‘Oh, come on, Dad.’ Sofia Reyes could not have looked more horrified by the sight of her father waiting for her outside Starbase Bravo’s school. ‘You had to show up in uniform, too?’

Captain Javier Reyes doubled down by swooping at his daughter for an over-the-top hug, invoking his paternal right to be a complete embarrassment. ‘That’s the enthusiasm for daddy-daughter time I was looking for, kiddo.’

He let Sofia extricate herself from him, then from the friends she was trying so hard to look cool in front of, the eternal priority for any fourteen year-old. ‘I miss the days nobody knew who you were.’

‘So sorry my professional successes are an inconvenience to you.’ Just to drive his point home, he ruffled her hair. ‘Perhaps I was stopping by because something terribly tragic has happened.’

‘Please. You wouldn’t have waited, you’d have pulled me out of math.’

‘You hate math, maybe I wouldn’t do you that favour.’ They fell into step heading down the corridor away from the school, lingering a little behind the heaviest throng of foot-traffic at letting out time.

‘Which means you don’t have a good reason, you’re just fussing.’ But then something occurred to her, and she frowned up at him. ‘You’re not leaving the station, are you? For the storm?’

‘Oh, no.’ He shook his head. ‘No, all the ships in the sector – across half the quadrant – are coming in. Starfleet, merchant marine, people being recruited to help out, go into the Paulson Nebula, start the evacuation. I’m needed right here.’

‘But people will be taking off.’ Sofia sighed. ‘Like Sean’s dad, he’s one of your shuttle pilots.’

‘Yeah, probably,’ Reyes admitted. ‘We need our pilots flying evacuation ships, or doing patrols through the nebula. Interference is so bad we can’t reliably pick up every distress call.’

‘And Tere’s moms are gonna have their hands full down in the docks. If all these ships coming through are gonna need repairs or maintenance or whatever,’ Sofia continued, thinking aloud. They were approaching a bit of a crowd waiting for one of the turbolifts, so she stopped, grabbing her father’s arm and turning to him. ‘Dad, how bad is this going to get here?’

Reyes glanced up and down the corridor. He knew how much his daughter could handle, but in truth he trusted her judgement much better than that of the average passer-by on Starbase Bravo. Deeming the coast clear enough, he sighed. ‘We’re safe here from the storm. It’s dangerous because of the way it affects the nebula, it won’t hit us. But I won’t lie, we’re going to have a lot of people running to safety here. People who’ve lost their homes, people who’ve lost family, people who don’t know what’s coming next. We’re going to have ships getting ready to run into that danger, and not all those crews will be Starfleet-trained – they’ll be worried, too.’

‘You’re saying stay clear of the Promenade for a bit.’

‘These are all good people who need help or are running into a fire so they can help,’ Reyes said firmly. ‘But you know people aren’t at their best when they’re scared. All I want is for you to be careful.’

‘Okay. Don’t go to the Pit and Pendulum,’ said Sofia Reyes, who had never been to a bar unaccompanied in her life anyway. ‘I get it, everyone’s going to be on edge, I’ll make sure you and Mom know where I’m going and when I’ll be back if I’m going out and all that.’

‘You’re right to think of your friends.’ Her father gave a small, proud smile. ‘You’ve been through this sort of thing a dozen times. A lot of them won’t be used to their parents being under this kind of pressure, or heading off into this kind of danger.’

‘Ugh.’ She made a face. ‘Don’t tell me I have to be responsible for them and stuff.’

‘Keeping our heads when things are a bit wild? It’s the family way.’

‘I thought embarrassing me was the family way?’

He laughed, and now the way home was a lot clearer, so they caught the next turbolift and he let his daughter complain about school. Particularly math.

In safe and secure sections, Starbase Bravo’s designers had made sure exterior windows saw a lot of foot traffic; the view was there to be enjoyed, after all. So when they swapped turbolifts a few dozen decks down, their route swept them alongside a staggering view of the buzzing activity swarming in the station’s vicinity, and the bulk of the station stretching out below.

Sofia paused there, peering down at the worker bees humming around the exterior of one of the modules. ‘What is that? The other medical facility?’

Reyes sucked his teeth. ‘We keep it on standby for emergencies. They’re double-checking the power grid to bring it online.’

‘That’s just as big as the main hospital section,’ Sofia said in a hushed voice. ‘You’re gonna need it?’

‘I hope not. But yeah, it’s all hands on deck.’ He lifted his eyes to the thick web of ships in proximity to the station, nearly double the normal traffic. Somewhere in the invisible distance, the Paulson Nebula roiled with storms and fear and chaos.

Immediately outside of school, Sofia had been too indignant and proud to be affectionate. Perhaps the magnitude of the situation was sinking in, or perhaps they were just far enough from prying eyes, but now she slid closer to her father, holding his arm as her voice dropped. ‘You think you can help everyone?’ She sounded her mere fourteen years for once, not puffed up with the usual shields of a teenager.

Javier Reyes had no such prideful compunctions against putting an arm around his daughter. ‘No,’ he admitted. ‘But we’re going to help everyone we can. Bravo’s going to be a safe haven, whether you’re running from trouble, pulling people out of it, or getting ready to run into it. We got this.’

He did not add the last thing on his mind, the simple truth of why he’d picked her up after school. Not because he thought she was in danger, and not because she needed the situation explaining to her personally, though Reyes was not in the habit of lying to his family.

But putting a brave face on for his daughter made it a hell of a lot easier to believe it himself. And if they were going to weather the storm ahead, he was going to have to believe it.

This was going to be a two iced coffee problem. By the time the replicator finished whizzing his cold drink into existence, Ensign Elegy Weld hadn’t moved a millimetre since the time he ordered the drink from the computer. He was still slumped against the side of a sofa; awake, but in repose. With his shaved head cradled in his hands, Weld massaged his temples using the heels of his palms. He pressed circles against his flesh –right into the patterns of spots in his skin– as if that might force him to forget the story in his head.

As a newly-minted Starfleet Counselor, Ensign Weld had anticipated most of his patients being Starfleet personnel. Starfleeters were the best and the brightest of the Federation, carefully trained to prepare for loss and disaster in space. Weld had grown up in a community of nothing but Starfleeters. And yet on this day, his last two patients had been people. Ordinary, grieving people. People who had been evacuated from their lives in the wake of the Century Storm. Because of the ion storms going buck wild across the Paulson Nebula, Weld’s patients had mostly been victims of the storms, brought to Starbase Bravo for survival.

Running away from the visions of dead dads dancing through his head, Elegy stood up from the sofa. He took hold of his coffee from the replicator plate and he crossed the office to one of the dramatic arm chairs. Changing locations, changing perspectives, Weld scrambled to re-set his own brain before his next patient arrived.  Seating himself in the arm chair, he breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth.  Sipping at his coffee, he stared at the closed door, mentally preparing himself for whomever would walk through next.

Neva trudged slowly towards her destination, head down & fists at her sides. Her mother had vowed to move into Neva’s quarters for the rest of her tour on SB-4 if Neva didn’t go to this “appointment.” No amount of bargaining, pleading, or outright begging could change her mother’s mind on this. Neva groaned softly, but kept walking.

The last time she went to a “Counselor,” she found a cranky Scotsman inside who barely looked up from his desk. He shoved a plastic humanoid toy in her face & growled out “Show me on th’ doll where th’ Bad Man touched ye, cry a bit, an’ go back t’ werk!” Any wonder she mistrusted the psychiatric field?

When she got to the door THIS time, she sighed hard. “I don’t want my mother to live with me…I don’t want my mother to live with me…” Neva frowned, “Maybe if I say it enough, I’ll believe it!”

Inside the office, Ensign Weld reacted to the door chime by jumping to his feet.  He left his glass on an end table, and then discovered he didn’t know what to do with his hands while standing there, waiting.  Clasping them together a bit awkwardly, Weld said, “Come in,” and the computer unlocked the door with a telltale chirp.

Neva walked through the door then stopped. She looked around, confused. No desk? No bland colors on the walls? It felt…inviting??

“Uh…hi?” She murmured softly before snapping to attention. “Cadet Cordon reporting…uh…uh…asmymothermademe…”

Contrary to Neva’s stiff posture and reference to reporting, Weld grinned at her with his whole face.  He stood informally, with his weight shifted onto one hip more than the other.  “Good morning, Cadet Cordon.  My name is Doctor Elegy Weld.  You can call me Elegy,” he said to drop ranks between them.  “I began my assignment to Starbase Bravo about a week ago, to start my psychiatric residency.  Honestly, I arrived as a hospital patient, when the transport ship was nearly destroyed by the Century Storm.  Today, I’ll be your counselor.”   Lowering himself into the arm chair, Elegy swept a hand to indicate the office at large.  “Make yourself comfortable, Cordon,” he said; “You can sit, or pace, anywhere you like.”

Neva nodded, sinking into the seat closest to the door. She looked down at her lap, finding her hands still in fists. She unfolded them & wiped the palms on her thighs. Nevada closed her eyes a moment then opened them.

“If you’re being informal with names, I guess I’ll return the favor.” Her tone was soft, full of trepidation. “I’m Nevanthi Cordon. Some call me Neva”.

Sighing hard again, she continued.  Neva’s voice became a little louder .”Just so you know, Elegy, I don’t like doctors or counselors. Being half Betazoid, I’m supposed to be…” Neva dropped her head , cheeks coloring red. “Able to do certain ‘things.’” Neva thrust her chin up, eyes holding g a touch of anger. “I DON’T. Telepathy HURTS me. So you can just…” her eyes held pools of ready to shed tears & stopped speaking. 

Neva sighed shakily & looked away.

Taking a sip of his coffee, Elegy didn’t say anything at first.  He nodded slightly –the movement was hardly perceptible– and he kept his mouth shut.  He allowed silence to hang in the air between them, giving Neva space to feel everything she was feeling.  Only when her breathing looked more regular did Elegy say, “I’d like you to finish your sentence.”  His voice was perfectly even, neither offended nor overly sympathetic.  “What do you need from me, as a doctor and a counselor?” he asked.

Neva regarded Elegy cautiously. “So you can just…see me as just another human.” She said quickly, voice wavering again. “As for what I need…I find it hard to explain.” 

Neva looked down at her once again fisted hands in her lap. After a few moments,  she said “My mother would tell you in a hot minute, as my dad would say.” Neva closed her eyes & continued. “She wants me to ‘hear’ her again. To have my ‘issues’ healed.” 

She gazed defiantly at the counselor. “I’m fine as I am. I do what I love, live my life like anyone else.”

