Part Two
Starfleet Medical Academy, San Francisco. Stardate 45459.8
"Sunek…?"
Natasha pulled the laser scalpel away from the site of the incision in shock, staring at the entirely incongruous form of the Vulcan's face on the Bzzit Khaht's body.
It all came flooding back in an instant. The hotel suite. Salus Hadren. Ensign T'Vess. The Bounty. The plant thorn. In an instant, she realised where she really was, and where she really wasn't.
While she wrestled with that sudden flood of information, Doctor Rahman behaved as if there was nothing out of the ordinary happening. Apparently none the wiser about the sudden change in their patient, he acted as he had done at the time in his role as surgical support and simply cleaned away the sticky brown-green blood that oozed from the fresh incision.
"Continue with the procedure please, Cadet."
But Natasha wasn't listening. Her focus was entirely on Sunek, now she knew where she was.
"The scan?" she whispered, "What happened?"
The Bounty's pilot did his best to ignore the seeping wound in his new holographic body, and the fact that he now appeared to be some sort of brownish amphibian, and returned his attention to the woman standing over him, holding a laser scalpel.
"Oh, good, you remember," he nodded, "So, good news: You're still in a coma, we ran the scan on the hippocampus, but it didn't bring back anything conclusive. And we're on our way to intercept some Son'a ship to see if they'll help us out."
He paused for thought.
"Yeah, just gonna start calling it 'news', I think…"
Natasha processed this fresh flurry of information as best she could, not really liking the sound of any of it.
"The Son'a?" she managed.
"Any port in a crazy coma, doc."
Sunek tried a cheeky grin, but it didn't fill her with any comfort. To her side, she heard the still oblivious Doctor Rahman cough slightly.
"Cadet, please continue. Unless there is a problem?"
She didn't have any idea how she would start to articulate what the actual problem was, especially to a memory of a man in her own mind. So, instead, she did as instructed. And she returned to the operation, finishing off the incision in the Bzzit Khaht.
"Um," Sunek managed, "What are you-?"
"It'll help me concentrate. So…why are you back here?"
At this, Sunek's grin slipped. He wasn't a fan of delivering serious information at the best of times, but he also recognised that this particular situation very much called for it.
"Cos your lifesigns are fading. A lot. Whatever's inside of you is spreading, fast. And the toxicological scan didn't give the computer enough to go on to suggest a treatment, even if we get to the Son'a in time."
She suppressed a shudder at the Vulcan's report, as she reached for a more delicate exoscalpel and widened the cavity with Doctor Rahman's assistance. Seeing the three distinct hearts inside, she sized up her task. Both the one in front of her on the operating table, and the one that was unfolding back on the Bounty. Back in reality.
For a second time, she set about diagnosing herself.
"Do you remember anything about the brain scans?" she pressed, "Anything significant? Anything at all?"
Sunek reluctantly engaged his Vulcan intellect, quickly sifting through his own memories, even as he remained a part of hers.
"So, there was-" he looked down at his holographic chest, as Natasha delicately began to work on the first heart, "Is this really necessary?"
"Like I said, it's helping me."
"It's really not helping me."
She ignored his complaints, and kept her focus on her work, getting the medical cogs of her brain fully turning. After a moment, Sunek sighed and continued.
"Ok, so the scan showed spikes in activity around your hippocampus, but also through the limbic system as a whole, and around the prefrontal cortex. The tox scan definitely suggested there's some sort of foreign body in there, but it can't get a complete scan. And without that, we got nothing."
Natasha couldn't help but look up at him as he delivered his surprisingly dispassionate and thoroughly extensive report.
"What?" he asked in confusion.
"Nothing," she said, mustering a flicker of a smile, "Just…I guess, sometimes I forget how Vulcan you can be."
"Was that racist? That sounded racist."
Seeing the return of normal Sunek-ian operations, she returned to the operation.
"Besides," he continued, "I've always been very clear that I've got all my regular Vulcan qualities in place. I've just improved on perfection, is all."
She shook her head as she finished up the first bypass, focusing back on Sunek's report, and once again feeling a nagging sense that she was missing something. Something important.
"We've got to get more on the toxin," she sighed as she moved on to the second heart, "But if you can't get anything from my brain, then…"
She tailed off as she reached for the auto-suture kit to her right to deal with a bleed on the second heart's main valve and earned a satisfied nod from Doctor Rahman for her troubles.
"This was supposed to be my final exam," she muttered regarding the memory they were in.
"Supposed to be?" Sunek asked with a raised eyebrow.
She checked that the bleed was under control, and recalled what had happened back in San Francisco when this whole scene had actually played out.
"I failed it," she explained as she continued to work, "I got as far as the third and final bypass, and then I nicked the main arterial connection. Nothing else I could do but watch him bleed out on the table. Holographically speaking."
"Huh," Sunek offered, idly wondering what that was all going to feel like from his perspective.
Natasha felt her heart pumping faster, just as it had all those years ago. A bead of perspiration formed on her brow, despite the climate controlled conditions of the holodeck. And she still felt like she was missing something, somehow.
"The pressure got too much. It was too complicated a procedure. More complicated than anything I'd ever have to deal with in reality. And I ended up having to resit the entire year, because I picked a course that was too damned hard."
