Let's Do the Time Warp Again!

Posted on Mon Jan 23rd, 2023 @ 11:57pm by Lieutenant Iblis Ilkun & Lieutenant Ramat'iklan

3,403 words; about a 17 minute read

Mission: Short Treks
Location: Deck 5, USS Enterprise
Timeline: 0000-00-00, 15:15

Doctor Iblis Ilkun had been through many events in his life, many of which one could consider impossible. The Chelon Doctor had explored the final frontier on the Federation Flagship. He had traveled faster than light on a starship that was barely worthy of the name once long ago. He had saved the lives of hundreds of people. Yet none of them had prepared him for what he felt like today. For the world that he found himself in.

It was hard to focus, hard to stay steady on today. The Enterprise had been sent on a mission to Ni'Var to try to prevent Admiral Gregory Coulson from starting a war between the Federation and the Romulans. They were on course and everything was going fine. He'd just completed a surgery in the Enterprise's Secondary Medical Bay and was looking forward to getting something to eat when he heard the alert alarms. Before he could respond he felt the whole world change around him. He remembered the ship shaking violently. He remembered a bright light.

Now all he knew was he was cold. His entire body hurt and he felt like a thousand needles had ripped through his body at the speed of light. He looked around the darkness as he tried to force his eyes to focus on what was going on around him, but it was hard to do. The Doctor knew he'd hit his head and had a concussion, maybe worse, and knew he needed to get to sickbay. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he realized he wasn't going anywhere soon. He had managed to leave the Lounge and wasn't far from the Emergency Department of the Sickbay compound, that was the good news, the bad was that he was buried under duranium, tritanium, and transparisteel alloy. In spots licking flames gently rose to toward the ceiling, casting a sickeningly beautiful glow amidst the debris. The alien doctor pushed as hard as he could toward the ruins of the once great ship, but it was for nothing. The metal beam barely budged.

"Computer," the Chelon called but received no response. He looked over as he knew a wall panel wasn't far beyond, yet it was as black as the space between the stars.

"Help!" The alien called out.

The Chelon's cry for assistance thankfully reached the ears of the medical team outside - chief among them the burly Jem'hadar who led them. "Egres, Dubois. Follow me. The rest of you, carry on treatment, triage as needed!" His tricorder was instantly in hand, scanning around him as he and his two assistants charged towards the cry for help. When his tricorder began to beep frantically at last, and they'd found the source of the frantic cries for assistance, the sight made Ramat'iklan's lip curl. The Chelon was in bad shape, he could see that even with all those beams and debris stacked atop him. They had no time to waste.

"Dubois, you're with me. We will need to lift the debris of Doctor Ilkun - but do so carefully." The stockily built human male nodded. "Egres. I want you to hold the doctor's arms. Get ready to extract him as soon as he is no longer pinned. We will not be able to hold those beams off of him for long. Understood?" The Andorian thaan nodded and grabbed the doctor by the wrists, signalling his readiness with another firm, determined nod.

"At my count. Three. Two. One!" With a collective grunt of effort the two men managed to free the Chelon long enough for him to be pulled out - and not a moment too soon, for as soon as the beams and debris were let go, they crashed to the floor in a sickening cacophany of creaking and snapping, leaving deep holes in the deck plating.

"Find me something to make a stretcher with, something that can support his shell, and neck support. Go!" As the other two medics began to scour the debris for something useful, Ramat'iklan knelt down at the Chelon's side and scanned him. What he saw noticeably unsettled him. "Do not worry, sir. You will be alright." He reassured, patting the good doctor on the shoulder.

Ilkun rubbed his head, carefully keeping his claws from deepening any of the cuts that had already been torn into his flesh, "Thank you. I didn't think anyone was going to come." He looked around the debris field where he had been laying and had a damning realization. Grabbing his Tricorder he began scanning, rapidly pecking at the controls. "He's... he's not here."