Neva stood, gazing at Elegy wryly. “Well, at any rate, YOU got more out of me than anyone else, Counselor. My mother would be as happy as…well, to use the Earth quote-happy as a pig in shit.” 

Looking back at Neva, Elegy’s green eyes narrowed, briefly, in a questioning expression.  He nodded at her twice, and he said, “I’m hearing about what your mother and your father expect of you.  It’s natural to put deep consideration into those expectations.”  Tilting his head towards his right shoulder, Elegy asked, “What does it mean to you to be just another human?”

Neva’s eyes flashed. “My father’s been dead since I was 22, so his opinion is moot.” She shot out of the chair, crossing her arms across her chest. “As for what I expect, the short answer is nothing. My mother pushed me into this appointment, I fulfilled my end of the bargain.”

Neva walked toward the door, she stopped and turned halfway towards him. “My meaning for me to be just another human is simple. My father was human. My Betazoid half doesn’t need to be let out. In short, Counselor, my life is my own.” Neva was about to turn back toward the door but stood there for a long moment.  Her shoulders slumped and she could barely be heard to say, “The last things I felt & heard before blacking out were triumph that I now knew my place…”

The doors swished softly.

Elegy blinked.

Still staring at the closed door, Elegy breathed out a, “huh,” and he blinked again.  He rubbed the stubble on his chin and he finished his coffee, still staring.  “A two iced coffee problem,” he remarked sardonically.  “Fairy tales and orphans.”

A darkened biofunction monitor activated automatically only moments before a whirl of sparkling light blocked it from view. As soon as the transporter’s annular confinement beam locked onto the biobed, a traveling matter stream instantaneously transformed into the body of Elegy Weld. From the teal-shouldered uniform he wore, Elegy looked as if he should have been on staff here, at the hospital, but it didn’t take long to see he was on the right side of the biobed.

The chimes from the biofunction monitor screamed out the vitals of an individual in distress. A medikit was open in his lap, but its contents were burned to scrap. From the way he was perched on the biobed, it looked like Elegy’s right knee was bent in the wrong direction. To top it off, Elegy’s face was caked in sticky blood and he was pressing the heels of his palms against his forehead as if his life might, literally, depend on it.

“I think– I think– I think I stopped the bleeding,” Elegy declared to whomever might hear him, if he lived long enough.

The medkit was removed from his lap, as two pairs of hands pulled off the blood-soaked jacket he was wearing. His pants had to be cut off, though, so that the staff could get a better look at his leg. Along with a Human doctor and nurse, both tall and male, several technicians and other staff were entering and leaving the exam bay with the sort of calm freneticism that one could only find in a medical facility.

“Relax. The bleeding is superficial, Ensign,” the doctor said, as he applied a sterile bandage over the younger man’s forehead to contain the bleeding more effectively. “I’m Dr. Phillips. You’re on Starbase Four. They didn’t send along any details when they beamed you in. Do you remember what happened to your leg?” 

It took more effort than he expected just to lower his hands.  Every muscle in Elegy’s limbs were tensed, as he struggled to ride out the flares of pain shooting through his body.  Some reptile complex in his brain didn’t immediately believe Doctor Phillips; morbidly, Elegy feared his face would fall off if he let go.  But his adrenaline reactions were starting to calm at the gentle ministration of the nurse and Elegy lowered his hands as instructed.  His face stayed where he left it.  

“Starbase Four?” Elegy echoed the words that had stuck in his mind; the rest hadn’t registered.  His brow furrowed in intense concentration as if he were solving a serious riddle.  All he said was, “That’s where I’m going.  I’m– I’m supposed to report to Starbase Four.  I’m a counselor.  I’m going to work there.”  His vowels were prolonged; he sounded befuddled or dislocated in time and space.  Locking his eyes on Phillips’ uniform, Elegy still sounded confused when he asked, “Are you a counselor too?”

“No, I’m not a counselor,” Phillips replied, trading places with the nurse so he could grab a tricorder. “How were you injured, Ensign?” he asked, again; he started to scan him, while the other medical officer kept pressure on the wound long enough to help stem the bleeding until they could begin dermal regeneration.

“The transport runabout was overtaken by an ion storm.  Came out of nowhere!” Elegy replied, and he was sounding more coherent with each word.  His eyes weren’t wandering as much; he was focusing on Dr. Phillips or the nurse or the state of his own knee.  By way of explanation, Elegy said, “Half of the EPS taps in the cockpit overloaded.  They said we lost 20% of the inertial dampeners, but it was enough.  The Kaministiquia was jolted by the storm and I fell.  Felt like I was falling falling, from a height.  The transporter alcove broke my fall.  And my knee.”

“Well, your leg’s about as badly broken as I’ve seen for a leg that’s still attached to a body,” the doctor noted. “You’re very lucky. 25 CCs of anesthezine,” he said, turning to the nurse. Once the hypo was ready, he applied it to Elegy’s neck. “You’re in safe hands,” he said, as the drug took effect to knock him out.

—–

As consciousness returned to Elegy Weld, the dryness of his mouth was his most notable sensation.  He couldn’t remember his dreams while he was out, and yet he vividly recalled them taking place somewhere deep in the bowels of a starship.  The fact he even noticed his dry mouth felt like something of a victory to Elegy.  His leg had been in such pain before, and he couldn’t feel it now.  All he could feel was a tongue like sandpaper.  Reflecting on his body, Elegy couldn’t say he felt good, exactly, only that he didn’t feel bad.  He was drifting in the middle somewhere, sailing on an analgesic, he guessed.

Blinking at the overhead, Elegy asked, “Am I… alive?” just to be sure.  His voice was hoarse and so he cleared his throat.

In his peripheral vision, Elegy took notice of a nurse approaching his biobed.  Nurse Fionn said, “Yes.  Yes, you are,” while leaned closer to examine his biofunction monitor.  “Most of my dead patients don’t talk.”

Elegy’s voice cracked, when he asked, “Do I have both my legs?”

Fionn looked him in the eyes and she grinned reassuringly.  “You have both your legs, ensign,” she said.  She looked away to tap a notation on the PADD in her hand.

“I’m going to work here, you know,” Elegy said.  He didn’t quite know if he was feeling proud of that fact, or if he was trying to make a friend, or if he just didn’t want to be like the other patients.  All he knew was how important it felt, in that moment, to tell her that.

“Welcome to Starbase Bravo, ensign,” Nurse Fionn said.  She winked when she added, “Let’s hope this was your rock bottom day.  It can only get better from here.”

“You must think I’m really sick,” Annie said.  She was the one sitting at the counseling office’s high-top table, while Counselor Elegy Weld was partially reclined on the chaise lounge.  Through tears, Annie said to Elegy, “My mother died.  Killed by the storm.  And yet all I can talk about is the dog I left behind.”

Shaking his head at her assumptions, Elegy replied, “I don’t know you yet Annie.  I’m here to listen, not to judge.  When you tell me stories about your dog, where do you think that energy is coming from?”  He watched Annie closely as her eyes upturned to the overhead, likely pondering his questions.  

Before she could answer, the sound of the door chime filled the office.  Bemused by the interruption, Elegy sat upright quickly and he rose to his feet.  As he moved towards the door, Elegy requested, “I’ll only be away for a moment.  Keep painting your portrait of the dog.  I want to see what she looks like.”  He was mindful to use the present tense; no one could know for certain if Annie’s dog would survive the storm, back on the colony.  Not yet.

The double doors slid apart for Elegy as he approached and he stepped out into the passageway, far enough to let the doors close behind him.  “Good morning, I’m Counselor Weld,” he said to the woman who was waiting for him.

An older woman who came up only to Elegy’s shoulders, regarded him with a raised eyebrow. “Oh! So you have a weeping client in your office now? Where can I wait to talk to you once she’s done? I simply MUST talk to you right away!” She tilted her head up to wait for his answer, dainty foot tapping swiftly under a blue & green  paisley colored flowing gown. After a 10 second pause, she added. “Now, Counselor, having a grown woman draw childish pictures is HARDLY a good technique to get that sobbing girl to heal! Tell her to finish up quickly! Time is wasting!” She folded her arms across her chest, foot tapping faster.

Despite the foot tapping, Elegy didn’t immediately respond.  He shifted his weight onto his heels, all the while regarded the older woman with the same curiosity she had shown to him.  “I can leave her for a few minutes to reflect, but I’ll have to ask you to maintain strict confidentiality about anything you’ve observed of my patient, please,” he said.  He spoke firmly, but showed the due respect that one would expect from a Starfleet officer.  At the same time, Elegy chose his words carefully, as was evident by a couple of halts mid-sentence.  He spoke to his own responsibilities, rather than reveal anything further about his patient.  Elegy gestured to a doorway further down the passageway, and he offered, “We can speak in one of the conference rooms presently.  Can you tell me a little bit about what brings you to my door?”

The woman gave him an incredulous look, rolled her eyes,  & shook her head. “Confidentiality….my word! What big words you people use!” She snorted. “*i* am Ciera Cordon, Daughter of the 9th House of Betazed! DON’T you just shove me away, COUNSELOR!” She sneered out the title as she ripped her arm away from him & swooped past. Ms. Cordon  gazed up at him, all serious. “Let’s not beat around the bush, Counselor. You KNOW why I’m here. I’ll wait in this drab place while you play art class for now.” She made a shooing motion with both hands. “Go on, she’s about to run as it is!” Ms. Cordon sidled over to the replicator to order tea, effectively  dismissing the man.

After silently leaving the conference lounge when he was instructed to do so, Elegy left Ciera alone for not very much longer.  He checked in with his patient, assigned her some cognitive behavioural homework, and allowed her the space to consider her feelings.  When Elegy rejoined Ciera in the conference lounge, he offered greetings, by saying, “How do you do?  It’s a pleasure to meet you, daughter of the ninth house.  I heard you say that I already know why you’ve come to speak to me, but I promise you: I don’t.”

Ciera was sitting straight in the chair she’d chosen, sipping her herbal tea. She took another look at the man as he entered. “So, how many lives has your symbiont seen? YOU look very young for a Trill.” Not waiting for an answer, she continued. “Just call me Ciera. The title is only used as an introduction.” She took another sip of tea before setting the cup and plate on the table again. “As for knowing why I’m here-oh, I forget you’re another species that doesn’t have telepathic abilities.” Ciera sighed hard. “OK, I’ll spell it out for you. If you search your databanks, you’ll find a Cadet with my same name.” She waved a hand to let him do what she’d said. “We’ll talk once you figure it out.” She took up her cup once more, daintily.

