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: PG, for this part.
Author's note: I'm not going to repeat Torres and Kim's experiences in the Ocampa city. I simply assume that they pretty much happened according to canon and concentrate on the efforts to find them. And yes, some lines of dialogue are still quoted from the episode.
Beta read by Brigid, whom I owe my sincerest thanks.
Janeway, Chakotay and Tuvok were sitting in her ready room – she behind her circular desk as was her wont, the two men on the opposite side of it, keeping a wary distance and avoiding each other's looks. Chakotay's eyes were cold and full of mistrust, Tuvok's interest directed solely at his captain. Janeway suppressed a sigh. Cooperation, it seemed, would not be easy, not even for the sake of their missing people.
"Well, gentlemen," she said, "I believe that our common goal is still to find our abducted crewmembers. And our best chance is still to work together. I for my part am not willing to give up on them just yet."
"Neither am I," Chakotay replied. "But frankly, I'm at a loss about where we should look for them."
"I might be of some assistance there," Janeway offered. "We've traced the energy pulses from the Array to the fifth planet of the neighbouring system."
"Do you believe they may have been used in some fashion to transport our people to that planet?" Chakotay asked doubtfully. "Wouldn't that be a risky method to transport such complex organisms as a living humanoid body? The energy flow is fluctuating."
"Risky for us perhaps," Tuvok said, "but the alien on the Array has a technology that is clearly superior to ours."
Chakotay ignored his remark as if he hadn't heard it. The Maquis leader addressed his words to Janeway alone, as if there were no third person in the ready room at all. "Is it your plan to go to that planet and search for our missing people, Captain?" he asked.
Janeway nodded. "That is the only chance I can see now."
"I quite agree," Tuvok added. "It seems to me that there is a connection between the alien and that planet. Clearly, the Array provides something – or someone – on the planet's surface with energy. And comparing the current readings with those before our visit to the Array, I have observed something peculiar about the energy pulses. They are getting faster."
Janeway straightened in her seat. "Faster?"
Tuvok dipped a single nod. "The interval between each pulse has decreased by point-four-seven seconds since we arrived. I can offer no explanation."
Of course not, Chakotay thought in dark amusement, that would require a little creativity – and a great deal of imagination. But out loud he only said, "Captain, perhaps it would be a good idea to do a thorough analysis of the planet in question. Its characteristics might give us a clue about what the alien is doing there and what he could need our people for."
"The thought has occurred to me as well," Janeway turned her monitor to the two men, showing them the planetary diagram spinning slowly on the screen, the energy flashes of the Array reduced by equation to little more than a series of short lines passing between its spidery outlines and the planet surface. She reached up to tap the planet's statistics. "Look at this!"
"It's virtually a desert," Chakotay realized, "the whole planet! No ocean, not one river!" He sat back again, shaking his head in disbelief. Janeway nodded.
"Strange, isn't it? It has all the basic characteristics of an M-class planet, except…" She chose a particular string of figures out of the planet's description and magnified it to fill nearly half the screen. "… there are no nucleogenic particles in the atmosphere."
"That's impossible," Chakotay said. "That would mean the planet is incapable of producing clouds and rain – which simply can't be if it's an M-class planet."
Janeway nodded again. "I know. I studied thousands of M-class planets as the science officer of the Al-Batani, but I've never seen an atmosphere without nucleogenics."
"There isn't such a thing," Chakotay emphasized, "not as a result of natural planetary development anyway. There must have been some kind of extraordinary environmental disaster."
Janeway hid an exhausted yawn behind her palm. "I know. According to your file, you have attended advanced palaeontology classes, Com… Captain. Do you believe that there still can be life on that planet?"
"Hard to tell," Chakotay answered thoughtfully. "Had the disaster hit an already advanced civilization, they might have been able to find ways to survive – like moving under the surface, for example. In fact, they may have some contact with the alien on the Array to that end. But I'm afraid we won't know for sure, unless we go there and look for ourselves."
"Which is exactly what we are going to do," Janeway yawned again, both physically and emotionally drained by the recent events. "As soon as repairs are complete we'll set a course for the fifth planet. You're coming with us, I presume?"
"We never leave one of our own behind," Chakotay replied curtly.
"I take that as a 'yes'," Janeway said. "I'll inform you when we are ready to go – assuming you will be in any shape to follow us."
"We are used to going ahead in any shape we happen to be in," Chakotay rose. "I'll have to return to my ship now and see that we get our repairs done in time."
