Terrors of the mind.

Posted on 02 Sep 2014 @ 9:08pm by M'Ressa & Lieutenant Olsam Mott & Lieutenant Oren Idris Ph.D.

3,152 words; about a 16 minute read

Mission: Episode 06 - Legend of Souls
Location: USS Galileo - Deck 4, quarters 04-2624 JO
Timeline: MD 08:0015

ON:

[Junior Officer's Quarters, Deck 4 Section 2624]
[USS Galileo]
[2200hrs]

OLD:
M'Ressa sat down in front of the computer screen, the console she shared with her roomie Oren Idris in front of her.

"Computer begin recording."

The computer beeped in acknowledgment.

"Where do I begin? Where should I begin?"

"Caitians. We are not an underground people, we come from a world of sun and sky. Taking shelter was often necessary, but beyond exploring a cave to ensure nothing lived inside which could harm us the underground holds no interest. Yes, during our planet's development, our industrial age, there were those who went underground to find the materials we need to build our planet. But those who delve in the ground, they came away more the worse for wear, mentally and physically."

"So that brings us to me. Squeezed into a environmental suit not designed for me, my tail actually, which disturbs my sense of balance. Then send me underground and you have the makings of a nervous breakdown. And onto that one can add dead bodies. Wonder I didn't lose it then."

"So two days later we go back. I can't beg to be taken off a mine team as they need my expertise so down I go, hoping we don't run into anything like the first visit. We didn't, but the lift broke." M'Ressa shuddered. "I don't know what happened next but the next thing I remember is I'm sitting down in the transporter room, one of the medical staff hovering over me, and I'm crying and shaking like a leaf."

M'Ressa stared at the screen for a second. Her hands were beginning to shake uncontrollably. "Computer end recording" M'Ressa choked out before she collapsed on the ground, curled up in a ball as she shook uncontrollably. Memories of the lift incident flooding her consciousness.

NEW:

"...so then we just decided it was over," Oren finished, pressing his face closer to the small bouquet of roses he'd picked fresh from the arboretum.

"Ugh, you never have good break-up stories," the female voice on the comm exclaimed with a huff of exasperation. "I don't wanna hear how you decided to end things, Oren. I want the dirty details. The how, what and why!"

"Well, the how I told you, the what I can't even begin to fathom and the why is none of your business, Jules," he replied, taking a turn down the corridor towards his quarters. "It's getting pretty late," he told her.

"Then why did you call?"

"Because this is the only reasonable time to call you, considering you wake up at noon!" he criticised.

"Well, some of us have a social life!" she shot back.

"Is that what they call it now?" Oren rolled his eyes as he finally made it to the right door and walked through only to stop dead at the sight of his roommate curled up on the floor.

"Jules, I have to go!"

"What? You can't just go after a comment like that! I'll have,"

"Jules! Seriously, my roommate is sick, I have to go! Bye!" With that, he cut off the connection to Bajor and ran over to M'Ressa's side. She was shaking.

He tapped his commbadge again. "Idris to Sickbay, I need emergency medical transportation for two from Deck 4." Within moments, he felt the familiar, uncomfortable feeling of being dematerialised and his protective grip on M'Ressa tightened.

Olsam had agreed to take the late shift in exchange for all the "inconvenience" he'd caused for the physician who'd been forced to cover his shifts while he was quarantined. How being quarantined could possibly inconvenience anyone other than yourself was beyond him, but at least the third shift was usually quiet. Usually.

The Bolian doctor was at their side by the time the pair finished materializing, medical tricorder in hand and smile on his face. One of them - M'ressa, of all people - wasn't in any condition to talk, so he turned to address the other while performing a few calm cursory sweeps with the sensor wand.

"Good evening, young man. Welcome to Sickbay," Olsam said, cutting his eyes to look at the tricorder readings before turning back to Oren. "Are you here on some sort of secondary school field trip? This must be an awful lot of excitement for you. Good thing you knew to call Sickbay. Did you see it on a holonovel or something?"

