Written for weakinteraction on AO3 as part of Space Swap 2021.
I'm not exactly sure what I'm trying to accomplish by putting the following events in something approaching order. Perhaps I'm simply organizing some jumbled papers, as one does, or trying to stave off the inevitable boredom of mandated leave here on Risa. If I'm being honest with myself, though, there's quite a bit more to it.
Maybe I'm trying to order my thoughts and recollections along with these notes, maybe I'm trying to convince myself that the following events actually took place outside of my mind, maybe I'm rambling... maybe it was all some insane hallucination that happened to be correct. Starfleet thinks — I don't know what Starfleet thinks, actually. Jean-Luc was kind enough to handle that discussion for me.
In any case, I've wandered around the issue for far too long already. Let's begin.
Everything started with a sentient ooze, of all ridiculous things.
[Begin medical file]
Medical Notes
Chief Medical Officer Beverly C. Crusher, M.D., USS Enterprise
Patient Name: Unknown
Species: Unknown
Description: A living mass of some sort, gray in color but pulsating with bright red light. It's probably best described as a viscous liquid of about 1 liter but it (they?) clearly has some currently unknown means of propelling itself.
Medications: N/A?
Family History: Unknown
Symptoms: This entity appears highly distressed: it was brought aboard the ship approximately 15 minutes ago and has spent that time throwing itself against the walls of its containment chamber with what could possibly be increasing desperation. Given its unusual structure we can't determine anything more.
Vital Signs: Possibly nonexistent — unknown
Condition: Nothing more known than is described above, unfortunately.
Diagnosis: Intense distress of some sort. The source of its condition (physical, psychological, etc.) cannot yet be determined.
Treatment: Administer an anxiolytic and general pain reliever. If possible, remove the patient from its containment chamber for further analysis.
Comments: The alien in question was brought back by an away team from an abandoned freighter, also of unknown origin. The Enterprise responded to an automated distress signal from the freighter at approximately 14:00. No communication could be established and scans showed no life signs save one. The away team discovered the apparent source of that one life sign — this patient — at 14:45. It was beamed directly into a small containment chamber and entered my care at 14:55.
[End medical file]
It's difficult to objectively analyze my initial reaction to this most unusual patient given all that would follow. I found it very odd, of course — either a seemingly sentient ooze appearing in my medbay or the ship happening upon a deserted freighter devoid of any clues to its origin would have been events of note to say the least. The combination was extraordinary, but I had a job to do and a mystery to solve and so I didn't have the time to be particularly philosophical about it.
I wasn't frightened of it, that's for certain. I was likely anthropomorphizing more than I should have but I just couldn't find it threatening, and its frantic flailing about seemed to be genuine fear or distress rather than aggression. While I still can't speak for the creature's motives per se I do think I was correct in that interpretation.
Watching it was strangely mesmerizing — the gray mass constantly undulating, transforming, and folding in on itself while it glowed with waves of brilliant red light from within. I find myself wishing I'd had the time to sit down and study it. This is the part of this story I have the greatest degree of confidence in my recollections of, and yet I still don't have answers. It's frustrating to say the least. It's also not something I can do anything about, for better or worse. I can't change what happened next, either.
The course of treatment described in my medical notes seemed somewhat effective — the patient still seemed troubled, somehow, but considerably less violent. I next sealed my operating theater and proceeded to remove it from the containment chamber for more detailed analysis. I'd struggled to scan it properly before — containment can do that sometimes — and so I hoped to get more accurate readings and perhaps finally some actual information.
Things didn't go as planned, to say the least. I recorded the proceedings, which I've transcribed.
[Begin audio transcription]
The patient is a... formless liquid of some sort, recently retrieved by an away team from unknown circumstances. Upon arrival the patient was violent and seemingly distressed, a state that calmed considerably with the administration of medication outlined in my written notes. I'm now going to remove the patient from the containment chamber it was placed in for further scans and examination.
(Some sliding and scraping)
The containment chamber is open. I'm scanning to determine composition... that's strange. I can't get a firm reading. Earlier I assumed there was an issue with containment, but now... supposedly the patient is based on an absurd number of elements simultaneously or from something the Federation has never encountered before. Let me scan again.
Same result. I'd say I'm excited except that this is completely uninformative for care and treatment of the patient!
(Chuckles)
Who are you?
(Beep)
Crusher to Picard — I think you'll want to come down to medbay, sir. The alien the away team brought back is... well, I have to say I can't quite make heads or tails of it.