She finished her work on the second heart and stiffened slightly. One to go.
"Not gonna change any of that now, doc," Sunek pointed out, "This is just a memory. Maybe focus on the patient you can save?"
She knew which patient he was referring to. The one back in the medical bay on the Bounty. And she also knew she was still missing something. What the hell was it?
"Move on to the final bypass," Doctor Rahman offered with measured calm, still blissfully unaware of Sunek's unnerving presence, "Your time is still good, cadet."
She moved on to the fateful final stage of the operation, wondering if, even though this was all just a memory, she could somehow do it right this time.
"I'm serious," Sunek continued, "Which, I appreciate, isn't something you can say about me very often. But unless you've got a time machine in your pocket-"
"Yes!" she yelped.
The penny dropped. That was it. That was what she was forgetting.
Doctor Rahman didn't react. Sunek just looked confused.
"My pocket!" she said quickly, "I saved the thorn, the one that pricked me! I was gonna do some more tests on it, but-It's in my pocket! Back on the Bounty!"
"Huh," Sunek the Bzzit Khaht nodded, "So we can-?"
"So you can - carefully - run that through the medical computer. If you can't find the toxin inside me, then you can find it at the source. Use that to get the computer to synthesise an antidote."
"Ok. Thorn. Pocket. Computer. Antidote. Badda-bing, badda-boom. Anything else?"
Natasha felt as though she was on a roll. She moved on to the second valve of the third and final heart as her self-referencing treatment plan continued.
"If my lifesigns get weaker, check the medical cabinet. There's a batch of cordrazine onboard I picked up at that Ferengi trading post last month. Give me a hit of that. 10 ccs should be enough to keep me going without pushing things too far."
"Cordrazine? You sure about that?" Sunek asked with uncharacteristic concern, "This isn't one of those 'this'll probably kill me'-type deals?"
"Trust me," she replied, "I'm a doctor."
She felt a wave of relief, as palpable optimism flooded through her. She started to wonder whether she really could cure her own memory. Whether she could actually succeed at the operation that she had failed all those years ago.
She didn't have to wonder for very long.
A thick stream of Bzzit Khaht blood suddenly spurted out from the opening in the holographic chest of the patient, splattering over the operating table and coating her arms in brown-green flecks.
"Holy crap," Sunek managed.
"Warning, main arterial connection punctured," the eerily familiar computer voice rang out, "Patient's lifesigns have terminated."
That was the other problem with surgery on a Bzzit Khaht. They didn't survive long once things started to go wrong.
Natasha looked miserably down at the patient's chest, which was now rapidly filling with blood, as the memory unfolded just as it had happened at the time. Glancing back up, she saw a familiar disapproving look on Doctor Rahman's face. The one that had stayed with her for weeks after the actual exam.
"Well," Sunek offered, "Who am I to question your medical credentials, doc?"
She turned back to the Vulcan, ready to snap something back at him. But she saw that now she was just looking back at the features of the now-deceased holographic Bzzit Khaht.
She returned her attention to Doctor Rahman, just as the grey-haired man opened his mouth.
"This is the bridge," he said, with the voice of Captain D'Vora, "I repeat: Abandon ship. All hands to the escape pods."
She blinked, absently wondering when she had started perspiring quite so much.
"Wh-What did you say?"
"Very disappointing," Rahman said in his usual voice, and more in keeping with her memory of the scene.
The sweat pooled on her forehead. She felt the entire scene starting to blur.
'*'*'
'*'*'
USS Navajo, Kesmet Sector, near Cardassian space. Stardate 52749.3
The deck shook wildly beneath her feet as another wave of firepower struck the crippled vessel.
She couldn't help but stumble as the ship lurched around, her head slamming into the cold metal wall to her side.
"No!"
She heard herself scream out, even as she mistakenly took in a full lungful of the smoke-filled air and immediately descended into a rasping coughing fit.
All around her, the USS Navajo groaned and creaked. Her head was throbbing with pain, though not from the carnage around her. From something else. She forced herself to remember that this wasn't real. None of this was real. Just as Doctor Rahman and the Bzzit Khaht hadn't been real. Just as Salus Hadren and Ensign T'Vess hadn't been real.
Except it all felt real. Horribly real.
The sight, the sound and the smell of death stalked through the corridors of the Navajo as she staggered forwards, even as the deck pitched underneath her again as another volley of Jem'Hadar torpedoes hit home.
She paused as she reached the same corner as before. The one beyond which lay the escape pods. And the ensign in the corridor.
"Warning," the computer patiently reported, with the same tone it used to confirm the required replication parameters for a bowl of tomato soup, "Structural integrity failure in progress."
She gripped onto the sharp edges of the corner of the corridor's wall. But she didn't walk on. She couldn't.
The headache increased in intensity, searing pain spreading through her temples. She forced her mind elsewhere.
Behind her, further back down the corridor, a plasma relay exploded.
The scene began to distort. And the Navajo faded from view.
'*'*'
'*'*'
"I wasn't."
"You definitely were."
"I definitely wasn't!"
The debate, such that it was, had been continuing in this vein for some time, as Jirel and Sunek waited for the Bounty's ageing medical computer to finish its latest scan.
