I Naviganti 1
«K'lalatar Prkori K'lalatar Prnak'lirli
(Infinite Diversities in Infinite Combinations)»
by Monica MicioGatta
21st Chapter: The show must go on
T'Mir was sitting on the bed of her quarter for a good twenty minutes, staring at the wall.
She was dismissed from the sickbay in the evening and now was night for the time on Enterprise.
Beside her on the bed, the uniform that Archer had promised her, a pair of wire cutters, a pair of scissors and a Velcro bandage, (I have made this up myself, looks like an automatic blood pressure cuff).
She couldn't start.
She raised her hand slightly with the iPod.
It was an ancient instrument, but its status was changed. She pressed «play» to access the clock menu, then look for a hidden function that no one would find without knowing it. A countdown, which at that time marked forty-seven minutes.
She sighed.
She couldn't wait any longer.
She took off the bandage that Phlox had put on her arm. She winced when she tore the dried blood from the skin. She took the cutter and started cutting the stitch that closed the incision. One by one, because her manual skills were technical, not of a doctor. One at a time and she felt such pain that she would, again, swore in Italian.
She tried to order herself not to cry, but tears began to flow without that she could help it.
She didn't cry for the wound that she was reopening.
She was crying because that night when she said goodnight to T'Pol and Trip, Archer and Reed and all the others on the ship, she knew that was not a «see you tomorrow», but a farewell.
And she knew that she will miss them so much, not only her parents but all the other crewmembers.
Jonathan, when she was little, kept her on his knees to play, telling her of their past adventures and how her parents were always upstanding, both in their sense of duty, both in oddities, like the time Trip had saved the ship in his underwear. The same time that T'Pol had threatened to leave him handcuffed to a door... her beloved captain Jonathan.
Travis had taught her to drive and he played with her in the «sweet spot». Hoshi had taught her to read and write.
And above all, Malcolm: she loved him since she was eight years old, she had never forgotten him during the years in prison or when she roamed the space with Soval, and even when she met other men, of every race, in Milan. And now she had shared with him an intimacy she had never experienced before. She closed his eyes. She had never been with a male so sweet. She had hit rock bottom when, in the throes of pon-farr, and after a fight with Soval, she had let a Klingon interpreter convince her to take her in bed with him... «bed» was not the right expression, since they mated on the grass of the suburbs of Milan, under the stars. She was so drunk she couldn't even remember she agreed getting a tattoo. Or if he asked her to. She found herself the next morning, alone, still on the grass, in pain and with blood that dripped from her left shoulder, where, who knows who, had tattooed «forever warrior» in Vulcan. And the Klingon was gone... neither she had his name in her memory. With Malcolm, it had been completely different. She remembered his uncertain caresses, shy kisses, the curious and discreet brushing on her pointed ears, which she liked so much, his introverted character even in making love with a Vulcan in heat.
She bit her lip not to scream when she tore the last stitch. She laid down on the bed, breathing heavily. She hurt so much that she would try to shoot herself with a high set phaser to take away the pain.
But she couldn't. She had to survive, because she had to accomplish a mission. She sat up, dabbing the blood that had begun to flood. Then she put the Velcro bandage on her arm and squeezed it.
She sighed when she picked up her uniform. The first thing she had to do was rip the left sleeve of her black T-shirt. She hesitated, then pulled the seam until it broke. She put on underwear, then took her uniform. No, she couldn't tear it. She made a cut, slowly and precisely, at the bottom of the left sleeve.
She stood and slowly slipped into her torn uniform, taking care not to damage it further.
She looked herself in the mirror, trying to ignore the cut on the sleeve, from it she could see the bandage. She had grown up with these uniforms. She adored them, they made her feel at home.
She sighed.
She watched the countdown on the iPod. She had too little time to linger in front of the mirror.
She left the room and walked in the deserted corridors. She knew perfectly the ship, she did not need to follow the directions that Soval had insisted to give her.
Getting to the transporter room was simple. She began to quickly type commands and data she had learned by heart.
She cast another look at the iPod and synchronize the time with the startup. She swallowed hard. She was afraid. Afraid of failing.
But most of disappointing her parents.
She left the iPod on the transporter console and went to the platform.
She closed her eyes to focus on the countdown and, when there were left only ten seconds, opened them. «M'aih, father, forgive me.» She whispered. «Four, three, two, one, energize.»
T'Mir's body disappeared just before a loud bang shook the entire Enterprise.