Padding closer to the conference table, Elegy stood behind the chair that was directly opposite Ciera.  He gripped the chairback between both of his hands, somewhat protectively.  Seeking to ease the tension between them, Elegy mentally searched for points of agreement.  “I suspect my job would be much easier if I were telepathic.  As a Trill, and an unjoined one at that, I can’t profess to know what you’re thinking,” Elegy remarked, in admission.  He shook his head slightly, and he said, “It’s not often a patient’s family asks to speak to me.”

Ciera lifted both eyebrows & a satisfied smile slid across her face. Setting down her cup, she silently chuckled. “So  the Counselor DOES have sass! I *LOVE* it!” She pushed her cup aside, put an arm over the back of her chair, & the other she folded the other on the table.”OK, you’re worth your salt, Counselor…Eggy?” Smile wavering suddenly, she nodded decisively. “You’re right. Family DOESN’T come to you like I have.” She folded her body back to sit normal, suddenly serious. 

Ciera sighed as if to steel herself for what she was about to say. “I come to ask you to help my daughter, Nevanthi.” A sad, loving look whisked over her face. “You would call her Neva Cordon, a Cadet in your Engineering area. I…I…need your help to….”Ciera dabbed a tear away before continuing. “My precious  Rosebud denies her Betazoid Heritage fully. She’s…” Ciera sniffles, dabbing at her eyes. “She needs help to regain it.” She looks the Counselor dead in the eyes. “Neva NEEDS to regain her birthright, Counselor. She will inherit my position upon my death. Unlock her barriers & restore my little Rosebud please!” Ciera turns her head to the side, fist over her lips, kerchief dabbing her eyes with the other.

Slowly lowering himself into the chair opposite Ciera, Elegy remarked, “As you’ve noticed, I can’t profess to be an expert on Betazoid culture.”  He scratched his chin, and he asked, “Can I ask, Ciera, what would it look like to you if your daughter did regain her birthright and her heritage?”

Ciera collected herself, shoulders straightening. With a hard sigh, Ciera rolled her eyes at him. “You can stop that psycho-babble on me, Counselor. I’m not here for that.” She pushed back her chair slowly & carefully stood. She put a hand on the back of the chair, regarding Elegy in studied calm. “For give my outburst, Counselor. My daughter’s welfare makes me say more than is wise.” She dropped her hand from the chair & looked down at the floor. “I’ve tried for years to help her regain her Betazoid abilities with no success. She won’t allow anyone else to touch her either.” Raising her ebony orbs to look at him, her next words were almost a Whisper. “I know she talked to you, Counselor. I saw it plain as day in her mind.” She swallowed hard, but continued a little louder. “Get through to her. Nevanthi can’t hold this back much longer…”

Ciera shook her head & stood back to her full, if diminutive, height. Gone was the quiet demeanor. It was replaced with composure & strength. 

“Well, Counselor. I’ve taken enough of your time. You know what to do.” That said, she took her leave, skirts flowing around her. She didn’t look at him again as she bustled out of the conference room doors.

Elegy was left sitting at the conference table even after Ciera had left the room.  Reflecting back on his conversation with Neva, Elegy considered the archetypes, muttering to himself, “Fairy tales and mothers.”

“Is what you’re telling me, rather inarticulately I might add, that you have no idea where my daughter is?” Lundrul asked, standing tall. For his advancing age, his posture was remarkably impressive. Lundrul had declined every time Counselor Elegy Weld had invited him to take a seat in one of the many chairs and sofas around the counseling office. Lundrul stalked another step closer to Elegy, when he said, “Are you in the habit of losing daughters?”

Sat in an armchair, Elegy Weld visibly cringed at that question. Knowing that Lundrul was Betazoid, Elegy made some sloppy efforts to control his thoughts in the ways he struggled to control his words and body language. He failed. Elegy’s most immediate thoughts were of his sister, who refused to talk to him anymore. Worse, Elegy reflected on how Lundrul was talking about his daughter like she was a toddler, when she was, in fact, in her thirties.

Lundrul scoffed aloud at Elegy’s ruminations. “As if that should matter,” Lundrul spat.

“As I said,” Elegy repeated in a measured tone, “I’ve put in a request to the civilian affairs department. We’ve had many starships ferry evacuees from the storms in the nebula to Starbase Bravo. Just like you. Just like your daughter. I’m certain they will contact you soon.” At that, Elegy rose from the chair and he demonstrated a light tapping of his fingertips on his neck, below his ear. Affecting a hopeful tone that Elegy himself didn’t even believe from himself, Elegy asked, “While you wait, how are you coming along with practicing those breathing exercises we talked about? And the plexing?”

Lundrul fixed Elegy with a figurative death-glare. He said, “I wouldn’t have to wait if you would practice finding my daughter.”

Very slowly, Elegy backed away from Lundrul, his hands fidgeting. “Yes,” was all Elegy could think to say. “I receive how frustrating this is for you. A nurse will be with you shortly. If you’ll excuse me?” Without waiting for a response, Elegy stepped out into the corridor. The doors closed behind him. Elegy couldn’t be sure if they would be enough to keep him entirely safe until the arrival of the security officers he’d subtly requested earlier.

Further down the corridor, Callahan and Thompson approached at a brisk gait. “Okay,” the lieutenant was saying, in that authoritative tone he’d decided five seconds’ more experience gave him, “calls down to the counselling offices are unusual. Expect to be underwhelmed or for it to be really delicate. If we have to make physical contact with someone, we’ve probably screwed this up.”

Sonja wasn’t quite sure what to think of this situation as the lieutenant had stated that calls to counseling were rare she had been told that in the Academy. “Well, that would make sense, but from the indications of the call it seemed this could be a serious problem. I do believe in caution, but sometimes even caution can’t prepare you for what you might see.” She said as they walked down the corridor. “Furthermore I think we should make sure to not count out any possibility of trouble.” She concluded as the brisk walk continued near the end of the corridor.

They rounded the corner to find their destination, and the fraught-looking counsellor on the other side of a closed door. Callahan frowned at this, but tried to shift his body-language to be more relaxed as he approached. “Counsellor? I’m Lieutenant Callahan, this is Ensign Thompson. You called for Security?”

Responding in kind, Elegy said, “I’m Counselor Weld.  Thank you for coming so quickly, Lieutenant, Ensign.”  He nodded sombrely to each of them in turn.  At Sonja Thompson, Elegy smirked awkwardly, and he added, “If we survived that runabout rescue, I’m sure we can survive this, yeah?”

Sonja wasn’t shocked when she rounded the corner and saw the counselor he was known to get in sticky situations and from the last mission she could only imagine what might happen here. “I guess that’s a way of looking at it.” she said as she chuckled lightly.

Elegy took a deep breath and his eyebrows raised at what he was about to say.  “My patient has signed his consent to disclose his diagnosis to the both of you.  I ask that you keep his identity and diagnosis confidential, unless it will pose a further security risk.  The patient is Betazoid and I’ve diagnosed him with Zanthi Fever.  His mind is involuntarily, randomly projecting his emotions into the minds of others.  From his medical records, it appears he’s been undiagnosed for months, and his condition has become quite advanced.  I’ve treated him with an antiviral, but it may take an hour to take effect.  He will continue to project his emotions into promenade in the meantime.”

Elegy’s voice lowered when he added, “And he’s angry.  He just came to fight.”

Callahan glanced between the two as it became apparent they knew each other, but nodded as Elegy explained. His brow furrowed. “Can you tell us what he’s angry about? At the least, what he’s likely to be projecting at us – at everyone – if we can’t talk him down? Or is it just… anger that our minds are going to rationalise in our own way?” This was quickly running the risk of becoming the most practical application of his training in psychology.

Prone to answer questions quickly, like a student sitting in the front row of the class, Elegy replied, “He’s angry about Starfleet not doing enough about the Century Storm.  And his daughter.  He and his daughter were rescued by different starships and I haven’t been able to locate her yet.”  As he said those words, a second thought came to mind.  Elegy’s head bobbed from side to side and he winced uncomfortably.  “You’re not going to like this, Lieutenant,” Elegy said.  “Research suggests the psionic projections from Zanthi fever are most likely to take root in beings who already have their own reasons for feeling a certain way.  People who have their own kernels of anger are, statistically, the most likely to be inflamed by Zanthi projections.”

“You’re right. I don’t like it.” Callahan sucked on his teeth. “This is going to reach… how far? How many people? And last, what, the hour until the antiviral kicks in, or until – if – we can calm him down when a counsellor, no offence, couldn’t?”

Sonja didn’t know tons about Zanthi fever, but she knew it was an issue and if it was the issue it could cause more problems “I think we need to alert Station Security to be on the lookout for any issues that could be the anger that was possibly projected. Even if it didn’t affect anyone I think caution is a prudent step. I mean calming someone down is all about if they’re willing to do so and from the indications it seems the patient does not want to calm down. I can’t say for certain, but I suggest you keep trying to locate his daughter.” She stopped for a second trying to size up the situation “As for us into the valley of Death walked the two.”

“Pretty sure everyone’s looking for missing refugees; never bank on a miracle reunion in a catastrophe,” Callahan said rather sharply. “And I’ll tell the Commander just as soon as we have some idea of the scope, or he’ll give us a right thick ear for giving him nothing practical but worry. Which we’ll deserve.” His gaze returned to Elegy, a little cooler now.

As each potential risk was described the the security officers, Elegy dropped his face into his open palms.  He had been trained to work with individual patients, not whole populations.  The pressure to come up with a brilliant plan was too great.  His void reedy, Elegy said, “There’s nothing more we can do for the patient, Lieutenant.  He’s been treated and mildly sedated.  Even if we soothe his conscious mind, his subconscious will still project strong emotion for a little under an hour, regardless.”

Elegy took a sharp intake of breath and he snapped his posture upright again.  Remembering where he was, Elegy affected as neutral an expression as he could muster, and he lowered his hands.  After taking another breath, Elegy answered, “The physical range of Betazoid telepathy is… indeterminate.  We have no reliable, peer-reviewed evidence on the distance a Betazoid can project psionic energy.  Anecdotally, we’ve all met Betazoid officers who claim they can detect thoughts or emotions from individuals located aboard… other starships than their own.” –His posture deflated again– ” That could mean a range of… kilometres.”

Callahan’s poise wilted as Elegy explained, and his eyes widened. “You didn’t call us here so we could calm him down and stop this situation out of hand, did you,” he said, almost accusatory in his growing horror and realisation. “You called us here because it’s already out of hand. To warn us that for the next hour, potentially everyone on the station is at risk of exploding with anger, when the station’s the fullest, the tensest, the most scared it’s ever been.”

