Chapter 9: First Adventure Part 2
May 24, 2265
U.S.S. Enterprise, NCC-1701
Kirk settled into his chair at the command console, his fingers hovering over the control panel as he accessed the personal records of his senior officers. The screen blinked to life, and he initiated the search for Buffy and Dawn's files. The files materialized with an array of data that soon unfolded into a vivid tapestry of extraordinary lives and remarkable achievements.
Kirk's eyes skimmed over the initial entries, revealing Buffy Summers's unique role as the Slayer—a title that had imbued her with extraordinary abilities and a destiny steeped in ancient lore. He read about her battles against dark forces, her leadership in the fight against supernatural threats, and the immense sacrifices she had made. It was clear that Buffy was not merely a warrior but a symbol of hope and resilience.
The records transitioned to a more unexpected chapter of their lives. Buffy and Dawn had played crucial roles in assisting Zefram Cochrane with the construction of the Phoenix, the first human warp-capable ship. Kirk reviewed detailed accounts of their involvement, noting their technical expertise and dedication. The Phoenix's successful launch, which heralded a new era for humanity, had been partially shaped by their contributions. It was remarkable to see how their journey had intertwined with pivotal moments in human history.
The next segment of the file detailed Buffy and Dawn's service aboard the Enterprise NX-01. Their tenure on this groundbreaking starship had been marked by numerous adventures and crucial missions. Kirk noted their roles as valued crew members who had navigated the complexities of early deep-space exploration with distinction. Their experiences on the NX-01 had evidently prepared them for the vast challenges that lay ahead in their careers.
As Kirk continued, he came across records of Buffy and Dawn's service on the USS Kitty Hawk. This chapter was bittersweet. The Kitty Hawk had been a venerable vessel, and Buffy and Dawn had served with honor aboard her. The destruction of the Kitty Hawk by Klingons was a significant loss, and the records reflected the bravery and resilience of her crew in the face of such overwhelming adversity. The tragic end of the Kitty Hawk was a somber reminder of the perils that awaited those who ventured into the cosmos.
The final part of the files detailed Dawn's involvement in programming the Kobayashi Maru simulation. Kirk's eyebrows arched as he read through the descriptions of the simulation's design and its notorious reputation as an unwinnable scenario. Dawn's contributions had not only involved intricate programming but also the implementation of complex psychological elements that tested the very essence of a cadet's character. The challenge was legendary, and Dawn's role in its creation underscored her exceptional talent and insight.
Kirk leaned back, absorbing the weight of the records.
0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0
McCoy sat in the dimly lit medical office aboard the Enterprise, the soft hum of the ship's systems providing a steady background noise. He pulled up Buffy and Dawn's medical files on the large screen, his brows furrowing as he began to delve into the detailed reports. Each line of text seemed to unravel a more complex and extraordinary picture of the two officers.
McCoy's eyes widened as he read through Dawn's medical file. The first section detailed her empathic abilities—an extraordinary gift that allowed her to sense and interpret the emotions of those around her with unparalleled accuracy. The report explained how this sensitivity was not merely a psychological trait but a profound physiological phenomenon, with Dawn's nervous system uniquely adapted to process and project emotional energy.
The next entry described Dawn's ability to store electrical energy within her body. The file noted that she could harness this energy, converting it into a tangible force that could be discharged from the palm of her hand. The documentation included detailed notes on the energy's output and its potential applications, highlighting its usefulness in various situations. McCoy was struck by the implications of such abilities—an empathic individual with the power to wield energy was certainly a rare and potent combination.
The final section of Dawn's medical records revealed her immortality. According to the file, Dawn could not die until December 31st of the year 2999. The implications of such an extended lifespan were profound, affecting not just her medical care but her entire approach to life and duty. McCoy made a mental note to further explore the implications of this immortality on her overall health and psychological well-being.
Shifting his focus, McCoy began to review Buffy's medical file. The first entries detailed her enhanced physical abilities—strength, reflexes, and agility that far surpassed normal human limits. The reports described her muscles as being densely packed with a unique form of bio-organic structure that allowed for incredible feats of power and speed. Her reflexes were noted as being so swift that they bordered on the superhuman, allowing her to react to stimuli in a fraction of a second.
Buffy's healing abilities were another focal point of the file. The documentation showed that her body could recover from injuries at an accelerated rate, with cuts and bruises healing in mere hours and more severe wounds mending far quicker than average. This rapid healing was attributed to an enhanced cellular regeneration process, which significantly increased her resilience.
Like Dawn, Buffy's file also included the note that she could not die until December 31st of the year 2999. McCoy's thoughts raced as he considered the implications of this shared immortality. Both women's extended lifespans required careful consideration of their health management and psychological stability. Buffy's enhanced physical attributes combined with her immortality presented a unique set of challenges and opportunities, both for her personal care and her role aboard the Enterprise.
McCoy leaned back in his chair, reflecting on the incredible nature of the medical data he had just reviewed.
0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0
Buffy observed from the center seat with a blend of concern and encouragement as Sulu, visibly tense, flexed his fingers nervously. The bridge felt charged with a palpable sense of anticipation. Buffy's gaze flickered toward Dawn, who was diligently relaying Kirk's orders for the ship's departure. She had anticipated Kirk's presence on the bridge for this pivotal moment, but it seemed he was still engrossed in reviewing the files of both herself and Dawn in his cabin.
"Mr. Sulu!" Buffy's voice cut through the tense atmosphere, carrying both authority and reassurance.
Sulu's response was immediate but shaky. He wrenched the Enterprise into a sudden port maneuver, his hands trembling as he fought to steady the ship. The immense vessel quivered under his command, feeling fragile and unwieldy, like a solar-powered sailboat buffeted by erratic winds. His throat tightened, and he swallowed hard, struggling to regain control.
The ship's intercom crackled to life, overwhelmed by a flurry of anxious queries from every department. The comms were buzzing with a chorus of confusion and concern as the crew grappled with the unexpected maneuver.
Buffy rose from her seat and made her way over to Sulu, her footsteps purposeful and steady. She placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, grounding him in the moment. "You can do this," she said softly. "Just relax."
Her gaze briefly met Dawn's, who nodded encouragingly from her position at the Engineering console. Dawn's calm demeanor was a stabilizing presence amidst the chaos.
"Mr. Scott on comm," Dawn announced, her fingers deftly flipping a switch to connect with the Chief Engineer.
"Mr. Scott," Buffy said, her voice firm yet composed. "Damage report."
"Aye, sir. The engines, the housings—they're no' designed for such use," Scott's voice crackled through the intercom, tinged with a Scottish accent and a hint of concern.
Sulu, concentrating intently, engaged the impulse engines. The ship shuddered slightly as they produced a faint, almost imperceptible thrust, nudging the Enterprise forward with a cautious, deliberate acceleration.
Buffy's eyes remained fixed on the console as she awaited Scott's assessment. "What's the damage, Mr. Scott?" she asked again, her tone insistent yet patient.
"Well, sir, there isna any damage, if ye put it that way," Scott replied, his voice easing into a more relaxed cadence as he assured them of the situation.
"Very good, Mr. Scott. Carry on," Buffy said with a nod of approval, her voice carrying a note of relief.
The Enterprise glided free from the confines of the dock, the vast expanse of space unfolding before it like an endless, glittering canvas. The sensation of liberation was palpable, and for a moment, the enormity of the universe stretched out, vast and inviting.
Sulu felt a twinge of dizziness as the stars swirled momentarily before his eyes. He exhaled deeply, realizing he had been unconsciously holding his breath. The sensation was both disorienting and exhilarating, a stark reminder of the delicate balance between control and chaos in the vast void of space.
Dawn's sharp eyes flickered between Buffy and Sulu, sensing the subtle undercurrent of tension in the room. Buffy's nod was a silent assurance, her gaze steady and encouraging. "Relax, you can do it," she reiterated, her voice a steady beacon amid the swirling uncertainties of space.
"Yes, sir," Sulu responded, his voice steadier now as he focused on the task at hand.
"Navigator, plot a course to Starbase 13—" Buffy commanded, her voice crisp and authoritative.
Sulu engaged the reverse thrust, bringing the Enterprise nearly to a halt relative to Spacedock. The maneuver was precise, but the sudden stop triggered a series of collision warnings. The alarms blared, cutting through the quiet hum of the ship's systems. Sulu quickly acknowledged the alerts and silenced them with practiced ease.
"Sailboat, Commander," Sulu said, his tone tinged with a mix of surprise and amusement. He adjusted the magnification on the viewscreen, which revealed a small solar-powered boat darting across their path. Its sleek form was dwarfed by the size of the Enterprise, and the sail, almost invisible in its blackness, caught the light and reflected a brilliant crescent across the ship's sensors.
