Pernia's punch connected.
Unfortunately, it connected with Kathryn's face in a spray of blood.
In a past life, her security officer would have fumbled around apologizing for viciously assaulting her Captain. That had been an entire war ago; now, the Bajoran was beyond feeling squeamish at the thought (or reality) of causing bodily harm during a sparring match. In fact, she was inordinately proud of her ability to best her commanding officer. For every blow Kathryn was able to land, Pernia placed two.
Vertigo forced Kathryn to take a knee, where she placed a hand on her thigh to steady herself. When it became clear that she was dripping blood onto the holographic mat beneath her, she used the other to pinch her nostrils together.
"Agh," she said eloquently, through the pain that lanced through her teeth and eyes right to brain.
"You keep pulling your left."
"You keep breaking my nose."
"Stop pulling your left, then."
Kathryn shot her security officer a glare through her wince, prying her fingers away from the now, clearly crooked bridge of her nose. The glare vanished as she squinted through the pain and checked her teeth with her tongue.
All accounted for.
Pernia grinned, crouching down to access the damage she'd caused, "You're lucky. I was aiming for your jaw."
"You're enjoying this too much," Kathryn grossed as Pernia dragged her to her feet.
Around them, members the security alpha and gamma shifts were running through engagement exercises. Most were working with the adaptive training holograms, while others were practicing hand-to-hand with their peers. Few were even bothering to watch their commander and captain going through their weakly training — those who were weren't phased at the smear of blood on the latter's upper lip and chin. An ensign tossed her a cloth, which she used to dab gingerly at the mess.
Starfleet wasn't especially keen on their officers roughing each other up, but it wasn't prohibited. For the most part, everyone here pulled their punches, except for strictly sanctioned sessions when full force was allowed. Pernia was adamant in the argument that her people could not expect to survive engagements where they were overpowered if they weren't prepared to respond to injury. During the war, she'd insisted the ship's Captain participate, and now here they were, Kathryn gulping down air as she caught her breath, looking a fright with her tank drenched in sweat and some of her own blood.
"One more round, and then I'll let you go get that healed," Pernia stretched her arms then settled loosely into her stance.
Kathryn avoided another strike, adhering to the stance and form she knew she needed. By the end of the match, her head was throbbing something fierce, but Pernia was on the mat holding the spot on her back where Kathryn had buried her fist.
The security officer was smiling through her grimace, "Well done."
"I don't know why you keep trying to get my face," Pernia hopped to her feet, "I've told you before…"
"Yeah, I know. I'm small enough for a Klingon to smash my skull in, quick enough to stab one in the back. It's not the most honorable way to win a fight."
"Honor has nothing to do with surviving; leave that to your diplomacy, eh?"
Kathryn snatched the towel her friend threw to her out of the air, giving her a mock salute in the process. She used it to mop at the sweat on her brow and neck as she left the holodeck, careful to avoid her nose. The pain there was now a dull ache, but she had enough past experience to know that breathing too deeply or the slightest brush of her hand would feel like an icepick to her sinuses.
The hall was empty, which was for the best. A week prior, the state of her face had caused a child to cry and left its poor, beleaguered parent to try to explain what they were both looking at.
She entered Sickbay Two after a short walk.
Dr. Gibans looked up from his console and blinked at her, as if blinking were an action one took in an interaction rather than an autonomous response, and released a curt, "No."
The tone put her out, "Excuse me."
"I'm not going to to keep doing this," was his response — as an afterthought, he added, "Captain."
A moment later, he tapped his combadge and walked away, speaking in low tones to whomever he'd called.
When the the holographic Doctor materialized in Giban's office, she thought she heard the CMO say, "This better be.." Before his subordinate pointed a thin finger in her direction. That man definitely considered blinking to be an entire sentence.
Simultaneously annoyed and amused, Kathryn watched as Dr. Retz turned to see her standing there. His expressive sigh was visible, despite the many feet and window between them.
"Captain," he joined her in the main medical bay.
Kathryn did her best to affect a wry smile, but it fell into a wince, "Is Dr. Gibans that adverse to treating me?"
"After last week's report, and the week's before, I wanted to see this for myself."
He led her to an individual treatment alcove — a new feature courtesy of Venture's refit. It contained no biobed but rather a small medical console and two chairs facing one another. Perfect for for situations just like this.