"Do you need any help?" Janeway offered automatically. Even if these were the Maquis, the very same people she had been sent to hunt down, they were also Federation citizens… well, at least they had been, not that long ago. Old habits died hard.
"Thank you, Captain, but that's not necessary," at least the Maquis was polite in his refusal. "My people are more than capable of handling the ship. They are used to it."
"You forget that you have lost your chief engineer," Tuvok reminded him. "Without Miss Torres you are at a serious disadvantage. I would suggest…"
Chakotay spoke as if he hadn't heard the Vulcan… again.
"As I said, I have several good engineers who know my ship like the back of their hands," he said, still addressing his words to Janeway only. "I appreciate the sentiment, but you don't have to worry about us. We can manage on our own. Good day, Captain."
With that, he nodded and left. Janeway leaned back in her seat, sighing in exasperation.
"That went well," she remarked, unaware that she was repeating Paris' earlier comment.
When Gregor Ayala reached Voyager's sickbay, he found Sito and the Vulcan nurse working frantically to keep Tamal alive, while Tom Paris was knitting Gerron's broken bones with a small, handheld device, the likes of which had served well in Federation medical facilities for a hundred years, at the very least. Ayala stepped up to the biobed and looked at the frighteningly pale face of the young Bajoran with fatherly concern.
"How's Gerry doing?" he asked. Recognizing his voice, Tom spared him a surprised glance. He hadn't expected Greg to come down here. Chakotay yes, the big Indian had always been something of a mother hen when one of his people was hurt, but Greg was usually more stoic.
"We've treated his head trauma and his concussion," Tom informed his old acquaintance. "It turned out that his collarbone and breastbone were nicked, too. I'm repairing them now. The real problem is his liver – it's badly damaged, and neither of us is qualified to operate on him. We'll have to put the kid into a stasis chamber until the EMH is back online."
"How long will that take?" Ayala asked. Gerron didn't look as if he'd last much longer without professional help.
Tom shrugged and switched off the bone-knitting device, having done for his patient all that was within his abilities. "That's the other problem. Nobody seems to have an idea what's wrong with the Doc or how to fix him."
It seemed a little strange, even to him, to talk about a hologram as if it was a real person, but it made it easier to address the problem nevertheless.
Ayala's mood darkened visibly. "Damn it! And he was doing so well… we were beginning to hope that he'd start speaking again, soon." At Tom's questioningly raised eyebrow, he added. "We freed him from a Cardassian prison camp. Need I tell you more?"
"Let me guess," Tom smiled bitterly. "He was young, unprotected and too pretty for his own good."
Ayala looked at him closely, detecting new, hard lines in his face that had not been there before, and a cold glint in those blue eyes that he had not known earlier, either. The confused young man, whom he had to push through a forced withdrawal, had grown up awfully quickly. And the results were not entirely pleasant.
"I thought you were in the secure wing of that enlightened Federation prison," he said quietly. Tom shrugged.
"Not from the beginning. I spent the first seven months among the common crowd. You want details?"
Ayala didn't answer immediately, just looked at him with those dark, unreadable eyes.
"I don't think that will be necessary," he finally said. "I think I understand some things better now. But I still have some questions I'd like to ask. Do you think we could talk some time, when things get a little more ordered?"
"Sure, why not?" Tom replied tiredly, asking himself just how many more of these talks were still awaiting him. But he couldn't refuse Greg, of all people. Greg deserved to hear the whole truth.
He checked the readings of the biobed again, then turned to the nurse. "I'm done here, T'Prena; I' will put the kid into one of the stasis chambers. Is the site-to-site transport system still working reliably? It would be better than dragging him over manually."
"The Vulcan nodded. "Affirmative. Remember to make an entry in the medical log. Then come and assist us here. This patient still has broken ribs that need to be knitted."
"What are Tamal's chances?" Ayala asked. The face of the young cell leader was ash grey, his breathing practically nonexistent. But he had to be alive, at least, since the medics were still working on him.
"If you are referring to the patient I am currently treating, he has a chance of approximately 40.6 per cent to survive," the Vulcan didn't even look up from her work. "Assuming the engineers can correct the glitches in the EMH program. The patient needs a complicated operation that I cannot perform. His spinal injury is less serious than Lt. Stadi's, but if anyone but an experienced physician tried to fix it, he'd risk permanent paraplegia."
"He'd be paralysed," Sito explained quietly. Ayala sighed.
