Off The Merry-Go-Round

Posted on Mon Apr 20th, 2020 @ 10:31am by Lieutenant Tyra Ironhooves
Edited on on Mon Apr 20th, 2020 @ 9:34pm

Mission: Return to the Core
Location: Earth, USS Condor
Timeline: 2397
Tags: Ironhooves prequel

Weeks of paperwork, seemingly endless interviews, repetitive transmission and retransmission of medical records, testimonies from both Starfleet Medical Psych Division as well as veterinarians and xenobiologists. Miles and miles of red tape that Doctor Tyra Ironhooves galloped through, charging like a jouster to reach her objective, which she was pursuing with a single-minded objectivity.

“I just want to go for a run in the forest, that’s all. It is the closest climatic and botanical match for my homeworld on this planet, and I just want to camp out. I will make no fire, I will not harm the forest. I just want a chance to breathe fresh air, to hear the sounds beneath a canopy of great trees and to run free a bit with real earth beneath my hooves. I have served Starfleet faithfully and well even when you stuck me on a tin can in space, and I have leave acquired. It is a protected woodland site, and I swear I will respect it.”

Over and over she explained her rationale while spending her days in the Starfleet Medical library, reading up on the vast storehouse of medical knowledge available. Her grasp of anatomy of known species of the galaxy was nowhere near comprehensive, and the four-legged physician was constantly studying to refresh existing information in her brain while struggling to add more.

Nine years of duty with very little leave time had left her with considerable leave, and she was taking all of it- at least until she could get a decent vacation. And after weeks of fighting and cajoling and trotting round in circles, she had been approved for a camping trip. Beamed down, turned loose and free, she had run for hours through the forest of gigantic trees, feeling the wind in her hair and the sun on her face and being able to run without corridors or humans or anything tethering her.

Gingerly she reached out her hand toward one of the great old trees as she reached out with her soul. Ancient wizened ones, can you hear me? Is there magic still on this world?


The priestess received no answer. If there was magic as she knew it here, it did not live in the wood or it deigned not to speak to her, or she could not hear its voice. Many things were possible. Nodding to the tree she formed her hands together into a prayer ritual gesture and addressed it. Thanks you for harboring me on your world full of humans. You have been a gracious hostess, though I wonder about your children.

Trotting, dancing, hopping nimbly about, running broken field amongst the trees, dodging other tourists and a study group, Tyra Ironhooves had a wonderful day, and she might have run into the night if not for the sudden insistent chirruping of a communicator in her saddlebags.

The equine officer’s nose twitched and she cantered around one of the great ancient trees of Earth, doing her best not to snarl as it intruded on her once more. “I’m on leave. As in ‘leave me alone,”’ Ironhooves snorted as she broke for the treeline, picking up speed on her way to the clearing. Nimbly she dodged the smaller obstacles in her way, moving with a surprising gait for a dam her age.

Upon reaching the clearing she charged ahead into a full gallop, the prairie adjacent to the Sequoia Preserve ample for her needs. Reaching nearly 88 kilometers per hour the Arborian alien could still feel the vibration of the communicator in her saddlebags, which she tried to ignore as she opened up and covered some distance like an olympiad. The four-legged physician was born to run, and it was a beautiful sight to behold.

That Starfleet wanted her on starships was an inadvertent cruelty, though one she was learning to bear.

“I can’t lock onto her sir. She’s really moving, and unpredictably. She isn’t really going in a straight line either. The terrain is very varied in height and... it’s very hard sir, we’re trying.”

“Comms?”

“Still not answering our hail, sir. We can’t be certain if she even has a communicator on her unless she answers.”

“It is leave, sir. Perhaps she thinks-”

Admiral Wheeler stroked his thin beard. He never believed that Captain Telvan would stand a chance out in space, hamstrung by Starfleet’s regulations. Not the pirate queen who had ascended to her empire through the asassination of the previous queen, carried out by her first officer. Having someone so well-connected and building an empire while working within Starfleet was making a lot of people nervous. So far no one had raised an objection that had stuck- whether though brilliance or luck remained to be seen. Perhaps it was a combination of the two?

Regardless, Wheeler remained convinced in his determination that Captain Telvan should be disqualified to be a Starfleet starship commander. She presented a clear conflict of interests and was quirky, unpredictable and vcindictive, with seemingly endless resources.

Despite these reports, she seemed to be well liked by her crew, or at least, security was tight. No one currently or formerly serving aboard the USS Hera was willing to offer a statement. .

Why? Was she competent to be a Captain or was she planning to rule and empire while she bent Starfleet and the Federation to her will as well, as some sort of collective? If this were the case, she would most certainly need to be stopped.

He had to find out. A neutral, objective party with, perhaps the correct influence…. Hence, he had arranged for the transfer of Lieutenant Ironhooves.

“I do not care WHAT she thinks,” he replied harsher than he intended. “What I care about is that either you reach her on that comm or you bring her here. Am I clear?”

“Yes sir. Hailing her comm again….”