The viewscreen adjusted, softening the intensity of the reflected light and bringing the scene into sharper focus.
"I see it, Mr. Sulu," Buffy acknowledged, her eyes scanning the image on the screen. "Good work. Whoever is aboard her has more nerve than sense."
"And in human-controlled regions, such as this one," Mr. Spock intoned, his voice carrying the weight of unassailable logic, "that person has the right of way as well."
Buffy's eyes rolled with a mix of exasperation and amusement as the tension on the bridge eased. The sailboat, a quaint relic of Earth's simpler times, glided past them with an almost nonchalant grace, its sleek form now fading into the distance. The sight of it, juxtaposed against the grandeur of the Enterprise, was a reminder of the myriad lives and activities unfolding in the vast stretches of space.
As the sailboat cleared their path, the Enterprise began to move again. Sulu's fingers danced over the controls with practiced precision, guiding the massive starship into its next phase of the journey. The ship, a testament to the pinnacle of human engineering, responded smoothly to his commands.
"Course to Starbase 13 entered, Commander," the navigator announced, his voice carrying a note of satisfaction.
"The Enterprise is clear of traffic and cleared for warp speed, Commander," he continued, his tone filled with a subtle undercurrent of relief.
"Warp factor one, Mr. Sulu," Buffy directed, her voice firm and confident, guiding them back into the flow of their mission.
"Warp factor one, sir," Sulu confirmed, his hands adjusting the settings with a practiced touch.
With a deep, resonant hum, the Enterprise surged forward, its powerful engines propelling it toward the stars.
0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0
Dawn intercepted McCoy in the corridor, just outside Kirk's cabin. "You look better, Doc," she remarked, her gaze lingering on the visible improvements in his appearance since their last encounter.
"Thanks," McCoy responded, his voice carrying a hint of relief and weariness. "I reviewed yours and your sister's files. Quite an interesting read, actually. While I am skeptical, of course, I have to admit that it has to be true. Why would Starfleet go to such lengths to classify yours and her files if they were a fabrication?"
"I can give you a demonstration in a safe area," Dawn offered, her tone calm but ready to provide proof.
"I think that would be wise," McCoy agreed, a note of curiosity coloring his voice. "Plus, allow me to examine you. The electrical energy you can house and discharge means…"
"That I have a biological way of storing it," Dawn completed his thought, her expression serene. "My medical files should be attached…"
"They were," McCoy said, nodding. "But I would like to see it for myself."
"Not a problem," Dawn assured him with a smile as they approached Kirk's cabin.
They reached the door, and McCoy knocked, his knuckles tapping briskly on the polished surface.
"Come," came Kirk's voice from within, sounding tired, aggravated, and impatient, as though he had been immersed in a series of relentless tasks.
"He feels just like he sounds," Dawn commented wryly as the door slid open. They entered the cabin, stepping into the dimly lit room. The air inside was thick with the weight of ongoing deliberations and fatigue.
"Your guests are waiting," McCoy said, his tone carrying an edge of urgency as he stood in the doorway.
Kirk looked up bleary-eyed from the comm screen, his gaze heavy with the weight of relentless scrutiny. He had been meticulously going over Buffy and Dawn's records, delving into the labyrinthine details with the kind of concentration that left him visibly exhausted. "My guests?"
"Amelinda and her company," Dawn said, her voice laced with a hint of exasperation. "You told Ame that…"
"Ame?" Kirk's expression shifted to one of sudden realization. He turned his full attention to Dawn, a flicker of recognition crossing his face. "You know her." He glanced back at the comm screen, his fingers flying over the controls as he flipped through the dense file on familial relations. At first, he found no direct connection to Lukarian, but as he dug deeper, it became clear that Dawn and Buffy did indeed know Lukarian. They were, in fact, the godmothers of Lukarian's daughter. Kirk's eyes widened as he absorbed the revelation. "Her daughter is your goddaughter!"
"Yes," Dawn confirmed with a nod, her expression a mix of amusement and slight embarrassment. "Amelinda is descended from an old family friend by the name of Willow Rosenberg who died in twenty eighty-five."
"Why didn't you or your sister tell me that?" Kirk asked, rising from his chair with a sense of frustration mingled with incredulity. "My first meeting…"
"Could have gone better," Dawn finished, her nod punctuating the statement with a touch of wry humor. "I know. To tell the truth, it was more amusing to pretend not to know her. Anyway, you told Ame that you would have dinner with her and her troupe."
"Oh, lord!" Kirk exclaimed, his voice rising in alarm. "I lost track. I don't believe it." He moved with a sudden burst of energy; his earlier fatigue momentarily forgotten as he began to scramble to rectify the situation.
McCoy's attention was drawn to the clutter on Kirk's desk, where stacks of paperwork were piled haphazardly. The paperwork seemed to overflow onto the floor, creating a chaotic mess of forms, reports, and memos. "What is all this?" McCoy asked, his curiosity piqued as he gestured towards the mountain of documents.
"It's, you know—" Kirk waved his hands dismissively, his frustration evident. "Paperwork. Of which I am behind," he added, glancing at Dawn with a sheepish grin. "After reviewing your records."
"Why are you doing it?" McCoy wondered aloud, his voice carrying a note of concern.
"It has to be done," Kirk replied, his tone a mixture of stubbornness and resignation. He added defensively, "I always do it. But I've never had quite so much of it before."
"Where's your yeoman?" McCoy asked, his brows knitting together as he scanned the cluttered desk.
"I don't have one," Kirk said with a hint of defensiveness.
"You don't have one?" Dawn echoed, her disbelief evident. Her experience with having a yeoman while stationed on Earth had been almost a given; it was a necessity given her empathic abilities, which sometimes left her overwhelmed by the flood of emotions she sensed from the world around her. The support of a yeoman had been a lifeline, a buffer that allowed her to manage her duties more effectively.
"I've never had a yeoman," Kirk insisted, a note of finality in his voice.
"You were never captain of the Enterprise before," McCoy pointed out, his tone carrying a touch of exasperation.
"I don't want a yeoman," Kirk said firmly. "I don't need somebody fussing over me, sticking things under my nose to sign, or making sure the synthesizer put the right stripes on my shirt."
McCoy sighed and drew up a chair, straddling it as he leaned forward, his posture one of earnest advice. "Jim, permit your old Uncle Bones to give you some friendly advice. You're commanding twice as many people as you ever have before. Starfleet paperwork increases in geometric—maybe even logarithmic—proportion to the size of the crew."
"He has a point," Dawn agreed, nodding as she added her perspective. "I have one when on Earth," she said with a smile, enjoying the rare moment of camaraderie with McCoy. "Sensing the world's emotions can sometimes be a little too much. I can only handle so much at a time. When it gets overwhelming, my yeoman helps Buffy with the everyday duties that I would normally take care of. Captain, before you say it will be all right as soon as you get caught up—I assure you, you won't. I tried for a long time without a yeoman. I never got caught up."
"I suppose you have a magical solution," Kirk said, his voice tinged with a mix of skepticism and exasperation.
"Get a yeoman," Dawn said with calm insistence. "Now, before you lose your sanity. Go down to the quartermaster's office, pick out a likely candidate, and promote them."
"It'll take me more time to train somebody to do this than it would to do it myself," Kirk said, his voice carrying the weight of both fatigue and resignation. His gaze lingered on the towering piles of paperwork, each stack representing hours of work he had yet to tackle.
"Not in the long run," McCoy interjected, his tone practical. "Not if you pick somebody with more than half a brain."
"Ever since I came on board this ship, people have been telling me to surrender gracefully," Kirk said, his eyes flickering to Dawn, who responded with a knowing smile. The air between them was charged with an unspoken understanding that sometimes, accepting help was not a sign of weakness but a strategic choice.
"What?" McCoy asked, his curiosity piqued as he looked back and forth between Kirk and Dawn.
Kirk sighed, a deep, weary exhale that seemed to deflate the tension in his shoulders. "I said—I'll try it. On a temporary basis."
"Good," Dawn said, her voice a mixture of relief and encouragement. "Now come on." Her tone was decisive, signaling the end of their discussion and the beginning of a new course of action.
"If you think a feeble excuse like work will save you from what the synthesizer has laughingly billed as 'dinner,'" McCoy said with a teasing edge, "you've got another thing coming." The playful glint in his eyes and the faint smile tugging at his lips betrayed his true feelings about the evening's plans, even as he maintained a facade of seriousness.
0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0
Dawn and McCoy guided Kirk through the bustling mess hall, their footsteps echoing softly against the polished floors. The room was alive with the hum of conversation and the clinking of utensils on plates. As they approached, Kirk's gaze was drawn to Buffy, who was engaged in animated conversation with Lukarian and her troupe. The sight of the familiar faces brought a sense of relief to Kirk, though the weight of his tardiness still lingered in the back of his mind.