Once Sunek had broken from the latest meld and explained the new plan, they had removed the thorn from her pocket with a pair of medical tongs, and set it up for a complete analysis. And then they had waited, and Sunek had turned his attention back to something that he was sure he had seen Jirel doing just as he had broken the meld.
This time, the Trill hadn't been fast enough to cover his tracks.
"You definitely were," Sunek persisted with a typically amused grin, "You were holding her hand. Y'know, the hand of the unconscious lady? The one in the coma? The one that you totally have a thing for-?"
"Yes, I'm familiar with her. And I don't have a-That is to say, I wasn't holding her-"
"You know, it's getting kinda insulting that you're still lying about this. I know what I saw."
The Trill sighed and looked back at the still-grinning Vulcan at his side, not comfortable with his talkative pilot knowing quite as much about his personal feelings as he was threatening to.
He had no way of knowing that, when all was said and done, Sunek was a lot better at keeping personal secrets than anyone gave him credit for. He was still the sole confidante onboard who knew the full details of Klath's discommendation from the Klingon Empire. And while he may have alluded to a few of the spicier aspects of what he had seen in Natasha's memories, he hadn't actually revealed any specific details.
Still, Sunek's talkative reputation was more than enough to make anyone doubt his ability to keep things to himself. So Jirel continued to try his best to shrug off what the Vulcan had seen.
"Fine, ok, I-There may have been…an element of hand-holding," he managed, not quite as casually as he'd hoped, "But I'm just worried about a member of the crew. That's all. I'd be just as worried about any of you."
"Even me?"
"Even you, Sunek."
The Vulcan considered this for a few seconds.
"Would you hold my hand-?"
"Is this thing finished yet?" Jirel sighed, gesturing to the medical computer in a final effort to derail Sunek's attempts at conversation.
"It'll tell us when it's finished."
Jirel held back the grimace of frustration as that attempt to move the discussion on ran into a dead end, and instead picked up the small empty hypospray from next to the bed.
"This was definitely what she asked for?"
"Yep," Sunek nodded, his tone sounding immediately more serious, "Big old hit of stims. And I guess she knows what she's doing, cos all that cordrazine looks like it's pulled her lifesigns up for the time being."
Jirel mustered a nod, but couldn't help but feel somewhat concerned at the idea of pumping drugs and medication into her system based on, from his perspective, Sunek's say so.
Just then, the computer chirped, and the Vulcan immediately tapped the controls.
"Well, kick me off the north face of Mount Seleya," he muttered to himself, "We actually got something."
"What?"
"There was still enough of the toxin left in that thorn to get a full breakdown of the chemical markup," he explained as he worked, "Whatever it is, looks like it's got some freaky psychotropic properties, which I guess explains all the…"
The galaxy's most talkative Vulcan stopped himself again before he started to reveal too much about Natasha's memories.
"Y'know," he continued instead, "All the…weird mind meld stuff."
This seemed to satisfy Jirel, whose focus was understandably more focused on the latest baffling set of readings on the screen in front of Sunek.
"So? Can we cure it?"
Sunek tapped a few more commands into the console, and his optimistic face soured slightly.
"Well, the computer's put together the formula for an antidote. But there's a buttload of stuff in this recipe that we're not gonna have onboard."
The Vulcan looked back at the Trill and offered a shrug.
"Guess we're gonna need to go shopping with the Son'a after all."
"So long as we've got time," Jirel replied worriedly, "And so long as they've actually got what we need."
"Those guys are walking pharmacies. They'll have what we need. And if not, they'll be able to cook it up for us. Right?"
Jirel managed a slight smile and a nod, forgetting all about his attempts to pretend as though he wasn't feeling personally involved in this crisis.
"And we should have time," Sunek added with a shrug, "Provided nothing else goes-"
The alerts that flared out from the medical computer suggested that there was little point in him trying to complete that particular fate-tempting comment.
"Crap," he said instead, furtively working at the console to try and figure out the cause of the new alarms.
"What now?" Jirel pressed.
"Well, if I had to take a guess, I'd say something else just went wrong."
'*'*'
'*'*'
Archanis IV, Archanis sector, Klingon-Federation border. Stardate 50029.3
Natasha Kinsen was scared.
More than that, she was terrified. Perhaps more than she had ever been before. And with very good reason.
She cowered behind her scant cover and felt another disruptor blast shoot past her and smash into the rock face behind with deadly force, forcing her to cover her eyes as she was peppered with dozens of tiny shards.
With a great deal of effort, she squirmed around to try and get her bearings, while still ensuring that she remained covered from the endless incoming fire. Given the amount of dust and dirt being thrown up by the blasts that were raining down, she struggled to see clearly in any direction.
As far as she could tell, there was no sign of the rest of the away team at all. Wherever they were, she hoped they had at least found cover of their own. Though part of her doubted that they could all have been so lucky, given the sudden shock of the attack.
She steadied herself on a dusty brown rock and focused on her combat training. She unclipped her phaser from her belt with one hand and grabbed her tricorder with the other.
Another green disruptor blast skimmed past her position, and she heard a distinct scream from somewhere far away. She prayed it wasn't anyone she knew.
The USS Navajo had arrived in orbit of Archanis IV just over four hours ago, their orders simply being to assist in preparing the remaining Federation research teams down on the surface for their planned evacuation.