Already familiar with the process, Kathryn took a seat, expecting him to take the other. Retz deviated from Gibans' usual routine by stopping at the medical replicator. Moments later, he returned and sat opposite her. His dark eyes surveyed her face, cataloguing what he could visually, before he sighed again and held up what he'd replicated.
A compact mirror.
"Go on," he insisted, "take a look."
Hardly vain, Kathryn humored him.
She frowned, and reached up to touch the space under her eyes. Sweat and blood had plastered her loose hair against her forehead and temples. Dark bruising was already present around each eye, in stark contrast to the way her noise had taken on a bone white hue from the swelling. Where her fingers traced, pain blossomed.
"Dr. Gibans noted it was worse last week," Retz finally said, pulling her attention away from her own reflection as he set the mirror aside and entered something quickly into the computer, "so I suppose congratulations are in order for not shattering your nasal bone this week."
His glib tone was a departure from Gibans' efficiently silent scorn, as was the way he leaned forward and gently grabbed either side of her face.
Kathryn blinked.
"Hold still, Captain."
His fingers probed the underside of her eyes and and along the side of her nose. They were neither nearly as hot as a human's hands could get nor as cold. The scientist in her wondered if he calibrated the temperature to provide the temperature most comfortable to each patient; the captain in her didn't know what to make of this style of bedside manner. It wasn't rare for Starfleet doctors to rely on tactile examinations over scanning in simple cases — it depended on preference and situation.
She just hadn't expected it with him.
When he reached the space near her nostrils, she felt a horrifically sharp stab shoot through her upper jaw and teeth. Retz adjusted quickly, tipping her chin back so he could get a better look without touching.
"You weren't as lucky with the vomer."
Releasing her, he reached into the compartment under the console to pull out a hypospray and a bone regenerator. As he administered the painkiller and waited for it to set in, the Doctor regarded her with an unreadable expression.
Finally, he spoke.
"I realize you train with the security team — in fact, I signed off on it — but do you mind explaining why you break your nose like clockwork?"
"I keep pulling my left."
Kathryn felt no need to elaborate beyond that. It was the truth, only without context. She'd grown too lax with her training during her years on Earth after the war. On the Bellerophon, she'd been more of a match with Pernia — now, well, now she was playing catch up and paying the price.
He squinted, trying and failing to look unamused, "It's my professional recommendation that you stop pulling your left, then."
Her bark of laughter was as much a surprise to her as it was to him.
Seemingly pleased with himself — or perhaps, pleased that she had laughed without doubling over in pain — Retz smiled and reached for her face again. She knew the drill, and as his thumbs settled on either side of her numbed nose, Kathryn waited for the dull pressure and truly unnerving sound that came with resetting a snapped nasal bone.
It came a second later, and as she shuddered in response, he started speaking again while prepared the bone regenerator.
"May I also suggest you explore more low contact hobbies."
"I have them."
He quirked a brow in a way reminiscent of Tuvok at her indignant tone— it reminded her that the two men knew one another quite well — and tilted her head back again, watching his work with the regenerator with slightly narrowed eyes, "Such as?"
Kathryn knew he was keeping her mind off of the way her bones were knitting back together, "Language. Reading. Philosophy."
"Ah, a real renaissance woman. Does any of that philosophy explore the merits of this training of yours?"
It was her turn to glare, but she played along, "Klingon?"
He caught her eye and switched to dermal regenerator as he healed the inflammation and bruising, a more serious glint the dark depths, even as he kept his voice light, "I doubt Klingon philosophers actually extoll the virtues of being punched in the face every week. At least, not without punching back."
Retz lowered his hand and released her as she tried to formulate a response to that.
"There you are, all healed up."
He stood and indicated he thought she should as well, "Same time next week?"
Kathryn blinked.
...
Only a handful of Betazeds called the Venture their home, and Vura knew them all by name.
Unlike many Federation species, they did not need to cloister together socially to lend support and guidance to one another, to pass along cherished anecdotes of the day or of home, or to become a family. There was Aris from Dekoa, who sang such soothing mental tunes when Neaveve from Melfi could not sleep. There was Lwoda, from the Daronian colonial capital of Jarkana, who supplied so much acerbic wit throughout the day, that Vura never found herself bored during slow shifts. Then, there was Tusem from Iscandar who wove together such stunning memories of the Valley of Song as it had been, before the Jem'Hadar and Vorta, whenever Steelaxa from Velico Sona was close to weeping.
