AN: Here we are, another piece as this advances.
I hope you enjoy! Please don't forget to let me know what you think!
111
Beverly didn't know how long they'd been there. The whole experience was disorienting. It was hot, and dry, and none of them dared to ask for water. Despite the begging and the pleading, soldiers from outside kept coming for their people. The popping sound of weapons being fired outside kept Beverly's nerves feeling raw—were the shots fired for her people? Were the sounds from soldiers fighting against each other? Was the Federation coming, or had there been another choice that someone had to make?
When would it be her turn? She'd already tried to offer herself if, in some way, she could stop what was happening, but it was clear that nothing would stop what they were doing. They would have to be stopped, or they would simply keep going until there were no hostages left.
She couldn't even help her own people because, once removed from the building where she was being held, they were beyond her reach and vision. She knew, when she went out there with them, it wouldn't be to help them, it would be to join them.
Where would the half-crazed Merobian soldiers shoot her?
Beverly recognized that such thoughts weren't productive, but she couldn't very well push them out of her mind entirely. She did her best to focus her attention on comforting the remaining people in their little group, and she hoped that she managed to make her reassurances come across as something genuine. Like her, though, they were starting to feel hopeless. Unlike her, they were starting to voice it.
"Doctor…"
Beverly's heart felt like it stopped. This soldier, though half-crazed on adrenaline, feelings of superiority, and some kind of delusion that he was on the side of "right" for his people, was not the soldier that frequently addressed her. He was the soldier that, in the beginning and perhaps to let them all know just what he was capable of, had taken the head of one of her people.
Beverly's body felt faintly like it was made of lead as she got off the floor. Still, she hoped she looked more composed than she felt as she reached him. He sneered at her, and she tried to let her mind drift just enough.
He was going to kill her, and she knew it. There was no reason to delude herself into thinking that she wasn't about to face her death. The only question remained how would she die? He would take her outside and, what? Would he shoot her in the head with mercy, or would he leave her writhing on the ground until she bled out?
Beverly calmed her nerves as best she could by drawing up images of things that warmed her. She thought of Wesley. She remembered the day he was born. She recalled his face when he was happy. No matter how it had changed through the years, the smile was the same to her. She remembered Jack—long before he'd been killed—smiling at her like he had in the good, simple days when he'd been home with her before shipping out again. She remembered Jean-Luc just the night before, and that very morning. She remembered all the hopes she had for their little one.
She hoped the little one knew that she was sorry that its life had been so short, and she couldn't give it more.
She managed not to hear the taunts of the soldier. She managed to block them out, just the same as she blocked out the protests of her remaining people who knew they were watching her walk to her death and that, likely, theirs would come soon.
She couldn't quite block out the sounds that followed, though—sounds she couldn't place. Everything happened in slow motion, and it happened too fast to fully understand, all at the same time. There was a pick up in the popping noises. There was rumbling, and cracking, and then it felt like the world shook. Beverly felt sharp burning sensations, a throbbing pain, and then it all simply went black.
111
"The government of Merobi II will have a great deal of work to do," Admiral Warren said, "but they believe that they can find peace again. The prisoners will face punishment under Merobian law."
Jean-Luc's face felt numb. His whole body felt numb. As he sat, listening to the Admiral's briefing and watching the man's face on screen—a face that he'd known for much of his life and career—Jean-Luc found himself thinking of exactly how numb he felt. He marveled at it. It was as though, to save himself from the excruciating pain that had been throbbing through every fiber of his being for seemingly endless hours, his brain was simply flipping switches and throwing entire parts of his body into some kind of blindness to sensations.
It was easier, now, than it had been, to remain distant from his feelings. It was easier to keep them under wraps. They weren't gone—in fact, they were boiling harder beneath the surface than they had been—but he felt like the numbness had paralyzed his face and nearly all of his vocal cords. He could simply sit, at his computer, and listen to the briefing.
"The Federation is dispatching help to the remaining Merobian soldiers to aid in recovery of their prisoners and the Federation hostages."
The Federation hostages. His people. His crew. Some of which, in the group that Beverly had been heading, had simply been volunteers and freshly-minted, green ensigns. Jean-Luc knew Beverly well enough to know that she'd taken the group she'd chosen because she wanted them to have experience, but she'd believed that she could go above and beyond to pick up any slack that might come from their inexperience.
The last reports, before this conversation, had reported that one hostage was confirmed dead. Six others were confirmed wounded, some critically so, and were possibly dead by now. Reports brought in news of the fight between the Merobian soldiers and those who had joined the group that they were now referring to as a terrorist group. Many of the terrorists had been killed defending the temporary medical building where their wounded were being kept along with the hostages not paraded out to try to convince the Federation that they should bow down to bullies.
The hope had been that they could save and protect the medical building, but when it became clear that the terrorists would only continue to wound and, possibly, kill the hostages until their demands were met or they were stopped, the decision had been made to sacrifice whatever was necessary in order to neutralize the threat of these terrorists to the Merobian government and, in some ways, to the Federation.
"My crew would like to volunteer to aid in the recovery efforts," Jean-Luc said.
Admiral Warren steepled his fingers and nodded solemnly. Jean-Luc wondered if the feeling of frustration and the prickle of anger that started inside of him was something he'd always felt so distinctly, or if it was new to this particular situation.