"What are you going to do then?"
"We've repaired his punctured lung and stopped the internal bleedings," T'Prena explained. "Mr. Paris will knit the broken ribs in a minute. After that we'll give the patient a series of infusions to replace the dangerous amount of blood he has lost, and then we will put him into a stasis chamber until the operation can be performed."
Ayala nodded. "Very well. Thank you, nurse. Sito, I have to return to our ship. Are you coming?"
"As soon as Gerry and Tamal are put in stasis. I need to look after the sick on board the Crazy Horse."
"You still have sick people over there?" Tom asked in surprise. "None of us were harmed on the Array."
"Well, some of our people came back with strange growths on their wrists and forearms," Sito replied grimly. "They look like carcinomas, and yet they seem to be harmless. I'm trying to decide whether I should remove the things or not."
"I'd prefer to take a look if you do not mind," T'Prena said. "The biobeds might be able to diagnose those swellings… and in the case that other people got infected as well, we can start working on a cure."
"I'm afraid that must wait," Ayala interrupted. At the moment we need everyone for the repairs. I'm gone then. Thank you for all your efforts. And, Paris… take care," he added and left sickbay.
After Chakotay left, Janeway slumped in her seat, burying her face in her palms. Tuvok was the only person in the whole Galaxy in front of whom she felt free to show her exhaustion openly. The Vulcan was a logical being who didn't interpret the limitations of the human body as weakness – unlike Janeway herself. Unlike her own father, her commanding officers, even her mother and sister. She had always been expected to be the strong one. She would not tolerate any weakness in herself, either.
Tuvok, however, saw things differently.
"Captain, you require sleep," he pointed out logically when Janeway succumbed to another irresistible yawn. Janeway shook her head in defiance.
"I'm much too tired to sleep right now. "She stood, walked over to the replicator unit and ordered another coffee. Double strong, black, no sugar. That ought to keep her awake for a little longer. She had programmed her own blend into the unit right as soon as she had come aboard. It would cause a heart attack in a Klingon who had grown up on raktajino.
"Nevertheless, Captain, you should rest," Tuvok insisted with the stubbornness of both a security officer and an old friend. "Caffeine is no proper substitute for sleep."
Janeway rolled her eyes. Tuvok was a dear friend to her, and she trusted him unconditionally, but his patronizing manner got on her nerves sometimes. She didn't like being patronized. Not even by a Vulcan, twice her age.
"I know that, Tuvok. I'm an adult, remember?"
"I do," the Vulcan replied, unperturbed. "But I also remember that you have always had the tendency to push yourself too hard."
There was no use arguing about that truth. They both knew that.
"I'll rest, soon," Janeway promised, more to put his mind at ease than really meaning it. "As soon as I've taken care of a few other things."
Tuvok's face remained blank as always, but Janeway could still feel his mild disapproval. During all those years they had served together, she'd learned to read many of those Vulcan nonexpressions fairly well.
"The crew will not benefit from the leadership of an exhausted captain," Tuvok pressed, which was unusual for him – it showed that he was really concerned. Janeway couldn't help but smile a little. This was as close to being pampered by a Vulcan as psychologically possible.
"You are right. As usual." She glanced up to him, still smiling. "I've missed your counsel, Tuvok. And I'm glad to have you back."
He inclined his head in his customary, dignified manner. "And I am gratified that you came after me so I can offer it once again."
Janeway nodded, accepting the well-concealed gratitude for what it was. "You certainly can, particularly in the current situation. You have served under Chakotay for quite some time. You were his tactical officer, worked closely with him. I think it's safe to say that you've come to know him well enough by now. What do you think we can expect of him?"
"That is not easy to tell," the Vulcan replied thoughtfully. "Commander Chakotay is what humans would call a charismatic leader. An excellent tactician, able to induce extraordinary loyalty in his followers. I have met Vulcans in the Maquis who were completely devoted to his leadership."
"How does he manage to awake such loyalties in others?" Janeway asked. "He seems pretty gruff to me."
"Through the simple fact that he, too, is absolutely loyal to his people," Tuvok said. "It is said that he never left anyone behind to the mercy of the Cardassians. There are whispered stories about how he shot a fellow rebel once – the man was injured beyond help, and they had no working transporter to beam him aboard the raiders, but he would have lived a few days longer, long enough for the Cardassians to murder him by slow torture. Apparently, the commander killed him, instead of subjecting him to that fate. I have never found any hard proof for this, however, so it is possible that the whole thing is just a legend. One of the many surrounding the "Angry Warrior", as he is often called."