"Ame," Kirk greeted with a warm smile, his eyes softening at the sight of Lukarian, who looked up from her seat with a welcoming expression.
"You told him?" Buffy asked, her tone a mix of mild reproach and disbelief as she turned her gaze from her sister to Kirk.
"Slipped out," Dawn admitted with a shrug. "Besides, with a little research, he found the connection anyways. It is, after all, in our files that Ame's daughter is our goddaughter."
"Anyways," Kirk said, his voice carrying a note of earnest apology. "I'm terribly sorry. Ship's business—I hope you and your company will forgive my inexcusable tardiness—"
Before Lukarian could respond, an older man, with a demeanor that seemed as finely tuned as his well-groomed mustache, interjected with a dry, penetrating tone. "If your tardiness is inexcusable, then how do you expect us to forgive it?"
"Of course, I forgive you, Jim, don't be silly." Lukarian's voice took on a firm yet reassuring tone as she shot a disapproving glance at the older man. "Mr. Cockspur was just joking."
"You youngsters are far too cavalier with the language," Mr. Cockspur continued, his voice carrying an air of sage-like gravitas. "We should all endeavor to speak precisely."
Buffy rolled her eyes, a gesture of shared frustration with Lukarian that spoke volumes. Their eyes met, and Lukarian gave a slight nod of understanding, a silent acknowledgment of the frequent balancing act between professionalism and personal rapport.
"Let me introduce you, Jim, Dawn," Lukarian said, her voice warm and inviting. She had already introduced her company members to Buffy, and now, with a gesture that swept across the table, she continued. "A few people had to leave, but you've already met Mr. Cockspur, our neo-Shakespearean actor."
Lukarian's introductions were made with a graceful flourish, each name adding a distinct note to the evening's ensemble. First came Philomela Thetis, a statuesque woman whose elegance was matched only by her imposing presence. Her demeanor exuded a refined charm, and her heavy-set frame spoke of a strength and dignity that commanded respect. Next were Greg and Maris, a dynamic tap-dancing duo whose synchronized movements promised a rhythm and energy that could captivate any audience. Lastly, Marcellin, the mime, stood silently with a serene expression, his presence an enigmatic blend of mystery and artistry.
Each member of the troupe greeted Kirk with warm smiles and hearty handshakes, their friendliness a stark contrast to the awkwardness that had marked Kirk's arrival. As Kirk, followed by Dawn and McCoy, made their way to the food synthesizer, they were met with a disappointing sight. The synthesizer, usually a beacon of efficiency, was now flashing a bright, irritating red light with the words "Down for repair" blinking on its screen.
"Count your blessings," McCoy quipped, casting a sidelong glance at the malfunctioning device. "You wouldn't have liked it, whatever you got. If you could tell what you got."
Kirk frowned at the news but tried to keep his spirits up. "By the way, Ame," he said when they finally settled at the table with Lukarian, her company, and Buffy. "You don't mind me calling you Ame, do you?" he asked, his tone light and conversational. Lukarian shook her head, a smile playing on her lips as she signaled her approval. "We got a greeting from—" he began, but he abruptly halted as he noticed Mr. Cockspur's expression of deep-seated indignation.
"I was telling of my sojourn in Lisbon," Mr. Cockspur interjected with an air of wounded pride. His voice was steady, but the intensity in his gaze made it clear that he was not to be interrupted.
"Do go on," Kirk said, attempting to be polite while subtly signaling to his companions to prepare for what might turn into a lengthy monologue.
"As I said, the performance was a triumph..." Mr. Cockspur continued, his voice gaining momentum. His tale was an elaborate recounting of theatrical exploits, filled with grand gestures and sweeping descriptions that painted a vivid picture of his experiences.
And indeed, Mr. Cockspur did go on. His narrative, rich with detail and nostalgia, consumed the evening.
May 25, 2265
U.S.S. Enterprise, NCC-1701
When the ship's computer summoned him to sick bay and mangled his given name, it provided Hikaru Sulu with a peculiar sense of solace. The mispronunciation, though slightly irritating, offered a small comfort—one that reminded him that even the sophisticated machinery aboard the Enterprise was not infallible. The disarray of letters and sounds made him feel less isolated after yesterday's departure. The thought that the ship's computer could falter in such a human-like manner was oddly reassuring.
McCoy's voice cut through the sterile air of the sick bay with a warm, professional tone. "Mr. Sulu, how do you do. I'm Dr. McCoy," he said, offering a firm handshake with a practiced ease.
"And I am Commander Dawn Summers," Dawn introduced herself with a friendly nod, "Ship's Counselor."
As the three of them exchanged handshakes, Dawn and McCoy cast quick glances at the data in Sulu's files. The atmosphere in the room was one of brisk efficiency, tempered with an underlying current of camaraderie.
"Hikaru," Dr. McCoy pronounced, stumbling over the name in a manner reminiscent of the computer's earlier attempt. "Hmm. Don't believe I've encountered anyone named Hikaru before."
"Neither have I," Sulu replied with a rueful smile. "But, doctor—it's pronounced with the accent on the second syllable, not the first. The r is very soft." He demonstrated the correct pronunciation, the subtle melody of his name filling the air.
Dawn and McCoy mirrored the pronunciation, their voices mingling in an earnest attempt to master the unfamiliar sounds.
"What does it mean?" Dr. McCoy inquired; his curiosity piqued.
"Why do people always think a name from an unfamiliar language has to mean something?" Sulu asked, a hint of a blush coloring his cheeks. He shifted slightly, hoping to redirect the conversation. "After all—do you know what your given name means?"
"It means heart of a lion, or something on that order," McCoy replied with a grin, clearly pleased with the strength embodied in his name.
"Mine is the first appearance of daylight," Dawn added, her tone gentle and reflective. "But we see your point." She glanced at McCoy, her eyes suggesting a mutual understanding. "Maybe we should get down to business?"
McCoy nodded, his eyes reflecting the respect he felt for Sulu's physical condition. "You're extremely fit, lieutenant, even for someone your age," he remarked, the observation laced with genuine admiration.
"Thank you, sir," Sulu responded, his voice steady yet touched by a hint of pride.
"Don't let this sedentary starship life seduce you away from that," McCoy warned, his tone carrying an undercurrent of concern as he gestured around the clinical surroundings of the sick bay, a stark contrast to the physical demands of space travel.
"I'll try not to. I don't think I will—I get too twitchy unless I get some exercise," Sulu said, his words punctuated by a small, knowing smile. The thought of his habitual restlessness without physical activity was a familiar one, a driving force that kept him in motion even amidst the ship's more stationary routines.
McCoy's gaze shifted to the array of sensors positioned above Sulu's head, their lights blinking rhythmically and their soft beeps filling the room with a quiet, mechanical symphony. "You have a phenomenally low pulse—did you spend time in a high-gravity environment?" McCoy asked, his clinical curiosity piqued by the anomaly.
"Yes, sir, nearly a year," Sulu confirmed, his voice carrying the weight of past experiences. The memory of that year on a high-gravity planet seemed to linger in his tone, a testament to the challenges he had faced.
McCoy nodded in understanding. "I thought that might be the explanation," he said, his eyes scanning the data on the sensors with a practiced efficiency. "The sensors show scars on your back and legs, too. Mind if I take a look?" he asked, his tone shifting to one of professional scrutiny.
"You can hardly see them anymore," Sulu replied with a casual shrug, as he began to peel off the upper half of his exam coverall. The motion revealed the faint, old scars etched beneath his shoulder blades, remnants of a past life etched into his skin.
McCoy's fingers gently traced the faded scars, his touch respectful and careful. "My mother had a consulting job on Hafjian," Sulu explained, his voice carrying a nostalgic edge. "We had an antigrav generator just big enough for our living quarters, but when we went out we used Leiber exoskeletons."
"How old were you? Thirteen? Fourteen?" Dawn inquired, her voice laced with curiosity and a hint of professional insight.
"Exactly that," Sulu responded, his tone reflective. "We left just before my fourteenth birthday. How did you know?"
Dawn's gaze was thoughtful as she offered her explanation. "You wore the exoskeleton during your major growth spurt," she noted casually. "There's a characteristic shape to the scars." Her mind briefly wandered to her own faded scars, relics of a harrowing time when Glory had tried to use her to open a portal between dimensions.
McCoy shifted his attention to Sulu's legs, carefully unfastening the cuffs of the coverall to reveal the scars that marked the skin just above and behind his knees. "They did heal well," he observed with a clinical eye. "Do they ever bother you?" he asked, his tone a mixture of concern and professional curiosity.
"No, sir. I hardly ever think about them," Sulu replied, his voice steady and dismissive of the past discomfort.
