With surprising swiftness, Lesmila zh'Gryph was thrust back into existence, all of zhar atoms and limbs restored to their natural state. Even the world reappeared around zhar, although it was a scene quite different than the one zha had just left. Instead of a dozen or more unseen assailants firing upon zhar, their energized bullets splashing across sun-bleached stones as zhar own phaser beams cut through the hazy smog, Lesmila found zharself in a somewhat isolated forested area. A babbling brook ran gently nearby, its discoloured and murky waters dribbling over smoothed stone, and the ash-ridden air was seemingly cleaner, more breathable. The sky, always alive with light as the world burned, was darker now, blanketed and hidden by a thick foliage of dark, green treetops, their branches so wide and powerful that they seemed to be interlocking and intertwining in an endless maze of forest.
The scene was serene, an abrupt break from all zha had seen of Dathau so far. The peace was, however, short-lived, as a swirl of shimmering pale green and white light appeared next to zhar. Electricity crackled out from the center of the swirl, discharging light shocks outwards. In the next few moments, the body of Monika Paige came into essence as it was dissipated from the void that had trapped her and, mere moments prior, Lesmila. Monika was unceremoniously dropped from the air and landed in a heap on the ground, breaking assorted twigs and dried grass beneath her when she did so. Lesmila quickly sheathed zhar phase pistol and knelt next to Monika, checking her vital signs.
Monika groaned in pain and clutched at her shoulder, which caused her to wince and moan even worse as her touch exacerbated the agony.
"Easy, Mon, easy," Lesmila soothed, reaching into the Osprey-like bag, one that Advisor Faust had given zhar on their shuttle trip to the planet, and retrieving an emergency hypospray, "Here, this should help."
Gently, Lesmila applied the hypospray to Monika's neck, the device eliciting a soft hiss as it delivered a dose of painkilling medicines. The human, gradually, quieted, and lay still again. Replacing the hypospray, Lesmila searched the pockets on zhar utility belt, grateful that zha had decided to keep zhar Imperial Guard uniform, which was, like the bag, a wonderful well of storage space. Pulling out a small package, Lesmila tore it open and gently spread the milky-white gel over the wound.
"I know, dermaline gel is better for burns than for wounds like this," Lesmila said, talking moreso to zharself as Monika came in and out of consciousness, "But I need something to treat this, and dermaline is the best one I have in this emergency field kit. I'll get you patched up as soon as I can."
Lesmila emptied the dermaline gel packet, tucked it back inside the bag, and then began the process of properly disinfecting and cleaning the wound.
"Selokra barely even patched this," Zha muttered in disbelief, "Looks like all he did was administer a sedative to the nerves and muscle fibers. Leave it to a Vulcan to be absolutely woeful at medical work in the field, right, Monika?"
The half-hearted joke was met with silence, and not just from Monika, but the world around Lesmila seemed to be quiet as well. Even the wind that had pestered them since they had stepped out of the shuttlecraft had gone silent. It made Lesmila deeply uncomfortable, and zha swore zha could hear zhar own heartbeat. So, tamping down on the nerves, Lesmila kept talking to zharself.
"I know, I know, I badger on the Vulcans a bit much, don't I? Well, don't blame me, blame the fact that I haven't met one that I've liked yet. Then again," Zha applied a healthy dose of antibiotic to the wound, "I guess that goes for pretty much anybody I've met since the War. Excluding you, of course. You've been a good friend, Mon, and, I think, sometimes, yknow, I hope, more than that, too. But uh," Lesmila blushed, pausing zhar rambling, "Yknow, nevermind. What was I talking about? Oh, right."
Scanning the injury with a tricorder, Lesmila sighed and grabbed a pair of magnetic tweezers.
