The New Doctor
By Lieuten Keen
Disclaimer: I don't own them. I just take them out for a spin now and again.
Just a warning: Smoking, drinking, cursing, kissing and kicking butt are a few of my favorite things. Read Responsibly.
Set in Season 4 just after Kir'Shara. There's six months between the Vulcan Civil War and the Conference at Babel One. I'm making the most of that time.
Trip stood stiffly and reassured the captain that he was indeed interested in piloting the shuttle. Archer sighed heavily. His Chief Engineer had been out of sorts for some time now, and nothing had changed since they'd left space dock. Maybe some time alone would do his friend some good.
Jon nodded. He handed over the data pad with the transfer orders. "Admiral Gardiner has commanded that the presiding official sign the orders before we take responsibility for our new passenger. Doctor Brainerd is an expert in his field and something of a legend. Please extend him every courtesy." Archer still wasn't happy that Starfleet had insisted on this crewmember. Jon liked to select every one by hand.
Trip nodded. "I'll be on my best behavior, Captain." His blue eyes searched out the green orbs of his commanding officer. "Are you sure that Phlox won't mind having an extra doctor mucking around for a while?"
Archer almost smiled. "Phlox is looking forward to sharing the medical burdens temporarily. He thinks it'll allow him more time to get to know humanity better to have so much free time. Besides, it's only for six months, until Columbia is ready to leave space dock."
Considering the inquisitive and friendly nature of their current Denobulan doctor, Trip raised a speculative eyebrow. "Phlox with more time on his hands to spend getting to know the crew," he pondered. "Are we ready for that?" His lips curled up at the edges.
Jon was happy to see the humor, even if it was a tad forced. "I think we'll get through it," he nodded sagely. "You don't suppose he'll spend all that free time asking about human procreation, do you?"
The southerner's smile was wider this time. "Nah," he assured his friend. "He'll want to know about our psychiatric stability as well." His joke fell flat as both men sobered at that thought of Phlox with free time to probe the crew.
"It's only for six months," Trip attempted to reassure them both as he left the room.
Trip landed the shuttle pod in the designated area and entered the main reception at the indication of a blue humanoid. Their coloring had more green than the Andorians, and they had long snouts, like an elephant's trunk. Still, they seemed to be friendly and in good spirits. It had been a long trip, though, and he was glad of the solid ground and fresh breeze.
Inside he found most of the inhabitants at the far side of the room with their long snouts pressed up against the window that took up the entire wall. He moved closer to see what held their attention. Outside lay an expanse of green grass under a deep blue sky. The lawn extended a distance to the sharply jutting spires of rock that flanked the slow moving green river, like two fangs guarding a lolling tongue. On top of the tall cylindrical mountains were two twin viewing outposts connected by a glass tunnel that allowed you to walk seemingly on air from one glass dome to the other. It became clear what held so many people transfixed in quiet horror.
A shuttle appeared to have plummeted through the glass walkway, leaving two jagged open tunnels, before crashing against the side of one of the towers of rock and balancing precariously on a jutting outcrop in the same place where the glass elevator had been the primary transport from the ground to the summit. In fact, it was the destroyed conveyance that was holding the smoking shuttle up and preventing it from crushing the citizens that gathered underneath, gawking at the spectacle. Obviously the accident had happened recently, although rescue attempts were already underway. Two more shuttle crafts hovered over the wreck and Trip could barely make out rescuers helping survivors to comparative safety by rope ladder.
A blue Azorian finally noticed his presence and stepped timidly toward him. "May I help you, sir?"
Trip couldn't tell by its voice or clothing whether or not the creature was male or female. "I'm from Enterprise. I'm here to pick up Doctor Brainerd." Both statements sounded more like questions.
When the Azorian heard his mission, it sucked in its breath and opened its eyes very widely. "The General will be so glad to see you!" it whispered. Immediately Commander Tucker was herded into the next room.
Another long snouted blue figure in a stiff green jacket stood at another bank of windows, overseeing the rescue with the aid of computers and communication devices, manned by other Azorians. Trip noted that their technology wasn't state of the art, although it seemed adequate for the action at hand. The servant tiptoes to the General and whispered in his ear. The General spun around in a fluster.
"You're here for Brainerd?" he barked, frowning to cover the hope that sprang unbidden to his eyes. Those long snouts lent to a lisp in their speech.
"Yes, sir," Trip answered, stepping forward to shake hands. His gesture was ignored as underlings called the General's attention back to the mountain.
