[Runabout Pasteur]

Doctor N’Vea glanced at the Ensign at the helm, betraying no emotions. Their likely chance of survival had dropped considerable with the past ten minutes, but that was the kind of statistic that she had learned and had been taught that humans did not like to be told in the moment. It was unnerving to have a doctor, even if not one with their hand in your chest, tell you how likely you were to survive had just dropped. Doctor’s fought to keep people alive, often at odds that were illogical. She supposed that a pilot deserved the same chance.

The ion storm had come from now where. On a mission to distribute medical supplies beyond the Paulson Nebula N’Vea had been assigned the young human Ensign as a pilot and what a lieutenant commander in charge of such assignments had called ‘Gofer”. Now her life was in his hands as he ensured they did not crash in the void of space prior to landing.

”Is there anything I can do Mister Solari?” she asked calmly, “I have passed all basic flight control tests during second year at the academy.”

Meaning she could fly the thing but hopefully it would not come to that. She had not flown since year two years ago. The Pasteur rocked back and forth and it was hard to prevent from being thrown from the co-pilot’s seat and onto the floor. The navigational array blinked and went dead.

N’Vea tapped it and then tried to restart it. 

“That is unexpected,” she said as if she’d forgotten to change socks that morning. Not that they had just lost their way to their destination and return home.

“I got this, it’s just a little bad space weather, no problem,” Cam replied, attempting to maintain his cool, despite the unfavorable turbulence. 

He continued, “What’s the unexpected thing, Lieutenant?” 

For a brief moment, N’Vea considered answering that their survival was currently unexpected but this was deemed information that the pilot would either be aware of or not need to know. Thus she kept her mouth shut.

Cam’s gaze shifted toward the Vulcans, but before any response could be given, he noticed the vacant space where the navigational array should have been displayed.

“Fantastic! First, we encounter an Ion storm, and now we’re navigating blindly. Absolutely incredible,” he exclaimed, abandoning any pretense of coolness and launching into a frustrated rant.

“I told him the Pasteur wasn’t ready! but noooo, we had to take it. ‘It’s a fine ship, Solari! Get me a coffee, Solari! I asked for a Raktajino, Solari! I forgot my PADD in my quarters, Solari! Fetch me a new one, Solari!” Cam grumbled. 

Solari’s gaze suddenly met the eyes of the peculiar Vulcan doctor seated in the co-pilot’s chair.

”A-apologies, Lieutenant. It seems today isn’t my day,” he admitted with a hint of shame in his voice.

N’Vea held off on pointing out that her position as a doctor superseded her rank. It was the sort of thing that non-doctors often got wrong, and could only see the rank pips. Still this was not the time to educate him as the Ensign clearly had other priorities.

Abruptly, the ship experienced a jolt reminiscent of a bucking bull. For the next few minutes, they endured sporadic jolts and movements, until Cam managed to stabilize the runabout once more.

“Nevertheless, it seems we find ourselves navigating blindly at the moment. Allow me to navigate through the ion storm, and afterward, we can strategize our next course of action. ” Cam said to the Vulcan

Doctor N’Vea looked out the window, ”There is a mid-sized asteroid. We can land and wait for this weather to pass.”

It was a suggestion, not an order. Flying she was going to leave to him under the hope that he understood their general goal was not to die. 

“It seems we don’t need navigation with your perceptiveness,” Cam said with a nervous smile.

Without delay, he skillfully guided the Runabout through the vast expanse of space, each maneuver calculated with precision as they approached the looming asteroid. In a heart-pounding twist of fate, a smaller asteroid, no larger than a small car, hurtled dangerously close to the vessel, the turbulent vibrations sending shivers down the Cams’ spine as they braced for impact. Miraculously, Cam’s lightning-quick reflexes and expert piloting skills averted disaster, and the smaller asteroid narrowly missed colliding with the Runabout.