Many non-Betazed minds were open to her as well. Strangers who were happy and willing to lend their thoughts to those who could sense them as they went about their days. These were not so much conversations as impressions: stream-of-conscious thoughts and feelings, earworms and clever witticisms. Vura never stayed in their minds for long, so as not to abuse their trust, but the ambient noise of it brought her comfort all the same. The silent 'hello's thrown at her as she passed others in the hall always made her smile, and reminded her how she had been able to overcome the homesickness that haunted her early career.
Then there were those who called out without meaning to. All of Venture's Betazeds knew of them; all shared techniques to avoid looking too deeply. There was Liam Shaw, who dreamt of the Borg with such vivid clarity that Lwoda hated going near him. There was Hannah Miller, a human stellar cartographer whose mind was such a mosaic of sight and sound as she woke in the morning, that Aris had chosen to befriend her just to figure out why. There was Esket Millal, the young Cardassian daughter of Command Tuvok, who swayed between joy and crippling anxiety. Steelaxa said she dreamed of the night sky rended apart by artillery, her father dying in her arms, and the Captain's kind face covered in dust and blood.
Each Betazed had their own, those they worked most closely with, whose thoughts leaked from their heads like a spring in a dam. For Vura there were many — as a medical career in Starfleet could bring much grief. Drara, who had been half in love with Kevin when he'd died, thought of him so often even now that it was as if he still lived. Turan, who had seen such horrors in the war, feared each new day as much as she strived to make it better than the last. Gibans, whose internal monologue could make a Klingon blush despite his stony exterior, smiled when he thought no one was looking. She never acted on the knowledge she gleaned, that had not been knowingly given, but cataloged it all the same.
In truth, Vura was no great talent. With enough focus or natural organization of thought anyone could bar their mind to her. Vulcans were impenetrable, the Captain sounded like a far away signal whenever she stood in Sickbay One, so distant that Vura did not bother to search for it. Others, whose natural languages where impenetrable to her, gave off no noise at all.
Despite that, her not considerable talent was why she was sent on away missions such as this.
The Venture had received a distress call from an uninhabited Class L planet in a binary system between Thalka IV and Landriss II, the latter of which was where they had been headed when the call came in. The planet and its system had no name — it was outside Federation spac, and they had yet to meet a species that had given it a proper designation. It hardly had a breathable atmosphere, even there was sparse vegetation across its vast snow covered tundras.
If they came near enough to the individual who'd sent the signal, she could lead the away team to them..
Ilako was chafing in the cold, despite the weather appropriate gear they each wore. Although the clicks and hisses of his natural thoughts were difficult to parse, Vura knew that they kept drifting to the ways the bitter winds were unbearable. He was convinced that reptiles weren't meant for this hellish place. He was not wrong. Loraine's thoughts were subdued, difficult to assess beneath the surface but mild. Morlin, one of Shaw's human assistant chiefs, was delighting in the presence of ice and snow. Memories of her childhood colony were warring with duty.
Theirs were the only thoughts she could read in this place.
"Lieutenant," she called out to the Bajoran woman, "I sense nothing."
Loraine nodded, then turned to the Ops Officer, "Mr. Ilako, can you isolate the source of the distress beacon?"
The Saurian's dark eyes were difficult to see through the thick lenses of his protective goggles, but he had an expressive face regardless and appeared to be puzzling over the data coming in on his tricorder.
"It's beneath us."
Speaking hurt him, Vura realized.
He was trying not to dwell on it, but each pass of air through his nose and mouth brought in the cold and caused intense mucosal irritation. She would have to work with Dr. Retz to adjust the Saurian-specific cold gear to better protect him from the elements.
He spoke again, "Two kilometers, in a cave system."
Morlin was quick to take this information and run with it, already thinking of reasons why the Venture's computers hadn't been able to read that deeply beneath the planet's surface. Geologic knowledge that Vura could make no sense of flitted through the engineer's mind at a rapid pace as she pieced it all together. Nothing was definitive, but she had a hypothesis. Complicated. Morlin thought better of trying to explain it all to her current audience.
"Ship sensors were being deflected. I don't think it's an active form of camouflage."
"How sure of that are you?" Loraine's expression was serious but not unfriendly, just doing her due diligence.