In self-protection, or desperation, Elegy stared off into the middle-distance more and more, as Callahan’s assessment became scarier.  Although Elegy’s attention was drifting away from the present, he preoccupied himself by reviewing facts and approximating calculations in his head.  Throwing his hands up in excitement, Elegy hopefully said, “Not the entire population.  The diminishing fever should reduce his impact to only enraging… maybe dozens of people?  Definitely not thousands.”

“Okay,” said Callahan with the growing odd sort of relief that stemmed from a situation being a disaster rather than a catastrophe. “Dozens we can handle. We’ll report this to Commander Vaughn -” Then he hesitated, and looked at the closed door. “Is your situation here safe, Counsellor? Is the patient inside safe left alone? We don’t want him hurting anyone or himself.”

Waggling a finger over Callahan’s shoulder, Elegy replied, “Nurse Fionn is here for the patient,” referring to the nurse Elegy had called from the hospital at the same time he contacted security.  While Fionn moved to enter the counseling office, Elegy advised the security officers, “I’d like to help if I can.”  There was a tenor of irrational guilt in his words that got deeper, when he sheepishly added, “I have classroom training in conflict de-escalation…”

There was a moment where Callahan pursed his lips at that. Then he gave an accepting shrug. “Time to take it to the field, I guess, Counsellor, but stick close to Security,” he said, stepping back down the corridor with a jerk of the thumb the way they’d come. “Thompson, you had the bright idea of reporting this in? You get to break the news to the Dragon about how a few dozen angry people on the Promenade are probably about to kick off for no good reason…”

Sonja sighed as she knew it was required, but she didn’t want to have to break the news. “Understood.” She replied and opened comms to quickly explain the situation to the Commander. After a few moments of heated yelling the comms ended and Sonja looked over at Callahan with a sigh.

It took a couple of seconds for his eyes to adjust.  Meandering into the Downtime bar, Elegy Weld was thankful not to experience decompression sickness as he passed through the threshold from the promenade.  The way the teal lighting reflected off the brushed-duranium furnishings evoked a sense-memory in Elegy.  The way the light struck his eyes, he felt like he was stepping aboard a pre-warp starship or a submarine in a museum.  Sidling up to the bar, Elegy ordered a paper plane and he took note of an empty table in the corner that he mentally claimed for himself.  His brain was full of static from his day’s patients and this underwater lighting was everything he needed to make the static float away.

The drink that was handed to Elegy was not the right colour to be a paper plane, nor was it served in a coupe.  He took a sip and he assumed it to be a whiskey sour.  Supposing that would still do the trick, Elegy moved to claim his empty table, but more officers had come in while he was waiting at the bar.  His empty table had become full.  Looking around, Elegy spotted another four-top that had a couple of empty seats.  Sliding himself into one of the seats, Elegy said, “I hope you don’t mind?  I promise I’m a good time.”

Nilah looked up from talking to Hannah to see the newcomer sit down, smiling “we don’t mind, or at least I don’t mind.” Nilah said with a smile, she was tired after working an eighteen-hour day modifying ships that came in, before heading into the Paulson Nebula. “I am Nilah Virahl the resident shipyard engineer,” she replied, and before Hannah could even answer, “this is Hannah Murphy one of our medical residents on the station,” Nilah said as she took a drink, was nothing special just a good-tasting wine.

“I’m Elegy Weld,” he replied, flattening a palm over his chest to introduce himself.  He nodded to each of them in turn.  “A pleasure to meet you both.  Largely, because I don’t know anybody yet,” Elegy said, a little insecurely. “I’ve just been assigned to Bravo to serve my psychiatric residency.  I got here just in time for the influx of broken hearts and nightmares of the Century Storm.”

Hannah didn’t disagree with Nilah’s invitation for Elegy to join the two of them but shot her a brief look of bemusement before returning her attention to their guest, “I couldn’t agree more Doctor. I’m sure we’ll both have our fair share of bumps and bruises to mend as this crisis unfolds, both physically and mentally. I treated a patient today with a broken clavicle. A young child that came in on a transport. No doubt took a tumble escaping the storm.”

Reaching for the tumbler in front of her, she pressed the rim to her lips in a vain attempt to consume the beverage she’d ordered, not realizing that the glass was nearly empty save for the half-melted ball of ice and the diluted synthehol at its base. She scanned the room hoping to find a server, only to find no insight through the room’s present occupancy. Instead, she managed to catch the eye of the bartender, signaling with the universal hand gesture to indicate another round of drinks was in order.

“So Doctor, was this assignment voluntary, or is this where they sent you after the academy?” she asked, swirling around the ice in her glass as she waited for the drinks to arrive.

Figuring he better catch up, Elegy took a long, urgent pull from his glass.  After taking a breath, Elegy answered, “Involuntary assignment.  Bravo, here, is my first posting out of medical school.”  He winced and narrowed his eyes, thinking about how surreal it all ways.  He admitted, “After the last four years at the medical academy, I think a part of me forgot there was going to be anything else after graduation.”

“I just got lucky to be assigned hereafter the academy, I’d thought I would be on a starship, to begin with.” Nilah replied with a grin, “it’s been a neat experience to work in the shipyards.” She replied looking at both of them before taking a drink of the glass that was just refilled. “Though things have been crazy since the start of the Century Storm,” she added.

A Betazoid female approached the table, tray in hand with the requested beverages. She placed each one in front of their intended recipient and cleared away the empty glasses. Without intending to intrude too much on the conversation of the three patrons, she briefly offered her services should they be required and then excused herself from the table.

“I… suppose we’re learning more than we would have aboard a starship,” Elegy said.  Nilah’s enthusiasm was contagious and he took a moment to mentally reframe all the things he wanted to complain about.  He supposed he could be grateful for them instead.  He downed the last of his first drink and he accepted his second greedily.  “I don’t imagine I would have seen so many civilian patients, if not for the Century Storm.  I’ve been asked to support an anthropological study too.”  In that vein of gratitude, Elegy asked, “What’s the most exciting starship you’ve had an opportunity to put your hands on since this began?”

“Well there have been quite a few, they all been exciting.” Nilah replied looking at him, “I did get to assist with bringing supplies onboard the USS Saratoga an Odyssey-class starship which is huge.” She commented with a smile, though she didn’t get to see the whole ship from what she saw it looked fabulous.

“I’ve never even seen an Odyssey up close.  I grew up bouncing from starship to starship, but my parents were never assigned to anything like that.  I’ll bet the ion storms barely scratch the hull,” Elegy said with no small amazement.  He shook his head and his expression fell into something much more like dismay.  Elegy remarked, “I still can’t believe the ion storms are still coming.  Could this be permanent?  Could this be what the Paulson Nebula is like now?”

“I don’t think it would be permanent, my thinking is that it’s called a century storm as it’s something that happens every one hundred years, so I am that things will end eventually,” Nilah said with a shrug, she was no scientist so she was unsure of that kind of thing. “That’s just my guess, I am not a scientist.” She added looking at Hannah, “what do you think?” She asked her new friend and roommate if she had any idea.

Hannah’s attention had drifted slightly as her companions continued with their back and forth conversation. She suddenly snapped to attention, realizing that the question from her roommate had been posed to her. She didn’t want to lead on that she was concerned more than usual with the situation at hand, but it was something at the forefront of her mind. She had not seen anything like it before. She’d read through texts at the academy that storms of this magnitude occurred in the past, and with any luck would be over soon, but what little sense of security she had remaining was quickly fading with each progressing hour, each progressing day.

She picked up the glass that had been set before her and gazed into its bottom, “I don’t know…I hope not.” she replied, before downing a mouthful.

A tone-deaf announcement came in over the station’s public address system, “Ensign Hannah Murphy. Medical emergency. Please report to sector Hotel-Turquoise.”

Looking up toward in direction of the announcement as if she could see the person making it she paused, setting her glass back down in the condensed ring of water on the table where it had been previously sitting. “That’s me. I will have to catch the two of you around later,” she said, politely excusing herself, grabbing her lab coat from the back of her seat, leaving the two to carry on the conversation without her.

Raising his hand to wave goodbye, Elegy remarked, “I’m glad to have met you, Hannah.  I expect I’ll see you around the hospital.”  Elegy took another swig of his drink, idly wondering how soon he might receive a similar call about a psych consult.  His eyes widening in an expression of exasperation with everything that had been happening, Elegy said to Nilah, “I guess this is our lives now, huh?”

Taking a drink she smiled still trying to be optimistic in everything, “for now but this to shall pass.” Nilah said with a smile before looking at the time, “oh it’s getting late I need to turn in as I signed up for a double shift tomorrow.” Nilah said as she stood up after finishing her glass, “we should get together again soon?” She asked looking at him for a moment.

“Count me in,” Elegy said in agreement.  He raised the remains of his drink to her.  “I’ll be around.  Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

He regretted it almost as soon as he’d done it. Ensign Elegy Weld climbed through the open hatch of the Danube-class runabout with reckless abandon. To look at him, you might have even described the Trill as scurrying. In that moment, he didn’t even have time to think about the direction his ankle had shifted, he immediately felt a stabbing pain in his right knee. He hissed out a breath, and then he sucked in a deep breath. Almost as quickly, the pain was gone.

Weld was long cursed with a vivid memory. Any of his own discomfort was quickly displaced by his recollection of the distress call from the Tellarites. He could still hear the wheeze in the Captain’s voice; Weld knew that sound. It probably meant a punctured lung. Striding into the cockpit of the USS Cobechenonk, Weld’s legs supported his weight and his knee operated as expected. His own first brush with the so-called “Century Storm” had turned his arrival on Starbase Bravo into a glorified crash landing. This hospital team had managed to reassemble his knee with figurative hot glue, and it still seemed to be holding good these very few days later.

Avoiding the forward pilot stations with a wide berth, Weld sat himself at one of the auxiliary consoles. At a touch, he activated the Operations panel and he retrieved the mission orders he’d received less than an hour earlier.  Reading again about the destroyed Tellarite freighter, the SS Closed Motion, he didn’t even hear his crew-mate entering the runabout.

Steven was overly excited for the fact he had been selected to pilot a small craft. It was a chance in a lifetime to prove his usefulness to Command, in hopes he can finally leave as a Deck Officer and become a Generalist in the Flight Control Command. Although piloting is his passion, he wanted to be available for essentially anything and everything that required more help. In this case, they needed pilots and someone must of been impressed with his piloting scores back at the Academy, or they just really needed more pilots. Nevertheless, he accepted his assignment much like any other, with all seriousness and focus.

He stepped through the open hatch and saw that someone was already in the runabout. The color of the shoulder part of their uniform gave away their department and figured that that made sense, considering their mission. He quickly went over directly to the pilot seat and began the prep checks after he had turned his station on. He brought up the orders on a separate holo display and saw that they were waiting for one more individual before he can take off from the bay.

