52 PICKUP
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DRAMATIS PERSONAE
USS INDIANAPOLISNORA GUNNISON, COMM TECH 1st CLASS, SAM'S WIFE
EARTH/TERRA/SOL IIITIM GUNNISON, NORA &SAM'S SON, 6 TYEARS
TOM & JAN GUNNISON, SAM'S BROTHER & SISTER-IN-LAW, TIM'S CARETAKERS
USS SHENANDOAHZAYNE DALTON, BREVET CPT, COMMANDING OFFICER
SAM GUNNISON, OPERATIONS SPECIALIST CHIEF, COMBAT INFORMATION CENTER LEADING CHIEF PETTY OFFICER (LCPO)
CIARAN FLYNN, LT, OPERATIONS OFFICER has a comes-and-goes would-be Irish brogue
GARYN SLADE, LT, TACTICAL OFFICER, V'KRENN MARTIAL EMPATH. ON EXCHANGE TO
STARFLEET. V'Krenn are an alien race of my own devising. Imagine Vulcans from a winter planet, with eyes all of one color, no iris, pupil, or whites.
PATRICIA TORRES, OS1, CIC LEADING PETTY OFFICER (LPO)SHALAYA MFUTA, OS2, CIC TRAINING PO
VARN MORIAS, ENS, ASS'T COUNSELOR
Note that I use enlisted rates, something Canon ST doesn't bother with. The only rate significant to this story is OS, or Operations Specialist, a broad-ranging rate that mans the Combat Information Center. They assist in navigation, search for and identify contacts, handle small craft traffic, manage targets, and so forth. The number after the rate indicates rank: OSSR is a Spacer recruit, E-1, OS3 is a third class petty officer, or E-4, OS1 is a first class, or E-6, and OSC is a chief, or E-7. The Shenandoah, NCC-51777, is an Akira-class starship, the timeframe is the Dominion War, although the Shen, as a newly launched starship, is not currently participating in the hostilities, a state of affairs that bothers many onboard.
Soft music and the clink of utensils accompanied the susurrus of conversation. The entertainment that evening was a quartet of low-gee torch-juggling acrobats, and the music built to a crescendo, as conversation tapered off to spike into gasps of astonishment. Sam Gunnison loved every minute of it."I'd forgotten how much you liked Mars, Sam", Nora was saying "remember our 5th anniversary here?". Quiet and petite, with pale skin, brown eyes, and brunette hair, she contrasted starkly with Sam. A fiery red bear of a man, he was an overflowing cauldron of emotions and impulses, while she was reserved, foresighted, and practical.
Sam nodded, immersed in the scene, so similar to his memory. He barely registered her remaining words, savoring instead his reminiscence. Lost in thought, he never noticed a cerulean observer.
Sam didn't realize how deeply in the past he was, until he saw that the show had ended, and they were entering their hotel room at the Marsport Hilton. Nora beat him to the bed, where they reminisced further about that previous anniversary.
Hours later, he woke, alone. What?"Nora?" No answer. Where could she be?
Omigod. Did she have someone else? Is she – she couldn't leave him, she loved him. She wouldn't cheat on him; there must be some other explanation.
But where?
Fear and shame welled up, remembering when he'd accused her before, falsely, as it turned out. What if that pushed her over the edge, made her go out and…
No.
Almost idly, he pondered how he might convince the replicator to provide something to solve his problem.
Memory crystallized. Oh, yes. She'd had to return to her ship to stand a watch. Her damn padd-pushing Chief wouldn't give her a full day off, even for her anniversary. I'll have to have some words with him about that. Turning over, he slipped back into
slumber, a sense of well being flooding him.
Elsewhere on Shenandoah, a man smiled slightly, and settled into sleep, satisfied.
*******
The next morning, after Officer's Call, LT Flynn sidled over to Sam, tapping him on the shoulder. "Mornin', Chief. You look like you're in a good mood t'day."
"Yessir", Sam replied happily, "Saw Nora last night. We had dinner at Fabrizi's Marsport, for our anniversary, just like our Fifth. It's nice having her ship in port with us". Flynn's brow creased "Well, ah, glad to hear things are working out with, ah, for you and..... Nora", he trailed out. Nodding a salute and taking his leave, Sam went to divisional quarters, as Flynn ambled over to see Slade.
