Edward Jellico scrolled down to the part of the fleet reports he dreaded reading. The last major engagement in the Kalandra sector resulted in a victory for the Federation Alliance—albeit a costly victory. Half the ships were lost, largely because of “Houdinis”, mines that burrowed in subspace and appeared at random inflicting heavy damage on starships.
Jellico did not hesitate to turn the desk monitor off when the doorbell to his ready room aboard the USS
Constantinople. Ronnie Kozar entered the office once the doors parted. The first officer of the
Lambda Paz took slow paces towards the admiral’s desk uncertain why he had been summoned. Had he been granted that captaincy he sorely deserved? That would probably mean Jellico trusted Limis enough not to continue to have Kozar on as a nark.
“You wanted to see me, sir?” he asked quizzically.
“Yes, Ronnie, sit down,” Jellico answered indicating an empty guest chair. Before Kozar was even seated though, he continued. “I’ll come right to the point. As we push deeper into the Kalandra sector, we need officers up to the task. I can’t have ship captains going off on secret commando missions.”
A year ago, Kozar would have jumped at the chance to unseat his captain. After one such attempt, Limis later threatened to have him thrown in the brig if any crewmember was even suspected of conspiracy to commit mutiny. With time he had come to see the value of her unconventional tactics, especially that prevented a group of human augments from unleashing a biological weapon on one of the Cardassian Union’s most historically significant planets. “With all due, sir,” he replied, “Captain Limis’s infiltration of the
Phillip Green did buy time to prevent human augments from launching a biological attack on Ventani Two. And Starfleet reinstated her commission by way of Intelligence invoking the reserve activation clause. Surely, you considered that…”
Jellico raised his clasped hands with his wrists still perched on the table. “In this latest incident,” he said, “she used technology not available to SFI. That suggests her affiliation with a rogue organization that has its own agenda while hiding behind the agency. And that’s where you come in, Ronnie.
“I’ve already been overruled twice. You could relieve her on the grounds that she’s medically or psychologically unfit for command.”
“In other words, violate doctor-patient confidentiality.”
“You and your security chief broke into her files once before. You can do it again, but quietly this time.”
Kozar rose from his chair. “No, sir,” he insisted. “I will do no such thing. I have had my doubts about Captain Limis myself. But she has
not ever given me reason not to trust or to believe she shares Section 31’s MO.”
Jellico’s brow twitched when he heard the mention of Section 31. He had heard rumblings of an autonomous intelligence organization within the Federation. Yet many of his inquiries remained unanswered. He wanted keep lower ranking officers in the dark as much as possible, but now the very mention of Section 31 meant Kozar was largely involved in Limis’s last covert operation to rescue Aurellan Markalis from incarceration by the augments she had infiltrated.
“Her unorthodox strategies have delivered results,” Kozar continued. “And to be perfectly candid, a results-oriented commander such as yourself should appreciate that.”
“I also expect the officers and crew to conform to Starfleet regulations and to uphold certain moral and ethical principles.”
Kozar looked away from the admiral to hide his derision and rolled his eyes. “Is that so?” he rhetorically asked, heading for the door. “I’ve gotten a lot of good advice from you over the years, Ed. So let me try to return that favor. You should take a long and hard look in the mirror and ask yourself how many of your principles you are willing to compromise. I will not act in a manner unbecoming a Starfleet officer even if it’s to unseat a superior officer who doesn’t always play by the rules.”
“Then congratulations, Ronnie,” Jellico said, standing up but staying behind the desk. “You passed.”
Kozar was already on his way out when Jellico spoke those words, “’Passed’?” he repeated with confusion.
“I need all hands on deck, Commander,” Jellico explained circling around the desk. “I wanted to make sure you weren’t blinded by personal ambition as you often have been before. We’ve had to reach far and wide for experienced senior officers. You’ll see what I mean at the next mission briefing.”
Kozar just nodded sheepishly as headed out the door.
Shinar sh’Aqba impatiently stormed into the living area of her quarters. She was in the process of putting on her gold uniform tunic over a gray tank top. “What?!” she snapped. It was an instinctive reaction to hearing her name uttered, although the computer continued, uninterrupted, telling her she had an incoming printout message from Andor. She had already overslept and had to rush a sonic shower.
“Play message,” she said upon reaching the wall-mounted monitor.
The computer chirped. The UFP logo on the screen faded, and in its place came a written message in Andorian script. She let out a slow and soft sigh through her nose as she absorbed the contents of the message. “No, no, no,” she muttered. “Absolutely not.”
Sh’Aqba entered engineering through the main entrance, keeping a calm demeanor. She even smiled at a young human female officer who nodded a greeting in her direction. It seemed forced, but she had to show her crewmates she was not going to allow family obligations to interfere with a long day of work. Her feigned happiness was tempered by the sight of the EMH conversing with Erhlich Tarlazzi. Her eyes narrowed in confusion at this rather unusual sight.