Sonja had been ordered to take part in a mission that she had not expected but was excited to get some time away from the station, though she only knew one of the fellow crew members and that may have added to her acceptance of the mission. She walked into the bay walking towards the runabout and remembered a simulation in a runabout at the Academy that did not go as it was planned to go.

She took a deep breath and walked to the hatch before opening it and entering the runabout she saw Steven and an unknown person she stood there and smiled as she waited to here from the person who was the head of the mission.

The beeping of LCARS telltales lifted Elegy’s attention out of the holographic words floating before his eyes.  After looking up, Elegy swiveled his chair to better see the motley away team he had joined.  “Good morning,” Elegy offered brightly.  He waved his hand vaguely at the crew manifest on their mission orders to make introductions. “I’m Elegy Weld,” he said; “Pleasure to meet you both.  I’ve only been assigned to Starbase Bravo this week.  While the starbase’s medical crew are preoccupied with staffing the second hospital, we esoteric doctors have been drafted.  I’m a counselor by day, but my emergency medical training will suffice for any survivors of the Tellarite freighter Closed Motion we’re able to rescue from their escape pods.”  –A cringe crossed Elegy’s expression as a morbid thought crossed his mind.  He mentally chided himself not to say it, but he couldn’t help himself from saying it– “As long as their escape pods survived the ion storm.”  He winced, regretting the words immediately.

Steven had finished all flight checks and preparations, he just now needed to wait for the engines to warm up. With that, he swiveled in his seat to listen to the one person he didn’t recognize, Elegy Weld. He then looked at the person he did recognize and smiled before looking back at the ‘emergency doctor’. “Well for those who don’t know me,” He winked at Sonja. “My name is Steven Watson. Normally I am a Deck Officer but clearly today is one of those special days, so I look forward to proving to the Command Structure that I am very much capable for the next job that I have been patiently waiting for. I’ve been here since mid-late December. I know my way around a bit but there still a lot of areas that I’ve yet to see. I mean, what purpose would a Deck Officer need to be in Main Engineering or the Reactor Room or Command Operations?” He chuckled. Then he cleared his throat, “Most escape pods are designed to handle just about anything, but that’s Starfleet Escape Pods that I know of. Best thing we can really hope for, is we get out there, find them and do our jobs.” He smiled.

Sonja was there for Security she didn’t have much to do in the preparation of the journey, but she did figure it would be good to introduce herself. “I guess I am next, Hi I am Sonja Johnson, a Security officer here on Bravo and am starting to get used to the many areas I travel a day. I arrived not long after Steven and have been on many patrols over the past few weeks so this is a nice change.”

Steven nodded, “If this is everyone, I’ll get us moving along.” He turned his seat around to face the controls. First he signaled the Flight Control and waited for the green light to go. Once given, he piloted the runabout off the pad, out of the hangar and off towards their objective.

Scrolling through the wheel of menu options, Ensign Weld accessed the runabout’s communication systems.  The mission orders had included Starfleet’s calibration patch for the Century Storm: the greatest minds’ best guess at how to increase their subspace transmitters’ ability to cut through the interference from the ion storms.  While Weld confirmed the starbase engineers had installed it on the Cobechenonk, he glanced at his crewmmates over his shoulder.

“Being assigned to Starbase Bravo, I expected my greatest occupational hazard to be counseling ensigns with daddy issues or lieutenants with egos the size of asteroids,” Weld remarked with comedic bravado to avoid his unease.  “I’ve never seen– I mean, I grew up in space.  I always lived on starships.  I’ve never even read about three ion storms converging, let alone a barrage of spontaneous ion storms across a nebula.  I didn’t think it possible?”

Steven made sure everything was in order before engaging auto pilot and the computer essentially calculated and took over on the best speed to reach their destination. He then turned in his seat to look at Weld. “I learned from some professor in my Flight courses that… He said that, as a pilot, whether it be a small craft or a starship, expect the unexpected. Because you may be the one flying yourself and your crew out of it. Some people don’t realize it but Flight Control Officers do feel the burden of having people’s lives counting on them and the responsibility of their job can weigh heavy on their shoulders. Course, I am just quoting what my instructor said, I haven’t a clue since this is the first time I am actually piloting a small craft on an actual mission since I got here at Starbase Bravo.”

Squinting at Steven, Elegy pursed his lips into a very small frown.  Cocking a curious eyebrow, Elegy asked, “You don’t have even a small clue about how it feels to carry lives in your very own hands?”  He spoke in an animated manner to suggest this was a good-humoured gibe, but there had been a slight crack in his voice on the word clue that betrayed a tone of skepticism.  Widening his green eyes, Elegy looked over at Sonja for support, when he asked Steven, “Don’t you feel some small responsibility for our three lives right here and now?”  He waved his hands in the air, gesturing to all of them now, let alone the Tellarites they were on their way to rescue.

Sonja wasn’t sure what to do the reaction by the person she had only just met threw her off. Steven was known for his brash remarks, but this remark she felt was from his time at the Academy. She looked at Steven than back at Elegy and sighed “I think that Steven understands we all had to take the course in the Academy. I think he is just informing you of what he was taught as a pilot.” She said trying to be diplomatic.

Steven raised a brow at Elegy and shrugged his shoulders. “Look, I was just quoting what my professor told me back at the Academy. And I just explained that this is my first time actually getting to fly outside of the Academy. So, yeah, give it time. I mean, it’s just us three, not a couple hundred or so like a starship.” Sure he may be over confident, or showing little to no emotion but it’ll get to him eventually. “Now, do we know how many we will be picking up?”

“I’ll take a look through the ship’s records,” Elegy replied, offering a nod to Steven and turning back to his console.  He tapped at the controls to access the specifications of the ship that had been destroyed by the Century Storm.  While he tabbed through the files, Elegy said, “I’m jittery.  I can admit that,” with growing remorse in his timbre.  “The runabout that ferried me to SB-4 was trashed by an ion storm.  I almost lost a leg.  I thought I had bounced back, but… probably not.  Not yet.”

Steven took back the controls from disengaging the auto pilot and adjusted their course. He glanced over to Elegy when he overheard him. “I wouldn’t know. Maybe another reason why I don’t feel the pressure. I haven’t been in any accidents or injured.” Steven put his focuse back on the controls. “Thing that my professor told me that’s stuck real tight, is to always keep your cool. This stuff may scare you, may even help you side to the err of caution, help you focus…but the moment you lose your cool, is the moment you make mistakes.” Steven looked to Elegy. “To quote, ‘As a pilot, you cannot afford to make mistakes.’ So whether I feel the weight of your lives or not, won’t change the fact that I have an important job.” He smiled.

Elegy offered a quick grin in return, when the operations console pinged and the schematics for the SS Closed Motion popped up.  Reporting to the others as he read the words, Elegy said, “The Tellarite freighter was equipped with eight escape pods and it usually operates with about thirty crew members.”  Frowning back at the mission orders, Elegy shook his head and added, “The captain’s distress call was too garbled by the storm to tell us much more.”  Tilting his head to review the progress on another monitor, Elegy said, “We should reach the coordinates of the escape pods in… twenty minutes.  We got this.”

Steven pulled up the logs of the ship’s last location. “I am going to plot a course near it and crank to full impulse, that should reduce our arrival time by six or seven minutes. Also have the engines programmed to slow us down to a halt next to the ship before we get too close so we won’t overshoot.” He informed the two of them. Then he snapped his fingers, “What kind of runabout did we grab? Did we grab one with sleeping compartments or cargo room?” He asked out loud as he now wanted to get up and look. He loved these runabouts, the different modules that they could exchange, made them so versatile.

Tabbing through the operations controls to review the runabout’s own systems, Elegy located the logs on the current configuration.  “Aft section is configured for medical evacuation,” Elegy reported.  “We don’t know what condition the crew was in before they abandoned ship, nor how long their escape pods were buffeted by the ion storms.  We’ve got emergency medical holograms available, if need be.”  The chirping of the communication system dragged Elegy’s attention back to the console.  By the counselor’s assessment, the starbase engineers had done the needed job to modify the subspace transceivers to pierce all the new interference through the nebula.  “We’re detecting distress signals and… and… Tellarite life signs,” Elegy reported.  His face lit up with the sort of grin he hadn’t practiced since arriving on Starbase Bravo.  “We have survivors.  We have a crew to bring on home.”

“I said no foam!” roared a Betelgeusian medical officer.  Literally seconds earlier, half the customers in the Brew coffee shop heard the Betelgusian thanking the barista profusely for the coffee.  Now he was shouting about the apparent slight and he chucked the coffee cup at the barista’s head.  Given the barista’s holographic body, the coffee cup passed right through the barista’s head and struck another customer in the chest.  

The young Catian woman was wearing an elaborate dress of reflective materials, including a couple of petticoats and sashes.  As soon as the coffee cup exploded all over her dress, the Caitian hissed back, “It’s my special day!”  And she pounced towards the Betelgusian to tackle him.

Out in the main passageway of the promenade, Counselor Elegy Weld heard the shouted words as if he’d been standing in Brew himself.  Hiking the strap of his medi-kit higher on his shoulder, Elegy looked to each of his new security officer friends.  They had been patrolling the promenade, looking for possible victims of Elegy’s patient’s Zanthi fever.  The patient’s telepathy was swinging wildly, out of control, enraging random people who already had anger in their hearts.  “No more guessing,” Elegy said, nervously excited; “I think we know where to start.”

“Oh, boy,” sighed Callahan, though not without sincere apprehension as he regarded the developing mayhem within Brew. He glanced at Thompson. “Stop people from hurting each other first. We can work on calming them all down when they’re not about to commit murder by mocha.”

Sonja wasn’t quite sure what to think. The yelling was not something she had expected to hear “I understand I will make sure to pay attention.” 

He looked at Elegy. “By all means, help us de-escalate, Counsellor. But please don’t get yourself in a situation where you need saving.” It was unclear if this was sincere concern for a fellow officer, or for the sheer practicality that rescuing Elegy would be a distraction.

As they approached the open entrance to Brew on long strides and the situation became clearer, Elegy’s brows furrowed deeper and deeper.  He watched the Caitian body-slam the Betelgusian, and the two of them tumbled into another couple of customers behind them.  “Ahh… yes,” Elegy remarked, entirely unconvincingly.  His eyes widened at the scene and he squared his shoulders.  Through a wince, Elegy said sheepishly, “Perhaps you’d better lead the way?”

“Let us pull people apart first,” Callahan agreed, then gave Thompson a firm nod. “Stick close, we need to be a united front in this if we’ve got to get physical.”

