A/N: ** This chapter contains a mild reference to attempt rape. **

Two Months Ago

Noohra

Starfleet Mobile Surgical Hospital in the Har Mountains

Aalin fidgeted while waiting. Glanced around the tent. Paced back in forth in a straight line, then in a circle. She tugged at her new uniform then smoothed it. Resisted the urge to take down her hair and neaten the braid. This was her first assignment as an official member of Enterprise's crew, her first time working side by side with new colleagues. During the Varian mission she was a civilian advisor for the ship's Captain.

It felt like day one at a new school, or day one at her first job after college graduation. She willed herself to stand still, thinking, you are a qualified linguist not an inexperienced intern. The less confident part of her brain added, working with some of the smartest people I've ever met.

"Lieutenant Matthews, your presence is welcome," Spock said after entering. "I'll escort you to the tent serving as quarters for several crew members and give you a tour of the camp. There are rumors the battle front is shifting southwest, if this proves true a location change is likely in the next few days. Unpacking is not advisable."

Before Aalin could respond, a tall dark-haired man was standing at the tent flap's threshold. "We've got incoming causalities. If reports are accurate, a lot. The first arrivals are ten minutes out coming via low altitude shuttle. Is this the interpreter?"

"Yes," Spock replied.

The newcomer turned to Aalin and said brusquely, "You're with me on triage. And I see you've already changed into Medical's uniform. Good."

For surgical units in conflict zones and areas in the midst of a disaster, Starfleet's medical uniform is white cargo pants and a white crew shirt bearing a small Starfleet emblem and Federation seal on its front as well as a large red cross on its back. That Earth symbol identifying humanitarian aid workers and facilities has endured for centuries and spread throughout this part of the galaxy. "This was Dr. Boyce's suggestion," Aalin explained as she tugged down a sleeve.

The public address system began blaring, "Incoming, all teams report to your duty stations. Ambulance shuttles have called in range. All teams to duty stations."

"I'll arrange for additional supplies," Spock offered.

Aalin and the officer threaded their way around those rushing across the camp, many pulling on uniforms as they ran. He pointed and instructed, "If we get separated, meet me at the landing area. It's on the top of that hill. I'm Matt by the way. Most humans can't pronounce my last name, so everyone calls me Matt."

The first patients arrived unconscious. Aalin waited at the edge of the field, out of the way, watching Matt and the other teams efficiently assess injuries and prioritize treatment. Exiting the fourth shuttle, he waved her over. "You're up." Leaning down he said quietly, "Our knowledge of Noohran biology is limited and programming our med scanners to read it accurately is ongoing. That leaves old-fashioned assessment with our five senses, a heavy reliance on the patient's description of their symptoms and eyeballing via exploratory surgery. The universal translator is struggling with at least half of this mountain dialect. I need you to fill in the blanks when it fizzles out." He handed her a mask.

The soldiers inside bore horrific wounds. Several were moaning and calling out "Amea … Emea … Amea." Others stared at the ceiling with pain-filled eyes. She stood at Matt's side, looking away when the sight of their injuries became too much. One desperate man grabbed her hand and repeated, "may-aw-um … may-aw-um." Unable to decipher the meaning, the universal translator echoed it back, "maeawum, maeawum." Matt looked to her, Aalin shook her head. He called out to an orderly, "Exploratory, and treat the compound fracture while he's under."

"Yeshad liea ke've roshanum," another soldier screamed. His bandaged hands were immobile at his sides.

"I can't translate that," Aalin replied to Matt's unspoken question. Those words became a refrain as they moved from patient to patient.

The gore of the wounds, the hot, crowded, enclosed space, the moans, and screams, the odors; all of it overwhelmed and Aalin gasped before running out of the shuttle, "I'm sorry … I can't … need fresh air." Outside she inhaled deeply again and again trying to push down threatening queasiness.

Matt signaled to another nurse and left the shuttle. He opened his mental barriers. Satisfied, he approached Aalin and handed her a bottle. "Drink this, it's better for the nausea than water. And take small less frequent breaths."

"I'm …"

He shushed her. "Drink first, talk later. Both the Noohrans and the Aschaski are using projectile weapons. Those weapons may be primitive, but their resulting wounds are … well at times beyond description. Most of my nurses and doctors, used to the antiseptic environment of a ship or starbase sickbay, have had similar reactions during their first day in camp." Matt sank to the ground and patted the spot beside him. "Sit. Learn to snatch any rest you can, no matter where and no matter how brief. It's a needed skill here and on board a starship."

