Half an hour ago the medical hologram had taken away Joran’s communicator, kicked everyone out of the medical bay recovery suite, told the young captain to rest for at least twenty four hours, and turned out the lights on him.
Yet the captain wasn’t alone.
Laurista was livid. That was monumentally stupid, he knew she’d tell him. Captains delegate away missions, not lead them. Captains don’t intentionally put themselves in harms way. And CAPTAINS don’t let themselves get shot!
She wasn’t really there, of course, but he had all her memories thanks to the Trill symbiote within him. Yet he could feel his face heat in the shame of it just as if the venerable Admiral were actually present and dressing him down sharply like he was an errant midshipman. Her memories had been especially present since the away mission. Her animus was palpable, overpowering. The EMH had muttered something about residual electromagnetic effects on Symbiote-host intra-neural connections and had given Joran a hypospray of something unpronounceable.
Only hours before in his de-briefing by Admiral T’Larn, Laurista had spoken thru Joran and used the senior Vulcan’s personal name. She’s been furious with the Vulcan at the time, for she knew him from a time before he risen to the Admirality Board. T’Larn talking down to Joran had incensed her as if the Admirals cold condescension had been directed at her. It was a shocking breach of familiarity between a newly commissioned Captain and a High Admiral of Starfleet. There would be repercussions, he knew.
She was right of course to be mad at Joran as well. He had lead an away mission to a potentially hostile space station in decaying orbit, when he had a perfectly good executive officer to send instead as well as a experienced security chief. Either of whom could have handled the situation.
They could have handled it better and I did, Joran lamented in the darkness of his recovery room. Yet even that self-recrimination sounded hollow in the silent room. Tyvass had been too busy shooting down ballistic missiles that were launching from the planets surface in waves; defending the rest of the world with every weapon that Stargazer had. Commander Deelix had been handling the attempt to transport civilians to safety. There really wasn’t anyone else Joran could have sent. The need to save lives, to do something had surpassed Joran’s calmer judgement. It had been impulsive. Reckless. It had worked.
The Olympus was now in-system, coordinating medical and disaster relief to the remaining population of the world that only hours ago nearly annihilated itself with thermonuclear weapons. Other Starfleet vessels were on their way to investigate just what had happened here. It was out of his hands, now. He’d done his duty.
“We’re out here for a reason,” he said aloud to the quiet room. Logic-obsessed High Admirals could second-guess his decisions and commands in hindsight all they wanted. Hell, they could demote him. He suppressed a shudder at the thought and winced in pain at the stiffness in his chest and shoulder where the charged particle bolt had grazed him.
But he was still certain he’d done the right thing at the time.
There was a chime at the door. Unlike his quarters which required his permission to enter the recovery suite door chime was a courtesy, giving occupants a scant warning before visitors would see them in their various states of rehabilitation.
He reflexively answered the chime anyway: “Enter.”
The door shushed open and the doorway framed the silhouette of his helmswoman and ships counselor, Nemenara Kadar.
“I could have been sleeping,” he told her.
“You know I’d know that before I even knocked,” she said back, which given her Betazoid heritage was a undoubtable fact.
“Permission to treat the Captain to some very effective emotional stability therapy?”
“To what?”
She held up two bowls she’d been hiding behind her back “Ice cream!”
He laughed out loud, even though it hurt to do so.
Chocolate ice cream.
Joran reflected that Terran cocoa and all the myriad ways Humans could turn the bitter fruit into savory and delicious methods of consuming it was possibly one of the greatest secret successes of the United Federation Of Planets. There simply wasn’t anything like it among all the worlds of the Federation and quite possibly beyond it. If pressed Joran would have to admit that chocolate was even on his list of favorites with creamed Quam berries from Trill.
With the cold bowl resting against his sternum and braced by his arm in the sling he was able to eat his ice cream with one hand without making any more a disgrace of himself to Starfleet than he already felt like. Nemi kept him quiet company while she ate hers. It wasn’t until they both finished that she spoke again: “Permission to speak freely?”