"Should have been treated with fibroblasts in the first place," McCoy said, his tone reflecting a touch of frustration. "New skin instead of scars."
"The technology wasn't available," Sulu explained. "Not on Hafjian. Not for something this trivial." His voice carried a note of resignation, acknowledging the limitations of Hafjian's resources.
"Hmmph," McCoy grunted, a sound of mild irritation mingled with understanding. "We have the technology and to spare, here. Do you want to get rid of them?"
"No, sir, I don't think it's necessary," Sulu replied, his tone firm and final.
"Very well," McCoy said, accepting Sulu's decision. He glanced back at the sensors, their beeps and whirs punctuating the quiet room. "Just one other thing," he continued, his demeanor shifting to a more thoughtful concern. "You appear to have sustained no damage at all from the gravity stress. But once in a while, the effects are latent. In a few years, they could catch up with you. It isn't anything to worry about, and it isn't even very likely. But it is something to be aware of."
"What kind of effects?" Sulu asked, startled by the unexpected concern. His eyebrows knitted together in a mix of curiosity and apprehension. "And how long is a few years?"
McCoy's expression turned serious, the gravity of his words underscored by the clinical precision of his tone. "Heart problems, mostly," he explained. "The stress from high-gravity environments can have latent effects on cardiovascular health. So, you should be sure not to let more than three years pass between physicals after age seventy or so." His eyes locked onto Sulu's, emphasizing the importance of regular check-ups to catch any potential issues early.
Sulu's mind raced, contemplating the implications of McCoy's advice. The idea of future heart problems, compounded by the rigors of his past experiences, was a sobering thought. "I'll try to remember that, Dr. McCoy," he said, his voice carrying a note of determination and a newfound resolve to heed the warning.
0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0
For Commander Spock, the passage of a few minutes began to stretch into an almost infinite span of time. Each second seemed to elongate, defying the usual precision with which he measured time. He had arrived at sickbay precisely at the designated moment for his medical examination, his punctuality as exact as ever. Yet, the delay in being attended to felt strangely significant in his meticulously ordered mind.
Dawn and McCoy were still engrossed in their examination of Sulu when Spock entered the room, his presence a stark contrast to the more relaxed atmosphere. He stood there, a model of Vulcan composure, but his inner clock continued to tick with relentless accuracy.
"If you would reschedule my appointment, Dr. McCoy, Commander Summers," Spock said, his voice carrying the calm directness that characterized him, "I will return at some more convenient time." There was no hint of impatience in his tone, just the logical suggestion of efficiency.
"What? Oh, Commander Spock—no, don't be silly." McCoy's response was casual, almost dismissive, as he tossed Spock a medical examination coverall. The jumpsuit, opaque to the eye but transparent to diagnostic sensors, landed neatly in Spock's hands. McCoy gestured towards one of the examination cubicles with a flick of his wrist. "We'll be with you in a minute." With that, he pulled the privacy curtain closed, leaving Spock to prepare.
Spock changed into the coverall with his usual economy of movement, the fabric rustling softly as it settled against his frame. The wait, though short, felt unusually long to him, his mind already calculating the delay. Finally, Dawn and McCoy strolled into Spock's cubicle, their demeanor easygoing compared to his ever-present precision.
"Commander Spock, welcome to sickbay," McCoy greeted him with a light-hearted tone. "I do believe you're the first person to take their physical on time."
"It is not on time," Spock corrected, his tone neutral but firm. "It is now eleven minutes beyond 'on time.'" His eyes met McCoy's, the faintest hint of disapproval in their depths.
"True it's not," Dawn interjected quickly, raising a hand to preempt any retort from McCoy. "But you arrived on time." Her eyes twinkled with a knowing smile as she added, "Vulcans are very punctual beings. Spock here is not the first I have worked with." Spock's eyebrow lifted slightly, the only outward sign of his curiosity. "You know Ambassador T'Pol?" she asked.
"I know of her," Spock said, maintaining his composed demeanor. "I have not had the pleasure to meet her though."
"She's a friend of mine," Dawn replied, her voice tinged with fondness. "I worked with her for a while a long time ago."
McCoy glanced at Dawn, a flicker of confusion crossing his face before realization dawned on him. He suddenly recalled that Dawn was not merely an officer of experience, but someone who had lived for centuries. Her long life stretched far beyond the lifespan of any ordinary human, and her service aboard starships was not limited to the current era. McCoy's thoughts returned to her file, where he had read that the NX-01 Enterprise had been her first posting—likely where she had crossed paths with T'Pol. The understanding settled into place with a quiet respect for the history she carried with her. "Let's get started," McCoy said, refocusing his attention on Spock.
Spock reclined on the diagnostic bed, his body rigid and precise, mirroring the calm of the sensors around him. The machines came to life, their beeps and flashes forming a harmonious symphony of sound and light that mapped out the intricate workings of his Vulcan physiology. It was a familiar pattern to Spock; one he had seen many times before. "As you can see, doctor, my health—" he began, his voice as steady as the readings before him.
"Stay right there," McCoy interrupted sharply, his tone suddenly more intense. He leaned closer to the monitors, scrutinizing the data with a look of mild astonishment. "Why, Mr. Spock, I don't believe I've ever encountered a set of readings quite like yours."
"They are all within the range of Vulcan norm," Dawn interjected, her voice smooth and confident.
"Just barely, some of them," McCoy muttered, his eyes still fixed on the sensors. The numbers and graphs displayed the subtle but significant differences in Spock's hybrid physiology. "I would have thought a few of your human characteristics might come out in the mix."
"The Vulcan genome is dominant," Spock replied calmly, his words precise and matter-of-fact.
"Superior genes, hmm? Do I detect a touch of Vulcan chauvinism?" McCoy quipped, a playful smile tugging at his lips, though his tone hinted at genuine curiosity.
Dawn's expression tightened into a frown; her disapproval of the remark clear. She directed a sharp glance at McCoy before turning back to Spock. "I apologize for the doctor," she said, her voice laced with an undertone of reproach.
"That is quite alright, Commander," Spock responded, his voice as composed as ever. "It is a matter of experimental fact. Were we speaking Vulcan, the words 'dominant' and 'recessive' would imply neither superiority nor inferiority. One might perceive human chauvinism in your attitude, Doctor McCoy, that the traits of your species should prevail, despite laboratory evidence that they do not. Are you quite finished, doctor?" Spock's gaze was unwavering, his tone cool yet respectful, challenging McCoy with the precision of his logic.
"No, not by a long shot," McCoy replied, a grin spreading across his face. His eyes twinkled with a mix of amusement and determination. "Don't move. I haven't had much chance to practice on Vulcans."
"Don't worry, Commander," Dawn said, her voice carrying a reassuring tone as she stepped forward, her presence calm and authoritative. "While Doctor McCoy is the Chief Medical Officer, I will be your primary physician while onboard." Her eyes met Spock's with a steady gaze, conveying both her confidence and her deep-seated respect for his Vulcan heritage. "Due to my familiarity with the Vulcan race, I will also be the primary psychologist for you as well. While only half-human, I want to ensure your psychological welfare is monitored and well-maintained."
"There is no need," Spock responded, his tone firm and unwavering, reflecting the Vulcan resolve to maintain his own mental discipline. The idea of requiring psychological oversight, even in part, was something his logical mind resisted.
"I disagree," Dawn replied, her voice gentle but resolute. There was a subtle but unmistakable authority in her words, a reminder that she had a duty to care for his well-being, both physical and mental. "Regardless, you are dismissed."
Spock inclined his head slightly, acknowledging her decision without further protest. With characteristic precision, he turned and strode from sick bay, his movements as controlled and deliberate as ever. The fabric of the examination coverall, which he had yet to change out of, swished lightly with each step, a rare oversight for the Vulcan who usually paid meticulous attention to such details. Yet, even in this small deviation from his usual discipline, Spock remained the epitome of composure, his thoughts already turning inward as he left the medical bay behind.
0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0
At that same moment on the bridge, the doors of the turbolift emitted a soft, fluttery noise as they attempted to close against an unseen obstruction. The sound was faint, almost hesitant, as if the mechanism itself was unsure of what to do next.
Buffy glanced up from the command chair, her attention drawn by the oddity. Her eyes quickly found the source of the disturbance—a young woman had stepped forward from the turbolift, her movements hesitant, almost as if she was compelled by something other than her own will. It was as if the knowledge that the computer would reprimand her if she stayed in the turbolift was the only force pushing her onto the bridge.
Buffy observed the young woman closely, her own memories stirring as she saw the mixture of awe and trepidation in the newcomer's eyes. The young woman's gaze was fixed on the viewscreen, her expression one of unguarded wonder as she took in the vast expanse of space displayed before her. A small, knowing smile touched Buffy's lips. She could recall her own first moments gazing into the depths of space, the sense of awe that had filled her, leaving an indelible mark on her spirit.
