THE LOST VOYAGES
The "Star Trek – Voyager" that could have been
by Soledad
Alternate pilot episode
Disclaimer: All Star Trek belongs to Gene Roddenberry and Viacom or whoever owns the rights at this moment. I don't make any profit out of this – I wish I would, but I don't, so suing me would be pointless.
Rating: G, for this part.
Author's notes: The genuine medical facts and medical jargon were provided by Ithilwen of Himring, may all Delta Quadrant deities bless her. The technobabble is completely made up by me, so it probably doesn't make any sense at all. Beta read by the ever-gracious Brigid, whom I cannot thank often enough.
It was dark, very dark, and in the still empty halls of her reality dozens of unique cries of despair and pain echoed. The pain was gone now, leaving a strange numbness behind, and she found that she could not move. Even opening her eyes was beyond her strength.
She stretched out her mental feelers, seeking connection, but there was none. That was wrong, that couldn't be – she was on a ship with a crew of one hundred and forty-one, she should be able to reach somebody…
She tried to move her hand, to reach out and feel around herself, find out where she was, but to no end. Still, she could not stay so isolated any longer, separated from other minds, from other feelings and thoughts, with only the echoes of the crew's former agony in her head…
She collected all her remaining mental strength and sent out a soundless cry of utter despair, with all the force she still could manage.
Had nurse T'Prena been careless enough to let her mental shields down while watching her unconscious patient, the raw power of the Betazoid's telepathic outcry could have caused serious damage to her. But T'Prena of Vulcan was an experienced nurse, and she had studied the crew's medical files carefully, after being assigned to Voyager. As a result, she was well aware of Stadi's potential, and she knew how emotionally stressed Betazoids could get.
Still, the distress call, sent from mind to mind, hit her like a blow. She swayed for a moment and had to grab the end of a biobed for a moment.
"Doctor," she said, a little more shaken than a Vulcan should be, under any given circumstance, "I think our patient begins to regain consciousness."
The EMH darted forth from his office in a strangely cheerful mood, waving some old-fashioned medical tool in his hand.
"Hmmm, good! Then we can finally take a closer look at her eyes."
T'Prena withstood the very un-Vulcan-like urge to roll her eyes. It was not easy. The EMH had developed this strange fascination for centuries-old medical instruments in the time frame of mere hours, and there didn't seem to be an end to it.
"Doctor, the diagnostic computer has already catalogued all the corneal abrasions the lieutenant had suffered due to the explosion. There was no need to replicate an outdated, 21st century instrument for any further examinations. Especially since we have managed to remove all foreign debris from the eyes."
"Oh, but a more... personal touch would never harm," replied the EMH brightly. "Now, if you would kindly place flourescein dye in her eyes so that I can look at the cornea using this lamp…"
"I most certainly will not," T'Prena said sharply, sharper than he had actually intended. The EMH had an uncanny talent to irritate her, in spite of her disciplined Vulcan nature. "The procedure would only put more stress on the patient; it is unpleasant and it will not bring any new insights. Therefore it is useless and illogical."
"Useless?" the EMH bristled, very much in the manner of an unjustly insulted human. "This method was used with very good results…"
"… in the 21st century," T'Prena interrupted. "That was three hundred years ago, doctor. And if you find it all right to cause discomfort to a severely injured patient, just so that you can play with your new toy, then something must be wrong with your ethical subroutines. Perhaps I should ask Lt. Carey to check your programme."
"To play!" the EMH sputtered. "Nurse, you are forgetting to whom you are talking!"
"On the contrary, doctor," T'Prena would have preferred not to take such a drastic step, but she saw no other solution. "Computer, freeze emergency medical holographic program."
Before the EMH could protest, he was immobilized in the middle of the intensive care unit. T'Prena touched her comm badge." "T'Prena to Janeway."
The answer immediately. "Go ahead."
"Captain, could you come to sickbay? Your authority is required."
"Can't this wait, nurse? We are on our way to that Array."
"I am afraid it cannot, Captain. Lieutenant Stadi's recovery may depend on this."
There was a short silence. Then a sigh. Then finally the short answer. "On my way. Janeway out."
A few minutes later Janeway stormed into sickbay with an apparently concerned Tom Paris in tow.
"So, what is it?" she asked, a little impatiently. "Is Stadi conscious?"
