They'd been picking up stray Federation citizens from this part of space for a month. Every few days, a new wretched, broken ensign, lieutenant, even a captain would wash up confused, injured, unrecognisable.
To take any part in this mission, she'd had to lock down her emotions, stay objective. Her commanding officer had told her as much, the work they were doing was important; repatriating lost citizens. It was as much as he would reveal, everything else remained top secret.
She'd gathered there'd been some kind of disaster Starfleet didn't want anyone knowing about. Somehow, this godforsaken backwater of space had become a dumping ground for the ones that'd been used up. There was an intermediary, that much she had gathered, someone deep in the field who had managed to broker some kind of deal. They were bringing officers out from somewhere, she inferred it must have been some top secret mission that had gone badly, badly wrong. She didn't want to think about the species that had done this kind of violence to her fellow fleeters... that much hatred... that much anger.
The mission was dangerous, exciting, tragic, and vital.
Oddly, it was an ambassador leading the mission, one she'd read about. The first Klingon to serve Starfleet, in the golden years of the Enterprise's reign no less, then DS9. She'd heard the stories, back at the academy, they all had. She wanted nothing more than to call her parents, her old buddies from training. But she couldn't, of course she couldn't.
They were on Black Ops, in and out of comms range, on a ten-man shuttle with the basics. They were on short, desperate runs – in and out as fast as they could go. Down on the surface, they'd been disguised, loaded with discrete firepower just in case things turned. They'd spent hours lurking in the shadows until their mysterious contact threw another wasted body their way. They always came in stasis. Better that way she supposed, nobody would hear them.
They'd drag the stasis unit out of the way, transport using personal transporters so as not to trigger any sensors from the planet's security net. It was exciting, the kind of mission that she'd dreamed of when she'd been a kid. Of course, she hadn't ever considered the human cost. And now that same feeling of excitement made her feel nauseous. Now there was a real person on the other end. Then they'd blast out of there as fast as they could. The Ambassador focused only on keeping them and their precious cargo safe and out of danger.
Her job was to maintain the stasis, deal with anything she could with field medical supplies. Every now and again though, one would come at them live, stasis not an option. Like this one…
She soothed out the blanket covering the woman before her. There was just enough of her that was undamaged for the ensign to guess at what she must have looked like, before she'd been lost.
She had some lucid moments, she would sit up, look around, then the tears would come. She would cry mournfully, like a lost child, flinching if the ensign even attempted to comfort her. She had to be strong, these people needed to get back to safety but she couldn't help but respond in kind, her tears wiped away before the Ambassador could see her weakness..
She was doing her best to keep the woman sedated but even through the horrific injuries exacted upon her, she could see she had been beautiful. Her brown hair was a mess of bare patches, longer strands, her body bruised, bloody, battered. She could tell there had been broken bones – her arm was misshapen, like someone had put it back together the wrong way. And her nose was crumpled over to the left and she couldn't take her eyes from it.
"Ensign, are you alright?" said the Ambassador suddenly.
She sniffed, bottled her feelings down deep where she could tend to them once they were done with this sorry business. "I am Sir."
"This is difficult work. Only once in my career, years ago, have I ever dealt with such a situation."
She liked the gruff old Klingon. He had kind eyes, somehow knew what to say and when. She sniffed again, wiped away the last of her tears, and smiled at him, "Thank you Sir."
"It might reassure you to know that this is the last one. There will be no more pick-ups."
"Sir?"
"I cannot tell you anything more. Just know that once we make it back to Federation space and the Klingon home planet, our mission will be concluded."
She didn't know quite how to react. She'd got used to the ebb and flow; the downtime, the rush of a rescue. For it to be over now seemed truncated, too fast somehow. She got the feeling that the news had come as a disappointment to the Ambassador too.
"I thought there would be... more?" she stuttered.
"As did I ensign. However, this woman is the last to be rescued. We will return her to the Federation outpost on Qo-noS, then our work will be done. We are to return to Earth for the debrief. Perhaps you have friends or family there? I admit, it will be good to catch up with my own friends on Earth. This mission has been…"
She wondered what he would have said had he continued. He had revealed more to her in the last five minutes than the rest of the mission combined.