"Very. The only indication of technology I'm reading is the signal loop. It's no stronger here than what we received in orbit. It could be years old, centuries. We won't know unless we get to it's source."
The engineer looked up from her tricorder, "I suspect who ever set it, is long gone."
Loraine appeared to weigh that information against what she knew, then tapped her combadge, "Away team to Venture."
"Go ahead, Lieutenant," the Captain's voice filtered through, only the faintest evidence of atmospheric interference present in the audio quality.
"We aren't reading any signs of life down here. Dr. Gioxi's can't sense anything either. Lieutenant Morlin thinks the signal may be years or decades old."
"Can you get to it?"
"Not readily. It's several kilometers below us. If we can't get the ship's sensors to read it, we won't be able to make the transport."
"Understood. Let's be sure there's no one before we call off the search. We have Lieutenant Morlin's readings and will try to …"
The Captain's voice faded into a crackle of interference. At the same moment, a gust of truly frigid air hit the group hard enough to cause all of them to stagger. Ilako's thoughts were understandably the loudest, tied very closely to pain. Vura would need to get him back to the ship to treat frostbite before long.
Morlin's thoughts were that of exhilaration, both nostalgic and lightheartedly annoyed at the weather.
When she cast her mind to Loraine, who was regaining her footing, Vura would have felt pride in herself for not reacting visibly to what she sensed, if what she sensed weren't so troubling. Rage. Beneath the organized surface thoughts and friendly face, a well of rage so root deep it made Vura's pulse increase in fear. Beneath even that, something darker lurked with the faintest brush of intent.
A moment later, it was gone. Replaced by Loraine's voice shouting over the wind.
"Captain, we lost you. Repeat!?"
"…ind…ance….Leuitenant?"
"We can hear you now. Repeat."
"Take an hour and see if you can find an entrance to that system."
"Understood, Captain."
In the end, they could find the entrance no more than Venture could figure out a way to transport them into the caves. Each additional minute on the planet's surface had given Morlin enough new information to convince her that the people who'd set up the message were long gone. Centuries so. Recent seismic activity must have opened a glacial fissure large enough to make the signal readable again.
The mission was called off; they were beamed back to the ship.
Ilako dutifully followed Vura to Sickbay One while the others went back to their posted duty. The poor man's usually pinkish skin was gray and visibly chafed. He removed his goggles with her help and sat on a biobed as she quickly pealed off her own outerware and grabbed the equipment she needed to start working on healing him.
"No more ice planets for you," she said, voice gentle as she healed the frostbite in and on his nose.
"That's an order I'll happily follow."
He was being a good sport about it all, despite his clear discomfort.
"You'll need to increase the humidity of your quarters by twelve percent and use this ointment in your nostrils for the next two days while you're on duty. It will be uncomfortable, but you must use it until its gone and breathe through your nose."
His skin, reptilian as it was, would heal very quickly; his sinuses, however, were in for a world of hurt if he didn't follow her instructions.
"I'm pulling you from duty for the rest of today. Apply the ointment whenever you feel it drying."
Ilako took the tube from her with a nod, "Thank you, Doctor."
He left, thinking well of the care she'd given him.
With little time to waste, Vura went in search of her CMO.
Aeson Retz. His was the most silent mind of all. At first, she had found that vacuum of information intimidating. How could she know if she was meeting his expectations? What if he thought her a fool? This was her first posting as a Deputy Medical Officer, after all. The subjection to such mental silence had eaten at her for at least the first month, until Jarkana had insisted she grow up and use the spoken word.
And so she had, and she learned that he was a delightful superior officer. Willing to give feedback and praise in kind, as soon as she'd made it clear to him that she needed it.
Vura found him seated at his desk in his office, pouring over medical supply requests. When she knocked, he looked up with a friendly smile on his expressive face and waved at her to enter.
A moment later, as she accepted his invitation, his smile faltered, "What's wrong? Did something happen during the away mission?"
"No. Yes."
His expression remained confused.
"Last week, you told me that Gibans thought Lieutenant Loraine was going overboard with her training with the Captain since the explosion."
"Ah, yes. It's certainly an unorthodox method…"
Vura shook her head, the memory of the fear she had felt on the planet fresh, "He does not think she's going overboard. He thinks she's a sadistic fool who's going to 'accidentally' drive the Captain's nasal bone into her frontal lobe one of these days."