"Barely," T'Prena answered. "She is coming to just now."
"What is wrong with her eyes?" Janeway asked. "Why is she wearing eye-patches?"
"Fragments of metallic particulate matter from the explosion have created a series of linear abrasions on her corneal surfaces," the EMH injected in an almost maniacal hurry, "resulting in a reactive keratitis."
Janeway's eyes glassed over slightly. "In Standard, please…?"
"She had foreign debris in her eyes, from the exploding console," T'Prena explained calmly. "We have already removed the fragments and are treating the corneal abrasions with antibiotic ointments and drops to dilate the pupil, which eases the pain."
"Are these abrasions very painful?" Tom asked softly. "Will she be able to regain her eyesight completely?"
"We hope so," T'Prena said. "Shallow abrasions, though rather painful, usually react well to the treatment I mentioned, and heal within a day or two. Unfortunately, the lieutenant has suffered a few deeper ones as well, and these will take many days to heal. There also could be some scarring, in which case she would be left with permanent visual deficits. At the moment, we cannot say if she will make a full recovery yet."
"Which is exactly why I want to examine her eyes with this instrument," the EMH prompted with a scowl.
Janeway glanced doubtfully at the primitive-looking thing in his hand. "What is this?"
"A relict from the 21st century," T'Prena answered quickly before the EMH could. "It is called a blue-light slit lamp and was once used to check abrasions in the corneal area. If flourescein dye is placed in the eyes, and the lamp is directed at them, any abrasions will fluoresce yellow. Theoretically. But the lieutenant's eyes are irritated enough as it is; plus we have more efficient methods for both diagnosis and treatment of this kind of eye injuries. I do not see any reason to go through this procedure. The doctor happens to disagree. I have called you, Captain, because I would like to spare the lieutenant any more discomfort."
"I see," Janeway looked at the EMH with slight concern. "Why would the doctor insist using such outdated instruments?"
"I do not know, Captain. It could be a glitch in his programme – it was not meant to run all the time, some circuits may have been overloaded. I would suggest a complete system check, if anyone from Engineering could be spared."
"Unfortunately, both our diagnostic engineers and the Chief are dead, as you surely know," Janeway sighed. "But Ensign Vorik might be able to run the system check on his own. I'll see that he comes down here, as soon as possible. Can we go on without the doctor for a few hours?"
"If no emergencies arise, we can," T'Prena said. "I would suggest we leave him immobilized but online. His diagnostic subroutines are still working flawlessly, and he showed no system failures during the operation. This whole… phenomenon started approximately 2.07 hours ago. He seems increasingly obsessed with archaic healing methods."
"Holograms can't be obsessed, nurse," Janeway pointed out.
"Not usually," T'Prena agreed, "and that is exactly what concerns me."
"All right then, let's leave him in this mode," Janeway nodded. "What about Lt. Stadi's other injuries? She hit the bridge floor pretty hard. Did the impact cause any serious damage?"
"A traumatic fracture and associated subluxation of the T1 vertebral body occurred when she hit the chair railing," the EMH chimed in with morbid cheerfulness, "causing severe extramedullary compression of the spinal cord at the T-2 level and permanent paraplegia."
Janeway and Paris exchanged identical blank looks. Having had field medic training was still not enough medical background for Tom to understand this level of jargon. The captain turned to the Vulcan nurse.
"Translation?"
"Her spinal cord was severed at the T1-T2 vertebral junction," T'Prena said. "That is, just below the point where the neck joins the trunk."
"The doc said something about paraplegia that didn't sound good," Tom said slowly. "Will she ever be able to leave that biobed again?"
"She will most likely preserve normal arm function," T'Prena answered, "but will be completely paralyzed from the chest down."
"Oh God," Tom muttered in shock, "she's a pilot… and she'll never fly again?" For him, this seemed a fate worse than death.
"The chances are slim," T'Prena nodded. "I remember having read of alternative therapies in the journal of the Alderman Neurological Institute, some three years ago, but they were still in experimental stadium and fairly risky."
"Nevertheless, once Vorik has checked the doctor's program, both you and he should start doing some research on this topic," Janeway ordered. "I don't know how long it might take us to get home, but it can't harm to inform ourselves and be prepared to deal with the problem on our own."