Pulling up short, skidding to a halt as her ironshod hooves dug into the packed earth, the cranky centaur fumbled about in her saddlebags for the communicator before fishing it out and hefting it in her palm. For a few long seconds she considered throwing it over the cliff before her, or simply dropping it in the dirt then trampling it into broken bits of metal and plastic. Not even one day could they give her to herself to be free and happy, it seemed, and it was decidedly unfair.

But she was light years from her home, and likely she would never return to it without Starfleet- not like Arboria was exactly on a heavily travelled route. And to be fair she had sworn an oath, and her word was her bond. Sighing heavily she tapped open the communicator, and stated flatly, “What?”

Just as a transporter effect took hold, as she had finally stopped moving long enough for the transporter chief to get a fix on her and beam her out.

Wheeler gave the startled Lieutenant Ironhooves a bemused look when she appeared on the PADD before them. Transporting moving objects was new to the Federation but they had quickly adopted the technology well. Giving a small chuckle of satisfaction, he told Ironhooves, “So good of you to join us. I trust we did not impose too greatly upon your free time.”

“I am on leave... Admiral,” the equine officer snorted, stepping off the transporter platform with her forelegs, which caused reverberations throughout the deckplates as she did so. It was a sound not unlike distant thunder when heard from a few decks away. In the small confines of the transporter room, the iron horseshoes rang out loudly when she stepped. The thick rubber covers she usually wore to prevent her from making so much noise were absent, which she subtly reinforced by hopping her hindquarters down, impacting the deck for a much louder cavitation that reverberated throughout the vessel. Sliding her communicator into a saddlebag the cranky centaur stepped into the admiral’s personal space to eyeball him.

Ironhooves’ breath was hot and Wheeler took notice of her annoyance. However, he refused to back down and looked her straight back into the eye. “Yes, you were. But your assignment will rendezvous in 72 hours, and I thought that you might need a briefing. What do you know about the Heraand its Captain?”

“My assignment on a starship,” the not yet old but greying marse snorted derisively and whinnied. “Whatever genius at Starfleet decided that putting me of all sentients on a starship was truly the greatest mind in the Federation. I have a hard enough time in your human hospitals, and you want to put me on a starship where I don’t even fit into half of the turbolifts.” The glowering granddam had stood her ground as well, nostrils flared even as one of her forelegs pawed at the deck.

“I don’t know anything about your Hera or her captain, whatever member of the bipedal boys club you might have chosen. I expect it will be even worse than my last duty, and the captain even more incompetent than Chase,” the four hundred kilogram Kutachi admitted, tail switching in annoyance as she eyed the admiral, who had not budged an inch- yet neither had the leggy lieutenant.

Wheeler smiled at Ironhooves calling Hera’s Captain ‘incompetent’. Restraining showing his teeth in a wider smile, he simply replied in a knowing tone, “I am the genius at Starfleet that decided to put you on that ship, Lieutenant. I do appreciate the difficulties that it imposes upon you. However, I have something in mind. I would say that you are perhaps the most impartial person or centaur, if you prefer, in all of Starfleet. Would you not agree?”

That earned him a braying laugh, which was then followed by consideration. The large lifeform stepped back from the admiral, and as her arms crossed one hand stroked her chin in thought as she began to pace. The reverberations in the deckplates were considerably lesser than when she had hopped off the transporter pad, but they were still very palpable.

“I have no political agenda, since I don’t care for rank nor position. I’m mature, and perhaps not level-headed but experienced and wise. I am from outside your culture, so I have no real preconceived acceptances and thus would be willing to overlook cultural aspects of humanity. Claiming me as the most impartial sentient in all of Starfleet,” she stressed the word to impress upon the admiral the correct term, seeing his ploy for what it was yet still taking advantage of the moment to educate before she continued.

“That would likely be an exaggeration, but I imagine I am close enough to fit the task for which you’re currently flattering me before you corral me into it. Breaking the mare to the rope, as it were.” Clearly she was not completely culturally ignorant of humanity, or perhaps her own world had remarkably similar development.

“And you are a doctor. I presume that you are well studied on Trill and symbiote function. Would that be an accurate statement?” He pulled out a PADD and started looking at the Doctor’s Academy record.

”It would. I have served as a practicing physician with Starfleet for twenty-three years now, four of which have been at Starfleet Medical on Earth. Humanity is still the clearly dominant race in Starfleet, but Trill anatomy, physiology and anatomy are abundantly documented and easily accessible by Starfleet records. I have studied most humanoid anatomy and failings quite extensively,” she added, tail switching a bit nervously. While there were some who were savants, the heavy-hooved healer was not one of those. Little of it came easily or naturally to her, so she studied and worked hard to learn the alien sciences.

As was her nature, the alien anatomist bluntly stated what was on her mind. “You prance around the point, Admiral, but you’ve yet to put your, ah, foot down. What is this about?”

“Prance?” The Admiral asked. “That is an amusing pun, if I do say so. It also might be how I would describe Captain Telvan on the bridge of the Hera.” He straightened himself up, walked a few steps away from Ironhooves and came back.