"It's not entirely my fault, you know that. Aside from exactly twenty-one other Andorians, there's not a single one of my entire race who would even bother with me. You ever listen to them? I have. If you're infected with Gareb's Syndrome, they talk about you like you're contagious, that if they spend even a moment of time in the same room they'll catch it too. The Tellarites don't care, they just want someone to trade barbs with. Humans, well, sorry about this," Lesmila said, simultaneously apologizing for the comment zha was about to make and for the flesh zha was pulling back in order to remove another piece of miniscule shrapnel, "But you all seem much more caught up in yourselves and the Vulcans than you do with other races. I guess it's hard to like others when they don't like you, y'know? It eats away at you after a while, especially when people like Shran keep getting elevated while you keep getting pushed down."
Lesmila sighed and paused zhar work. Zha emptied the retrieved fragments onto the ground, cleaned zhar tool, and then went to work again.
"Then you have someone like Selokra posted to your side, and, well, I guess you already know that too. I can't say there's a single person I've trusted, or, hell, even liked, since that damn day at Pernaia Prime. Everybody else who held those positions either moved on or dumped me as soon as the diagnosis came in. Guess that makes me a better tactical officer, and why you trust me to have your back anywhere, anytime. Always ready to fight, always on-edge for the next hit, but, I'll be honest, Mon," Lesmila paused her anxious rambling, looking to zhar friend with a grimace, "At night, when you've gone to bed, and Selokra forces me to get at least six hours of bedrest, it gets to me. Always being on guard. My ribs are always tight, my back is always in pain from being tensed, and the elevated cortisol screws with the chemicals that Gareb's Syndrome causes."
The terse silence that followed was only interrupted by Monika's ragged breathing.
"But, I guess you knew that too. I mean, how many times have we had this conversation, right?"
Another scan of the tricorder revealed that whatever remained of the energized bullet that had ripped through Monika's shoulder would have to be removed by a proper surgeon, too deeply imbedded within the wound to be retrieved by zhar relatively simple tools. In the bag went the tweezers, out came another dose of antiseptic and a roll of spacer's gauze.
"I'm going to have to wrap this up, which means moving your shoulder a bit, so just," Lesmila bit zhar own lip, gently cupping Monika's shoulder and arm, "Bite your lip or something, this is going to hurt regardless of what I do."
Slowly, Lesmila lifted Monika's arm and shoulder, which elicited a short yelp of pain. Quickly, holding it in place, Lesmila finished the job, stuffing the wound with a ball of antiseptic-soaked gauze, and then fashioning an improvised tourniquet with the rest of the roll, both covering the wound and limiting the blood flow. Gently, Lesmila placed the arm back down, keeping it elevated with zhar tricorder. Monika, with the injury treated and the painkillers finally taking full effect, let out a sigh of relief as she drifted back into total unconsciousness.
"Alright, that should hold you over," Lesmila stood up, surveying their surroundings, "Hopefully we can find where the others went and find a way of getting back to the ship."
Just as the words left zhar mouth, the same swirl of shimmering pale green and white light appeared just a few feet away. Electricity crackled out from the center of the swirl, discharging a series of electrical tendrils outwards that seemed to singe the very air, before they convulsed in on themselves and formed, slowly, into the form of Advisor Faust.
Brushing herself off, the Advisor quickly took in her surroundings, then made eye-contact with Lesmila.
"Commander zh'Gryph," She noted, before glancing to Monika, "I see that some time has passed since we were transported away."
Lesmila, already on edge from having to tend to Monika's injury, felt zhar antenna recoil as the Advisor approached.
"Yes, a few minutes. Where have you been?"
The Advisor hesitated before giving her answer.
"I am not certain, for myself the trip was instantaneous."
"Where are the others?"
"Of that, I am even less certain," The Advisor answered, flipping open her communicator and turning away, through the mess of brush.
"Corporal Autumn, Doctor Selokra, this is Advisor Faust, please respond."
The low hum of static was the only response she received. Tuning the frequency, the Advisor tried again.
"Helicanus, this is Advisor Faust, please respond."