(Picard replies to the affirmative)
While the captain is on his way I'm going to see how the patient responds to touch.
A hypospray — used to test touch, no medicine administered — produces no visible reaction. A gloved hand — oh — what's —
(Recording ends in an ear-splitting shriek I dearly wish I could have avoided)
[End audio transcription]
Simple human language isn't enough to describe what happened. I realize that's cliche, but it's true. I'll do my best, but nothing — nothing — can capture it.
Upon contact with the ooze I felt everything. It sounds absurd to recount it, but it was everything — every feeling, every thought, every body, every sound, every touch, every sight, every color, every setting, every time, everything — all in the longest and the shortest instant.
When the infinite somehow came to an end the ooze was gone, as was any control over my stomach. When that came to an end I registered that I was exactly where I had been: in my medbay, just without any bizarre patients.
I sensed it was different, though. There were the obvious signs, like different tools out on the counters, but it went beyond that. It felt like somewhere I had once frequented but hadn't visited in years - familiar, but out of place. I didn't belong. I knew I didn't belong.
I must confess I don't remember how I noticed the date. Maybe I checked the computer for patient logs to try to get back on track or was simply trying to check the time. I don't know, but it doesn't matter. What did matter was that I did see the stardate sometime in the first few minutes or so.
It was a day later than it should have been.
I do know I was initially convinced it was a malfunction of some sort. I checked every single device in medbay only to find they were all equally convinced that an entire day had vanished.
I next noticed that one of the nurses had noticed my rushing from clock to clock and was looking understandably worried. I had to do something about that. I didn't want to leave medbay, particularly given the whatever-it-was that had happened in the past few minutes, but there was also no escaping the fact that I couldn't focus on unraveling the apparent temporal anomaly while dealing with my usual tasks under the eye of a nurse who looked to be growing increasingly concerned.
This thought process led me to say I needed to lie down — a headache, I think I said. I practically fled to my quarters, but asked a few passers-by on the way for the date. Again, everyone but myself seemed thoroughly convinced that today was what should have been tomorrow.
Once in my quarters I pulled up my previous notes on the apparently temporally-unstable ooze. Everything was as I remembered — that is, until I saw the addendum at the bottom of the page. At the time I had no memory of writing it, although the style seemed like my own. I've reproduced it below.
[Begin medical file excerpt]
Comments: Continued from above. Examination outside containment only yielded more questions, as previously logged. I have no further opportunities for analysis, as the patient abruptly vanished entirely before even Captain Picard arrived. No traces of it or clues to its disappearance can be detected anywhere on the ship.
[End medical file excerpt]
I believe that file is what finally convinced me that I truly had somehow stepped forward in time, rather than... well, it was about as plausible as the idea I had spent a day completely unaware of it or some mass delusion had taken hold in the crew. I had written a note I also hadn't written yet. It also explained why the ooze was gone, somewhat.
I remember trying to categorize my thoughts and experiences into something coherent. It was still thoroughly bewildering, of course, but I decided to operate under the assumptions that a) the ooze had deliberately sent me forward in time or created an illusion of it and that b) it had some reason to do so.
The question, then, became finding what it was I was supposed do or observe in this future. Assuming my mysterious patient had its reasons, I would have to find that purpose, whether I agreed with it or not.
In hindsight I was rather strangely calm through all this. Feeling I had a job of some sort yet to do certainly helped, but I fear it was more the result of the sheer shock of the situation. Regardless, I hope to never test my responses to sudden temporal displacement again.
To return to the sequence of events: I didn't have any more time to plan, because only about five minutes had passed in my quarters when all senior officers were called to the bridge and the ship was put on yellow alert.
I had my hesitations — chief among them the worry that I existed in addition to, not in place of my one-day-older counterpart — but I couldn't simply ignore the summons. I could only hope that the mystery ooze had thought things through. Realizing my safety and perhaps the Enterprise's was in the hands (figuratively speaking) of a sentient liquid of unknown origin and intentions was about as comforting as it sounds like it would be. But I cultivated my best unruffled-doctor manner, left my quarters, and went to the bridge.
(I talked Jean-Luc into sending me some of the ship's records. He seemed a little befuddled, but so has everyone these past few weeks. He sent a message just this morning asking about my stay on Risa thus far and complaining about the acting Chief Medical Officer — which, come to think of it, I need to respond to. But I digress.)
