Chapter 2 - Facing Reality
18 July 2378…
Ahwi Dasari walked down the corridor of the Skorr cruiser toward the control center to begin her daily shift of listening to communications and sifting out the useful tidbits for Janus Osmand. She didn't mind doing that sort of thing, it was tedious, but it did keep her thoughts from things she knew she shouldn't dwell on--- most especially the deaths of her parents. Much of what Ahwi did in the course of a day was to help her forget that memory. She hated how it invaded her dreams most nights.
She entered the cramped command bridge and saw Osmand and one of his Skorr followers listening closely to something at the communication panel.
Osmand turned to her as she approached.
"Good morning, Janus," she said.
"We are receiving a very odd transmission, Ahwi," Osmand said to her. "I'd like you to analyze it and tell me if you think it's authentic."
She sat down at the panel as Janus and the Skorr made room for her. She activated a number of controls and did her best not to show her displeasure. Osmand had finally intercepted a G'voda transmission and now she had to find a way to convince him otherwise. Her mission depended on keeping Osmand ignorant of the G'voda--- at least for the time being.
She started translating the message in her head while seeming to check other data displayed about the transmission. Suddenly her mind put the pieces together.
"No," she whispered before she realized she had spoken aloud.
"What is it?" Osmand asked as she got up from her seat and took several steps back.
"Disregard it!" she shouted.
Osmand walked up and took her by the arm. He had reached his limit with her lack of candor.
"Tell me what it is, girl!" he demanded.
She had to get out of this, but her mind raced about other things--- about the message. She still needed Osmand and couldn't afford to have him turn on her, not yet.
"It's a distress signal," she said. At least that much was true.
"Is it a signal from a G'voda vessel?"
She reluctantly let her head nod. She had to figure a way out of this before he ran the signal through the Skorr's translation computers. The machines wouldn't be as fast as her since they didn't know the language as she did.
Ahwi got a short reprieve as Osmand turned to the Skorr at the tactical station and ordered him to locate the source of the message. She suspected that task would take them nearly ten minutes. That was all the time she had to find a way to keep Osmand from acting as she knew he would.
***
"How do you feel about being back on active duty?" Akala Wilmarza asked.
Jack McCall shrugged his shoulders. "Okay, I guess. I keep getting…" he hesitated.
"Go on," Akala urged.
He'd returned to duty only a week before. Though Admiral Simmons had required him to take one month leave, Jack had taken a second month much to Akala's surprise. That first month had only been the start of what he needed. Instead of "fixing" anything, those sessions had shown him the necessity for their continuation.
At the end of that first thirty days he had finally realized he lived his life as the space between deaths--- first Larissa James, then Robin Nelson, and finally Mei-Wan. Everything else existed only from the perspective of how it contributed to those three events of dreadful mortality.
He didn't want to live that life.
So, the sessions, and his leave, went another month.
A week ago, he and Akala had discussed what he should do and it had been her who had told him he needed to integrate what he had learned back into his real life. He hadn't been so sure.
"I notice some members of the crew staring sometimes."
"Why do you think that is?"
"I guess they're wondering if I'm going to crack up or go screaming down the corridors."
She leaned forward in her seat. "How do you feel when you're around someone who has lost a person close to them?"
Jack looked down a moment. "You think that's what it is?"
"It's hard to tell," she responded. "The important question is why do you think it's about your ability to command? Why can't you ascribe a compassionate reaction to members of your crew?"
"I'm the captain," Jack said. "Why should they show me compassion? It was Mei that…" his words trailed away.
"Because, maybe they see you as a human being first, before they think of you as the captain, the 'old man', the 'guy in the center seat', or a dozen other applicable terms," she told him. "Perhaps you need to work on compassion."
Jack sat up in his seat. "I think I can be a fairly compassionate person, Counselor."
"I know that, Jack," she said. "But being able to accept the compassion of another is something you're not very good at."
She looked at him for nearly a minute in silence.
"Have you ever considered that might have been part of the marital difficulties you and Mei-Wan were having before she left?"
"Our problems…" he stopped himself before his voice became too strident. "I don't think that was the problem."
"How often did you hide in the captain's yacht drinking, instead of letting your wife help you with whatever was troubling you?"