Two people were arguing on top of the crashed ship, and although they couldn't hear what was being said, they did see the taller one shove the shorter person backward to tumble off the roof and fall into a crevice and out of sight of the tower. The two shuttles, fighting the rising wind so high above the idyllic plain, lifted up and the broken vessel, secured by heavy cables on its roof, lifted away as well. The taller person stood on top of the buckled roof as the mess was airlifted to the landing dock near the observation tower. As the damaged vehicle was lifted off the damaged elevator, and the shuttles had drifted to one side with their heavy cargo, the fallen figure could be seen clutching a rocky extrusion close to the summit.
"Doc!" shouted one of the underlings at the console. "We're sending another shuttle to pick you up!"
"Don't bother," replied a dry, throaty voice. "Winds are too strong for shuttles tonight. I'll find my own way." Trip didn't know what surprised him more; that one arm immediately reached higher to grapple for purchase and pull itself up, or that the voice was female.
Seeming to defy gravity, the slender figure climbed steadily and slowly up the steep, jagged incline. The woman made good use of the elevator cable to speed her ascent. Finally the figure disappeared over the lip of rock, and the room exhaled its breath as one. A few moments later another comm. came through the channels.
"The people inside are calm, but there's no other way down, General. The elevator is beyond repair tonight, and the winds are too strong up here for shuttles. You'll be able to bring them down in the morning."
"We'll make your transport pilot comfortable for the evening," the General was gracious but wary. "We'll see you in the morning." He glanced uneasily at Trip who stood quietly in the background, watching in stunned silence. His tentative smile disappeared at the next vocal transmission.
"My shuttle's here?" The General cursed himself for letting that tidbit slip. "I'll be right down."
"Doctor!" the General protested, but his words were lost.
"Don't bother the shuttle. I've always wanted to try something. Hang on!" she chirped cheerfully.
A few minutes later, the figure appeared on the damaged walkway that used to span the gorge above the river and was now open to the elements. Bending to perform a task that wasn't visible to the eyes in the tower, she stood at the edge of the broken path, raised both arms over her head and dove off the jut straight into the water.
Trip stopped breathing.
Behind her, the line played out as she fell, growing taut around the knot secured at her ankles, and eventually reaching its limit and recoiled to bring her bouncing halfway up again. Down she fell again, as gravity took over. Her upwards motion was gentler this time, and as she reached its summit, she leaned upward to fiddle with the bindings at her ankles. She dropped again and this time, continued her descent and plunged straight down into the murky green water of the river below.
"Son of a bitch!" Trip murmured, not believing his own eyes. He thought the captain was the only person he knew that was crazy enough to try something that extreme.
At ground level, the crowds surged forward, blocking the towers' view of the river, each one hoping to be the first to catch sight of the jumper. Gradually a cheer rose out of the murmuring crowd, and the rooftop sensors presented an image of a slender figure accepting a blue hand as she swung her leg over the edge of a barge lazily touring the river in the warmer climate at the foot of the rocky towers. Rising, she accepted a drink and toasted the hordes waiting on the sidelines and her actions were echoed as the audience cheered. Nearby a band, which had ceased its music at the sight of the calamity, played again and drinks were poured and the revelry continued.
The General sighed and dropped his head, looking the worse for the experience. Looking over his shoulder at Trip, he seemed to recall the visitor and his purpose. Holding out a hand, he took the data pad and scribbled a signature, thrusting it back at Trip. "Doc's your problem now," he sighed with relief and left the room where he greeted the survivor's of the shuttle crash with a weary air of relief.
A drink was pressed into Trip's hand and he moved closer to the window to get a better look at the river barge dropping its celebrity on the pier. More cheers and more drinks, more waving and shaking of hands before the wet figure started up the long, crowded path to the main observation tower.
Outside on a private balcony, Trip got his first clear look at the person that caused such upheaval. Stomping up the stairs at the back door, she looked ticked off. She wore fitted black pants and a sleeveless green tunic like the other Azorians wore, and at the top of the stairs, stood toe to toe with the same tall figure that had crashed his craft into a mountain and nearly shoved her to her death. She didn't appear to be afraid of him as she shouted at him for his behavior while repeatedly poking him in the chest with her index finger.
Green eyes snapped with icy rage and the thin line of her mouth echoed the thin, angry line that divided her brows. Her tone was low and clipped and she made a short statement to the General standing nearby, and she concluded her tirade by slapping the pilot across the face. Somebody exited the balcony and left the door slightly ajar, and Trip heard the fury in her voice as she concluded with, "He may be your son, but your position will not protect him if he continues to take risks with the lives of others!" A scathing look was sent to the boy before her before she threw up her hands and declared, "He's your problem now!" in much the same way that the General had earlier when referring to Doctor Brainerd.
