Part Four
Starbase 218, Callax Sector. Stardate 50893.2
Natasha Kinsen was at peace.
The medical basis for the five stages of grief had been hotly debated ever since it had first been proposed on Earth in the late 20th century, and the current prevailing medical opinion was that the entire concept was too simplistic and reductive.
Firstly, centuries of research had failed to uncover any real empirical evidence to back up the existence of such a theoretical process, from denial, through anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. Nor had any psychological studies suggested that such a process happened organically in grieving individuals.
And then there was the wider issue that such a rigid model simply no longer made sense in the context of the wider universe. Space exploration had uncovered a myriad of differing approaches to grief. From the Klingon Death Howl, to the Ferengi ritual of pre-selling one's own remains, through to the Rakahki people of Rakhar VII, whose best psychiatrists had developed a theory that grief was actually a thirty-nine stage process, meaning that it was common among the Rakahki for one to pass away from old age while still in the middle of grieving one's great-grandparents.
All of which rendered the Terran-centric five stage model somewhat archaic in the modern day Alpha Quadrant.
Still, some therapists made use of the old system from time to time, as a jumping off point if nothing else. The ship's counsellor onboard the Navajo had helped Natasha to get over her father's death some months ago by using the five stage model as a framework for their sessions. And right now, Natasha was using it herself. And she felt that she had definitely reached acceptance. Both inside this particular memory, and in the wider context of her plight.
She wasn't disorientated, even though it felt like only moments ago she had been in Jirel's bed. Or in her family home on Earth. Or any number of other places. She knew what was happening.
She was dying. And, as she told herself, she had reached a point of acceptance with that.
She also knew what was happening in this particular memory. The latest trip that her brain had sent her on as she had somehow steered herself away from the Navajo. And she remembered that when she had been here in reality, she had reached acceptance as well.
She sat alone, at a table in one of Starbase 218's outer lounges. Along the inner wall was a bank of self-service replicators, while the main floor area of the lounge was filled with tables and chairs, as well as some more casual sofas in various orthogonal arrangements.
Next to her, the outer wall of the lounge was one huge curved sheet of transparent aluminium, offering an unimpeded view of the inky blackness of space.
The Navajo was out of sight of the lounge, the Excelsior-class ship ensconced on one of the base's spindly docking arms towards the bottom of the main cylindrical structure. But she could see another Federation ship from here, tethered to the end of another of the base's docking arms. The unmistakable shape of the Cheyenne-class USS Ticonderoga.
Her husband's ship. And also, as it turned out, the ship of Lieutenant Gina Ramirez.
He'd be here soon. She'd arranged to meet him right here, in this very bar, once the Ticonderoga had docked and he had been cleared to head station-side. Or, at least, that was what had happened when this had happened in reality. What was happening now wasn't actually happening.
And that was fine. She had accepted that as well.
Still, as far as Lt Commander Cameron Kinsen was concerned, he was heading for dinner with his wife, who he hadn't seen for several months. And then he was planning to take her back to the executive quarters on the base he'd managed to wrangle for the duration of their layover.
It had been a typical Cameron move. On the face of it, thoughtful and romantic, getting both of them away from their stuffy starship accommodation to turn this frustratingly rare crossing of paths into something memorable.
But there was something else that she could now see underneath that thoughtfulness. It was also a chance for him to show off. The newly-promoted second officer of a Federation starship pulling rank to score the fanciest quarters available to underline his status.
As she contemplated this particular memory, she had to admit that, had everything been equal back on Starbase 218, she'd have gone along with it. That was the man she had married, after all. The red flags had been there all along, and she'd chosen to ignore them.
They had even been there when he had proposed. He hadn't chosen a personal or private moment to pop the question, or chosen a specific location with any personal meaning to them.
Instead, he had gotten down on one knee in the middle of his own brother's birthday party, during shore leave back on Earth. In front of his extended family, while she had been wearing the little black dress and the Folnar jewel necklace he had bought for her just days before. The whole thing had been as much an exercise in him showing off in front of everyone, and stealing his brother's thunder, than it had been about the two of them.
And, in fairness to him, it worked. The proposal, and her saying yes, had delighted everyone present at the party. With the possible exception of his brother.
And she had accepted it all. She had said yes. Because she loved him. Even as she had felt like she was being shown off to everyone, with her elegant dress, her dazzling necklace, and now an engagement ring topped off with a gemstone the size of a small asteroid on her finger, she had accepted it all.
