Zeva system
Peretal, Zeva V

Ensign Andrew Riker groaned low in his throat as he slowly regained consciousness. The first thing he was aware of was the throbbing pain in his head, followed closely by the sight of a flashing red light directly aimed at his right eye, which was being held open. "What are you doing?" he managed before succumbing to a fit of coughs.

Dr. Abbey Paris returned the tricorder wand to its holder on the back of the instrument. "I'm checking your eyes for signs of brain damage," she replied brusquely, her eyes turned away from him as she considered the instruments on her tray. "In humans, we would check the pupillary responses, but Betazoids don't have pupillary responses, so we have to improvise."

"Why are you so mad at me?" he asked, his expression curious. "It's not as if I chose to have Betazoid eyes."

She snorted in response, finally meeting his gaze. "I'm not mad," she answered, sounding no less curt as before.

"Right," he replied dryly. "And I'm not part Betazoid. Although it doesn't take an empath to tell that you're pissed off." He tried to sit up, but the sudden change in position sent his stomach rolling again. Recognizing that he was about to vomit, Paris quickly provided him with a bucket, which he used. "What's wrong with me?" he asked weakly as he lay back again.

"You hit your head," she said matter-of-factly. "You had cerebral contusions in your frontal, temporal, and occipital lobes. There was also quite a lot of bleeding and swelling. We've controlled the bleeding, but it's going to take the swelling a few days to go down completely."

"But why am I sick?" he asked. For the first time, he realized he was lying at an angle. He attempted to sit up again, but Paris' hand stopped him.

"Swelling in your brain causes nausea and vomiting," she replied. "Do you want the whole medical explanation?"

"No, I think I'm good," he declined, closing his eyes briefly. He opened them again to see her scanning him with her tricorder. "You never told me why you're mad. What did I do?"

"Don't flatter yourself, Ensign," she said tersely. "Not everything that happens in this universe is about you."

"Okay," he said slowly. "So why are you mad?"

She gestured widely, indicating the field hospital filled with cots, most occupied by the small blue-skinned Zevians. "You mean this isn't enough?" she snapped. "I have been on this planet for hours, performing surgery, checking up on patients, telling people that their loved ones didn't make it. Tell me, what kind of person wouldn't be upset about this?"

To her surprise, he chuckled at this. Thinking that he was laughing at the situation, her face flushed bright red in anger. "No, that's not it," he said quickly, holding his hands out defensively. "I was just thinking about how much like your sister you are." She stared at him blankly. "I trained under her at Mars," he explained.

"Well, that explains it," she snorted, rolling her blue eyes. "Only Miral could teach that particular brand of recklessness."

"Reckless?" he retorted. "My flying is brilliant, intuitive, it's dangerous, but it is not reckless. I know exactly what I'm doing at the helm."

"Really?" she said, her eyebrows raised. "Because Lt. Rajano told me about your shuttle." She picked up a PADD and hit a few keys. She glanced at him quickly before her eyes returned to the small screen. "'Kirk-0369 arrived on Zeva V damaged from battle. The starboard nacelle was partially detached from the hull and is inoperable. An impact to the starboard hull in section fifteen-beta disabled several secondary systems, including internal dampers, autopilot, self-destruct, replicator controls—'"

"Those things have replicators?" Riker interrupted. "What's the point in that? Do they think I'm going to stop for a cup of coffee in the middle of a battle?"

She glared at him. "It's so if you crash-land on a planet, you can replicate food and medical equipment in order to survive until help arrives. Anyway, would you like me to continue? The damage assessment is more than two pages long."

"Did they fix it?"

"Did they—You flew, and landed, a barely functional single-pilot fighter through a battle, through the atmosphere, with contusions, cerebral edema, uncal herniation, diffuse axonal injury, and hairline fractures of C1 through C6, and you're worried about your fighter?" In her frustration, she threw the PADD to the ground. Riker watched it slide across the floor until it stopped against the far wall. She took a deep breath and counted to ten, first in Standard, then in Klingon. Her moves stiff with fury, she picked up another PADD and angrily stabbed the controls. "Here," she said, thrusting it to his chest. "Instead of thinking about your fighter, think about this."

"What is it?" he asked, taking the PADD. He swallowed when he saw the display, beginning to understand.

"The one on the left is your brain scan from your flight physical yesterday. The one on the right is from when you came in today."

"But I'm going to be okay?"

"You're going to be fine, Ensign. We've patched you up so you'll be ready to damage yourself again next time." He tried propping himself up on one elbow again, but her hand stopped him. "I said you're going to be fine, Ensign. You still have a lot of swelling in your brain. You're not going anywhere any time soon."

"So I have to just lie here until you tell me I can get up?"

"Pretty much, yes."

He blew a stream of air toward the ceiling in frustration. "Well, at least I'll get some sleep."

Her eyebrows rose. "Sleep? I don't think so, Ensign. You're concussed." She waved a medic over. "For the next four hours, Crewman Gimmel's sole job is to make sure you don't get up and don't fall asleep. Then one of us docs will come by and check you over." She gave quick instructions to Crewman Gimmel to keep him awake and in reverse Trendelenburg position before she turned to check on her patients.

"Are you coming back?" Riker called out as she walked away.

She paused and turned back to look at him before rolling her eyes and turning away. "Not if I can help it," she muttered.