Trip suddenly had a bad feeling as he scoured the data pad for the name as the damp female stepped through the glass doors and marched straight over to Trip with a warm smile that held none of the malice so pervasive before.
"You must be my ride," she grinned widely. "I'm Doctor Andrea Brainerd, and all packed. Do I have time to change clothes?" She glanced down ruefully at her soggy attire but raised her gaze at his awkward silence. The wind had dried most of the water, but she still looked bedraggled.
The silence continued as she appraised him.
"You were expecting an old man?" she guessed correctly with a cynical glint in her eye.
"Y..yes," Trip stammered.
"Check your papers," she informed him coolly. "You're looking for An-dree-uh," she emphasized the last syllable, "Not Ahn-dreh. Dad doesn't work for Starfleet."
Recovering his aplomb, the officer fell back on courtesy. "Sorry," Trip tucked the pad under his arm and held out his hand not currently holding a beverage. "Commander Charles Tucker the third," he introduced himself.
"My dad doesn't work for Starfleet either," he added when she seemed reluctant to shake.
Giving in to his charm, she smiled and shook. "Call me Andie. Azoria is celebrating the end of summer. It's one hell of a party. Would you like to spend the night and watch the show, or are we in a hurry?" she asked.
Trip was tempted, but shook his head. "If the wind is picking up, then we should get a head start. It's about thirty hours back to Enterprise." He looked at her boots, still dripping on the smooth floor. "We can spare some time for a fresh set of clothes though."
Andrea looked at Trip. "Surely you can spare some time for lunch, right?" she tempted him. "They make a fantastic grilled soupra."
He had to work to make his sigh sound put upon. "Fine, we'll have lunch," he conceded with a smile. "I hope it tastes like catfish."
She grinned. "Thanks. Give me twenty minutes." She snapped her fingers and carried on a short conversation with a couple of Azorians. They came and offered Trip a chair and a fresh beverage while he waited. Outside, the citizens continued celebrating the warm season, even as clouds began to gather over the towers of rock outside.
As good as her word, she returned in twenty minutes, dressed in gray pants and a quilted gray jacket with a Starfleet patch on her shoulder. She wore a black shirt and heavy black boots. At the snap of her fingers, two blue men appeared out of nowhere and picked up two heavy crates and carried them out front. They returned and picked up two more crates. They placed the last small crate and her carpetbag inside the shuttle pod, as Andrea led Trip outside to a table on the patio in the sunshine.
"They seem helpful," Trip noted at the men who loaded the shuttle.
"They seem like losers in a card game," she winked.
"Are you good at cards?" he inquired, thinking of inviting her to the poker game held by several crewmen aboard Enterprise.
"Nope," she grinned. "But luckily, they are even worse at cards than me!"
Azorians brought out several trays and handed them around to all the diners outside. Delicate pastries filled with grilled seafood in a foreign spicy sauce, followed by an assortment of vegetables in colors that Trip had never seen before, then steaming bowls of chowder with hot loaves of bread on the side. His glass was continually refilled with the house beverage, a murky green liquid that tasted like iced tea. After a few sips his head began to swim and he realized it was not tea at all. That knowledge didn't stop his intake, although it did slow it down.
It really was a pleasant afternoon, with Azorians passing by the table to send their well-wishes with Doctor Brainerd and smile a greeting at the human male. Babies filled almost every pair of arms and children laughed as they ran through the grass. Butterflies flitted by on their way to brightly colored flowers, clouds gathered slowly around a muted sun, and laughter and games filling up the lives of the citizens around them. Trip found that he was glad he'd volunteered to come.
Reluctantly he pulled himself away from the sleepy afternoon, and the doctor followed his lead as they headed for the shuttle. Azorians came to kiss her good-bye and she smiled and waved. Even the General, despite his relief to be getting rid of her, showed up and slipped a cylinder out of his jacket and into Andie's hands. She smiled and kissed his cheek. Then she got into the shuttle pod and the humans took off into the sky.
"The ship is orbiting Mychow. We'll meet up with them there." Trip looked over his shoulder at the mountain of crates in the small cabin of the shuttle and smirked at his companion. "I know women who pack too much, but do you think you brought enough stuff?"
She smirked back. "They're scientific research materials," she sniffed. "Some of us have more important things to do than fly around the galaxy picking up chicks," she teased.
He chuckled. They reached outer space and were surrounded by darkness and stars, and Andie leaned back and propped her feet on the console in front of her. She pulled the silver bottle out of her pocket and offered a swig to Trip. "It's like sake," she told him. "It's an Azorian liquor to commemorate the beginning of life. They use it for their celebrations."