Jack closed his eyes. He had learned over the last two months not to argue with Akala when she was right.
Mei-Wan had tried to be there for him on numerous occasions, but he'd never accepted the shoulder she'd offered him to lean on. It now seemed so clear to him.
If only I'd seen it then, he told himself. Oh Mei…
"Don’t wallow in self pity or blame, Jack," Akala said, breaking into his torturous thoughts. "We've talked about that. Learn from the past, but stay in the here and now. You can mourn for the past, but you can't change it."
Jack opened his eyes. "I know," he whispered.
"Mei-Wan is gone, but you still have a life to lead. It can either be one of pain or of joy; it's your decision."
***
The Defiant class starship, U.S.S. Abdiel cruised slowly past a spacedock under construction into the large main bay of the U.S.S. Chamberlain as the Oceana class starship orbited the planet, Cajma Six. Within three minutes the deck crew went to work securing the small vessel as it powered down its systems.
The commander of the Abdiel, Paul Falco, exited his craft and sauntered past the hive of activity around his ship. He knew he could trust these people to get his baby back in shape. In the meantime, he had someone he wanted to catch up on things with.
Falco entered Lee McGuire's office and promptly fell into a chair across from the desk. McGuire sat behind it, reading from a PADD. He didn't even acknowledge Falco's presence.
After thirty seconds of being ignored, the commanding officer of the Abdiel could stand no more.
"Hey!" he shouted.
McGuire didn't flinch, but a smile came to his face. "Yeah, I know you're there, Paul."
"So is it too much to ask for you to act like I might exist?"
McGuire set the PADD down. "Sorry."
"What's going on?" Falco asked.
"Just a message from my daughter," McGuire's thick Irish voice said.
Falco grinned. "How's she doing?"
"Great," McGuire said with pride. "She's spending the summer with some friends from Izar. She's having a great time."
Falco leaned back in his chair. "So how have things been around here? I see the Corps of Engineers still haven't gotten that damn spacedock finished. What's the hold up this time? Someone forget to read them their bedtime stories?"
McGuire shook his head. "They had a problem with the fusion reactor assembly."
"It's called farting around, Lee. They're not even trying to get the thing done on time," Falco said gruffly. "I'll be surprised if it's done before next year."
"It better be done by the end of September," McGuire said. "We're scheduled to take them to Tzaka Four to start construction on another starbase then."
Falco grinned. "I bet McCall went through the roof when he heard that."
"No," McGuire said. "He didn't get upset at all."
Paul Falco stared at McGuire for what seemed to the Irishman to last an eternity.
"What?" McGuire asked.
"Don't tell me you've gone soft on him too."
Lee's eyes narrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"You know exactly what it means," Falco blurted out, almost laughing. "Ever since his wife disappeared, everyone on this ship has been going easy on the son of a bitch."
"I'm not going easy on him."
"Right," Falco said, frowning.
After taking a breath, McGuire looked down at the PADD on his desk. "I'll admit it's hard not to feel for the guy."
Falco rolled his eyes. "Oh come on! Their marriage was over anyway! What the hell's he having this pity party for?"
"Paul, if my ex-wife died I wouldn't exactly be jumping for joy over it," McGuire said. "I still care about her."
"Fine," Falco muttered. "But you're giving him a free ride. He's just using her death to get sympathy."
"Oh really?"
"Yeah, I can tell."
"Maybe you should be a counselor then," McGuire said with a grin.
"I'd last about ten seconds before I slapped somebody upside the head for whining about their dumb-ass problems," Falco told him with a smirk.
"Good point."
"Hey, I'm starved. You eat yet?"
"I'm meeting Melissa for lunch, sorry."
Falco exhaled. "You two still together? I was certain that would have ended by now."
McGuire picked the PADD up and rolled it slowly end over end on his desk. "I'm beginning to think that's where we're headed. Ever since McCall got back she's been… I don't know," he said. "It's as if she just doesn't care anymore."
"You two argue a lot?"
"No. We haven't argued for more than two months."
"It's over," Falco said with certainty.
McGuire shook his head. "I'm glad I let what you say come in one ear and go out the other."
Falco smiled. "Jackass."
McGuire grinned. "Bastard."
