Rise

Posted on 28 Apr 2013 @ 4:50pm by Lieutenant JG Kestra Orexil & Commander Andreus Kohl

3,107 words; about a 16 minute read

Mission: Episode 03 - Frontier
Location: USS Galileo - Deck 4, Sickbay
Timeline: MD04 - 1837 hours

[ON]

Kestra started awake for the thirteenth time that day. People came and went. Her cousin had left at some point earlier to do the work she was here to do. Visitors, old faces and new ones, all welcome. Points of contact in the too dense beckoning world. She needed her body to obey her instead of lying around her like a limp rag prison. Free. Up. Out. She flexed her hand against the bed, pushing it up by pressing her fingers down. Less than two months before she'd been doing pushups with Klingons. Now she felt grateful to be able to move her hands. She flexed the other hand, alternating.

The first time Andreus Kohl approached Kestra's biobed, he was pushing a desk chair. His movements were slowed by fatigue, but not without purpose. When he returned to Kestra's biobed again, he was dragging an antigrav instrument tray behind him. Kohl settled himself into the chair beside the bed, and he closed his eyes. He had spent an hour in the medical lab, listening to the medical logs recorded about Kestra's recovery while researching treatment options in the medical library. His eyes were thankful for the rest, especially here were it was slightly darker in this one biobed alcove.

"Good evening, Kestra," Kohl said softly. "Can you tell me how you're feeling?"

Kestra's eyes opened slightly, focused on the man in the lieutenant, and a moment later she'd saturated him in her thoughts. An itch behind her left knee that wouldn't go away. The pounding of psychic fists against her mind sleeping and awake. Frustration: she couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't make the onslaught stop, couldn't reach her cousin through the cacophony, could barely lift her own hand off the surface of the biobed for any reasonable length of time.

All at once, Kohl was drawing in a gasp of air, and he was bolting to his feet, and he sent the chair bumping into the bulkhead. He rocked on his booted feet, because it was taking all his will to stop himself from walking --from running-- away from that feeling of paralysis. He breathed out, and then he breathed in, and then Kohl said, "I had a patient when I first came to Galileo. She, too, couldn't move from her biobed, from that biobed there. When she was discharged, when she was healed, she-- she tried to describe what it was like, but I never..." The blond Argelian could only shake his head.

She watched him move. She could see clearly, at least. It was an improvement. You asked.

"I did," Kohl said, "I do." There was a timbre of defiance in his voice and in his thoughts. Despite how her feelings affected him, scared him, Kohl said, "I would rather know than not-know. Have patience for me. I don't remember the last time I felt another in my mind." Moving precisely, Kohl returned to his chair beside the biobed and pulled the instrument tray closer. "I spent my shore leave with a Betazoid, and even those days weren't long enough for me to learn to hear him in my thoughts."

If I could speak, I would. Her voice in his head was full of all the same emotions she'd just expelled. All day she'd had people come and then go. Go. She'd never felt so much envy in her life as she had watching them stand and leave.

"My name is Andreus," said Kohl gently. He wanted her to have some notion of who he was before he set about helping along her recovery with his own two hands. Now, he supposed she could know him better than most of his patients, and he wouldn't need to say much. What he actually put into words was, "Starting tomorrow, I'm going to be your primary healthcare provider on beta shift."

What about tonight?

"Bo Chalan tonight," Kohl replied. He palmed a disc-shaped device from the instrument tray and tested the toggle momentarily. "But I was hoping to continue the dermal regeneration of your burn injuries, if that's all right with you."

Anything that gets me up and out of this bed is all right with me. Kestra's lips wobbled into an attempted smile. Can you tell me how much longer it will be, or if- Pola has been so careful around me, but I hear everything. I simply can't tell where the thoughts and feelings are coming from, but everywhere, everything- am I trapped here forever?

Kohl didn't say or think anything new at first. He looked Kestra in the eyes and he adjusted her medical gown to expose her right arm and shoulder. At first glance, Kestra looked as if she might be perfectly recovered, but the damage was there if you knew where to look for it. As he worked, he repeated Kestra's words in his own mental voice to confirm he had understood her telepathic message. Then he activated the dermal regenerator and held the blue glow of the device close to the burn below her shoulder. "I haven't seen anything in the sensor readings to suggest organic paralysis," Kohl said. He returned his gaze to his work on her shoulder. "The urinalysis from this morning show your aceylcholine levels are replenishing nicely. You're nearly at baseline levels now."

She could hear the truth in his words, but I should be able to do more than this then. Kestra pushed her fingers against the bed, lifting her palm. Yet here I am.

Mentally hearing her words, as well as her intent, Kohl toggled off the regenerator. As soon as the regenerative field shut off, he looked down to the movement of her hand. "Can you show me," he asked, "how high you can lift it?"

Back teeth tight against each other, the auburn haired woman pushed further until her fingertips were holding her hand aloft. Gingerly, she lifted one finger at a time; sweat gathered at her temples when she drew the last two up off the bed. Her hand shook where it hung in the air and collapsed back to the bed a bare few moments later. The muscles in her forearm screamed from the exertion.