Because she was sure that people could change. At least, that was what she had told herself.
Except Cameron hadn't really changed. And neither had she. Looking back around at this particular memory after so many years had passed, she could now see that she had never really fully trusted him. Which, in an odd way, had proven fortunate.
In front of her was a small padd, containing the evidence that was going to end her marriage.
Because, while Cameron was expecting dinner and a night in the executive quarters, he was actually heading for something quite different.
As she stared at the padd, she wondered if Sunek had given her the cordrazine yet.
She had first become suspicious about Cameron and Lt Ramirez some weeks ago, and it hadn't taken much digging to confirm those suspicions. It turned out that Cameron's healthy ego seemed to give him a zealous amount of overconfidence in everything he did, to the point that he had barely even bothered to cover his own tracks.
The final piece of the puzzle had been delivered via one of her old Academy friends onboard the Ticonderoga, who had let slip the fact that she had seen Cameron and Ramirez spending more and more time together onboard.
Apparently, things had come to a head when a holodeck malfunction had forced a team of engineers to spend hours rescuing the pair from what had turned out to be a couples massage program. The malfunction, precipitated by a spatial anomaly that the Ticonderoga had been studying, caused the holomatrix to fuse that program with one designed for advanced tactical training.
And while she had gained some small amount of amusement at the mental image of Cameron and Ramirez, clad in little more than paper-thin towels, suddenly finding themselves having to spend several hours fending off a hoard of armed Gorn soldiers with massage oil and seaweed wraps, the story merely served as confirmation of what she already suspected.
He was cheating on her. Their marriage was over.
Still, for some reason, she hadn't informed him via subspace, or sent him a simple message. Instead, she had carried on as normal, waiting for their rendezvous at the starbase.
She winced slightly as she felt another headache starting up, wondering what carnage the extra boost of stims were wreaking on her physical body right now.
In the distance, she heard a red alert siren.
Trying to keep her focus on this memory, she focused back on the padd. Remembering why she had decided to handle Cameron's infidelity in person.
In truth, she had done it for the irony. After he had proposed in such a public manner, and spent most of their relationship favouring performative actions over genuine ones, she had decided to at least take satisfaction in finishing things in a similar way.
Still, even though the look on his face when she had calmly, but firmly, explained what she had found out had been particularly priceless, it hadn't satisfied her as much as she had hoped.
Whether she wanted to admit it or not, it always felt like part of her had died on that day. And now, she thought with a hint of irony, the rest of her was joining it.
She felt another surge of pain in her head. The alert siren was becoming persistent.
She heard footsteps approaching from behind her. Just as she had heard them back when this had really happened. She looked up to see Cameron's reflection in the window as the smiling second officer of the Ticonderoga reached her table.
Part of her had almost been expecting to see Sunek's face instead of Cameron's. But the Vulcan was nowhere to be seen.
She recalled what he had said about it being harder to 'find her' with the last meld, and suppressed a shudder as she contemplated whether or not she was now completely cut off. All alone, inside her own memory.
Cameron leaned down and kissed her cheek. She didn't react. The red alert siren grew in intensity. Her head began to pound.
Her husband sat down opposite her at the table. He began to talk.
"Warning. Structural integrity failure in progress."
And she knew she couldn't hold back the sirens any longer.
'*'*'
'*'*'
"It's not working, is it?"
Jirel didn't direct the question at anyone else in particular. His focus was on the freshly loaded hypospray in his hands. Another shot of stims. On standby.
In fact, the tiny vial of liquid inside the hypospray represented the remains of the cordrazine supply on the entire Bounty. That was all they had left from the Bounty's meagre supply.
Elsewhere in the medical bay, Denella stood over the computer, waiting on the synthesis of the antidote, while Sunek watched the readings from Natasha on a separate screen.
Klath had temporarily left the room, returning to the cockpit to get the Bounty back to maximum speed towards the medical facility on Beta Ramis. It was far too late for them to get there in time now. They were entirely reliant on the supplies they had taken from the Son'a. But still, they had to fly themselves somewhere, and that seemed as good a place as any.
After a moment, Jirel looked up, and repeated his question.
"Is it?"
Denella didn't answer, keeping her focus on the progress on the screen in front of her. Sunek glanced up from his own screen and shrugged.
"She's getting worse," he reported glumly, "The stims don't seem to have given her lifesigns the same boost that they did before."
"Why?"