Aeson regarded her then, all pretense of his usual friendly demeanor gone from his face. In its place was serious concern, "It isn't like you to share what others are thinking."
"As a Betazed, it's important I respect the privacy of others; that I allow them the pretense of the privacy of their minds. Ninety-five percent of that time, their thoughts are benign. This is different. Gibans tells you he thinks Loraine is overzealous because he has no proof that what he really thinks, that she's purposefully hurting Captain Janeway, is true. You cannot accuse commanding officers of wrongdoing so glibly, and so he doesn't."
"He has had me examine the damage myself," a thoughtful glint was shining in his holographic eyes.
"Yes, he's hoping you'd have the same reservations as him but doesn't know how to ask without overstepping."
Aeson nodded, "I do."
That admission was all Vura needed to hear; she would tell him then, pretense of privacy be damned.
"I think he's right."
"Why? Has something happened?"
"I felt something while down in on the surface. Lieutenant Loraine isn't easy to read. She gives every indication of dutiful, friendly officer. It wasn't until she was thrown off center without warning that I was able to look deeper. She's a maelstrom of fury and intent and betrayal, and all of that love and hate is directed at a single person. If she hasn't already acted, she will soon."
"I suspect she already has. Can you read her again, to be sure, before I accuse her of anything she hasn't really done?"
"If you can find a way to keep her off balance long enough, I think I can."
Aeson, suddenly looking quite grim, nodded, "Give me time to look through the evidence. I'll let you know when I'm ready."
Vura may not be able to read his mind, but she could still read his words.
He'd been gathering evidence.
Which meant his suspicions were not new.
At least, not nearly as new as her own.
...
Loraine Pernia preferred to do most of her conditioning alone, often adhering to a two day on, one day off cycle of cardio, strength training and combat. It was as much out of necessity as it was anything else. As a Bajoran woman, she had no real physical advantage over most species she would be expected to encounter. Any edge would need to come from hard-earned muscle, reflex, and mental acuity.
This evening saw her working a cardio/weight circuit in the holodeck, with the singular goal of exhausting herself to the point of hunger and sleep. It was a reward for an uneventful shift on the bridge.
Her second, Michael Grant, had tried to rope her into the weekly security football match, but the human game held little interest to her. What was the purpose of kicking a ball around? She'd tried it once and had more fun looking for creative ways to tackle the others without being penalized by the holographic referees.
Perhaps, if her team had opted for parrisses squares, Pernia might attend these group events more regularly.
Besides, if she timed it right, she could leave here and meet Grant and the others for dinner in the Lounge. It was Lars' turn to pick the post-game meal - his choice always erred on the carb- and-cheese-rich side. That was her culinary weakness, and worth every minute she had to lug weights in this empty room.
Three sets into her second rotation, the door chimed.
Wiping at her brow, Pernia stopped and took a needed breath. Expecting one of her own on the other side, she shouted "Enter!"
The Captain's latest project, the holographic Doctor, strode in. Where she found her charity cases was beyond Pernia. Why she had to humor them was also beyond Pernia.
He gave her questioning scowl a smile and answered her question before she could ask it, "Lieutenant Grant said you'd be here. I wanted to run a few questions about Captain Janeway's martial training by you before your next session, if you have the time."
Had he caught her on a pure cardio day, Pernia might have sent him away. As it was, she could take a break from the circuit without losing too much progress.
"Yeah, all right. Computer, pause program and tracking," she scooped up her towel and wiped down the rest of her face.
"Thank you. I'll try to make this quick."
"Sure," she shrugged, "has something come up?"
He had signed off on all of this months ago, after all. What reason did he have to question it now?
His smile returned as he neared her, boyish and naive. Pernia wondered how many engineering hours went into making the expression seem so real. What did all of those ones and zeros behind his eyes possibly have to smile about?
"My hope is it's nothing. I've been reviewing my doctors' reports, and she's in the running for the most broken noses in a single month. After the last, Dr. Gibans flagged her for a review, and here I am, doing some due diligence."
Pernia sighed; she supposed she should have expected this conversation eventually, "I told her to keep up with her training on Earth. She's fallen back into old bad habits. I'm working on correcting them."
"Ah, yes," he wagged his index finger in thought, "I believe she said she's pulling her left. Would you mind showing me what that means?"
"Fine," she tossed the towel and moved them to a space that had no obstacles in the way.