She noticed Uhura starting to rise, likely intending to offer assistance, but Buffy subtly motioned for her to remain seated. Uhura caught the gesture and nodded, staying where she was. Buffy rose from her seat, the weight of command momentarily set aside as she approached the young woman with a warmth that belied her authoritative role.
"What brings you to the bridge?" Buffy asked, her tone gentle, inviting the young woman to speak.
"I'm… I'm the yeoman. I'm supposed to meet the captain...?" The young woman's voice was soft, almost uncertain, as if she was still grappling with the reality of her presence on the bridge.
Buffy offered a welcoming smile. "Welcome to the bridge. I'm Commander Buffy Summers." She waited patiently, allowing the yeoman a moment to gather herself and introduce who she was.
The young woman looked down, her gaze fixed on the floor as she fumbled for words. "I mean—I'm not really a yeoman yet, but they said..." Her voice trailed off, the uncertainty in her tone matching the tentative way she had entered the bridge.
Buffy's voice softened further as she asked, "What's your name?"
"Janice Rand," the young woman replied, her voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking her name aloud made her new role feel more real.
"Come with me, Janice, I'll introduce you," Buffy said, extending a hand to guide her.
"I don't want to bother anybody—" Janice said, her voice tinged with hesitation, as if she was unsure of her place among the seasoned crew.
"It's no bother," Buffy reassured her with a warm smile, taking Janice's hand in a gentle but firm grip. "They'll be glad of the chance to stop having to look busy." There was a hint of playfulness in Buffy's tone, an attempt to ease Janice's nerves as she led her across the bridge.
Buffy guided Janice first to Uhura, who was seated at her station with an air of composed professionalism. "Uhura, this is Captain Kirk's yeoman, Janice Rand," Buffy introduced, her voice carrying a note of pride as she presented the young woman. "Janice, this is Lieutenant Nyota Uhura. She's our communications officer, though she technically shares the duty with our third in command, Commander Dawn Summers, who you will likely meet later."
"How do you do, yeoman," Uhura said with a kind smile, her voice melodic and welcoming. She extended her hand in greeting, her eyes warm and understanding, recognizing the nerves of someone new to the bridge.
Buffy then led Janice to the lower level of the bridge, her steps confident as she pointed toward the vacant science station. "That is where our science officer, Commander Spock, and second in command after myself, sits."
Janice hesitated for a moment before asking, "Is it true... is it true he can read minds?" There was a mix of curiosity and awe in her voice, as if the idea of such an ability was both fascinating and intimidating.
"He can," Buffy replied, her tone thoughtful as she recalled her own knowledge of Vulcan practices. She remembered a time when the mind meld was not as openly discussed, a skill that was once shrouded in mystery and rarely spoken of. "But he is not a true telepath; he has to be physically touching you. Vulcans rarely do it without your permission first." Buffy's words were meant to comfort, to dispel any fears Janice might have about working alongside someone with such a unique ability.
Buffy then introduced Janice to Sulu and Marietta Cheung, the navigator who had been assigned for the starbase tour. The two officers greeted Janice with friendly smiles, and Sulu quickly turned his attention to the displays on his console. "Let me show you how it works," he said, his voice filled with the easy confidence of someone who had spent countless hours at his station.
Cheung leaned in, her fingers dancing over the controls as she demonstrated the various readings. "Of course, nothing interesting is going on now," Cheung remarked with a small chuckle. "It's pretty boring, going from one starbase to another."
Janice, however, seemed captivated by the vastness of space, her eyes drawn to the viewscreen as if she couldn't look away. "But it's so beautiful," she whispered, her voice filled with awe. "And you see it all the time." The endless expanse of stars held her gaze, the sight of distant galaxies and nebulae mesmerizing in their silent majesty.
As Buffy had earlier, Sulu and Cheung followed her gaze, their expressions softening as they were reminded of the wonder they so often took for granted.
Suddenly aware that she might have been staring too long, Janice pulled her attention from the viewscreen, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "I—I'm sorry, I—"
"But you're right, Janice," Buffy said, her voice filled with understanding and a touch of nostalgia. "It is beautiful. Somehow, we get used to it, and we forget to look at it the way you do. It's good to be reminded." She gave Janice's hand a reassuring squeeze, her touch gentle yet grounding, as if passing on some of the wisdom she had gained over years of service in the vastness of space.
"Ah, Yeoman Rand, you're here," Kirk's voice cut through the hum of the bridge as he strode out of the turbolift with his characteristic confidence. Startled, Janice instinctively jerked her hand from Buffy's, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. The sudden shift in atmosphere as the captain arrived made her feel as though she had been caught in a moment of vulnerability.
Kirk, ever observant, took note of her reaction but chose to focus on the task at hand. "Commander Summers has introduced you around?" he asked, his tone more casual as he acknowledged Buffy with a nod of gratitude. "Thank you, Commander. Yeoman, let me show you what I need you to do."
Janice turned to Buffy with wide eyes, the look of someone about to be fed to lions reflected in her expression. The sheer magnitude of responsibility suddenly seemed overwhelming, as if the weight of her new role had finally hit her.
Buffy leaned in and whispered reassuringly, "Don't worry—you'll do fine." There was a warmth in her voice that helped steady Janice's nerves, a gentle reminder that she wasn't alone in this.
Kirk guided Yeoman Rand to the open console on the port side of the bridge, his stride purposeful yet unhurried, as if to emphasize that there was no need for panic. "It's traditional for you to use the environmental systems station," he explained as Buffy returned to the center seat, her presence a calming anchor in the midst of the bustling bridge.
Janice inspected the console with wide eyes, taking in the array of complex display panels that seemed to stretch out before her like an unfathomable puzzle. The flashing lights and intricate controls made her heart race, a stark contrast to the simplicity of her previous training.
Sensing her unease, Kirk quickly added, "Don't be concerned about the complexity." His voice was reassuring, aiming to dispel the doubt and fear that had crept into her expression. "The computer runs all the environmental systems. But you can use this console as your work station on the bridge." His words were meant to instill confidence, to remind her that she wasn't expected to know everything right away.
"Yes, sir," Janice replied, her voice steadying as she absorbed the information. The knot of anxiety in her chest began to loosen, replaced by a growing determination to meet the challenges ahead.
Kirk continued, outlining her first task with clear, concise instructions. "As soon as you can, put together an appointments schedule for me. I want at least half an hour with each person on board. Spread the meetings out during the transit time between starbases. Don't bunch them up into one or two weeks. Try to arrange it so no one will have to visit me in the middle of their sleep cycle—or mine. Be sure not to conflict with staff meetings or inspections. Make it clear that it's informal, that it's just a chat. But don't take no for an answer. Understood?"
"Yes, Captain," Janice said, her confidence bolstered by the clear expectations set before her. There was something comforting about having a defined role, even if it seemed daunting at first.
Kirk nodded in approval, satisfied with her response. "Make yourself familiar with your station. I'll need you in a moment—one of your duties is to register the log and bring me the seal to sign. But the entry won't take long to record."
"Yes, sir," Janice repeated, the words coming more easily now as she began to settle into her new responsibilities.
The turbolift doors hissed open, revealing Lukarian, with her arms full of work—an unrolled poster in one hand and a folder tucked securely under her arm. Dawn and Spock flanked her, their presence lending an air of importance to whatever task had brought them to the bridge. Lukarian's expression was focused, but there was a touch of impatience in her eyes as she sought out Buffy.
"Buffy, have you got a minute?" Lukarian asked, her tone implying that this wasn't just a casual request.
Buffy, already alert, glanced over at Kirk, who was observing the scene with a slight nod of approval. "Captain?" Buffy acknowledged, standing from the command chair with the fluidity of someone ready to step into action. Kirk's nod was all the confirmation she needed. "Sure, Ame, what can I do for you?"
Lukarian shifted her grip on the poster and unrolled it slightly, revealing a vibrant but unfinished design. "I could use some help with this poster," she said, her eyes darting between Buffy and Kirk as if seeking their immediate input.
Buffy leaned in to get a closer look just as Kirk stepped up beside her, his curiosity piqued. The captain's presence, though casual, added a layer of significance to the task.
"Yeoman Rand," Kirk called out with a crispness that made Janice flinch. Her head snapped up, eyes wide, as she responded, "Yes, Captain?"
Kirk's gaze softened slightly as he turned back to Lukarian. "Ame, Yeoman Rand will help you with whatever you need," he said with the authority of someone who knew how to delegate efficiently. "Yeoman, you have my authorization to call on the ship's resources within reason in order to carry out Ms. Lukarian's wishes. For starters, you'll need to find a graphics-oriented comm unit. Understood?"
