Limits

Posted on Sep 16, 2015 @ 11:09am by Commander Jacob Crichton & Ensign Chaucer
Edited on on Sep 16, 2015 @ 11:10am

Mission: Civil War

= Limits =

(cont'd from "Life's A Beach")



LOCATION: USS PHOENIX

SCENE: Sickbay

STARDATE: [2.15] 0915.2232



With most of the crew on leave and Cade otherwise occupied, Suvek was left behind to look after sickbay. By now, most of the wounds from the riot and the Amaterasu encounter had been tended to. The PHOENIX's diligent engineering teams had even started putting the ship back together again. Things were quiet. Suvek had almost forgotten what that was like.



The Vulcan doctor's attention drifted over to sickbay's latest two long-term charges. Arthur Embry and Evangeline Montoya, both victims of a psychic attack by Selyara, both unresponsive and showing limited brain activity. Their bodies were healthy enough - what wounds they'd had were easily seen to. But the damage to their minds was extensive, and neither Suvek nor Cade could say whether or not their conditions were permanent.



Suvek had seen many kinds of trauma, both physical and mental, but whatever Selyara had done to Embry and Montoya was unlike anything Suvek had seen before. Their vital signs were all normal, they breathed normally, their pupils dilated, their hearts continued to beat. They even slept, though they did not dream. And yet, aside from the limited processes necessary to keep the body going, the mind had been wiped away. Arthur Embry and Evangeline Montoya just didn't seem to be there anymore. It was as if Selyara had reached inside their minds and scooped out everything that had made them unique: every memory, every fear and prejudice, every experience that had ever shaped them. Montoya and Embry were gone; all that remained were shells.



Suvek inspected their nutrient feeds, making sure Embry and Montoya were receiving the necessary nutrition to sustain their bodies. It seemed the least they could do, at least until the patients could be transferred to a medical facility better equipped to handle their condition. If, in the meantime, Embry or Montoya managed to come out of it on their own, well... at least Suvek could make sure they didn't wake up hungry.



When Suvek emerged from the patients' room, he found Jonathan Maynell waiting for him. The young engineer was still getting over a nerve-pinch from one of Embry's lieutenants. Savaar hadn't been especially gentle with his application of the hold, and in the days that had followed the riot, Maynell had complained about prolonged numbness and tingling through the affected arm and shoulder.



"Ensign Maynell," Suvek said, greeting the engineer with the slightest of nods. "You are here about your arm."



"How'd you know?" Maynell started to ask. He caught himself half way. "You're going to say logic."



"I see I have become predictable," said Suvek.



"I think you people always set us up for that on purpose," Maynell said.



"'You people'?" Suvek asked, his left eyebrow arching quizzically. Maynell's eyes widened a little.



That is, uh, *your* people," the engineer stammered.



"The logical?" Suvek asked, his tone still refusing to betray even a hint of the amusement he felt as he watched Maynell squirm. Maynell actually looked around, as if to make sure they were alone, then he leaned in.



"Vulcans," Maynell said. He didn't quite whisper it, but it was close.



"You do not have to keep us a secret," Suvek said. "I am quite sure everyone aboard this vessel is familiar with my people."



Maynell's eyes narrowed. "Are you... messing with me?"



"I was testing a hypothesis," Suvek said, turning away from Maynell to rummage in a drawer for a hypospray. "I have not become predictable, after all."



"I think maybe you've spent too much time cooped up with Doctor Foster," said Maynell.



Suvek turned, hypospray in hand, and walked to Maynell.



"Your ailment, however, remains quite predictable," the Vulcan said as he pressed the hypospray into Maynell's arm. "This will eliminate the tingling and the numbness."



Maynell flexed his arm, clenching and unclenching his fist a few times. He nodded, looking pleased with the results.



"That did the trick," Maynell said. "Thank you, doctor."



"The persistence of these symptoms suggests nerve damage," Suvek said. "You really should schedule some time to have it corrected."



"There's been too much to do lately," Maynell said. "I can't take half a day off work just because my arm hurts, not with everyone already worked to the bone like they are."



"The captain has ordered shore leave for all non-essential personnel," Suvek said. "The ship is no longer in immediate danger, the repairs are coming along, and there are other engineers. It is illogical to risk your health needlessly."



"Even if we get the ship back up to 100%, that doesn't solve the staffing issue," Maynell said. "And all the problems that come along with it. Everyone's made sacrifices to get us this far. I can make this one, for now."



Suvek wasn't surprised. He hadn't expected Maynell to give in. All the engineers had put in long hours and incredible hard work throughout this voyage, but Maynell was probably the only one who worked as many hours as Commander Crichton. Suvek had gotten the sense that getting rendered unconscious - made useless, really - during the events in the Hyperion Expanse did not sit well with the young Ensign. Ever since he'd been released from sickbay, he'd been working even harder, as if trying to make up for it.



"These treatments will work for now," Suvek said, turning and placing the hypospray back in the drawer. "I must insist you do not climb any ladders, or perform any activity where you must support yourself with your arm--"



"I need to replace the attenuation cylinders for the deuterium tanks above the warp core," Maynell said, shaking his head. "I need to be on the upper tiers to get to--"



Suvek held up a hand. Maynell blinked, but abruptly stopped talking.