When Aalin joined him, Matt continued, "I owe you an apology. Expecting your immediate understanding of words that have eluded the universal translator's programming was unrealistic and unfair. You need time to hear the language and find the patterns. I … I just want to help my patients." He frowned. "My husband, Isak, frequently scolds me for personalizing such things; I don't know why, he's the softie in the relationship."

Aalin smiled, "I've heard others refer to Security Chief Bengsston as a big Australian teddy bear." Her voice grew soft and she placed a hand on his arm, "You are helping. I know it's hard to see at times." They say silently for several minutes. She asked, "As a Betazoid, can you read their thoughts?"

"No, neither race. Which suggests the Noohrans and the Aschaski shared a common ancestor at some point." He hesitated. "I deliberately read your mind earlier."

"Oh."

"It was within Starfleet regulations and my people's ethical code. In my capacity as medical director at this hospital, I had to know quickly. There is little time for tact or subtlety in the field."

"Had to know what?" Aalin asked dreading the answer. My performance so far is not great, she thought.

"You are a recently commissioned officer with little training. Working in this camp is a tough assignment. I needed to know if you can handle it."

"I see." She steeled herself for the inevitable. "And your conclusion?"

You have deep inner strength and reserves that, when needed, will surprise you. The Captain and Number One must have sensed that, he thought. Matt said, "Welcome to my staff." A few minutes later he stood and held out his hand. "Better?"

Aalin nodded and accepted his assistance.

"This next wave of casualties will be worse, and soon the wounded children will arrive," Matt warned. "You'll continue to work triage with me."

Thirty-six hours later

Matt stood when he saw his commanding officer walk into the camp's mess tent. "Sir."

Pike waved his hand. "Sit. I came to check-in after reading about the deluge of casualties." His eyes wandered to a corner table where Aalin was reading from a PADD and rapidly scribbling notes.

Tired the Betazoid's mental barriers slipped, and he unintentionally learned Pike's thoughts. Curious. Matt blurted out, "The blood on the uniform isn't hers. Ah. Sorry. I need sleep. And to answer the other unspoken question on your mind, she did well. I'm going to turn in." After I call Isak and see if he has noticed anything … unusual … or … special between the Captain and our newest lieutenant.

After Matt left, Chris and Aalin were alone in the tent. He joined her at the table, two mugs in hand. "Hey."

"Hey," she responded.

"Sorry. There's only coffee."

She tried to return his smile but failed. "As long as it's hot, it's welcome."

"You're OK?"

"Yeah. It was … indescribable. How does anyone survive soldiering? If they live through the combat?"

Chris eyes held a far-away look. His voice grew soft. "With time. And support. And compartmentalization. It's not easy."

She squeezed his hand in sympathy.

"What are you working on?" he asked changing the subject.

"I'm comparing phrases the universal translator bungled with the lists of injuries looking for a pattern. There is a cohesive thread, I'm sure of it …" she rubbed her bleary eyes, "but it's just out of reach." A pause. "I was of no help today. None." Aalin's frustration was clearly evident in the sag of her shoulders, creased brow, and weary tone of voice.

"You've been working nonstop for a day and a half. It's time to rest. Then look at this with fresh eyes and a clear mind."

Aalin shook her head. "No … I might forget what I heard."

"Explain that," Chris said in his commander's tone.

Which, in Aalin's experience, usually preceded another order, often one she'd rather ignore. Having a commanding officer is … interesting. When he gets over the shock of my joining Starfleet, my father will sympathize with Chris … I mean Captain Pike. "Languages are like music. Their phrases, like melodies, repeat with variations, often complex variations that obscure the original."

"I'll assign someone to help you …" His response was interrupted with shouts from one of the hospital wards. In the next instant he was sprinting out the door. Aalin followed.

She arrived in the tent a couple of minutes after Pike and Matt. An injured man bleeding heavily from his abdomen, balancing on the one leg that wasn't broken, unsteadily gestured with a laser scalpel. He stood in the middle of a half-circle comprised of the Captain, Matt, a doctor, another nurse, and two security guards whose phasers were drawn.

Pike said in a soothing tone, "You are not a prisoner. The Federation is neutral. Put down the weapon and let us help you." The universal translator rendered his comments in perfect Aschaski.

"No, stay away. I have no desire to harm you," were the wounded soldier's translated warnings.

"Are there any known problems with our translations to Aschaski?" Pike asked those in the room. The medical personnel and security guards answered, "None."

Aalin watched the frightened man over the others' shoulders. The tone of his voice, it had a nasal quality to it not typical in Aschaski speech. That quality and pitch were vaguely familiar to her. Like …

"Matthews," Pike said again. "Any problems with Aschaski translations? Can he understand me?"