Just a couple of days ago, Chancellor Gowron had shockingly declared the start of a new Klingon-Federation war in a broadcast across the quadrant, and specifically named Archanis IV as one of the first targets for his battle fleet.
The evacuation had been going smoothly, and Natasha had joined one of the final away teams down to the planet to help catalogue and package the last few stashes of medical supplies ready to be taken by a Federation survey ship en route to the system.
While she could have spent the entire mission onboard the ship in orbit, helping the cataloguing process from there, she had volunteered to be part of the away teams. After all, it wasn't every day that a lowly junior medical officer got to stretch their legs planet-side. And besides, she hadn't been onboard the Navajo for long, and as a newly promoted Lieutenant Junior Grade, she was still trying to make a good impression on her new crew.
She had never managed to do that back on the Tripoli. Buried deep in the sickbay's relief crew roster, she may as well have been invisible. Only once had she caught sight of Captain Sochi in the flesh, and then it had been a glimpse of the back of her head as she had entered a turbolift. And, if she was being completely honest, it might not even have been her.
But she had been determined to make the Navajo a clean slate. The Navajo was going to be different. This was the posting where she was really going to show everyone the sort of officer she was. She just sensed it.
And that was why she had volunteered for away team duty, and had been delighted to have been assigned to the one being led by Commander Calvin, the Navajo's first officer. And even more delighted to find that he had remembered her name from when he had first welcomed her onboard at Starbase 37. She had even offered, without being prompted, a surprisingly inventive suggestion for storing a set of fragile Archanian spore samples that nobody else on the team had considered. It had all been going so well.
And then the Klingons had arrived a day early.
Neither she, nor any of the rest of the away team, had any idea that the attack had been coming. They had been checking through some of the outpost's long-term storage units in a mountainous region to the north of the main settlement when the call had come.
A terse message from Captain D'Vora was all they got. A message that informed them that Klingon ships had decloaked inside the system, and the Navajo had gone to red alert, fending off an entire battle wing of Birds of Prey. Until further notice, with the shields up and the ship concentrating on fending off waves of attacks, the away team and the remaining research staff were on their own.
Which meant she and the other lightly armed members of the away team were all that was protecting the hundred or so scientists and researchers that remained from the Klingon landing parties that had arrived on the surface of Archanis IV.
Choking back lungfuls of dust, she desperately checked her tricorder scans. There were lifesigns all around. Some human, some Klingon and others from a plethora of Federation worlds. With a tinge of sadness, she noted that there were already substantially fewer non-Klingon lifesigns than there should have been.
But the more relevant issue that she noted was the complete lack of an escape plan.
Whatever cover she and the others had managed to find might have been keeping them alive for the time being, but they were cut off from any realistic fallback paths back towards the settlement by the landscape of the mountainside.
Their current position, nestled in a slight valley between two of the higher peaks, couldn't have been less defensible. The attacking force had entirely surrounded them.
Which meant that she knew there was no other choice. She couldn't stay here forever. She had to fight.
She licked her lips and gripped her phaser tightly, looking up at the top of the rock she was crouched being, as the disruptor fire continued all around.
Just as she was counting down in her head, preparing to break from her cover and try to somehow fend off dozens of armed Klingon warriors, a figure leapt over the rock and landed next to her, accompanied by a fresh volley of disruptor fire. She whirled around and raised her own weapon in panic, only to see a dirt-streaked but reassuringly familiar face looking back at her.
"Lieutenant," Commander Calvin called out over the cacophony, "Are you hurt?"
She wondered whether he had assumed she was injured as an explanation for why she had remained behind her cover for so long, rather than trying to help. As Starfleet officers should. But the situation was far too fraught to worry about saving face at this point.
"No sir," she replied, forcing all traces of fear from her voice, "But, sir, where are the others-?"
"No time to worry about that, Lieutenant. I believe most of them found cover."
"Most of them, sir?"
Calvin didn't directly respond to that, his craggy features inscrutable at this point. Instead, he turned and fired a series of phaser blasts back over the rock at the advancing enemy.
"Defend your position for now, Lieutenant," he ordered, "With two of us, we may be able to advance forwards."
She ignored the chill she felt from his reading of the situation, and crept forwards through the dirt to join him in firing back over the line of their cover, into the thick of the hopeless battle.
"How many Klingons are there?" she asked, as they both ducked back down to avoid another volley of enemy fire.
"Irrelevant," Calvin responded, "We still need to try to peg them back and then make a break for a more advantageous position, nearer to some of the civilians. The Navajo will beam us up as soon as they have a window to do so."
She found herself feeling reassured by his voice, despite the bleakness of their situation. And while she didn't know Commander Calvin well, she had been told plenty about his bravery and his abilities as an officer, which comforted her as they continued to fight. She now believed that there was a way out, as long as he was there with her.
But was he there with her?
She dismissed that thought almost immediately. Of course he was here. He was here with her, fighting off a hoard of marauding Klingons.
But was she there?
She looked down at the type-2 phaser in her hand, and her dust-covered uniform. It suddenly felt odd to see all of this, as if it had been a long time since she had held a Starfleet phaser, or worn a uniform. Which was insane, because she'd worn this uniform, in one iteration or another, almost every day of her adult life.
