Topic: The Two-Day War

[Scottish Andy]

Hallo Hevrybahdy!

(Hallo Dr. Andy, uh, Scottish Nick, um... oh, you know!)

This marks my return to the Forum on a more permanent basis. I've decided--after a little prodding from certain other people, and most significantly, Global Moderator Pestelance--to post my stories here as well.

I too desire the good graces of feedback. Every author craves it, and I am no exception.

So, as a preliminary, I will post the revamped (as currently seen on SB23) version of my first ever story, set around the Classic Trek episode "Errand of Mercy". Read on, newcomers, and give me lots of feedback as to what you liked and where I can improve on things! Such will be gratefully received.

So, on with the show!

The Two Day War

By Scottish Andy




Introduction

This was my first story, written after 'my' appearance in Jaeih's story New Worlds, New Adventures as the Second Officer of the Federation destroyer Jugurtha. I thought it was nice of Jaeih not to kill me, but ahhh! my arm! I'm quite attached to that, you know!
Anyway, Jaeih encouraged me to try my hand at the writing lark, so I decided to pick up where she left off and continue 'my' adventures in her Star Trek Universe. This story deals with the aftermath of the 'Jugurtha Incident', based on how I was feeling at the time I was writing it (I was kinda depressed with my life, but I'm much better now.) If it's a bit slow to start, sorry and all, just stick with it. it does get better.

[Scottish Andy]

Chapter One

Date: 16th October 2267
Time: 0600 hours
Stardate: 3176.25
Location: Federation Mikasa-class frigate USS Kusanagi on shakedown cruise.

Once again I wake up screaming, trying to free myself from the unreasoning terror of my dream.
My mind slowly clears of darkened corridors and bright green energy beams and I remember where I am. I roll over in my bed and look at the desk chronometer. The soft red light blinks 0600 at me.

Damnit! Every bloody night is the same. Since that day.

My right hand goes subconsciously to my left shoulder and starts tightening its grip. I only notice this when I feel my nails dig into the flesh of my arm. I relax, reassured by its presence, by its solidity.

Thus reassured, I think it a good idea to get ready for my duty shift, which begins at 0800. I start my morning routine, staring into the bathroom mirror and wishing away the bags under my eyes as I clean my teeth. Because of my nightmare I'm not getting enough sleep and my CO looks at me in that way. Her face neutral or occupied by some other expression, but I can always see a deep concern in her eyes.

She worries about me.

I'm touched by her concern, but also worried. If she is constantly thinking about my mental well-being then she is distracted from her own duties. I'm the first officer. I'm the one who is supposed to worry about the crew.

But... it's not like I didn't warn her. She literally had to bully me into taking this spot. Well, perhaps 'bully' is a little strong. 'Cajoled' and 'pestered' are more accurate. I feel myself smile faintly at the thought.

The smile fades in stages.

I walk from my quarters to the mess hall. A few crewmen acknowledge me with nods as I stride through the ship. I nod back, managing a weak smile for them.

I try to be approachable, but since my injury I've been reserved and somewhat abrupt. 'Cold and irritable' is how I've heard myself described recently. My CO again, trying to be helpful. The cajoling was evidently taking too long in bringing me 'back', so she is being a bit more... how shall I put it... blunt.

Oh, never horrible or malicious. The captain just isn't wired that way. Well, with the significant exception of the Klingons. Another result of our last 'adventure' together.

No, she just no longer spares my feelings. I can't say I blame her, either. I know I've been a colossal pain, but I just have no motivation left. No more dreaming of the stars for this young man. I would be quite content just to sit in some starbase office, an assistant to some overworked commodore or admiral, but my friend the captain is having none of it.

So, now I'm just drifting through this mission, doing my duties for her. I'm happily unhappy in this depression, having to be forced to show enthusiasm, but if she just stopped trying and wrote me off as a lost cause... well, I think it would finish me off.

So now I just putter along doing my duties shipboard to the best of my abilities. Not through any great enthusiasm, not because I'm gradually becoming my old self, but for her. To show I really do appreciate what she is trying to do for me. Even through all this fuzz, I still don't want to disappoint her.

And you know what? I'm actually hoping she can do it. Break me out of my self-imposed hell. Oh, not any of the hells our mythologies describe for us, but the much more tangible hell of not enjoying life anymore. I really hope she can, but if I am putting no effort into it I think she is doomed to failure.

Ah, such cheerful thoughts this morning!

These thoughts float disjointedly through my head as I mechanically munch my breakfast. It is still early, so I let my food settle before I head to the gym to at least get my blood moving. The usual work-out routine has the desired effect and it helps clear my mind. Exercise over, I shower and don my uniform, then look at the reports logged overnight as well as the latest fleet updates from Command.

I head for the bridge, still going over my electronic clipboard, signing off on some requisitions with my light pen.
I'm now ready to begin my shift, with everything except last minute updates from the night-shift bridge crew taken into account.

Stepping onto the bridge, I acknowledge the greetings offered to me and collect those final updates. The captain will be here shortly and I want to be ready for any question she asks. I walk over to the environmental engineering station on the left side of the main viewscreen, and literally just stare into space.

The thought amuses me, but distantly, and no smile reaches my face.

Then the captain arrives on the bridge. The other day-shift personnel had already arrived before me, and a new day begins on the good ship Kusanagi.

After looking over everything and seeing all is well, she approaches me with a electronic clipboard.

"Good morning, Lieutenant," she greets me pleasantly.

"Morning, Sir," I reply easily. Her presence affects a change on my mood. I want to be happy for her. She just has that appeal about her. I get the impulse to wrap her up in a bear hug and grin stupidly at her.

I was helluva slow to realise it, but at some point I developed feelings for my new CO. I know it isn't love--not yet at any rate--but we are becoming closer friends than ever before.

You know, just remembering that silly impulse of a few seconds ago makes be think that maybe she isn't doomed to failure after all.

Ah well. Time will tell.

Maybe the reason we are all so close here is that we've only been on this ship for five days and her crew is still dealing with the deaths of their previous senior staff. We've all made new friends, mainly in our own departments, but we haven't really had the chance to meet the rest of the crew with everyone tied up in last-minute repairs.

The captain goes over the details in the electronic clipboard, and I answer or discuss them on autopilot. I'm busy admiring her form in the back of my mind.

She is almost a full head shorter than I am, and I'm not especially tall. She is not drop-dead gorgeous nor possessing of a classical beauty, but I am drawn to her looks regardless. It is an odd feeling to know that you have seen more beautiful women, but never a more attractive one. Not that she cracks mirrors either, by the way. I think that she is so pretty! 'Cute', even, but I get the impression she'd hate being called that. A small-framed, petite woman, slim with long, dark brown, almost black hair; a heart-shaped face with small lips; a pale but clear complexion; smiling light-brown eyes; and the cutest button nose I have ever seen. As I said, cute as hell. Utterly adorable. And a force of will within that does no good to go against.

My back-alley musings are brought to a sudden halt when I get that look again.

"Andrew," she asks in a lowered voice, "is your nightmare still keeping you up?"

Damn these baggy eyes of mine. There's certainly nothing wrong with hers.