"I heard", Slade preempted "He seems to be in better spirits. He had a typical nightmare last night, but a 'nudge' let him sleep again", he lied. Flynn did not need to know Sam had thought to get oleander tea; Sam ought not remember it and it shouldn't happen
again.
Flynn, normally unflappable, and used to Slade by now, still seemed unsteady as he asked "Should we go to the counselor, then?", rocking back. "Not yet. I'm watching him."
Some days, Sam enjoyed his work; this was such a day. Standing in front of his division, passing on the relevant tidbits from O'Call, he felt that what he did had meaning again. Today is going to be a good day, he thought. Barely glancing at his padd, he
addressed his division,
"OS2 Mfuta, I need the training report today. OS1, talk to the other ships, see about setting up some exercises with their Combat Information Centers."
"Which ones, Chief?"
"All of 'em: Valley Forge, Rodger Young, Oliver Hazard Perry, and Indianapolis", Sam replied.
OS1 Torres frowned and nodded, jostling her dark shoulder-length hair, but all she said was "Aye, Chief", wondering how her Chief expected that crippled hulk to participate. Her CIC still stood empty and ruined.
Satisfied, Sam nodded "Anyone else got anything? ...No? Attention to quarters..." Everyone came to Attention. "POST." As quarters broke up, he headed for his office, humming to himself, blissfully off-key.
After clearing his correspondence, he found a delayed message from his wife. He noted an attached file for their shared holo program, which automatically routed itself, and sat back to read. Nora usually did that. She took pride in her holo programming skills; indeed, she'd written their program herself.
Onscreen, Nora smiled shyly, "Hi, Sam. I hope you're OK. I know it's been rough. I hate
the separation, too; I wish it hadn't been necessary. I love you, Sam. I always have." Blowing a kiss, she signed off. Sam drafted a reply, then sent a message to Tim, back on Earth.
*****
"Excuse me, LT, could I have a few minutes of your time?" asked Varn Morias. Ciaran Flynn looked up from his terminal to see the slender young Andorian.
"Come in, Counselor. What can I do for you?" Head tilted attentively forward, Varn husked "I'm worried about one of your people. Chief Gunnison hasn't seen a counselor for over a year, now. He's missed or canceled every appointment and he hasn't
talked to us at all about his wife."
Pushing back from his desk and smiling to take any sting out of his words, Flynn assured Varn "He's alright, Counselor. He's in reasonably good spirits, and Slade's monitoring him. You needn't worry."
Surprised, Varn's head rolled to one side. "LT Slade? Excuse me, sir, but he isn't a counselor. He's not qualified to 'monitor' anyone's mental state" he protested.
Hunching forward to underscore his words, Flynn replied "He is an empath. He may not be in your department, but he can handle babysitting someone, especially a man who really doesn't seem to need it,".
Chin forward, antennae back, Varn countered, "No, sir, I've read the files on V'krenn - he's a Warrior-empath. His Way teaches the use of empathy for reading, distracting, and mastering opponents in combat, detecting danger, that sort of thing. Useful traits, but definitely not diagnostic psychology. He's not qualified to determine anybody's mental health"
"Why don't you call Chief Gunnison, then? Make a new appointment with him" Flynn offered.
"As I told you, he always puts them off" Morias sighed.
"Well, then, until he shows some sign of trouble, there's naught to be done, is there, now?" asked Flynn, with just a hint of steel.
"Actually, I wanted to ask you to -" Morias began, hands open wide in entreaty.
"Order him?No,Counselor. He'd resent it, rightly, and that'd make it harder to get at what's inside him. No, I'll not be ordering him to dance to your fiddle. He'll
come when he feels the need, or he won't, but that's his choice. Not yours, nor mine. Now if there's nothing else?", he waved, indicating the door, dismissing the hapless counselor. After a moment, Flynn stood up, ending Varn's dithering, as he executed a Picard Maneuver making his exit.
At lunch that afternoon, Flynn recounted the incident to Slade. "I know," Slade said," He came to see me as well. You were rather more tactful than I was."