"As you wish, Captain," the Vulcan said. "When is your estimated time of return to Voyager?"
"That," Janeway answered grimly, "you should ask from the entity who has brought us here. In any case, Vorik and you should hurry up with the diagnostics. Ensign Kim might need the doctor when we return him from that Array."
"If you return him," T'Prena corrected. Janeway frowned.
"I prefer to remain optimistic, nurse."
"That is certainly your right, Captain," the Vulcan replied. "However, being realistic may prove more useful in this case."
With this typical Vulcan answer in their ears – an answer to which, as so often, there was no proper riposte – Janeway and Paris left sickbay to join the others in the transporter room. It was time to face their nemesis openly.
Approximately fifteen point six minutes later Ensign Vorik arrived in sickbay to check on the EMH's program. T'Prena was secretly relieved to have her fellow Vulcan for the time-consuming system check. A human engineer would feel the urge to prattle while working, and T'Prena had more important things to do. Small talk was such a waste of time, and yet humans were so inclined to it…
"Do you require assistance?" she asked Vorik, but the engineer shook his head.
"Not at the moment, thank you. I shall call you if necessary."
"Understood. In that case I shall return to my patient. She could regain full consciousness in any time now and might have questions that need to be answered."
"Your patient? Your patient?" the EMH sputtered. "You are a mere nurse, not even a medical technician! I don't know what the Captain was thinking… leaving a patient in such serious condition in the care of a nurse! And what about the Benzite babies? Have you thought of turning them onto their other side? To control their feeding tubes? To…"
The two Vulcans exchanged a look full of understanding and agreement.
"Perhaps I should switch off his vocal subroutines," Vorik offered. T'Prena nodded with somber dignity.
"That would be appreciated, Ensign. My patient needs rest."
Infuriated, the EMH tried to protest again, but no sound left his holographic mouth. T'Prena nodded her thanks and returned to the intensive care unit.
"Lieutenant," she asked quietly, "are you awake?
Stadi gave a tiny nod and tried to answer but found that she could not.
"Mouth… dry…" she cracked with great effort.
T'Prena changed the settings of the biobed, adjusting the headboard to forty-five degrees, raising the patient into a semi-sitting position. Then she pulled down one of the plastic tubes that hung ready above the bed and brought its end to the Betazoid's dry lips.
"Drink slowly and in small sips," she warned her patient, and to her satisfaction Stadi obeyed, although she had to be very thirsty. "That is enough. You can have more in a few minutes."
Stadi didn't protest when the water tube was taken from her. For a short while she lay quietly, apparently exhausted from the small effort of drinking. Then she licked her lips and turned her head to where she guessed the nurse would be.
"What… happened?" She asked. "Why… can't I see?"
"You have suffered eye injuries," T'Prena explained as simply as possible. "The treatment requires the widening of the pupils. You are wearing eye-patches to protect your eyes."
Stadi signaled her understanding with a small gesture of her head. "How… serious…?"
"Fortunately, they are no punctures," T'Prena said. "Only abrasions. They are painful, but they will heal in a few days. If there is no scarring, you might regain your eyesight fully."
Again, a tiny nod. "Chances…?"
"Eighty-five point nine per cent," T'Prena could never understand the human practice of white lies. Stadi needed to know how her chances stood; and she was a mature adult, capable of facing the truth.
"That's… not bad," Stadi breathed in relief and promptly fell asleep again. Illogical as it seemed, T'Prena was glad that she had not asked about the rest of her condition. That had time. She will learn of it soon enough.
The nurse walked over to the incubator to check the condition of the Benzite babies. The little fishheads were still dangerously small, but their limbs had grown an average of two millimeters since their birth, and the dorsal fluke had begun to shrink – all which should have happened during the additional weeks spent in their father's pouch. All in all, they seemed healthy enough, considering their premature delivery, and T'Prena calculated their chances to survive approximately ninety-three point six per cent, which was promising. Assuming Vorik would find the reason for the EMH's deteriorating, of course.
T'Prena was an experienced nurse, 'with decades of duty under her belt', as humans preferred to say, but she couldn't replace a physician. Not even a holographic one. She had attended to many special courses, but she was not qualified to perform operations, except very minor ones, and even if she was ready to overstep the restrictions that regulated the duties of a head nurse, there were conditions she simply couldn't treat on her own. The crew needed the EMH, especially here in the Delta Quadrant, where they had no access to Starfleet resources.
