[BACKPOST] At Least You Weren't Assimilated

Posted on Fri Nov 24th, 2017 @ 2:55am by Lieutenant Commander Eneas Clio

Mission: When Iconians Deserve to Die
Location: USS Heimdall (Area of Operations Classified)
Timeline: Late winter/early spring 2378

The world was very fuzzy, and Clio was having a hard time coming back to it. Her eyes would not focus as she groggily came awake, and she couldn't tell where she was. Confused and terrified that the Borg had found her, she tried to sit up. That was when all of the pain came flooding back, and she instead whimpered rather pitifully and curled up in the tiniest ball she could manage. A hand touched her shoulder, and she shrieked, twisting away into another pair of waiting hands.

Human hands. Her vision was still very cloudy, but she could see that much. Her heart still racing, she froze for several long seconds. As her brain started to register that she was not, in fact, still on the unimatrix vessel, she swallowed gingerly. "Where...?" Oh, talking hurt more than breathing. What had they done to her?

"You're in sickbay, on the Heimdall." It was an unfamiliar voice, but the other woman spoke in a soothing tone. "You just got out of surgery, and you're going to be sore for a while. Your throat hurts because we had to use an old-fashioned endotracheal tube to keep you breathing. You kept fighting the anesthesia, so she put you pretty far under." Gentle but firm pressure pushed Clio back onto the biobed. "Try to relax. I have lorazepam if you need it."

Clio shook her head. She didn't want to be sedated, not when the sickbay around her was finally coming into focus. She looked around, trying to get her wits about her. A second nurse was on the other side of the bed, ready to assist with whatever might happen next. She thought it was odd that they had thought they'd need two people to wake her. "I need--" She didn't have enough breath to finish the sentence. Her chest still felt like someone had caved it in. She took a few moments to breathe before trying again.

"Here." One of the women - a nurse or a doctor, she couldn't tell which - pressed a hypospray against Clio's neck. "Bicaridine mixed with tri-ox. It will ease the pain and help you breathe. Take a few deep breaths." Someone else pressed a glass of water into Clio's hands after helping her sit up.

"Thank you." With the tri-ox, Clio could at least get what felt like a full breath. Her throat was still raw, as though the tube had burned it. The water did little to help, but she drank it anyway. "I had a data recorder. Small." She freed one hand from the glass and held her fingers apart by a few inches. "Uniform pocket."

"Oh, is that what that was? I put it in my office, in a locked drawer. It's safe." The woman gestured in the general direction of the chief medical officer's little alcove on the other side of sickbay. "You'll get it back when I discharge you. No sense trying to do anything with it here... my terminals aren't secure enough, and you've barely been out of surgery for two hours. You need to rest."

Clio gingerly drank the rest of her water and set the glass down on the tiny bedside table. "I have a debriefing."

"Not now, you don't. Between the beating you took in that fall and the amount of bicaridine I've given you, you're in no shape to go to any debriefings. Lie down and rest." The doctor's tone was gentle but rather firm.

"Not my choice." Ignoring the glare from the doctor, Clio eased herself off the biobed. Immediately dizzy, she leaned back against it for a moment to let the feeling pass. Once her head cleared and she was steady on her feet, she raked her hair back from her face and exhaled slowly. "My data recorder, please."

Looking rather cross, the doctor muttered something unpleasant under her breath and went to retrieve the device. She returned a moment later and handed the tiny recorder to Clio. "I'll be noting in your file that you're leaving against medical advice."

Clio shrugged slightly, taking the device and hiding it within her hand. Without waiting for anyone to procure her some more professional clothing, she slipped out of the sickbay, in search of the small private office she'd been told would be set up for her on the Heimdall by the time she returned from the Borg ship.