Sunek bit his tongue before offering a more productive answer than the sarcasm that his brain had initially planned to opt for. He didn't need to remind Jirel that anything he told him was mostly going to be guesswork.
"Dunno," he shrugged apologetically, "But I'd assume it's got something to do with the toxin spreading further after we gave her the promazine. The stims aren't controlling the situation as well, now there's more to deal with."
The Trill looked down at the hypospray in his hand, then back up at the Vulcan, who picked up on the details of the unspoken question.
"If we give her another shot, I have no idea what that might do to her."
"If the toxin has spread," Jirel countered, "A bigger dose might help to fight it."
"True," Sunek shrugged, "It might also completely overload what's left of her systems. Still not a doctor, but my honest advice would be to maybe save that shot until her lifesigns really start to flatline."
Jirel grimaced and chewed his cheek, looking over at Denella.
"How long on the antidote?"
Denella decided against reminding him that it had only been a few minutes since he'd last asked her that question. Like Sunek, she could tell that it wasn't really the time.
"About an hour, give or take."
Jirel fixated on the hypospray again, as he considered how much the crew had come together in this particular crisis. How quickly Natasha had become such a vital part of the crew as a whole, for everyone on the Bounty.
As he thought about that, and Denella and Sunek returned their attention to their respective screens, the door to the medical bay opened and Klath returned.
"We are sixteen hours away from Beta Ramis," he announced.
None of the others took much visible solace from that news, with good reason. Klath acknowledged the silence, and then stood awkwardly in the doorway, not entirely sure what else he could offer the current situation. Eventually, and more than a little reluctantly, he stepped across the room, over to Jirel and the hypospray.
"The remaining stimulants?" he asked, gesturing at the device in the Trill's hand.
Jirel nodded back, forcing himself to look up at the hulking Klingon.
"We were just…debating whether to give them to her or not."
Klath considered the matter in silence for a moment. Another of those silences that he didn't realise held such power over the rest of the Bounty's crew.
And then, something curious happened. The least medically-minded person on the entire ship, possibly in the entire quadrant, offered a diagnosis.
"You should give them to her."
Jirel stared back at the looming face of the Klingon, even as Sunek turned back from his screen with an edge of displeasure.
"Hey, Doctor Bat'leth MD, maybe now isn't the best time to start your pitch for the chief medical officer vacancy?"
Klath didn't look over at the Vulcan, keeping his attention on Jirel, though he did acknowledge his general point.
"I cannot offer a medical opinion," he conceded, "But I can offer that of a warrior."
"Yeah, cool," Sunek's sarcasm persisted, "Don't tell me, we should try to hit the toxin with really sharp objects."
"I do not understand a great deal about medicine," Klath continued, in what was a strong contender for the understatement of the century, "But I do know plenty about how to fight. And that seems to be what the doctor needs to do with this…toxin. We should give her every chance to win."
"This shot," Jirel half-whispered, twirling the hypospray around in his hand, "Could also kill her, Klath."
"Any warrior knows that is a possibility in battle. She is no different."
Klath looked over at the human woman on the bed, as Jirel regarded his Klingon confidante. After a thoughtful second, he turned back to Denella and Sunek, who had both looked up from their respective screens.
"He does know his battles," Denella pointed out, "And we need to buy ourselves at least an hour."
"Just FYI," Sunek offered as a counterpoint, "If I'm ever in a dire medical emergency, I do not want Klath operating as my primary physician. And I will put that in writing."
Jirel considered the range of opinions he'd been offered. And then he looked down at Natasha's still-prone form on the bed.
And he prayed he wasn't about to make a big mistake.
'*'*'
'*'*'
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.
And despite the sudden disorientation she felt, she was exactly where she had expected to be. For whatever reason, wherever her memory had taken her, whatever treatment or drug she had been given, she had always ended up back here.
And once again, even though she knew everything around her was just a memory, from the noxious fumes to the wildly pitching deck, she still felt terrified.
Her head pounded, both from the trauma it had suffered from the impact with the wall, and also from the now ever-present headache. She choked back a lungful of the toxic soup that now passed for atmosphere on the stricken starship.
"This is the bridge," Captain D'Vora's measured tone sounded out through the havoc, "I repeat: Abandon ship. All hands to the escape pods."
She staggered on along the deck, approaching her darkest moment all over again.
From somewhere down the corridor, back the way she had come, she heard a plaintive cry of agony that triggered a fresh rush of guilt inside. She remembered it from when she had been here in reality, one of several such cries that she had ignored. Because she had been too busy running away.