“Just the person I was looking for,” the holographic doctor stated as sh’Aqba sat down at a situation room console.
“I’m already late with tons of things to do today,” sh’Aqba huffed, while entering commands into the console.
“That’s all well and good, except you missed your annual physical yesterday.”
“And so you came to make a house-call,” sh’Aqba quipped. “Though now is not the best time.”
“I had hoped to arrange a more convenient appointment. I also can tell you haven’t eaten in almost twelve hours. You really need to take better care of yourself…”
Sh’Aqba looked up, gritting her teeth. “I would thank you to vacate my engine room,” she snarled, “and stop medalling in my personal affairs, or I shall certainly break your holographic neck!”
“Is that some kind of threat?” the EMH scoffed. “My neck is only a simulation.”
“Get out!” sh’Aqba hissed, hitting her console with her fist. She entered a command that transferred the EMH back to sickbay.
Tarlazzi gave a concerned look in sh’Aqba’s direction while reviewing a maintenance schedule with Rebecca Sullivan. Rebecca, however, saw right through her friend’s apparent concern. His cheeks were blushing and his pupils widened. Rebecca had seen it over the last year, but only recently deduced that sh’Aqba consistently elicited that reaction in Tarlazzi.
She is an attractive woman, Rebecca privately acknowledged.
Assuming shens
are considered women. She knew that Andorians often married in groups of four, and their method of procreation was unlike that of most humanoids. Shinar was a woman by outward appearances, but Rebecca hoped that Erhlich would tread carefully with his immediate superior.
“Wonder what’s bothering her…
today,” Tarlazzi wondered aloud.
“Same old stuff,” Sullivan retorted. She had noticed that sh’Aqba had felt a lot more overwhelmed now that senior engineer Chaz Logan had greater responsibilities. “Logan’s now chief engineer of the whole Seventh Fleet. A lot more of the work gets dumped on her.”
“I’ve been swamped myself. You don’t see me threatening pompous EMH’s.”
Sullivan looked around to make sure no one else was listening to their banter. “Maybe she’s going through the Andorian version of the pon farr,” she said in a hushed tone. Raising a finger as Tarlazzi opened his mouth to pseak, she added, “That’s speculation you should keep to yourself.”
Erhlich motioned his thumb and forefinger over his lips. “My lips are sealed,” he said. He sauntered towards an auxiliary station near the main entrance. He gave a sly smile as he shot a quick glance at the Andorian woman’s tall, lithe figure. He quickly focused back on his work reminding himself that what he was thinking was no different than taking advantage of an intoxicated woman.
Aurellan Markalis set down a stack of padds on her desk. She took the padd off the top of the stack and paced into the primary intensive care unit. She did not expect to be stopped in her tracks when the EMH materialized in front of her.
“What a bitch,” the hologram was muttering as he appeared.
“Excuse me?” Markalis asked.
“No, not you, but Lieutenant sh’Aqba. Charming as ever.”
“What happened?” Markalis asked with feigned curiosity, expecting that the holographic doctor had provoked sh’Aqba rather than the other way around.
“The lieutenant had failed to report to sickbay for her annual physical,” the EMH explained, walking over to the diagnostic console with a limp in his right leg as a result of a minor optronic error. “I was hoping reschedule by paying a visit to engineering. She shooed me away, even threatening to ‘break my holographic neck’.”
Aurellan gave a half-hearted frown, while accessing files on nanite regeneration treatment at the main diagnostic console. She had to remind herself to look away from her colleague. Most Starfleet personnel found sympathy towards hologram difficult, especially one with the often-abrasive disposition of the creator of the Emergency Medical Hologram. On the other hand, the Mark Three was better at reading facial expressions and would notice her lack of sincerity.
“If I could give you a little advice,” Aurellan said calmly, “I’ve learned from experience not to hound your fellow officers. Ideally, everyone would show up for their checkups and show up on time. Yes, they are important. People still have a way of wanting to avoid what’s important to them.”
The EMH twitched his lips in disbelief. “But doesn’t that go against all intelligent life possessing natural instincts for survival.”
“Sentient beings can be notoriously stubborn as well.”
“You’re one of those sentient beings, and you haven’t been such a cooperative patient as well.”
Aurellan smirking, remembering the injuries inflicted upon her during an intelligence operation a month earlier. Despite the EMH’s insistence that she take it easy for at least a few days, she could not stay out of her office. “Doctors are the worst patients,” she said. “We devote our professional lives to the health of others. We can still be just as stubborn when it comes to our own health.”
“Why do you say ‘we’?” the EMH asked with confusion. “I’m just a computer-generated image created by sentient beings.”
“I don’t completely understand the engineering principles,” Aurellan replied, “and you haven’t been running that long. But you could eventually become as stubborn as the rest of us. I’ve had a harder time learning that. No matter how much medical knowledge I can absorb, the real world isn’t as black and white. We’re all independent thinkers who don’t always do what’s best for us. Lieutenant sh’Aqba might find you just as insufferable when it comes time for your next maintenance cycle.”