"Lieutenant Kinsen," Calvin called out as he fired again, "We need covering fire. I can see Ensign H'Kar trying to fall back with some of the research team."
Natasha ignored him. Her focus was still on the phaser and the uniform.
This wasn't right.
She felt a stabbing pain in her temple, which seemed equally familiar somehow. Even though she couldn't remember the last time she'd suffered from such an affliction. Inside her chest, her heart started to pound so fast it felt as though it was about to burst free.
She found herself picturing a memory of her visit to Wrigley's Pleasure Planet, over two years ago, back when she was on the Tripoli. Though for some reason, it felt a lot more recent than that. She also found herself recalling a splatter of sticky green-brown blood, which she couldn't quite place.
And then she recalled an ensign. Lying in a corridor.
She shook her head to try and fend off the headache. Nothing was making any sense.
As another burst of Klingon disruptor fire flashed above their position, she turned to Commander Calvin.
And then everything made sense. And she knew precisely where she was.
Because it wasn't Commander Calvin looking back at her any more.
"Huh," Sunek managed, as a disruptor blast whistled past his head, "Well, at least I'm wearing clothes this time…"
'*'*'
'*'*'
The Bounty streaked through space, running at far too high a speed for the venerable warp drive within, but nevertheless hanging on thanks to the ship's ever-resourceful engineer.
In the cockpit, as the ship resolutely flew on under autopilot, Klath and Denella were gathered around a small monitor on the Klingon's tactical console, both grimly staring back at the face that was displayed on it. It was, in fairness, the sort of face that invited grim stares.
"This is quite a list," Ahdar Lit'eh of the Son'a vessel Syatonen mused from the other end of the comms link, "Quite a list indeed."
Denella tried not to focus too much on Lit'eh's features as he spoke.
Like all Son'a, it showed the eerie combination of scars, wrinkles and patches of unnatural tautness that showed off their never-ending attempts to further their lifespans by any means necessary.
Some of the prodigal Son'a had peacefully returned to their home planet of Ba'ku out in the Briar Patch a couple of years ago, to reconcile with their former peers and return to the invigorating radiation the planet offered.
But while the reconciliation seemed to offer exactly the life-preserving impact that the Son'a had sought for so long, many had turned their backs on the idea of peaceful reintegration into the society that had once shunned them. Instead, they had remained out in deep space, briefly consorting with the Breen and the Dominion during the war, and now continuing their efforts to live forever while dreaming of taking the Ba'ku planet's resources by force one day.
In summary, if you met any Son'a away from their home planet, they tended not to be the ones you wanted to spend any time around. And yet, the Bounty was warping straight towards the Son'a vessel Syatonen.
On the screen, Ahdar Lit'eh finished scanning the complete list of medicines, chemicals and preparation techniques that Klath had transmitted to them, the results of the medical computer's scans on the thorn's toxin. The wizened Son'a returned his focus to the screen.
"But, I believe we should have everything you are looking for in storage," he nodded agreeably.
His words might have caused an outbreak of relief in more naive spacefarers. But both Klath and Denella had been travelling around the less hospitable areas of the quadrant for long enough not to get suckered in so easily. And while neither of them had ever dealt directly with the Son'a before, they were both well versed with the archetype.
"We're glad to hear it," Denella replied, in a tone that didn't quite match her words, "If you want to transmit a pricing estimate to us, we'll see what we can do before-"
"Forgive me," Lit'eh interrupted with a dismissive gesture, "But while it may be extensive, your list is hardly the most complex of orders. Given the reason for your haste and the condition of your patient, I'm happy to…overlook any charges."
Denella paused, a little thrown by this response. She didn't look at the Klingon next to her, but she could tell that Klath had tensed up slightly.
"Oh," she managed, "I mean, you don't need to make a special effort on our part-"
"It is no effort. I happen to be of the belief that my people have taken too much from this galaxy of ours over the years. Think of this as me, in some small way, giving something back…"
Lit'eh smiled as warmly as his decaying features would allow. Which wasn't nearly warm enough to offer Denella any sort of reassurance.
"Well," she replied after a pause, "That's…very generous of you."
Lit'eh's unnerving smile didn't waver. Nor did the emptiness leave his eyes.
"I look forward to your arrival," he concluded with a nod, as the comms link terminated.
Denella stared at the suddenly blank screen for a second, before turning to the unhappy face of her colleague.
"I take it you don't think it's gonna be that easy?"
"Do you?" Klath responded with a knowing glance.
Denella sighed and shook her head.
Klath grunted and tapped his console, bringing up the latest long range sensor readouts from the ship they were racing towards. She didn't need to ask what he was doing. It was exactly what she would be doing as well. He was sizing up their opponent.
"The Syatonen is not one of the Son'a's larger vessels, but they outmatch us in terms of weaponry and defensive systems."
"I mean, I kinda assume that about most ships we come across."
As soon as she made the comment, her eyes suddenly widened, and she looked around at the expanse of the Bounty's cockpit apologetically.
"No offence, old girl."
Klath rolled his eyes at this latest foolishness from the Orion, refusing to be drawn back into that particular argument, and continued to dig into the tactical readings.
"If there is to be a battle," he pointed out, "We will need to be prepared."
