Post:Cosmic and Not-So-Cosmic Ruminations

The slipstream tunnel rippled, coruscating energy in a thousand shades of blue.  Vibrant blue light danced along the lines of the silver ship within its confines, as if somehow delighting in its presence.  The vortex began to spiral, shredded then quickly evaporated into black.  The UFS Arcadia sailed into normal space, and into a view which would stop the breath of gods in their throats.

The stars clumped like grains of sand in this region – brilliant, burning points, millions thick, their light enough that no world in this area would ever develop a concept of night.  A blue-pink horseshoe, a nebula, sprawled in the distance.  In another, a yellow flat disc betrayed the existence of a black hole, yanking material from a stellar companion.

"All these stars are yours," April whispered, reciting a line from a story he'd read; the title he could not remember.

His inspection had started with Deck One.  To go hull-side during slipstream was dangerous.  He chose the next best option: The observation dome.  On some Starfleet ships, their bridge occupied Deck One.  The design flaw baffled him; one well-placed shot from a hostile force, and the ship's exposed brain-center was gone, throwing the rest of the vessel into chaos.  But then, with the current state of defensive armaments, that was no longer a weakness easily exploited, either.

Behind him, trunks of visual sensors and other equipment led into the innards of the ship.  In front of him, and all around, circling the deck: A transparent wall, affording a naked-eye, direct-line-of-sight view of their playground – the universe, in all its sheer, mind-numbing glory... so heart-achingly beautiful, it made him cry, lifting every hair on his body, again and again.

The plain view hid a sobering fact, unseen at this distance: The universe was a dangerous place, full of chaos.  Natural chaos.  Whatever design flaw incorporated itself into this vast, vast universe at the moment of its birth, precipitated a natural chaos, from which order somehow arose, and transcended.  Humans, people, humanoids of higher thoughts and callings conceived order, and went out to rearrange the world according to their vision.  But it took them a long time, thousands, millions of years, to reach that level.  Not so, in all universes: April had seen universes where galaxies took on natural geometric shapes, abstracts adhering to different, innate designs, where space had color; stars didn't burn, fly apart or collapse the first chance they got – where life didn't kill, destroy and damage itself and its environment, in the struggle to surpass faulty genes and find enlightenment.  Some found it quickly, and easily.  On the other hand, others could not even conceive of 'enlightenment' – their minds so alien, they would never relate to people like him, in this universe.  In some dimensions, order came first, and degenerated into chaos, unavoidably.  In some, stars never formed at all.  One universe consisted of a long sheet of never-ending stellar ignition, an entire universe, locked in eternal gravity inversion, burning constantly.  What esoteric, tantalizing places.  It fired the mind, to contemplate them.  It was like the touch of God – a god's-eye view, of all the wonder in all of existence.

"You married her...!" a female voice intruded – the immediate chaos of his own reality, disrupting his reverie, shattering the spell.

April closed his eyes and contained a groan.

Marching through the ship... or, he would have been marching, if not for the involuntary muscle spasms in his leg, giving him a lopsided gait... he felt out of sync with his environment.  When he felt 'off', everything seemed off.  And with his leg (his leg! of all things) giving him uncomfortable twitches, he most definitely felt out of sync.  Which brought to mind, as a ready reminder, how he liked a smooth-running ship, where everything WAS in sync.  In that aspect, he wondered if he might be happier aboard a Borg ship... where everything clicked in perfect sync, with precise, fine-tuned, mechanical efficiency, like the gears of a smooth-running watch.

It was all in his mind, he told himself, leaving the turbolift on Deck Five, proceeding towards sickbay.  Only muscle spasms, and not really THAT bad.  No need to go and assimilate everybody.  Of course, the Borg didn't assimilate anymore, but that was beside the point.  One point was certain: If he had been Borg, he probably wouldn't be suffering muscle spasms.

If there was one thing he could not stand, it was rumor.  Gossip.  People talking about each other, behind their backs.  It didn't matter if it was 'good' or 'bad' – it was immature, the judgmental indicator of people with nothing better to do.  Fortunately Starfleet trained their people at the Academy to rise above what 'everyone else' did, and remember that – but now and again, if the news was 'big', a grapevine came to life and gave it a channel to all concerned.  Such was the case with his return to Arcadia.  With only a third as many crew as she once had, the news spread even faster.  It must have: Why else did they show little or no surprise, seeing him walking the halls again (such as it was), giving him nods and knowing smiles?  One more thing he probably wouldn't find aboard a Borg ship... or at least, as the Borg used to be.  Even the Borg were no longer 'Borg', really.

