This story is a dramatization that takes place during Episode 11 of the Star Trek Adventures campaign, “Constellation.”
You can watch that episode here.
“You don’t belong here.”
Her words caught me off guard. I was staring at the vast field of stars through the shuttle bay’s force field, letting my thoughts wander as they so often did during breaks back on K7. Back then, I would ponder the speckled void in between menial rotations of stacking crates of medical supplies, scanning inventory codes of medical supplies, verifying the location of medical supplies. It was a welcome respite from the mind numbing labor. But now, my mind was anything but numb, my thoughts disturbed by recent events.
“Sorry?” I responded, turning to face a stern looking Denobulan woman, her arms crossed. She wore the standard “field jacket” I’d seen on plenty of shuttle crews at K7 over a red shouldered command uniform.
“This shuttle bay is a restricted area. Authorized personnel only. That wouldn’t seem to include you, Mr…?”
“Cade.”
“Mr. Cade. Perhaps you’re lost?”
Mr. Cade. The only other person to call me that had been Captain Archer, barely even a day ago, when he denied my request (begging, really) to rescind my resignation. The sound of it stung with derision and disappointment. I couldn’t help but wince a bit, even with the warm intonations of a Denobulan behind it. They were the only race I had ever known who could tell you to get lost and make it feel like a homely invitation with a cup of something warm and sweet for the road. I often wondered while studying their physiology if it was merely a cultural trait or if they had somehow evolved it as a means of survival, luring would be predators into a sense of goodwill and truly being valued on the food chain until they simply starved out of fear of seeming ungrateful. Survival of the politest. It was the kind of musing that would often earn me an annoyed sigh from Dr. Kerr, followed by her usual refrain of “Focus, Cade,” while allowing an amused grin to cross her face.
“Just Cade is fine. Actually, I was looking for the pilot of this shuttle. I hear it’s headed on a supply run for Deneva Station.”
“Medical resupply planetside, that’s correct, Just Cade. And you’ve found the pilot easily enough. Call me Klaryx. Just Klaryx,” she smiled, her stance softening a little while her arms remained crossed.
“Well, Just Klaryx,” I smiled back. “I was wondering if I might trouble you for passage to the planet. My Captain’s recovering in sickbay at the moment, and I’m going a bit stir crazy, so I figured –”
“Your Captain?” Her arms dropped then, her smiling expression turning instantly to one of inquisitive concern. “That poor Trill who got carved up?”
“Captain Ral, yes,” I tried to hold back the emotion in my voice, but a little cracked through on the “yes.” The memory of her, bloodied and butchered, while I steadied my hands enough to get her stable was still raw in my mind, and my feelings about it had already gotten me in enough trouble. “I’m…I was chief medic aboard The Mazu, and…”
“Ah! The Phantom of the Corridor himself! T’Res, get over here and meet the legend before he fades away!”
A female Vulcan (whose name I gathered was T’Res) emerged from the other side of the shuttle, similarly uniformed as Klaryx but with blue in place of the Denobulan’s red. She eyed me curiously, though with less of the sense of being examined under a microscope I’d grown accustomed to with most Vulcans in Starfleet.
“Who’s this now?”
“The Phantom of the Corridor! The Mazu’s medic, the one who camped out in the hall outside sickbay while they operated on the Trill…”
“Captain Ral,” I corrected her.
“Yes, of course, Captain Ral. This is him!”
“Ah, yes. The Bajoran. Cade Nahile. Commander Morrisey’s bane. Everyone in medical has received an earful about your antics of late, Chief.”
“Just Cade,” Klaryx interjected.
“Indeed,” replied T’Res, arching one eyebrow.
“I was hoping I might catch a ride to Deneva. I know it’s not exactly protocol, but…”
“We’ve been cleared to take passengers as well as cargo on occasion. Help us unload some crates when we get there, and we’ll include you on the manifest as a… civilian aide,” Klaryx chimed in.
“We heard about what you and your crew did to rescue your Captain. And I saw the work you did on her en route. Very impressive. If a ride is all you require, I think you have at least earned that,” T’Res said clinically with no hint of flattery.
“I… thank you,” I managed to stop myself from arguing with her. I still felt I could have done more for Captain Ral, but I didn’t want to risk offending her and losing my ride.
“Besides,” she added, “you managed to ruffle Morrisey’s stuffed shirt, and for that you have the gratitude of every medic on this base.”
“He’s that bad?”
“Oh, Morrisey used to be great, back in the day. A little moody, but very talented. Now… I don’t know, he just turned into a grumpy old man. And, honestly, a little bit racist,” Klaryx confided. T’Res looked off to the side, slightly nodding her head, almost embarrassed.
“We’d best get going if we want to stay on schedule! We’re only there for the day, though. So if you want a ride back, we’re flying out just before dawn.”
“That’s perfect,” I said, grabbing up my go bag and boarding the shuttle. “I doubt there’s that much there for me anyway.”
Stay tuned for Part 2.