With adrenaline still coursing through his veins, Cam continued to deftly maneuver the craft, inching closer to the colossal asteroid that now loomed large in their view. Sweat trickled down his forehead as he carefully adjusted the thrusters, aligning the Runabout for a controlled descent. The tension in the cockpit was palpable as they descended towards the asteroid’s pockmarked surface, the stark contrast between the void of space and the rugged terrain below intensifying the crew’s sense of vulnerability.

Despite the harrowing near-miss and the challenging landing conditions, Cam’s unwavering focus and steady hands prevailed. The Runabout gently touched down on the asteroid’s uneven surface, its landing gear absorbing the shock with a low, reassuring hum. Cam exhaled a sigh of relief, knowing that they just bought themselves some time but they weren’t out of the fray.

N’Vea waited until they had landed before rising from the co-pilot’s seat. Straightening her body she stretched and went to a cabinet and withdrew a medical tricorder from a drawer. Even if she did not feel hurt she felt that it was reassuring to check. A quick scan of herself showed nothing damaged however and so she held it up towards Ensign Solari, “Would you like a scan?”

“Maybe later, Right now, our priority is to ensure the safety and security of our current position.” came the Ensign’s response.

She assumed he would do a self-assessment instead and unless something new hurt would turn her down. Still, it was polite to ask.

”I will set out beacons around the ship, though there is not Starfleet transport expected this way for a week. We have rations, and some of our supplies we were bringing were food and water if it came to that,” she pointed out. So they weren’t going to die, not for awhile at least. 

Left alone she assumed the Ensign would be seeing what the runabout needed to fly again. Certainly bringing their navagation array back online seemed like it was important. Despite the Ensign’s joke she could not visually guide them back to their starbase. 

The runabout’s scanners showed a thin amount of oxygen so she got out an oxygen mask before beaming to the outside of the ship.  There she found an outside storage container with the beacons which she set up in a rectangle around the ship. When properly triangulated they worked with the ship’s own distress beacon to send a powerful alter. Sadly unlikely powerful enough to reach Starbase Bravo. Still it would be enough for when someone flew by.

Once finished she beamed herself back aboard. Removing the oxygen mask she stored it back where she had gotten it so that they could use it later. “Gravity if 0.75 to Earth levels, oxygen is low in the atmosphere so you will feel faint or collapse outside without a mask. Temperature is currently ten degrees but may drop. So far we seem shielded from any debris.”

“I’ve transmitted a distress signal while you were away. I hope it manages to break through the storm’s interference. The Pasteur isn’t a safe option for flight. If only Lieutenant Commander Finch had heeded my advice earlier, we wouldn’t be in this pickle,” Cam informed the Vulcan Doctor.

“By the way, I’d like to take you up on that scan now,” he added.

Doctor N’Vea nodded and picking up a medical tricorder scanned the Ensign. He was in good health, a small series of bruises where he had handed against the control console with this forearm but nothing that would require anything more than a painkiller if he requested. All in all the fact that they were both still alive, and had a serviceable habitat to remain in was a testament to the man’s skills flying. Though able to fly a runabout craft N’Vea was aware that if this had been her she would have crashed in a much more destructive way.

”Do you require pain management,” she asked.

“Well, not exactly, but I thought a brief scan couldn’t hurt. You know, there’s an old Earth saying – ‘It’s better to be safe than sorry!’”

Cam redirected his attention to the consoles, hoping for a stroke of luck that the navigation systems might have miraculously come back online.

”As for Commander Finch and waiting to fly home for rescue I think we should try to get ourselves in condition to try to fly. The storm will pass, this atmospheric effects were not reported by previous Starfleet vessels which suggests their temporary,“ she said, “And while we have food to extend our stay at a certain point we need to leave. Better to work towards it now than when we run out of provisions.”

Standing she want to a crate with Federation markings on them. Unsealing it she removed two frozen dried meal kits meant for where they were headed and passed one to Ensign Solari. Closing up the crate she sat in a chair.