Falco laughed and stood to his feet. "I'll catch you later, Lee."
"Maybe I'll have your ship cleaned up by the time you're done," McGuire told him. "That way we can get your sorry ass back into space where it belongs."
"Amen to that brother."
***
"Come and see me in two days and I'll test you again," Taylor Preston told his patient who put his uniform jacket on.
"You sure that's got it?" Hank Evans asked as he got off the exam table.
"Fairly certain, but we'll know definitely in two days."
"Thanks a million, Doc," Hank said, starting to walk away.
Putting a hand up, Preston stopped Evans. "One more thing."
"Yeah?"
"Have you informed Commander Kadan about this condition?" Preston inquired.
Biting the inside of his mouth, Hank tried to find a way out of this particular conversation. "I'll take care of it."
"See that you do," the doctor insisted.
"I will."
"Do so before you come to see me again, or I'll talk to her myself."
Hank turned to the Chief Medical Officer of the Chamberlain and frowned. "I thought you were supposed to keep my medical records private, Doc?"
"Since when have you given a damn about rules, Evans?"
Hank's eyes widened. "Yeah, but you're a doctor."
Preston stared at him. "And because of that I do what's best for the patients under my care."
"But this is my life, how can you…"
"Two days Mr. Evans, or I'll…"
Preston's words trailed off as he noticed someone enter the room.
"Something I can do for you, Captain?"
Spinning about, Hank found Jack standing a few feet away.
"I was just looking for Hank," Jack said.
"He's all finished here, sir," Preston said and walked out of the room.
Hank made his way to the exit.
"You doing okay?" Jack asked as they entered the corridor.
"I'm fine," Hank replied curtly. "Just fine."
Jack's brow raised a bit, but decided not to pressure Hank about something he was reluctant to get into.
"What did you need?" Hank asked as they made their way toward the turbolift at the end of the corridor.
"I wanted to go over the security arrangements for the dedication ceremony for the spacedock," Jack said.
Hank smirked as they waited for the lift doors to open. "Not much to do considering the planet below is dead."
Jack frowned in disapproval. "That's not very funny, Hank."
"I didn't say it was."
The door opened and they stepped into the turbolift.
"Falco's reports indicate these Naitr'm might cause some problems," Jack told him.
"Falco is overreacting," Hank said with a grin. "I've never heard of the Naitr'm causing trouble outside of their territory despite what the Cajmians told Starfleet prior to dying in one big heap."
Jack almost said something about Hank's lack of tact, but decided he just wasn't in the mood for an argument at the moment. "Anyway, I'd like to review your arrangements and the sector's tactical situation."
Hank turned to Jack. "So how'd your Starfleet indoctrination go today?"
Shaking his head, Jack sighed. "That's not what goes on in my sessions with Akala."
Hank gave him a dismissive grin. "Right."
"That uniform you wear isn't something you just happened to put on this morning, you know," Jack said crisply.
"Yeah, well, it does feel a little tight and constricting now that you mention it," Hank said with a wry look.
"No one's forcing you to wear it."
"Or you either, for that matter," Hank retorted as he turned to face the doors.
"Starfleet may not be perfect, but I do believe in what this uniform stands for, Hank."
"I guess you need something to believe in after all you've been through."
Jack exhaled. He was even less in the mood for an argument now, especially this argument. "I'll expect to see your security arrangements within the hour… Mr. Evans."
Hank almost turned his head to glare at Jack, but caught himself before he actually did it.
The turbolift stopped.
"Aye, aye… Captain, sir," was Hank's only reply as he stepped out.
The doors closed.
Jack shook his head. "Bridge," he commanded the computer.
He'd grown tired of Hank's attitude before they'd left Antenora more than three months ago, but now Jack was reaching his limit with his old friend. Whatever was eating at Hank was getting close to exploding and Jack knew he'd be the one at the center of the blast.
"Deck Seven," he told the computer, reversing his previous command. He simply didn't feel up to going to the bridge just now. He needed some time to, as Akala often told him, "Put things in perspective."
***
"Are you even listening to me?" Lee McGuire demanded.
Melissa Vargas turned to him. "What?" she asked, surprised.
He leaned back in his seat. They'd been in the lounge on Deck Nine for the last hour and McGuire's half-Vulcan companion had spoken little more than ten words.