The Chelon had felt crazy for a moment, wondering what had happened. Had the Counselor escaped? Had he gone to get help? Had he left him to die? The ship's systems were mostly offline, sensors were inoperable, a Mizarian was easily detectable usually but now it was probably impossible. "I was with Counselor Hokka... I can't believe I didn't remember. He was with me when we left the Mess and now he's... he's gone."

Perhaps it was fortunate then that Ramat'iklan was new enough to not know everyone in the medical staff - the good counsellor, now lost to the cruelty of random chance, among those he was unfamiliar with. Nonetheless he did the best he could to reassure the injured (and possibly grieving) Chelon, saying "There will be time to find counsellor Hokka later. For now, we need to extricate you-" just as his two assistants returned with a pile of materials, with which they were able to construct a makeshift stretcher to transport the Chelon in relative safety. "Now. One. Two. Three!" The three of them lifted the stretcher together, and out they went into the hallway...

"Here." Ramat'iklan directed his team to set the Chelon down in a bit of empty space that wasn't already occupied by survivors, or worse, the dead. "You two, go sweep this deck for more survivors we may have missed. I want every room utterly clear of casualties. Go!" He wasted no more time after that, scanning the doctor for injuries while flipping open his medical kit. The contents weren't much, but he'd have to make do, as he was trained to do. "Stay still for me, sir. Try to... remain calm." He said as he commenced whatever treatment he could manage. 'Relax' didn't seem to fit - not when the doctor was mourning the loss of his friend.

Doctor Ilkun could feel the bodies near him, the sensation of death was becoming all too common on this ship. This was supposed to be a mission of peace on the Federation Flagship and now, instead, they were trapped on what felt like a ship of the dead.

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

Starfleet One was among the largest ships ever built by Starfleet. It was designed to fly the flag in intense missions that few others would dare attempt. That was part of why it was selected to be the Presidential Transport: it could take a beating and still win the day. Because of that the ship had been given two expansive medical facilities. Unlike most ships the primary sickbay was in the Stardrive Section adjacent to two shuttlebays. The secondary bay was located on Deck 5 of the saucer and was where they were now.

He wondered just how insane things were in the main bay as he tried to get up. "I have to help!"

There was a human phrase for this. Come on, what was it, it was just barely on the tip of his tongue... ah, yes. Doctors make the worst patients. Right now, Ilbis Ilkun embodied that phrase perfectly, as Ramat'iklan himself often did even when injured. Of course, Ramat'iklan had been a younger and stupider and more reckless him back then, but even the him now that was only marginally better than before knew that sometimes you needed to rest so that you could fight. Or in this case, treat.

"Doctor Ilkun." Ramat'iklan pushed on the Chelon's shoulder, gently coaxing him back into laying down - though this time his tone was more forceful. Wrangling stubborn patients was something he'd had to take almost a year to get used to doing without the use of force, and had found simply talking to the patient with some previously used niceness dropped somewhat effective. In this case, he could only hope the doctor's brain hadn't been impacted so hard he'd lose common sense.

"With all due respect." Ramat'iklan showed him the screen of his tricorder, which still displayed readouts of the Chelon's current condition. "You have a concussion, a severe one I might add, several cracked ribs, your right leg has shattered from the knee downward from blunt force trauma and you have internal bleeding I've only just managed to fix, and you moving will only open up the tears I've just healed-" An dull explosion sounded somewhere, sending light tremors through the deck. "-in essence, I'd like you to stay down. You will do no good treating patients when you yourself are barely a few feet away from death's door. As of now your priority is to focus on your own recovery." Ramat'iklan paused to catch a breath. His chest heaved with exertion; he must've been exhausted. "The rest of the ship will have to wait." And with that, straight back to treatment in stoic silence.

The Doctor heard his injuries and could barely believe that he had been so inflicted during whatever had happened. Doctor Ilkun was a Chelon, one of two races originating from the Rigel system and close relatives to the Rigellian Jelna. While the Jelna had made it to the stars faster, the Chelon had proven the hardier of the two. His race were Chelons descendants of sabertoothed turtles and, though bipedal, retained many of the redundancies of their ancestors. All Chelons had the beaks of a snapping turtle, razor claws, and hard shells that protected their internal organs from harm and even some radiation types. If it had failed and he'd been this injured what else could be out there?