”We also need to keep our strength up,” she said. She did not comment on the quality of the food, the taste or the fact that it was mainly a meat like material and she was a vegetarian. In survival situations one could not be picky. Even so early on.

“Thanks for dinner,” Cam expressed his gratitude.

As the package unfurled, a tantalizing aroma wafted forth, instantly making Cam yearn for a replicator. Nevertheless, he dug in.

“I understand we’ll have to attempt flight again soon. We’ll make it back home; I’ve found myself in similar predicaments before. Actually, more than a few times,” he remarked, trying to offer reassurance. “Once the storm has passed, we can establish contact with Starbase Bravo. They can utilize their long-range sensors to guide us, much like the ancient sailors who navigated the stars. Until then, we’ll have to bide our time.”

The Human Ensign suddenly adopted a lighter tone with the Vulcan M.D.

“So, what’s the story with the hair?”

N’vea was confused, “Would you like me to describe how hair works? Surely they covered follicle growth in intro biology courses. As for my personal choices it varies. I have lived with humans for years, I attended both medical school and the Academy on Earth. I often adopt less Vulcan hair styles. It is personal preference, nothing more. It is difficult to describe why I choose a style. Often it is to humanize me, as it were. Medicine is a field where an interpersonal connection is almost as important as knowing the medicine. If humans do not immediately see my ears, they tend to be more accepting of care.”

It was a sad fact that at least temporarily obscuring that she was a Vulcan helped with care. She would have said it was a failing of humans, but she knew that Vulcans were just as unlikely to be accepting of a human doctor. Though allies for such a long time there were still divisions between them. 

Thinking of potential conversation topics Doctor N’Vea removed her medical tunic and folded it, setting it on the back of the chair. She stretched again and moved a bit just to test everything. Scans had shown that she was fine, but there was something in physical confirmation that the Vulcan found reassuring.

”You are an excellent pilot, of so my limited experience might suggest. Were you a pilot prior to Starfleet or did you find yourself taking that on, as the choices in the Academy required specialization?” she asked. She was alway curious how people decided on specialties. Her own had obviously been picked before the Academy, as she was a medical doctor first and foremost. 

“That sounds like a relic from the 21st century; it’s disheartening to hear it’s still a prevailing issue,” Cam remarked, his voice tinged with disappointment. He then continued, “I appreciate your kind words. I’ve been a pilot for as long as my memory stretches back. My dad used to take me to an old airfield a few clicks away from San Francisco, and we’d glide through the skies in all sorts of vintage aircraft. After that, it was only natural that I gravitated toward shuttles and starships.”

Cam paused briefly, his gaze fixated on the stars beyond the canopy, before resuming. “To be honest, finding myself assigned to ‘air traffic duty’ on a starbase wasn’t exactly part of my envisioned career path. So adventures like this, even when they don’t go as planned, hold a special place for me.”

He shifted the conversation’s focus with a genuine curiosity. “What about you? Have you always had an interest in Xenobiology?”

“These days most medicine is xenobiology to an extent. Humans and Vulcans have differing physologies. Then there’s Andorians and dozens of others and that’s just counting those that are active on Starbase Bravo. A trill, as much as they look human, has some very different internals to a human and then there are joined Trills which add another complication,” she explained, “So xenobiology made sense and Harvard had what humans call ‘a good program’. If why medicine is the fundamental question, then I suppose I wanted to help in ways that I could. I am a Vulcan but I find Vulcans, difficult. As illogical as humans are they are in some ways easier to be around.”

She was quiet, “I suppose the saying is that you ‘wear your hearts on your sleeves’ though that is medically impossible. I do understand the intention of the phrase. Hence I have lived in mostly human environments, both Harvard and then Starfleet. I passed up the opportunity to serve on a mainly Vulcan vessel.”