"Yes Sir, my family are on Earth. It will be good to see them."
He wondered over to the replicator, and she noticed that he kept his eyes from falling upon the rescued woman. She figured the apparent denial was what had kept him so laser-focused.
"Well, we have another three hours before we arrive. I suggest you get some rest Ensign." He said gruffly before heading back to the cockpit.
"Aye Sir." She said, disappointed that he'd shut her out once again. She turned back to the woman, smoothed the blanket over her and brushed back her hair. "Well… whoever you are… I hope it all works out for you." She whispered.
At the beach, Beverly sat under her huge umbrella, a floppy sunhat on her head. She's brought a book along but in truth, found herself unable to concentrate for long enough, content instead to stare out from behind her sun glasses at the variety of visitors who'd shared the same idea. La Noue was beautiful, a quiet sandy beach tucked out of the way of the various tourists who found the island so irresistible. She watched as the waves of the Atlantic crashed religiously against the shore, groups of youngsters at the height of their beauty, revelled in each other, confident, blissfully innocent. Family groups sat together on large picnic rugs eating lunch, building sandcastles, playing cricket, volleyball, or catch. Young parents with toddlers hellbent on eating mouthfuls of sand, morsels of seaweed, or anything else they could get their little hands on.
She remembered sitting here, almost in the same position, years ago. She'd been feeding Louis stroking his hair as he sucked, watching as his beautiful eyes grew heavier and he fell asleep. The moment had been perfect, she had her baby asleep, content, safe in her arms, and Jean-Luc was at the shoreline carrying Theodore on his back. He was wearing shorts and a t-shirt, walking barefoot through the foam of each wave, dancing back and forth as Teddy squealed in delight every time a fresh wave caught his father's feet. He'd swung Ted around, perched him on his hip, then dropping him to the ground. Teddy ran around his father's legs weaving in and out as they both ran the gauntlet against the waves, stopping every now and again to look at a shell, a crab… something wonderous. She couldn't hear them, they were too far away, but she'd vowed to remember the moment forever.
Then a year or so later, Jean-Luc, sitting on the rug with Louis between his legs helping him put sand in a bucket. He was on leave, tanned, relaxed, happy… She'd been with Ted to buy ice creams for them and was now walking back to their spot on the beach, Ted licking at a hopelessly dribbly ice-cream cone. She'd called out his name distracting him from the serious building project with which he was absorbed. He'd smiled up at her, shielding his eyes from the sun. Teddy had run right at him, going in for a hug but forgetting the ice cream, crashing into his father's chest with the cone crushed between them. Louis hadn't even noticed. Jean-Luc, shocked at first at the sudden cold against his skin, laughed aloud then scooped up some of the ice cream and plopped it on Teddy's nose. Ted had tried to reach to lick it away with his tongue, failing with each try adorable in his little swimmers, and a rash vest. Jean-Luc had eventually grabbed him and sucked the ice cream away, all from his position on the sand, Louis working away industriously, none the wiser.
Then years later still, the boys had taken up kite surfing. Jean-Luc had managed to get away from work in time to watch their class. And then there had been the endless games of beach cricket, cycling trips, running routes… Anything to keep the boys moving, use up their seemingly endless energy. He'd been right there with them, patient, loving, always there.
So now, she sat, relaxed, unencumbered by children, free to spend the day as she wished. Nobody needed anything from her, no trips to get ice cream, trips to find a bathroom, snacks, drinks. No random collections of shells she might find in her pocket, or the bag weeks later… But she was horribly aware of how alone she was now.
This was supposed to be their time; time to sit and watch the world go by together, right next to each other in the beautiful place they'd chosen to make their home. What she wished, and what was possible, no longer in agreement. Maybe it was time to move on, get an apartment in San Francisco. Louis would be leaving home in a year, Ted was unlikely to ever be home long enough… There was nothing to keep her here, surrounded by memories that were doing nothing to help her assimilate her grief.