She grabbed the corner of the intersection she was at as the Navajo pitched around again.
I don't want to be here, she thought to herself. If I'm dying, I don't want this to be the last thing that I remember.
But maybe this was the only place she deserved to be.
She stifled a rush of emotion and felt the ever-present pain in her head. She had stopped trying to guess how her symptoms inside her mind might have corresponded to her deteriorating condition back on the Bounty.
She made out the vague shapes of two crewmen desperately scurrying about through the smoke, running back the way she had come. Back into the fight, not away from it. At this rate, the growing sense of shame she was now feeling was threatening to finish her off long before the toxin had a chance to.
Another volley of weapons fire smashed into the ship, and the deck fell away from underneath her as the entire vessel lurched violently again. She hit the ground with a thud, and felt the snap of the same rib that had snapped back in reality.
Even if it was just a memory this time, the fresh rush of pain felt real enough.
"Warning," the voice of the computer calmly reported amidst the ongoing wail of the red alert sirens, "Structural integrity failure in progress."
She gritted her teeth, slowly but surely forcing herself back onto her feet, and struggled on towards the intersection. Once again, she prepared herself for what awaited her just around the corner.
Despite where she knew she was, despite the fact that this was all just a memory, she wondered if she could change it this time. If she could actually bring herself to do the right thing, and help the desperate ensign in the corridor.
It seemed ridiculous to even contemplate. After all, this wasn't happening to her because of time travel, or because she had wound up in an alternate dimension. This was just her own memory, apparently tormenting her to the bitter end.
As another choking plume of smoke from a nearby plasma fire threatened to overwhelm her, she staggered forwards and around the corner.
And she gasped in shock.
"You know, you were totally right. Ham and pineapple, it just works."
The smiling form of Salus Hadren, dressed in a luxurious silk robe from the Splendour Island Resort, calmly stood amongst the fiery carnage of the Navajo's final moments, holding out a slice of pizza in his hand.
She stared at him, mouth agape.
And then she felt herself falling.
'*'*'
'*'*'
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.
She shook her head in confusion. Hadn't she just been here? Or had she just been on Archanis IV? Or Starbase 218?
Her head pounded in searing pain as the choking smoke filled her vision. Almost through muscle memory alone, she staggered onwards all over again, on the well-trodden path towards the next intersection in the corridor.
Towards the bank of escape pods. And the dying ensign. And the ham and pineapple pizza.
No, she thought to herself, that's not right.
"This is the bridge. I repeat: Abandon ship. All hands to the escape pods."
Captain D'Vora's words pulled her back into the immediacy of the memory. She grimaced and clung on for dear life as the once proud starship pitched to one side once again, as another volley of weapons fire tore into its body.
She clung on for dear life, just as she had done in reality. But she couldn't stop herself from being thrown to the ground, where she landed with a sharp thud and the sound of snapping bone, just as she had done in reality.
Trying to ignore the pain, she clambered back to her feet with renewed determination. She could picture the ensign, just around the next corner. And she no longer cared that this wasn't really happening. This time, she was going to save him.
She didn't care that this was all a vivid memory. This time, she was going to drag that battered and bloodied young officer into the escape pod with her. She was going to do what she should have done. She wasn't going to leave him behind.
She reached the fateful intersection and gripped the corner of the wall tightly. The precise timing of the computer voice's monotonous interjection was so familiar that she found herself mouthing along to it.
"Warning, structural integrity failure in progress."
She took a deep breath, and turned the corner. She saw the body.
Except it wasn't the bloodied ensign. It was a Bzzit Khaht. Or a holographic recreation of one, at least. Complete with a wide opening in its chest cavity, and an ugly splatter of dark brown-green blood all around it.
Standing next to the dead patient was Doctor Rahman.
She gasped.
"Very disappointing," he said with a slight shake of his head.
She had no time to respond. Because suddenly, she was falling again.
'*'*'
'*'*'
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.
And the cycle continued.
'*'*'
'*'*'
"Readings are off the charts!"
Sunek called out the warning over the sound of several alerts chiming out of the computer monitoring Natasha's condition. At the same time, the comatose woman, who had remained eerily still for so long on the bed, started to gently shake and convulse.
"Crap," Jirel snapped, "What the hell's happening?"
"Brain activity is spiking again," Sunek replied, "Must've been that extra shot of cordrazine."