It would probably be best to show him with an interactive hologram, but she'd make due with him, since he was the one interrupting her workout by asking.
"Hands up," she ordered.
The hologram did so gamely, looking particularly out of place in his medical grays and blues. His hands were in loose fists and his stance left a lot to be desired. It was a good thing he was a doctor, not one of hers, or the ship would be on borrowed time in a crisis.
Pernia fell easily into her own fighting stance, "When I say she's pulling her left, what I mean is that she's pulling her left punch. She isn't extending it far enough with the appropriate force."
She demonstrated.
"If I can anticipate she'll go with her left, which I can, it means I can dodge and strike her while she's on the offensive. We're the same height, so nose and jaw."
She demonstrated.
"Fascinating," he said with that too-friendly smile still on his face, "Show me for real. No need to worry, you can't hurt me."
He wanted her to…hit him? The urge to simultaneously roll her eyes and patently dismiss that request was tempting, but something in the set of his jaw made her want to see if the phrase, 'you can't hurt me' was true. Resetting her stance, Pernia waiting for him to raise his hands again in that silly, untrained way of his, and mentally counted to three before striking.
A moment late, she took a reflexive step back, her wide owlish eyes taking in the smile still on the hologram's face as he watched her comprehend what had just happened.
First, she registered the sound — bone and cartilage shattering and grinding together under the force of knuckles colliding with flesh — a distinct mixture of low and high frequencies that made every hair on her neck raise. Next, she felt the pain — nerve endings exploding with the information that something terrible had just happened to her, carrying that excruciatingly sharp message right to her brain. Finally, the smell of blood, as a thick warm stream of it slid over her lips and down her chin.
Had his hands even moved?
She took a breath, then a step, then tried to speak, "Com—"
It was no use, in that half second he'd grabbed her wrist and knocked her legs from under her, using her fall to wretch her arm behind her back and pin her to the floor with a knee.
"Like that?" He asked, benignly.
Winded and in pain, she struggled futilely, "Wh-what are you doing?"
"I believe I just shattered your nasal bone. It's what you did to the Captain two weeks ago, isn't it?"
When she groaned, he placed just that much more pressure on her arm. She knew from experience that it would take nothing at all on his part to break her wrist. A little more force beyond that and he'd dislocate her shoulder.
"Of course, I could have also shattered your vomer. That's what you did last week. Or, I could have broken your left orbital bone. That's what you did a month ago. Maybe your maxillary sinus? No, that might just have knocked you unconscious, and I need you awake for this next part."
Pernia tried to breathe through the bloom of fear. Hadn't she told the Captain that giving the hologram a place on this ship would be a security risk? Why hadn't Kathryn listened? Why was Pernia suffering the consequences?
Yes, she could use that anger. It was easier to control than panic, "I—I don't know what you think you're doing but—"
"You can't even guess? For the Chief Security officer, that's rather disappointing."
"No, I can't guess!" she spat, "You're obviously malfunctioning!"
"This is the problem with organics. You all think you know me, what I am, what I'm capable of. Any deviation from the expected is just a malfunction to you people," that damned smile, it was still in his voice as he spoke, "That lack of creativity is depressing, truly."
You can't hurt me. He'd taunted her, and she'd failed to see it until it was too late. Now, she was at the mercy of a thing she wasn't even sure could be reasoned with.
One breath. Two. Then she managed to seethe, "What do you want?"
"I'm going to ask you a few questions. All I want is for you think very carefully about your answers. Can you do that for me?"
The child in her — the one who'd been forced to flee Bajor with strangers while her parents gave up everything to fight and rail against those who held her people by the throat — raged. It thought of all the ways she'd crush this man beneath her foot if he were actually a man. It wanted to weep at the prospective conclusion of this meeting.
She set that part of her aside in order to bide time. If she played along for long enough, perhaps someone would notice her absence in the Lounge and come looking.
"Yes."
"Good."
He released none of the pressure on her arm or spine where he kneeled. To breathe, she had to turn her head to the side. The press of her cheek against the floor caused the ruined bones in her nose to grind together, and Pernia did all she could to not groan.
"Dreon VII," the hologram's voice was clinical now, a shade harsh, like a spade striking to the heart of the matter.