Janice swallowed the lump of anxiety in her throat and managed a quiet, "Yes, sir," her voice barely above a whisper but filled with determination. The weight of responsibility settled on her shoulders, but it was tempered by the clear instructions Kirk had provided.
Lukarian flashed a grateful smile at both Kirk and Buffy, a warmth in her eyes that hadn't been there before. "Thanks, Jim, Buffy," she said, the relief evident in her voice as some of the pressure of her task was lifted.
Dawn, who had been quietly observing the exchange, stepped forward. "Ame," she began, her tone casual but laced with the camaraderie of long-standing familiarity, "mind if I tag along?"
Lukarian's smile widened slightly, her posture relaxing now that she had some support. "Sure, Dawn," she replied, the hint of stress in her voice easing as she welcomed the extra company.
With a nod from Buffy, Dawn joined Lukarian and Janice, who were already moving towards the turbolift. As the doors slid shut behind them, the small group headed off to find the graphics terminal.
0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0
Dawn, Janice, and Lukarian made their way to the design room, the doors sliding open to reveal the state-of-the-art space within. The enormous graphics screen at the center of the room hummed quietly, then flared to life, casting a soft glow that illuminated their faces with a gentle, futuristic light. The room itself was sleek and functional, a testament to the advanced technology that the Enterprise housed, with tools and interfaces lining the walls, all designed to assist with creative tasks.
Janice stepped forward, her eyes wide with a mix of excitement and nervousness as she took in the impressive setup. She turned to Lukarian with a professional air, though her voice held a touch of uncertainty. "Please show me what you have in mind, Ms. Lukarian."
Lukarian, however, wasn't focused solely on the task at hand. As she noticed Dawn stifling a giggle beside her, she couldn't help but smirk, the corner of her mouth twitching in a playful manner. The shared amusement was a brief but telling reminder of their friendship, something that had weathered time and duty alike. Still, she kept her tone businesslike as she replied, "What I want, ma'am, is something attention-getting."
Before she could continue, Janice's face flushed slightly at the formal address, her discomfort palpable as she quickly interjected. "You mustn't call me 'ma'am,'" she said, her voice betraying just a hint of embarrassment. "I'm just a petty officer, and that isn't even registered yet."
Dawn, always quick to sense when someone was feeling out of place, tilted her head slightly as she considered Janice's words. "What should we call you?" she wondered aloud, her tone gentle, as if coaxing Janice into a more comfortable space.
"Um… yeoman, if you want. Or Rand," Janice offered, her voice a bit unsure, as though she wasn't entirely comfortable suggesting such informalities to her superiors.
Dawn, however, wouldn't hear of it. A warm, encouraging smile spread across her face as she said, "How about Janice? You can call me Dawn and…"
Lukarian, catching the drift of the conversation and eager to put Janice at ease, chimed in with a friendly tone, "And you can call me Ame."
The invitation hung in the air for a moment, and Janice felt a small but significant shift in the room's dynamic. The formal barriers that had initially made her feel out of place began to dissolve, replaced by a sense of camaraderie that was both unexpected and deeply reassuring. "If that's what you'd both like," she said, a shy smile creeping onto her face.
Lukarian nodded, her eyes bright with encouragement. "It'd be easier, don't you think?" she asked, her tone light, almost teasing, as if to gently nudge Janice into accepting the friendly overtures.
Janice looked between the two women, feeling the warmth of their support wrap around her like a comforting blanket. Their presence gave her the courage she needed, and she nodded with a sense of newfound determination. "All right," she said with a small, encouraging smile. "We'd better do your poster, Ame."
Lukarian, still caught up in her thoughts, opened her folder with a familiar, almost habitual motion. There was something about showing off her designs that always stirred a mixture of pride and frustration within her. As she spread out the flamboyant designs before them, it was clear that whoever had painted them had done so with a deep love for their craft. The colors were vibrant, the images bold and theatrical—true to the spirit of classic vaudeville. "These are playbills—reproductions, I mean—from classic vaudeville companies," Lukarian explained, her voice tinged with nostalgia. She unrolled her new poster and carefully flattened out the curling corners of the paper, an almost futile gesture that mirrored her feelings of dissatisfaction. "I'm not happy with the design..." she admitted with a sigh, a hint of frustration creeping into her tone.
For nearly two years, Lukarian had poured her energy into designing posters, always striving to capture the magic of the past while adding her own modern twist. But no matter how much effort she put in, she never seemed to be satisfied with the outcome. "It'll have to do, it's the best I can come up with," she added with a resigned shrug. "My daddy used to design a new one for every city. They were all different, but you could tell a hundred meters away that they came from our company." Her voice softened as she spoke of her father, a man whose talent had set a high bar. "Unfortunately, that's one talent I didn't inherit." She scowled at the paper again, the disappointment evident in her eyes.
Dawn, always the voice of reassurance, stepped in to lift her friend's spirits. "Ame," she said with a tone that was both gentle and firm, "don't sell yourself short. I've seen your posters. They're as good as your father's. I know if Alex was still with us, he would be proud of the posters you've done." Dawn's words were laced with sincerity, and as she spoke, she caught Lukarian's gaze, offering a supportive smile.
Lukarian's scowl softened at Dawn's compliment, a flicker of gratitude flashing across her features. "Thank you for the compliment, Dawn," she said, her voice quieter now, touched by the kindness of her friend.
Janice, ever eager to help, took a step closer to the screen. "Maybe the computer could fix it up a little?" she suggested, her voice carrying a note of optimism. She flashed the scanner at Lukarian's design, transferring it to the large screen that dominated the room.
Lukarian couldn't help but groan when the poster appeared on the screen, magnified to a size that seemed to highlight every flaw she had been fretting over. "I wanted it to look classic but modern at the same time, but all it is, is awful," she muttered, her frustration mounting as she took in the larger-than-life version of her work.
"It isn't that bad," Dawn interjected, her tone soothing as she tried to dispel some of Lukarian's self-criticism. Janice, who had been closely examining the design, nodded in agreement. There was something there, something that could be molded into exactly what Lukarian wanted.
Janice's fingers moved deftly over the touch-sensitive screen, adjusting the letters, smoothing out the lines, and giving the design a sort of neo-deco flair. It was subtle but effective, bringing a touch of elegance to the otherwise bold and brash design.
Lukarian watched the changes with a critical eye, but the frustration in her expression began to fade, replaced by a quiet contemplation. "It never looks the way I imagine it," she admitted, her voice tinged with a hint of melancholy.
Dawn, always looking for a solution, offered an idea that might bridge the gap between Lukarian's vision and the reality before them. "We could adapt something," she suggested thoughtfully. "One of your father's posters, maybe? Use it as a base, and then we can add your modern touches to it. That way, you'll have the classic feel you're after, but with your own unique twist."
"No!" Lukarian's voice rang out with such intensity that she immediately felt a flush of embarrassment. She hadn't meant to be so forceful, but the idea of altering the design too much had hit a nerve. "I mean, it has to be different," she added, trying to soften her tone. "We have different acts."
Janice, unfazed by the initial outburst, took another careful look at one of Lukarian's reproductions. She was no stranger to nerves herself and understood the anxiety of trying to get something just right. "I'm sure it's fine the way it is," she said, offering a reassuring smile. But as she studied the layout, a few ideas began to take shape in her mind. "But if you move this from here to here," she suggested gently, her fingers gliding over the screen, "and slide this over to this corner..." She rearranged the elements with a few swift motions. "And make the background look like brush strokes, and clean up this line a little..."
Lukarian and Dawn both leaned in, their eyes fixed on the new design as it emerged on the screen. The silence between them was thick with concentration, their expressions shifting from curiosity to admiration as the changes took effect.
"I'm sorry." Janice's voice trembled with uncertainty. She hadn't meant to overstep, and now, seeing their reaction, fear crept into her heart. "I'll put it back the way it was," she said quickly, her hand moving to undo the alterations.
"No, wait!" Lukarian's hand shot out to stop her, her voice filled with sudden excitement. "Janice, that's beautiful. How did you do that?"
Janice hesitated, her modesty battling with the pride that was beginning to bloom inside her. "You had all the elements already," she explained, her voice soft but steady. "There is one other thing—I don't mean to keep butting in."
"No, go ahead," Dawn encouraged, sensing that Janice's input was leading them somewhere special.
"Different beings see different kinds of light," Janice continued, her confidence growing as she spoke. "So, if you widen out the color range..." With a few more adjustments, the colors on the screen began to shift subtly, expanding into a spectrum that was just beyond the visible.
Lukarian frowned slightly as she looked at the darker hues that now dominated the design. "It looks awfully dark," she said, doubt creeping into her voice.