Jirel stared down at the empty hypospray in his hand in horror, then looked helplessly back up at the shaking form of Natasha on the bed.
"So…what the hell do we do? Go back to the sedatives?"
Sunek looked over at the Trill and found himself unable to offer much more than a shrug. He was well and truly out of answers.
In desperation, Jirel raced over to the stack of hypospray vials on one of the medical bay's counters and began to search for another shot of sedatives. As he searched, he felt a bulky Klingon hand land supportively on his shoulder.
"We should not interrupt the battle, Jirel-"
"It's not a battle, Klath!" he snapped as he tried to place a vial into the hypospray with a shaking hand, "It's a goddamn medical emergency!"
Klath was unperturbed by the passion and anger in his friend's voice.
"We have given her the strength to fight on until the cure is ready," he pointed out, "If you weaken her again, she will lose the fight."
The Trill stared up at the towering Klingon, fighting to control his own emotions while simultaneously wondering when exactly he started taking Klath's medical advice as gospel. Although, based on Sunek's response, he didn't seem to be the only one doing that.
"I really hate to say it," the Vulcan offered, "But the big dumb idiot might actually have a point."
As Klath decided precisely how he was going to take that most backwards of compliments, Natasha seemed to settle slightly on the bed, and Sunek gestured to the hypospray to clarify his point.
"We don't have any more stims left, remember?"
Jirel looked back down at the dose of sedatives in his hand, then to their patient.
"So, what the hell do we do?" he asked eventually, his voice sounding quiet.
Neither Sunek nor Klath had much of an answer to that question. But fortunately, Denella had one ready to go.
"We could give her this?"
She turned around from the medical computer and held up another vial of liquid.
"The antidote?" Jirel asked, his eyes widening with hope.
To his side, Sunek couldn't help himself.
"No, she's scored some street grade Trellium-D and wants us all to take a bong hit. Of course it's-!"
Before Sunek could finish his unnecessary comment, Jirel shoved his way past the Vulcan and grabbed the vial from Denella's hand, jamming the tiny container of liquid into the waiting hypospray in his hand with fresh urgency.
"Just remember," Denella managed as he turned back to their patient, "The core of the Bounty's medical computer is getting on for thirty years old. This might not be perfect."
She capped off her comment by looking around at the ship itself.
"No offence, ok?"
Jirel ignored that part of her comment, though Klath found time to roll his eyes again.
"We don't have any other options," the Trill pointed out, as he stepped over to the bed and placed the hypospray next to her neck.
He said a silent prayer, though he wasn't sure who he was saying it to, and depressed the button with a gentle hiss. For a moment, nothing happened. Nothing seemed to change. Natasha lay where she was, still slightly convulsing.
"Now what?" Denella whispered, cutting through the nervous silence that had descended with an edge of concern.
Sunek rushed back over to the readouts on the console next to the bed and studied them with as much confidence as he could muster in his own abilities.
"It…might be working," he concluded.
"Might be?" Jirel snapped.
"Again, I'll walk you through my medical qualifications later. But the computer is definitely detecting a slight drop in toxin levels around her brain. Which is better than anything else we've done."
Jirel glanced at Sunek, and then at the positive smile on Denella's face, and he felt himself relax slightly. But not by much.
To his side, Klath looked down at their patient and nodded proudly.
"She is fighting."
Jirel fought off the urge to fire back another retort at Klath's continued efforts to frame the ongoing crisis in more Klingon-style terms. Because he was too busy staring helplessly down at Natasha, slowly realising that there was now nothing more to do but wait and hope. Hope that she could win the fight.
"Yeah," he managed back to the Klingon eventually, "I guess she is."
"She's on her own now," Denella whispered.
Jirel began to nod, then stopped himself and looked back up at Sunek, who raised a curious eyebrow.
She didn't have to be on her own.
'*'*'
'*'*'
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.
Natasha didn't know how many times that had happened to her now. How many times she had banged her head, how many times she had staggered through the corridor, how many times she had struggled around the corner, and how many times she had been confronted with a fragment of another memory.
But she did know that she didn't want to be here.
Whatever the physiological reason was for her being stuck in this memory loop as it crumbled around the edges, she reasoned that it couldn't possibly be good. It felt like a clear sign that her sense of reality was starting to disintegrate.
"This is the bridge," Captain D'Vora intoned for the umpteenth time, "I repeat: Abandon ship. All hands to the escape pods."
She was dying.