I shrug and nod. "Yes sir. I would have hoped that after a month and a half it would have gone away, or at least become less intense. All those psychologists said it should, but it seems they don't know their--" I pause for a quick word change. "--bum from their elbows."

The unmodified version is a favourite phrase from my Dad's love of archaic sayings, but only a flicker of a smile passed over her face, the concern still evident in her eyes. I could see that this might be a long day if she was going to press me for details, so I finally give in.

"Sir, I... I think I may finally be ready to talk to you about it. All of it. But as it will take some time could we discuss it after our shifts?"

"Of course, Andrew. I'm sorry to for always pushing it, but you need the release. Once the day is done, we'll talk it out."

"Yes sir. Might I suggest my quarters at 1900?"

I said that so I'd feel more comfortable telling her this surrounded my familiar possessions, but I felt my cheeks warming as I realised it could be taken another way. I watched her eyes widen a little, then she relaxed and smiled as she saw me blush. Choosing to ignore several obvious jokes, she just agrees.

Gratefully, I say, "If you don't need me for anything else, I'll leave the bridge and tend to the ship, Captain."

Acknowledging my desire to escape, she nods.

"Carry on, Mr. Brown."

"Aye, Sir."

[Commander La'ra]

Ah yes, 'The Two-Day War'.  This one feels like a classic to me.

Glad you're back, Andy.

[Grim Reaper]

Can't say it springs to mind right now but I suppose you'll recap it round 19.00

Don't worry and keep going, we never have enough fan fiction. Some people are playing games in stead of writing

[Scottish Andy]

Chapter Two

Date: 16th October 2267
Time: 1100 hours
Stardate: 3177.292
Location: USS Kusanagi on shakedown cruise.

A few hours later and I am back on the bridge, and so I hear 'straight from the horse's mouth' when our patrol route is altered.

Lieutenant Lathena becomes suddenly more alert. The captain and I notice, and we wait expectantly. Our Andorian communications officer is one of the original crew, and the most able of the communications department to survive. As such, she was given a field promotion to Lieutenant (junior grade) to give her rank over the other ensigns, and made Department Head.

"Captain, I am receiving a hail from the office of Rear Admiral Grakan on Starbase Twelve," she declares, her sibilant hiss barely noticeable because of her almost flawless Anglish accent.

Grakan is a Tellarite master strategist, and it is he who is reorganising Fleet deployment on the Klingon border. Like most Tellarites, he is gruff, obnoxious and argumentative, but no one can doubt his abilities.

The captain orders the transmission onto the main screen. The admiral starts speaking immediately, not giving her a chance to offer a greeting, and gets straight to the point.

"Lieutenant Commander Karen McCafferty, you are to rendezvous with the frigates Pharris and Suvik for the purpose of forming the 207th Frigate Squadron. On arrival at the coordinates being transmitted to you as we speak, you will proceed to a new patrol station further out towards the border with Klingon space. Acknowledge and confirm."

"Your orders are acknowledged and confirmed, Admiral." Karen could say very little else.

"Good. I expect you to be underway when we are done speaking. Your ship is operating at peak efficiency?" the Tellarite asks. "You've had five days now to integrate your command staff and improve the ship's condition," he adds. "We cannot allow you any more time."

"Sir, we will be ready. We're having to replace some already repaired parts--fortunately, all of a minor nature--and they'll be completed en-route. We will be fully operational in a matter of hours."

The chief engineer, Karen, and I share some concern over certain replacement parts and this is her way of letting Command know she has those concerns outside of a formal report. I admire her brass. It isn't often a mere lieutenant commander snipes at a rear admiral.

"You had better be fully operational, Lieutenant Commander," the admiral warns, letting us know he would accept no other result or any excuses. "We need every ship we have. War with the Klingons is not only inevitable--it's imminent. Proceed as ordered. The coordinates for the rendezvous and patrol route, as well as the latest intelligence and Fleet movements are in the file already transmitted to you." He stops there and leans into his visual pickup. "You humans would say 'good luck'. Starbase Twelve, out."

At that, the porcine visage of the admiral vanishes off the viewscreen to be replaced with an image of the stars ahead. Karen sits back and I hear her murmur "Well..." before turning to face young Lieutenant JG Lathena, but our new communications officer is 'on the ball', as they used to say. Before the captain can speak she reports, "Rendezvous coordinates transferred to Navigation, Madam."

Karen nods and smiles encouragement at her. "Well done, Lieutenant. Now, please transfer all the data we just received to a wafer chip and give it to me."

"Aye-aye sir."

"Ensign Salok, plot a course for the rendezvous coordinates. Mr. Maknal, implement at standard cruise speed."

"Acknowledged, Captain."

"Aye-aye, sir."

Turning to face me, Karen says, "Mr. Brown, join me in the briefing room."

I nod my assent, quickly finishing my task on the bridge. I accompany her to the deck below. On our way there, I update her on the progress of our repairs.

*****

In the conference room, we go over the new data from our command base. It looks like we are getting put right onto the front line, but the most interesting data comes from the Fleet deployment hologram.

Defending three-dimensional, spherical space is very difficult and requires far more ships than defending a flat plane does. The Klingon border space is choked full of starships, but we both know that there are vast distances between the task forces. It is clear our top brass doesn't know if the Klingons will launch an all-out attack on every front or just heavily concentrated attacks on one or more selected points. In either case, Admiral Grakan has planned and positioned well. Or so I think, and Karen agrees.

There are three defensive 'spheres'--although our border with the Klingons is roughly concave, the principle still holds. The outer one--of which our newly formed squadron is part--is tasked to hold the border until the position becomes untenable or losses too great. If the Klingons break though, the surviving first-sphere ships are to fall back to the second sphere, positioned two light-years out from the sector command starbases. It was positioned so far back to allow the Klingon attack waves to spread out and become isolated from one another, and to allow specific Klingon targets and objectives to be discerned.
Once these targets are identified, the larger second-sphere battlegroups will move to intercept and engage, while the smaller task forces will head to reinforce the nearest targets' defence forces. These system defence forces comprised the third sphere of defence.

The whole plan is called 'defence-in-depth'. It allows the enemy to make significant advances in territory while bleeding their forces and denying them any real gains in valuable systems. Once the Klingon advance has been halted, the surviving defenders will organise themselves into hunter/killer groups. Some of these will pursue and destroy the retreating Klingons, while others race back to the original border to engage any Klingon reinforcements.

It was a brilliant plan. If the Klingons act as expected, we will be able to contain them. However, we can rarely expect our enemies to cooperate so helpfully. No battle plan ever survives first contact with the enemy, so we are liable to be in for a desperate fight. We are spread out too much and our border with the Klingons is so big...

Also, we have to maintain our standard patrols in other areas, so that other enemies won't be tempted to attack while our attention is focused elsewhere.

Speaking of which, my attention wanders to the Romulan border on the holo-display. There are still second-sphere patrols and third-sphere defence forces, as well as anti-piracy patrolling, but they are all smaller, less-capable units as our best ships are arrayed against the Klingons. I see lots of our older Baton Rouge- and Mann-class cruisers, and Ambush-class destroyers on the display. It is deemed safe to do this as the Romulan fleet is in no condition for war. The latest intelligence indicates that they had recently developed a reliable warp drive and were now rushing refits on their sublight warships. Apparently, half their fleet is in the dry-docks and they have barely enough ships active to defend themselves. An attack is considered very unlikely.