”Curious,” N’vea observed, “I seem to be telling you things that I have not spoken aloud before. Perhaps a near crash has had a psychological affect on me. Do you mind explaining why Starfleet, I find human decisions facinating.“

“For me, it wasn’t even a question. Growing up in San Francisco, I was constantly surrounded by and captivated by Starfleet. During my younger years, I could spend hours in coffee shops, eagerly absorbing the stories shared by off-duty officers. I can’t recall ever desiring anything else. This passion was further solidified when I discovered that my Great Grandfather had been a Starfleet captain. He sacrificed his life to save his crew from the Klingons, a fact I only learned much later because my Grandfather rarely spoke about it. When I eventually looked him up, I realized that Starfleet was in my blood. And when…” Cam suddenly paused, her previous words echoing in his mind.

“Why is that ‘Curious,’ Doctor?” Cam leaned back in the chair, his fingers drumming lightly on the armrest. “I’ve always been a talkative person, perhaps a bit too much at times.” 

He offered a faint smile as he continued, “Like I said; I’ve spent hours in San Francisco’s coffee shops, absorbing stories from Starfleet officers on leave. It’s just who I am.”

Pausing for a moment, Cam took a deep breath, his eyes drifting towards the distant starscape beyond the window. “But here you are, a Vulcan. I’ve heard and witnessed the stereotypes, you know—cool, composed, and reserved. So, it does make me wonder, Doctor,” he said, his tone thoughtful, “Is this openness a choice for you, or is there something else beneath the surface?”

As Cam continued his conversation, a subtle tension in the Doctor’s features caught his attention. It was in the way the Vulcan’s brow furrowed imperceptibly, and the ever-so-slight hesitation in his responses. Cam’s intuition pricked at him like a faint warning signal, suggesting that there might be more beneath the surface.

The swirling patterns of the ion storm beyond the viewport seemed to mirror the complexity of the situation. Cam couldn’t help but wonder if the Doctor’s uncharacteristic openness had something to do with the intense circumstances they found themselves in. His mind raced with possibilities.

As he mulled over these thoughts, Cam realized that his instincts were guiding him, even though he lacked any formal medical training. He considered himself fortunate to have been stranded alongside a doctor, especially when the situation remained so uncertain.

The Vulcan bent her head to the side and observed the pilot. 

”Are you an armature psychologist now Ensign?” she asked, “I believe in candor and honesty. And it has been a long time that I have spoken to someone in a non-professional capacity. You are neither a superior or a patient. Your opinion of me, good nor bad, has no effect on my career. We are not in the same discipline and it is unlikely that I will ever be in command above you, or you above me. We also have ample  time. So you make a logical sounding board. Also your supposition that all Vulcans are the same, is as offensive as if I had suggested that all humans are illogical brutes. Though perhaps subtle for non-Vulcans we are all different. It might even surprise you that many of us do not agree with one and other.”

N’Vea studied him and asked a more sensitive question, “You are young. May I ask you what your experience was like being a Borg? If this question causes you emotional distress you can tell me to mind my own business.”

Cam’s voice trembled with anxiety, his words stumbling out. He gestured towards the empty space around him, his hands fidgeting nervously.

“I, um… I didn’t mean to offend anyone,” he stammered. His eyes darted around, searching for understanding. “It’s just… you know, space rays, and, uh, those mind-altering viruses… they really freak me out.”

After a deep breath to steady himself, Cam continued, his voice more composed now. “Luckily, I was at Starbase Bravo when the Frontier Day debacle happened.” He paused as if recalling a harrowing memory. “Thankfully, the Arachnid Nebula shielded us from the Borg signal. We made it through unscathed or rather, ‘unassimilated’.”

This was information that the Doctor had been presented with previously, but had slipped her mind in the excitement. For her Fleet Day had been a traumatic experience with her nurses turning on her and subsequently losing her position as a Chief Medial Officer on a starship. For her all Starfleet officers of a certain age now held some menace.

”I had forgotten. This crash was the second time recently I almost died and my survival was beyond my control, it is a most vexing feeling. Perhaps I should speak with a counselor, despite what we suggest us Vulcans need to talk to people too,” she said, “Have you heard of Chu’lak. He was a Vulcan on the USS Grimmson, and the deaths in the Dominion War drove him crazy. I do not yet think I am crazy, but it is healthy to speak of one’s thoughts.”

