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[BACKPOST] Check Under the Hood

Posted on Tue Jul 24th, 2018 @ 1:28am by Commander Rita Paris & Lieutenant Matthew Lysander MD
Edited on on Tue Jul 24th, 2018 @ 9:58pm

Mission: Holographic Horrors
Location: USS Hera, Deck 12, Sickbay
Timeline: 2395

Her first day aboard the USS Hera had been an eventful one, with Lieutenant Commander Rita Paris having taken crash courses in aerospace aeronautics, 24th century engineering, a few history lessons and quite a few miles logged about the ship. Still wearing her gold minidress uniform, no one had asked her to change, and she didn't plan to unless ordered to do so. She might be adapting to the future in which she was now marooned, but that didn't mean she had to subsume her identity just yet. The black and charcoal and 'spot of color' uniforms of the day were hideous to her eye, sinister and dark, and frankly she was proud of her uniform. She had fought to earn it, fought to honor it and fought to advance. Trading all of that in for a jumpsuit with a few little collar buttons seemed to be a sacrifice she was at least as yet unwilling to make.

But her current course brought her back to the center of the saucer section of the Hera. At least that hasn't changed in a hundred odd years or so, she mused. The center of the saucer section was still the toughest part of the starship, and Sickbays had been located there since the days of Archer and the Warp 5 engine. Which she hadn't checked on but was reasonably certain that was the same here, too. It radically increased the survivability of the injured, and in some cases could even eject from the saucer section in times of crisis as a lifeboat.

More homework to catch up on, she mused as she made her way down the corridor, smiling at passing shipmates. For now, she was a woman on a mission. A few hits off a hypo and whatever the biobed might have to say was fine, but she'd been rent through time, space and dimension as beamed energy, captured by a passing warp field then reconstituted by an experimental transporter. While some might call her a hypochondriac, Rita Paris felt it was a very good idea to be thoroughly examined by an actual doctor.

"Clearly you're getting paranoid in your old age," she muttered to herself as the frosted glass doors of sickbay bearing the Starfleet medical caduceus opened at her approach, and she mused that she was very old now... what, a hundred and sixty one years old now, give or take? At least she didn't have crow's feet...

Hearing the doors open, Matthew dropped his eyes from review of the research he was doing on the black blood plague. "Just a minute" Pain made him grunt as he rose, and leaned heavily on his cane to come out to greet the newcomer. It was yet another surprise in a run of surprises when he came face to face with a young woman in an ancient uniform wearing the rank of Lieutenant Commander. "Good morning"

"Good morning," Paris replied with a dazzling smile, taking in the sight of the human leaning on a cane, seemingly older than his years. She wondered what condition he could possibly have that left him in such obvious pain and lack of mobility that modern medicine couldn't cure, but the face was a handsome one and the eyes seemed kind, so she thought she'd look past all of her questions for now and proceed. As he had the cane in his right hand, she extended her left to him.

"I'm Lieutenant Co- uh, I'm Rita Paris. They reconstituted me from a transporter accident yesterday, ending my one hundred and twenty-seven year trip through time and space. With that in mind, I was wondering if maybe someone could look me over and make sure nothing's wrong, that I'm not missing major portions of my mass or that my quantum field is unstable or something." Her demeanor was friendly and somewhat matter-of-fact as she casually discussed the upheaval that her life had engendered in the past 24 hours.

His face changed from expressionless calm after shaking her hand, to curiosity in a heartbeat. He'd never heard of time travel in that form before. "I am certain we would have already noticed if you were missing major portions of your mass. Were you not given an exam when you reappeared?"

"Well, I was parked on a biobed and given a hypo of something, so if that counts, yes? I'd just be a bit more secure if I was actually looked over by a doctor who was specifically looking for problems, Call me paranoid if you like, plenty have over the years, but clearly transporters and I have had a very long and troubled relationship. They've never done anything like this to me before, and I just want to be sure I'm okay is all." The calm exterior the young woman was projecting had a few too many tells- a bead of sweat forming on her forehead, a slight tremor in her voice when she said the word 'transporter', the way her hand trembled slightly when she combed her bangs away from her face. It looked an awful lot like PTSD to the experienced physician, but who was that afraid of transporters?

