The Death of Aeryn Tigan (Part 2)

Posted on 01 Feb 2020 @ 10:07pm by Elesa Zal

2,424 words; about a 12 minute read

Mission: Empty Creche
Location: Starfleet Medical, San Francisco, Earth
Timeline: ED2 0330

In the intensive care ward of Starfleet Medical Elesa Zal slowly began to awaken from her unconscious state. Around her she could make out the faint whispers of medical personnel talking to one another, as well as an electronic chirp that appeared to play to the rhythm of her own heartbeat; she tried not to be alarmed at how fast she could feel her heart pumping within her chest. When the sounds around her became fully formed, Elesa’s eyes opened just enough to catch a glimpse of several of the medical practitioners looming over her with all manners of technical equipment. At least, on first glance anyway, they all appeared to be medical staff with their teal-coloured Starfleet undershirts, but Elesa knew that not all of them could have been.

“She is starting to come around now,” the President heard a voice say, likely a female but unfamiliar to her. It didn’t matter to Elesa anyway, it wasn’t any of the female officers that she had recognised when her eyes had briefly batted open.

“Increase the output of the neural stimulator to sixty milli-volts and administer a further ten cc’s of Inaprovaline,” another unrecognisable voice ordered. Within seconds Elesa felt a hypospray against her neck and the cool discharge of the Inaprovaline into her blood stream. There was an immediate effect on her alertness as the fog in her mind began to clear and the scene around her came into focus.

“Rhyan,” she said, extending her arm towards the face that she recognised within the crowd of officers around her. The action of lifting her arm took far more effort than Elesa had been expecting. The Vulcan took her hand before it collapsed back on to the biobed.

“It’s okay Ma’am,” the Commander said in response. His hand continued to hold hers gently as he stepped closer to the biobed. The expression on his face looked grim, even more so than what Elesa had become accustomed to with the young, emotionally volatile, Vulcan. “We have something important that we need to discuss with you,” he said.

“It’s good to see you, Commander,” she said in return, squeezing his hand gently as she spoke.

Elesa had known Rhyan for over a year now, their paths crossing several times since his promotion to executive officer of the Redemption. Although Starfleet had never approved of his promotion by Captain Ashcart, Elesa could see that the young man had the potential to make a fine addition to the ever-evolving tapestry of Starfleet. In many ways Rhyan reminded Elesa of the hot-headed attitude she had in hear early years of military service; these were tempered partly by her joining to the Zal symbiont, but also by her change of discipline from security to command. In time, she knew, Rhyan would mellow and become an excellent commanding officer. Her only regret was that she would likely not live long enough to see it happen.

“Madam President,” Rhyan began to say before Zal interrupted him.

“You should know to call me Elesa by now, Rhyan.” She smiled warmly at the Commander, although it did little to change the grim expression painted all over his face. It was all she needed to know that the news Rhyan was about to deliver would not be good.

He ignored the correction. “I regret to inform you that my attempts to cure your illness, albeit somewhat fruitful, have been thwarted by the Confederacy of the Underdark. I,” he appeared to choke a little, “have no cure.”

“That’s not entirely true,” commented another young officer who had approached the biobed to stand abreast with Rhyan. The young woman was a Trill, like Elesa, with an olive complexion, steely grey eyes and long, black hair. Her expression, like Rhyan’s, told a story. Elesa tried to piece it together from the look of fear in her wide, telling eyes; the President could sense that the young Trill was about to make a sacrifice on her behalf.

Rhyan scolded his subordinate simply by uttering her rank. “Lieutenant,” he said, coldly.

“She has a right to know,” the young Trill continued to say, ignoring Rhyan’s warning. Elesa could sense a familiarity between the two officers, recognising the friction that inherently appeared when a junior officer disagreed with their senior. How many times had she been on either side of that divide during her previous career in Starfleet? Elesa couldn’t count. Instead, she focused on the woman who now stood before her.

“What is your name?” Elesa asked calmly, breaking up the argument between her and Rhyan.