She reached the intersection again, and braced for what was inevitably about to happen. Seconds later, she was thrown to the floor, her rib snapping with unerringly precise timing. The pain barely registered anymore. It had happened so often. Even the ever-present thumping headache had faded into the background.
Instead, she tried to prepare herself for whatever lay around the corner this time. What out-of-place piece of her own past might be there. Possibly Salus Hadren. Or Doctor Rahman. Or Commander Calvin, or T'Vess, Jirel, Blake, Cameron, Denella, or whoever else her mind decided to throw at her.
"Warning, structural integrity failure in progress."
She gritted her teeth. That was her cue.
With some effort, she lurched around the corner. She saw the bank of escape pods, waiting to be boarded. She staggered over to the nearest one. And then she heard the voice from behind her.
Except, once again, it wasn't the cry of help from the ensign she had heard when this had played out in reality. Nor was it a confusing non sequitur from another face from her past.
Instead, it was a confused voice from her present.
"What the hell?"
In an instant, her face turned ashen. Her stomach churned. She forced herself to turn around from where she stood next to the pod door. And instead of the terrified and bloodied face that had been burned into her memories, she saw the face of the Bounty's pilot.
He was here. Exactly where she had never wanted him to be. His face, etched onto the broken and twisted body of the ensign she had left behind.
Her darkest memory, now laid completely bare in front of Sunek.
She knew that she had already confessed the details of this memory to Jirel, but for all of his other foibles she was at least sure she could trust the Trill to keep a secret like that. She couldn't say the same thing about the Vulcan.
She watched him trying to figure out where he was, and who he was. He stared down at the remains of the body he was now inhabiting, taking in the plasma burns on the skin of his temporary host, the twisted legs that dragged behind him, and the bloodied stump of an arm at his side.
All things considered, he should have been in agony. The fact that he wasn't was equal parts relieving and disconcerting.
Natasha remained near the door to the escape pod. Pod NC-12. The same one that she had made her escape in during the Navajo's real last moments. As Sunek returned his attention back to her, she couldn't help but look away in shame.
"Hey, doc. No idea what's going on here, but it took some serious work to find you, and I have no idea how long this meld'll hold for. But we've given you the antidote. So you need to hang on, ok?"
She didn't answer. Her hand rested lightly on the smooth control surface of the door to Escape Pod NC-12.
"So, yeah," Sunek awkwardly concluded, "That's what he wanted me to come here and tell you."
She looked over at him, drifting back into the conversation.
"Who?"
"Who'd ya think?" the Vulcan replied with an out-of-place grin, "The dumb Trill idiot that hasn't left your side all this time. No matter how completely useless he's been in that medical bay."
Her hand came off the panel, as she slumped down to the floor of the Navajo. As the thumping in her head intensified, a tear escaped her eye.
It felt as though time was moving slower now. Like the memory was slowing down.
Sunek mustered an awkward cough as he glanced around again, through the smoke-filled confines of the corridor, with the alarms and sirens ringing out.
She thought about Jirel, picturing him back in the medical bay, keeping watch over her. And thought about what Sunek had told her about Denella and Klath's quest to retrieve the supplies they needed from the Son'a. And even considered the work that the Vulcan himself had been putting in to keep in somewhat unorthodox contact with her.
None of them had given up on her. Like she had given up on the ensign in the corridor.
The fresh flash of shame hurt almost as much as the headache.
"Point is," Sunek added, "It's working. We're nearly there. I think. You just need to…keep fighting."
She wasn't sure she could keep fighting. But as she contemplated the possibility that she wasn't going to get out of this one, she felt a fresh urge, despite who she was talking to. A deathbed confession. Something that she owed the young man she had failed.
"Daniel Cartwright."
"I beg your pardon?"
She looked away from Sunek and the ravaged body again. But she kept talking.
"That was his name," she explained, fighting to hold back more tears, "Ensign Daniel Cartwright. Graduated from the Academy in 2374. Engineering specialist, majored in warp field dynamics and antimatter flow calculations. The Navajo…was his first posting."
Sunek took in the scene again, and began to piece together where he was.
"This is the Navajo-?"
"He was 22 years old," Natasha forced herself to continue, "His parents were back on Earth, his sister worked for a civilian science group. He even had a partner. Lieutenant Paul Kelleher, posted to the USS Triton."
A distant explosion from somewhere in the bowels of the ship punctuated her monologue.
"And I left him to die," she concluded, failing to stifle the latest sob as she reached the crux of her confession, "Right there. On the deck of the ship. I ran and…left him to die."
