Three days ago Lieutenant Niamh O’Donoghue had wanted nothing more than rest. After five years serving on an hospital hospital ship, the U.S.S.. Hippocrates, she’d begun to feel like the winds of change pushing her toward a transfer. Though she’d found her work with the crew both rewarding and enriching, she could no longer deny the physical and psychology toll that hopping from crisis to crisis was beginning to take on her. After some reflection, she decided there was only so much she could take and with that promptly put into transfer to the Fourth Fleet.

Somewhat impulsively she had cashed in her remaining shore leave days and made her way directly for Task Force 72 upon discovering the station function as an hub for incoming officers, hoping that she’d be lucky enough to secure something a little more promptly.

That was how she found herself here, walking down the last part of corridor that separated her from opportunity. She never bothered with the shore leave in the end, the three days spent on the runabout that shipped her had left her restless. Niamh entered the foyer to Captain Th’lora Vehl’s office quietly, smiling politely towards the receptionist as she cleared the distance.

“Welcome to the Task Force office. How may I be of assistance?” the receptionist asked, greeting the woman standing before her with a smile.

“Good Morning, I was wondering if I’d be able to steal a moment of Captain Vehl’s time?” the Irishwoman asked politely.

“Captain Vehl is quite busy, but if you’ll give me a moment I’ll see if she can spare a few moments.” Tapping a couple of buttons, she opened a comm channel to the office behind her and awaited a response.

“Yes, Rachel?” the curt reply came from the other end.

“I apologize for the intrusion Captain, but there is a Miss O’Donoghue here to see you. She says she was sent here by the CO of the Hippocrates.”

There was a brief, several second pause before the captain replied “Send her in.”

The receptionist turned to face the door behind and to her left and motioned with an outstretched hand, “You may go in.”

“Thank you very much” Niamh said with a slight nod of her forehead before making her way into the room.

“See that these supplies are delivered to the Potemkin in berth thirteen, and have this report delivered to Commodore Jalian as soon as possible. He’ll need it before meeting with the Ambassador from Betazed tomorrow morning.” Th’lora said to her aide before dismissing him.

Rising from her seat, Th’lora extended her hand to greet the woman now standing before her. “A pleasure to meet you Miss O’Donoghue. You’ll have to forgive me. I was not expecting anyone today. I can however, spare a few minutes. What can I do for you?”

“Captain”, Niamh took Th’lora’s hand respectfully before withdrawing her own, “Forgive me for just dropping in like this I was hoping I have an unconventional request to make” the counsellor explained, realising just how impulsive she might have been, “I was wondering if I could discuss finding a posting that offers and immediate start? I was originally supposed to be on shore leave but I find myself incredibly restless”.

“Ordinarily,” Th’lora began, “This would be a matter that should be brought to the Personnel Office. However, since you took the time to come all this way, let me see what I can do.”

Th’lora reseated herself and pressed the cold metallic power switch, activating her terminal. She specifically requested access to the personnel database, and cross-referenced it with ships in the fleet that met the requirements Niamh was looking for. When the results came up, she postulated that none of the options would be overly appealing given their current status, but surmised that there was at least one that would fit the criteria desired.

“It looks like there are three available ships that meet the criteria you’re seeking. There is the USS Magellan, Galaxy-class, crew complement of just over a thousand currently seeking an assistant for their Chief Counsellor. Unfortunately they’re a month out before they reach a starbase. Then we have the Comanche an Akira-class vessel. She’s still another two and a half weeks before her refit is complete. However, they’re needing a full crew complement so you’d have your pick of positions. Finally there is the Aquarius, a Resolute-class vessel. She’s docked at the Devron Fleet Yards preparing to depart in just over a week for the former Romulan Neutral Zone en route to Caldos. Captain Derohl is in need of a Chief Counsellor. Do any of those sound of interest to you?” She asked.

Niamh mulled her options for a moment, though as soon as the Aquarius had been mentioned she had already made her choice. Of the three, she had already heard of the Aquarius though a fellow Academy alumnus who was stationed as their Chief Medical Officer. Though he’d only joined recently himself, she had known Lieutenant Elisha Macomb since her first days at the academy. They had never been close, but had maintained communication and one of their last conversations had been her friend letting her know he had begun to settle in.

“I’d like to chose the Aquarius, please” Niamh confirmed, “I have a passing familiarity for the vessel and I already know that I’d happy on a vessel with her mission profile” she smiled.

“Very well. I will draft up the paperwork for your transfer and forward it off to Captain Derohl immediately. He shall be expecting you upon your arrival. Was there anything else I can assist you with?”