Sonja nodded and stood close to the Lieutenant making sure that she was as firm as he was in her actions and demeanour.

Callahan stomped in first, already tapping his combadge to amplify his voice, bringing it booming through the local systems. “This is Promenade Security! Everyone step back, stand down, and calm down!” The mere presence of Starfleet, the sight of their uniforms, the instruction from a figure of authority, often did a lot of good. It did here, a few figures at the periphery of the growing storm backing off, startled out of any fledgling effect of the telepathic pressure humming through their feelings.

But that was not enough for everyone. The Caitian and Betelgeusian were swinging into a table by now, smacking at each other in an untrained but furious scuffle. The other customers they’d jostled had been knocked into each other and were now rounding on each other, any perceived slight enough to get them in each other’s faces arguing, shouting, Callahan’s words washing over the crowd. It was towards the first pair he had to surge at that point, trying to shove himself between the fighting Caitian and Betelgeusian and pry them apart amid shouting and clawing.

Despite the advice, Elegy didn’t follow in Callahan’s footsteps when he ran into the coffee shop too.  Elegy entered through a side door and kept himself close to the perimeter of the compartment, leaving a wide berth between himself and the entangling crowd.  While Callahan made his declarations to the crowd, Elegy made a beeline for a holographic barista and began a quiet conversation.

Sonja looked at Callahan’s situation and pulled the Caitian away from Callahan and stood her ground making sure that the two fighting each other were separated. She tried to calm down the Caitian with no success. She continued to hold them back as they tried to hit her. This was part of Security even if not the most glamorous side of things. 

Elegy completed his circuit around open-concept shop, approaching Callahan in as non-threatening a posture as he could muster.  From behind Callahan’s shoulder, Elegy proffered a new coffee cup to the Betelgeusian.  “Here!  Lookit here!” Elegy announced in a cartoony voice of excitement.  “I got you a new one,” Elegy declared, reaching the coffee cup even closer to the Betelgeusian.  “No foam either.”

The Betelgeusian had been struggling against Callahan, but paused as Elegy approached, eyes narrowing. As he stopped fighting so hard, Callahan loosened his grip on the seven foot-tall alien, who rolled a shoulder and subsided. “Is that what it takes for service here?” he snapped, and took the drink off Elegy for a deep swig that would have been startling for a human to attempt of a piping hot drink.

Callahan kept his hands up, ready to grab the Betelgeusian if the big alien tried something more, but gave a small sigh of relief. “Good thinking, Counsellor -”

“This isn’t the limited edition Colombian blend!” the Betelgeusian thundered. Then slammed the mug into the side of Callahan’s head in a sucker punch which sent the security officer down at once, clutching at his face, moving but knocked off his feet.

Unprepared for that, Elegy audibly gasped and jumped back from Callahan and the Betelgeusian.  Elegy dropped his eyes to make certain Callahan was still conscious, but even his medical training wouldn’t allow Elegy to do much more than that.  Elegy had to care for himself first, because the Betelgeusian looked to carry twice the body mass of Elegy’s narrow frame.  Quickly glancing over his shoulder to see if the Caitain had got the better of Sonja, Elegy took that time to suck in a deep breath.  By the time Elegy faced the Betelgeusian again, his expression had rounded to his practiced I’m-listening counselor-face.

“You’re right, it’s natural to feel that way,” Elegy said with, somewhat, exaggerated compassion.  With each word, he took a slow and steady step back from the Betelgeusian.  “If you asked a hundred people, they would all say it’s intolerable to start a shift without ritual, without the right coffee blend.”  Practicing the tone he’d heard from servers in mess halls a hundred times, Elegy proposed, “Are you sure I can’t get you one more of the limited edition Columbian blend?  Maybe even a second cup for the road?  Perhaps a house-baked scone?”

Sonja had been in a battle with the Caitian since pulling them away. The whole situation was ridiculous, but she held her composure and even her strength. She looked at Callahan and Elegy who were seemingly to now hold their own. She decided to speak up “Someone want to give me some…” As she was about to finish she was slugged by the Caitian, which made her stagger back losing her grip on them. She quickly recovered to see the Caitain about to punch her again. She took a deep breath ready to defend herself.

Perhaps Elegy’s efforts were working to calm the Betelgeusian, perhaps the Caitian seemed to be a much more clear and present danger, perhaps she was just closer. But when Callahan rose, unbloodied by the mug but at least scalded and battered, it was her that he body-checked to send her flying back, a slam that was more improvised rugby tackle than professional crowd control technique. The Caitian hit one of the high café tables, staggered, and did not immediately rejoin the fray.

This was perhaps for the best, as for a heartbeat Callahan faced her, fists now raised, chest heaving – and then he turned on the rest of the crowd. “You pack of bloody idiots!” he roared. “There is a real crisis out there! People are dying, people are losing their homes, people are losing their families, and you cause this chaos – you waste our goddamn time over spats about coffee?” His breathing was ragged from brewing rage as much as exertion, his hair mussed from the scuffle, his eyes wild and furious, nothing about his normally cultivated appearance controlled any more. “If anyone wants to put a foot out of line again, you’re going to be lucky if you make it to custody!” This implied threat of Starfleet brutality was followed with a sweeping glare in particular for the Betelgeusian and the Caitian, their pacification already on a knife-edge.

Perhaps it was a reaction to ancient, genetic memory, but the Caitian visibly lost the will to fight.  Callahan’s show of dominance had reached something deep within her, and her body language curled in on herself.  She was already leaning on a café table for support and she gripped the tabletop more tightly.  Her eyes were on the down, gently picking at the stain on her dress.

The Betelgeusian, meanwhile, shook his snout at Callahan in an expression of incredulity, as if Callahan’s behaviour was shocking.  “What do they put in the coffee here?” the Betelgusian asked, disoriented, and he rubbed at the side of his head.  He asserted, “I gotta quit.  Cold turkey.”

“I support you whole-heartedly,” Elegy effused, anything to make the chaos end.  “We can provide plenty of twelve-step programs in counseling.”

Sonja recovered and went over to the Caitian and tried to be a reassurance to them regardless of what happened. She looked at the other two and took a sigh of relief it seemed as though the effects had worn off and things were turning back to normal.

Callahan had squared up as the Betelgeusian moved, but then the alien stood down, and the Caitian backed off. For a moment, the security officer looked almost indignant at that, shoulders tensing like this was a fresh insult to be answered – then he sagged, the fight and surging anger fading from him, and his expression folded down into a troubled scowl. “I, uh…” His gaze again swept across the café. “…carry on, everyone.” Then he turned on his heel to walk quickly for the door.

“That was – well handled, Ensigns,” he said a little falteringly once they were back on the Promenade. “I should, ah, get to the Infirmary. Get this checked out.” He gestured to the spot on his brow where he’d been clobbered, but there was only the hint of a bruise arising, the explanation a fairly transparent lie. Since the sudden collapse of his burst of temper, a guarded and slightly furtive glint had entered his eye.

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Elegy said, a little vaguely.  As a doctor first, his eyes were drawn to Callahan’s bruising and neurological responses.  He knew he shouldn’t leave Callahan alone until he was in the care of another medic.  Blithely, Elegy offered, “I’ll walk to you back.  We’ll get you patched up and back on the promenade in no time at all.”

Elegy picked up the pace, accelerating from a brisk walk to a light jog.  Hedging close to the bulkhead, he navigated the corridors from the hospital to the counseling reception area.  The medikit cross-strapped over his shoulder kept slapping into his thigh with every other step, announcing his progression.  To avoid crashing into patients head-on, Elegy slowed down as he rounded the corners.

When the comm from the reception desk in counseling had reached Counselor Elegy Weld on the promenade, he had promised to return to the counseling office presently.  Elegy had been assisting security with a unforeseen side-effect from one of his patients, Lundrul.  The patient’s Zanthi fever was causing his Betazoid telepathy to project seething, uncontrollable anger into random bystanders all over the promenade.  Elegy had hesitated to leave the spontaneous fights to the security officers alone, but when he hadn’t arrived quickly enough, a second call had reached Elegy.  When reception called Elegy a third time, that’s when Elegy broke into the jog.

Elegy scrabbled within himself to find the strength to present a serene air about him, by the time he passed through the double doors into the reception area.  He slowed his breathing, and he  spotted a familiar face before he had fully walked into the compartment.  An entirely un-serene, “Oh,” fell out of his mouth without thinking about it.  Elegy took another deep breath, and affected a breezy air, when he added, “Ciera Cordon, good afternoon to you.  Noticing movement in his peripheral vision, Elegy only looked away from Ciera when he saw Nurse Fionn escorting their patient, Lundrul, through the reception compartment.

Ciera stalked toward him, anger coming off her in waves. “Where IS he?!??” She growled out. “If he keeps this temper tantrum up any longer, I’m going to beat him within an inch of his life!” She shoved past the Counselor & only stopped when she was about two inches from the crazed man. She then reached up and slapped him as hard as she could. 

“Nonononono,” muttered Elegy in a reedy voice.  He reached out for Ciera, but he was far too slow.  Ciera was well beyond Elegy’s reach and she was facing Lundrul head on.

Ciera looked at the man who stood there in shock, rubbing his cheek. “I am Ciera Cordon, Daughter of the Ninth House of Betazed! You WILL listen to me or that slap is going to be the SOFTEST thing you get hit with!”

The man stood there reasonably quiet, whimpering softly about his daughter. Ciera shook her finger up at him like a parent to a child.”Your tirade may be from a terrible malady, but broadcasting to the populace your pain is NOT helping your cause!” She pushed him back down onto the couch.

The man’s eyes were wide as saucers as he lands, mouth also open in shock. “But…but…my DAUGHTER!” He simpered. Ciera rolled her eyes & shook her head. “She’s FINE, you cretin! Now, be a good Betazoid male & center yourself!”

Ciera crossed her arms in front of her, eyes inflamed. She turned to the Counselor. “Is there a doctor or someone coming to sedate this behemoth?? I was trying to take a short nap when  this BABY of a man broadcasted me awake!” Her hands became fists at her sides. The waves of anger still radiated off her, silent.

“Agh,” Elegy groaned in fear and frustration.  He sidestepped himself in between Ciera and Lundrul, using his body as a shield while Nurse Fionn  checked on Lundrul.  “Ciera, you have to stop.  You can’t slap people in sickbay,” Elegy said firmly.  And then less so, he said, “Not strangers, at least.”  He swept a hand out to point at the door he had just come through.  “Will you come with me, please?  I need your advice,” Elegy asked, centreing Ciera herself in the conversation, rather than his patient.  

Ciera’s eyes seeme to burn a hole into the Counselor for his insolence, but stomped out the doors of Sickbay. 