I have my own thoughts on the matter, and my eyes stray to the L-647 system, which wasn't too far from the second-sphere patrols. The Romulans still hold that system--even though it is in Federation territory--as Starfleet can't spare the ships for a large enough battlegroup to retake it. Starfleet does not want to start a war with the Romulans, as a two-front war would not go well for the Federation. Although the Romulan fleet is weak, if we attacked what they saw as Rom space, they would fight back. This would tie up valuable units we can't spare.

And so now, over two months after the Jugurtha Betrayal, as it is now referred to, the damn Roms are still there, mining away.

I chided myself for that thought. The Romulans did save my life.

I can still hardly believe it. A Starfleet officer--and I am not the only one--owing his life to the same Romulans who now hold the system he was almost killed in.

The funny thing is that the whole incident has left me with a distinct respect and admiration for the Romulans. Oh, everyone knows their treacherous history, but these were the first Romulans I had seen and they accomplished their mission with such elan and panache...

If all Romulans were like that crew, I could easily see the Federation allying with them in a few decades. But for every honourable action I know of, there are at least ten other accounts of Romulan belligerence and treachery.

All these thoughts of the Jugurtha Betrayal--although exactly how we were betrayed and by whom I have yet to hear--bring back my memories of the events and once again I find myself clutching my left arm.

"It's on my mind too, Andrew."

Karen's voice startles me out of my reverie, and I look at her as I drop my hand.

"I know now isn't the time to discuss it, but I am holding you to your promise for tonight."

She knows I haven't promised her anything, but she isn't about to let me get out of it. Our planned arrival time at the border isn't until 1200 tomorrow, so barring an emergency she will be there.

Damn. Despite what I said to her on the bridge I am not ready to talk. I am still trying to nerve myself up to tell her... stuff.

Stifling a resigned sigh, I say, "Yes, Captain."

She frowns at me and scolds, "Andrew, I've told you before: you can call me 'Karen' when we are alone or off-duty. Even in appropriate on-duty moments. I want you as relaxed as you can be tonight. If you are going to call me 'Captain' or 'Sir' all night it's going to seem like an interrogation and you will never get the release you need."

This time I do sigh, but I say nothing of it. We have gone over everything necessary in this briefing so I ask, "If that is all, sir, could I return to my duties?"

Karen must have realised she pushed too hard again. Rather than exacerbate the situation with apologies, she just nods. "Of course, Lieutenant. I am returning to the bridge. Will you accompany me?"

"Not unless you need me for something else, sir. I finished what I needed to do. My next stop is Engineering," I reply.

"Very well."

We get up and leave the room, heading in our different directions. I am feeling yet more uncomfortable about tonight.

[kadh2000]

Fun.  I'm looking forward to the continuation.

[Grim Reaper]

Still got me hooked m8

[Scottish Andy]

Hey guys,

Thanks for the comments so far, I'm glad you're enjoying my tale. 
So, without further ado, here's the next installment.

Chapter Three

Date: 16th October 2267
Time: 1911 hours
Stardate: 3179.0
Location: First Officer's quarters, USS Kusanagi en-route to patrol station.

The rendezvous came and went with little fanfare. My presence wasn't even necessary on the bridge. We are in my quarters and Karen is telling me about it.

She tells me, "The Centauran commanding the Pharris just made very brief introductions all round. The CO of the Suvik is a friendly-seeming Caitian male named N`Tarr--he has the most beautiful fur colourings! Anyway, that was about it and then we were off."

She shrugs her shoulders. "I suppose there really was no need to stand on ceremony and that the sooner we are protecting the border the better."

I nod non-committally and take another swig from my glass. I had 'liberated' my bottle of vodka from my quarters aboard the Jugurtha for this cruise and I am proceeding to give myself a little 'Dutch courage'. Since I am about to be on duty in what amounts to a war zone I am not about to get roaring drunk, but I do need a few shots to steady my nerves and just get myself to relax.

Karen had joined me in my quarters at 1900 and I had already polished off my first two, but I could finally feel the fiery liquid taking its desired effect. We had both already eaten--separately--so Karen accepted my offer of a drink and we settled into the two chairs that my rooms sported.

She is making small talk now, wanting me to start with all the gory details. If her intention is to give me the impression of control, it is not working. I am feeling pressured into this whole situation, but I decide to quit stalling and get up to turn the lights down low.

Bright lights and sharply focused surroundings do not lend themselves well to the telling of horror stories.

The sooner this is all over, the better I will feel--hopefully. My heart begins to race as I remember the battle, preparing to tell her all. I sit back down and touch her hand to still her words. We both settle back in our seats and Karen waits for me to speak.

I am silent for almost a minute more, nerving myself up. I find that Karen is right, and the prospect of telling this to a long-time friend--and one who had been in the same battle--is easier to deal with than telling some anonymous starbase psychologist who has never seen battle. I feel myself begin to relax of my own volition and finally settle down to tell my story.

"Karen, the reason I am the way I am now is that I am scared. No, more than that, terrified. Not of ordinary starship duty, or even of actual battle. I am terrified of being wounded again. I am scared stiff of having Klingons swarming aboard the ship and blasting me with those hellish disruptors again. I am almost certain that--if we are boarded--I will snap or just run away and hide. I am sure that I will break at a crucial point and endanger my crewmates and the ship--as well as disgracing myself--by being a coward."

I pause there to let her absorb this and gauge her reaction to it. I really don't know what she will think of this, as we have never talked about it even in the abstract. Will she be disgusted and repelled by these frank admissions of my future cowardice? Will she change her opinion of me but hide it and try to get rid of me--while offering meaningless reassurances? Will she stand by me no matter what?

As I had thought earlier, if she is worrying about me performing my duties then she is distracted from her own. Will she recommend that I be grounded so as not to endanger her or anyone else's crew?

I really hope she will stick by me...

Karen's face held an expression of concern, but she doesn't react otherwise. Instead of offering any kind of support or criticism she asks, "Andrew, I know what happened to you on the Jugurtha, but I don't know what it did to you inside. Why don't you tell me how you felt during the whole episode, from when the Klingons attacked until you started feeling the way you do now."

I shrink back from those words and Karen is instantly contrite, asking what is wrong.

"You sound just like that bloody mind-picker on the base," I say slowly.

My friend curses quietly to herself before saying, "I'm sorry, Andrew. I can see that the whole thing has unnerved you, but I asked to understand how it did this to you. I mean, I can see the obvious answer," she adds hastily, "but I need to hear it from your point of view to be able to help you past this."

Those words reassure me greatly, even though the base shrink said more or less the same thing. Her words worry me at the same time. Karen will keep me around and isn't judging me, but if she cannot help I am still going to be a liability.

Have I always been this... insecure? Hugely grateful for the slightest bit of praise or support?

The thought strikes me, rebounding off the walls of my skull, but I honestly can't remember.

I sincerely hope not.

Once again, I will myself to relax--the vodka helps to some extent--and I recount the battle as I saw it.

