"Beverly!"
"Yes! I'm in the bathroom, what is it?"
"I've gotten a hold of Admiral Paris. I'm waiting on hold for him!"
"I'll be right down!"
All morning we've been putting in calls to command headquarters. It used to be easy to call up whomever we wanted to, from the newest Starfleet graduate to the most senior Admiral. Jean Luc was in a very prestigious position as captain of Enterprise and I carried a lot of weight as his CMO and former head of Starfleet medical. Now, though, we're civilians and trying to contact anyone in Starfleet is damn near impossible.
Hope assumed my patients for the day so that Jean Luc and I can try and solve the situation. I'm grateful because I'm eager to get to the bottom of this. Jean Luc cancelled his classes for the day as well. Luckily, he only had one and the dean is understanding.
We spent the better half of the morning on the phone with the general Starfleet directory. It took him an hour to contact an actual human being. Luckily, he was recognized immediately. Then through a series of very convoluted events and interactions, we were finally able to speak directly with Admiral Paris' young intern, a lovely new cadet named Tabora. Thankfully, we just might be able to get to the bottom of this.
I run into the study, "did he answer yet?"
Saoirse's been asleep in her basinett at Jean Luc's feet all morning and I've been able to take her when she needed to be fed and changed. We tried calling Wes, but he's been in classes all day.
"No," he says, still consummately looking at his console, "not ye-"
"Admiral!" A warm face appears on the screen opposite us. Admiral Paris is an old soul. If anyone ever were to be likened to looking like a human teddy bear, it would have to be Owen Paris. The soft lines on his face coupled with his soft middle make him endearing, approachable.
"Uh, Jean Luc, Beverly. How are you?" His tone is strained. Something is wrong. Jean Luc and I have been in situations like this one before. Jean Luc especially is accustomed to reading small ques. He's able to pick up quickly on subtle movements and minute changes in posture. His natural skill is what makes him such a brilliant negotiator. However, you don't have to be an expert to read Owen Paris. His back is stiff and his expression is pained. He looks uncomfortable as he shifts stiffly in his seat.
"Eh, Jean Luc, Beverly – I got your note. Tom is doing well. We heard from him in the last data stream. They have a little baby girl named Miral." That's good news, but he knows that's not the reason we've called. He's stalling.
Jean Luc plays along. Since both of us can be seen on the other side of the console, so do I.
"Wonderful, Owen –"
"Jean Luc, Beverly, as much as I'd like to chat, we're very busy. I'll have my aid contact you. Paris out." And the screen fades to black.