The USS Mackenzie lay in the lower levels of Starbase 72.  Spotlights focused on the exterior damage, and repairs were ongoing.  Wren sat in the viewing lounge that looked on the bay her ship was laid up in.  Reports had been coming in of success in the Deneb sector.  That hope had been jarringly spoiled by the alert that had come through secure channels.  Farpoint was the final target of the Dominion, and every able ship was in motion to make a final stand.  Wren tapped at her PADD nervously.  The report from Commander Vane had been plain – the Mackenzie wouldn’t be ready for any duty for several weeks.  Walton muttered, “Goddamn Dominion.”  They’d taken thirty-five of her crew from her.  The worst part was the losses felt pointless.  That the Dominion’s need for war wasn’t rooted in an ancient cause or historical contention with those in the Alpha Quadrant.  It was the Founder ordained hunger for domination fed through the dogma of the Changelings as gods.

“Captain?”  She turned and shifted over to give Commander Okada Katsumi room, which she took.  “She took a beating.”  Katsumi had worked hard as they’d made the long run to 72 to keep the Mackenzie together.  Wren had ordered her to take a few days off and leave her station.

“We all did, Okada.”  The Chief Engineer looked less worn than the last time.  “Your off time was helpful?”

Katsumi answered, “It helped…but I don’t know if it was enough.”  She struggled with her words, “I lost five engineers, Wren.  I finished their letters this morning…and goddamn, does it hurt.”  She wiped at her eyes, “I’ve cried enough about this…it hurts to cry now.  They were five of us…we’re a family down in that engine room, captain…and we’ve just lost brothers and sisters…and for what?”  She accepted a tissue from Walton and cried into it, “Some genocidal maniacs who don’t dare about anything but their kingdom in the universe.  Goddamn Dominion.”

Wren pulled her chief engineer into her shoulder.  They sat together in silence for fifteen minutes, watching the ongoing repairs to the Excelsior II class ship.  The captain spoke quietly, “What can we do to for it to be…enough?”  She wasn’t sure what the answer would be, but it needed asking.  Okada was the next best thing to an XO.  She had been instrumental in bridging the gap between the new officers and the old guard.

Katsumi wasn’t sure.  Her eyes remained focused on the Mackenzie.  “I need time back home.  I need to…reconnect with my family. I need to visit the families of the engineers I lost.”  She gently sat back up, “I need to find myself again, captain.”  She straightened her uniform, “I don’t know how long it will take. Grief isn’t easy.”  She stood up, at attention.

Walton understood.  “You have my permission for leave, Okada.  I’ll be in touch.”  Katsumi gave a reserved nod and slowly walked away, emotions trailing in her wake.

“When will the nightmares end, sensei?”  Asata Hiro sat at the living room table in Henry Longfellow’s quarters, her fingers working on a challenging puzzle.  She was dressed casually and sat comfortably.  Longfellow was helping but also listening to his Chief Charge Nurse.

“I don’t know that they ever fully go away, Hiro-san.”  He was in casual wear too.  “We find ways to reconcile the trials of battlefield medicine.  It’s not perfect…but when we travel on that road together, we have a better chance of surviving it.”  He snapped a few pieces in, smiling in satisfaction.  “There are moments when I am transported back to my younger days.  A smell or a sound might throw me back to that time…or it just might be something I’m thinking about…and suddenly I’m connecting to an old case or memory.”

Hiro rounded a few pieces to snap in place and smiled at her small victory.  It was a 5,000-piece puzzle.  They had been at it a few days.  She had found comfort in these down moments.  “Are those memories painful, sensei?”

He stood and placed a cup underneath the replicator.  It was filled with a hard cider.  Henry answered as he returned to the table, “If we’re being philosophical…yes.  All memories have at least some pain associated with them. Physical, emotional, psychological pain…or just the pain of the experience.  Someone once told me early in my career on Earth, ‘Life is pain…anybody who tells you otherwise is lying.’  I laughed at him…but I think I’m coming around to the idea.”

Asata wasn’t sure she agreed with the sentiment.  Was life truly pain?  The more she thought about it, the more she wasn’t sure what she thought.  She answered, “That…seems a very…pessimistic view of the world, sensei.”

Henry chuckled, “You’re not wrong, Hiro-san…but everybody looks at the world differently.  You’re the most optimistic of the two of us.  Our paths in life were similar…but still varied.  I’d like to think I’ve earned the right to pessimism.”

Hiro cracked, “I believe there is no such right in the Federation Charter.”

Longfellow cackled.  It was a rare moment of humor, and he gave her a broad smile in return, “This comes from the Longfellow Charter, Hiro-san.”  

She rolled her eyes with a faint smile, returning to work on the puzzle.  “Puzzles are hard.  Much like people.”

“Commander, we’re here to evaluate your performance on the USS Mackenzie.”  The ten officers around the table held PADDs and stared at him.  “Please state your name, rank, and position for the record.”

He took a sip of water, feeling as if things were about to go very badly.  He answered, “Commander Charles Hargraves, Diplomatic Officer…USS Mackenzie.”

A voice from the left spoke, “You made several requests that were deemed inappropriate during this mission.  You then circumvented the guidelines that were given to you.  Against recommendations, you changed the mission of the Mackenzie’s response to Janoor III.”

Hargraves wanted to sigh and push away from the table.  Walk out.  Return to Earth.  And leave this world behind.  Instead, he answered the non-question with an attempt at his question, “I accept the record of events.  The narrative isn’t informed on the local decisions we had to….”

