Of All People

Posted on Tue Jul 3rd, 2018 @ 12:51pm by Captain Remas McDonald

2,004 words; about a 10 minute read

Mission: S1:3: Myriad Problems
Location: Bridge, Captains Ready Room
Timeline: MD 1 10.00

If there was any place she'd expect Remas to be, it would undoubtedly be on the bridge. That's what the computer told her, so Rena was hoping he didn't forget his comm badge on his chair. Her fingers lightly tapped the padd in her hands, which contained the reason for her captain-y search. When the doors to the turbolift opened, she stepped off and hovered near the back as she looked around the bridge. It was probably one of few instances that she'd get to actually marvel at it without her attention drawn to her work. As expected, she spotted the brown hair that she quickly grew to recognize before making her way across the bridge, toward his ready room.

When she got into his line of sight she stopped, folding her hands behind her. Before she spoke, however, she spared herself a glance at the viewscreen, a little smile sneaking onto her lips at the view. Even if it were just stars, it was such a sight for someone holed up in a windowless office. "Wish my office had a view like that," she said, more fo herself than anything. Perhaps she could get some art to spice up her office a bit. Remembering why she was here, she turned to Remas and added, "would I be able to tear you away from that view for a minute?"

"I reckon I can scrape aside some time for you Dr Kal," Remas said in his jovial tone. "Though you'll have to be tempting me away with something mighty important, the view is quite lovely. "

The weight of the padd in her hands reminded her of the visit. "It's about the request for the Helm Officer, sir. I was going through her medical file, and I wanted to clear some things up with you before I began the thawing procedure."

"Huum. Given most of the off-duty crew on the Forst Watch were screened, medically vetted and put under nearly a year before launch, I cannot help but wonder what sort of medical misfortune you have found," Remas said. "Can I get you anything to drink before we start? Tea? Coffee? I have a surprisingly good bottle of Saurian Brandy I was tempted into trying when I recruited Chief Zatra to the crew. You can barely taste the sand."

Rena waved her hand, the one holding the padd resting at her side. "I'm fine, thank you, but I prefer we continue this discussion in private. Patient confidentiality and all that," she simply responded.

"And so we shall. Mr Beck, you have the conn. Try not to fly us into anything," he said with a wave of his hand towards the ready room. Within was the usual changing viewing gallery that had become known as 'The Museum'. It was oft said that a different selection of items were on show every time someone came to the ready room, sometimes even between consecutive meetings. Some spoke of the captain's mania for all things space-faring, pointing to the tales of the Rish and their magpie eyes. Of a deal struck behind closed doors with the Federation Museum Of Space & Science to get as much of its stock out of the Alpha Quadrant least member worlds demand it back.

One drunk engineer, high off of a shockingly potent 'space chilli' from the Rec Deck, had sworn it was the ship itself. "See the captain has bound a spirit to the metal of this ship, wooed it to his will with songs and promises of travel far and distant. And now the ship is sweet for him and delights in his fascinations. It ain't right for metal to be made meek by men. Ain't natural."

Today's offerings were a rather tame affair, a jagged black shard of a solar panel framed in glass. The plaque beneath it read: 'Rosetta: Born Of Ambition'.

Remas closed the door behind them and gestured to a seat before his desk.

"Well, we're in as private a space as I can make. If you grant me an hour I could get us some EV suits and head out on the hull. Use to be the only way a couple of the adar'Rishal to get a moment's privacy on a Homesteader." he smiled.

Rena briefly chuckled, lightly drumming her fingers on the padd again. "This will do. In regards to the officer you requested for the Chief Helm position, Lieutenant Kohnar…" Her smile faded as she organized her thoughts. "... I know that looking through medical histories is not your job, but this woman has a lot of- that is, some of the things in her medical history concern me." She didn't mention it, but it would give her comfort to hear another opinion about whether this was a good idea to awaken this person.

"Go on," Remas said levelly as he steepled his fingers together over his chest.

"With all due respect, sir, she's unstable," Rena blurted, setting the padd onto his desk and pushing it over to him. "She has episodes of depression, sometimes to such an extent that she loses control of her psychoprojective telepathy, which forms this... alternate self. Halanans are known for committing ritual suicide when they lose their loved ones, and while I give her credit for surviving this long, who knows when that might change."

She crossed her arms firmly across her chest, her eyes staring at the padd, "and while being active in the form of duty seems to help her, even I couldn't predict when that could change. I suppose I want to know... there are other flight officers in stasis who seem to have fantastic flying records and frankly, much better mental health, so why her?"