"I know ten of your people were down there…"
Eleven, Jean Luc thought. There were eleven. Even if their child was inconsequential to the Merobians, the Federation, and even to every other living soul aboard this ship, the child had been real to them—even if only for what seemed like a moment.
"Please," Jean-Luc said. "Our hands have been tied. My crew feels frustrated by their inability to help in any way. We would like to assist in the recovery of our people, the wounded soldiers, and the prisoners. We would like to see them brought to justice, and we would like to see closure for everyone."
"We have already dispatched people to assist. We have another ship coming into orbit to help with the wounded. We will be aiding the Merobians in healing their wounded. Our counselors have suggested that the recovered hostages will likely need time to process their experiences, and it may be best to keep them separate from the Merobian wounded. We would like to bring our recovered people aboard Enterprise for treatment, and we'll be sending a team of surgeons to assist your medical team."
"My remaining medical team," Jean-Luc mused.
"If the strain will be too great, the hostages can receive treatment aboard another ship," Admiral Warren offered.
Jean-Luc sighed and shook his head.
"I'm sorry," he said. "That wasn't what I intended at all."
Admiral Warren gave him the kind of smile that people often give others when they aren't sure what to say or how to react to their situation. It was meant to be comforting, but Jean-Luc was finding that no comfort could penetrate the feelings that practically wrapped around him at the moment.
"Jean-Luc…we have limited information on the hostages at this point, but please know that the entire Federation is hoping for the best outcome for our people—all of them."
Jean-Luc nodded.
"When will the medical team be joining us on Enterprise?" Jean-Luc asked.
"You should be contacted in less than fifteen minutes. They'll start beaming in as quickly as they can be made ready and brought into range. Hopefully, you'll be receiving people during that period, too. Recovery efforts are already underway. All of your recovered people will be beamed directly to sickbay, so you'll need to have shields prepared for that. There won't be announcements for the incoming, they'll simply be transferred as they're found."
"I understand," Jean-Luc said. "I'll alert my security teams, we'll prepare sickbay, and…I'll prepare crew in the morgue. And—what are the orders for myself and my crew?"
"Official orders haven't been put into place yet," Admiral Warren said. "You can imagine how things have been here. However, the official orders will be coming through within the next hour. I can tell you that, of course, the expectation is that your crew and the medical team joining Enterprise at the moment will do what they can for the hostages. Hold orbit until further orders are officially issued. I can tell you that, in light of this tragedy, the Enterprise is being called back early, and you will all be placed on leave for R and R for the ship to undergo repairs and upgrades. We believe that the crew will benefit from the time they have to process this. Another ship will finish the tour with the Bendalite delegation. As soon as you receive official orders, the Enterprise should set a course for home."
Jean-Luc nodded.
"Thank you, Admiral. I understand. I will ready my crew for the recovery, and I will communicate the new orders to them when they are official."
"Jean-Luc…on a personal note…"
"Please," Jean-Luc said. "Don't."
Admiral Warren nodded. He gave some word of farewell, and Jean-Luc responded to it half-heartedly.
Jean-Luc left his ready room and, on the bridge, he repeated back most of what Admiral Warren had shared with him. He issued orders, preparing the ship to receive the Federation medical team that was already starting to beam aboard and prepare sickbay. He alerted the crewmembers who would be working in the morgue, to prepare them to respectfully deal with the fallen comrades that would be coming to them, held there until they could be properly honored upon the Enterprise's return to Earth.
Standing on the bridge—practically home to him—and addressing his crew, Jean-Luc found the only peace he had felt since this disaster had begun. He recognized, too, that it wasn't peace so much as it was simply familiarity. He had to stop himself, swept up in getting everyone where they needed to be to be most effective, from accidentally calling Doctor Crusher in sickbay to make sure she was prepared for the work she was about to do. He'd reached out to Doctor Moran, instead, but it hadn't been the same. He'd stopped himself in time, and reality had started to flood back in and numb his system again.
"Captain," Deanna said, drawing him out of himself for a moment. She'd been off the bridge for the most part. She'd been helping those who needed it. She'd also had an open-comm for much of the time, so that she could monitor what wasn't being said aboard the ship as much as what was being said. Now, she was in front of Jean-Luc, and she'd come onto the bridge with clear purpose in her stride.
"Counselor Troi," Jean-Luc said, his muscles tensing involuntarily as he instinctively knew what was coming.
She gave him a sympathetic expression.
"I'm sorry, Captain, but—in light of the circumstances, and considering the events that are about to take place, I am exercising my right as ship's counselor to act in your best interest and, by extension, in the best interest of the crew. I hereby temporarily relieve you from duty, Captain."
Jean-Luc nodded at her.
"I understand, Counselor. I respect your decision. Number One? You have the bridge."
"I'll keep you informed," Will said, clearly not really wishing to take over entirely. Jean-Luc recognized that this was not an act done because they doubted his ability to lead. Instead, they were giving him the freedom to step away, for however long he needed, and be Jean-Luc Picard the man, not the captain.
"Please do. New and final orders should be issued within the hour. Standby in orbit until then. I'll be in sickbay, if I'm needed."