Here's something more from Rog-Trek Land. This story lays down some small clues for a larger, developing story and also deals with something I've been hinting on for a few stories (which no one has commented on, and I'm assuming was missed). I also range a little into Character Development for Davenport, which will make La'ra happy.
Hopefully this won't seem to be as 'off' as it felt when writing it. I'm a bit out of my element with stories like this, so any and all abuse...er...critisism will be welcomed!
Star Trek
Home Base
CH. 1
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Doctor.”
Doctor Andrea Keller narrowed her dark brown eyes at the captain. The right corner of her mouth curled into a shrewd grin and she stepped closer to the ship’s CO. Captain Chevis Ford was not the most private man she’d ever met. But he did like to hide his illness from the ship’s officers and pretend he was perfectly okay. As chief medical officer, however, Andrea was privy to information about him that the rest of the crew was not.
“You may think you’re hiding it well, Captain, but it’s obvious to me that the Varness Syndrome is affecting you more severely.” She told him in a quiet voice. The two of them were alone in her small CMO office in the midst of sickbay and there was little chance of being overheard. She lowered her voice for Ford’s sake only. “You hardly do anything at all with your left arm and I can tell when the color drains from your face.”
Fully dressed in his duty uniform, the ruddy faced captain sat back in the visitor’s chair he occupied and looked off into deep nothing. He was quiet awhile, then looked back at her soberly.
“Yeah,” was all he said.
“The medication is no longer working?”
“Not as well. I take two pills instead of one and I still have bouts of pressure and erratic heart beat.” Ford’s demeanor shrank. He was not a terminally ill man. But admitting to this fallacy within his body seemed to chip away at his pride.
Varness Syndrome was a nervous disorder brought on by the exposure of Theta Wave radiation. It could affect many portions of the anatomy, but was most noticeable when it afflicted the heart. The heart could no longer respond to nervous stimuli in a regulated manner. This could lead to blood pressure anomalies and even heart attack. Many victims of the syndrome simply believed they were having anxiety attacks until it was too late. Ford had been lucky to have been serving in Starfleet. After being subjected to intense radiation from a planetary antimatter reactor detonation, he and every member of his away team had been checked out. The likelihood of his developing the syndrome had been postulated even back then. Now he’d been living with it for twenty-three years.
“Nervous degradation is the primary hardship of Varness, Captain. Have you considered the implantation of a cardio-regulator?”
Ford smiled thinly.
“It’s been suggested. I also know can happen to them when they’re subjected to EM pulses or even a Klingon stun blast. I’d effectively find myself relegated to ground duty or would have to retire from service.”
Andrea turned her longhaired head half aside. “Not necessarily, sir.” Her soft Britain accent replied. “You could still serve as commanding officer…”
“Not likely, Doctor. Fleet would strongly suggest my reassignment. I like it where I am.”
Keller sat back I her own seat and considered her other option.
“Well, there is another choice, now.”
“Oh?”
“It’s an adapted Denobulan treatment for similar nervous degeneration. They clone a replacement nerve cluster and transplant it for the damaged nerves. The operation is rather invasive, but shows to be very promising. Recovery time would likely be in the order of two months.”
“Two months…” Ford thought the prospect over. Endeavour, damaged as she was, would be in dock for at least half that time for repairs to her warp drive. Thomas would be recovered from his own affliction before launch and could handle the ship till he returned.
“What’s required to get this rolling?”
“Just a genetic sample from the area in question. That in itself will be a tedious operation. Then the tissue is replicated and its growth accelerated. This takes approximately a week.”
Ford looked off toward the fore bulkhead once more. His expression was cold, seemingly uncaring. “And the dangers?”
“The danger comes from tissue rejection. There is no guarantee your body will accept the nerve cluster even if it is cloned from your own cells. This can be battled with drug therapy—“
Ford scoffed a bit, still staring out into space.
“Big operation and still more drugs…”
“Possibly, sir.”
Ford looked back to his CMO, focussing on her dark eyes with his own.
“You’ve got my consent, Doc. This thing scares the hell out of me. Every time something happens on this ship, I feel like I have to fight just to keep breathing. That’s gonna lead to more trouble if I keep it up. We’ll do this transplant…and I want you handling the procedure.”
Keller blinked. It was surprising to find out someone you barely knew trusted you with their very life… She swallowed before answering. “I’d be honored, Captain.”
The boson’s whistle of the ship’s address rang out through the semi-darkened sickbay. “Captain, we’re passing the outer marker of Starbase 23’s approach.”
Ford stood, feeling instantly the offbeat rhythm of the ship’s jury-rigged warp drivers. They were limping home, partially hobbled at the hands of the Gorn. Their journey from the plasma string region, labeled ‘The Tempest’ by the majority of the crew, had taken over a week to complete. It should have taken a mere two days.
Ford looked back to the doctor and nodded to her once. He was glad to have her on board this ship. She was a steady woman with some iron nerves. She’d fought the Gorn aboard their own ship and taken care of one of his dearest friends when most doctors would have been at their wit’s end. She’s shown ingenuity in asking for help from Lieutenant Surall and the tactical officer to treat the bacterial strain in Thomas’s blood. Now he was nearly recovered. Chevis could think of no better person to have poking around inside his organs.