The notes from discussions on the bridge I've added below are incomplete to say the least, since this iteration of events didn't... well, you'll see. I've reproduced things as best I could from my recollections shortly after my timeline resumed its normal course. The report of the initial sighting, however, never seemed to vary, so it is reproduced exactly with Jean-Luc's permission here.
[Begin meeting notes]
Jean-Luc summarized the situation as follows: the Enterprise was responding to a distress signal, this time from a smaller Starfleet vessel (the Navigator, crew of 34). All systems aboard the Navigator were online and supposedly functioning normally, but the ship was unable to move.
Data had been busy scanning the area and reported that location and temporal data near the Navigator showed impossible values and fluctuations, indicating what seemed to be an anomaly in the very fabric of our universe. So far the Enterprise had fortunately remained unaffected.
I was rather tired by this point of impossible anomalies in time and now space and was not exactly overjoyed to learn all this.
The rest of the bridge crew presented various options: sending an away team to the Navigator to collect more data and perhaps fabricate a solution, trying to pull the Navigator out using the tractor beam, fabricating a primitive grappler to use instead, etc.
This was hardly my area of expertise so I mostly listened as it was decided to try the tractor beam. Geordi had some concerns about the effects of the graviton beam on the stability of the anomaly, but sending more people into danger when doing so may or may not have been helpful seemed rash and using a physical connection instead of the tractor beam could have pulled the Enterprise into the anomaly instead of the Navigator out.
[End meeting notes]
[Begin report excerpt]
Starfleet Form #71B
Response to Distress Signal (From Starship)
Recipient: USS Enterprise
Sender: USS Navigator
Type: Miranda Class
Species/Organization: Starfleet
Lifeforms: 34
Injuries: None reported
Transcript: "This is Captain Andersen of the USS Navigator. We are experiencing malfunctions and have been unable to move from our current coordinates for three days. All other systems are nominal. Repeat…"
Threat(s): Space/time anomaly
…
[End report excerpt]
The next few minutes were unremarkable — communicating the plan to the Navigator, making arrangements on who would monitor the state and stability of the anomaly, and so on.
What happened next, on the other hand, was… well.
As planned the Enterprise locked on to the Navigator with our tractor beam. There wasn't even time to register that something had gone very, very wrong, much less do anything about it. As Geordi had feared, the graviton beam affected the anomaly. It wasn't some turbulence, or time slowing or speeding, or lines blurring, or even the destruction of the Navigator. Oh no, the instability reached much farther than that.
I watched the universe end.
I know, I know. It sounds like the five most overdramatic words I've written in my life. It's not. To be fair, I was only present in one tiny sliver of space, but…
The effects were instantaneous. Everything around me began to warp into the most grotesque configurations — smears of arms and consoles and faces and carpeting of all things plunging and dispersing and frothing around me. For a moment I thought I was intact, that I couldn't feel a thing — then I realized that was just it. I couldn't feel a thing. I was nothing.
Soon the remains of the Enterprise had gone, vanished, and stars and planets — whole worlds— and the dark of space were rushing past, folding into anonymity and shrinking into nothingness. Still I remained.
For a moment then there was nothing — just the deepest, darkest depths I could never have imagined — and then the explosion. It wasn't loud, but it wasn't silent either – it just existed, like I did then. Sparks and pops and streaks expanded around me, briefly filling the blackness with many millions of new stars.
I daresay it was beautiful.
Like that it was all gone again.
I know it's ridiculous. I know it is completely, utterly, truly ridiculous. But I saw what I saw. I saw the destruction of the universe. Whether these were truly real, alternate events, or simply a mental simulation devised by the ooze is beyond me. I will never know. But I saw what I saw and I have no doubt it could have happened again had we not acted later as we did.
I watched the universe end.
What followed was the strangest form of anticlimax — I was pushed and pulled through the awful everything of time all over again. I was back in medbay. It was still a day later than I wanted it to be.
I had no idea whether I wanted to be relieved or furious. That's a dichotomy I have yet to sort out, actually.
I won't bore you with repeating the details. Suffice to say that I was not only back where the whole end-of-universe sequence started. The ooze was gone, the nurse was concerned, I went to my quarters, the ship responded to the Navigator, and I headed to the bridge.