With the economy of long acquaintance, Flynn put a wealth of questions into a simple "Oh?" Slade replied dourly "He dropped the issue after I reminded him of something I witnessed on Krungg Thep".
Flynn burst out laughing "Varn? Straitlaced, uptight, moral model little Varn with an Orion? I didn't think he had it in him".
"I also reminded him about a warrior's instinctual problem resolution technique. He's a little sensitive about that, being Andorian. It's difficult to claim glory in slaying neuroses and conquering phobias. And he's seen some of my workout programs".
Slade 'cast an image of a fierce scowl. "I like the part about the Orion better", Flynn murmured, then added with a wicked glint, "You should work on that. But you're right about the tact. I'd almost think you didn't like him."
"I don't. He brags about the glorious Andorian Warrior tradition, but he doesn't follow it himself. You can't parry with a thrown knife," Slade spoke
Harshly, his face closed in more tightly than usual. Head cocked in confusion, Flynn muttered to himself, 'til comprehension set in. "You can't parry... Oh, like having your cake and eating it, too! I'll have to remember that one next time he's pestering me."
"He won't. I ensured that he knows better. He's a coward; he won't make any trouble."
*******
Instead of eating in the Chief's Mess, Sam elected to share his lunch with Nora. The enlisted mess on the Indy was better than the Shenandoah's, Sam thought as he sat down across from Nora. Conversation idled around them as they chatted about inconsequentialities, most of it safely work-related.
"So", Sam was concluding with a satisfied air "we should be able to run a CIC procedures exercise tomorrow morning. Torres did a good job of arranging things, although I noticed the Indy won't be participating. Something coming up?", he asked, looking expectantly at her.
Nora cast her eyes down, then " Sorry, Sam, you should know already the Indy can't participate". Arms flying wide, Sam protested, " Nora, dear, this is me, Sam."
"Sam", she began " Oh, Sam, please don't do this." Crossing his arms, he demanded, "Do what? Nora, what –", but she cut him off "Sam, you haven't changed. You'd better go". Sam shriveled into himself like m'sieu Ugarte. "I'm sorry, Nora, really. I'm so, so sorry. I didn't mean to…." He trailed off.
"I know, Sam. We'll talk about it tonight", she said softly, to his back as he dejectedly walked away.
When Sam got back to his office, fairly deflated, he was gladdened to see a reply from Tom."Hi, Sam. We were worried since we hadn't heard from you in a month. I guess you've been busy, with the war and all. Sorry Timmie isn't up" (forgot about the time difference, Sam thought), "but we'll play your message for him in the morning. He'll be happy to hear from you. But, Sam, what you said about Nora–" . Sam stopped the message. I'll listen to it later, he thought, knowing he wouldn't. I'll call again tonight. Timmie ought to be up still.
With that, he went back to his work.
*****
After knockoff, Sam refreshed himself and changed before going to see Nora. A long, hot shower helped restore his equilibrium. Damn that interfering Andorian clown, anyway. I don't need him or his unctuous quackery. Well, he knows not to bother me
now, anyhow. And I didn't even have to actually hit him. He'll leave well enough alone, now. He decided to forget the incident, and concentrate instead on Nora, and their upcoming rendezvous on the holodeck.
Tonight, they would be enjoying a quiet meal, this time at a Risian beach resort. The weather was perfect, naturally, and the rolling surf beckoned swimmers nonchalantly.
"This is one place I wish we'd really been to," said Nora, eyes darting all around, "It's so beautiful".
"Maybe we can go when the... When things settled down" Sam stumbled through the sentence. "That would be nice. Promise you'll do it?" asked Nora, her eyes fixed on his.
"Promise" Sam smiled.
Dinner was Risian exotica: steamed Rillea fish, brazed feltim seaweed, sieran glazed in a Risian confectionery liqueur, and Granis, a soft, crumbly bread made from a grain native to Tortuga IV. After, Sam had a Jovian Red Spot, while Nora chose a Vulcan Mind Probe, an incongruously potent drink for a petite, practical woman. She needed strength.
The hardest part awaited the doing. Hands together in her lap, "Sam", Nora murmured, "Have you thought about ... what it will be like…living... without me?"
Her eyes, initially on the ground, came up to engage his like a phaser locking on target.