“To be blunt, Lieutenant, I am concerned for the welfare of the Hera. I am concerned about Captain Enalia Telvan and that throwback she keeps as an executive officer and enforcer. Commander Rita Paris. The woman is apparently from over a hundred years in the past, yet she is second in command of a starship? The woman graduated from the Academy when the warp scale was wrong. Captain Telvan and her holographic.... Ah ‘masseuse’ wife... I will let you judge for yourself. After the incident in the Dedjoy system, we did have to make a number of difficult decisions. We are still low on our ships and personnel, as I am sure that you are aware. While the board deemed them fit for service and they have been cleared of all charges, I believe it may have been done out a sense of duress. Making an enemy of Enalia Telvan is a dangerous idea. As I mentioned, she is known to be vindictive. I would like for you to evaluate the command crew, and verify the safety of the crew of that ship.”

The lips of the Kutachi healer narrowed to the corner of her mouth as her eyes half-lidded dubiously. “I am a doctor, not a... counselor,” Ironhooves pointed out one of the positions people kept suggesting she move into which was sheer lunacy to her. “If they are ill, irradiated, injured, fighting diseases, I am their best hope. But the human psyche I know as much as anyone. The human heart is an unpredictable thing, capable of kings living with cowardice or thieves nobly sacrificing for the greater good. I can judge the crew’s physical fitness for command, aye sir.”

“Now let’s speak plainly,” the direct doctor redirected. “You’ve spoken with some air of disdain and you wish to send me to evaluate the captain and crew of the Hera. What is your objective in this, Admiral?” The equine officer asked bluntly, prepared for lies and subterfuge but open to the possibility that the man might tell the truth. Those inhuman teal woodland creature’s eyes, so similar to, but not quite human, transfixed the brown eyes of the admiral.



“Not disdain, Lieutenant,” the Admiral tried to reassure Ironhooves. “Concern. Captain Telvan is a... complicated woman, and Commander Paris is a severely old veteran. I have no objective other than the safety and welfare of our ship and fellow officers of Starfleet.”

The Admiral narrowed his gaze at Ironhooves. “Are you implying something further?”

The lips of the old warhorse curled into a humorless smile. "I imply nothing Admiral. You dragged me here against my will. You laid out the situation as potentially dire, certainly one for which you have considerable concern. You are in a considerable rush to impress upon me your agenda, and I am interpreting your words and actions..." The Arboreal anatomist paused before offering, "impartially."

“Then let me impress upon you that Captain Telvan traveled in time. Penetrated multiple dimensions, is harboring some rather questionable people on that starship, which has the sensor pod from the old Section 31 flagship. I need to know what is going on, especially given the nature of Hera’s current mission.”

"For this you beamed me up against my will from leave? A mission briefing, dire warnings, a medical report I would have read anyway, all over the fact that somehow you seem to enjoy stuffing me into duranium cans in space and you disagree with the choices of one of your starship commanders?" The tone was insubordinate once more, but it was clear that either the fleet-footed physician did not appreciate the admiral's sense of urgency, or she simply disagreed with it.

The Admiral took on a condescending tone. “May I remind you of your position, Lieutenant? Or the needs of Starfleet over any single sentient? You are uniquely qualified for this confidential mission. Are you telling me that your discomfort is more important than the safety of an entire ship of Starfleet Officers, or perhaps even the safety of Starfleet itself?” His eyes and tone clearly dared the centaur to defy him.

Adopting the same condescending tone, the physician shot back, "On the hume planet of Starfleet Command you could not find one qualified for this task? That seems hard to believe given that until first contact Earthlings believed that aliens were comical myths. My comfort is not the issue. Your agenda and goals are, and we both know that your surface reasoning is but a hint of the truth."

"Need I remind you, Admiral, that I am a volunteer serving in Starfleet, and that my position is immune to political guilt and manipulation?" Reinforcing that impartiality that the admiral sought, the healer who preferred to be called ‘Doc’ Ironhooves stepped in toward the admiral once more. Raising children and grandchildren had left her quite familiar with such games, and being on the receiving end from the admiralty left her less than pleased.

“Volunteer or not, you are held to the same standards, rules and regulations,” the Admiral reminded the willful marel.”Or have you forgotten?”

That earned the senior admiral a derisive snort. "As are you, Admiral. If an actual explanation of this situation is beyond you, then I can have my resignation on your desk within the hour. Unless you plan to return me to my vacation. In which case it will be a bit longer to file it. Or would you prefer to take me to court martial for insubordination, in which case this entire conversation will be openly analyzed by Starfleet Command?"

“You can return to your vacation, Lieutenant. As long as I get reports from you regarding my concerns once you are aboard the Hera. Once a week will be sufficient.”

No further explanation was forthcoming, clearly. And now she was being instructed to spy on the command staff of the Hera in weekly reports. Being an experienced battlefield diplomat, the warhorse knew when to press a point and when a battle was pointless, and the appearance of capitulation would serve far better than a continuing show of distrust and defiance. Smiling, she nodded as she gingerly stepped onto the transporter platform.

"Of course, Admiral. As you say," the large life form acquiesced. You are a fool and I look forward to meeting this rebellious captain of yours, she thought to herself. "Your reports will be forthcoming as requested."

Likely full of piss and manure, she mused to herself, but reports he would indeed receive.