairs set up in front of Dr. Crusher's desk.

There wasn't much to look at in the small office. Dr. Crusher liked plants, and they were everywhere, trailing from pots mounted in corners and on the walls, interspersed between various pieces of diagnostic equipment that had been neatly stowed away until it was necessary.

Like many physicians, Beverly Crusher kept stacks of reading material available to visitors to her office. Quickly bored by looking at walls and plants, Tasha perused the series of journal discs left sitting on a side table, and popped one into a tablet-sized, digital reader. She wasn't someone who read technical journals, but at least she could comprehend part of what was being discussed in these articles. Medicine, she kind of understood; engineering and math, not so much.

"Good morning, lieutenant," Crusher said, sweeping past enroute to her desk.

"Good morning," Tasha had replied.

"Enjoying your reading?"

Tasha shrugged. She wasn't enjoying it, but it was something to do.

"All right," Crusher said, opting to break the ice. "I know you don't want to be a pain in my ass, and I don't want you to be a pain in my ass, either. We're bound to have a few of those come in for treatment, though."

"Convenient timing," Tasha said. "I'm glad I'm reading this article."

Crusher stared at her. "What do mean?"

"The GI Journal," Tasha replied, her expression impassive. "Some article about rectal bleeding."

Beverly Crusher tried her best to avoid the inevitable (but inappropriate) smile in response to that quip, but finally gave up, shaking her head and looking down at the floor. She threw her hands up and sighed. "That's great, Tasha," she replied, a grin spreading across her face. Tasha had the 'sick sense of humor' thing down pat and her shift had barely begun. "When those patients come in, they're yours."

"Oh, thank you," Tasha replied, deadpan.

"Then I guess you're ready to go," Crusher said. "You'll be assigned to Diego Martinez. He's one of my newer nurses, but he's got a lot of field experience, so you'll be a good fit. And he'll be in the minor emergency track, today."

"Meaning. . ."

"Minor emergencies," Crusher said. "Lacerations, bumps and bruises, stuff like that."


USS Enterprise, First Officer's Log, Stardate 41480.3

We're enroute to the Sora system and should arrive within 20 hours, on a rescue mission. The system has been beset by civil conflict for centuries.

A training accident has left our security chief injured, and her recovery time unfortunately overlaps with our latest mission. I will be leading an away team to Sora to help smooth things over between the Sorian government and an insurgent faction that's been perpetrating acts of terrorism toward Sorian citizens, who elected to apply for Federation membership. Now that membership is being considered, terrorist acts have increased. Ordinarily, she and one of her officers would accompany Lt. Tirelli, Counselor Troi and I to a scheduled meeting between the Sorian government and a leader with the insurgent faction.

The planet's high iron ore content makes it impossible to beam directly into the negotiation chamber, which is located in a neutral part of the border. Instead, we will beam in and walk 500 yards into the caves, flanked by at least 20 Sorian guards. I'm especially concerned about snipers and land mines, since electromagnetic distortion and the iron ore soil will blunt our tricorder sensors.

I'm hopeful that the Sorian security detail will navigate us carefully.


USS Enterprise, Sickbay, 0735 hours

Until she was given the technician-level tour of sickbay, Tasha Yar had no idea how much stuff was crammed into sickbay. Every drawer was full of something, every tray of portable equipment meticulously kept stowed unless it was needed at that moment.

Space was at a premium in space.

"All potentially infectious waste goes in this receptacle," Martinez said, nodding. "Any body fluid is potentially infectious, so if it's wet and not yours, don't touch it without hand shields. It all goes in the biowaste."

"Where do I find those?" Tasha asked. She didn't understand why the outside coverings on every compartment couldn't be labeled with contents. It only made things more confusing. She felt like she was walking in circles, constantly pivoting and changing directions when she remembered that what she was looking for was actually over there, where she'd just come from, seeking the item she'd originally thought was over here.

"Mounted on the wall beside every bed, and in every doorway. Those also are disposed of in the red chutes. Don't forget to hit the decon button, otherwise the waste will sit here, and smell horrible," Martinez said, then nodded in the direction of the door, where a Vulcan science officer stood with her young son, whom Tasha recognized as being one of the ship's preschoolers. The 3-year-old had a greenish-tinged cloth clamped around his left hand, and his intense expression said he was focusing on being Very Brave.

"Looks like we've got our first patient of the day," Martinez said. "Feel comfortable with vital signs?"

"Yes," Tasha's face brightened up. They're letting me do things—easy things, but ANYTHING beats just sitting around.

"I'll grab the wound tray," Martinez said.