"Um..." Oren looked a little taken aback at the doctor's comment, so it took him a moment to figure out what he was talking about. Realising, the young man shook his head. "Oh, I'm El Aurian. I'm a scientist on board," he informed the Bolian before turning his attention to the tricorder in his hand. "Is she alright?" he asked, worried.

Olsam gave the sort of reassuring smile one might give to a mental patient. "Oh, yes. El Aurian scientist, of course." Kids these days... Must be studying the performing arts. He turned back to the tricorder and reviewed the data with a furrowed brow before giving Oren a reassuring smile. "She's just suffering from a severe panic attack, likely brought on by stress from the mission. Her smaller-than-average cranium may have left some coping mechanisms poorly developed in the brain." Olsam smiled again, seeming free of malice despite his words. "I'll just give her something to help calm her down."

Turning to the medcart, Olsam began loading a dosage of medication into the hypospray. He hesitated for only the barest moment, giving some thought as to how much he would need to administer to knock her into a coma for the rest of the trip. He shrugged and began loading the proper dosage while looking over his shoulder at Oren.

"So what sort of 'scientist' are you?"

Watching the doctor work, Oren watched, feeling helpless. At that moment, he realised he should renew his nursing license. Standing by like he was made a large knot of dread and uselessness form in the pit of his stomach. As he observed the Bolian loading the hypospray, he almost missed his question.

"Oh, I'm an anthropologist," Oren replied, standing by M'Ressa and gently stroking her back in a way he hoped was comforting. Despite his own history of panic attacks, he realised at that moment how lucky he was that none of his own attacks left him as helpless as M'Ressa was.

"An anthropologist, reeeally?" Olsam asked, smiling but looking completely unconvinced. Kid's seriously committed to his role. "Do you have a specialization?"

"Cultural anthropology and archaeology," Oren replied, confused by the doctor's fixation on the subject of his career when there was a woman who clearly needed his full attention, shaking on the table. Wanting to turn his attention to what was more important, he glanced at M'Ressa.

"Are you going to treat her with anything? I don't know how long she's been like this," he added regretfully. 'Maybe I should ask for us to be on the same shift?' he thought to himself.

"Oh, she's fine," Olsam said, waving a dismissive hand. He finished calibrating the hypospray and pressed it against M'ressa's neck, releasing the sedative into her bloodstream. Turning back to the medcart to replace the hypo, he muttered to himself, "Maybe instead of sleeping with the counselor she should try seeing one professionally."

M'Ressa slowly came back as the sedative calmed her system. Taking in the room with her senses, it was clear that she was no longer in her quarters. The smells were different and she recognized the sterile quality of sickbay mingled with the scent of two humanoids close by, both of which she recognized but one whom she really didn't want to deal with.

Opening her eyes, M'Ressa looked up at Mott, a frown on her face. "Enjoying this Doctor?"

Oren felt the sedative calm M'Ressa as she slowly regain control of her senses. His hand still on her back, he was about to ask if she was alright when her comment at the doctor came. Suddenly, the chilliness of the Bolian's previous muttering made perfect sense.

Sitting up slowly, M'Ressa held onto the bed for support. Her head was still swimming from the medication and she'd need a few minutes to regain her balance before she could leave. Oren's hand on her back however was comforting, something she didn't want to stop.

Olsam tried to give her the same smile he'd give to any patient, but there was something a little sinister about it. The way he was holding up the sensor wand from the medical tricorder didn't help as it made him look a little more like a torturer and a little less like a professional physician.

"Of course," he replied to her question, taking a few cursory scans with the tricorder. "I always enjoy treating the symptoms of mentally unstable patients. Tell me, can you describe your current state? Dizziness? Shortness of breath? Inability to concentrate? Sudden, inexplicable urge to wreck best friendships among your crewmates?"

Frowning at the Bolian, Oren decided he'd heard enough. "Alright, am I missing something here? Because that is not how one talks to their patient! She's not feeling well and whatever issue you seem to have with M'Ressa needs to take a backseat right now so you can focus on the actual problem."