Sunek, for all of his emotional experiences in his life, struggled to figure out the best response to the turn that their conversation had taken. But he managed to hold up his tattered stump of an arm.
"I dunno, doc. Looks like he's done for either way."
"Doesn't matter. I left him there. And he deserved better. Triage. Palliative care. Comfort. Something."
Sunek dropped the stump back to the ground, looking for a different angle.
"How come you know so much about him? Were you close?"
Natasha stifled a bitter sigh and wiped a tear away.
"I'd never even met him. Didn't even know his name when it happened," she managed, "But, as soon as I resigned my commission, I started searching back through the list of the deceased from the Navajo's loss. I knew his face, at least. That never leaves me."
Another explosion. The pulsing in her head ratcheted up.
"So, I searched and searched. And one day, I found him."
The walls of the corridor started to buckle.
"Sunek, if I don't make it, there's a…letter. On file, back in my cabin. I wrote it to his parents. And I've never-I guess I've been too scared to send it."
"Hey, doc, come on. You're gonna-"
"And I know why. I told myself it was because it felt like nothing I could say to them could ever make any difference. But…"
Further down the corridor, a bulkhead collapsed.
"...It was because I was scared. Of what they'd think of me."
She stifled another, significantly more bitter sob.
"I didn't send it because, even after everything that happened, I was still just…worried about myself."
She sighed and leaned back on the doorframe of Escape Pod NC-12, staring up at the ceiling of the corridor, even as a huge rent opened up in it.
"If I don't make it, Sunek," she managed, as everything began to collapse, "Make sure they get that letter."
"Hey, um, I'm sure you'll be able to-"
"Please. Sunek. Promise me."
She looked back at him. A plasma conduit ruptured somewhere nearby. A rare solemn look crossed the Vulcan's face. And he nodded back.
"Yeah, ok," he said, "I promise."
She felt a fleeting moment of peace. But it didn't last. The scene began to distort. Sunek's face disappeared, replaced by the agonised features of Daniel Cartwright. The pain in her temples flared white hot.
And, for one last time, she felt herself falling.
'*'*'
'*'*'
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 matter how many times this scene had played out, she had never found a way to stop herself from stumbling. She had never found a way to stop any of this.
Everything around her still felt so visceral. The choking smoke, the wailing alarms, the lurching deck under her feet, and the screams of the dying all around her.
"This is the bridge. I repeat: Abandon ship. All hands to the escape pods."
If she hadn't been through this exact same memory countless times already, she would have believed it was all really happening.
A fresh spike of pain lanced through her head. She fought against it, trying not to wonder whether that was good or bad news given what Sunek had told her about the status of her treatment. Inside her memory, she staggered onwards. Towards the intersection. Just like she always did.
Another pitch of the deck. Another tumble to the ground. Another snapped rib. It didn't matter. Not any more.
"Warning, structural integrity failure in progress."
Because this time, she was going to save him. To hell with her memory. She was going to save Daniel Cartwright, if it was the last conscious thing she did. She reached the intersection and turned the corner.
And again found herself staring down at a Bzzit Khaht hologram, bleeding out.
"Very disappointing."
She spun around in shock. Doctor Rahman stared impassively back at her in the burning remains of the starship, shaking his head slightly.
"But-I tried my best!" she heard herself call out down the Navajo's corridor.
Except it wasn't the Navajo's corridor any more. She was in San Francisco. At Starfleet's Medical Academy. Except, she wasn't there either. She was in London. Her father handed her a gift.
Reynard Kinsen's kindly weathered face smiled as she excitedly grasped the wrapped-up object in her small nine year old hands.
"Open it, Tasha," he whispered.
She tore into the wrapping and opened the varnished wooden box inside. And picked out a slice of ham and pineapple pizza.
"This was supposed to be our vacation! We were supposed to be sti-hic!-cking together!"
She whirled around inside her suite on Wrigley's Pleasure Planet, to find Ensign T'Vess pointing an accusing claw at her.
"I'm sorry!" she blurted out, "I just wanted to-!"
Her head started to spin. Maybe this is what dying feels like.
"That's what you want to do? With us? You want to run away from all this?"
Blake Aldridge appeared next to T'Vess, staring across the suite at her.
"No! I don't want to-!"
She was in Cochrane Park, in New Berlin. T'Vess had vanished. She took a step towards Blake, and felt something squelch underfoot. She looked down at the ruined strawberry, then back up at the memory of her ruined relationship.
