Disclaimer: All characters, except Amy, and the basic situation (Federation, a lost starship, etc) belong to Paramount. The lyrics belong to Northern Songs. This story is a work of fiction and for entertainment only; I received no compensation for writing this.
Let It Be (chapter
4)
Harry groaned and turned on his side. Man, I hurt all over, he thought. And I had the strangest dream.
"Hey, you're awake!"
Harry sat bolt upright at the voice. He looked to the source and saw a girl moving towards him. Harry groaned again when he saw her shirt. Oh, God! It wasn't a dream, he thought.
"Easy! You need to move slowly or you'll pass out again," the girl said in an authoritative tone. "Do you want an ambulance? Can I take you to the hospital? Is there someone I can call for you?"
Harry started to answer her but stopped himself. Sure Harry, just say that you need to get back to your spaceship. That'll get you far here and you'll scare. . . What was her name? Amanda, no, Amy. Ambulance means government, can't do that. Oh man, I'm in the late 20th century at most. I need to get out of here before I change something. The Temporal Prime directive foremost in his mind, he stood. Realizing that Amy was staring at him he said, "No, to all questions Amy. I feel much better, thank you. I'll just go. . ."
"You'll do no such thing! You must have been attacked, and you can't be sure that whoever did it is gone. You remembered my name, so you probably don't have a concussion but you still have a cut on your arm that I have to take care of," Amy pushed him gently back onto the cot and reached for something on a nearby table. Harry realized that it would be pointless to argue with her. He looked around the room.
"Where are we?" he asked Amy.
"A shed that I use as a playhouse," she replied distractedly. Amy was currently passing a needle and some sort of thread through a strong-smelling, clear liquid.
"What's that?"
Amy sighed "I can either answer all fifty of your questions or I can suture your arm up; I can't do both at once. And trust me your arm needs to come first."
"You're going to do WHAT!?" Harry practically screamed. He understood the process, but it hadn't been standard medical practice for several hundred years.
"Suture your arm. You don't want to go to the hospital and the cut on your arm is long and deep. Don't worry, I've been doing it to myself for years. And I've already cleaned and numbed it."
Harry didn't want to know how she had accomplished that last thing. Before he could protest further, Amy was sitting next to him and working on his arm. Harry watched in nervous silence. When she was done, she started to wrap the area in gauze.
"Wow," Harry said, "that was quick. You really are good at it, sorry about not believing you." Harry looked at Amy. She can't be more than eighteen, he thought. "Do you practice all manner of medicine or is your knowledge limited to suturing and concussions?"
An odd look crossed her face and she said, "Do you know what happened to you?"
She's changed the subject. Oh well, "No, I don't. One minute I was getting ready to tr-, er, travel and the next I was laying on the ground," he answered. I might as well find out where and when I am exactly. "Um, this is going to sound strange, but when is it? The date and year and all." Noting her look of panic he added, "I don't have a concussion, I just want to make sure." Harry desperately hoped that Amy wouldn't notice the flaw in logic.
"It's Friday, June 29, 2001," Amy spoke slowly. "I told you that, now you tell me who was just elected president of the US." She stared at him with an expectant look on her face.
Damn, Harry thought. And I asked why we needed to memorize the presidents. Oh, is it Clinton or Bush. No, Bush was before Clinton. Maybe Johansson? No, there was someone in between. "Gore?" he said aloud.
Amy immediately burst out laughing. "Now I know you're alright, your sense of humor is intact."
~~~~~~~
Here it is, as promised. Same promise applies to the next chapter.
Please R&R
Ashes