"Okay. When the Klingon's first salvo hit us, I was in the sensor maintenance room at the base of the saucer and knew what was happening instantly. I left the technician there to finish her task and rushed to Auxiliary Control, where my battle station is coordinating the damage control teams. I was seconds out of the Sensory when the Captain's all-call sounded through the ship so that when I reached Aux Con two minutes later--the turbolifts were all busy carrying marines and repair crews--everything was in-hand for the moment.

"The underside of the saucer had taken heavy damage, and although the phasers took a beating the sensor dish survived. After the Klingons flew under us, I dispatched repair teams to the phasers and the Sensory to keep it running--the systems were damaged but still operating. I also sent a repair team to the impulse reactor that got hit, but sent them elsewhere when the Captain's damage control priorities came in."

I pause there, remembering what happened next. Karen doesn't interrupt me.

"Then the Klingon hit us from behind. Everyone was thrown about and I had to crawl back to the Damage Control boards. When the photon torpedo exploded I thought we were in deep trouble. When I saw the readouts on the warp nacelle, I knew we were lost. I also heard something to make me feel far, far worse.

"Over the intercom I heard what must have been a marine reporting through a wall of noise that the Security squads sent to guard the photon banks and the bridge had been wiped out by the torpedo's explosion. It was this nameless soldier who first warned us about the radiation danger before the channel went ominously silent."

I look at Karen with haunted eyes. "That is something else I will never forget as long as I live. Instead of getting the hell out of the radiation zone, he reported in on the nearest working 'com panel. Maybe he was too badly wounded to live, maybe he was trying to save any others from moving through that area--I'll never know. But he stayed there and made that report with what was probably his last breath.

"It made me sick to my stomach that such a thing could happen. But he also reminded me of what it meant to be a member of the Starfleet, and it galvanised me into action. Another look at the Damage Control boards told me that most of the Medical section on deck six was gone. Apparently a power surge from the torpedo/engine explosions caused the port phasers to blow out, baring three entire decks below them to open space. That is where most of our crew died, but I hadn't realised it at the time.

"Leaving Third Officer Shrok in command of Aux Con, I rushed to Security and gathered all the remaining marines and headed to Medical--those parts that remained. Since they are all on deck six it took little time and I had the couple of nurses and several med techs give us all anti-radiation shots. We all tugged on anti-rad suits and rushed to where that marine had reported from. I trooped up there with about 20 people, well protected so that the guard's warning wasn't in vain, but by the time we got there it was too late. Everyone was ash from the hard radiation. The whole assembling-the-crew had taken four minutes, but to get there any quicker was death to the rescuers.

"Disheartened, we all returned to Security. To keep myself active, I got the surviving Med staff to stockpile all the salvageable medical equipment and supplies in Security. I had the Security men follow me to Engineering where we collected about ten engineers and some portable force-field generators and the like, had them suit up and we all headed back to the radiation zone. We managed to set them up very quickly and returned to Security. We had just managed to get back when I heard Captain Daniels try to reach us. At this point, the wounded were gathering and I had just been told that we had no surgical equipment to help the wounded, only drugs. Also, that Deborah Masterson and her second-in-command Jerry Wilson had been among the marines killed in the radiation zone."

I break off and look at my friend. I see that her colour had drained slightly at my vivid recount of the action below decks. I say to her:
"Karen, it all just crashed down on me at that point. I remember my tone of voice as I talked with the captain, and it summed up how I felt right then. Completely helpless. But when he told us he needed reinforcements to fight the Klingon boarding parties, it fired me up again. At last! The hated enemy and a chance to strike back, to do something, anything that could help. So, remembering that the Klingons might be listening in, I continued my tone and exaggerated the time it would take for me to get there. I armed all the remaining Security people with every phaser we could find--we were all double loaded and some even had three phasers--and we headed out to do battle."

An afterthought strikes me, and I add, "Oh yes. Before we all trouped out of there I ordered the Engineering staff to begin repairs as the captain had specified."

Again I stop, taking stock of what I had said, and look back at Karen. During my narrative my eyes had lost their focus as the events I described replayed themselves in front of me. When I refocus on her I note that I cannot see her eyes but it is clear to me that she was reliving some of the horrors she had undergone herself that day.

I take a few moments to remember the findings of the inquest into the loss of the Jugurtha--which is about to be decommissioned due to the damage she took--and the accounts from the bridge crew of the deaths of our first officer and the junior science officers.

The look on my friend's face, shadowed though it is, reminds me that I am not the only one who suffered that day. Also, that others had suffered and yet prevailed. But I was the most severely wounded one to live.

Those Klingon disruptors are fiendish devices.

I shake off that train of though before it leads me into places I don't want to be right now, and press on with my tale, now eager to see the end of it.

"Then came the battle next to the conference room on deck two."

[Scottish Andy]

C'mon guys, gimmie some feedback! I (and you lot too!) can sit and admire my stories in silence at my own site (www.starbase23.net, for those who don't know yet).

Many, many thanks to those who've already given me a comment, I really do appreciate it. The rest of you, get to it! I'm working my way through your stories as well (current'y going through Lt. Q's Star Trek XI and liking it), so I want to know what you Others think of my stuff too.

That said, on with the show.

Chapter Four

I saw Karen tense up, almost unnoticed in the reduced light of my quarters. My eyes wander over the comforting images of family and friends mounted on my desk and shelves, giving her some privacy to recover herself. Pretending I haven't noticed, as if I'm collecting myself. The moment over, I continue with my story.

"The turbolifts had been locked down from the bridge but I had one of the engineering ensigns override that for a single car, keeping the lockout to the bridge in place. We--the twelve guards and I--headed up to deck three, where I ordered six of them to attack from the stairwell up onto deck two. That way we could attack from two directions. I could see from my tricorder readout that the Klingons had left the conference room they had beamed into and were spread out along the corridor that lead to the turbolift alcove and to the bridge stairwell. Even as I prepared to attack I could see them re-organise, so they must have had their own tricorders running. They split into three squads--one at the stairwell, one at the lift and one in the middle of the corridor.

"I had my squad in the turbolift ready to attack as soon as the doors opened. Just as they did, and the Klingons started to react to it, one of my marines at the stairwell ran past the almost-melted door and flung three phasers set to overload into the corridor. The third phaser had just left his hand when three disruptor beams tore through his chest. I saw this with my own eyes along the curve of the corridor--and nearly lost my head as a result. My squad was already firing and a female ensign pulled me down just as a beam flashed through where I had been standing. 

"Then the overloaded phasers went off. They had been expertly thrown into and between the nearest Klingon squads. That single marine--I later learned it was Petty Officer T'snl Krab'sh--accounted for a full squad's-worth of Klingons on his own. I saw four Klingons torn apart and two more killed by those makeshift grenades. With this concussion, whoever was in charge of my other squad decided to charge the Klingons. My own squad was firing along the corridor, pinning down the other enemy squads, so the five marines left burned through the top half of the stairwell doors and charged. The Klingons seemed to welcome this as they dropped their disruptors and met the charge with those wide blades of theirs--the two-handed one. One Klingon went down before the other three started hacking away. Two of our marines caught a blade in full swing in their chests. The blades almost went right through them and they were dead before they hit the deck."