Olsam gave a smile that came off pretty patronizing, although really the harsh commentary had gone mostly over his head. "Okay, thank you, young man. You can return to your tour group now; she's in good hands." He winked at Oren for good measure and turned back to M'Ressa after briefly consulting the medical tricorder. "What were you doing? You seem to have suffered from an acute panic attack. I've given you a sedative, but it's important to regulate your breathing as much as possible to reduce the duration of your symptoms."

M'Ressa looked to Oren before she answered Mott. "Oren could I ask you to stay? I'd like an escort home when we're done here."

Turning to face Mott. "I was resting after our away mission Doctor. As you know, claustrophobia is quite common among my species and being cooped up in a space suit, sent down a mine shaft in an elevator, and nearly killed when said elevator crashed during transit is enough to trigger a panic attack. As I've never been in a high stress situation like that before, I was unaware I was susceptible."

Olsam's eyes flicked to Oren for a brief moment then back to M'Ressa, nodding with a surprisingly sympathetic look. "Yes, they don't really make those suits very accommodating for people who are especially tall or especially big. Or have tails or horns and the like. Very human-centric design." He managed to catch himself before launching into a tirade about the time he got stuck in a shuttlecraft seat on account of his...roundness.

"Uh, anyway, I'd like you to make an appointment with Dr. Carlisle or Mr. West to ensure there's not any lingering psychological trauma from the incident so we can avoid repeats of this. I'll make a note in your file and speak with Commander Blake about taking more care in assigning you to away teams in the future. For now," he said, turning around to retrieve a hypospray that he then presented as if it were a bar of gold-pressed latinum, "here's 20 cc's of improvoline set to disperse in small increments. Use it only as needed if you feel an oncoming attack; if your symptoms continue to worsen or there is some frequency to the attacks, come back to Sickbay immediately. Understood?"

Oren ignored the doctor now that he wasn't making any unwelcome jabs at himself or M'Ressa and rested his hand on his roommate's shoulder. "Of course I'll stay," he told her reassuringly. "Tell you what, when we get back to our quarters, I'll cook us a light dinner and we can try to get your mind off everything. Okay?" He'd struggled with anxiety and panic attacks in the past and knew that talking to someone in a calm, quiet and familiar place could do wonders.

M'Ressa nodded. "That would be appreciated. Thank you."

While absorbing what was unfolding before him, Olsam's mouth opened slightly and his brow furrowed together so much that if he had eyebrows they might actually be touching. Get back to their quarters? A light dinner? Had that hussy already dumped Teth for a younger, more handsome man? His eyes moved from left to right and back again several times as if they were part of some physical hard drive searching for a lost piece of information. Slowly he thought he was beginning to piece it all together - the young man wasn't that young of a young man. He was just a young looking young man, still remaining a young man but not the sort of young man that Olsam had thought.

Without much discretion, he turned the medical tricorder toward Oren and began measuring the nucleotide sequences in his chromosomes. Of course the use of an actual nucleotide sequencer would have worked better, but the tricorder would do for very basic telomere length analysis. Oblivious to their conversation, the Bolian's blue head began bobbing up in down in time with his regular pronouncements of "Hmm," "Uh-huh," "Interesting," and "I see."

Oren caught the doctor scanning him and frowned in disbelief. "Excuse me? That's my body you're scanning without permission."

Somehow Olsam actually managed to look the most offended of the two.

"I'm a medical doctor," he said definitively, as if his ethics and behavior were simply above and beyond reproach. He replaced the sensor wand and clapped the tricorder shut, fixing a very stubborn look on his face in anticipation of an argument about what he could and could not do in his own Sickbay. "And you are much older than you look," he added, seeming offended that he wasn't somehow informed of the fact.

"Yes, I already told you that." Oren tried to keep himself level headed. He'd never found Bolians to be this difficult before. Of course, he was difficult in a uniquely Bolian fashion, but he was still a little annoying.

"Well obviously I wasn't listening!" Olsam said defensively.