"I'm sorry, Blake, I didn't mean to-"
A disruptor blast flew past her head. She felt her legs starting to buckle.
This had to be what dying feels like.
"Lieutenant Kinsen," Commander Calvin called out, "We need covering fire. I can see Ensign H'Kar trying to fall back with some of the research team."
"Commander! Don't-!"
It was too late. Calvin made a break for Ensign H'Kar's team. The disruptor blast tore through him. She felt as though her head was about to explode. Was she on Archanis IV? Or Earth? Or onboard the Navajo?
"Very disappointing," she heard Doctor Rahman say again, from somewhere.
She tried to focus on one memory alone. Something to give clarity to the tumult she was trapped in.
"Open it, Tasha."
She wanted to go back there. To her family home. To the comforts, and the warmth of her parents.
"You know, you were totally right. Ham and pineapple, it just works."
But she knew that there was only ever going to be one memory strong enough to latch onto. The one memory that plagued her every night. The one that she had been running away from ever since it had happened.
The red alert siren grew clearer. She forced herself to grip onto it, even as wherever she was right now started to blur and fade.
"Warning, structural integrity failure in progress."
Everything began to coalesce. The Navajo's final moments began to resolve. And this time, she told herself again, she was going to save him.
She found herself standing next to Escape Pod NC-12. Her hand was instinctively reaching out for the door controls, just as they had done before.
"Help me!"
Fighting back tears, she turned around. The ensign in the corridor stared back at her, reaching out towards her with his one remaining arm in desperation as he lay prone in the midst of the carnage. Daniel Cartwright.
Her hand wavered above the control panel. Her head felt like it was about to burst.
"Doctor, help me!"
This time, I can save him, she told herself again with fresh determination. It doesn't matter that this is all just a memory. I can fix this.
Ensign Cartwright grasped for her, his bloodied face a canvas of fear.
She felt her index finger moving down, gently making contact with the cold surface of the control panel.
"No!"
She cried out at herself, more than anyone else. She tried to move, to race over to help him, just as she should have done.
But that wasn't how memories worked. She couldn't fix this.
The pod door began to close. The young ensign stared up at her. She stared back.
"I'm sorry," she whispered tearfully, "I'm so, so sorry…"
Her head pulsed in agony. Her vision started to fade. The pod door thudded closed, and a cacophony of voices rang out from all around her.
"This is the bridge. I repeat: Abandon ship. All hands to the escape pods."
"We were supposed to be sti-hic!-cking together!"
"We need covering fire."
"Warning, structural integrity failure in progress."
"Doctor, help me!"
"Very disappointing."
She heard herself screaming.
The Navajo exploded.
'*'*'
'*'*'
Darkness. Endless darkness.
Then, a flicker of light began to permeate through. Blurry forms started to coalesce. A scene began to form in front of her. She heard a voice call out.
"She's coming around!"
The scene fully resolved itself, and Natasha saw four familiar faces staring down at her.
"Hey, Nat," Jirel continued, "Can you hear me?"
Her eyes flickered slightly, and then fully opened. She blinked a few times at the harsh lighting shining down from the ceiling of the Bounty's medical bay. She tried to speak, but her throat was arid. So she just nodded instead. Denella handed her a small canteen of water and smiled.
"Welcome back."
She mustered a weak smile, as Jirel helped her to sit up and take a sip of water. Sunek glanced over at the readouts on the screen next to her and nodded.
"Looks like the toxin's almost flushed out," he confirmed, "Guess we should send the Son'a a thank you card."
Natasha looked around at the others, still feeling groggy and decidedly weak.
"How long was I out?"
"Day and a half, give or take," Jirel replied, offering her a freshly relieved look and forgetting himself for the moment, "You had me worried."
He paused and self-consciously corrected himself.
"I mean-You had us all worried. All of us. Even Klath."
The Klingon looked over at the Trill with a fresh look of confusion.
"I was not-"
"Not now, Klath," Jirel interjected quickly.
Natasha couldn't help but smile. In relief, more than anything else. She never thought she'd be this happy to see the Bounty's tattered medical bay.
"So?" Sunek asked, "You feeling better?"
She paused and considered everything that had happened. The tangled mess of memories she had just been trapped inside. Everything she had just been forced to relive. She looked back at the Vulcan. The one person who now, whether she liked it or not, probably knew more about her than anyone else in the galaxy.
"Yes," she lied, "I'm feeling better."