"Do we have any chance of working with him rather than against him?" Janeway asked doubtfully. Tuvok thought about that for a moment then nodded.
"I believe so. He is a reasonable man – for a human. But remember, Captain, he is also a very dangerous man. Men with a mission always are. He might work with you beyond your expectations, but his first priority will always be the cause and his second one his own people. Should he have to choose between them and us, he will always choose them. Regardless of the price."
"And we are likely to be the ones who'd pay that price, aren't we?" Janeway asked. The Vulcan nodded solemnly.
"Unless we are cautious and keep an eye on him constantly, yes." He paused a little, then he changed the topic rather unexpectedly. "Captain, I did not have the opportunity to meet young Mr. Kim. What can you tell me about him?"
"Why are you asking?" Janeway was a little surprised. "You aren't usually that interested in junior officers."
"True," Tuvok admitted, "but, assuming we can find him, Mr. Kim is going to be the chief of operations – hardly a junior officer, despite his age. I prefer to know the people I have to work with on a daily basis."
"I see," Janeway's eyes darkened in sorrow. "His mother called me just after he left Earth… a delightful woman…" She blinked back her tears, hating these unexpected waves of sentimentality that hit her at the most inappropriate times, clouding her judgement. "Her only son… a late child, apparently, and a brilliant and eager one, too…" She swallowed again, forcing herself to speak more evenly. "He'd left his clarinet behind, and she wanted to know if she had time to send it… I had to tell her no." She glanced up at Tuvok and added as an explanation, "He played the clarinet in the Julliard Youth Symphony."
"An impressive achievement," the Vulcan commented. "I presume he will miss his instrument very much." If we manage to find him, the unspoken addition dangled between them. Janeway closed her eyes for a moment, fighting for control.
"I barely knew him," she admitted. "I never seem to have the chance to get to know any of them. I have to take more time to do that."
It was a promise she'd made to herself before this, on other ships, with other crews. One that she was never able to keep, and they both knew that.
"Well, Captain," Tuvok commented with that customary Vulcan honesty that bordered rudeness at times, "this might be your chance to make that work. Seventy years is a long time."
Janeway stared at him in shock. She had been so sure that if anyone, Tuvok shared her faith that they could get home just as quickly as they had been brought there. That they could find a method to get behind the alien's defences, if only Tuvok worked with her. The Vulcan's comment felt like a slap in her face.
"This is a fine crew," she said defensively, her legendary stubbornness kicking into high gear once again. "I've got to get them home!"
"Indeed, that must be your ultimate goal, Captain," Tuvok agreed; the emotional outburst of his commanding officer had absolutely no effect on him. "But you must also consider the possibility that – how do you humans say it? – that there might be no quick fix for this problem."
Janeway gave a frustrated sigh, but the statement was too correct to even try to fight it.
"I spoke to your family before I left," she said instead, after a rather long and awkward silence. Was she trying to motivate Tuvok to try harder? To support her belief that they would find a quick way home, soon? If she was, the attempt couldn't be more futile. The Vulcan showed no reaction whatsoever.
He simply asked, "Are they well?"
"Well," Janeway told him. "But worried about you."
The addition was clearly a mistake. Tuvok's face became closed in that eerie Vulcan manner. It was beyond definition, at least for the human brain, how a face that had been expressionless by default to begin with, could become "closed", but that was exactly what happened. As if imaginary shutters had been locked behind Tuvok's eyes, shutting her out. His voice, when he answered, took on that lecturing tone that he only used when insulted.
"That would not be an accurate perception, Captain. Vulcans do not 'worry'."
Great, now I have screwed it up completely, Janeway realized with resignation. After all those years, she was still able to put her foot in her mouth when Vulcans were concerned.
"They miss you," she offered awkwardly.
Tuvok seemed to relax a little. Obviously, this time she'd managed to find the proper expression. "As I do them," he admitted simply.
Janeway recalled the beautiful, elegant Vulcan woman, T'Pel, who not only was a renowned healer in the Forge, the most life-threatening desert region of Vulcan, but also a sculptor in her free time and mother of four grown children and Tuvok's bondmate during the last seven decades or so. She remembered the calmness of T'Pel's voice and the well-controlled loneliness in the Vulcan woman's dark eyes. The acceptance of whatever way Tuvok might choose, but also the longing to see him again.