Although not for the first time since meeting her, Lesmila noted just how monotonal and Vulcan the Advisor's tone was.
A crackling of the static responded, and, for a brief moment, it sounded as if a voice was trying to speak to them. However, the channel once again resumed its low hum.
Closing the device and spinning on a heel to Lesmila, the Advisor glowered.
"Wherever they are, they are clearly beyond the range of our communicators. This mission of Captain Paige's continues to unfold worse than I could have predicted."
"Hey," Lesmila said, "The Captain has done her best, it's not her fault the Dathaurians have a corrupt government."
"Yes," The Advisor responded, "However, it is her fault that we are now, for the moment, separated and stranded on a foreign world. If we had returned to the shuttlecraft without delay, we would be back aboard the Helicanus. Now," The Advisor turned away and began marching off, "Follow me, we must get to higher ground in order to ascertain our current position."
"We can't leave Captain Paige here," Lesmila said, staring at the back of the still departing Advisor.
"Captain Paige is a trained Starfleet officer," A side-eye was cast back, and the Advisor paused her march momentarily, "Is she not, Commander zh'Gryph?"
"She is, but she's injured. Somebody needs to stay with her."
"Captain Paige was also properly vetted and prepared for a return to field service, correct, Commander zh'Gryph?" The Advisor asked, as if Lesmila hadn't spoken at all.
"What does that-?" Lesmila started to ask, shaking zhar head, "Yes, of course she was."
"If," The Advisor said, resuming her march, "Captain Paige is truly worthy of her rank, then as a trained officer, who was also properly prepared and qualified for a return to active service, she will be fine. Come, Commander, we must make haste if we are to have the best chance of making contact with the other members of our team."
"You can't seriously be suggesting we just leave the Captain here, especially after we were just attacked?" Lesmila asked incredulously, feeling what was left of zhar tried nerves being grated against the Advisor's apathetic attitude.
"I am ordering exactly that, Commander," The Advisor corrected, pausing her march once more and turning, fully, to Lesmila, "We will be gone for only a short time, and these woods appear to be quite isolated. I understand Andorians are quite emotional, so I will allow for a small amount of leeway. If you are concerned for Captain Paige's safety, then I suggest you leave her with a weapon."
"We both know the Captain's opinion on that, she'd sooner die than hurt someone else," Lesmila retorted.
The Advisor, even at this distance, audibly released a disappointed sigh and let her shoulders sag for a moment. Shaking her head towards the ground, the Advisor turned to leave.
"Then she will die, and I will take command of the mission. Captain Paige understands the risks, and if she fails to act in the interests of her own survival then the failure is hers alone. Now, get a move on Commander. We can't keep wasting time over this. She will die, or she will live, but the longer we stand here and debate this the odds slip ever further towards the former."
Lesmila grinded zhar teeth together, looking between zhar friend and the Advisor several times before making zhar decision. Carefully, Lesmila leaned the Captain against a tree, posting a mossy log against her good arm to keep her upright. Kneeling next to Monika, Lesmila whispered in her ear.
"Rest, and please," Lesmila spared a glance around them, before slipping a special hypospray from zhar bag into Monika's hand, "Use this to defend yourself, it won't hurt anyone, I promise. I will be back as soon as we can make contact with the others. Be safe, Monika."
Standing up, Lesmila exhaled and took a breath. A deep, deliberate inhale that brought the sickly sweet smell of sap, the still lingering scent of medical supplies, and just a hint of smoke, into zhar lungs. For a moment, zhar mind cleared. Then, curving about on the heel of zhar boot, Lesmila turned and went to catch up with the Advisor. At the same time, Lesmila couldn't help but feeling that zhar balance and equilibrium were slipping, ever so slightly, but evermore constant, nonetheless.