“Not at all, Captain” Niamh assured Th’lora. “I’d honestly come in wondering if I’d be told to take an hike and do things by procedure. I’m very grateful that you took the time out of your schedule to help me out, it’s greatly appreciated”

“Think nothing of it.” Th’lora began as she rose from her seat “It’s one of the ways I differentiate myself from others in the administration. I know what it’s like to be between assignments, so I’m glad I could be of assistance. Just don’t let it become common knowledge that my door is open. I don’t need every officer looking for a new posting knocking on my door.” she concluded with a chuckle.

Niamh smirked, tapping her nose, “of course, Captain. Your secret is safe we me” she promised.

With a final handshake to conclude the meeting, Th’lora wished Niamh luck with her future posting and returned to her seat to resume her previous duties.

With that Niamh ventured back out into the station proper, she had time to kill before she’d need to depart for Devron Fleet Yards and the stations lakeside café was dying to be visited.

Roger rushed down the hallway. He’d been requested in the sickbays. He was a civilian volunteer doctor. A do-gooder with a vision of saving the world (the universe). Some might say he was a sucker. Maybe he was. But all he knew was in that moment, he had lives to save. The Cardassians were losing their grip on the Betazed colonies-but the damage they’d done was already affecting him. So much loss. So many young people-not just males, but also females, with missing limbs, and missing lives, and missing souls. What hurt the worst though, were the children who’d have to face their mother or father never coming back. His soul was still (mostly) intact, though-his careful training at the best Human medical schools and hospitals had taught him to compartmentalize the horrors he saw. There were rumors that the Federation’s already-loose grasp on the Betas was fast slipping. There wasn’t time to ruminate, anyway.  

A tricorder in hand, he stepped towards a gurney. The nameless (he couldn’t remember the man’s name) medical officer nearby spoke to him. “He’s been burnt by, we believe, a plasma cannon.” Roger nodded. “Ok, thank you. I can take it from here, go help the others.”  He scanned the male alien being with his tricorder. Sure enough, it was SEVERAL deep burns that went deep into his body. Roger sighed, but spoke gently to the male Betazoid. “Are you able to tell me where it hurts?” The patient’s eyes were closed, but he nodded, and with struggle, he opened his eyes a tiny bit, and spoke. No, doc. And then he was unconscious again. Roger worked carefully, but quickly. As a human, his skills were more limited than the various beings who could employ more “mind healing” type tactics, but his first thought was to use the dermal regenerator. He called out for one, and it was passed with the quickness. After several moments, Roger could see superficial changes, but the tricorder still recorded damage deep within. He sighed. Bigger guns were going to be needed. Running for the supply closet, he rummaged around for a critical regenerator, cursing his own slowness and the clumsiness of his brain and human hands. After he located the correct device, he ran towards his patient, realizing quickly that time was of the essence and was swiftly running out. In it’s usual state, his brain ran on several tracts-he was decently intelligent, and could think on his feet. But right now? He could only focus on healing, so when the song entered his brain, he had to turn it off.  “All that you touch/And all that you see/All that you taste/All you feel…” It was a VERY old song from Earth, called “Eclipse” by British ProgRock band Pink Floyd. He’d found an artifact music device of it once and had played it. His father had HATED it so Roger kept it up through the entirety of his school career. Why it was bothering him now was anyone’s guess. He worked, hard, his face squinting in the overhead, bright, clinical lights. “Fight with me,” he pleaded the unknown soldier. “Just a bit longer.” Normally, he’d just cut the being open and do surgery, but…there wasn’t time or equipment or personnel or supplies, or ENOUGH PEOPLE WHO CARED to do that. The CMO had warned him that in this intense battle, there was no time for heroics. Just get them stable and let the enlisted do the rest. The regenerator beeped, and the tricorder was STILL picking up injuries. Damn. His eyes flew to the scanner that showed the being’s life signs. It wasn’t looking good. From somewhere, a voice-oh, the CMO-reminded him NO HEROICS. But he couldn’t just LET another one die. With a nod In the other man’s general direction, Roger spent just another minute trying his damndest. It took only a few seconds longer for his subconscious mind to register that his attempts were futile. HARRISON. WE NEED YOU. He had to stop, to move on, to save more. It took a few seconds more for his conscious brain to register what his deepest fears confirmed-it was futile. After a final beep, he placed the regenerator on a tray nearby. Gone. Another young man. The one he couldn’t save-not that day. Oh, sure, there were others, and there would be more to come, but for some reason…this one hit harder. Why? Roger had no idea. He didn’t know this Betazoid. He just knew that he felt a kindred. Maybe this man was also a father, a husband. Maybe he was a healer. Who knew?