"You are young," Suvek said. "You do not yet know your limits, but you do not have the luxury of exceeding them. Too many people are depending on you, Ensign. You are no good to any of us if you allow your enthusiasm to override your objectivity."



Maynell's chin was still defiantly set, but his eyes had dropped to the floor.



"You have plenty of time to prove yourself," Suvek continued. "Trust me."



Maynell sighed. "Okay," he said quietly. "I'll get it looked at. My shoulder, I mean."



"Good," Suvek nodded. "In the meantime, contact me immediately if your shoulder begins to trouble you again."



Maynell nodded. Suvek watched him go. He didn't know if the young ensign really meant to have his shoulder fixed - in fact, Suvek felt certain that even Maynell didn't know if he truly meant to keep the appointment - but it at least looked like Suvek had given him something to think about.



=[/\]=



LOCATION: ELANDIPOLE IV

SCENE: Settlement



The residents of Shanty Town, formerly the residents of LIMBO, had transferred their budding society out of the PHOENIX's cargo bays and down to the planet's surface. Chaucer had gone with them, though he could not truly say way. It was not as though he felt he belonged among them. Chaucer's part in the riot was still unclear to the refugees, thanks to Captain Kane's decision to downplay his involvement. There were always rumors, though, and really, most of the people of Shanty Town didn't much care what excuse they used to persecute the lone Gorn in their midst.



Perhaps it was simple inertia. Chaucer had been carried along the tide of refugees from LIMBO, through the events of Embry's failed mutiny, and now he'd followed the pull down to the surface of this world of white sands and oceans of glittering blue. He'd helped with the setup of the settlement's initial buildings, helped install the replicators that Kane had provided for them, and when the people of Shanty Town finally had the jury-rigged beginnings of civilization in place, they'd cut Chaucer out.



First, Chaucer discovered the small shack he'd built for himself, his refuge against the heat of Elandipole's midday, had been ransacked. What meager possessions he had were strewn about, and a small store of food he'd kept for himself was missing. Someone had taken the trouble to write "LIZARD SCUM" along one wall in jagged, purple letters. On the wall opposite, in the same lettering: "TRAITOR".



Chaucer had stared at the graffiti for a long time. Then, silent as ever, he'd gone about straightening up the humble piece of the world he'd set aside for himself. He repaired the damage to the walls, gathered his belongings and brought them inside, and spent most of a night scrubbing in vain at the cruel messages painted onto his walls. They never quite went away, but Chaucer had finally been able to reduce them to unrecognizable smears. It wasn't much of an improvement, since the smears served only to remind Chaucer of what they'd used to be.



Chaucer didn't socialize with the other refugees. They ignored him, mostly. The meaner ones shouted things at him, cruel things. Some talked behind his back, apparently mistaking his muteness for deafness- or perhaps they simply didn't care.



It was clear. They did not want him here.



One night, stretched out on white sand that was still warm from the day's sunlight, Chaucer stared up into the starry expanse of Elandipole's sky. He didn't know where the PHOENIX was, but he knew it was up there somewhere. The ship hadn't been much of a home to him, but then, no place really had been. At least on the PHOENIX, for the first time in a long time, Chaucer had felt *useful*. He hadn't wanted to get involved in any trouble, and he still bore some regrets for letting Embry convince him to try to hijack the PHOENIX's security - but when the opportunity to make things right had presented itself, Chaucer had taken it. What's more, he'd even helped the ship's crew stop the riot, and to save their ship from those strange light creatures that had inhabited the Hyperion Expanse.



Their chief engineer, the human Crichton whom Chaucer had saved from Savaar, had told Chaucer there could be a place for him aboard the PHOENIX. Chaucer didn't know all the details of the ship's situation, but he knew enough to know they weren't official Starfleet. He'd heard enough buzz from both refugees and crew to know that the situation was a dangerous one. Chaucer didn't want to fight anyone else's battles, he didn't want to invite trouble, and he did not want to die... but as he stared up at the starry sky, he'd mind kept going back to what he'd gone through aboard the PHOENIX.



He'd risked his life, but he'd come through it all right. He'd even been a help. He could do that again, he was quite sure. But he was afraid, afraid of making the wrong choice, afraid of what tomorrow would bring. Surely, if he stayed here, out of the way with the refugees from LIMBO, he could escape whatever conflagration awaited the PHOENIX. He did not think he would enjoy life here, on the sand, living among those who hated him, but he'd at least be alive to enjoy it.



The night went on and on, and Chaucer's choice became no clearer. He'd still not made a decision when the sun had started to peek over the horizon, turning the sky a breathtaking orange. Chaucer watched the sunrise, reflecting that at least Elandipole was a great deal more beautiful than Limbo, wondering if that fact would really still be worth it a year from now. After awhile, Chaucer stood, lumbered into his shack, and slept.



=[/\]=



NRPG: A short post, but a post!



Shawn Putnam

a.k.a.

Jake Crichton

Chief Engineering Officer

USS PHOENIX