For Monika Paige, the transition between atop the bunker's walls to the forest was one that was made almost instantly. In the brief moments of darkness, she experienced and felt many things. Voices, sensations, all coming in and out as if they were passing by on a high-speed train. Shouting from unknown, distant owners, the anxious, comforting tones of Lesmila. Pain, spiking, cold and then hot, dull and then fierce. The heat of a smoke-filled arena, replaced by the gentle breeze and sickly sweet scent of pine, the acrid stench of sterile medical supplies overpowering it shortly after. Cold, hard, steel pushed into her hand. All of it whooshed by in moments, the fog only parting as she felt a tugging at her side. Something was moving, and someone was trying to move it without waking her.
Slowly, Monika just barely opened one eye. Far enough to see, but, hopefully, not far enough to be seen.
As she first took in her surroundings, ones that were distinctly different than the ones she had left behind, Monika let her eye gently slide over to her side. She wasn't sure what she'd find, perhaps a knife to her throat, an animal unsure of what she was, but, certainly, not a Dathaurian. Even more surprising, given how few of them she'd seen, was that it appeared to be one of the elk-type Dathaurians. It was hunched down low, almost laying on the ground, its teeth and one hand attempting to move the mossy log away from Monika.
Unconsciously, she must've shifted her weight, because the Dathaurian stopped immediately, freezing every muscle in their body. Dark, dark brown eyes jolted up to stare at Monika's face.
Holding her breath, Monika did her best to untense her own muscles, making it appear that her shifting was simply a movement done in the deepest throes of sleep.
Tense moments passed, but, eventually, the Dathaurian went back to attempting to pry the mossy log out from under Monika's injured arm with the slowest and most precise of movements.
Sparing a quick glance around, Monika could not see any other Dathaurians, and the grounds seemed relatively undisturbed, minus one path clearly trotted upon. Despite warning memories flashing by, attempting to ward her away from making any action, Monika gradually opened her eyes completely, and turned her head to look at the Dathaurian. Immediately, the elk-type froze again, the eyes jolting once more to Monika, then, upon seeing her own, widening in surprise and scuttling backwards.
"Easy, easy," Monika said kindly, "I'm not going to hurt you."
The Dathaurian's eyes darted from hers to her hand, then back up. The quizzical expression cast doubt upon her words.
Following the gaze, Monika checked her own hand and discovered a hypospray had been tucked into her grasp. She sighed and shook her head, extending the hypospray towards the Dathaurian as peacefully as she could, offering it for examination.
"It's not a weapon, see? It's a medical tool," She said, hoping her universal translator was still functioning despite the chaos she and the others had been through, "Medical," She repeated, circling her wound with the device, "Healing, make better."
As the Dathaurian continued to study her, Monika couldn't help but wonder just what had happened to her team. The last she could remember, they had been under attack, and she had, obviously, been shot and wounded. Everything past that had been a mess in her mind's eye, darkness mixed with a vision that was smeared over with an orange tint that fogged what few memories her brain had recorded. With enough time, of course, they'd become clearer, but until that point she had no real way of knowing just exactly what had happened after she went down. Worse still, how long had she actually been unconscious? The quality of the air and distinct differences in her surroundings indicated it had been quite a while, and the foliage above was thick enough that she could only see the inklings of white sunlight pouring through. There was no telling whether it had been minutes, hours, or, gods forbid, days.
Adding to that concern, where was Lesmila? Where was her team? She had faint memories of Lesmila being near her, talking to her, but about what and when that one-sided conversation had happened were beyond her. Something in her instincts told her they weren't dead, but they certainly weren't anywhere near her. Had they been forced to abandon her, leave her behind so they could escape to safety? Too many questions, too many hypotheticals that she couldn't answer. For the time, Monika boxed the thoughts up and placed them in the back of her mind, forcefully reorienting herself to the now.
The Dathaurian was still keeping a healthy distance, but the body language was relaxing. A tentative step forward.
"I won't hurt you, I'm a friend," Monika said, "I think," She added, "I hope," She quickly addended.