"I'll get you back to them," Janeway blurted out without thinking. "That's a promise, Tuvok."
A promise that she probably won't be able to keep. But Tuvok had the courtesy to keep that remark unspoken. He nodded stoically, wished good night to her and returned to the bridge to oversee the repairs. As a Vulcan he could continue with very little sleep for a rather long time. It was a logical choice to leave him in charge.
When Chakotay beamed back to the Crazy Horse, the crew – or what was left of it – was already informed about the events aboard Voyager.
"Seska managed to tap into their comm system," Ayala explained, vacating the pilot's seat for him. "We can now follow everything that happens over there."
Chakotay signaled him to stay. "Record all internal communications," he ordered, "and especially if they establish contact with any outside source. We must work with them for the time being, but I don't trust them. And work on that transporter! I want to be able to beam our people out any time."
"Sito has just returned without them," Ayala reported. "They had to put Tamal and Gerry into stasis, until their EMH comes back online. And that could take time. They have apparently no idea what's wrong with it."
"The more reason to find Torres, and quickly," Chakotay said. "If anyone, she would know what to do. What about the others? The ones who returned… affected from the Array?"
"They are not doing too well," Ayala replied grimly. "Sito is about to set up a temporary sick room in our cargo bay. There they can make smaller repairs, and she can keep an eye on them. But she says that sooner or later they should be transferred to Voyager. She can't treat them here and that Vulcan nurse seems competent. And she is willing to help."
"I don't think I'll believe anything a Vulcan says again, for a very long time," Chakotay growled.
"I can understand that," Ayala nodded. "But she is a nurse. Perhaps the Hippocratic Oath is still valid, even in the Fleet. And we don't really have any choice, do we?"
"Not if we want to save our people, we don't," Chakotay sighed. "How many of them are infected?"
"Three, so far: Bendera. Chell and Yosa. It seems that their condition is not contagious – but it is spreading," Ayala gave his captain a worried look. "You should go down to the cargo bay, Cap, and encourage them a little. Kurt is taking things calmly enough, you know what he's like, but Yosa is frightened out of his mind, and Chell is in hysterics, of course."
"What a surprise," Chakotay commented dryly. "All right, Greg, keep things running here while I'm playing mother hen. Adapt our course to Voyager's and monitor their communication. I'll be back as soon as I can."
Ayala simply nodded, and Chakotay began his adventurous trip to the small cargo bay of his ship. The turbolift – the only one they had – was offline, of course, so it took him a good twenty minutes to get there through the crawlways and ladders of the maintenance tubes.
The sight that greeted him was not encouraging.
In the short time available, Sito had somehow managed to organize three mattresses and laid them onto the floor of the cargo bay. The patients, suffering from various grades of the same strange illness, were lying on these mattresses, covered with spare blankets that had obviously been lifted from the quarters of those who had not survived the transfer to the Delta Quadrant.
The big, good-natured Kurt Bendera, through shaking violently from cold shivers that ran through his solid frame in irregular intervals, still tried to work on a panel next to his impromptu bed. Yosa, a native of Tiburon(1), took refuge in his species' typical reaction to stress and illness: he had retreated into a near-catatonic state, slowing down his breathing practically to nonexistence, his wrinkled skin taking on a greyish colour. Only the occasional twitching of his large, bat-like ears showed that he was still alive.
Chell, however, made up for the silence of both of his comrades. The Bolian had always been an extremely jumpy person, with a rather low stress-tolerance level, and the forced inactivity was the worst possible thing for him. As a result, he was prattling like a waterfall. For a moment, Chakotay seriously asked himself if Chell actually breathed through his small ears, in order to speak without a break. Chakotay's respect for Sito had just reached new heights. Treating patients under these circumstances must have been a serious challenge, even in Maquis terms.
"How are they doing?" he asked Sito. The Bajoran shrugged and led him to Yosa's bed.
"See for yourself, sir," she answered, lifting the limp hand of the Tiburonian.
Chakotay stared with ill-concealed horror and some vague disgust at the thick knots of flesh distorting Yosa's hand and arm. Never had he seen such grotesque masses on anything – or anyone – still considered being alive. Sito laid back the unresisting hand onto Yosa's stomach and opened the neck of his shirt. There were even more of those thick, purplish swellings. Chakotay fought the violent urge to get sick ruthlessly.
"The others, too?" he asked in a low voice. Sito nodded, her young face tired. "And you have absolutely no idea what these… things might be?"