I halt my narrative to rub my hand over my face. I find it wet.

"Bloody Andorians!" I murmur. "Almost as bad as the Klingons with their love of blades. They didn't get close enough to use their chaka's. The rest of that contingent wisely decided to blast away with their phasers while the Klingons charged them. They got all the Klingons but only two of our marines survived it, one with serious lacerations. It was horrific! The deck was literally awash with all the blood. It was then that Captain Daniels led the remaining bridge crew into the firefight.

"All this action at the other end of the corridor I caught in fragments, as my squad was fighting for our collective lives as well. We were all protected by the turbolift alcove--but also trapped by it. I was terrified that the Klingons would copy Krab'sh's idea and lob a grenade in at us. If they had we would all have been wiped out. I had already lost two men by then. One was killed, the other badly wounded and unable to fight.

"At the point when the captain joined in, there were still nine Klingons against our five. One of my men was lucky enough to kill a Klingon who was running up to attack our other squad. But at that point my squad and the Klingons were pinning each other down. The only reason I hadn't taken more casualties was that the Klingons had burned away most of the turbolift doors. As such, they couldn't open and we had the door fragments to hide behind. I was about to order one of my men to throw a 'grenade'--and thus have them killed whether they succeeded or not--when the captain arrived. At that, the Klingons broke and turned to face the new threat. We all jumped out into the corridor to take advantage of this, but at least two Klingons had anticipated us. I took the first hit--a glancing blow that still took off my left arm two inches from my shoulder."

Again I stammer to a halt, noticing that my voice is faltering, shaking with the memory of the pain, and my whole body is trembling as my right hand once again grips my left arm. I could stop there and just tell her to leave, but despite the way I'm feeling I want to tell her the rest of it, to maybe, finally have this still-bleeding mental wound cauterized and healed over.

Karen is looking at me with moist eyes, trying to keep her face impassive. She makes not a sound, so I press on for the final time.

"I... I had perhaps a second of screaming pain before my mind shut down and I mercifully blacked out. The impact of the beam spun me around and as my eyes widened from the shock and pain, I saw the girl who was right behind me--the same female ensign who had saved my life minutes earlier--take a beam through the abdomen and start to scream. I didn't even know her name, at the time, but I made sure I found out afterwards. Ensign Susana Saiz Medinger of the Engineering Department had saved my life that day, but I couldn't repay the favour."

I keep my eyes open and focus on Karen to try to ward off that image, but to no avail. As the blackness had claimed me that day, the look on that pretty young Spanish girl's face as the disruptor beam passed through her had been emblazoned into my memory.

"I never heard the sound Susana made as I lost consciousness, but my mind supplied one nonetheless. I think I'd have preferred to hear her, but I'll never know. All I do know is that every damned time I 'escape' from the nightmare it is that exact sound I make as I scream myself to wakefulness."

I see Karen wince at my words, and the slow beginning of understanding dawning across her face as she starts to see my problem with sleeping. I don't want to disillusion her yet, but she still has no idea of what I go through three times a night, every night without fail. My tale of feelings told, I finish off the first part of my story.

"So, the next thing I remember is waking up to see a Vulcan tending to me. I thought, We must have been rescued, as none of our Vulcan Medical staff had survived. But as I looked around in my drugged state--I knew I was drugged as I felt incredibly woozy and my thoughts came so slowly--it finally dawned on me that I wasn't in a Federation sickbay, and when I noticed the 'Vulcan's' uniform my heart sank again. The woman acted exactly like a Vulcan, merely saying "Good" when she noticed I was awake, but I knew she must have been a Romulan. I did not believe what she told me next, but she was apparently completely truthful with me. She said:

"'I am Chief Surgeon t'Tei. You are safe and well and your ship is undergoing repairs while awaiting arrival of your own people. Your arm will require far more treatment than I am equipped to provide, so you shall be held in one of our medical bay's stasis tubes to preserve your damaged tissue. That way, your famed Federation doctors may still be able to attach a new arm.'

"She may have said more but that is all I caught before falling back to sleep. I woke up again at various intervals, usually when I was being transferred around. I remember being in a Federation sickbay where a Human doctor told me much the same as the Romulan one did. I remember a different doctor and some med techs in a similar sickbay after that, then waking in an operating room--and being put under again almost immediately.

"When I finally woke up to the real world again, my arm was back on--or rather a cloned one was grown and attached--and it was the 25th of August. Two weeks of intense physiotherapy mixed with psychology sessions followed, and I could use my new arm just as well as my old one, and now the whole incident just remains as a bad memory."

Karen spoke again for the first time in what seemed like hours.

"And as nightmares."

I nod, and slowly say, "Yes, and as nightmares."

I feel completely drained again. Retelling an experience as harrowing as that is almost like reliving it, as no matter how much time passes the memories are indelibly burned into your memory for all time, just as fresh as the day it actually happened.

So, that is my story. It is almost two months since I woke up with my new arm so I had found out all the details of what went on while I was out cold. But just to hear the voice of another while I recovered my wits, I ask Karen to fill in the blanks from her point of view.

She nods, clearing her throat and taking a sip of her untouched drink. Her voice shakes to start with, but soon firms up.

"Well, *ahem*, ah, after you were hurt we killed all the Klingons. No one else in the bridge party got killed, but Nigel took a nasty hit in the chest that still has him in hospital, four months later. Something to do with his lungs and spleen, I think--it's been a while since I went to see him. Only seven of your marines survived, including you and the two others who were wounded. The Romulans arrived and after some trust problems were worked through they sent medical teams to patch us up. The Romulan CO, a Commander t'Khellian, met with the captain and the Klingon CO, a Captain Meltakh, on the planet. Unfortunately, Captain Daniels... his mind snapped and he was killed attacking Meltakh. Ah, the Klingon ship was destroyed by our attack plan, although the boom survived. It was picked up a day before we were by another Klingon ship.

"The USS Vindicator arrived for us, also having orders to remove the Romulans from the system. They tried to force the Roms to leave, but apparently there were three Rom Birds of Prey, not just the one so the Vindicator had to back down and leave them be. No shots were fired, so we were able to transfer our wounded--including you--and leave unmolested. We were met part-way to Starbase 23 by the tug Eddington, where the Vindicator handed us off and returned to her patrol station. We only arrived back at the starbase on August 20th, were you were operated on immediately."

"And from then until five days ago we were on our 'cool-down' period as mandated by Starfleet when a crew loose their ship," I put in, just to say something when she had finished.

"Yeah, a six-month cool-down, supposed to be. Now we are being flung back into the flames because all the other command personnel are needed where they are and war is about to break out," Karen grumbles with no small amount of apprehension.

"Which brings me back to this, Karen. I don't think I'm reliable enough right now to be in a war zone. My nightmare--"

I break off sharply, and remain silent for a time.

Karen breaks the silence by asking, "What are your nightmares, Andrew? Tell me, please. I want to help you let this go."

I take a deep breath--several, in fact--to try and settle my thoughts and calm my racing heart.

"Okay, okay... Just... give me a few minutes, will you?"

Karen nods and takes another sip of her drink.

I finally manage to compose myself, and I set about describing my dream to her.

[Grim Reaper]

Ummm, it's big?