Apparently time travelers. Or at least the one in his office. While she might or might not be delusional, she did have a point- Rita Paris had traveled in a manner no human had successfully experienced before, and while she might be a little twitchy about it, that didn't mean she might not have a point.

"I am sure that transporters have made an enormous leap forward in a hundred and twenty seven years was it you said?" shaking his head wryly he patted the biobed. Making a mental note that she should speak to the counselor pretty quickly to address the issues that weren't yet visible in this woman. Not to mention the ones that were- she was clearly afraid of the transporter. Losing everything in a traumatic accident like that, and then ending up 127 years in the future had to be the kind of paradigm shift no-one was prepared for. "Up you get."

Backing up against the biobed, the minidress-clad officer slid up onto it gracefully like a woman accustomed to living in a short skirt while maintaining her dignity. “I’m sure they are oh so much safer and more advanced now, but that’s what they said back in my day, too. And given that I’ve had this happen to me in one form or another three times now, I’d just like a professional’s opinion. Hopefully one who takes me seriously,” she added, fixing the physician with her bright blue eyes.

"I take everything I'm told seriously, unless I have a reason not to do so" A brief smile accompanied him holding her eyes with his, before he opened the hatch in the biobed that held the hand scanner. It hummed over her, top to bottom, and he limped to the display and set it alight with a touch of his finger.

There was internal debate, but curiosity won out. "No offense intended Doc, but in the far-flung future with all the medical wonders that must be available to you, I have to ask- why do you limp?"

He chuckled at the question "All the medical wonders in the universe and I can't even fix myself..." a deep breath escaped his lips and he looked at her with piercing amethyst eyes and spoke again "I am still healing from my accident, and all of the medical science available to us isn't yet able to fix a broken spine and damaged spinal cord. "

That hung in the air for a moment, making an uncomfortable atmosphere. "I apologize, Doctor. I'm a hundred and twenty-seven years out of date, and the only way I learn anything in a world that has so very much passed me by is by asking questions. I meant no offense by it."

With that, Paris slid off the biobed. "I should go... I've made this awkward." With those words, the gold-clad chrononaut moved to depart sickbay, leaving whatever answers a full examination may have revealed behind her.

"Computer, secure sickbay door." he instructed and watched as the woman strode towards a door that wasn't going to open for her without his authorization.

"Orrrr not," Paris turned,then casually strode back to face the doctor. "Not that awkward, eh?"

"So much so that I'm going to let you leave before my exam is complete?" He shook his head. "Definitely not. You don't think youre the first person to comment on it?"

“I have no idea, Doctor. As I said, I only learn by asking questions and mean no offense.” That said, the gold minidress-clad cosmonaut turned then sat back down on the biobed. “Examine away, Doctor. My saving grace in my first transporter accident was that the ship’s surgeon refused to believe that I had been discorporated, and for the first two years after the accident he kept trying to work out what had happened. That laid the groundwork for the engineer who would work it out a few years later and reintegrate me into matter again.”

He flapped a hand at her insistance of no offense meant. He hadn't taken any, honestly he was happy to be able to walk. "At first glance they seem to have done a good job, but we're going to get more detailed scans. Its a shame they weren't doing biometric scans of this fashion in your era. Then i could compare your readouts to a known quantity."

There was a moment of hesitation that followed, then an admission. "They wouldn't do you any good, Doctor. It seems I'm from a few dimensions over as well, so even if they'd done biometric scans, you wouldn't have access to them now. The Lieutenant Rita Paris of this universe..." Paris paused, brows furrowing as she fought for composure. "She was never reintegrated. My counterpart in this universe was lost for good in her transporter accident. At least, that's my hope, because imagining her still out there all alone like that is something that would give me nightmares. On top of the ones I already have..."

As she spoke, revisiting those events, Paris' pulse rate increased by 21%, her skin temperature rose by .6 degrees and she began to perspire slightly.

His hand gently rested upon hers and he squeezed gently. There was a faint tremor under his fingers. "Would you like to share some more on that?"