He rested his head against the flotsam covered deck and looked up at the Jem'Hadar. He could feel himself becoming less and less clouded, but that led to another devastating realization. In times of danger or stress a Chelon naturally excreted a contact toxin onto their claws and skin that could be used to debilitate their attacker. If Doctor Ramat'iklan came in contact...

"Be very, very careful," the Lieutenant said in a whisper. "I'm poison."

"Correct." Ramat'iklan held up a gloved hand. "I will dispose of these immediately after I have managed to stabilize you - assuming there is a suitable containment vessel to do so in left undamaged. It amazes me, in fact, to find out that this natural poison of yours is toxic enough to kill even me if I ingested it... assuming, of course, I actually were dumb enough to try to eat you." With that dry quip back to work it was, stoically treating the doctor with no further comment. The Jem'hadar was clearly flagging as he fastened the osteo-regenerator over the Chelon's broken leg with shaking hands. He couldn't sweat, of course, but if his hands could've been cold and clammy, they would've been. Even Jem'hadar, the mighty genetically engineered soldiers of the Dominion, had limits (and more so in recent years) and clearly Ramat'iklan wasn't far from his.

With a great deal of pain that he wasn't exactly ready for, Doctor Ilkun chuckled at what Ramat'iklan had said. "Thanks, I'm glad I'm not on tonight's menu. Turtle soup was never really all that appealing as far as I was concerned," he kept smiling, maybe the pain was making him delirious. He rested his head against the deck again, just staring up at the ceiling, "It's not so much eating me that's the risk though. The toxin's released through my skin and the claws, but it can have its good points. Once, when I was a midshipman on the Korolev, the ship was struck by a quantum filament and I was trapped in the ship's mess hall with half a dozen others and one who was injured when a panel blew. I had a medkit and that was it, but she was going to die without treatment. I used my own toxin to make her lose consciousness and then performed the surgery." He let out a long breath, "At least she lived."

Well, there was certainly a prime example of using one's natural but harmful assets to its fullest - the only other example he knew of had been of a Pakwa-thanh doctor whose name he could not now recall biting his patient to paralyze her while he treated her emergently. Ramat'iklan sometimes wondered why the Founders hadn't made him and his brethren with an ability like that - all they had to show was the ability to shroud for about five minutes before things started to go very wrong very quickly. The headaches, the hunger, the nausea and the long, long periods of unconsciousness and even death if used for too long. Oh, well. You get the cards you get. Of course, he and his brothers hadn't exactly gotten to choose the cards in their hands.

"I discovered once that my ability to shroud could also be extended around someone in contact with me instead of something." He shared. A story for a story. It seemed only fair, he reckoned. "We would not have been able to hide our weapons otherwise, would we. I was an ensign aboard the Camelot then. My colleague and I were under attack from some rather agitated wildlife. A charging herd of frillax beast. They were stampeding through the forest in search of us, crushing everything in their way in order to get to us. She and I were backed up against a cliff wall with no exit to either side and the herd was charging toward us in a straight line. I held on tight to her then and thought hard about how my shroud would've been extremely useful in hiding us from their sight. Frillax beasts are quite dim-witted after all. I failed to realize that they had stopped stampeding at that moment and were looking about in confusion - because right then and there my shroud had activated and hidden us both. It worked for just a second, but it was enough for the Camelot to find us and transport us up to the ship."

"I lost consciousness as soon as my feet touched the transporter pad. I think I broke my nose in the fall." He recalled candidly as he bandaged the Chelon's leg. "Because when I awoke in sickbay a full seventy-two hours later my nose felt tender. However, my colleague was alive and well, and she had nothing but thanks for me. She did complain that being shrouded was being prodded by thousands of small electric needles, however." The Jem'hadar cracked a tiny smile at that recollection and shook his head. "The chief medical officer was relieved, but warned me not to do it again, for any purpose, lest I lose more than just consciousness on my next attempt. You will find the note in my medical file if you look."