“Aeryn Tigan, Ma’am,” she said, adjusting herself so that she appeared to stand to attention. Elesa liked the lieutenant’s vigour and motioned for her to relax. The action took more of a toll on her than she would have liked.

“And what is it that you think I should know,” the President asked, with genuine interest.

Rhyan nodded his approval, reluctantly, to the young lieutenant. She appeared to take a moment to compose her thoughts before sharing them with Elesa. When she did speak, it was with more confidence than before. “As Commander Rhyan explained, the Confederacy destroyed the only supply of the anti-virus that we were able to replicate. They destroyed everything we had on board the Aoraki: the anti-virus, our research, and very nearly us as well!”

Elesa took a moment to digest the new information that had been provided to her. An anti-virus had existed but was destroyed in its entirely by the Confederacy of the Underdark, the very people suspected of infecting her with the virus in the first place. Or, at least, that had been Elesa’s suspicion from the outset. The rogue Andorian organisation had already been implicated in her predecessor’s assassination, a fact that Commander Rhyan had helped uncover just before she had met him for the first time. And, as a former ambassador to Andor, she would have made a very tempting target for the Confederacy indeed.

Lieutenant Tigan continued. “The thing is, not all of the anti-virus was technically destroyed.”

“I thought you just said,” Elesa began, but could see that the lieutenant did not wish to be interrupted. She let her continue.

“I tested the anti-virus on myself on board the Aoraki just before the Confederacy attack,” she said as one of her hands brushed the side of her neck. What the lieutenant wanted to say next appeared to be a struggle. “The doctors here don’t think there is enough of the anti-virus left in my system to extract and use to cure your infection, Ma’am. At least, not without killing me in the process.”

The President shuffled on her biobed, attempting to sit herself up and respond to Lieutenant Tigan at her level. Unfortunately, the effort was completely wasted as she had no muscle strength left to push herself vertical. Rhyan immediately checked if Elesa was alright, while a blonde-haired human female began to wave a medical tricorder in her face.

With what little energy she had left Elesa swatted the tricorder away. “I will not have anyone put their life in danger for me,” she said with absolute authority. All the moving around had drained the President and she began to gasp for air, but it didn’t deter her from further warning the Starfleet officers congregated around her. “My life is no more important than anybody else’s here. Do. I. Make. Myself. Clear?”

A combination of responses erupted from around the room. Some chose to answer with a simple “Aye, Sir,” while others chose the more familiar “Yes, Ma’am.” Either way, the statement was completely understood by all of those in the room.

The blonde-haired human approached Rhyan and spoke to him curtly. “Whatever it is you are going to do, Commander, you should do it soon. I do not know how much longer I can keep the President like this.”

“Lieutenant Commander,” Elesa said, spying the three pips on the woman’s collar, “if you have something to say, you can say it to me also.”

“I’m sorry, Ma’am,” she said, realising her mistake and addressing the President directly. “Your vitals are not stable, and the neural stimulator is at its maximum setting. I am afraid I do not know how much longer I can keep you conscious.”

“Then it appears that Lieutenant Tigan and Commander Rhyan had better get to the point. Quickly.” Elesa turned her head to face the young Trill once more.

As before, Lieutenant Tigan appeared to struggle in saying what needed to be said. When Rhyan made a motion as though he were about to speak in her place, Tigan held her hand up to him and said: “This really should come from me,” forbidding him from saying anything further. Elesa was heartened by the young woman’s determination under these difficult circumstances.

“Ma’am,” Tigan then said after a short gasp of air, “Commander Rhyan and I can’t save your life. And when I say that I am referring to the Elesa host, not the Zal symbiont. We think we can save Zal. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be apologising to me, Lieutenant,” Elesa said calmly, genuine in her words to the young woman. Since her abrupt awakening by the medical team, Elesa had suspected that her union to the Zal symbiont might be coming to an end; Rhyan’s expression, Tigan’s hesitation and the medical team’s concern all pointed to that inevitable fact. But Elesa was okay with that – she had lived a long, productive and meaningful life after all. And for joined Trill, death was just another name for a new beginning.