Denella chewed her lip and considered the situation, before shaking her head.
"Nah, from what I've heard about the Son'a, they don't seem the type to just lure us over there to shoot at us. If they're being this generous, it's because they want something in return."
"I am inclined to agree," Klath nodded thoughtfully, "But the question is: What?"
Before Denella could guess at an answer, the Bounty shook slightly, and an alert chimed out from Denella's engineering station.
"Damnit," she sighed as she bounded over to check the alert, "See? This is what happens when I say something bad about her."
Klath bit his tongue yet again, even as she continued to swiftly tap at her controls to re-align the Bounty's overstressed warp field.
"Hey, hey, hey," she said soothingly as she worked, "I didn't mean it, ok? You could totally take out that stupid Son'a ship."
As the gentle shaking subsided, Klath decided against asking her how much she believed the problem had been solved thanks to her work on re-aligning the warp field, and how much was down to the words of comfort she had offered to the inanimate object they were travelling in. That was an argument that he would be sure to win some other time.
Instead, he stood up and made for the steps at the back of the cockpit.
"I will…leave you two alone."
Denella cooed at the Bounty for another few moments, as Klath disappeared down the steps. It took her a while to look up and turn around.
"Huh? You say something?"
'*'*'
'*'*'
It was an unerring sight, but one he was getting oddly used to.
Jirel couldn't remember how long he'd been staring, but it had been some time. He couldn't recall whether this was the longest one yet, but it felt like it.
In front of him, Natasha lay as she always had, unmoving, on the single bed. Next to her, Sunek sat with his fingers carefully placed across her temples, his own face a blank canvas, as it had been since he had initiated the meld.
The Vulcan was lost in thought. Just not his own.
He had considered leaving the medical bay while the meld was ongoing, if only to get some sort of sustenance. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten anything. But he didn't want to take his eyes off what was happening, even for a moment. Even though he could barely understand the readings, he kept himself close to the screen that displayed Natasha's lifesigns, with a second hypospray of cordrazine to hand in case they suddenly dropped again.
The lifesigns had settled down slightly after they had suddenly gone haywire, with the computer reporting several bigger spikes in brain activity than before. She had still been in a coma, but her heart rate, brain activity and other functions had risen up to dangerously high levels, for reasons that neither Sunek nor the medical computer could properly explain.
The only solution the computer suggested was a dose of sedatives, of a similar strength to the stims that they had already given her. One seemed to counteract the other, and brought her lifesigns back down from the redline.
But that just left them back with the same issue they had before. Her condition was dangerously weakening all over again.
That was why Sunek had initiated another meld. And why Jirel was keeping another shot of stims close to hand, albeit a lower dose than before. He wasn't sure if it would work any better than it had previously, but he knew that if things got worse with her readouts, he would have to try something.
So he kept watch, with one eye on the computer's readings and another on the patient. And his worries inside him continued to fester.
Eventually, even though he'd been caught out the previous time, he found his free hand once again reaching out towards Natasha's own hand.
The door to the medical bay opened, and he quickly snapped his arm back.
"I wasn't holding her hand!"
Klath stood in the doorway and regarded the Trill with a look of confusion. He had simply come down to the medical bay to offer an update on their efforts to reach the Son'a vessel.
"What?" he offered.
Jirel scrambled around for some sort of semblance of dignity. Though, if he was being entirely honest, he found himself landing some way short of that lofty aim.
"Um, I just-Y'know, I was just going to-Nothing. I wasn't doing anything."
He squirmed slightly, as the Klingon's look of confusion deepened. After an awkward silence, and noting the jittery look in his friend's eyes, Klath recognised the signs of fatigue without needing to ask any more questions.
"Perhaps you should get some rest."
"I don't need to rest," Jirel lied, before gesturing to the odd sight of Sunek and Natasha, "Besides, someone's gotta keep an eye on those two."
Klath regarded the two prone forms, still mid-meld.
"I could…keep watch," he offered eventually, with more than an edge of discomfort.
Jirel forced a smile, but shook his head defiantly.
"No dice. You and Denella need to focus on the Son'a, right?"
There was another silence. A long silence. For a moment, Klath considered arguing the point further, even though he really didn't want to get involved with the medical side of their predicament if he could help it. He had, in fact, only made the initial offer through a basic understanding of the social contract in place at that point in time.
Klingons weren't exactly renowned for their bedside manner, after all.
So instead, satisfied that he had at least made the offer, he nodded back at Jirel and turned to leave the medical bay.
"Ok, fine," Jirel sighed, buckling under the unrelenting pressure of Klath's intense interrogative silence, "I guess I don't want to leave because…I'm worried about her. Ok? Is that weird? That's not weird."
Klath, who had no idea how powerful his interrogative silence had been, or indeed that that was what he had been doing, also didn't know what to do with this sudden burst of honesty. Torn between his desire to exit the room and return to more pressing tactical matters, and an inner desire to support his troubled friend, he remained standing by the door, as another long silence descended.
Jirel grimaced, silently cursing the thoroughly professional way that Klath was always able to use his silences to get the truth out of him.
"I know," he continued, "It's just that…I guess I feel kinda useless right now. Everyone else is busy, you've all got work to do, ways to help, and I'm just…here. Staring at a medical computer I don't even understand."