Pointing towards her, the Dathaurian spoke, her voice whisper quiet, "That, can I have that?"
Confused, Monika raised a brow and looked to her hypospray, then to herself.
"Have what, exactly?"
The Dathaurian pointed again, "That, the food."
Monika's confusion grew for just a moment, and then, in a brief moment of brilliant brain waves, she made the connection.
"Oh, the log?"
The Dathaurian nodded.
Monika set the hypospray in her lap and, using her good arm, gently edged the log out from under her armpit. The pain caused by the movement, even as gentle as she was, forced her to clamp down on a scream, and she could actively feel what remained of the tendons and bone cry out in their own agony. Slowly, Monika handed the short log over, letting her head fall back against the tree when the Dathaurian took it.
"I'm Captain Paige, of the Federation patrol ship, Helicanus," She said through a ragged breath, "What's your name?"
A brief flash of recognition passed through the Dathaurian's eyes, but she hid it well.
"I am Kloha Soder," She whispered, her voice so preternaturally quiet that Monika had to strain her ears to hear, "I am Hitch-Guide for my Assembly."
"Ah, that's," Monika paused, unsure just exactly what a 'hitch-guide' was, "Interesting. Have you seen my friends? They look like me."
"I have not," Kloha answered, going back to her appraisal of the log, "I have left only recently, to search for food while the Tarsal and his brood rest for the evening."
"Tarsal?" Monika asked.
"Yes, the Tarsal. He is," She pondered her words for a moment, unsure how to explain it to an alien, "The leader of the males. My Assembly is in the midst of our breeding period, so the Tarsal's brood and my herd have been quite busy."
More information than Monika had wanted to know, but, then again, more information than she realized she had ever gotten on Dathaurian society. A pang of annoyance flashed through Monika's emotions, recalling how her last interactions with a member of Dathau had gone. However, Monika forced it down. She needed to be open, being defensive or aggressive would get her nowhere. Memories of the Nightseeker and the Romulan War came to mind and reaffirmed her position.
"Ah, I see," She answered neutrally, "So, as Hitch-Guide, that means you are?" She let the question hang in the air.
"Leader of my Assembly's female herd, yes," Kloha said, tucking the log in a hand-stitched knapsack that was slung around her back, "I may not be a Councilor, but my people have never found much use for them anyways. Especially after K'Shal's rule as Mother of Dathau."
Kloha stood up straighter, perking her ears. Monika, in response, immediately began scanning their surroundings, but she could see nothing.
"Federation-member," Kloha said after a moment, "You are injured."
A statement, not a question.
"We cannot stay here," Another statement.
Monika, still looking for whatever had startled the Dathaurian, lowered her own voice, "Why not?"
Before she spoke, Kloha's tail raised sharply. A soft bleat escaped her lips.
"White-Tails, they are angry. Their hooves stomp harder."
A glance between Monika and the distance, biting her lip as if she was weighing her options.
"I must take you back to my herd, Federation-member. Can you cover your injury?"
Monika, working on years of trained instinct, did not answer, but simply nodded. The gauze tourniquet covering her shoulder had, judging by the discolouration, soaked up more than enough blood that it was well-overdue for a change. Thankful for once that Starfleet standard-issue jumpsuits came equipped with a half a dozen pockets that stored emergency field supplies, Monika swapped out the ruined gauze tourniquet for a clean, proper one, doing her best to ignore the pain as she tightly wrapped and covered her shoulder again.
With strength that defied her size, Kloha scooped Monika up in both arms and began sprinting at incredible speed. Her hoofsteps, were it not for the motley of twigs and dead leaves littering the ground, were almost as quiet as her voice, and, at times, it felt like the Dathaurian barely even tapped the ground as her stride lengthened with every few steps. Monika, for her part, clung to the Dathaurian tightly with her good arm, as the windshear whipped her dark hair around and felt as though it was going to toss her right out of Kloha's arms if she wasn't careful.