T'Prena, for her part, seriously doubted that Captain Janeway would be able to get any help from the entity who owned the Array and preferred a more practical approach to their situation. To put it simply, she had accepted the fact that they might be stuck in this part of the Galaxy and was prepared to deal with it.
"T'Prena," Vorik called out to her, lying under the central computer unit of sickbay in which the EMH was stored, "I believe I have found the problem."
"That was fast," T'Prena joined him in the main room. "Is it a mechanical one?"
"I think so," Vorik got out from under the console and pointed at one of the small displays. "Do you see these erratic readings? According to the unit's self-diagnostic log, they started shortly after the Maquis had knocked out our tractor emitters. It seems the hit had caused a feedback loop in the board computer, due to the internal damage from earlier, and that knocked out various important systems in no particular order."
"We are lucky that it happened after the operation on Lt. Stadi," T'Prena murmured. "I assume that means the EMH-program must be taken offline until the problem is solved."
Vorik nodded. "That is correct. We will have to run a complete system check on the board computer, before other systems start shutting down, one by one. I will return to Engineering immediately and clear this with Lt. Carey; he is the next in command now and has to coordinate the repairs."
"Agreed. How long will it take to perform a complete computer system check?"
"Several hours at the best, perhaps even more. The best-qualified people for the job are dead, our chief of operations is missing – it will not be easy." Vorik collected his tools and put them back into the toolkit with absent-minded practicality. "Can I do anything else for you?"
"No; the other systems seem to be working within normal parameters... for now. As long as no new emergencies arise, I should be able to handle things here."
Vorik simply nodded and left, without wasting any more words. T'Prena resisted the urge to sigh.
"Computer, deactivate emergency medical holographic program," she said. The EMH flickered out of existence. T'Prena took the seat in Dr. Fitzgerald's office, behind the desk, from where she could watch over both Stadi and the babies with the help of the diagnostic monitors and ordered the medical computer to show her the journals of the Aldeman Neurological Institute from 2368 and search for the articles of one Dr. Toby Russel.
Engineering still resembled a battlefield when Vorik arrived. Some crewmen, redirected by Lt. Rollins from other sections, were busily cleaning up the debris, while all available engineering personnel (which was a depressingly low number, but fortunately, Vulcans had no tendency towards such illogical behavior patterns as depressions) worked furiously to fix the extensive damage. He found Lt. Carey in the Chief's office, where the human engineer was trying to trace down the same feedback loop that he had detected in sickbay.
"The cursed thing has knocked off sixty per cent of the buffers that provide energy to the replicators," Carey murmured. "They are beyond repair, all we can do is to recycle the raw material. Transporter efficiency has sunk to forty-seven per cent… damn!"
"That would still cause no problems in the normal transporter function," Sue Nicoletti said encouragingly… then her smile withered. "Of course, an emergency beam-out, under different circumstances, could blow up the whole system."
"Sickbay is affected, too," Vorik told him. "T'Prena had to take the EMH offline. It started to develop erratic behavior patterns."
Carey stared at him as if he had just made a very silly joke. Then the true meaning of that bit of information sank in, and the acting chief slumped into his seat.
"Great, just great! Does it mean what I think it means?"
"If you are implying that we will have to make a complete system check on the board computer, then the answer is 'yes'," Vorik replied. Carey gave him an exasperated look.
"That was a rhetorical question, Vorik!"
"My apologies, Lieutenant. However…"
"I know, I know. It has to be done, and the sooner we start with it, the quicker it's done. Just what we needed, right now, when we have too few people for all the other repairs already."
Vorik started the time-consuming work without further delay. Carey ordered Nicoletti to help him; then, when they finally left him alone, he called sickbay.
"T'Prena," the Vulcan nurse sounded as calm as always – infuriatingly calm. But Carey had had the chance to get used to Vulcan demeanor since Vorik had been aboard.
"Engineering, Lt. Carey here. Tell me, nurse, just how bad is the EMH's condition?"
"I cannot give you the correct answer, Lieutenant. I am no holo-engineer. All I can say is that for a physician, his reactions have been erratic and irresponsible since the Maquis hit us."