"That was lovely, Kestra; thank you," Kohl said proudly. Kohl activated the dermal regenerator again and held it close to the burn on her shoulder. "Before you try another rep, tell me," Kohl said, "Did you come aboard Galileo at her launch?"

She looked at him, wary of the subject change. No, she answered, mental tendrils prodding. What was he asking for? I joined the mission at the first starbase stop; my transfer orders took some time to go through.

"Oh, oh, I'm sorry..." Kohl said. He recoiled slightly at the psychic probing, but he held his hand steady on the regenerator. Kohl looked down on Kestra with wide eyes. I want to know you, was the very core of what Kohl was thinking.

Truly? she asked. Privacy didn't enter her thoughts; she was connected to so many minds, absorbing them without blinking, another made no difference.

Privacy was the furthest thing from Kohl's concern. Kestra would have been able to feel his genuine confusion at her questioning thought. "You're here; I'm here. You're well-loved by the crew," Kohl said, as if it were absolute truth, like math. He increased the intensity of the dermal regenerator's field, as he continued his work on her skin. "Why wouldn't I want to know you?"

As you wish, she whispered in his thoughts. On an exhale, she breathed herself out along the tendrils, drizzling her history over his mind like honey over figs. Her siblings laughed and played along the corridors of starships. The melodies of Elwani's harp flowed, lingering and waterlike, over the sounds of their laughter and her father's steady rhythmic voice reciting verse of his own creation. Love swelled and encompassed every sound. Then more laughter still - open courtyards bathed in moonlight and black marble; the lush and vibrant gardens and hillsides of Betazed - unmarred by war. 'Rishi!' a pixie-sized version of Kestra called, scampering down a line of trees. 'Trija!' Scattered melodies and poems. Sketches, watercolors, misshapen clay bowls - did they survive the battle? the crash? Her brother's tears, the cries of her nephews and nieces, the screams of her world- she had to fight. There was no choice. If not for Gelkin's logic, she might be dead. Home; the word was deep, saturated in her gut and throbbing in time with her heart. Sense and purpose, days of training: books, fists - days that bled into one another. Sweat and the scent of Bajoran shrimp roasting. Klingon delicacies - acquired tastes - blood wine. Blood in the mouth, dripping from her nose over grinning lips, staring down at a man twice her size. Stable. Sense. Grounded. Breathing meditation, facing the black expanse of space. Stars. Light in the darkness. Hope eternal. Her first sight of the Galileo, tucked neatly into the shuttle bay all tidy. Old friends and new. New enemies. Chaos, sparks, and blood; running down corridors, calling instructions into her commbadge, phaser in hand. A wash of plasma like a tidal wave of heat and bone deep agony. Walls and shields. Dreams. Endless dreams. Horrors never imagined brought to terrifying life, inescapable, years crawling up invisible walls and falling inexorably into endless pits of grief and gore. Hope, a fragment, a face - two - red strings binding, a rope. Searing light, choking spasms, where did they go? Alone. Alone and yet - not. Never. Too many voices, thoughts, feelings - shields were useless, those hundreds of furious fists would beat them down. Take it. Breathe them in. Let them go. It had taken some time. She was still getting the hang of it. Had the world become louder? Or was it only that she was so used to the silence of useless screams. Mama- Papa- did they even know she was alive again?

As the images/feels/sounds/words began to trickle in, Kohl was careful to toggle off the dermal regenerator. Rightly so, because to his sensitive but untrained mind, that trickle soon felt like a torrent. No, that's too-- too too! Don't. Kohl ripped a lungful of air into his lungs and he hurled his hand towards his face. The tool went hurling over his shoulder. He grunted and pressed the heels of his palms against the pain in his forehead. Just like the temple-- like mother-- Too much. Slower. Please. Slower.

But it couldn't stop. It couldn't slow. There was no speed to memory. He had asked for who she was and she had opened the gates to that discovery. Not a link, not a meld, but a sharing. He'd asked to see. To know her. Now he did.

"Don't. You don't. Have to," Kohl said. He said the words aloud, but not loudly. They came out flustered and disjointed. His head remained in his hands. "I can't-- Wrong language-- Words, use words..."

The multitudinous wisps of her consciousness wrapped his mind in a cocoon of smooth marble, endless sky, the scent of growing things, and the laughter of old friends. Good tea. Strong wine. Loose limbs. The subtle crinkling of eyes that communicated mirth. It's over now. Rise; one cannot hide from thoughts, not behind hands anyway. Up and over, lift your head and breathe.

Kohl hadn't even noticed that his lungs felt depleted, that he was holding his breath, until Kestra told him to breathe. He tore the air into his lungs, and he dropped his hands from his face. As the calm washed over in gradual waves, Kohl breathed deeply. A smile came to him, but it was a confused smile, it almost looked like a snarl. "Are you making fun of me?" Kohl abruptly asked.

Kestra's brows lifted slightly. She would never understand how little non-empathic individuals actually understood about one another. Even touching her mind, he projected and misunderstood. No.