"Not if you saw the world in colors that we didn't," Dawn said, suddenly grasping what Janice had done. "For example, in ultraviolet or infrared."
"I can brighten the middle colors," Janice said, her fingers dancing over the touch-sensitive screen. The display shifted as she made the adjustments, brightening the hues in the central portion of the poster. The once muted colors now popped with newfound vibrancy. "Before, if you were a Corellian, say, it would look like this." With a few more taps, the computer performed a transposition, the poster darkening almost to a deep, rich black. (A/N)
Lukarian watched in awe as the transformation took place. "Now it would look like this," Janice said, adjusting the settings once again. The colors brightened in a different way from the original, revealing a spectrum of light and shade that gave the poster a unique dimension.
Lukarian was genuinely impressed. "I wouldn't even have thought of that," she admitted, her voice filled with admiration. "How do you find it all out?"
Janice shrugged modestly. "I've lived a lot of different places," she said. "It wasn't anything I did anything special to learn. Just picking things up along the way."
"Want a job?" Lukarian asked suddenly, her tone earnest and hopeful.
Both Dawn and Janice looked at her in stunned surprise. "What?" they both exclaimed in unison, their voices a mixture of disbelief and curiosity.
Lukarian's eyes sparkled with enthusiasm as she glanced briefly at her friend. "I need a designer," she said, her gaze returning to Janice. "Janice could join the company." Her expression turned thoughtful as she considered Janice's potential. "I don't suppose you can juggle, can you?" she asked, a playful twinkle in her eye.
Janice hesitated, her face a canvas of uncertainty. "I thought you were the designer," she said, her voice trembling slightly with the weight of the unexpected offer.
"No, I'm the manager, among other things," Lukarian clarified, her tone warm and encouraging. "What do you say? Do you want the job?"
Janice looked down, her thoughts swirling with the implications of the offer. "I can't juggle," she said softly, almost as if apologizing for a lack of skill.
"That's okay!" Lukarian said, her voice filled with relief and amusement. "I mean, that part was a joke. Will you join the company?"
"No." Janice's voice was laden with a sudden sense of withdrawal and apprehension, a stark contrast to the excitement she had displayed moments before. Her whole demeanor shifted, her eyes clouded with a mix of fear and resolve. "I signed on with Starfleet for two years."
Dawn's face softened with understanding as she addressed Lukarian. "You know that, Ame," she said gently. "You've known me and Buffy since you were a kid, just like your mom before you and her mom before her. You also know we are career Starfleet. And like old Earth military, when you enlist in Starfleet you sign on for a certain length of service."
Lukarian's expression grew apologetic, realizing her lapse in memory. "I forgot, Dawn," she admitted, turning her attention back to Janice. "The offer holds if you change your mind once your tour is over." Her gaze drifted back to Janice's poster, admiring its evolving design. "Hey, have either of you had lunch? Do you guys want to go get something?"
"No—I mean, I'm sorry, I can't. I left papers all over Captain Kirk's desk. I'm sorry, I have to leave," Janice said hurriedly, her voice tinged with distress as she made a swift exit.
Lukarian watched Janice rush out, a hint of concern furrowing her brow. "Okay," she said, turning to Dawn. "I guess I don't know Jim well enough. I wouldn't have guessed he'd get mad if she took a lunch break."
"She's new," Dawn explained, her tone both reassuring and matter-of-fact. "Like, the second day she's been his yeoman. And you know how hectic it can get, Ame. After all, you at one time were mine, remember?"
Lukarian's laughter was light and nostalgic. "Fresh out of school and looking for a summer job till the fall tour. And guess who gives me a job, the most powerful empath on Earth." Her eyes twinkled with fond memories. "I learned a lot back then, Dawn. And how demanding being your yeoman can be, especially when you're stationed on Earth."
May 26, 2265
U.S.S. Enterprise, NCC-1701
Dawn arrived on the bridge early the next morning, her steps purposeful as she made her way to the engineering console, the rhythmic hum of the ship creating a steady backdrop to her movements. She settled into her seat, her gaze taking in the familiar expanse of the bridge. The various consoles flickered with the soft glow of their diagnostic lights, a prelude to the day's activities.
As she adjusted her station, Kirk emerged from the turbolift, his commanding presence immediately shifting the energy of the room. Dawn noticed the Captain's discerning glance sweep across the bridge. His eyes, sharp and assessing, noted that everyone was present—except for Janice Rand, who was yet to arrive. Kirk's stride was purposeful as he approached Buffy, who was already ensconced in the center seat.
"Commander," Kirk said, his tone both authoritative and respectful. Buffy stood up smoothly from her seat, acknowledging his presence with a nod. Kirk settled into the command chair with a practiced ease, assuming the role of captain with a casual grace that belied the weight of responsibility it carried.
Kirk swiveled his chair towards Spock, who was stationed at his science console. "Good morning, Commander Spock," he greeted, his voice carrying a note of camaraderie.
"Good morning, Captain," Spock responded, his tone clipped but courteous, his attention momentarily drawn from his console.
"I enjoyed our game last night," Kirk remarked, a hint of amusement in his voice.
"It was ..." Spock hesitated for a brief moment, searching for the right words. "Most instructive."
Buffy's lips curved into a knowing smile as she turned to Kirk. "Let me guess," she said, "Three-dimensional chess?"
"Yes," Kirk confirmed with a grin, his expression reflecting both the pleasure of the game and the challenge it posed.
Buffy's gaze shifted to Spock, her eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief. "If the Captain is not a challenging partner, you could try Dawn. T'Pol taught her the game, and she is quite good at it."
Spock's gaze moved to Dawn, who met his look with a nod of acknowledgment. "I would be honored to have a game with someone who had the chance to play with Ambassador T'Pol," he said, his voice steady but carrying a note of genuine interest.
The turbolift doors slid open once again, revealing Yeoman Rand as she tentatively stepped onto the bridge. She moved with a nervous energy, her gaze downcast as she sidled over to the environmental systems station, her fingers quickly but shakily engaging the controls. The weight of the previous day's missteps seemed to hang over her, making her every movement seem cautious, as though she were trying to avoid making any further mistakes.
"Yeoman Rand," Kirk's voice cut through the air, its tone noticeably stiff and formal.
Janice flinched at the sound of her name, her voice barely above a whisper as she responded, "Yes, captain?"
Kirk's gaze was steady as he addressed her, his words measured. "About my schedule," he began, a hint of frustration edging his tone.
"Yes, sir, it's right here, sir," Janice replied quickly, fumbling slightly as she retrieved the data, her hands trembling ever so slightly.
Kirk's eyes narrowed as he continued, "But you made an appointment for me with Leonard McCoy. Dr. McCoy and I have served together for years. Didn't you notice that we both came to the Enterprise from the same ship?"
Janice's face paled, her breath catching as she realized her mistake. "No, sir. He didn't say—I'm sorry, sir," she stammered, her voice tinged with panic.
From her station, Dawn noticed the change in Janice's demeanor, the way the young yeoman seemed to shrink under Kirk's scrutiny. But more than that, Dawn's empathic senses detected the swirling storm of emotions emanating from both Kirk and Janice. The tension in the air was palpable, and it sent a ripple of concern through her. Slowly, she rose from her seat, her eyes narrowing as she assessed the situation.
What Dawn sensed from Kirk—an undercurrent of irritation tempered by a measure of understanding—was enough to prompt her to intervene. She knew that if this continued, it could escalate into something more than just a minor reprimand. Before Kirk could say anything further about Janice's mistake or even about her appearance, Dawn stepped forward.
"Janice, may I see you in private?" Dawn's voice was calm yet firm, offering no room for refusal, but laced with a compassion that Kirk might have missed.
Janice looked up at Dawn, her eyes wide and filled with a mix of fear and relief. Her uniform, Dawn noticed with a sinking heart, was at least two sizes too big, hanging off her slender frame like a burden she hadn't expected to carry. Her hair was rumpled, not in the neatly coiffed style she usually wore, but as if she had barely had the time or energy to fix it. Most telling of all were her eyes, red-rimmed and watery, as if sleep had been an elusive visitor the night before.
Dawn placed a gentle hand on Janice's arm and guided her back into the turbolift. The doors slid shut with a soft hiss, enclosing them in a quiet cocoon as the lift began its descent. The hum of the turbolift was the only sound for a moment, a stark contrast to the emotional turmoil that Dawn could sense roiling just beneath the surface of Janice's calm exterior.
As the turbolift continued downward, Dawn turned to Janice, her expression softening as she asked, "Tell me what happened." Her voice was gentle, a lifeline extended to the struggling yeoman, offering her a safe space to unburden whatever it was that had driven her to this state.