Sito shook her head. "We need a biobed, sir. We won't be able to help them here. If the swellings really are some kind of carcinomas, Federation technology can heal them. It would be a long and unpleasant therapy, as the knots are spreading very quickly, but at least healing would be possible."
"But not here?"
"No, sir."
"I see," Chakotay walked over to Bendera's bed and dropped to the floor next to his friend, sitting cross-legged on the naked deckplate. "So, Kurt. You heard her. What do you think?"
Bendera(2) looked worse than Chell and Yosa together, his wry face practically covered with the strange-looking swellings. His eyes were barely visible, like narrow slots in that horribly disfigured face.
"What can I say, Chak?" he answered with resignation. "You know that I'd do almost everything to escape prison, but… look at me. I'm rotting alive. I'm not afraid of death, but dying like this – of that I am afraid, Captain."
"Are you willing to take the risk and beam over to them?" Chakotay asked seriously.
After a little hesitation Bendera nodded. "I'd give it a try, yeah. Gerry and Tamal are over there already. All you'd have to do is to keep a transporter lock on a few more people…"
Chakotay sighed again, willing Chell's nervous chatter in the background out of his conscious mind. "All right then. I'll call them. We have no other choice." He patted his friend on the shoulder and stood. "Sito, are you willing to beam over again with them?"
"Of course, sir. I could be of more use over there."
"Good. Let's hope that Captain Janeway is still feeling cooperative. I'll go back to the bridge and clear that. Prepare Yosa for the transport."
"Aye, sir."
T'Prena was as surprised as a Vulcan could be at all when the captain instructed her to prepare sickbay to accept three more patients from the Maquis ship. She called for Mr. Paris who had allowed himself a little rest, and to his credit, the human arrived in less than ten minutes.
"So, they have decided to deliver their people into our hands, after all," he remarked dryly. "They must be truly desperate."
T'Prena raised a disapproving eyebrow – joking over the condition of patients was not something that she would find acceptable. But even Paris didn't feel like joking when he saw the horrible state of the three Maquis.
"Holy shit," he murmured in shock, "what happened to them?"
"They were returned in this condition from our friendly neighbour, the alien on the Array," Sito replied. "At first the knots were few and barely visible, but they are spreading at an alarming rate. Yosa's luck is that Tiburonians can hibernate – that slows down the process considerably."
"Then let us begin with the human patient," T'Prena said. "You can assist me, while Mr. Paris runs a diagnostic on your hibernating crewmate and prepares this Bolian gentleman for treatment."
"Paris?" Bendera looked at the person in question from barely visible eyeslits. "You'd allow that one to touch any patients?"
Tom ignored the insult with practiced ease. Bendera had been one of Chakotay's crew on the Thor's Hammer and had never made a secret out of his mistrust towards the Admiral's errant boy. T'Prena, however, was not buying any nonsense in the middle of a medical emergency.
"As the head nurse of Voyager and currently responsible for sickbay, I have both the qualification and sufficient authority to decide whom I allow to touch my patients," she replied dryly. "Mr. Paris is a trained medic – the only one we currently have – and he has proved to be both skilled and useful already. If you choose to refuse treatment, say so now, so that I would not waste my time and can move on to another patient. I am afraid, however, that you do not have much time to waste."
Tom hid his grin with some effort. The wonderful Vulcan bluntness successfully shut Bendera up, so that the two women could start a thorough examination. Tom called for the diagnostic arch to be raised over the hibernating Tiburonian, started the automated diagnostic sequence, then walked over to the Bolian. The chubby, blue-skinned alien looked extremely nervous; in fact, he was as close to total panic as possible, but from all three patients, his condition seemed the best. It had to do something with his metabolism, Tom guessed. Bolians were extremely resilient. Unfortunately, they also tended to extreme paranoia and panicked easily.
"So," Tom said in what he hoped was a casual manner," let's start with the basics, Mr.… what was your name again?"
"Chell," the Bolian replied, his small eyes watching Tom's face suspiciously.
"Well, Mr. Chell, make yourself comfortable on the biobed and let me take a look at your insides."
TBC
End notes:
(1) Technically, Yosa was one of the many presumably human crewmembers in Engineering. I've made him a member of the same species as science officer T'Loor, an extra who got killed in the DS9 episode "The Ship".
(2) In the series Kurt Bendera was played by K Gruz. I "recast" him with Jay Avacone, the actor who played Kawalski in Stargate – SG1 because I wanted a more expressive face for the character.