"Obviously." Oren rolled his eyes.

"Obviously," Olsam huffed, feeling the irrational need to have the last word.

"Seriously?" Oren asked in slight disbelief at the Bolian's antics.

"Yes, seriously! I wouldn't have said it otherwise," Olsam said, voice rising in incredulity. "Now who's not listening, hmm?"

"I meant," Oren began patiently. "Are you seriously trying to have the last word?" He looked over at M'Ressa. Oren wasn't interested in beginning another argument, so he just sighed. "Doesn't matter. Are we free to leave?"

"Yes, of course," Olsam said, suddenly cheery again. "She should be fine for now, but if she shows any change in symptoms or her condition worsens please bring her back immediately." He shifted his eyes between the two, reflecting on the nature of their relationship and how devastated Teth would be when he found out. Huh. Light dinner. I bet. Scandalous, he thought, just scandalous.

M'Ressa hopped off the bed. She was torn between storming out with Oren in tow, and lodging a complaint with the CMO & XO over his conduct, or being so drippingly nice to Mott that it'd confuse him, or at least make him paranoid.

Deciding neither would do any good in the long run, she merely nodded to Mott. "I will keep that in mind. Thank you Doctor. If you'll excuse me, I need to rest." She smiled at Oren. "Shall we?"

Oren looked at M'Ressa and smiled for her. "Yes, let's go. Goodbye, Dr. Mott," he told the Bolian before putting his hand on her back to lead her outside.

"Okay, see you later, thanks for coming," Olsam said, smiling and waving at them. Something seemed off about his eyes, like he was trying very hard to hold them open as opposed to narrow them in the deepest suspicion. Or, perhaps, that's just how he normally looked - a bit crazy, a bit off. It was often hard to tell.

After the two of them left sickbay behind, and well out of earshot of Mott, M'Ressa stopped. Facing Oren she frowned. "I'm sorry you had to see that man's behavior towards me. I really don't understand where he, to borrow a Terran phrase, gets off."

"Bolians are strange on the best of days. He probably thinks he's just being protective of his group." Oren wasn't entirely sure why he was defending Mott considering the man's behavior towards him. It just seemed a bit harsh to dismiss him completely without knowing him very well. Bolians were people who cared about the group they were in so protectiveness was to be expected until it turned into possessiveness.

"Maybe so. And I understand the desire to protect 'family,' but if that's the case, he didn't give me time to show him I'm no threat before passing judgement on me." M'Ressa shook her head. "And threatening to kill me, explaining that he could make it look like an accident if I hurt his friend, I didn't take kindly to."

M'Ressa stopped talking for a minute as she tried to slow her body down again, to get back into balance. Dr Mott always had that effect on her in previous interactions. "Sorry. Just not a good day. And I suspect Mott will use either my condition, or your assistance, as some sort of proof of the great conspiracy against Teth."

Oren listened, horrified by what he was hearing. What kind of person said things like that?

"Well..." he began, unsure what to say. He looked uncomfortable for a moment, but then decided that wasn't what M'Ressa needed right now.

"We have nothing to hide. Don't let him get to you. If Teth knows anything about him, and you, there's nothing Mott can say," Oren reassured her with a smile he hoped looked confident.

M'Ressa frowned. "You are right of course. And I do trust Teth to tell the difference between Mott's delusions and reality."

Smiling, she grinned at Oren. "Now, about that dinner..."

Oren grinned back and looped his arm under M'Ressa's comfortably. "Come on, I got this great recipe I know you'll love..." Leading the Caitian down towards their quarters, Oren took off with the explanation of how he was going to cook it and where the recipe originally came from, a story that would either entertain her or put her to sleep. Either way, he figured it might put her mind at ease.

[OFF]

Oren Idris, Ph.D.
Archaeologist/Anthropologist
USS Galileo

Lieutenant Olsam Mott, M.D.
Assistant Chief Medical Officer
USS Galileo

M'Ressa
Biotechnologist
USS Galileo

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