"That is bad," Carey said grimly. "Sounds like a serious system failure. But the real problem is that I don't know all that much about the technology that was used by the EMH's creation. What if we can't fix the program? Are you capable of running sickbay on your own?"
"No, I am not," replied the Vulcan promptly. "I am a nurse, not a physician. I can provide minor treatments, but I am not qualified to work as a doctor."
"But you have worked as a head nurse for decades! Certainly, with some studying you can step in for Doc Fitzgerald, at least on the day-to-day basis."
"That," said T'Prena slowly, "would require a lot of learning."
"Then I hope you are a quick study," Carey answered, "because, unless the captain manages to intimidate that alien into sending us home, you are our best choice. System failures are spreading on the whole ship, and none of us is a good enough engineer to tinker with the EMH unless we absolutely have to. That thing would probably need the whole Jupiter Station to fix it – we don't even have a diagnostic engineer left. Carey out."
T'Prena, too, broke the connection, and for a while she simply stared at the blackened vidscreen, collecting her thoughts. She could not run sickbay on her own. That much was certain. But she could start a training program for med techs and nurses. And that Starfleet observer, Thomas Paris, had been trained as a field medic…
Granted, Dr. Fitzgerald had told some unpleasant stories about the young human, but T'Prena was quite sure that she could keep him firmly on his place. And field medic training was still a hundred per cent better than any other surviving crewmembers had.
She opened a file and began to formulate her official request, addressed to the captain. Under normal circumstances, she would send it to Lt. Cmdr. Cavit, as the first officer was usually responsible for work assignments. But they had no first officer at the moment, and though the captain was extremely busy, the health of the crew was of utmost importance.
The captain would just have to deal with it.
Elsewhere on the ship, Ensign Samantha Wildman finally found the medical tricorder that she had acquired back on DS9, under the debris of what used to be her quarters. The sturdy little instrument seemed all right at first sight, yet as she tried to switch it on nothing happened.
"Damn!" the soft-faced blonde woman uttered under her breath. She needed to check her own condition but didn't want to go to sickbay and make it public just now. That was the reason for buying a medical tricorder in the first place. As an exobiologist, she was capable of using simple medical equipment quite well. "Damn it, they said these things were practically indestructible!"
"Who said it?" a familiar voice asked, and her best friend, Shauna Brooks, peered into her quarters through the door that had remained partially ajar after the last hit.
"The Ferengi who sold it to me," Wildman replied, handing Shauna the uncooperative instrument. Brooks rolled her eyes.
"Sam, how many times have you been told not to buy anything from a Ferengi?"
"I had no other choice," Wildman defended herself. "There aren't any shops for medical supplies on DS9, and the Infirmary personnel wouldn't give me one of their tricorders."
"How do you know that? Have you asked?"
"No, I haven't. That's not a thing you ask a Starfleet doctor – or his Bajoran aides – on the frontier, where they barely manage to supply themselves."
"Sounds noble," Brooks said with mild irony. "Unless, of course, the Ferengi had this piece stolen from the very same personnel of said Infirmary."
"I doubt that. This is an older Starfleet-issue model, not in daily use anymore. Dr. Bashir and his people have newer and better ones. But it still worked when I bought it, and it'd be good enough for what I need."
"Let me see…" Brooks turned the tricorder in her hand back and forth. "Ah! That's the problem. The circuitry in this module has been broken… most likely when it ended up under some heavy debris."
"In other words: it's useless," Wildman said glumly. Brooks shook her head.
"Nah, I won't say that. It's fairly minor damage. I'll try to fix it for you. Let's go to my quarters, they're in a much better shape than yours, and I'll see what I can do."
Wildman agreed, not lastly because her own quarters were beyond immediate help anyway, and they rode the turbolift to Deck 3 where Brooks' quarters were. This section has suffered very little damage, so Shauna's rooms were in better shape – if one left the various pieces of clothing left in complete disarray on the most unlikely places out of consideration. Once again, Wildman asked herself how could someone like Shauna, who was the epitome of a neat officer outside her quarters, from the swirl of her reddish hair on top of her pretty head to her polished boots, live in a pig stall like this.
Behind closed doors Shauna was an incredible slob(1). Wildman had first-hand experience with that. She and Brooks had been roommates at the Academy for four years, and this was about the only thing they had ever fought over.