Placing her hand atop his, she smiled, a wan, small smile. "Not much to tell, Doctor. A transporter accident that was the result of sabotage discorporated me into a sentient energy field that was trapped and sustained by the warp field of the starship's engines of the USS Constitution. I lived that way for almost the entire five-year mission, a ghost among the crew. They couldn't perceive me and I couldn't interact with them, but I could see them. I was always there- couldn't sleep, couldn't eat, couldn't find a way back and couldn't die. Eventually an engineering ensign worked out that I was still alive and reintegrated me back into matter."

"The Rita Paris of this reality was just... lost. Ensign Wells was never assigned to the Constitution, he never worked it out, and she lived out her days that way until they pulled the dilithium chamber from the Constitution during decommissioning, and hopefully she had some peace after that."

While her tone was resigned, her own hands trembled a bit during her recollection. They were also a bit damp from perspiration. When she spoke, it was clear to him that she was trying to sound casual and failing.

"So here I am on transporter accident #3, which ended up dumping me in another dimension even different than the last one I ended up in. Plus it's a hundred and twenty seven years later. So, um, I'm a little nervous around transporters," she explained, trying to downplay the absolute terror that she felt even considering stepping onto a transporter pad. "And they tell me it's all in my head, but I can feel it, every time. It isn't instantaneous, it isn't painless and nobody believes me but I swear I leave a little bit of myself behind every time."

"I don't know if you do or not. I can understand your fear however. Trauma will sensitize you to things a person without that trauma might not notice. May I ask how it felt this time being rematerialized? Was it painful?" His eyes flickered from her readouts to her face.

There was a moment where the extradimensional explorer obviously debated with herself internally, then she nodded quickly. "It was the worst I had ever experienced. After my first reintegration, transporting hurt every time, but I learned to cope with it. Transferring dimensions, in my experience, gives you a migraine for about a month. This time was worse than either, but likely because I was moving in time, space and dimension all at once, without a vessel. I've gotten used to the permanent headache, but I am worried about how much of me didn't make it through this time. I can't tell if I lost weight in the accident or because I haven't been eating much since I got here. Food tastes... off. You know?"

It was a ridiculolus to add that question on the end of her statement, but Rita Paris was getting used to her questions being moronic to the locals, and was evolving past the point of caring.

Matthew looked thoughtful for a long moment. Briefly he chewed on his lower lip as he pondered the answer she'd given. A constant migraine was a puzzling side effect of transporter rematerializaion, and dimentional shifts that had never been expressed before to his knowledge "That answer only brings more questions. Any auras, visual disturbances or blurred vision?"

"Nope, no concussion. Very familiar with all of those symptoms," Paris countered, clearly no stranger to Sickbay. Eyeing the doctor, she considered her position. "You did get the briefing on me, right? I come from an alternate reality, and a hundred and twenty-seven years in the past? Transporter accident in an ion storm with strong solar flare activity, arrived here as a warp ghost and just happened to be run into by the Hera moving at high warp? Reconstituted by the captain using that experimental Section 13 transporter? Stuck here because we lack the power to return me where I belong, but Starfleet decided I could just fill the shoes of the lost Lieutenant from this reality from all those years ago?"

The woman relayed the events casually, as if she were discussing crossing the street, but he could see her white knuckles as she gripped the side of the biobed and the perspiration that was now running down her face, and the biobed registered a 47% increase in heartbeat and a full degree of increased skin temperature. While she could discuss the details casually, internally they were anything but.

Again she’d assumed incorrectly what he was testing for was concussion, as opposed to psychic shock. Hoping that she'd get over that as she healed he simply ignored it, and the implied insult that he hadn’t read her file. It could very well be the broken bond with her Vulcan that was causing her such turmoil. Not to mention the trauma of the travel itself. "Stop and breathe. Just breathe."

Instead of a wisecrack or a dismissal or evasion, instead the gold-clad commander focused on calming herself a bit. In truth, she hadn’t even realized that her physicality was reflecting her internal anxiety. Thus she let out a long sigh, using a bit of her breath to blow her errant blonde bangs out of her eyes, and tried to relax as she fidgeted absently on the biobed.

"You are not a replacement for this dimension’s Rita. This is just a new chapter in your life, and is what you make of it. "

His answer was a close-lipped smile that did not reach her eyes, which instead looked sad, almost heartbroken. When she spoke, her voice was quiet and low, and not terribly convincing. “I’ll make the most of it, Doctor. My life always seems to be starting new chapters, and I keep dusting myself off and soldiering on."