Given that every last detail of this second experience with the… time loop (hallucination? repeating events?) had so far matched the first I had no doubt that engaging the tractor beam once again would only destabilize the anomaly once more and trigger the demolition of quite literally everything. Thus, I pushed to instead send an away team. I'm sure it seemed quite curious — the chief medical officer weighing in so decisively on a mostly scientific and mechanical matter — but I knew the stakes. It wouldn't matter, anyway.
I argued that attempting to possibly manipulate space and time by removing the Navigator — even analyze it in such a bizarre place — could be extremely dangerous. Thus, more data should be collected before proceeding and where better to do it than in the anomaly itself. I had no guarantee that transporter beams wouldn't have the same effect as the tractor beam, but that was a risk that needed to be taken.
Fortunately, the bridge crew agreed. I next decided to accompany the away team — clearly what I needed to accomplish, or observe, or something, hadn't been accomplished on my first run through these events. Or the ooze had erred or wasn't even in control in the first place. I decided to conveniently avoid considering those possibilities. In any case, I needed to be in the thick of things. I told Jean-Luc that the mission was a risky business and someone with as much medical experience as I have could be valuable. He hesitated, but agreed when I pressed.
Thus I found myself climbing onto the transporter pad next to Data, Geordi, and a few others from engineering and science that I didn't know very well. Transportation went without a hitch, thank goodness — I was terribly tired of the whole situation and this was only round #2 — and Captain Andersen was delighted to see us.
All seemed normal aboard the Navigator besides the unfortunate fact that the entire ship was simply frozen and locked in space. However, we still knew so little. I set about monitoring radiation and emissions levels to make sure the godforsaken anomaly wasn't emitting something dangerous. It wasn't. I wasn't particularly comforted.
I didn't have much to do beyond that, so I set about recording an audio log. Given the seemingly transient nature of the my perceptions of the universe at that point I wanted to… I don't know… have something to hold on to and show for it, perhaps.
[Begin audio transcription]
Chief Medical Officer's log — I'm aboard the USS Navigator, stuck in space and time in… more ways than one. Alpha, beta, and gamma radiation levels are within safe limits, although all fluctuating significantly. Photon emissions are insignificant. Graviton emissions are enormous and fluctuating wildly, but with no perceivable effects. Lieutenant Commander Data is currently attempting to understand this apparent paradox but with no success thus far.
The Navigator is still held fast by the unseen force of space and time. There's no immediate threat to any of us — in case of emergency, the entire crew and away team could be beamed to safety aboard the Enterprise quite quickly. That, however, would leave the Navigator still stranded. While the Miranda class is hardly state-of-the-art, I doubt Starfleet Command would care to leave an entire vessel sitting and waiting for anyone who cared to board it and investigate.
(A pause; I believe I was walking to an empty room and closing the door so I wouldn't be overheard)
I'm apprehensive, quite frankly. The last time I went through all this it ended badly to say the least. I'm waiting for the next disaster. It may not matter — last time the end of the universe apparently didn't — but my head is a tangled mess from these last few hours. I need it to end. Maybe it will — maybe I've chosen the correct path this time to accomplish goodness knows what.
I'm watching the Enterprise through an observation window right now. Visually speaking, at least, it appears unaffected thus far. Good. Maybe I can have some hope.
[Pause audio transcript]
I spoke too soon, let's put it that way.
[Resume audio transcript]
What? It's — everything is pulling — is stretching — is being dragged in one direction. Through the anomaly somehow. Through the anomaly —
No, no, STOP —
(Some inaudible words; tremendous background scraping and screeching though all this)
We — we're through it. Oh my God. Oh my God, we've passed though space and time, we're — the Enterprise too, it's still behind us — somewhere.
I can't — well, I can.
(Swallows)
We've passed through the anomaly. I'm not sure whether this is another universe altogether or somehow outside it all. It's dark — cloudy, somehow. Cloudy and dark and dim but with these red lights flashing in the distance — they're getting closer. The lights are getting closer.
Data? Geordi?
(No answer)
Enterprise, this is Dr. Crusher —
(No answer; sigh)
I'm still at the observation window. I haven't moved, the ship has stopped distorting, and I can see clearly. The lights are still drawing nearer — oh my God.
It's the ooze. This universe is full of it. The clouds are — are like that being from medbay. Are like that whatever-it-is that's dragging me around like a goddamn toy. They're surrounding us — it feels so oppressive — I don't know —
[End audio transcript. Success! I avoided the shriek this time.]
To summarize: I tried sending an away team. I tried being part of it. The Enterprise and the Navigator were pulled, seemingly spontaneously, through the anomaly and into… somewhere. Somewhere inhabited by nothing but that ooze as far as the eye could see.