Thankfully, the Dathaurian's grip was sure, and her speed was true. Minutes later they had reached the boundaries of the forest, and Kloha slowed her pace as they approached its edge. She cast a glance back, then returned her gaze forward and let out a slow, whining mewl. The sound grew until it reached an ear-splitting level, dropping only when the staccato pacing of the bugle kicked in, but raising back to the highest pitch just the same. As Kloha slowed further, the pace of her staccato quickened, becoming more abrupt as she continued to bugle.
To Monika's surprise, a dozen different antlered-heads began poking out from behind large boulders and tall grasses that sat outside the forest. Some looked weary, but only for a mere moment, as Kloha's continued bugling snapped each and every one of them to full attention.
Entering the dense field, Kloha ducked her head and her voice dropped back down to a soft mewl and, soon after, she was silent again. Quietly, but quickly, she dropped to the ground, gently laying Monika down beneath her. She motioned for Monika to be silent, and kept her eyes peeled on the direction they had just come from. A pair of strong looking male elk-types laid down next to them, their antlers forming a protective shield over Kloha and, consequently, Monika.
In the distance, Monika could hear the sound of branches and twigs being broken or snapped as their pursuers made their way closer and closer to the field. Despite that, it still sounded like the loudest thing in the vicinity was her own heartbeat, thudding against the ground in rapid fashion.
Two voices, notably deeper than Kloha's, sounded off with a grunting and wheezing that sounded rather aggressive. A rough-sounding snort followed one of the voices, and Monika was reminded of how Jad'sko's security contingent had made similar noises just prior to them being attacked the first time.
A quartet of grunts sounded off in response, deep, gravelly grunts at that. Definitely no more friendly than the first two, and most likely belonging to her pursuers.
"Where is she? The Federation alien is among you," A voice demanded, shouting above the silence.
"So few are left," Another one responded, this time in the same whispering tones as Kloha, "You White-Tails presume to murder more of us with your unjust lies."
"Watch your tongue, Wapitivu," The louder voice spat back, "We needn't lies to kill you, the Mother, glory to her name, holds sway over the truth that will be."
"But not the truth that is, White-Tail," Another voice, this one coming from behind Monika, his tone just barely above a whisper, "Now, unless your kind has lost your sense of smell along with your honour, you should leave. The forests and surrounding plains are clearly marked as Wapitivu territory."
"Territory only granted to you by the Mother, glory to her name, Guide. It wouldn't be hard to justify seizing it for the Council of Tribes, given that you're harbouring a fugitive."
The pair of hooves belonging to the 'Guide' walked past where Monika and Kloha were hiding, the defiant tone raising itself farther above a whisper.
"Nor would it be difficult to justify that the same fugitive managed to kill a measily four White-Tails," Another threatening grunt and wheeze, "If that does not convince you, I will remind you that my entire herd resides here during this season. Four to four hundred, White-Tail."
A pause.
A breeze drifted through, ruffling the grasses.
The White-Tails grunted their defiance, but retreated back into the forest.
The males covering Monika and Kloha stood up, and Kloha assisted the human to her feet. Brushing herself off, Monika thanked Kloha.
"Do not thank me, Federation-member," She whispered, pointing past Monika's shoulder, "Thank Guide Ori."
Turning about, Monika came face-to-chest with Guide Ori, the tallest Dathaurian she had met yet. His body seemed to exude a quiet strength, and his antlers were finely sharpened and widely spread. Like Jad'sko, he tilted his antlers away from her and rolled his eyes to look at her.
"Ah, the Federation-member who defied Mother K'Shal," He said simply, his voice returning to its barely-above-a-whisper volume, "I am Guide Ori, Tarsal of this herd and member of the Wapitivu Assembly."
"Captain Monika James Paige, of the Federation patrol ship, Helicanus," Monika replied, realizing as she glanced around that 'Wapitivu' must've been what the elk-type Dathaurians were called, "Thank you for your assistance, Guide."