“Please,” Elesa said, feeling Zal stir within her abdomen. “Do continue, Lieutenant.”

“Doctor Ulla has contacted the Symbiosis Commission on Trill and spoken to them at length about Zal. Their decision is final: Zal cannot be transferred to a new host under any circumstances.” Tigan’s eyes flared with emotion, particularly as she mentioned the Symbiosis Commission.

“Why do I feel a ‘but’ coming on?” Elesa was more abrupt than she had meant to be.

“That’s because there is one,” Lieutenant Tigan responded while breaking into a nervous grin. It was the first time Elesa had seen any of the officers in the room crack a smile.

The President smiled back at the young woman. “Does this have something to do with that experimental anti-virus you injected yourself with?”

“How did you guess?”

“I have lived four lifetimes and have an instinct about these things.” Elesa reached out her free hand, the one that wasn’t still being held by Rhyan, and grabbed the Lieutenant’s. “So, does this mean I am returning to Starfleet?”

Tigan’s nervously chuckled at the statement, understanding exactly what the President was saying. “I guess it does, Ma’am.”

Elesa eyed the young woman in front of her from head to toe, studying her carefully. “You know, I never did imagine myself in a blue uniform.”

“Blue is the best,” Tigan retorted.

“Red is the best, my dear. But I am sure you will teach me a thing or two about the sciences to convince me otherwise.” Elesa let go of the Lieutenant’s hand and brought her other hand to Rhyan’s and cupped his in both of hers. She looked directly into his sad, grey eyes. “Thank you for everything you have done, Commander. I know you did everything you could.”

Rhyan’s nostrils flared. “It appears that it wasn’t enough.”

“We don’t win every battle, Commander. The main thing is that we win the war.” She didn’t want the Vulcan to be too hard on himself – Elesa always knew that finding a cure for her illness was going to be a long-shot. He had gone above and beyond the call of duty for her, and she would always be grateful. “I do have one last request for you, however.”

“Anything,” he said.

Elesa sighed. “Would you give all my love to Aran for me and explain to him why I kept this illness a secret from him. My only regret is that I am unable to say goodbye to him in person. Of all the people in my life, he is the one who will take this the hardest.”

Aran Zahne was Elesa’s younger brother, currently serving as a medical specialist for Starfleet’s Ee Research Institute. Their relationship had been volatile ever since Elesa’s joining with Zal, with Aran never fully accepting the new entity she became when she inherited Zal’s memories. The President was aware of Aran’s new-found friendship with Rhyan, and she just hoped that the Commander could convince her brother that her death had some meaning in the grand sense of Trill society.

“I will break the news to him myself,” Rhyan replied.

“Thank you, Rhyan.”

Without warning, Elesa felt a wave of nausea overcome her. It took all of the Trill’s concentration not to empty the contents of her stomach over Commander Rhyan and the young woman who was going to become the new host for her symbiont. The biobed began to alarm and a number of the doctors around her began to fuss with the interface and wave their damned medical tricorders over her.

“Rhyan,” the doctor with the blonde hair began to say, “if we are going to do this, it has to be now.” She looked down at Elesa with a warm smile. “Ma’am, I’m afraid your blood pressure just dropped, which means the medications we are giving you are becoming ineffective. I don’t know how much longer the symbiont can tolerate such a poor perfusion of blood.”

Elesa closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on Zal. Her connection to the symbiont was weak, with her inherited memories far off in the distance. She knew that Zal was dying within her, which meant there was only one action that needed to be taken: Zal needed to be transferred to Lieutenant Tigan immediately, otherwise all hope of saving the symbiont would be lost.

“Doctor. Commander. Lieutenant,” Elesa said, solemnly. “You all know what needs to be done. Let’s not waste any more time.”

OFF: Slowly reaching the end of my sub-plot on Earth. Hopefully things start moving along onboard the Redemption itself so that I can reunite my characters with the rest of the crew!

Andrew.

 

RSS Feed