Janice looked at Dawn, confusion flickering across her face as she processed the question. Her gaze dropped to her own disheveled appearance, and a weary sigh escaped her lips. The barriers she had been holding up crumbled, and suddenly the words came spilling out, a floodgate opening after too much pressure.
Janice had no real understanding of hazing; it was an alien concept to her. Somewhere along the line, whether through bitter experience or a harsh lesson learned, she had come to believe that standing up for herself was far more perilous than simply enduring the humiliation. Submission, she had decided, was safer, a way to avoid confrontation and the potential wrath of others.
"And then this morning," Janice continued, her voice trembling as she recounted the events, "I went back to the cabin to get my things and move, and I just lay down for a second—only I was so tired, I fell asleep, and when I woke up, I was late. I put my uniform on, but it was the wrong one. I know I ordered the right one, but it wasn't the one that was there when I lay down. I didn't know whether to order another one and wait or put it on and go to work, and Roswind laughed until I could hardly think." Her lips quivered, and she seemed to teeter on the edge of tears, the emotions she had tried so hard to suppress bubbling to the surface. "She's so beautiful, and I admired her so much at first, but all she ever did was make fun of me and laugh."
Dawn listened intently, her heart aching for the young woman. She knew how damaging such treatment could be, especially for someone who hadn't yet found the confidence to assert herself. Dawn's voice was gentle but firm as she asked, "Why didn't you just laugh, too?"
Janice stared at her, uncomprehending, as if the idea was so foreign that it didn't even register. "I had to go to work," she replied, her tone flat, as if the simple, practical answer should explain everything.
"She was teasing you, Janice," Dawn explained, trying to bridge the gap between their experiences. "Maybe she let it go farther than she meant—I hope that's all it was—or maybe she's the sort of person who likes to see how far she can push you. Usually, all you have to do is push back."
But Janice said nothing. She sat very still, her body frozen, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. Her face was a mask of passivity, but her eyes—they told a different story. They were distant, as if her mind had retreated to some far-off place, a place where the words being spoken to her couldn't reach. There was a hopelessness there, a sense of being lost in a world where the rules were not only foreign but incomprehensible.
Dawn, sensing that she needed to redirect the conversation, asked softly, "Where are you from, Janice?"
The question seemed to jar Janice out of her daze. "What? I'm sorry, I mean…" she stammered, her thoughts scrambling to catch up.
"Where's your home world?" Dawn repeated, her voice calm and patient.
"Oh," Janice replied, her voice rising into a brittle false cheer that was painful to hear. "I'm from all over—we moved around a lot."
"Who's we?" Dawn asked, her tone gentle yet probing. "Your family, your community? Where did you go?"
Janice's eyes widened, and the question seemed to strike a nerve. "Why are you asking me all these questions?" she cried out, her voice laced with panic. "Why should you care? What do you need to know for?"
Dawn remained calm, her voice steady as she replied, "First, it's because it's my job. I am the Ship's Counselor. And even if I weren't, I care because it hurts me to see anyone as frightened as you are. I care because we have to work together, and we can't do that if you're acting like a scared sixteen-year-old."
The words hit Janice like a physical blow. She gasped, and the color drained from her fair skin, leaving her almost ghostly pale. In a sudden, desperate motion, she flung herself onto her knees at Dawn's feet, her hands clasped in a pleading gesture. "How did you find out?" she whispered, her voice trembling with raw fear. "Oh, please, please, don't tell, don't tell anyone—"
"Janice—!" Dawn said, alarmed at the sight of the young woman crumpled before her.
"Please, I'll do anything!" Janice interrupted, her words tumbling out in a frantic rush. "Just don't tell!"
Dawn reached down, her hands gripping Janice's shoulders as she practically dragged her back to her feet. "Janice, get up!" she commanded, her voice firm but not unkind. "Stop it, now, stop it!"
Janice wrenched herself away from Dawn's grasp, her eyes wild with terror. "How did you find out?" she cried, her voice breaking with emotion.
Dawn's eyes went wide as the realization struck her like a lightning bolt. The pieces clicked into place, and she understood that Janice was actually younger than her official records claimed. "I didn't know, Janice," she said, her voice filled with genuine surprise and concern. "I swear, I didn't know. I won't tell, I promise. But how did you get into Starfleet at sixteen? They're pretty strict about that."
Janice's voice dropped to a whisper, her eyes downcast as she began to unravel the story. "When I was little, my family moved," she murmured, her tone filled with a sadness that hinted at a deeper pain. "The warp engines blew, and we had to travel through normal space. We accelerated almost to light-speed, so it only took us a few weeks of subjective time. But objective time, it was three years."
"Nobody ever corrected the records?" Dawn's voice was tinged with disbelief as she watched Janice shake her head. The gesture was small, almost imperceptible, but it spoke volumes. "You were scared for people to find out," Dawn said, her voice softening with understanding. Janice nodded, her eyes clouded with the weight of years spent hiding a truth that had become a part of her very being. "And you don't want to go back to…"
"Saweoure," Janice answered, her voice barely above a whisper.
Dawn racked her brain, searching for any recollection of the planet. "I don't recognize the planet," she admitted, feeling a pang of frustration at her own lack of knowledge.
"It's where we ended up after the ship lost its warp drive," Janice explained, her voice taking on a flat, detached quality as if she were recounting a story, she had told too many times before. "We didn't have enough money to get it fixed. We had to sell it and stay there. But you can't just stay there if you don't have any money. You have to be under somebody's 'protection.'"
Janice's tone was eerily calm as she laid out the harsh reality of her past, detailing the grim choices that had been forced upon her and her family. Dawn listened in stunned silence; the implications of what Janice was saying sinking in with each word.
"Janice ..." Dawn took a deep breath, trying to steady herself as the full impact of the situation hit her. "What you're describing is nothing but slavery! How is this allowed to go on? Hasn't anyone tried to stop it?"
A bitter laugh escaped Janice's lips, her eyes hardening as she looked at Dawn. "How should I know? Maybe it's easier for the Federation to think everything's all right. Maybe everybody likes it that way, so they keep it secret."
For the first time since becoming an empath over two hundred and fifty years ago, Dawn welcomed the feelings she was receiving—Janice's bitterness, her anger, her despair. "If I may ask," Dawn said gently as they finally reached her office and stepped inside, closing the door behind them, "how did you get away?"
"I sneaked me and my brothers on board a cargo shuttle," Janice said, her voice steady despite the harrowing tale she was recounting. "We were too ignorant to know it was impossible. Once the shuttle got back to its mother ship, we stayed hidden. It wasn't too hard. Then we hid in a crate of relief supplies, and when we landed, we snuck into the Faience refugee camp—"
Dawn's eyes widened in shock. "You snuck into Faience?" she asked, unable to hide her surprise. She had heard of the camp, its reputation as a place of last resort, a haven for the desperate and the displaced. It was not the kind of place anyone would willingly go to.
Janice shrugged, a gesture that seemed almost defiant in its casualness. "It was better than where we'd been," she said simply. "Then Starfleet came to relocate us, and that's when I found out I was legally three years older than I really am. I don't have any records except my birth certificate."
"What about your brothers?" Dawn asked, her voice filled with concern as she leaned in slightly, focusing entirely on Janice.
"They didn't even have birth certificates," Janice replied, her voice carrying a hint of bitterness. "The officials at Faience patted us on the head and said, 'Oh you poor children,' and registered Ben and Sirri. Since I was officially of age, I got their guardianship." Her eyes softened as she continued, "I found them a good school, and I joined Starfleet so I could pay for it."
Dawn smiled, a warm, reassuring expression that seemed to radiate comfort. "If I had been in your situation, I would have done the same thing," she said, her tone filled with empathy and admiration for Janice's strength. "I can pull some strings if you want. Both Buffy and I have some pull with the Admiralty—we can get the slavery situation looked into. I won't even mention you or your brothers if you don't want."
"I… I'm not sure," Janice replied, her voice hesitant as if the weight of the offer was too much to consider at once.
"It's okay," Dawn answered softly, placing a gentle hand on Janice's arm. "It's something to think about at least. Now, let's get you fixed up and back to the bridge. The sooner you forget about this morning, the better."
Janice looked down, her voice trembling slightly. "I have to… to go back to my cabin. I left my things on my bunk. Roswind will be there, I guess."
"Forget about your roommate," Dawn said, her voice firm but kind. "You move into the yeoman's cabin. Wash your face, put on a fresh uniform. I'll get your things for you."
Janice's eyes welled up with tears of relief. "Oh, Dawn, would you?"
"Leave it to me," Dawn said, her tone reassuring as she gave Janice a comforting smile.
Author's Note: Corellian was used as the name of a species in the novel Enterprise: The First Adventure which was published nearly a decade after Star Wars opened in theaters. Whether the writer of the novel was aware of that or not I do not know and I assume it was just an accidental coincidence.