"Ah, no sir. No problems I know of. He should be able to understand you," she answered absentmindedly, still watching. The soldier was looking at the Federation personnel's faces. No, not at their faces, at their mouths. She pushed between Matt and Pike, coming to a halt in front of the Aschaski soldier.

"Lieutenant, step away from him," Pike called out in a firm tone, one that suggested she should quickly obey. When Aalin ignored him, Pike motioned the guards to her side, and he moved between her and the dangerous surgical tool.

She stepped around her commander, ensuring her face remained in the wounded man's line of sight. "Do you read lips?" she asked in Aschaski.

He nodded cautiously.

Aalin repeated Pike's words slowly and in Aschaski, "You are not a prisoner. The Federation is neutral. Put down the weapon and let us help you." Then she added, "My name is Aalin. What is yours?" The others followed the conversation through their universal translators.

"Abrim," he answered and lowered the scalpel a fraction of an inch.

"Are you deaf?" Aalin asked.

"No, but I lack hearing in my right ear. It is a common ailment among my people. All Aschaski children learn the art of lip reading."

She said reassuringly, "You are safe with us Abrim." She gestured to the others. "They will treat your injuries. Then you may remain here while healing or we'll arrange for transfer back to your unit once you are well enough to travel." Aalin held out her hand. "You can trust me. I'll stay with you in case you have questions or need to tell us more." She stood perfectly still while Abrim considered, her outstretched palm open. After he carefully placed the scalpel in her hand, the doctor and nurses rushed to his side.

"Lieutenant? A word in private please," Pike said quietly. He escorted Aalin outside the tent. "Don't do that again. Don't ignore an order," he said in a hard and unyielding tone.

"But I knew how to …"

"Next time explain your conclusions and ask before plowing ahead. I am responsible for your safety, as well as the others in the room, including the Aschaski soldier. Your actions could have endangered any of them. I need to understand what my crew is planning before they act in order to manage the situation."

"I'm sorry."

Chris' tone softened. "I realize this is an adjustment for you. How did you figure it out?"

"His voice. Those with hearing difficulties can have a higher pitched, nasal quality to their voice. They often speak in a monotone rather than with inflection. And his eyes were focused on your mouth rather than your eyes when you spoke. With his own people he probably reads lips as a backup. But our, as well as the universal translator's, accents are foreign. Accents are an additional challenge for those with hearing loss."

"Well done, on the conclusion that is. And your method for calming him. That's all, you're needed inside."

Present

Day 2

Noohra, 8:00pm

After the planes retreated, the remainder of the day passed uneventfully for Aalin and the children. By late afternoon they reached a small forest at the far edge of the high plain near the foothills of the next mountain range. At this lower altitude the temperature was warmer, and the children splashed in a shallow stream, rinsing off grime collected on their skin and clothes over the past two days; it quickly morphed into a game. With a couple of hours of daylight left, Aalin risked a small fire so they and their soaking clothes would dry before the temperature dropped.

After the long walk, the children ate greedily and quickly fell into tired deep slumber. For this Aalin was grateful. Sitting under a nearby tree, leaning against its trunk, she began cataloging the problems facing them. We'll be out of water soon, and food. Though John believed there are supplies stashed at safe houses along the route we are following.

She glanced up when one of the children stirred and called out for her. After the nightmare was soothed away, Aalin retreated to her spot under the tree. It's not possible for one adult to supervise and care for this many children even with relying on the few older ones in the group. Especially when the oldest is only twelve, an age on the cusp being able to handle more responsibility while still easily lured by the distractions and naivete of childhood. As this problem had no solution, she pushed it aside.

Remembering Matt's advice to sleep whenever possible for as long as possible when in the midst of a demanding situation filled with unknows, Aalin gathered her mat and blanket and started to rejoin the children. A faint pop in the distance caught her attention. There were several more pops like twigs snapping and the sounds of leaves rustling as if something brushed against them. Or someone, she thought as her throat tightened and butterflies batted their wings in her stomach. She crept closer, using the trees for cover, trying to minimize the sounds of her own footsteps. Having never needed such a skill, nor been trained how, she had to rely on common sense for a guide.

As she drew closer, conversation became evident and then clear. She distinguished three unique voices. Halting behind a large tree trunk, Aalin held her breath and tried to discern their direction. Once she was immobile, the voices became fainter. She breathed out slowly, in relief. They are moving away from us. Wait until you can no longer hear them and then walk carefully back to the children.

Lacking experience, Aalin was unaware military scouting squads typically travel in pairs or quartets. While she waited for three to pass, the fourth of their group approached from behind, grabbed her forearm and jerked her into the clear. He motioned and said, "Over here." Their language immediately identified them as Aschaski.