“As my friend, or as ships’ counselor?”
“Both. I can multitask here,” she replied as she took the bowl and spoon from him and set them aside with her own.
“Please proceed,” he sighed. Resigning himself to what was to come. He knew she’d sense it within him. Being an empath gave her tremendous advantage when counseling, so did knowing your friend could sense your feelings.
“Just what in the nine pits of perdition were you thinking going down to that station?” she said more sternly than he anticipated. She really was mad at him.
He blinked. The entire argument he’d been having with himself since his return ran through his mind again.
“I didn’t see any alternative,” he eventually told her.
She watched him silently for a few moments and he met her gaze evenly.
“I believe you,” she finally said. “But I have to tell you: I haven’t been scared like that since Wolf 359.”
Joran had been there too. “But you were on Stargazer the whole time. Tyvass kept her safe.”
“Not for me,” she chided him, “for all of you down on that station. I was at the helm, remember? Keeping that ramshackle last-century orbital tin can from breaking up while you and Chief Ray, and Zynes and Jaro and ensign..,” she trailed off.
“Martens,” he finished for her. He would never forget the engineering junior officer’s screams as he died in the power surge he’d risked his life to shutdown. At least they had been able to bring his body back. Joran had carried the lifeless ensign back to the transporter pattern-enhancers’ field himself. That was before the firefight. Before Joran had taken the hit.
“I ordered Martens to go into the Jeffreys tube and bypass that reactor artery,” he said. “He was the best qualified of us to attempt it while Chief Ray kept the other arteries from overloading at the same time. Martens died saving lives.”
She shook her head. “I understand that. By why did you lead the away team? You’re too valuable to risk like that.”
“Am I? Can I expect everyone else to give their lives first? Can i expect more of my people than I expect of myself?” He growled, more to himself.
Captains inspire and enable others, Laurista said in the back of his mind, and they earn other’s loyalty by trusting their people to do their jobs in return. Her tone was softer than before.
I’m really not just any officer any longer am I? He thought back. I’m a Captain, now.
Remember Commander T’Larn? Laurista, again. Remember how I showed him he could be more than just another science officer? He’s a High Admiral now because I guided him to grow beyond what he thought he could do. Pushed him to take risks and challenge himself.
That’s what Captains do, Joran realized. They command, they guide, they protect. But they also challenge their people to become what they can be. That’s who I am now.
“That was an abrupt shift,” she said, “Within you, i mean. I felt your change of mind.”
He smiled slightly at her, tapped his abdomen with his free hand.
“With skilled counseling and the memories of a High Admiral, I have seen the errors of my ways.”
“So then, no more unneeded and reckless running off into danger?”
“I can’t promise that and you know it. We didn’t leave dry-dock to be safe. We’re out here to do good, explore the universe, and protect what we have.”
“And…?” she prompted him.
“And not to take foolish personal risks any longer when there are perfectly good Lieutenant Commanders that can do the job better.”
“Good! Glad to hear it.” She grinned at him. She gathered the empty bowls and turned towards the door to his recovery suite.
“You’re going to have to file a report on me of course,” he said to her as she walked to the door.
“Naturally,” she said over her shoulder. “But don’t worry. I know how to write a psychological evaluation so that even a stone cold unemotional Vulcan High Admiral can’t use it against you.”
The door shushed open and she turned as she passed the threshold, smiling at him and saying as it closed between them: “Goodnight, my Captain.”
Joran set his head back down against the pillow of his bed. That Nemi was both in his corner and willing to keep him in line was a relief.
Still, Laurista pondered in his mind, T’Larn will use this incident in any way he can to test you, grade you. He’s still not certain you’re ready for the big chair.
“Oh for creation’s sake, Laurista, go to sleep. Or away. I don’t care right now,” he said to the darkness.
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