The hologram nodded and rolled his eyes trying to make sense of everything Markalis had said. “So what you’re saying,” he said, “possessing a wealth of medical knowledge is very different from putting it into practice?”
“Exactly,” Markalis replied with a wide smile. She removed a sample vial from the nearby replicator tray and headed for the research lab. Upon entering the lab, she looked back in the direction of the EMH-Mark Three. She couldn’t believe she had that conversation with a holographic doctor given the program’s reputation. The earlier editions were often difficult, but Aurellan was now seeing this version as something of a kindred spirit.
Limis sorted through the appointment calendars of the ship’s holographic counselors on the desk monitor in her quarters. Ever since the EMH-Mark Two suggested a group of holographic counselors, crew performance and morale improved measurably. Even Limis, who prided herself on not requiring the services of a licensed therapist, began making appointments with one such counselor. She saw that the counselor designated Jillian was not presently engaged in another appointment. She entered commands into a control pad on her desk to summon the therapist.
Jillian had the appearance of a blond-haired human woman between thirty and forty years of age. She materialized in front of Limis’s desk, at first unfamiliar with her surroundings. She turned around to face the captain. “Captain Limis,” she said in a professional, yet friendly, tone. “This isn’t a conventional means of requesting the services of your therapists.”
“You’re right,” Limis replied with a sheepish grin. “I just felt like talking in my quarters.”
“Of course.”
To create a more friendly and non-judgmental environment, the counselors were dressed in civilian clothing. Jillian was dressed in a pink turleneck and a knee-length black skirt over thick black stockings. “How can I be of service?” Jillian asked with a friendly smile.
“You still sound a bit too formal,” Limis retorted. “Someone might want to look in on that. She walked over to the replicator to replicate a mug of mint tea and then took a seat on the sofa. Jillian then seated herself on a chair on the opposite side pf the coffee table.
Limis took a sip of tea, set the mug on the table, and then started awkwardly at the counselor. After about a ten second pause, the words came to her. “I’m having trouble sleeping again,” she said. “And I’ve been having those dreams again.”
“I see,” Jillian replied with a soft nod. “Is this again regarding your missing son?”
Vircona sighed heavily as she was again having difficulty summoning the words. “It starts where I’m this other person. When I was in the 31st century, I was living the life of a mental patient on Earth. It was like someone or something was trying to stop me from using the Orb of Time to return to the present. Her son had been killed in a war, but she believed he was still alive. He’s calling to her. She runs after him. Then I’m me again. Yanith is lying on an operating and these Cardassians are getting ready to perform these barbaric experiments.”
“Has anything changed since our last meeting five months ago?” Jillian asked.
Recalling the image of Crell Moset stabbing her son to death nearly brought tears to Limis’s eyes. She took another sip of tea to gather her thoughts. She considered at that moment whether she was more afraid that her offspring was still alive. If she came to his rescue, would he be angry with her for having abandoning him in favor of her surviving friends and colleagues in the Maquis?
Of course not, Vircona, she mused.
You want him to be alive. He’ll eventually forgive you if I can bring him back safely.
Her own thoughts unknowingly became audible to Jillian. Jillian leaned over to make sense of what Limis was saying. “I’m sorry, Captain,” she said. “Could you repeat that?”
Limis looked back at Jillian then considered the counselor’s last question. “It’s the same old routine. If the ship’s not at the front lines, I’m involved in mission briefings, overseeing repairs. I try to immerse myself in my work as much as possible.”
“Maybe because you afraid to face your feelings,” Jillian offered. “Feelings of guilt and fear of not knowing whether he is dead or alive.”
Vircona let a single tear fall from her eye, not wanting to consider that her son was dead and she didn’t try to save him. Jillian let the moment pass silently as Vircona brushed the tears from her cheeks.
“During our last session,” Jillian said after Limis took a few slow and deep breaths, “I said you had a choice to make. And that you had to be content with that choice once it was made. You can either continue doing your duty to Starfleet. Or you can step down look for your son.”
Limis sighed and took a small sip of her tea, which was getting cold. “I’m going to find him,” she said with determination. She wasn’t even considering how Jillian wasn’t sounding “too formal” as she poured her heart out to the holographic therapist. She now felt a fierce determination to save her child.
“Where would you look?” Jillian half-rhetorically asked.
“Sentok Nor, the Cardassian station orbiting Betazed.”
“Why there?”
“It’s where I was in the dream,” Limis explained, not even certain the setting of her dreams was in fact Sentok Nor or some other Cardassian space station. Remembering her reasoning behind traveling through treacherous desert conditions to find the Orb of Time. Though she did not believe in the Prophets of the Celestial Temple, all she could do was make a leap of faith.