The trip to the bridge was a short one. Ford kept a measured pace in front of the crew, but he walked a little faster than normal. The ship’s engines were rigged from one end of the nacelles to the other to maintain warp speed. They were running on pride alone. Ford could have just ordered his ship to fly out of the plasma region and wait at its edge for a space tow. But after some hours of consideration, Chevy found he couldn’t bring himself to pass that particular order. He’d chanced that the ship could limp home under her own power. They’d all come this far without Fleet assistance.
The effect had been positive on ship’s moral. They were more confident that nothing could bring them down. The rhythm among the enlisted was that they were tough as nails and that their command crew would stop at nothing to get them all home. Ford was rather proud of that opinion.
The doors parted before the captain as he stepped from the lift and onto the bridge. Two men were working forward just beneath the main viewer, replacing the last of the blood stained carpet which bore the final marks of their fight with the Gorn boarding party. The only sign left of that struggle was the small details of chipped console borders, scratches on the railing and bulkheads and the rough texture to some of the equipment which had been fixed. All of this just gave the main bridge more of a lived-in character. She was only six years old, but this ship had lived a life!
Chevy made his way to the center seat, glancing at his First Officer who sat in the chair just right of the conn. Commander Benjamin Thomas, the towering hulk that he was, slunk in his blue seat and watched the star streaks on the main screen tiredly. He had been on restricted bridge duty for a couple of days now. Chevy caught his eye and grinned at him. Ben returned the smile, though his was less sincere. He was still battling the effects of the Theleron radiation used on him to cure his affliction.
“Range from Twenty-Three?”
“Four A.U.’s, Cap’n.” Came the response from helm. Lieutenant Johnathan Bronstien turned half way out of his seat next to ops to look at Ford. “We could go the rest of the way on impulse.”
Ford considered it. It might be safer, but it was only a few more minutes of flight. They’d already traveled so many lightyears…
“Steady as she goes, helmsman.”
Johnathan smiled back and returned to his piloting. Beside him, Lieutenant Commander Ronald Davenport was also smiling a private little grin. He’d known the captain well enough to guess what the answer would have been. They were coming home under their own power. And they would limp all the way in at their best speed.
“Pre-approach scan, science officer.” Thomas called off with a hoarse voice.
Lieutenant Surall bent over her station and met the rising scanner head that came up from her console. Blue light etched shapes across her face. “Two starships docked to the station outer ring. Both Okinawa-Class. They are the Saipan and the Rogers. One ship in waiting orbit ten thousand kilometers out, Miranda-Class. The USS Comanche. Seven assorted civilian vessels under Federation banner. One Klingon trade vessel docked on the inner ring. No other ships within short range scan.”
“Entering inner marker range, Skipper.” Bronstien reported. There was a noticeable level of relief within the lieutenant’s voice. Most of the bridge hands likely shared it.
“Reduce to one-quarter impulse.” Ford returned. At the press of the appropriate controls, the tenor of the engines changed to a more friendly pitch and the unfamiliar oscillations in the deck abated. Endeavour had got them here. “Comm, hail the station and request approach clearance.”
On the port-aft side of the bridge, Lieutenant Noah Smith keyed open the general ship’s hail and plugged a command mic into his ear. “Starbase 23, this is the USS Endeavour. Request approach clearance and permission to dock, over.”
The response came over the main speaker above. It was not the pleasant sounding voice of an experienced communications officer, but rather the scratchy voice of the commanding officer of the installation, Commodore Robert Shiloah. “Permission granted to approach. Follow standard protocol and lay off the station at ten thousand klicks. Once secure, begin powerdown and rig for towing to Repair Station Six. Captain Ford is to beam over immediately after his ship is secure.”
The channel clicked as the signal terminated from the outpost. Quiet reigned on the bridge as officers looked back and forth between themselves. The commodore had been, without a doubt, curt…
“Cheery fellow.” Bronstien commented from the helm, his being the first voice heard after the hail. A few chuckles broke out as the helmsman continued to bring them closer to the base. The station was just now coming into view on the main screen. It was a large, round monster with two concentric rings of docking berths encircling the whole armor plated thing.
“He was quick to get on the horn with us. Didn’t even let his comm officer answer the hail.” Thomas said tentatively, looking at his friend to gauge his thoughts on the commodore’s motives. Ford looked back at him with an expression that said he’d rather arm wrestle a Klingon than go meet with the commander of that base.
“Yeah. Like he was waiting on us… He doesn’t want us to dock…and he isn’t doing the customary meeting and ship inspection routine. He’s in a hurry.”
“Not to mention a bad mood, by the sound of it.” Thomas voiced further.
“Yeah…” Ford gave a shrug and stood from the conn. Aggravated bosses came with the territory of starship command. The captain moved to stand between the helm and ops consoles, watching the station enlarge and grow in detail. It was a rough skinned, ugly thing. Sarcasm oiled his words as he spoke aloud to himself. “Maybe he’s just having a bad day…”
Topic: Home Base: Story #5 (Read 6295 times)