Klath shifted uncomfortably on his feet, entirely unaware of the power that his silent approach was having in forcing Jirel to open up to him.
This latest silence was the worst one yet as far as the Trill was concerned. A probing, incisive silence designed to undermine any efforts he was planning on covering up the truth any more.
"I mean," he sighed, "Someone's got to be here. Just in case. And I wanna say that I'd be acting just the same way if it was any one of you on that bed. But…I guess I can't pretend that I don't have deeper feelings for her."
Another silence. This one was more understanding and supportive. It relaxed Jirel slightly, even as he looked down at Natasha's comatose form.
"And I'm pretty sure she doesn't feel the same way. Hell, she's told me that much. And that's fine. But I'm still allowed to worry about her, aren't I? I'm still allowed to have feelings?"
A contemplative silence. One that Jirel felt was designed as a supportive gesture.
"I know, I know," he nodded, "I should just talk to her about all this. I guess she's not interested in-I mean, she said she doesn't-I just…hope I get to talk to her about it. Or about anything."
A more delicate silence, showing a surprising level of sensitivity for a Klingon.
"Yeah, I know. I'm sure I'll get a chance. She'll pull through. She can fight this, can't she? Just like she's fought crazy Vulcans, or the Orion Syndicate, or Nimbosian cowboys, or whatever else has come our way."
Jirel looked back up at his friend and smiled, as an agreeable silence was unleashed from the Klingon's arsenal of silences.
"Thanks, Klath. It's been good to talk all this out with someone."
Klath's latest silence was accompanied by a look of complete bafflement. He had no idea the power he had just wielded, simply by remaining silent.
In a different universe, he would have made an excellent ship's counsellor.
'*'*'
'*'*'
Archanis IV, Archanis sector, Klingon-Federation border. Stardate 50029.3
"You're going to be dead in ten minutes."
It was a strange sentence to hear, and an even stranger one to contemplate. Even in an age of such medical advances as the late 24th century, very few people got that sort of precision diagnosis.
Not that being in such a position made hearing it any more comforting. The finality of the statement simply served to make the situation even more surreal.
"Huh," Sunek managed in reply, as he looked down at the Starfleet uniform his latest adopted body was wearing, "Bummer."
Around them, disruptor fire still rained down, but all of her previous fears about the situation on Archanis IV had been replaced by an entirely different fear. As soon as she had seen Sunek's face, everything had come flooding back to her. She remembered where she was, what was happening, all of it.
And suddenly, the memory of trying to hold back a marauding Klingon army paled in comparison to the actual crisis she was in.
"Not sure if I want to know the answer to this," Sunek continued, "But what actually happens to me if I die in one of these things?"
She sighed and shook her head.
"Let's not turn this into any more of a metaphysical nightmare than it already is?"
"Fair point."
A distinct shrill cry of agony rang out from somewhere nearby. Just as she remembered hearing at the time. Sunek glanced around, still taking in the situation he had found himself in.
"We were caught completely unawares," she offered by way of explanation, "The Klingons steamed in, attacked the Navajo, and slaughtered half the remaining researchers before Captain D'Vora was able to break free of the battle in orbit, use the planet itself as cover to drop the shields and beam everyone to safety."
She paused and gestured back at the body of her commanding officer.
"And before that happened, Commander Calvin was cut down. Hit by disruptor fire as he tried to make a break for Ensign H'Kar and the others."
Another blast rocked past them and impacted on the rocks behind them. It startled Sunek, but now she knew where she was, Natasha had been expecting it.
"But I survived," she added with a quieter voice, "Because I didn't go with him. I stayed back, gave covering fire. For what use it did."
"Huh," Sunek managed again, "Bummer."
Another cry of pain flared up from somewhere, which seemed to focus Sunek back onto the bigger picture.
"Ok, doc, we're still in the middle of a diagnosis back in reality. We got the details we needed for an antidote from the thorn, but the cordrazine caused your whole brain to go crazy, so the computer advised us to calm it down with a sedative. Which…kinda puts us back where we were."
Natasha processed this quicker than before. She was now getting used to the situation with every passing interaction with Sunek's unerring features inside her own memories.
She considered the sensation of her heart beating faster and faster in her chest, and wondered whether that had anything to do with her wider condition in the real world. Certainly, even though she had been terrified during the battle in reality, she was sure she hadn't been this scared. Or maybe she had been. And she'd just suppressed the worst of the terror.
Sunek waited impatiently for a response, flinching with every stray disruptor blast now that he knew that one of them was destined to kill the body he was in sooner or later.
Eventually, she gestured away from the scant cover they were crouched behind, out into the firefight itself.
"We need to move," she urged.
"Um, no…?"
"You're going to die in about seven minutes, but in about thirty seconds, a concussion grenade hits this patch of cover. Commander Calvin just about got us away in time. A thin rocky outcrop, twenty metres northeast."
Sunek winced as another disruptor blast fizzed by, not looking like he was in love with her plan.
"I remember what we did," she pointed out, "Plus, in a weird way, I'm assuming that you're kind of invincible for the next…six and a half minutes."
The Vulcan/human gestalt in front of her seemed to perk up at this interpretation of his current situation, and just as Calvin had all those years ago, tore off towards the outcrop as bursts of green fire hailed down from above.
