Silence reigned supreme as Miranda faded in and out of consciousness.  In the far off distance she could hear the echoes of familiar voices wafting in and out of range like parachute seeds on a summer breeze.   It was rather ironic that the very layers of metal, electronic equipment, and insulating fibers all engineered preserve and aid life now muffled, hushed, and suffocated her cries for help.  Miranda was now very tired, waning in efforts to gather sufficient air filled lungs to sustain the most ancient distress call known to man.

“Lead me on Valentine.”

The words were barely able to escape her lips.  Her eyes closed once more without consent and having little fight left, she gave into the solace of memory and nostalgia.  She could see Valentine trotting down the hall, stopping briefly to assess her intensions of following through on filling his dish.  She could smell bacon and Mom’s famous pancakes.  This was a staple on those cozy Saturday mornings.  Her father nodded with a smile, seated at the head of table with a steaming pot of black tar he called coffee.

“This isn’t so bad.”

Her voice was now external.  She couldn’t tell if she was speaking or someone else was narrating her story with her own vocal chords.  Far from distressing, she allowed the unidentified narrator to continue as her eyes caught a glimpse of the the dense white fog which surrounded their house on those are chilly mornings.  There was really nothing to observe and the experience should have been quite boring, but she loved the glowing light and charm it spread throughout her room.  It was the closest she got to ‘snow days’ where she lived.  Valentine and her could sit for hours nestled in fleece blankets and drinking hot cocoa.

“What were you thinking Mija!  The Academy looks deep into your record and history, your father and I are very disappointed.”

Someone had mastered her mother’s voice perfectly, just the right amount of anxious distress to inspire a cacophony of guilt, shame, and existential dread.  Worse yet was the absence of her father’s face, his eyes inspecting an empty coffee cup as he leaned against the door frame.  He never looked at her when she messed up; its how she knew the gravity of her actions.  Actions she would never repeat again.

Miranda’s eyes closed.  The darkness had returned; not even the stars were visible in the night sky.  She felt ill, clammy, feverish, her joints ached.  She imagined death would hurt more than the flu.  This was an all too familiar feeling.  She had hoped to feel free and painless during the final transition, the last chance to ‘boldly go’ where too many had gone before…and yet she found herself content if this was the worst.

Since the assault course of releasing herself from her quarters, Squidge had obtained a wrist torch, a phaser, a med-kit and a Lieutenant. Her first stop had been a few doors down from her own. Together, she and a young command officer called Mallory Harper had managed to force the door on the Junior Lieutenant’s quarters and together they had formed a liberation team, checking on any officers and crew they found, distributing directions, regulations, orders, supplies, kind words and, in one case, a hug.

As more time passed and no sign of boarders or further threats became apparent, Squidge started to relax a little. This is what you chose this assignment for she reminded herself, and quelled some of Lieutenant Harper’s feelings of unease with a healthy dose of Squidge optimism and some eccentric giggles. The counsellor shone her light on the next door, they were getting to be pros at the manual release by now.

“Cargo bay,” she commented and accessing the panel, hung on the lever which squealed and clicked the doors apart.

Releasing a long slow breath, uncertain if she would have the stamina to draw another, a striking beam of light exposed the gap in her eyelids.  The light grew vertically and expanded horizontally, but it was difficult for Miranda to see what the source was.  There were shadows which looked like humanoid figures, at least two faces peered down upon her.  She assumed it was her mother and father.  She assumed this was how it ended.

“Ensign, can you hear me?” Squidge knelt by Miranda’s side and started an assessment of her injuries. The medical tricorder was removed from the kit and Squidge ran the probe across her body as if stroking an aura. “It’s Doctor Gray.” Squidge didn’t use the term Doctor much any more although still technically true, but in this case she had quickly concluded the phrasing would offer comfort for the injured. After all, before she was a counsellor she had been a M.D.

Miranda could hear the chirps and beeps of the medical tricorder as her body was scanned.  Each beep, boop, and shrill cry of the tricorder caused pain in her ears and highlighted several painful regions of her body.  She groaned and winced with pain as the little energy she had maintained consciousness.  The annoyance was agitation enough to keep her eyes from closing and the longer they were, the quicker the blurriness of her vision subsided.  Much like her beloved tricorder, the faces of those in front of her became far more familiar and the words spoken were making so much more sense.

“I think…I need a doctor,” Miranda stated in soft whispered tones.  “Everything hurts.” Squidge smiled at her, her face completely hiding any reaction to what she was seeing on the tricorder screen.

“Lucky you have one then,” Squidge commented in her usual bright tone. The fact she hadn’t been a full Starfleet M.O. since the Dominion War was a detail that didn’t need to be disclosed in the immediate. Squidge was more than qualified to be an emergency medic. The contusion on Miranda’s head was presenting the Counsellor with the most concern. Chances of Concussion were high so Squidge kept her patient alert by way of conversation.

“What’s your name?” She asked.

Miranda’s eyes locked onto the woman before her, her affect blunted by painful agitation.  She grabbed her sore neck and furrowed her brow as another point of sensitivity was identified.

“Miranda,” she muttered in response, “I…I…was counting….”

Silence was much easier than talking and thinking.  Counting wasn’t the exact word she was looking for, but it was all that could come to mind from her current cognitive abilities.

“I think I can…” she continued leaning to one side, attempting to get on all fours and back to her feet.  The pain in her head protested, leaving her slumping to the floor instead in wrenching agony.

“Take it easy, Ensign,” Squidge told her in the kind of senior-officer tone one doesn’t easily disobey. “Lie down, on your side if you can, let me patch you up a bit.” The older women shone her light into the open medpack and aquired another tool. “That’s a nasty contusion, and I’d bet my favourite pyjamas you’ve got a concussion too.”

Compliance was easier when one’s body was frighting every attempt to regain independence.  Miranda rolled to her side, head rested on the upper arm outstretched across the metallic floor.  She released a deep breath hanging onto every word the doctor spoke; they kept her from fading into sleepless darkness.

“Am I gonna be okay?” Miranda inquired, listlessly focusing from object to object.

“Yes, we found you soon enough. You’ll be fine! Shine that here…” Squidge switched tools and addressed the wound on Miranda’s head under the light of Harper’s torch. She administered two shots from the hypospray and then moved to closing the wound with a regenerator, her tongue sticking through her teeth in concentration. “That’s something for the pain and something else for the dizziness. You should feel a little clearer shortly.”

Miranda nodded affirmatively that she understood, already feeling the early effects of treatment.  She rolled to her knees, braced herself against the container, and stumbled onto studying feet and legs.  The surroundings were making sense once again and her ability to recall the great context of who she was and the mission she was on prior to the black out were returning.

“Thank you Doctor,” she affirmed as the light at the end of the tunnel revealed her path back home to her quarters.

“Take it easy,” Squidge advised kindly, placing an affirming hand on her shoulder. “Head for one of the emergency shelter points, the Lounge or Sickbay, Engineering, The Bridge. We’re going to see if we can’t find some more trapped and injured. Right Harper?” Squidge looked to her compatriot and started popping items from the medkit back into its pouch.

“Yes ma’am,” the Lieutenant replied.

“Only in the darkness can you see the stars.” ~ Martin Luther King Jr.