“You’ve accepted the record of events.  That’s all we….”

It was Charlie’s time to interrupt, “Respectfully, I’m not sure of the point of this Diplomatic Department review.  Every report I submitted has been heavily redacted or classified.  Or both.  I’ve signed several secrecy clauses and non-disclosure documents.  I do not feel this review session will be accurate or fair.”

Silence fell among the gathered diplomatic officers.  There were a few shared glances until the woman at the head of the table spoke, “Your feelings on the matter have been noted and recorded, Commander Hargraves.  Are you stating you don’t wish to participate in this review?”  

He could see her shadow in the lights.  He knew they would make their judgment without his side of the story if he decided not to take part.  He would be accountable for whatever they decided.  He was tired and growing tired of running up against a wall every time he needed something from his department.  He sighed long, “Yes, that is what I am saying.”

There were a few visible looks of shock, but most remained impassive.  The woman’s voice returned, “Then we will proceed with our ruling.  Commander Charles Hargraves, you are hereby demoted in rank and responsibility to Lieutenant.  You are removed as Chief Diplomatic Officer, USS Mackenzie, with a successor to be named later.  You will remain on the Mackenzie.”  She tapped at her PADD, “This decision is final.  You are dismissed, Lieutenant Hargraves.”

He stood, stunned.  A yeoman approached and held out her hand.  He looked at the hand, not understanding.  She lost patience with him and removed his rank pips, jarring him to realize what had just occurred.  He stood dumbly until his mind caught up, and he walked listlessly out of the room and into the corridor.   He found a bench to sit at.  He reached up and touched the remaining gold at his neck.  What was he going to do now?

“You haven’t asked me about my mother.” Commander Seoyeon sat back on the couch, smiling at Juliet Woodward.  They were sitting in the chief counselor’s temporary office on Starbase 72.  Wren had requested her to return as Chief Counselor on the Mackenzie.

Woodward scoffed, “You’re the one who had a fever dream about her, Park…I was waiting for you to bring her up.”  She kept track of their discussion on her PADD.  “Do you think it was real?”

The executive officer wasn’t sure, yet she was also very sure.  The things her mother said to her…the things she had felt…had been so real.  Things her mother had said to her she had never heard her say before…and her voice was clear as if she…had been there.  “Is it weird if I say yes?”

Juliet shrugged, “Science explains a great deal in this modern age.  The Bajoran Faith remains a mystery at times. Some say that Captain Sisko is there, here, and everywhere..and others are convinced he’s dead.  But do we know how it all works?”  She shrugged again, “The Blood Dilithium was a mystery…and some of that mystery remains so, even with scientists studying it every day.  And let’s not get started on the Lost Fleet.”  She made a note, “What if it was real?  What does that mean to you?”

Seoyeon felt stymied by the question.  “It would mean my mother found a way to reach me on my death bed…that she found a way to reconcile with me from wherever in the great beyond she is.” Woodward cocked her head to the side, and the XO could only shrug, “I don’t know, Juliet.  It means that my mother loves me…and that I love her…and that maybe us finally being able to say that to each other connected us in that moment of near death…and brought us together one last time.”  Park felt her eyes burning and dabbed at them, “There’s been too much death and loss in my life recently.  Mom, our crew…it feels impossible to keep my footing sometimes.”

Juliet understood, “Trauma and loss are like solid ice under our feet that thickens the more we experience…and the less we tackle, the more we fall and struggle to get up.”  She sipped her tea, “We can feel like there’s no way for us to get back up on our feet…and that we never want to get up because it’s too hard…or too much.”

The XO nodded, “Every bit of that.  I’m glad we got you back, Juliet.”

Woodward raised her mug of tea, “I’m glad you all asked for me back.”  A deep silence fell over them before Juliet mourned, “Mo was a good counselor…I wish he had been given a chance to shine here.”  She’d worked with a pool of officers to replace her.  Mo Guowei had risen to the top consistently.  His attention to detail and drive had stood out to her.  “What do you need to keep your footing?”

Seoyeon sighed because she knew the question was coming.  She knew the answer.  It didn’t make the process to come any easier.  “I need to go home to see my father.  The last time we talked, we talked around my mother’s absence…I don’t know if he knows how to keep his footing…I’m worried I will find him on the floor…metaphorically and literally.”  She shook the emotions away, “I’m not sure I can handle losing Dad so soon after Mom, you know?”

Juliet felt the pain from her friend and colleague as it radiated from her face and eyes.  She sometimes wished there was a magical hypospray that she could use to help heal everyone’s hurts.  That maybe she chose the wrong blue uniform.  That maybe she could heal broken hearts in a sickbay better than in an office with a chair and sofa.  It was a lot of ‘maybes’ for her to keep circling in her mind.  It took her a moment to confront her feelings before she could return to Seoyeon’s.  “You think of bringing someone along?  Sometimes it’s helpful to have someone to lean on when confronting something heavy with emotion.”

Park’s eyes brightened at the suggestion.  She hadn’t thought of it before.  Just the idea seemed to lift much of the weight off her shoulders.  “I…that would be helpful.  I don’t know if Wre…Captain Walton will be able to get away…would it be weird to ask you?”

Juliet smiled, “No, it wouldn’t.  Most of the crew have appointments with Starbase 72 counseling staff.  I’ve been told to take some time off as it is.  It’d be an honor to accompany you, Park.”

Seoyeon gave her a warning look, “You need to know…my father is notoriously hard to get along with.”

Woodward cackled, “Ma’am, you haven’t seen Papa Woodward on a good day.”