His grip on her arm was tight and Aalin couldn't wiggle free. Her heart rate sprinted. That amused her captor. "Look boys, she's terrified. He put a hand against her chest and added, "I love to feel a woman's heart race." It's pace quickened again.

Aalin started to respond in fluent Aschaski. Then caught what would have been a fatal mistake. No peasant Noohran woman speaks the language of the enemy. Remember that! Instead she pleaded in mountain Noohran, "Please … let me go … I'm not a threat."

"Your husband is foolish. You should be home in his bed rather than roaming these woods alone," her captor responded in Aschaski.

Aalin pretended not to comprehend his words. He pushed her against the tree and planted his outstretched arms against it, trapping her between them and his body. She trembled as his hot breath blew into her face. She whimpered when he roughly shoved a hand up her shirt groping a breast. Three fellow soldiers laughed as they urged him on.

Pushing Aalin down on knees and hands he said to his partner, "Stand in front of her, I'm sure she'll figure out what's expected." The partner opened his pants.

Time slowed to a crawl. Tears pooled in her eyes; she bit her lip until it bled trying to stop them from freely running down her cheeks. During the seconds waiting for an inevitable she wasn't physically strong enough to stop, Aalin remembered Matt's final advice before leaving the orphanage. Enterprise's chief nurse pulled her aside and had quietly warned, "I've been on a lot of battlefields and their aftermath. The stress, the rage, the blood and gore, the horrors they witness can drive men and women into behavior that is otherwise an anathema to them, engaging in acts they would never commit otherwise. After protecting the children, you're most important task is to come home. Alive. Think and then do what you have to."

Aalin closed her eyes allowing her mind to wander. Think of safe places. Your father's embrace. A snowy mountain. Retreat there. The next one surprised her. Late night conversations in the mess with a Captain you've grown fond of. Stay there where you feel secure. The children need you. If you are pliant, if you cooperate, they will likely let you go once they're satisfied.

From behind a loud order rang out as the soldier was about to jerk her pants down. "Be at attention. Now."

Immediately the four men lined up, standing erect with weapons pointed at the ground and arms crossed over their chests.

The new arrival paced in front of them, stopping to hold each in his gaze. "Those under my command do not hurt women nor children. Am I understood?"

"Yes, First Commander," were the nervous replies.

Their leader continued, "Harming any native is forbidden during the cease-file. If the Federation enters this war on the side of Noohra, not only will we lose, but our planet, and our families are doomed. That's not worth a fast poke in the dark. Get back to your posts. I'll join you presently and administer your punishment."

In the field, Aschaski officers wear a helmet protecting their eyes, cheekbones, noses. It also obscures identity by facial recognition and slightly alters their voice. The commander knelt down and in broken Noohran asked, "Are you injured?"

Aalin reminded herself to keep her eyes downcast mimicking a Noohran woman alone in the presence of an unfamiliar man. She shook her head.

He extended a hand offering assistance. "I have food and water if your family is in need."

In the euphoria of escaping rape, stress and fear morphed into rage. Aalin batted his hand away. "I can manage on my own." Anger fueled by her quick temper grew careless; she failed to alter a crucial pronoun. "They are hungry because you stole their food and livestock. And burnt their fields and barns." She winced at her mistake and amended, "I mean my children."

He removed his helmet and continued in broken Noohran, "Cruel things happen during hostilities …"

Cold shivered down her spine. The nasal quality in his unaltered voice, it was familiar. Standing, Aalin looked up.

"Ms. Matthews," Abrim spoke quietly; now in Aschaski knowing the woman in front of him understood his native language. "You should not be here. You are in grave danger. There are rumors of a group of orphans being led away from the battle front. We assumed it was a resistance fighter …" He connected the dots. "It's you."

Aalin wondered if her execution would be swift or protracted. Public or private. It's funny, now that the moment is here, I feel strangely calm and accepting. Or maybe fatalistic is the better descriptor.

After lengthy silence, Abrim said, "In payment of my debt for your intervention at the Federation hospital, heed this warning. You cannot remain on this path. We are aware of the trail used by the resistance. Continue on it and tomorrow you will encounter one of our best trained battalions. The children may be spared, but you will not. I'll move my patrol west. By full moonrise we will be out of earshot. Rouse the children then and go back the way you came. Flee into the eastern mountains. I will keep your secret."

"Please tell your superiors we Aschaski are not all ruthless invaders. We are not all heartless killers. We are husbands, and fathers, and sons, and brothers desperate to save our loved ones and our dying world. May the father of all protect you and those children."

He turned and left.