Once outside, her demeanor still one of annoyance. Sighing, she looked up. “WHAT in all Creation kind of  advice can *I* give you?” She  pointed back at the doors. “That MAN is a menace & should be taken back to Betazed for proper care!” She crossed her arms & glared.

“I promise you, Ciera, he is being cared for properly.  He will be absolutely fine.  He just needs a little more time,” Elegy said, over-enunciating in a mollifying tone.  Waving a hand again, Elegy led her further along the corridor and into a turbolift that he asked take them to the promenade.  “In an unrelated, hypothetical matter,” Elegy asked wryly, “what can you tell me about Zanthi fever?  I’ve only provided treatment a couple of times before.”

Ciera clenched & unclenched her hands, looking down at the floor. She took ragged deep breaths, soon reasonably calm. Lifting her head, she regarded the man with a pained expression. “Really?!? Then you should’ve noticed how everyone near the proximity of that poor soul rises in anger & extreme worry?” She swept her arm across the milling  promenade, her eyes locked on  the Counselor’s. “EVERYONE he passed has been feeling the same way he has.” 

Ciera sighed, annoyed. “If you’ve dealt with this before, then you’d know it’s a virus that afflicts the older people of my kind.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Check your memory banks, man.”

Holding onto some small semblance of confidentiality, Elegy replied in a diffident voice, “Said hypothetical patient has been prescribed treatment, and it takes time for the body to metabolize medication.  Less than an hour at this point.  His impact on the populace is getting smaller and smaller; he isn’t affecting everyone.  The hospital staff tried to sedate the patient earlier, but sedation didn’t quiet the paracortex.”  Taking note of Ciera’s own emotional reactions in this close proximity, Elegy suggested, “We should get you father away from him in the meantime…  What I wanted to ask you, Ciera, given your status, are you familiar with any non-medical traditions to manage Zanthi fever?  Even if they’re only nursery rhymes or old wives tales?”

Ciera cooked her head & tapped her chin. After a few moments, she snapped her fingers, a triumphant grin on her face. “My grandmother told me as a child …” she smirked at him “don’t ask” then continued. “That there was a nursery song that said something of a swamp plant…” Her brow furrowed, lost in memory. “The name…the name…” she pinched the bridge of her nose & scrunched her eyes tightly shut. “Urrrrrr! I don’t remember!” She whined. Her shoulders dropped, looking at the counselor sadly. “I’m sorry, counselor. I can’t help you.”  She looked away, swallowing hard. “You’d be better off scouring the swamps….” 

Ciera gazed back at the tall man. “Please forgive me,  Counselor. I need to go back to my suite. That interrupted a nap seems like something I should revisit.”

“Of course.  Don’t let me keep you,” Elegy graciously said, with a sweep of his hand.  “And thank you, Ciera.  I’ll ask the medical research team to investigate Betazoid swamp plants with medicinal properties.  There might be something in the database!  I’d better catch up with the security team now.  Stay safe, Ciera.”

Hannah approached the main doors to the station’s hospital. The systematic pulse of the amber light above the door gave her cause for concern. It could mean only one thing; a mass casualty event had occurred. She took a deep breath to help mentally prepare herself for whatever was on the other side of the door before stepping through.

Several dozen people from medical staff to patients filled the ward. Many with apparent superficial illnesses, others actively being treated. “I need a cortical simulator!” a distant shout from across the room could be heard.

Hannah grabbed a tricorder from a nearby cart and analysed the room to see where she would be needed most. Opposite a short female whose back was turned to her, sporting dark coloured hair with blue highlights, a Betazoid male was being lifted onto a biobed to her right who presently did not have anyone assigned to him. Like many aboard the station, Hannah was not familiar with this woman, but her teal coloured Starfleet attire and posture resembling someone who was reading, led Hannah to surmise that she was one of the medical staff and not someone related to the patient.

In a swift series of motions, she flipped open her tricorder, plucked the handheld scanner from it’s cavity and hastily manoeuvred to the patient’s bedside beginning her preliminary scan all while informally introducing herself “Doctor Hannah Murphy. What have we got here…” she looked up briefly to the now identifiable non-commissioned Orion woman,  “…nurse…?”

The diminutive non-com turned to look at Hannah, and immediately snapped to attention. “Petty Officer Third Class Neri Givola, Sir,” the Orion announced, her accent vaguely Germanic and her expression more than a little nervous. After her brief introduction, her attention went right back to the patient. “This officer is covered in 3rd degree plasma burns. Decreased BP and shallow breathing as well.” She moved slightly closer to the doctor, making sure the patient couldn’t hear her next words. “Do you know where the Kelotane is kept here? I can’t start up the dermal regenerator with him in this state. Sorry, I’m very, very new, and no one else was helping him, so I, uh, just jumped into action.”

The man let out a pained groan, and Neri immediately moved to his side. “Lieutenant Anix, Sir, you’re going to be just fine, okay? Doctor Murphy is here now, and we’re gonna take very good care of you.” 

Anix let out another groan and slowly nodded. 

“Please don’t move if you can avoid it, Sir. Just sit tight and we’ll have you up and about in no time.”

“Judging by the severity of these burns, I fear the Kelotane and dermal regeneration alone will be insufficient for the burns.” Hannah whispered to Neri “We’ll likely need to commence treatment using the burn chamber after the Kelotane has been administered. I think I saw it in storage cabinet thirteen alpha. When you grab it, bring me ten ccs of Terakine as well.”

As Neri went to go fetch the requested medications, Hannah concluded her scans and confirmed what Neri had reported to her; blood pressure 80 over 50, heart rate 126, respiration 34. Placing the scanner back into its cradle, she set the tricorder down on the instrument cart nearest the biobed and grabbed a pair of surgical scissors. If she was to treat his burns, she was going to have to remove his uniform.

“Please bear with me Mr. Anix. This may hurt.” she said in the most soothing voice she could muster as she manoeuvred his head to the left and inserted the opened end of the scissors into the collar of his uniform, gently slicing down the front. The lieutenant writhed and moaned in pain with each tug of the uniform against the severely burned skin beneath.

As she finished cutting down the front of the uniform and was about to start down the sleeves, Neri returned with the prescribed medications “Please administer the Terakine and Kelotane accordingly while I finish this.” she instructed, “Do we know what happened to this man?”

“Of course,” Neri nodded as she loaded the meds into a hypospray and injected them into the groaning man, his pain seeming to subside ever-so-slightly. “Based on what I’ve heard, he’s an officer on a transport vessel,” she said to Hannah, making sure the patient couldn’t hear in case the rumors were false. “A plasma conduit onboard exploded when it got caught in one of those storms, and the Lieutenant here shielded a little girl with his own body. If that’s true, he’s a real hero.” 

Neri took out her own tricorder and quickly scanned Lt. Anix. ”Meds are taking effect, that’s good to see. “On to the burn chamber, then?”

Hannah nodded, confirming Neri’s assumption. There wasn’t much that could be done to help the lieutenant until he’d spent a session or two in the chamber.

“I’ll need an anti-grav lift and a couple more people in trauma bay three to move this patient!” Hannah shouted out into the main room.

Hannah was fairly certain that in the lieutenant’s present medicated state, he would be unattuned to what was happening. That didn’t stop her though from attempting to be as comforting as possible while waiting for the other staff to show up. She placed her hand on his right shoulder and leaned in, and explained to him that they were going to move him to another room to treat his wounds, making sure what she said was just loud enough to be heard.

When the other nurses arrived with the lift, she ordered them and Neri to position themselves each in a quadrant of the patient’s body, her and Neri at the head and upper torso, and the other nurses at the lower torso and legs, and on the count of three, they would lift him onto the bed. “One…two…three.” she counted out, with a heave on three bearing much of the lieutenant’s weight.

Once he was safely on the bed, she gave Neri an affirming look “It wasn’t much, but I appreciate all you’ve done to help me with this patient. I’m sure your words of comfort to him went a long way. While I take him to the burn chamber, I’d like for you to try and locate this girl he managed to save so I can talk to her when I’m finished.”

Neri smiled as Hannah nudged the lift forward and headed off, “Yes Doctor.” she replied.

Even if he thought about it very hard, Ensign Elegy Weld couldn’t do the math in his head to explain how a one-in-a-century ion storm in the Paulson Nebula had led to a brawl in a coffee shop on Starbase Bravo’s promenade.  From deep in the fray, Elegy had seen it happening with his own eyes, and it still baffled him.  Elegy had only avoided injury, himself, through the skills of a couple of dedicated security officers.  Later on, he would need to solve that equation, because he needed to write several reports on the matter, not least of all because Lieutenant (Junior Grade) Robert Callahan had taken a mug to the head and dropped like a bag of coffee beans.

Guiding Callahan into the secondary hospital ward –without doting too much, to protect the ego of said security officer– Elegy pointed out an empty biobed that was available.  Elegy had been watching Callahan’s neurological responses to environmental stimuli through their walk from the promenade, and nothing too alarming had presented itself.  As both a psychiatrist, and a medical doctor, Elegy asked Callahan, “Why don’t you tell me everywhere it hurts?”

Callahan eased onto the biobed, gaze rather guarded. Throughout the walk he had seemed uneasy at being accompanied, as if his situation didn’t warrant the fuss and bother of an escort – or like he wanted to give that impression to deflect Elegy’s attention. “You don’t need to stick around on my behalf, Counsellor,” he said, clearly not realising Elegy’s medical training. “I appreciate the thought, but your concern’s unnecessary. It’s just standard to get blows to the head checked out, it’s probably fine.”

“I agree: you’re probably fine,” Elegy replied idly; he sorted through items in an equipment cabinet until he found a medical tricorder.  Padding back to the biobed, Elegy held the tricorder down at his side.  A little bit sheepish now, Elegy asked of Callahan, “Since it’s only routine, I was hoping you’d let me examine you myself.  I’ve just finished medical school and I could use the practice.”  Playfully, Elegy rose the tricorder and shook it like a maraca.

The half-smirk that tugged at Callahan’s lips appeared to do so rather against his will. It did, at least, do the job of redirecting power from his shields, and he shifted back to settle more on the biobed. “If you must,” he said, rather more wryly, though kept his eyes on Elegy with a hint of that guarded air remaining. At length, as Elegy worked, he finally ventured, “You think the telepathic influence will have passed by now?”