Seriously though, work now, enjoyment later. I'll try to read this tomorrow and comment then.

[Grim Reaper]

Well this isn't the day i thought it would be but then again sh*t happens.

It's a very credible story you spin here m8. I only have some difficulties with the I perspective in which you write. But then again, it isn't a bother and more kudos to you for keeping me hooked.

[Scottish Andy]

Thanks Grim, and I'm glad you're enjoying it. And yes, I do tend to write my stories big. It's why they take so long to finish. My third story was only supposed to be five chapters of about 2,000 words each. It grew to an eleven-chapter story of 5,000 words a chapter! I just couldn't stop adding to it because I felt it needed more.

Anyway, as to the perspective I write in, I just decided to try something different from everyone else. I noticed that absolutely no one has ever (that I've seen, anyway) written in the first person without making it a "remembered" story, that is, told in the past tense. It seems to work for me. It can be a little hard keeping in the present tense, though, and keeping the narrative parts from taking over the story. I catch a new slip almost every time I re-read my stories. "1st-person remembered" (past tense) mode is easy. I'm challenging myself writing in the "1st person as-it's-happening" (present tense) mode.

And thanks for the kudos. It feels great! Anyway. Enough of this, and on with the story

Chapter Five

"It is the same one. Every night without fail, exactly the same events take place at exactly the same pace and time. I get about two hours asleep before I wake up shouting. I then have to calm down and fall asleep again, after which the whole thing repeats. I have seen several doctors about sleeping pills, but I am never given more than one week's supply and no more were forthcoming. That is, a week of continuous use. Every night."

I shake my head wearily and say, "I am not getting more than six hours sleep a night, and as I said no more than two hours at a time. It is wearing me down, Karen! I can live and function on six hours sleep a night, but I am never at 100% any more. I am almost always tired and I now dread going to bed, but I still have to or I'll go mad from lack of REM sleep. I need to dream to stay sane, but the only thing I dream of anymore is driving me mad just the same!"

My voice has risen and I notice it is quite shrill. Karen makes placating motions with her hands.
"It's okay for now, Andrew. Calm down, please. Take another drink and relax."

I do as she says and she tells me, "I do have an idea as of how to help you sleep, but I want you to tell me what happens in your dream. You might feel better afterwards--not immediately, but this should help you let go of your fear."

I feel myself grimace as I look at my glass. I poured myself so much the damn thing is still only half empty, but I gulp down another sip of the vodka. I'm noticing that Karen keeps hammering her message home, and although I don't believe her I desperately hope that she is right. Waking up every two hours screaming and drenched in sweat...

I also know that all these little ruminations of mine are just more ways of stalling, dancing around the whole issue. I suppose Karen wanted to hear this too, but it is probably clear what the effects of my nightmare are.

"Okaaaaaaay..."

I draw the word out, my last act of stalling.
Karen is just sitting there, waiting as patiently as a mugato stalking it's prey.

"It starts with me back in Damage Control on the Jugurtha and everything is fine. After some length of time--the length of which I cannot judge but always seems to be the same--I hear the marine report from the radiation zone on deck two.

"We haven't been attacked yet, and everyone else doesn't seem to notice it. I react to it anyway, racing up to the torpedo room. Everything is okay for the first few moments but suddenly I'm in my anti-rad suit and I witness what must have happened to those Security squads. I see the whole group of them knocked over them blown to pieces against the walls--but for some reason it is Klingon blood. I see the effects of the pulse of radiation sweep through the bodies and survivors, and watch as the marine pulls himself along to the intercom panel.

"I try to help, try to talk to them, but they cannot see me--except him. He can see me. He reaches out to me but I cannot get to him. I cannot run fast enough, and there is too much debris in the way. All I can see is his eyes burning into me, begging me for help, condemning me for not giving any.

"Then suddenly I'm back in Damage Control and everything is normal again. I'm about to go down to the Sensory, it seems. I'm calmly discussing with the technician I spoke to about why the sensor dish has been blown off and how it could possibly have happened. We are talking over the 'com system and I tell her I am coming right down, but I end up in Medical just in time to see the explosion of the port phaser bank rip off the top three decks of the saucer.

"The explosion goes right through me but I'm untouched by both it and the subsequent decompression effects. I watch the Medical staff whirl off into space--which now occupies all I can see above me--and they call to me, screaming to me for help with their last lungfuls of air. Again, their eyes bore into me and I read the fear, pleading and anger in them.

"Then I'm safe and everything is normal again." I pause there for a few seconds and shake my head.

"It's like that all the way through. I'm safe, all is well and I feel fine then suddenly I'm thrust into a battle scene where I'm terrified and my heart is racing, just standing there watching or unable to help while scores of my crewmates die around me.

"The next scene has me in the Sensory helping Technician Yates run diagnostics on the equipment, and I finally see the Klingons attack. I distinctly remember saying to Yates: 'I'm terribly sorry but I have to go now. Otherwise I won't be on time to fight the Klingons and get shot'.

"I then calmly leave the Sensory, and in walking through the doors I'm suddenly in the turbolift alcove watching as the Klingons charge us. Our phaser beams are bouncing off of them, they are managing to dodge the overloaded ones we're all throwing at them--and all around me my men are falling like flies!

"The Klingons are plowing through them, disruptors punching bloody holes through people, huge blades tearing chunks out of bodies--and all in an attempt to get to me! My men are trying to hold them off, trying to protect me but they are all dying!"

Karen's eyes are wide and her face is expressing horror, and I can feel my heart pounding in my chest as if it wants out, my breath coming in gasps as I plunge on with all the gory details.

"Then comes the worst part. The ship is suddenly empty--except for the Klingon marines and me. They start chasing me through the now-darkened corridors and rooms. None of the turbolifts or doors seem to be working so I have to undog hatches to Jeffries tubes and new decks.

"Every time a Klingon catches up to me I get shot at, the beam striking closer with every shot fired. I hide in rooms, I run down corridors, I clamber up access-ways and slide down ladders--all to no avail. They close in on me and I always manage to get away, to run and hide just that little bit longer. When they finally do corner me, green disruptor beams are criss-crossing the corridors constantly pinning me into a narrower and narrower space.

"Then four disruptor beams hit me--one on each limb. They begin to flay me alive, drawing from my fingertips and toes all the way up my limbs to my torso. I'm shrieking my head off with the sheer agony of it all--and that is when I wake up, screaming myself hoarse."

I stop there, heart still racing, blood pounding, panting heavily as though I've just run a marathon with a starship on my back. I notice Karen again, even though I had been staring into her eyes all the way through my dream narration. She is busy rearranging her facial expression but I see the horror still in her eyes.

I am all at once painfully aware that maybe I've told her too much, been too descriptive. During all our time together since the Jugurtha I had never seen her to lose sleep over it, and she's never told me if she had her own nightmares. But what if she has them and just deals with them better than I do?
Though on second thoughts, I'm not exactly dealing with my problem. I'm just living with it and hoping--in vain--that it'll go away on it's own.

However, by dumping all my emotional baggage it might just be more than she can deal with. In which case I've just turned my closest surviving friend and new CO into a basket case like myself.