"Relax," he heard her say, and knew before looking who he'd find: Cadie.  He turned his head, and there she was – the short cute brunette, walking with him in her customary mint-green outfit, long gold earrings dangling & flashing off of seemingly well-tanned skin.  April no longer questioned if she was reading his mind – she wasn't, in the telepathic sense.  But internal sensors and computer algorithms designed to analyze body language (inside and out), allowed her to glean his mental state, based on his past profile.  "They're just happy to see you... back where you belong."

April took the point, reminding himself to not be too judgmental.

There was a stiffness in Cadie's expression.  April did not have to guess why.  She refused to meet his gaze, staying focused straight ahead.  "And what about you, Cadie?"

"You could have told me."

"I shouldn't have to explain myself.  It isn't a state secret; you could have checked updates to your databanks.  Transmissions go out regularly – "

"You should have told me," she insisted, bitter.

There was nothing like having your own ship mad at you.

It felt funny.  Cadie's physical manifestation was an amalgam of all the women April had known and loved, in his time aboard Arcadia.  There was a little of all of them in her.  Including Brenda.  Cadie took that form out of some subconscious desire to please him, to be his 'perfect' woman – again, based on past history, thinking it would be easier for him to love her.  And April did love her.  But Cadie missed two vital, very important details.  One of them being, he tried not to dwell on the past.  He was more interested in the future.

"Would it have made a difference?" he said.

She did look at him, then, eyes flashing angrily, and she disappeared.  She looked like she was about to cry.

April felt like a heel, for not being completely honest up front – then guilty with himself, for he should not have had to feel that way.  It was a cruel situation.  Cadie felt hurt.  Deeply; he knew that.  But she just didn't understand.  For all that she was, she was only eight years old – almost as emotionally mature as a real woman of her age, height and build... Almost.  She was still learning to get acquainted with these feelings.  It worried him, how she might react, since she was the ship.  But she also had a dose of Stephen April in her, and was handling it rather well, considering.

And, although she loved him, she was not a real woman.  A very distinct difference.

April sighed, swallowing his guilt, and entered sickbay, still in distress.

Sickbay still looked virtually the same as when he'd left.  Through the advantages of replicative customization, the biobeds had been rearranged for a more precise fit and easier access.  The colors of the room could be tinted to the comfort of whatever beings came there, whether crew or from off-ship.  All of the controls sported holo-facings.

"How did I know you'd be show up?" Tabatha chided him, as he entered.

April opened his mouth, about to answer, then looked stumped for a moment.  "Uh... telepathy?"  It might not have been far from the truth: Complants made them virtually telepathic, without actually being telepathic.  He wondered for a second, after Cadie's sharp insight, if he had been sending messages from his head without realizing.  Or maybe Cadie informed her, ahead of time.

They hugged, the way old friends do.  "Oof – whoa!"  She laughed, gasping slightly in his embrace.  "Have you been working out?"  She squeezed one of his biceps as he pulled back, and batted an eyebrow.

"Just happy to see you again."  He looked her over, taking a moment to appreciate her dark, Micmac beauty.  Tabatha Brisk had always been one of the most beautiful people in his eyes.  He attributed it to some portion of his own native American blood, responding to the proximity of another.  It seemed mystical in this scientifically driven era, but April felt his native American blood was the purest, least diluted by centuries of transcultural mixing on Earth.  He could not explain why else he always felt natural kinship to native Americans, their fairer-skinned cousins and descendants, before even learning of their native American ancestry in the latter case.  Whatever the reason, Stephen April was part native American – and proud of it.  Perhaps that was why he felt such a strong natural connection to Tabatha.

"Interesting uniform," she remarked, looking over the gold piping etched into his fleet uniform.

April looked himself over.  "The Starfleet fashion machine for you.  I forgot to change."  He looked at the ceiling.  "Cadie..."

They heard a disembodied sigh.  April's uniform morphed into a standard outfit, retaining his admiral's insignia.

Tabatha frowned.  "Stephen... is she..."  Tab glanced back and forth.  "...watching us?"

"Oh, no – there's no cause to be paranoid.  She answers when you call her, of course... and we are inside of her... but she's about as aware of us as we are of what goes on inside our own bodies."