"Defying Mother K'Shal was a bold, if foolish, move, Captain Paige," Ori said, "Your refusal of her offer is a debt that I now consider repaid."
Guide Ori moved past her, the other male Wapitivu following in his wake. Kloha retrieved the mossy log from her bag and handed it to him as he passed and he accepted it graciously, reclining his head away farther than he had done for Monika, before moving back to wherever it was that he had come from.
"Man of few words, huh?" Monika asked Kloha when they were alone again.
"The Wapitivu Assembly rarely is," Kloha answered, stepping next to the human, "Guide Ori is simply tired. Managing the responsibilities of Guide and Tarsal places a great weight upon his shoulders, and K'Shal's recent policies have only increased that pressure."
"I feel like there's a lot about Dathau that I don't know," Monika looked to Kloha, "What policies?"
Kloha stared at Monika, pursing her lips.
"You must be tired, Federation-member. While I cannot treat your injury, doing so would risk my life far more than you know, I can get you to someone who can, and, perhaps, I can tell you what K'Shal did not, so that you can gain a more adequate view of Dathau and K'Shal's Council of Tribes."
Clutching her wounded shoulder, Monika nodded, and followed Kloha Soder further into the field, where the grass grew taller and taller.
Despite the feelings she harboured after her meeting with K'Shal, when she wanted nothing more than to leave Dathau and all the failure it represented behind, Monika knew there was more going on here than she had ever suspected or realized. K'Shal had been lying to them, about possibly everything. Civilians, dissidents, the White-Tails being the ones hunted to near-extinction? It all started to sound more and more like a farce for sympathy- or a madwoman caught up in her own lies. Even as she felt her energy being sapped away as her body desperately tried to cope with the gaping wound that had once been the front of her shoulder, that same deep desire stirred in her again. That same excited trepidation that had filled her stomach with butterflies when she had gone to tell Lesmila about the Patrol Fleet, and the same one she felt when she had been accepted to Starfleet Academy almost a decade ago. It was a mix of anxiety, curiosity, and an unassailable belief that she was following the right path. Yet, simultaneously, that belief was plagued with doubt. She had walked away, tried to leave all of this behind.
That was only because I couldn't grasp the reality of what's going on, Monika lied to herself, Because I couldn't have known just how depraved and morally bankrupt K'Shal was.
The doubts snaked their way past her lie, forcing her to contend with the fact that, regardless, she should have done more- could have done more. Maybe even avoided all of this from happening: being separated from her crew, being wounded, having people like Guide Ori and Kloha put their lives on the line for her. She had seen the hit list, she had heard the intentions behind K'Shal's words, and she wasn't stupid, she knew, deep-down, what it had all been likely leading up to. Yet she had deluded herself, tried to slink away in her own defeat, as if she was back on the station reading casualty reports and imagining what she could have done to stop that battle, or that skirmish, or how she could have saved more lives if she wasn't stuck hiding on a shipyard in the core worlds of the Coalition. This time it was real, and she, Monika Paige, had turned her back on a people in need. Even Jad'sko and Trixlamoon, awful as their own plan was, could have been given help- and she had refused them too, because she couldn't stand to reckon with the fact that her expectations weren't being met by the reality, and she was falling back into old habits, old patterns, behaviours she knew, even before they had left the station, that were never going to fly in the real world.
But this wasn't the time to let her doubts consume her, there would be time for that later. Dreams, sleep, quiet moments with nobody else around, the doubts and guilt could haunt her there. Right now she had to keep moving forward, follow Kloha to wherever they were heading. Monika forced the feelings down, boxed them up, hid them away in the corners of her mind. She refocused herself on the path ahead, on the need to get to understand how she could still help, to make up for her inaction- to make it right.
One way or another, Captain Monika James Paige was going to find out what was happening on Dathau, and nothing was going to stop her.