She was about to ask a follow up question, or at least assure him she was not a murdered secretly working on the Starbase when the asteroid shook, colliding with another rock. A third rock hit the roof of the runabout but thankfully the shields held, though the ship rocked and was pressed deeper into the sediment. The rock rolled off.

”We may not have the luxury of time,” she observed looking up through the windows. Large rocks were getting closer. 

Cam followed N’Vea’s gaze and locked onto the menacing rocks in the distance, each one a looming threat as they closed in on their spacecraft. His heart pounded, and a surge of adrenaline coursed through his veins. In one fluid motion, he leaped from his seat, the leather squeaking beneath him, and slid into the pilot’s chair, his hands trembling.

His fingers raced across the control panel, their movements erratic, as he initiated the ignition sequence for the impulse engines. The ship responded with a low, reassuring hum that resonated through the metal frame.

With a fierce glint in his eyes, Cam slammed his hand on the flight control panel, knuckles white, and shouted, 

“Brace yourself! This ride is going to be bumpier than a dingy on a stormy sea!”

With a deafening crescendo, the Runabout’s engines roared to life, and the craft surged forward like a bullet. It grazed perilously close to the jagged rocks below, the metallic belly of the ship sending up sparks as it skimmed the surface. Inside the cockpit, the crew’s knuckles whitened as they gripped their seats, feeling the violent jolts and shudders of their vessel’s wild trajectory.

Outside, the view through the cockpit window was sheer chaos. The ion storm raged with an otherworldly fury, a swirling maelstrom of crackling energy and tumbling debris. Their chosen landing spot disintegrated into a cloud of dust and pulverized rock, obliterated by the relentless barrage. It was as if the very universe itself conspired to test their mettle as they hurtled deeper into the heart of the storm, space itself appearing to unravel in the tempest’s grip.

For the second time that day, and the third time recently, Doctor N’Vea felt that events were spinning very much beyond her control. She braced herself in the co-pilot’s seat and strapped herself in but what followed was hardly anything she affected. The world jostled and swayed and even with all her Vulcan training it was hard not to simply yell in fear and frustration. She admired the young pilot who kept his cool, but without a task of her own to occupy her thoughts she was actually quite convinced they were going to die.

Cam’s fingers danced over the control panel, their movements erratic and intense. His hand started to cramp up as he fought to maintain the ship’s stability, each asteroid he evaded sending shivers down his spine. The ship quivered under the relentless assault of ionic blasts, thrusting him off course with every impact.

This turbulent ordeal pushed Cam to his limits, but beneath the strain, a subtle grin crept onto his face. He couldn’t deny the rush of exhilaration that surged through him. This may have been one of the most challenging situations he’d ever faced, but he was beginning to savor the thrill of it all.

The doctor was not sure whether it was helpful or not but eventually, to hold onto something, a duty or a chore, she took to calling out the presence of larger pieces of rock. Whether this was helpful she was not sure, but it gave her something to do and at least a placebo sense that she was helping. Eventually a voice came on their communicator.

”Starbase Bravo this is the runabout Pasteur, we are without navigation array and are trapped in an ion storm, can you assist?” Doctor N’Vea asked, the calmness that the answer came in was jarring. She glanced at Ensign Solari, hopefully they could provide that he needed.

Cam’s voice sliced through the thick tension in the cockpit, his words a blend of impatience and annoyance. “Praga, this is Solari,” he snapped, his fingers drumming impatiently on the control panel. “Quit dicking around and guide us through your long-range scanners.” 

The comms crackled with anticipation before a mechanical voice responded, “Affirmative, Ensign Solari. Lifeline protocol initiated.” It was the sound they had both been yearning for, a lifeline in the abyss of uncertainty. Relief washed over the crew, their strained expressions relaxing as they knew they were finally going home.