Tabatha nodded.  Observing her, April noted how much Cadie's dark-toned appearance mimicked Tabatha's.  Significant?  He didn't know how.  Tabatha was a friend – a good friend, and nothing more.  It could be said that she fell under the umbrella of the agapé philosophy, but he didn't love her the same as others.  More than likely, a coincidental association.  Cadie probably took her appearance responding, again, to April's natural attraction to dark-skinned brunettes.

Tabatha was observing him as well.  She had been showing Amanda around the Medical department, introducing her to the on-duty staff; she would meet the others, currently off-duty, in time.  More than sickbay comprised Medical: Labs, special examination rooms, rehabilitation and specialized analytical & testing equipment, an intensive-care ward, OB/GYN unit... It was a science department in and of itself.  It was no surprise, therefore, that they shared a number of areas and duties with actual Sciences personnel; their duties overlapped on occasion, and they did research on peoples & places they visited, accounting for the size of their staff.

As the tour concluded, Tabatha checked her chronometer.  It was the end of her shift.  Intending to turn her over to Dr. Davalos, who had just arrived, she turned, took a step, and in walked Stephen April.  Tab could tell right away something was wrong, by his stiff gait and expression.

April offered a casual smirk and obeyed.  "I guess you can read minds after all."

April explained, while she examined him.  Tabatha concentrated on her work for the most part, subtly dismayed by the direction scans indicated, and that dismay increased as she continued.  Offering casual small talk along the way, which she did to help make her patients feel at ease, she suddenly realized she had asked a question, the answer to which caught her off-guard.  She had stopped and looked at him.

"Stephen... married?  You?  When?"

"Shortly after I moved to HQ."

"Well, that is a surprise... Brenda?" she said, hopefully.

April nodded.  "Brenda."

"So now there's an admiral, and a captain April."

"Can't keep a good April down."

"Was I not invited?"

"It wasn't a formal ceremony.  No one came.  Besides, you were halfway across the galaxy."

That was true.  She smiled and offered warmly, "Congratulations; I think you'll be happy together."

They both looked up at a disgusted sound, from somewhere.

Tab resumed scanning.  She had been wondering how the matter of Nina's sister was progressing.  Rampart's arrival provided the answer.  It wasn't clear what Vor'ana did, or how she did it – although having the ship's captain & executive officer for a husband might have played a part – but she had gotten results, as she promised.  Did she ever.  Vor'ana had located Tina.  Next time Nina checked on her sister's status, she would find Tina had been moved to a new medical facility, where she would get much better care than before.  The 'reverend' Joseph's cult had been rounded up & arrested, their travesties exposed.  Unfortunately, Joseph had escaped, but was not expected to get far... not when the Federation monitored literally the entire galaxy.  His days, and his ways, would not endure long.  After all, they had no place in the 'enlightened', advanced culture of the 24th century.  Case closed.  Tab hoped it would bring Nina some peace, and let her be able to focus on her job.

"Yes, Doctor?" Amanda said, rejoining them after the unpleasant revelation of April's personal health.

Tabatha touched sensors on the panel along April's bed, sending data from the scan to Lab One, along with a priority notice to Han-Bae.  "The admiral needs bloodwork.  I'll be in the lab."

"Tab," April said, "Your shift is over.  Lys can fill in."

"I realize that, but it's my decision.  It will only take a little while.  The crew's in good health; I have nothing else to do."  She turned, making her way towards the exit, looking towards the Hindu woman across sickbay.  "Alyssa...?"

"Right."  Davalos left the main console in sickbay, where they coordinated with the bridge, monitoring crew vitals at all times.  She had a small, athletic frame, and spoke in a crisp British accent Amanda could immediately recognize.  She was only an inch taller than the nurse.  "Admiral," she greeted, stepping up.  "How are we?"

"'We'... could be better."

She nodded, panning over his immediate in-depth readings.  "We'd have bet credits on your return."

April grinned with a chuckle, and gazed idly at the ceiling.

"Carry on," she told Amanda, moving on to other duties.

April blinked, and looked after her, murmuring, "Another one."

Amanda glanced, uncertain if it was her he was addressing.  "Sir?"

"Uh... sorry.  I wasn't..."  He paused.  "Never mind.  So how do you like my ship, so far?"

[tag]

Trying to make conversation, April said, "Your Captain Maraquin's daughter, aren't you?  I've been on the Memphis.  I met your father."

[tag again]

One of the doors to sickbay opened, and a floating ball of light entered, hovering, swirling shades of beige and blue.  Air around its edges crackled and sparkled.