Instantly I say, "Karen, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to--"

She waves me off and says, "I asked for it. Don't worry about me, I'm fine. I was just, well, shocked at how much you remember and how accurate your recall is." She leans forward and asks, "You really remember the feeling of the disruptor hitting you? Even though it was only a fraction of a second later that you lost consciousness and the other times you woke up you were medicated?"

"Oh yes, far too clearly," I answer with a bitter laugh. "The nerves still attached to me remember it very well. It is only recently that these impressions have begun to fade. While I rested my nerves would have no new stimuli to transmit, so they would remember. That is why I keep grabbing and rubbing my arm--to keep the nerves busy, so to speak. The sensations have finally stopped but my reaction to it has developed into a nervous habit that I now have to break."

"Andrew, it really sounds like you blame yourself for all the deaths on the Jugurtha. The incidents in which you were part of, the dying crew all pleading for your help and cursing you for not giving it, the way your Security teams die--"

"Yes, that is also what the base psychologist said. I have to agree with the assessment, and I know that I wasn't responsible except for the Security teams directly under my command, but..."

I trail off, unsure of how to put this. The words just don't seem to be there as I do not understand it myself, so I shrug my shoulders helplessly and conclude, "I cannot seem to convince myself."

"Well, let me try," Karen says, staring into my eyes. "It wasn't your fault."

"Thanks, Karen," I reply. "It means a lot to hear you say that. It's just--"

"It wasn't your fault."

My eyes wander around my quarters, looking at the images of old friends and family. "Karen, I know but I just can't--"

"It wasn't your fault."

"Try telling it to my dreams, smart-arse!" I explode at her. "I KNOW that--"

"So why can't you sleep?"

"How the hell am I supposed to know?!!" I roar. "I've tried--"

"Andrew, you may have accepted it intellectually, but you haven't accepted it in your heart."

I try to interrupt to tell her she is wrong, but Karen is having none of it.

"Everyone who died in incidents you witnessed--whether by sensor or by your own eyes--you feel responsible for. Because you know it happened, you felt that it was your fault because you personally had not managed to prevent it or help them afterwards. You know from the facts that you could have done nothing more--and in the case of the Medical staff, nothing at all--but you still believe inside you that because it happened on your watch it was your fault.

"Let it go."

I can't believe my ears. "'Let it go?' Just like that, all my problems are cured?" I yell. "You have no idea--"

"YOU SELFISH BASTARD!!" Karen roars.

I immediately shut up, shocked speechless. What--Why did she--How could she--? My scrambled thoughts are interrupted by Karen continuing.

"You are actually holding on to your pain! You think it distinguishes you, makes you special. You think it entitles you to preferential treatment. I cannot believe this!" Karen exclaims.

I stand up and move on her, starting to refute that most loathsome statement she just made, but she jumps up also and rounds on me further.

"So you got hurt! So you almost died, and had several people die in front of you! Guess what? That happened to others as well! You dare to be wounded on behalf of all those you couldn't save? What the hell kind of coward are you?"

Karen adopts a whiny voice, taking my position. "Look at me, I got hurt, I lost people, I blame myself for it all, pity me!" She glares at me, pure fury blazing in her eyes. "What kind of sick pity party have I fallen into here? You make me sick, Brown! Either get over this and shape up, or I'll give you your dream posting, on a backwater planet shuffling papers for some joke of a Base CO!"

So saying, she storms out of my quarters, leaving me with my mouth hanging open.

[kadh2000]

Well, it's a cliche but a well-told one. 

[Grim Reaper]

the tact of a Minotaur in full charge, of a bulldozer in highest gear.

But it sometimes works. And because of your unique perspective writing, it works (for me).

Thanks Grim, and I'm glad you're enjoying it. And yes, I do tend to write my stories big. It's why they take so long to finish. My third story was only supposed to be five chapters of about 2,000 words each. It grew to an eleven-chapter story of 5,000 words a chapter! I just couldn't stop adding to it because I felt it needed more.

Hell als long as you keep updating like this you'll never hear complaints from me!

Anyway, as to the perspective I write in, I just decided to try something different from everyone else. I noticed that absolutely no one has ever (that I've seen, anyway) written in the first person without making it a "remembered" story, that is, told in the past tense. It seems to work for me. It can be a little hard keeping in the present tense, though, and keeping the narrative parts from taking over the story. I catch a new slip almost every time I re-read my stories. "1st-person remembered" (past tense) mode is easy. I'm challenging myself writing in the "1st person as-it's-happening" (present tense) mode.

Brave.

And thanks for the kudos. It feels great!

Good. Cause you desirve them.

[Scottish Andy]

Kadh: Ouch! Well, I never claimed to be original and as long as it is well told then I'm doing okay for my 1st ever story.

Grim: As for my updating, this story is completed, which is why I can post it so regularly. I do try to have my stories finished before I start posting them, for that very reason, though. I hate having to wait forever for the next chapter of a story I like [cough! Jaeih! cough! Sethan! cough!].

*Whistles innocently*

Anyway, next installment soon.

[kadh2000]

I do try to have my stories finished before I start posting them

Aha!  Sneaky little bugger.  I can't do that: I'd never get them started.

[Scottish Andy]

Chapter Six

Date: 17th October 2267
Time: 0700 hours
Stardate: 3181.46
Location: First Officer's quarters, USS Kusanagi en-route to patrol station.

I woke the next morning to the stunning realisation that I had slept all the way through the night. By no stretch of the imagination had I a peaceful night, but I looked at my chronometer and was ecstatic to discover that I had been asleep continuously for ten whole hours.

Damn, but those pills are great!

The doctor had warned me that they were only effective for a few days, at most a week, but damn! I'm just sitting here feeling a curious stretching of tendons on my face. I walk to the mirror and have a look. I am yet more surprised to find I'm wearing a stupid grin. I go through my morning routine, still feeling happy in a slightly shell-shocked kind of way--until I remember the events of last night.

The grin falls off my face.

*****

After Karen had stormed out of my quarters I stood there, speechless, mind shut down in disbelief for many seconds. Once I had recovered my wits I set off after my captain but she had disappeared. I spent the next ten minutes tracking her down with rebuttals, explanations and reasoning working out in my head--but she would not speak with me further. I would not quit however, so she finally ordered me to cease & desist and report to sickbay to see the CMO.

I had to obey. However, not only was I blazing mad, I was feeling thoroughly insulted. I had bared my soul, my innermost feelings and frailties to her--and she had ripped into me. I felt betrayed and I was not being allowed to vent to her.

I stormed down to the Sickbay where the chief medical officer--a Saurian Lieutenant JG named Gruental--greeted me warily. The captain had not told me why I was to report to Sickbay so I assumed Gruental did. I was not mad at him but I was royally worked up, so what he said came as a great surprise to me.

"Are you agitated at me, Lieutenant?"

I almost barked back, but managed a restrained, "No."

"Then cease your offensive displays and follow me," he returned in his curiously accented Federation Standard Anglish.

I felt like ramming my fist into one of his very large yellow eyes. I had just been dumped on from 'on high'--my commanding officer--so I was in no mood to be snapped at by an annoying doctor whom I ranked. I tore into him.