Still, Shauna seemed to find her way through her own chaos, as always. Within a minute, she produced a small toolkit from somewhere, selected a fine-looking little tool that Wildman couldn't identify for her life, and started taking the tricorder apart. There could be no doubt that she'd be able to put it together again, and that it would work properly. Tinkering was one of Shauna's hobbies, and she had become very good at it.
"Here," she said after twenty minutes or so, "try it now!"
Wildman pressed the "On" switch, and the old-fashioned little instrument began to purr contentedly. "Shauna, you are incredible!"
"So are you," Brooks replied, watching the readouts with widening eyes. "Have you known about this long?"
"No. I mean, Gresk(2) and I have been trying ever since we stopped getting our shots, but to no effect… until now."
"Lousy timing," Brooks commented with sympathy. "Unless the captain manages to get us back home the same way we've got here, of course. But somehow I doubt it."
"Me, too," Wildman sighed, " and considering what that ride did to the ship, I don't know if we should wish for it. I don't know what to do, Shauna. For the first time since I married Gresk, I actually wish we hadn't succeeded."
"It's too late for that," Brooks said. "Now you have to make the best of if, and you'll have to plan carefully. Getting new quarters should be the first thing on your 'to do' list."
"But I don't want to make this public knowledge yet," Wildman replied. "I don't want to tell anyone, unless I have to. I don't want people to start walking on eggshells around me and getting worried if I should be doing this or that… This is not an illness, after all. It's the most natural thing for a woman."
"You don't have to persuade me about that," Brooks said soothingly. "I do have a kid myself, after all… and I'm grateful that he's at home with my Mom and hubby, safe and sound…even though I miss him already terribly," she added with a sad smile. "But you'll need new quarters in any case, Sam. Yours are nothing but a huge pile of unsalvageable rubbish."
"True enough. But with the XO dead I doubt this would be the time to start making demands. The captain is busy with more important things at the moment."
"You can stay with me until you get the matter settled," Brooks offered; then, with a self-ironic little grin, she added. "I know I'm a slob, but you are used to that already. And first and foremost, I'm your friend. You might need me when things start getting more… complicated."
"I know," Wildman hugged her spontaneously. "I wish I could get new quarters closer to yours."
Brooks thought about that for a moment. "That's a distinct possibility, you know. My neighbour to the left, Amanda Crag, died in Engineering when we were abducted. You could move into her quarters – this section was spared, so they should be undamaged."
"I don't know," Wildman said with an uncomfortable frown. "It seems like grave robbery somehow."
"Don't be ridiculous! You need new quarters, and Amanda's rooms would be reoccupied sooner or later anyway. In fact, you'd be entitled to more living space than the average junior officer, but for that you'd have to tell the whole truth."
"No, standard quarters would be just fine. Even with the baby, I'd still have more than enough room."
"That's where you are wrong – children need a lot more space than adults do. But we can argue about that later. The most important thing is right now that you get those new quarters. I'd be happy to keep you here with me as long as you need, but you wouldn't put up with my untidiness for long, and we both know that. Now, sit down at my terminal and write a request for Crag's quarters!"
Wildman would have liked to protest, but she knew that her friend was right. In about eight months, she'll give birth, no matter if they managed to return home or were fated to live out their lives in the Delta Quadrant. She needed new quarters – she owed it to her baby to give it the best chance to grow. So she sat down with a sigh and started to formulate that request.
She regretted bothering the captain with her personal problems, but there was no other way to solve them. The captain would just have to deal with it.
TBC
End notes:
(1) According to the "Lower Decks" website, "Ensign Brooks has reddish hair, often worn in a swirl on top of her head. Wanders around in the background of almost every scene in the Federation habitat in 'Displaced'. Would have been Seven of Nine's 'cabin mate' during one of the various timelines. Is rather untidy, according to Seven of Nine's standards, as stated in 'The Year of Hell'. She is played by Sue Henley, Kate Mulgrew's stand-in." I gave her a first name and made her Sam Wildman's old friend.
(2) According to canon, Ensign Wildman was married to a Ktarian named Greskrendtregk who either served or DS9 or was just visiting his wife before Voyager's start. She had some difficulties to pronounce her hubby's name in "Deadlock", so I assumed she had a pet name for him, for daily use. g