After syncing the tricorder with the sensors in the biobed, Elegy waved the tricorder in the general vicinity of Callahan’s head.  “Your norepinephrine levels are well above baselines, Lieutenant,” Elegy said, sharing the findings from the tricorder readings.  As he allowed the tricorder to continue its sensor scans, Elegy tilted his head back, looking up at the overhead.  His mind drifted to another mental equation that came much easier than matters of chance and causality.  “Given how long ago I treated my patient’s Zanthi Fever, his telepathic projection of emotions should have abated by now.”  Looking to Callahan, Elegy spoke in what was supposed to be a reassuring tone, but it all came out a little too theoretical.  Elegy offered, “If he caused your spike in norepinephrine, research suggests your ange– I mean, the effects should pass by morning.”

Callahan winced, shifting uncomfortably as he glared at a point on the bulkhead. His jaw worked as he ran through something in his mind, before he at last gave a frustrated sigh. “I don’t suppose,” he said carefully, turning his head to Elegy but not quite looking at him, “you could write that up in your report. In case there’s a complaint about what happened down in Brew. So I can make it clear to the Old Man that these were – you know, extenuating circumstances.” His words did not come easily, the desire to brush quickly past what had happened clashing with apprehension of consequences.

“It was an alarming situation.  I thought the Zanthi telepathic effects might be spreading, that more of the crowd might turn on us for trying to settle the brawl,” Elegy said, as he adjusted the settings on the tricorder.  Elegy had shared that impression in a consoling fashion, sharing regret and sympathy over Callahan’s outburst to the patrons of Brew, along with a situation that had spun perilous beyond their control.  What Elegy said next came out with less sympathy, but there was still no judgment in his tone either.  Only acknowledgement.  “And what you said was alarming,” Elegy said, naming the emotion he had felt at the time.  He met Callahan’s eyes for only a second and then he busied himself, calling up a file on the tricorder’s interface.

Callahan stiffened, his own gaze immediately dropping. “I – I know,” he faltered. “I know it’s unacceptable to make threats like that, especially in a situation like that – that was just regular civilians getting out of hand, and through no fault of their own. I know it’s not how I’ve been trained, I know it’s not how Starfleet should be, how Starfleet Security should be, we’re here to help people…” His voice trailed off, the slightly desperate edge of explaining and condemning himself in one breath running out of steam as Elegy worked and, for long moments, gave him no answer. Somewhat nervously, Callahan’s eyes eventually dragged up to regard him.

Once he found the data he was looking for, Elegy swiped away Callahan’s medical records and he gave the man a determined nod.  “Given your baseline charts, I’d say your norepinephrine levels were most likely caused by the Zanthi projections.  Your body was reacting as if you were in a warzone, rather than a coffee house brawl,” Elegy affirmed.  “That will be in my report.”

With a sigh of relief, Callahan sagged. “Thank you,” he said at last. His gaze again fell on the bulkhead, but now it was with a distant, thoughtful air, rather than the avoidance of earlier, and he began to fiddle with the cuff of his uniform. “I was just so frustrated with them – fighting over petty things when people have lost their homes, their families; lost everything. I knew they were influenced, too, but it felt like they were keeping me from helping with real problems.” He blew his cheeks out and drew a deep breath, and began to rally as he straightened and regarded Elegy. “Anyway, you did a really good job back there, diffusing the situation. Much more use than us security goons, I think.”

“Theoretically,” Elegy remarked, the vowels elongated.  Speaking in a self-depreciating tone, Elegy bobbed his head from side to side, and he couldn’t contain a small self-satisfied grin.  “I suspect your usual encounters are a little more complicated than spilled coffee.  …Still.  Thank you for that, Lieutenant,” Elegy said.  He took one more look at the biofunction monitor, as he added his notations and sensor logs to Callahan’s patient chart.  “I suppose that’s why you joined Starfleet?  To solve problems?” Elegy asked.

“To keep people safe,” Callahan said a little simply, then he gave a faint wince, as if realising this was a somewhat trite and superficial answer. His shrug was rather evasive as he pushed on. “I’m from Mars. I’d like to help people like I was helped. I’m not so sure I’ve been doing that patrolling SB-4’s Promenade.” He gave another shrug, this much openness apparently requiring he be as self-effacing as possible, as quickly as possible, and he looked back at Elegy. “What about you? Starfleet Medical Academy’s not something you sign up for lightly.”

Multi-tasking as he finished off his report, Elegy said, “I was programmed from birth to be a Starfleet officer.  Starfleet is my whole universe.”  He said it whimsically.  As he said more, whimsy turned to nostalgia, and nostalgia turned to something quiet and personal.  “My mother is a security officer.  …Was a security officer.  She’s alive, but… Working security for decades, and the dominion war, it changed the way she thought.  Changed the lens she looked through.  The worst of it hit when I was at the academy, and she’s my mom, you know?” –Elegy’s green eyes stayed on his tricorder, like was afraid to look up, but his gaze was glassy, like he was staring through the tricorder–  “Psychology was the only elective that spoke to me.  I’d never considered it before.  I was going to be an operations manager, but she’s my mom.  I wanted to be able to talk to her without feeling… helpless.”

Callahan had stayed quiet as he listened, body language softening, the aura of defensiveness fading as his colleague opened up. “It’s funny,” he mused, in a way which sounded like humour was the last thing on his mind. “This is a calling which drags us all over the galaxy and dozens of light-years from anywhere we call home, but so much of the time it all comes down to family at the end of the day. It’s good of you to think of your mother. We should all be so lucky for our loved ones to keep standing up for us like that.” He sounded approving rather than wistful, understanding rather than strictly jealous.

A little overwhelmed by how vulnerable he felt in that moment, Elegy said, “Thank you, Lieutenant.  That means a lot to me.”  He was only able to hold eye-contact for a couple of heartbeats before he looked at his tricorder one last time.  His medical report complete, Elegy moved to pack away the tricorder.  “You’re lucky.  There’s no sign of a concussion or other brain injuries.  You must have a hard head,” Elegy said, making the easy joke.  He looked at Callahan, and he wanted to say something, but he didn’t want to say anything, but he wanted to say something.  “Make sure security is what you love,” Elegy spat out.  As he continued, his inflection was awkward and halting.  “It’s gotta be the only thing you want to do.  Security is a… challenging career.  What it did to my mother, I wouldn’t want that for you.”

The corners of Callahan’s eyes creased as he listened, and he at last gave a faltering nod. “It is what I love. I mean, I think it is. Maybe I need a shift from patrolling the Promenade all day, try something else. But I – I get you.” He hopped to his feet and straightened up, body language reasserting that veneer of casual, confident control. “Thanks for the check-up, Counsellor. I reckoned it was only a sucker punch; I thought I had that Betelgeusian calmed down and didn’t see it coming. Can’t be too careful, though.” He tapped his temple where he’d been hit, and now he was happy to act like it was definitely no big deal. “I expect you’ve got to get to people who actually need help.”

Taking tentative steps backwards, Elegy winced at the thought of the collection of patients he’d seen in the past few days.  Between the grieving mothers and fathers and orphans, it put a furrow in the brow of his shaved head.  Hooking a thumb over his shoulder, Elegy supposed, “I should track down where that nurse took my Zanthi patient.  You stay safe, Lieutenant.  …Maybe stay away from coffee for the next week?”

‘Can’t pretend I’m not surprised,’ rumbled Geraint Vaughn as he read the PADD on his desk, scratching his stubbly chin. ‘I thought you were more the bobby on the beat type.’

Callahan tried to not squirm under his boss’s gaze, which managed to be a mixture of beady yet disinterested. Vaughn didn’t like things he didn’t understand, but he was also deeply impatient when it came to the lives and habits of junior officers. It was unwise to draw this out. ‘I want a change, sir,’ he started.

Vaughn stared at him. ‘Yeah. That’s how transfers usually work.’

‘It’s still within Promenade Security. I’m trained as an investigator, and I have the experience to move over to the Investigations Section.’

‘If you didn’t, I would just stamp this with “no” and move on with my day. Didn’t ask you in here to debate that.’ Vaughn moved to a fresh PADD. ‘You’ve got four years of patrol officer under your belt. Was this just getting the experience down before you moved on to something shinier?’

Callahan knew this sort of work had defined Vaughn’s whole career, and that he had to step lightly. ‘It’s been four years which have given me the chance to figure out what I care about, sir. I like working in communities, I like building these connections and bonds to do my job better. That’s important, and it’s a skill and experience I’ll take forward.’

‘You know that criminal investigation isn’t pitting your wits against the bad guys in a desperate intellectual battle, right?’ Vaughn grunted. ‘Most of the time you’re just figuring out who broke in and robbed a shop.’

‘I know. And this is Starbase Bravo; crime is low. But I want to move away from just checking in on people every day, presenting the friendly face of Security just in case something goes wrong. I’d rather spend time getting stuck in right away when there’s a problem.’

Vaughn watched him. ‘This doesn’t have anything to do with what happened down at that coffee shop, does it?’

Callahan’s throat tightened. ‘The reports said…’

‘Telepathy and all of that; I read the reports. Your shift supervisor talked to you about it. If a hammer was going to come down on you about that, Callahan, you’d have heard by now. But you don’t get away from one problem just by moving somewhere else.’

‘I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t an influence, sir. I don’t feel good about what happened -’

‘That’s the bare minimum,’ Vaughn muttered, but didn’t cut him off further.

‘…and yes, it’s making me second-guess how well I serve the community if, even telepathically sparked, I have that kind of anger towards them.’

‘But you won’t have that kind of anger towards them if you’re figuring out who robbed them?’

Callahan winced. ‘The context is different, sir.’

Vaughn clicked his tongue. ‘Do I need to assign you counselling?’

‘I – no, sir, I’m fine. This is me recognising what happened, and taking appropriate measures. I’ve been thinking about it a while – like I said, I’m trained and qualified. But this made clear it was the right time for a shift. Especially now you have all of these new patrol officers.’

Vaughn made a face. ‘The new patrol officers replaced the experienced ones I had. Experienced like you, Callahan, even if it’s only five minutes’ experience. That’s not doing me a favour.’ But before Callahan could counter that, he’d waved an irritable, dismissive hand. ‘Fine, whatever. Paperwork’s signed, congratulations, you’re on the Investigations Section. New desk, new set of responsibilities, no more pounding the beat.’

Callahan knew this was approaching a dismissal, and hopped to his feet with some relief. ‘Thank you, sir.’

Vaughn grunted, and Callahan turned to the door. He was halfway out before the commander spoke again, his voice low but gruff, carrying. ‘If I hear of you doing anything like what happened in Brew again, telepathy or no telepathy, you’ll be off-duty pending psych evaluation and my personal judgement on whether you’re fit to serve the public. Got it.’

Callahan cringed. ‘Got it,’ he said, and fled.

Being lightly mauled by Vaughn was not the worst this transfer could have gone.