She followed closely behind, stumbling in the last few metres and ending up in a dusty and undignified heap at the tall commander's feet. She spluttered slightly as the two of them readjusted to their new cover.
"Ok," she coughed, "The stims sent my lifesigns off the charts, but they brought me some time. Have some more ready just in case."
"Already on it. Jirel's standing over you right now with a hypospray."
She paused for a moment, a little unnerved. Sunek clocked her expression and shrugged.
"I mean…not in a creepy way or anything. It's just that I guess he's not really left your side ever since you collapsed. Again, not in a creepy way."
Sunek considered whether he should continue with his increasingly uncomfortable explanation of Jirel's role back on the ship, before a passing disruptor blast offered the perfect distraction to back out rather than rambling on for any longer.
Natasha wasn't entirely sure what to do with this new information, especially the unexpected sense of comfort she suddenly felt. Given the more pressing issues at hand, she compartmentalised those thoughts away, decided that it was a good thing from a practical perspective that someone was keeping a close eye on her condition while Sunek was in the meld, and left it at that.
"Ok," she said, "How long until we have an antidote?"
"We're bearing down on the Son'a ship," Sunek replied, "And they're playing ball so far. But it could still take a few hours to get the supplies and get the antidote ready."
"And the medical computer doesn't think I have a few hours?"
"I guess we can keep hitting you with stims and sedatives to bounce you between nearly dead one way and nearly dead the other way, but I kinda figure that's not a medically viable solution."
She racked her brain, trying to remember what else was available in the Bounty's meagre stash of medical supplies. She had built up a modest stash over her time with the crew, but she still wasn't exactly working with a starship sickbay.
"So, we need to hit me with enough cordrazine to keep my lifesigns up, but not so much that it completely overwhelms my brain…"
Another cry of pain from somewhere. Then, she remembered.
"Promazine! We've got a few shots of that onboard."
"So?"
"It's an antipsychotic. Give me 5 ccs of that, along with a half-dose of the cordrazine. Might be enough to perk me up without frying my brain."
"You sure about-?"
Sunek stopped himself and offered a wry understanding grin.
"Yep, right. You're not really sure about any of this."
She offered a slight smile back, ignoring the growing feeling of despair that was building up inside of her.
"Ok, we'll give it a go," Sunek continued, "And we can also-This is the bridge."
Natasha felt a chill pass down her spine. A stab of pain flared up in her head.
"Wh…What did you say?"
Sunek looked confused. All he'd said was 'And we can also keep the sedatives handy'. Which, given what had happened before with the cordrazine, seemed like a perfectly rational suggestion.
He shrugged and repeated himself.
"I repeat: Abandon ship. All hands to the escape pods."
All Natasha could hear was Captain D'Vora. She felt sweat forming on her brow, and her heart rate increasing all over again. The scene began to blur.
She was barely aware at all when Sunek's face was replaced by that of Commander Calvin.
Nor when the disruptor blast hit him squarely in the chest.
'*'*'
'*'*'
USS Navajo, Kesmet Sector, near Cardassian space. Stardate 52749.3
The deck shook wildly beneath her feet as another wave of firepower struck the crippled vessel.
She couldn't help but stumble as the ship lurched around, her head slamming into the cold metal wall to her side.
This time, she didn't scream out. The familiar flare of pain in her temples increased all over again, but she gritted her teeth and blocked it out as much as she could. Her attention was entirely on the corner she was approaching. Or, more specifically, on getting as far away from the memory of that corner as possible.
Through the wail of the alarms, the toxic atmosphere, the distant screams and the carnage, she focused on anything other than the scene unfolding around her. She tried to focus on Salus Hadren. Or Doctor Rahman. Or Commander Calvin. Or Ensign T'Vess. Or even Sunek.
This isn't real, she told herself.
She reached the corner once again, and gripped the wall of the corridor tightly, both to keep herself standing as the deck bucked and tilted from another attack, and to try and stop herself from going any further.
But this time, she did go further. This time, she couldn't leave.
While her mind wanted to be anywhere else, her body inexorably moved forwards, turning the corner just as she had done a year ago.
She saw the escape pods, lined up in a row, with their doors invitingly open and ready for boarding. Ready to facilitate desertion.
And as she staggered over to the nearest pod, she heard the cry.
"Help me!"
She didn't want to turn back to look. She wanted to keep her focus on the controls for the escape pod doors. Or even on escaping from this memory. But something compelled her to look.
Even as smoke filled her vision, she could see the ensign in the corridor. His frail ashen features staring back at her exactly as she recalled. His twisted, broken body was clearly beyond saving, but his arm despairingly reached out to her for comfort.
Comfort that her medical training told her she should have provided. But instead, she had left him behind. She had abandoned him.
And once again, she didn't move. She didn't react to his cry of need.
"Doctor," he croaked, "Help me!"
Tears formed in her eyes. The pounding in her head became crippling.
She felt herself reach out for the pod door controls.
From somewhere, some other memory, she heard the voice of Doctor Rahman echoing inside the corridor.
"Very disappointing."
The pod door began to close. The ensign's face stared at her. The pain in her head reached a crescendo.
And then everything disappeared.