She knew then, unequivocally, what this was about. The hologram thought he knew something, but didn't have enough to go to the Captain. Clearly he thought hurting her would make her talk. Knowing that helped. Knowing meant that, if she she could just play her cards right, this could all be salvageable. It meant she could turn this all on him.
"I'm sorry we couldn't find those responsible," she'd try placating remorse first and see what that got her, "I'm sorry about Kevin."
That was the truth, at least. He shouldn't haven't died, not like that. Not doing his part to help the Bajorans around him. It wasn't supposed to happen that way, not that day at least. Not without the Captain there to discuss future Federation assistance for the Colony. If the Pah-wraith Acolytes had been a little less incompetent, a little more targeted in their approach, fewer would have needed to die at all.
Whatever train of thought he was on, he changed it quickly, erratically. Likely to avoid the sore subject of his dead nurse. Pernia would need to keep bringing the conversation back to it, if she was going to get anywhere convincing him his 'grief' of all things was forcing him to make erroneous — no, dangerous — conclusions.
He eased the pressure on her wrist; she could feel the burn of circulation coming back to the area. Just a little longer, and she could try to free herself.
"And Polas III?"
That should have worked. If that fool, Tolan, hadn't decided to be brave and put himself at risk to save the Captain, it would have.
The hologram didn't wait for her to answer, "It's curious, how you justify your training with Captain Janeway. What is it? Habituating her to the actual pain of combat so she'll better react during the real thing? She responds quite well if you ask me. Or, do you actually expect most officers to have enough wherewithal and presence of mind to call for a site-to-site transport to sickbay when they've just experienced the complete destruction of their femur?"
The memory of Kathryn, her friend, wan and manic with pain as the medical team all but bullied her into sedation came to Pernia then. Had the Captain died on that planet, it would have felt like a success. A retribution for the indignity of being forced to grin and bear rescuing the very people who'd gleefully diminished her own. But she hadn't, and for the briefest of moments, Pernia had been both sorry for and proud of the woman she both hated and the friend she loved. It's why she'd turned her back to let the Bajoran security detail deliver justice, as they saw it, to the young woman who'd set off the bomb.
"Those circumstances were unexpected."
Almost there.
If she could just leverage her hand and throw off his knee..
Before she could act, the hologram dragged her to her feet. For her part, Pernia tried to strike him, but her hands met no resistance as they went through the moronic, apologetic expression on his face.
"Thank you, you given us what we needed."
Us?
He tapped his combadge, "Good work, Vura."
The sickbay doors opened while she was still trying to understand what had happened. Just beyond them, in the hallway, stood the Betazed in question.
No.
Her dark eyes were wide with disbelief as she stared at Pernia. Worse than that expression of betrayal from a woman she barely knew, were the shrouded expressions on the faces of the two who stood behind her. Lieutenant Grant and the Captain.
Whatever Dr. Gioxi had gleaned from her mind in the last minutes, she'd clearly shared it with the class.
"Captain," the hologram said, "We should get her to sickbay. The broken nose is obvious, but I've also sprained her wrist."
"None of this will hold up," Pernia nearly shouted, struggling against the binds Grant placed her in.
"It won't have to" the Captain said, the brief tone of hurt falling quickly into disgust, "I'll let Command figure out what to do with you. Clean her up and get her off my ship."
...
Tuvok had recommended that Kathryn ignore her natural inclination to hide away in her quarters and lick her wounds. The crew, he'd reasoned, must see that their Captain was able to recover from such a crisis. That even when facing person loss and a betrayal from one of their own, she was capable of remaining present. Available. Tuvok was, of course, right.
That didn't mean she had to like it.
What Kathryn wanted most of all was to talk to a friend who wouldn't offer thoughtful advice or solutions to a command problem, but one who would tell her it was immensely screwed up that someone she'd trusted intrinsically had been trying to kill her for months. Would have killed sooner, if not getting caught hadn't been a prerogative. Aaron Cavit would have handed her two fingers of brandy and listened to her complain with all the right reactions. But Aaron was dead, and the one living person most likely to lend that support was also the one who'd caused this mess of emotions to begin with.
So, she followed Tuvok's advice, which meant taking most of her evening meals in the Lounge. T'Pel had granted her a single night of mercy in the week since they'd handed Pernia off to face justice for both the attempted and actual murders she'd committed. The Vulcan woman had invited Kathryn to dine with the family of three in their too-warm quarters. Spending time with Esket and seeing the fourteen year old thriving with her new family had been a balm. Yet, like all balms, it had worn off as soon as the evening had ended, and Kathryn went back to eating her replicated dinners in the presence of crew members who very clearly pitied her enough not to stare, but not enough to brave asking to eat with her.