To summarize again: I was exhausted, confused, and wanted to pour a certain viscous liquid down the drain the first chance I got.
I frankly expected everything to rewind like it had before — to one day after all this began. I had failed, or so I thought.
Instead, I found myself back in medbay on the proper day with the ooze still on the examination table in front of me. Some absurd instinct made me touch it again — nothing happened.
I didn't have any time to savor this apparent freedom from looping time, though, because my patient abruptly vanished just as it had been written in my notes. It completely and utterly vanished. One second there, one second gone, not a trace remaining.
Just then Jean-Luc finally arrived. I say finally — it was a minute for him, hours for me. He inspected first the lack of ooze in the opened containment chamber and then my shocked expression with characteristic poise.
I can't recall the details of what was said right then. I suppose my mind, already cluttered with overlapping timelines and mystery, decided it was simply unimportant. I hope it was. The result was that Jean-Luc was made aware of the disappearance, shipwide scans and searches were conducted to no avail, and I asked for a meeting in private.
I knew I needed to explain to him what had happened to me. I worried he'd think I'd gone mad — perhaps I had after all — but it needed to be done. I couldn't begin to guess at the ooze's motivations, but it had apparently showed me how not to handle the supposedly-upcoming incident with the Navigator. If the entire universe were truly at stake, "it needed to be done" was very much an understatement.
Jean-Luc agreed. On the way to his ready room I even remembered to write that addition to the medical file for my past-future self to read. The following occurrences all took place in the "main timeline," so to speak, so I have more complete records. These are the events that "actually" happened.
Provided, that is, that this isn't all another alternate reality or induced hallucination. I fear I'll have to live with that worry for the rest of my life.
In any case, I've added a transcript of the meeting here with Jean-Luc's permission. I've edited out the first part of the meeting to avoid repetition, but his reaction and subsequent discussion are below.
[Begin meeting transcript excerpt]
Captain Picard: I'm not sure what to say to that — remarkable. You speak of your uncertainty about the realism of what you experienced. On that front at least I can reassure you. I can't believe this complexity and realism is the result of hallucinations from mere overwork or loss of sleep. As to whether these were simulations deliberately run in your brain or events that truly took place... I'm not sure that's relevant. But — in my assessment you are hardly crazy.
Dr. Crusher: Thank you — thank you very much. I certainly hope that's the case.
CP: We need to be prepared, in short, to confront grave danger in less than twenty-four hours. We know so little... come to think of it, wouldn't you say it's odd that this being returned you to the present despite your inability to correctly navigate the crisis?
DC: I would, actually.
CP: This is all assuming, of course, that this ooze, as you call it, has some plan and logical motivations and maintained control of your situation. I think we will need to work from that premise, though — otherwise we're completely lost. But to return to that point, do you have any idea what that might mean?
(A long pause)
DC: I... I might. I hope I don't. Was the point perhaps for me to see that the crisis couldn't be solved? First, removing the ship from the anomaly entirely caused... well, you know, and then I found that the anomaly simply collapsed and pulled us into... wherever without any apparent external forcing. Perhaps I was supposed to see that the ship was doomed.
CP: Perhaps you were — and that any attempts to save it would make the situation worse.
DC: I don't... I'm afraid I don't see what other conclusion I can draw. It could still be wildly wrong, of course, but given the data we have...
CP: I would have to agree. You said that transporter beams had no destabilizing effects?
DC: Correct.
CP: In that case we'll transport the crew of the Navigator aboard as soon as we can. The ship will presumably disappear. Starfleet can hardly have security concerns if the ship itself is pulled outside our space and time.
DC: That's the only course of action I see right now.
CP: I'll prepare the rest of the crew. I assume you're needed in medbay?
DC: Why yes, I suppose I am!
[End meeting transcript excerpt]
The next twenty-four hours were a blur. I buried myself in my usual medical work, just delighted to be back and moving through time as I was supposed to again. Someone fell down some stairs in engineering and broke a leg, someone else received a nasty shock while repairing a turbolift, a small animal specimen we had collected several planets ago developed a mysterious illness, and so on. While I doubt each of the patients would agree, for me it was wonderfully typical.
It took me the longest time to get to sleep that night. My head was still spinning from everything I'd seen and I just felt off. Scans and rest have shown I'm fine in the long-term, but being dragged through time is understandably not the most comfortable experience for the human body. It took a lot of relaxing classical music and a few hyposprays, but I eventually got to sleep — just in time to wake up again.