Although he stiffly nodded at her psionic reply, Kohl couldn't quite bring himself to look at Kestra. His eyes stared intently in the middle distance above where Kestra was laying. The expression on Kohl's face was relatively impassive, but noticeably taut. He nodded again, but Kohl himself didn't even know what that nod signified. Kohl gripped the edge of the biobed and rolled his chair back. It gave him the room to get to his feet and turn away from Kestra. He stayed away long enough to find the regenerator, and lift it from the floor, and return to his chair. Kohl returned to Kestra's side, and he was still moving stiffly as he turned the regenerator's ministrations to Kestra's shoulder.

"Let's try another rep," Kohl said, and in an undertone, he remarked, "I like roasted Bajoran shrimp too."

She watched him silently, brows slowly settling back to normal as he seemed to get a grip on himself. That was good. If he was to be in charge of her recovery, he couldn't very well do that being terrified of her. And with no physical recourse other than the miniscule flexing of her hands, her mind seemed to have grown a projecting will of its own. She wasn't sure when she was 'thinking aloud' and when she was only receiving; even now, she could feel his own unease streaming along to her along with the myriad thoughts and feelings of others on the two ships. So many. So much. Take it in, let it go, take it in, let it go. She exhaled one long steady stream through her nose. I'm unwieldy at the moment; I've always been blunt, but this situation has left me with rather more strength mentally than I'm used to manipulating.

"Is anyone helping you with that?" Kohl asked. He used his words, because he couldn't trust his mental clarity after what he just experienced. As he spoke, Kohl continued his determined recovery of Kestra's burned flesh. "Psychic rehabilitation?"

There had been no suggestion of such a thing heretofore. It is my belief that recovering use of my physical self may help to steady my psychic abilities. Speaking would be useful. Movement would be better. Memories of internal stillness during katas and training exercises flowed from her mind to his, unbidden. Steady, waiting, listening. The timeless dark expanse of terror - of trying to understand and correct the myriad trials and tortures of those minds connected to hers - had left her seeking and solving, rather than reflecting. I am not averse to pain, should it allow you to speed the time of my physical recovery.

Kohl turned away from the biobed to put his hand on the cabinet set into the bulkhead beside the biobed. As he tapped in his access code, he said, "Any rehabilitation exercise program will start with defining the difference between hurt and harm. Don't you worry. It's going to hurt. As long as we're all mindful and communicating regularly, it shouldn't harm you. Now..." --Kohl retrieved a hypospray from the cabinet and pressed it to Kestra's upper arm-- "About that movement lark. It's time for your next treatment."

Kestra looked at the hypospray, then at Kohl. She was driven to escape the confines of this bed so desperately that almost any pain might be worth it, but at the same time- What is it?

He pressed the hypospray control and the medication was injected in Kestra's bloodstream. Kohl shook his head slightly, hoping to disperse any worry. "There won't be any pain yet," Kohl said. "This is the same amino acid therapy Pola has been administering." --He pulled the hypospray away and tucked it into the cabinet-- "Once this gets you moving again, that's when the pain will begin. I'm a relentless task master when it comes to physiotherapy."

Gets me moving-? she thought, studying his face. What are you going to do- make me lift tiny barbells with my fingertips? I'm going to be here forever, drift wood floating on a sea of thoughts, I shouldn't have survived at all - useless - they've already too many to take care of, not me. I don't want to be a burden- She shut her eyes, so as not to look at him, but it did little good. She could still feel him there, hear the gears of his mind churning along. Subconsciously, her fist closed and rapped the bed in frustration.

"It's time, Kestra," Kohl said and there was a quiet conviction in his tone. He looked at her, and he looked over at the biofunction monitor. He watched her vitals signs, and watched as her neurotransmitter levels were rising in response to the medicinal therapy. "It's time for your next rep," he said. "Lift your hand."

What good is it? What good is any of it, when- she felt a growing ache in her upper arms and shoulders and opened her eyes to find both her hands hovering off the biobed. Both arms, aloft, maybe only a few inches, but they were steady. It wasn't pleasant. It was growing steadily more difficult by the moment and her right elbow was quaking, but- It's working, she thought, wonderingly.

"It was the stasis fields that depleted the aceylcholine between your motor nerves and your muscles," Kohl reminded Kestra. Pola had explained it to Kestra before, but Kestra seemed more receptive than ever to believe in her own recovery. Kohl went on: "The therapy Pola developed is replenishing your neurotransmitters. It really is. There's no reason why you shouldn't recover fully from your paralysis."

Kestra looked at him, ebony eyes wet with tears of relief. You believe that, it wasn't a question. When- how long?

"Days," Kohl said, looking Kestra in the eyes. He couldn't offer anything more concrete, but he gave his answer with certainty. There was something less certain in his tone, when he offered, "Hours, maybe." Sweeping a hand towards the biofunction monitor over her bed, Kohl said, "Side effects from stasis almost never last this long. To be candid, I don't see why you can't get out of the biobed right now."


[OFF]

LTjg Kestra Orexil
Former Chief of Security
USS Galileo

LTjg Andreus Kohl
Assistant Chief Medical Officer
USS Galileo

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