"What the hell is going on with you?" he demanded.
Melissa's eyes seemed almost to plead with him for help, but a moment later, they turned cold. "Nothing." She returned to her meal.
"That's a lie."
Forcing a smile, she looked back at him. "Haven't you heard? Vulcans don't lie."
Lee's demeanor didn't change from the near snarl he'd had for the last minute.
"I guess I'm just not in the mood for idle conversation," she said. "I'm sorry."
"That's not going to be good enough, Melissa."
She let her fork fall to her plate. "I really don't want to get into this right now, Lee."
"We either get into it now, or not at all," he said.
Melissa looked across the crowded lounge and saw a group of midshipmen who'd been serving on the Chamberlain for the last two months. More than anything, she wished she could have been at their table, avoiding the conversation with McGuire.
The midshipmen, all Second Class, sat around a table energetically discussing various topics while eating.
"I finally found out where Borlok got assigned," Moani Amina, an attractive young woman from Hawaii with short dark hair said. "Delta Ophiuchus Shipyard."
The young man to her right, Oswald Farber, brushed a patch of his own blond hair from his eyes.
"That place is great" he said. "It's an outpost run by the Corps of Engineers. Borlok'll get to see the latest technology. Damn."
Zaylie Burton, a blonde haired young woman from Iowa, one of those girls with that down on the farm sweetness which hid a less than homespun reality, gave Farber a sour look. "Uh, in case you don't remember, the Corps of Engineers is building that spacedock out the window," she said. "We can see them at work any time we want."
Farber shook his head. "That design is over a century old. I want to see the newest stuff!"
"Well, I for one am glad to get the chance to serve on an Oceana class starship," Gulshan Dandapani said, with a slight Indian accent. "This ship actually destroyed a Borg cube single handedly."
Zaylie, Farber, and Moani rolled their eyes. "Here we go again," Zaylie said. "How many times have we heard this one?"
"Maybe you aren't impressed, but I sure the hell am," the dark haired and serious Gulshan informed her.
"Yeah, and how many times did Commander Vargas tell you to stop nagging her about it?"
Gulshan stood his ground. "She was just protecting classified information. I'm sure, one on one, she'd tell what she knows."
"Right," Zaylie said, taking a playful bite of her sushi.
"Bet you a quick romp in the sack she'll tell me," Farber told Zaylie as he took a sip from his glass.
Zaylie rolled her eyes. "I don't believe in wasting my time with amateurs."
He grinned. "And exactly how would you know something like that unless you were asking around about me? You curious?"
She leaned toward him. "Only an amateur would have to make silly bets to get a woman to sleep with him."
The other three at the table howled with laughter as Farber frowned and leaned back in his seat.
"There's your boss, Gulshan," Moani said motioning behind him.
They all turned and watched Commander Kyle Hoffman, now clean shaven, walk into the lounge with Natalie Fowler at his side.
Gulshan tried to hide. "Don't let him know I'm here."
Zaylie smiled. "I thought you liked Hoffman."
"The man is a dick," Gulshan retorted.
Zaylie and Moani chuckled heartily.
"What's the deal with those two anyway?" Farber asked.
"I hear he is banging her," Gulshan said. "But I have no proof of it."
Zaylie grinned. "Scientists have sex?"
Gulshan frowned. "Occasionally, yes we do."
She raised her brow.
Moani nudged Farber. "Look's like the happy Vulcan isn't so happy," she said as the others turned to look.
Across the large room they watched Lee McGuire stand and yell something they couldn't make out at Melissa Vargas.
"Great," Farber said "I'm supposed to go over my evaluation with her in a couple of hours."
"Melissa, I can't go on like this!"
She looked up at McGuire. "Lee, if you can't understand Mei was my friend, and that I might have a little trouble getting over her death, then you can go to hell!"
McGuire started to say something, but exhaled instead. When he spoke again, his voice was lowered.
"I can understand how you'd feel about losing your friend," he explained. "But I can't stick around while you act like you’re just as dead as she is."
Melissa returned to her food. "You don't understand anything about me, do you?"
"I guess not," he said.
A moment later he turned and walked away.
Melissa finished her lunch, silently and alone.