"I'll take your word for it," Iblis answered as he could feel the Jem'Hadar treating his leg. "I have always been fascinated by the Jem'Hadar and their abilities through my career, even though you're one of only a dozen that I have had the pleasure of meeting during my life. Ever since the Treaty of Bajor and the limitations on starships traveling to the Gamma Quadrant there hasn't been much in the way of contact."

Ilkun continued as the last bits of debris were moved away, "I did have the luck of being aboard this ship when we were called to Starbase 419 to respond to diplomatic overtures from the Dominion. While I wasn't privy to the events, that was far beyond my pay grade, it was nice to learn that we were still trying for peace."

"The Dominion has been one of the most powerful members of the Khitomer Alliance under the Founder Odo's leadership. I am sure that it shall continue to do so, until the two sides have resolved their differences - to some extent." Ramat'iklan replied dryly. "But then again I am an outcast from the Dominion itself, exiled for speaking inappropriately in a Founder's audience, and as such receive little information about home excepting news articles I come across by chance on the Federation News Network." He paused to rest, shoulders heaving with exertion. He sat down on the floor, careful not to touch any part of his body with his now soiled gloves. To do so would've meant poisoning himself, of course, which wasn't ideal in any situation. "I know not what has become of my people in this future. Perhaps things have changed for us, for the better as the Founder Odo envisioned - or worse."

The massive Chelon doctor could not imagine the challenges that Doctor Ramat'iklan was going through. The Dominion was a well known power within the galaxy and, worse, had been known for a number of atrocities throughout the decades since the Alpha Quadrant made contact with them. The Dominion was about control, order and they were not above conscripting innocent clones to do their dirty work. That was why the reforms of Odo had been so important to their future, to bring them closer to the galaxy of the Federation, but this poor young doctor had no idea what the challenges Odo's had brought to his people. Their last mission to the Gamma Quadrant was highly restricted, he couldn't tell him, but Ilkun only hoped that Ramat'iklan had found some comfort in Starfleet.

"We'll find out together," the injured doctor answered. "So, how am I doing?"

"Your leg is still broken, but I have managed to mend most of the damage to it. The same goes for your ribs. As for your head..." Ramat'iklan scanned the Chelon's cranium. Evidently what he saw pleased him, for he did not scowl and put the device away this time. What he did manage, however, was something of an exhausted dry smile. "...there seems to be no damage other than a normal concussion. I would thank your thick skull for shielding you from worse. In summary, you will live. For how long, I do not know. But you will be bedridden for some time. Time I know you will come to resent, for as much as your hands are able and ready to help your body is not. All doctors are usually the same. As am I." Ramat'iklan cracked the tiniest hint of a dry smile.

Now was not the time for sentimental quips. Ramat'iklan rose to his feet, battling exhaustion and fatigue. "Egres! Dubois!" The two medical assistants scurried over from further down the hallway to assist. "Doctor Ilkun is not to attempt to rise to his feet and attempt to walk, as much as he may wish to do so. Should he make an attempt to do so you are to don gloves and assist him in lying back down, with reasonable force if necessary. You are not to touch your face or any exposed part of your body afterward, is that understood?"

Hearing their weary but determined acknowledgement of his orders Ramat'iklan took a deep breath. His lungs felt ragged and raw, somehow. Worn out, like he was. "I apologize for the harshness, doctor, but I reiterate what I said: you will do no one good in this state. Rest. I shall do the same shortly." Ramat'iklan felt fit to collapse into a scaly brown lump, lay on the floor and take a nice, long nap - a luxury he could unfortunately not currently afford. With one last look at the Chelon he made his way down the hallway, seeming unsteady on his feet until one of the junior medics took him by the arm. A rest well earned - brief though it would be.

"Don't worry, Doctor, I don't have any compunction today about breaking doctor's orders," Iblis said with a smile. "Thank you," he said as they moved him off.

 

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