That clinched it for him and he patted her shoulder gently. "We're going to figure this out. One way or another so you have answers." Matthew started a neurotransmitter level scan and waited for the result.

"Can I get a doctor's note to not have to take the transporter?" the antique Starfleet officer in near mint condition asked half-jokingly.

"Sure if you want one. There are many an officer that haven't used the transporter for one reason or another. The great Dr Leonard McCoy hated the contraption, even when it was working properly." Matthew agreed easily, smiling a bit at her.

"I'd like that, if it's okay," the buxom blonde offered him a hesitant smile. "I just... I know it's going to come up and someone is going to get very testy about it, and they just don't understand. I'm not imagining things... it hurts and I really don't like it and I just, I just want to take a shuttle unless there's no other choice. If I'd taken a shuttle I'd still be... I'd still be home."

At that, tears started rolling down her cheeks, and shoulders hunched, Paris did her best to grip the edge of the biobed and cry quietly.

"Its perfectly okay" he said softly as he limped over to the base station so he could fill a hypospray. "Between 0 and 10, how bad is the headache right now?" Turning back to her, he saw the tears shining on her cheeks and sighed gently before moving slowly back to her side and resting a hand on her shoulder.

Placing her hand on his, Paris was silent for a moment as she composed herself, then with a rather healthy sniffle she cleared her throat. "Ah, maybe around a 3.5 to 4, give or take, depending on the lighting and what I'm doing. When I'm in the simulator I just focus past it, but doing paperwork cranks it up, and studying it's always a distraction. I haven't tried running yet, but that'll probably crank it up to a six or seven. It's like the last time, just... different."

"If you were a Vulcan, I would prescribe some one on one time with a proper mindhealer, and medications to help rebalance your neurotransmitter levels. 1 out of 2 isn't bad for this far out in space. Fair warning, these drugs can make you feel lightheaded. " Pressing a hypo to her throat, he listened to the familiar hissing sound for the space of a second.

Lightheaded was a bit of an understatement as Paris gripped the edge of the bed while the room spun a little, and she closed her eyes to reorient herself. As the drugs circulated through her system she swayed a bit, then when she opened her eyes once more, she blinked a few times. The headache was already diminishing, and she did feel more focused even as the lightheadedness slowly passed.

"Well, here's to neurotransmitters," she quipped, angling her neck to crack it and relieve tension. Then she opted for a full upper body stretch to realign her spine and give her relaxing muscles a chance to get into it. "So between the scans and the meds, are we done for now? I assume if I have some odd quantum signature or something like that you'll let me know, and I'll need to do follow-up check-in visits?"

"I want you to have follow up visits anyway. Neural shock is nothing to mess around with."

"Will do, doctor." Paris slid off the biobed, then twisted at the waist a few times to get the kinks out. "Thanks for checking under the hood and making sure I didn't blow a gasket or something," she offered. "Anything I can do for you, Doctor?"

"At a later date, you can tell me what a gasket is," he murmured with a puzzled expression on his expressive face. Having never heard the term before, he was utterly befuddled by what she was saying.

At least everyone else gets a taste of how I feel in conversation, Paris silently mused to herself as she slid off the biobed. “A gasket is a shaped piece or ring of rubber or other material sealing the junction between two surfaces in an engine or other device. A function of old engines is that they would 'blow a gasket' and that would create a lubricant leak, which was usually catastrophic. Thus it became a turn of phrase for something going wrong." As the literal retro throwback officer started toward the door, she asked, "Well, thanks for the tune-up, Doc. I guess I can expect those test results in a few days?"

He thought the word play was clever there and nodded as she explained the ancient term to him."no, I have the results already. I just need to know how you react to the medicines I gave you and that will take a couple of days. As good as we are, it's still not a light switch fix."

"So, does that mean you have answers now, or we find out in a few days?" Paris asked good-naturedly. "I'm confused..."

"I have a partial answer. The rest is up to you and seeing how your body reacts. " he smiled at her and closed out his log. "See you in 2 days."

 

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