On the ninth day of proving she was okay, actually, she was given a much needed diversion from her self-pity.
"Captain, do you mind if I sit?"
"Of course not, Doctor. Although, I'm afraid I'm not the greatest company at the moment."
"I've been told," he confessed sheepishly, "that I'm capable of carrying on a conversation with just myself."
The corners of her mouth tugged up at that, and Retz took a seat. He carried a steaming cup of what she assumed was a holographic beverage in one hand and a small, hard bound book in the other.
Noticing her gaze, he placed it before her, "I feel badly about getting your sparring partner arrested for murder, so I thought I'd try to make up for it with all three of your low contact hobbies."
Kathryn, noticing both the sheepish smile on her CMO's face as well as the aged quality of the binding along the text's spine, gingerly lifted the book in her hand and admired it. A moss green textile cover, leather spine, worn but cared for pages. It was a clearly well-loved relic.
The right thing to do would be to hand it back, but there was an earnestness on his face that stayed her hand.
"There's nothing for you to make up for, Doctor. Your methods were a little unorthodox, but Dr. Gioxi was able to explain why they were necessary."
At the time, they'd hoped that just getting Pernia alone would have allowed the Betazed to explore that tempest of rage. Kathryn had, mostly convinced the concerns about her Security Officer weren't valid but convinced enough by the circumstantial evidence Dr. Retz had brought her, listened to Gioxi feed the hologram information through a private audio line in his programming. That he'd potentially have to engage with Pernia had alway been a possibility, but Gioxi's 'he's…punched her' had still come as a shock.
Partially because Kathryn hadn't believed her CMO had physical violence in him. He hadn't particularly enjoyed it, at least — if his fretting over a murderer's broken nose was anything to go by.
Retz shrugged, as if agreeing to disagree, took a sip of his beverage, and grew suddenly bashful.
Willing to let him off the hook, Kathryn carefully cracked open the book and let out a small sound of surprise, "These letters, they're…" English? Germanic? Romantic?
But they weren't! Not truly. The more Kathryn looked through the text, the more she saw evidence that this was no Earthen language. Not truly. It was as if someone had seen only some of the English alphabet and had filled in the rest with their own.
She could understand absolutely none of it, and that fascinated her.
A pleased little smile had taken residence on the Doctor's face, as if her excitement and confusion had just made his entire day, "On Kelemane, they learned to make crude magnifying lenses before they consistently put word to paper. So, of course, they incorporated what they could see on the hull of Voyager into their written language."
That meant…
"I can't possibly accept this, Doctor."
… she was holding probably one of the few material objects he'd been able to keep from the planet and people he'd spent so much of his life with.
"Of course you can," he waved her concern away, "what's the point of a book if no one reads it?"
Her expression remained skeptical; he sighed, "You can consider it a loan, if that means you'll keep it."
And then, as if he didn't realize he was saying it out loud, "It would be nice to have someone to discuss it with."
She hummed thoughtfully, using all that much more care as she turned the pages, "Is it a novel?"
"We…they…," he self correct, "don't really distinguish between philosophy and literature. They had an entire canon on the speculative lives of the Watchers, the crew of Voyager, and how they were supposed to live their lives. All of it was wrong, of course."
Kathryn laughed softly and wondered what it would mean to live and evolve under the eye of what must have felt like gods. She imagined if she could read the text in her hand, it would be a fascinating reminder why the Prime Directive was the paramount policy of the Federation.
It would be so easy to take this gift and ignore the clear overture of friendship that came with it. It would cost nothing to take all the wrong lessons from Pernia's betrayal and internalize them. Kathryn could hand the book back to man who sat across from her and draw a very clear line, set boundaries around their ranks and positions, and continue eating her replicated dinner in sullen peace while her crew remained only partially convinced that she was okay. She even suspects her CMO would do his best to take the rejection gracefully, if that's what she repaid his initiative with.
But then, that would mean Pernia had won in some way, and that Kathryn had deserved every broken nose the Bajoran had given her.
"Is there a language primer that comes with this?"
1. You could consider this the end of the first arc.