Remas took a moment, his eyes drawn to the framed reminder of the price of ambition. A cost that had paid the passage for better probes, and manned ships.

"She was not my first choice. She was the second," he said tightly. "Her partner, Fell. The Long Jump Project has been in the works for well over a decade in one form or another, and in one of its incarnations, it was a group of folk who made lists of the best. Lists that included you, Dr Kal. Fell Kohnar tested off the charts as a pilot and astrogator. Even had the pleasure of flying with him back when I transferred onto the pilot track."

He smiled at the memory.

"There was just something about him that made you think he had an arrangement with reality, an understanding that he could do as he pleased behind the controls of a spaceship and get away with it. A man with that sort of talent was a prime candidate for the Long Jump folk. He died a week before a formal invitation could be sent," Remas shook his head. "Chance accident, or maybe the collection of a debt, who's to say. Given the nature of their biology, his wife was not considered for the final crew allotment for the Traveller."

He shook his head.

"'Terminal prognosis due to life partner fatality'. That was on the official Project documentation that cashiered her from the program like she was somehow broken. But I kept a weather eye out on her career, saw her decline rapidly but then..." he pointed at the view. "Something out there called her back to service. She might not be the flyer her husband was, but she's a damn sight finer at the act of ship handling than anyone I know."

Rena sat in silence for a moment, letting his words digest. She saw the same prognosis in the medical file, but she couldn't get past the potential for something to change and cause her to spiral again, possibly past the point of no return. Additionally, it put her in a tough spot, where she would have to decide between her medical ethics and the nature of Jolani's biology. She could work around it, but... "There's something I don't like about this... you can't evade biology forever, and when-" she paused to rethink her words, "... if her terminal prognosis returns..."

She paused before mentally tossing that train of thought, indicated by a slight shake of her head. "My point is, there could come a moment when the mental fight becomes too much. One of my previous hosts, Sialle, was in the Dominion War, and she saw what depression and PTSD can do to people. Not just to the officers, but to the family members who lost loved ones. While the position this officer puts me into as a physician is difficult but... manageable, it's different when something like this is hardwired into your genetics. I suppose I am informing you of a possibility that will not be pleasurable for anyone. In fact, it will be devastating, but I have a feeling that you've already considered that."

"I have," Remas said solemnly. "If at any point during the voyager her psychoprojections become unmanageable, or dangerous to the well being of crew and ship she is to be medically sedated and placed in stasis pending dispensation back in the Alpha Quadrant."

He held up a hand.

"But...it won't come to that. She was abandoned by her family and friends upon the death of her partner. In that regard, we must act as a surrogate, a family of our own making supporting each other. Ain't none of here alone in this," he smiled. "Of course that goes against the sound wisdom of centuries of Starfleet Medical manuals and what not. Well, them that care are not here. We are."

Rena opened her mouth to speak but waited until Remas finished. He was right about one thing, in the eyes of Starfleet Medical, this was beyond unconventional. But who was going to tell them otherwise? They were far beyond Starfleet jurisdiction, so if they got in trouble, it would take decades for any ramifications to get back to them. But as she watched him, she could tell that he had thought this through, because otherwise, Jolani wouldn't even be on board. "While I still have my own hesitations, you're right. You answered my concerns," she finally spoke up. "After she wakes, what are your orders?"

"Monitor her closely, I ain't a madman. Might also be a thing to read up on the biology of her folk, see if there's some sort of warning or counter to these psychoprojections," Remas said with a smile. "I'll also talk to her, lay out the law of the land as it were."

He held up a hand.

"And before you go, it seems I never did get a chance to give you a welcome aboard gift," he leaned down and opened a drawer in his desk, and extracted an item. He held it out to her. It was an old moleskin notepad, its paper pages yellowed along the side with a pale green elasticated band holding it closed. On its upper face, flecked with peeling gold foil, was the medicinal staff and serpent motif known to all healers.

"A gift of knowledge from one frontier's doctor to another. Her name was Doctor Rebecca Sherman, one of the first permanent settlers on Mars and founder of what would become the Hebe City Hospital," he smiled. "I've had cause to read her words a few times during this voyage. Born in a different age, but suffering the same trials as us. What to do with folk who can't readily be sent home for cures, both physical and psychological. She has a number of insights into the minds of folk who look a wee bit too long into the vast emptiness. A kindred spirit to yourself mayhaps?"

Rena looked at the item, accepting it and turning it over with delicate hands. It looked ancient, and she didn't want to break or damage it. Turning it back onto its front, she traced the symbol with a finger. "Thank you, I'll add it to my reading list. And I'll forward your instructions."

 

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