He raised a hesitant eyebrow. "I'm on duty. I really shouldn't..."
Andie snorted. "Is there a lot to do on a shuttle while making a routine transport?" She sounded dubious. "I'm not on duty," she asserted. "I'll drink and you can tell me what I'm about to get myself into." She poured a small amount of clear liquid into a cup not much bigger than a thimble and sipped before asking her questions.
"So what's the Chief Engineer doing acting as shuttle pilot for a temporary crew member?" she wondered without looking directly at the blond man next to her.
He started. "I don't remember telling you my position," he stalled, hoping for more time.
"I read the mission logs to familiarize myself with my new arrangement," she told him. "I know who you are."
"I had some free time coming, and thought it might be nice to take a trip," he answered carefully.
Doctor Brainerd looked skeptical. "That can't be the whole reason," she stated.
Her only answer was a shrug. "I like the quiet, Doc," he stated stubbornly.
She harrumphed. "Sounds like girl trouble," she commented. He said nothing but his jaw clenched.
She could see she hit a sore spot and dropped the subject. "Call me Andie," she told him again, pouring a small amount of liquid into a second cup and setting it on the console near his hand.
He ignored it.
She tried again. "Is there a lot of opportunity for girl trouble on board Enterprise?" her tone was light and her eyes twinkled. Trip found himself studying her face for quite some time trying to figure out what seemed to be different about her.
"There's some," he avoided the question. "I thought your eyes were green before?" He finally pinpointed the change. He was looking into gray eyes.
"My eyes change color according to mood and costume," she waved away the question. "Dad used to call them chameleon eyes." Now it was her turn to squirm at the personal question. She tried another tactic.
"Tell me about Captain Archer. I hear he's a real hardass."
"He's not so bad," Trip told her, relieved that he wouldn't have to tell her about his heartache. Without realizing it, he picked up the cup and sipped it absently. It burned smoothly down his throat. "He can be prickly when he's under stress."
"Good to know," she murmured.
"I imagine your dad must be a real hardass," he commented idly, watching her out of the corner of his eye.
She didn't squirm at all, although she did stop fidgeting. "He has his moments." Her answer was diplomatic enough. They both leaned back as far as their chairs would allow and studied the passing stars for a moment.
After filling both their cups she settled back, asking, "Did you ever meet Archer's dad? He must have been really great." She pulled a deck of cards out of her pocket and began shuffling them expertly. "You play gin, right?"
"Play gin, drink gin, it's all the same really," he chuckled. He felt so much better than he had in a long time.
It was a good thing Trip set the auto-pilot because they spent many of the remaining hours sipping Azorian ouza and trading stories about the crew.
Malcolm was preparing to fire again. Archer stumbled onto the bridge, long after dinner and found him there. The tightly wound man was gleeful about shooting up random asteroids to test the alignment of the phase cannons and the new photonic torpedoes. He'd been chuckling and firing at things all day.
Sometimes Malcolm was a little bit scary.
"Don't you think we've had enough target practice for one day?" Archer groused. They'd finished repairs earlier than expected and had laid in a course that would intercept with the shuttle pod a little earlier than expected. Malcolm had convinced the captain that the weapons needed testing. Sometimes Malcolm just needed to let off a little steam, so Archer agreed. He was having second thoughts about that at the moment.
"I've almost got the alignment right, Captain," Lieutenant Reed assured him. "Just a few more tries."
"Two more," Archer spoke clearly.
Malcolm looked up, the disappointment at the end of his target session written clearly all over his face. "Two more tests, sir?" He hoped he heard wrong.
"Just two more, Malcolm," the captain told him in no uncertain terms.
"Yes, sir. I'm sure we'll have it worked out in two more shots, sir." Malcolm finished tweaking something and hit the button. The entire ship shuddered as bolts of light flashed out in front and another asteroid smashed to bits. The Brit was giddy at the readouts.
Jon hovered while Reed made his final adjustments and called down to the armory for some other readings. Several minutes later, the final test shot was fired and the biggest of the asteroids shattered.
"Very satisfactory, sir!" Malcolm enthused. "We brought our targeting experience up by six percent effectiveness."
"Excellent," the captain grumbled, wondering how much difference six measly percent could really make. "Now go to bed, Malcolm."
Even after the late shift had taken over for the night, and the armory had cleaned up the details of their weapons tests, and everyone was snuggled in their beds for rest, the universe continued to maneuver.
The rocks that had been blasted apart rolled past one another, their large sizes turning around each other in their wake. A pattern formed, like a dance, and the pieces fit into swirling storm of their own.