"Doctor, you may not have noticed, but I am your superior officer!" I yelled. "No matter how you may feel about me personally, you will treat me with the respect and courtesy due to my rank and position aboard this ship!"

The Saurian's large eyes blinked rapidly and his breath started rushing in and out of the narrow vertical slits that passed for his nostrils with a very slight whistling noise.

Now, while I do like their brandy--in small amounts--I have never served with a Saurian before. I am not familiar with their social and personal behaviour, so I did not know what he was feeling right then. However, I think I recognised embarrassment and humiliation on his features--although it may just be that has behaviour reminded me of a human child trying not to cry. Thinking on it now, I had just given him a dressing down in front of the evening-watch Sickbay staff so those reactions would have been perfectly at home on any human.

At the time though, I was still too mad to care. With a bitten-off "Yes Sir!" he turned and headed into his office. I followed and sat in front of his desk as he started to explain in very clipped language.

"Sir, I make apologies for my lack of respect. Captain was also here not long ago in very foul mood and failed to give proper respect to myself while explaining reason for your imminent presence. She left abruptly and I made no attempt to assert my position. When yourself also appeared in highly agitated state I reacted to prevent undermining of my authority. I have now made things worse."

His breathing had calmed, as had his eye motions. I realised that I had also overreacted and that I was not angry with him, really. My bad temper had just spilled out onto him. I made my own apology but it was perfunctory and did not sound overly sincere even to my own ears. I was still too angry with Karen.

So, one more name to add to the list of people I have offended.

Crap.

After my 'apology', the doctor's speech patterns returned to normal and we got down to business.
"Lieutenant, the captain informed me that you have been having trouble sleeping, and the cause is a specific recurring nightmare. She did not, " he added with emphasis, "tell me what the dream was. She told me this because I specifically requested of her that anyone who was suffering bad dreams to the extent of impacting on their duties should be brought to my attention for a new treatment."

My interest picked up dramatically at that point, and I asked, "Are you going to prescribe improved sleeping pills for me?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes," he replied, and went on to clarify. "People can have really bad recurring dreams based on traumatic events or future worries, and with the coming war with the Klingons there is ample grounds for both. Images of death and destruction that war brings forth can lead to horrific nightmares one cannot escape. Normally this would just have to be dealt with in therapy sessions and yield very slow results, as often the nightmare would undo most of the therapy on successive days. But just recently a new drug called Tridocane has been cleared for general use that helps you alter the course of your dreams!"

I sat bolt upright in my chair, exclaiming, "It has? Does it really work?"

Gruental nodded in the human fashion. "Indeed. It was developed to help mental patients calm their minds and has been used to great effect."

"This is tremendous news for me! How does it work?" I ask.

"It works on the basis of suggestion. Suggestive reinforcement of your own will. It makes your subconscious mind more open to internal suggestion and as such gives a small element of control within your own dreams. But do not worry about side effects. It has been extensively tested and definitively proven that it does not make you more vulnerable to external suggestion. There is absolutely no risk," he emphasised. At my nod, he continued.

"It works like this. If your dream is starting to feel threatening, you just think the word 'STOP' over and over until the path of the dream changes. You can do this at any level of REM sleep and any number of times during your sleep cycle. The dosage given is matched and measured against your own medical data and personal sleeping habits and lasts the entire period of your unconscious state. Once awake it is rendered inactive and does not affect your waking mind. It is completely safe."

My mind reeled at this and I was overjoyed, my anger at Karen completely forgotten. It seemed too good to be true, but I was not about to turn it down. I wanted nothing more than to get to sleep and try this out.
"Can you do these dosage work-ups now?" I asked eagerly.

"Yes, it is why you are here. It will not take too long to complete. However, there is a downside," the doctor added.

Inevitably. Clinging to my hopes, I tentatively asked, "That being?"

"The downside being that this medication is only effective for a span of days before the body builds an immunity to the drug compound, and no increase in dosage, change of sleeping habits or any other prolonging methods work. If it is merely a recurring bad dream, the pills themselves are usually enough. But for deep-seated trauma, therapy is almost always required."

"Very well doctor, I understand. But what duration of effectiveness can I expect?"

"The minimum effective time for a human was observed to be four days. The maximum was ten."

My heart sank a little at that, but the fact that this drug existed at all was a huge boost to my beleaguered mind. The doctor added, finally, "These pills were designed to be an aid, not a cure. Further development is underway for longer periods of effectiveness, but for the present it is only an aid for extended therapy sessions and/or as part of a recovery plan. A sentient's psyche still has to heal itself. Otherwise the sentient becomes a drug-dependent automaton."

"I see. Very well, let's give this a try, shall we?"

The work-up and battery of tests took barely half-an-hour, and I thanked the doctor and left. I also made a far more sincere apology to him in front of his staff. Well, I didn't exactly have them line up to hear it, but I made it in the open and not in his office. I returned to my quarters and turned in for the night.

*****

So happy was I that I might get some true sleep I had given no further thought to Karen or her remarks for the rest of the night. But remembering them now ripped away my good mood. Her words had really hurt me and I did not believe them for an instant. There was absolutely no way in hell I was holding on to my pain in a perverse attempt to feel special. I still could not believe she had actually said that! After opening myself up like that, uncovering a gaping mental wound, my supposed friend had not only rubbed salt in there, but flung in some acid as well.

These are my thoughts as I head up to the bridge. I have no way of knowing how Karen feels right now, but her final reaction in my quarters seems to indicate she felt furious and, well, betrayed. I can't figure that one out but really I am in no mood to take her feelings into account--unless her first words to me this morning are 'I'm sorry'.

I feel righteous in my anger, but I'm willing to let it go if it was been a heat-of-the-moment thing she is sorry for, or a tactic to get me out of my funk. However, because she refused to talk to me after that, I don't really see either as being likely.

This morning is shaping up to be the decider for our relations for the rest of our tour together--provided it isn't cut short by a war or--if we both survive--Karen transferring me off her ship.

I psych myself up for this battle and pace around the bridge like a caged tiger until she appears, which she duly does at exactly the start of her bridge shift.

Lieutenant Commander Karen McCafferty steps onto the bridge looking calm, alert, and every inch the Starship Captain.

She also ignores me completely.

That is, until I go up to speak to her. Before I can say a word, she blandly asks me about the ship's status. I answer all her questions, even though I can see the spark of anger burning in her eyes, and when I make to speak, my friend the Captain loudly dismisses me from the bridge.

Ever conscious of other people's opinions, I do not want to create a scene. So I simply fire off the most hardcore military salute I can manage and depart.

Karen has made it quite clear that we can no longer speak as friends, and it seems to me that had I not been her first officer we probably would not speak at all. Only matters pertaining to our duties will be discussed, no more personal talk. She obviously thinks and feels very strongly that her final assessment of me is correct and that I am in the wrong.

I feel just as strongly that her assessment is completely off-target and that she is in the wrong.

We are already in a war zone and we have yet to reach the border.

[Grim Reaper]

tension on the bridge is not a good way to enter a war...

[kadh2000]

Let's see.  Day 1 started last night.  I wonder if the war is between the two characters or the feds and the klingons.  Good story.  Main character's a basket case.

[Scottish Andy]

Thanks kadh... I think. Hey, I'm the main character!