"What are you talking about? You don't.. you can't , can't want to leave... can you?" he gaped.
"Sam. Don't do this. Don't make it harder than it has to be" she pleaded softly, reaching out to touch his arm.
"Don't what?!!" he exploded "Don't ask you to stay? Nora, please, I love you. I need you. Don't go" he implored her. Even standing, he conveyed the impression of kneeling. Looking away, she nearly whispered "Sam, I love you too. You know that. Believe me, I don't want to go. But you have to let go. It's not healthy. I need it, and you need it, too,
but you won't see it. you're trying too hard to hold me, and it's hurting us both.". Swiveling around, she again flashed her eyes upon him.
"Nora, please, don't –". Sam began, head low.
"Sam, you've been holding in the pain, not letting go. It's hurting you, tearing you apart. Tim needs you, Sam, he needs you to be strong. He needs his Daddy, and you need him. But you keep coming to me, trying to recapture something you can't". She spoke
savagely, implacably.
Face in his hands, he spat back "Why are you doing this, Nora? Weren't we happy
together?". Holding his shoulder, she pushed on.
"We were, Sam, but I had to move on. You won't. You're denying reality. Let go, Sam, let it be. You're young enough to love again, but you have got to let go", she demanded.
"Nora" he whispered, voice cracking, not even trying to hide tears. "It has to be, Sam. You wouldn't let go, so I have to make you do it. I programmed triggers, you see" she confided sadly, glancing away, "My presence enables you to hold on to the past, so
now I'm forced to use them. Please, Sam, carry on. Be strong. For Tim, For me. Most of all, for yourself" At the last, she kissed his cheek, then the back of his
hand.
Looking up, in a strangled voice she said "Computer, delete program". Her face, cheshire-like, faded last into the inky void of the black and gold holo-grid.
After an inarticulate shriek, the only sound was a hollow thud.
*****
Captain's Personal Log, Stardate 51108.23
"Losing a shipmate in combat or exploration is difficult. Dockside, in a completely preventable way, is far worse. My trust has been shaken, and one of my crew badly hurt. Two of my best officers blundered terribly, trying to help a subordinate. Instead of
confiding in the Counselor, they trusted their own abilities to "look out" for a shipmate in emotional distress. Their actions prevented appropriate assistance for the shock of being confronted with the death of his wife, one of the many casualties of the loss of the USS Indianapolis three weeks ago. The Indianapolis' hull is currently being salvaged in the shipyard at this same Starbase.
"They tried to protect him from a perceived social stigma, only to leave him vulnerable to his own grief. One of them, Lt. Slade, may have tampered with his mind in an attempt to help, possibly hiding and aggravating the damage. If so, I will have no choice but to convene a court-martial. This is problematic, since he is an exchange officer, and might be remanded back to the V'Krenn Scout Service with no consequences.
"In the meantime, Chief Gunnison is withdrawn from reality, and will need extensive therapy. My Counselor recommended a psychological discharge, and the Starfleet Personnel Office intended to do so. I've alienated a few high-ranking officers and used
some favors insisting on a hardship transfer to temporary duty at home, instead. Chief Gunnison needs something to belong to. Severing him from the service would only hurt him more. We owe a shipmate better than that. I owe him better. I hope that he can be healed, and able to care for his son. The Counselor won't know for a while if he has suffered any injury from empathic intrusion.
"Meantime, I don't know when, or if, I can again trust two of my senior officers. Pending the results of the investigation and the counselor's findings, they have been confined to quarters, reprimands have been entered in their records, and I've ordered both of them
to leave such matters to the Counselor.
"They're both mavericks, used to relying on their own devices. Their ability to work without direction and to stand on their own abilities has been crucial to their success at their jobs, and what made them an asset to the command. I cannot condone where it led
them, but I relied on those talents, leading to an implicit approval for their actions. Because I didn't see where it could lead, I am at fault for their actions, even aside from the doctrine of command responsibility, and Sam Gunnison has paid the price for their, and my, mistakes. If I do Court-Martial them, it will still not salvage a good man's life. End record."
Having finished his entry, Captain Dalton went to the viewport, drink in hand. The stars sped by in melancholy flight as Shenandoah fled relativity deep into the night.