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Motivations

Posted on Sun Oct 28th, 2018 @ 3:47am by Lieutenant Narira Atay

"So then I said, 'really love? you didn't seem all that quiet last night!'"
"Have you got your lunch? Your text books? You know I won't be here when you get home"
"I am a competent skilled officer. I am a competent skilled officer. I am a-"
"How could you! Fifteen years and your throw it away for that, that, whore!"


Narira was reaching for the hypospray before her eyes were even open. Waking up to the thoughts of neighbours and passing strangers was getting normal, it was going to be bad today. She could tell.

"0900, Lieutenant Georgie Broadshaw, 0930 lieutenant T'Vek. 1000 lieutenant Mishil Gell."
"Why Tavil? He's a lousy centre forward. I'm far better than he is. And I've not buggered my hamstring."
"Oh god, why did I agree to this. Its 7 am and my legs are killing me already"
"No, Mr Bond, I expect you to die."


She stabbed the hypospray against her neck hard enough to leave a bruise and let the dose vanish into her blood stream. A moment later, there was nothing but silence in her head. Beautiful, blessed silence. She let out a long, relieved sigh, rolled onto her back and flung the covers back from her bed and stumbled out to the window. She spotted the jogger staggering through the park, fifty stories below, She couldn't place the other voices, though some of them were so familiar she knew they had to be neighbours in the Fleet boarding house.

She checked the clock. 0703. Twenty six hours and four minutes since her last dose. Two minutes shorter than the six week rolling average.

Narira pulled herself out of bed, washed, brushed her teeth, combed out her long dark hair. She was pale for a Betazoid and this morning she looked particularly washed out. Happy joy. She ignored the vanity unit mirror and pulled on her uniform. Time to leave.

At 0915 she was sitting on a chair in an office, while someone in Starfleet teal brought her a cup of tea. At 0918, Dr T'Mel arrived. "Bad news, I'm afraid, Narira." She held out a Padd, and Narira took, skimmed over the results of the synaptic fluid analysis. "The Hexacoramil..." she couldn't bring herself to say it.

"Down another 0.5% T'Mel agreed. "I'm sorry, but you're building up a resistance."

Narira let the padd fall to the desk. "How long have I got?"

"Well, there are so few cases like yours its hard to say with accuracy," T'Mel began. "But at this rate, thirty, maybe thirty six standard months." A little under three years, by betazoid timing. "I urge you to consider surgery before any surges cause permanent damage. A strong enough telepathic burst could give you a fatal anuerism, or reduce you to a catatonic state. Not to mention the danger you would pose to those around you. Out to a radius that we have to measure in Kilometres "

"Forgive me if I'm not keen to be lobotomised. They have to burn out so much paracortex there's no guarantee I'll even be me when I wake up. And there may be new treatments just around the corner. There's research at Daystrom on absorption rate manipulation for the different neurotransmitters..."

"I understand you reticence," Her doctor said. "But you should reflect upon your options. Before you find they are taken away from you."

Narira stood. She didn't have to worry about her surging emotions overwhelming her or those around her. Her paracortex was successfully numbed for the day. But it didn't mean she didn't still feel. Thank you, doctor. I'll take it under consideration."

She left Starfleet medical in a dark mood. She wanted to shout and scream and cry, but losing control might shake loose her medication before it was due time, and more resistance ot her medication would only hasten the end. Instead she took a deep breath, and walked a couple of blocks to the OPM building. There were several terminals there that constantly advertised open positions. She started flicking through them.

She knew what she wanted. Something breath-taking, and exciting. This could well be her last tour. IT needed to be special. IT needed to be doing something to make a difference. No more endless round of surveys. relief missions, patrols, exploration. She wanted to see sights whilst she could still see. She wanted to help others, while she could still help others, and not be needing help. She wanted to be far away from hordes of civilisation, just in case. Np point in being in, or becoming, the eye of the storm.

Her fingers tapped on the screen filtering out results, and Leaving a small shortlist tht met her requiremnets. She'd tackle them all, in alphabetical order. First up....

USS Asgard


 

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