I sort of floated through breakfast, my mind not quite attaching to the food and conversation. Fortunately, no one seemed to particularly mind — they'd all heard by then what I'd been up to. Data asked about the end of the universe, and so I described it in more depth for him. That was about all, though. The morning proceeded as usual, although I was too apprehensive to consider that a blessing. Lunch passed in much the same manner.
The Enterprise received the Navigator's distress signal at 14:00. It was eerie, having been through all this before, and no less so with the strange coincidence of the time when we received the signal that led us to the abandoned freighter and the ooze and the time when we received the Navigator's signal matching exactly.
The ship went to yellow alert and we were called to the bridge. This time, though, there was no discussion. Captain Andersen was informed that he and his crew were to be transported to the Enterprise immediately. There wasn't time to explain, but they'd be brought up to speed on arrival. Fortunately the captain didn't need much convincing. No one really wants to play with space and time.
Once everyone was safely aboard we turned our attention to the Navigator once more, waiting for it to be pulled into the anomaly as it collapsed. The Enterprise moved as far away as possible while still within visual range. We didn't want to be sucked in along with the Navigator as had previously happened to me.
The minutes ticked by, the engines ready for high warp at a moment's notice.
Suddenly it began. The lifeless ship in front of us began to stretch and curl away into the void as the space surrounding it collapsed. I realized that we too were being pulled in — dismay doesn't quite cover it.
The Enterprise was ordered to push back — Warp 8, Warp 9. Still we were dragged towards the void. I fought my rising panic. That loop had ended before I could really gain any idea of what was in store outside our universe, and I had no idea whether the looming clouds of ooze would have done or whether my inability to contact my crewmates was temporary.
Warp 9.4, Warp 9.6. The speed at which we were pulled in was at least decreasing, but in the moment I had no idea if it would be enough.
Everything shuddered to a halt at Warp 9.7 and for a moment we were frozen, watching the Navigator disappear in front of us. At Warp 9.9 we suddenly broke free, slingshotting forward before Jean-Luc gave the order to cut the engines.
We were all silent for a long moment. The anomaly and the Navigator were completely gone by then, vanished as thoroughly as the ooze from my medbay. I was relieved beyond words — if I were going insane, at least it was in a helpful and prophetic manner.
There's not much more to the story, really. The crew of the Navigator were carried to the nearest starbase, from which I assume they'll be reassigned. Jean-Luc informed Starfleet of what had transpired and it was decided that it would be good for me to take some weeks of leave. I wasn't exactly enthused, but it was hard to deny that I could use it. I've been on Risa about ten days now and I suppose I'm finally relearning how one goes about relaxing.
Those are the facts of the matter, which I've grown increasingly confident in as more time passes without temporal disruption. I'm still left with so many questions, though.
What was the ooze, exactly? Clearly a species with great skill in manipulating time and space and apparently a resident of somewhere outside our own universe. This begets other questions, such as what its motivations were and just about everything relating to its place of origin. And then there's the question of why it chose to communicate in its rather convoluted manner with me, rather than one of the away team that discovered it.
I'm trying to come to terms with the fact that it doesn't truly matter, and that an explainable and predictable universe would be boring indeed. The ooze's actions saved the Enterprise and perhaps our entire universe — do its own reasons truly matter at this point? Perhaps it wanted to save us, or perhaps it simply wanted to avoid having two ships full of people from our universe tossed into its domain. In any case, we owe it a great debt.
Yes, we're all indebted to a sentient liquid with immense powers and red pulsating light. I really do sound insane sometimes.
I suppose it's just hard for me to accept all this. I went into medical science to take concrete actions with concrete results — setting a broken limb, constructing a vaccine, soothing a fever. To help people and to know how and why I was doing it all. My brain just isn't comfortable dealing with riddles with no solutions and mysteries with no clues. It's not my job. I hope it never will be again.
This could then all be construed as a learning experience — learning to deal with the unknown, having no answers, and then moving on instead of fixating on it.
I think that's what I was trying to do here, actually, I just didn't know it yet. I've written all this out. A record of events as I remember them now exists and will continue to do so. I don't need to carry the burden of remembering or overanalyzing any longer. I can put this in a deposit box on Risa, to be opened and uploaded to Starfleet's databases once I'm gone. Or something like that.
I'm going to move on.