Old Friends

Posted on Sun Sep 20th, 2026 @ 8:30pm by Lieutenant Mercy & Lieutenant Commander Andraste Marin-Das

1,809 words; about a 9 minute read

Mission: Preamble
Location: New Bajor

This was it. This was the first day of the rest of her life. That sounded perhaps a bit melodramatic, after all, would a practical person not say that every day was the first day of the rest of one's life? But in this case, today really marked a significant step. Her first day on active duty again after a prolonged recovery period following severe injuries sustained during the Dominion war. Her ship, the USS Acadia, had been boarded by Jem'Hadar, and she'd gotten grievously injured while fighting them off. Fortunately it had proven enough, as the ship survived as did most - well, a significant portion of her crew. The Acadia had only just finished repairs and a refit and was undergoing trials, but Mercy had been reassigned to the USS Venture, a Galaxy class.

For now though, the Sirran extricated herself from the shuttle that had just set down on New Bajor, at a particular outpost. A wince as she ducked through the exit, taking a moment to stre-EE-etch and roll massive shoulders, towering over the other Starfleet personnel as she did. Surely the designers and builders of this Type 9 shuttlecraft were very nice people who did their best, but Mercy did not think they had Sirran frames in mind when designing the thrice cursed thing. Still, it was her first duty upon re-entering active service to deliver the shuttle and its cargo to New Bajor, and as such she had. That done, she was entirely glad to be out of that tiny flying box though and happy to be able to stand upright again.

Keen nose picked up all sorts of new scents and equally keen white-furred ears flicked this way and that at all the new and wondrous sounds. People chatting with each other about this and that, facility workers cursing a particularly heavy box - though that particular problem was quickly solved as she offered to help them, glad to be able to do something useful that made use of her particular biological gifts as a Sirran.

That done though, one particular silhouette milling around nearby caught her attention. A quick sniff of the air - a familiar scent mixed in with all the others, a scent she would never forget as long as she lived. A few long, lumbering strides in the direction of one particular officer, and a name spoken.

"... Andra?"

The tone was warm and deep for a female voice, and carried well.

"What in the name of the gods could we possibly needs fifty liters of cateline for?" Andraste asked with no small amount of agitation as she looked at the PADD in her hand while talking to the administrative yeoman who had brought it to the doctor for her to review. And a good thing, too! "Take this back to Nurse Kellen and ask him to double-check his amounts. This cannot be accurate."

"Yes, Doctor," the yeoman said distantly, taking back the PADD and scurrying off.

Andra blew an errant strand of hair away from her mouth before brushing it back over her head and trying to wrap it around the bun, hoping that it might stay put this time but having little hope that it would actually do so. It was just that kind of a day.

Suddenly, a voice from the past yanked her to another day.

The comparatively diminutive doctor turned and saw someone she hadn't seen for a while. In terms of a life, it hadn't been that long, but given it was times of war, it felt like a lifetime as well. "Mercy!"

Perhaps this wasn't quite proper decorum, but Mercy figured there was nobody really around to object to it, except possibly Andrasta, the doctor who'd saved her life onboard Acadia during triage. Her wounds had been grievous and she still didn't quite fully understand what the doctor had done to give her a new lease on life, but she was thankful for it. For all the curveballs and trauma life had dumped on her, she hadn't been quite ready to call it quits just yet.

As such the massive Tactical Officer wearing Lieutenant pips stepped forward and pulled the much smaller Medical officer into a huge bear hug, lifting her off the ground by two feet. "By the Migrator, I hadn't expected to meet you here," the Sirran offered, letting the hug linger for another moment before gently lowering the doctor again. "Right, putting the Commander back down, now."

Andra laughed, patting her chest a couple times as she caught her breath after it has nearly been squeezed out of her. "It's good to see you too," she said warmly. "But what a surprise! Are you stationed here now or nearby?"

"No, I'm just passing through, - uh, assigned to the Venture," Mercy took a moment to straighten her uniform as well. "Just got the all clear from Starfleet medical to go back on duty after a recovery period after the - uh ... Acadia," she added, ears wilting a bit as she did. "Chief Tactical, moving up in the world." Beat. "You?"

"This is remarkable," Andra said with another laugh, this time in disbelief. "I'm the new chief of medical for the same ship. The USS Venture. I've been here for a little bit, though, to help setting up medical facilities while the Venture is on route to the planet. I mean..." She shook her head. "What are the odds?"

"Greater than zero apparently," Mercy opined. "Not sure if this is just happenstance or if someone up there saw our service histories and pulled some strings but I'm not complaining," she added, looking around a bit. Which was made easy by standing head and shoulders above everyone else in her direct surrounding area. "So, new Bajor, huh. What's the story with this place?"

Andraste looked around as well, despite not being so tall, and gestured expansively. "A lot of it is really just...what you see is what you get," she said with a small shrug. "A lot of infrastructure and practical support to help continue building up and out for the folks living and soon to be living here. For me, there've been some facilities already established and others just getting going, but it's an 'all help is useful' stage. Engineering seems to have its similar work cut out, but there's plenty of other stuff to work on."

"Mm," Mercy contemplated for a moment, looking thoughtful as she did. "They've probably got some defences that could use some looking at. At least it'd make me feel better about this place," Beat. "Wasn't this where the Dominion first made themselves known? Attacked or something? I seem to remember something of the sort from before the war broke out in full. In which case, I'd really feel better if I checked out what they have for defences."

"I'm sure they wouldn't argue with that," the doctor replied pragmatically. "That's not my area, so I don't know a lot about what they have going on there...though I can't imagine they don't have plenty in the works for it. Given...everything." A vague word to encompass the idea of an entire war that had only recently concluded. After another moment of looking around, she turned a sidelong glance back (and up) at her friend. "And how are you, Mercy? Both in the post-recovery sense and otherwise? It has been a while."

"It has," Mercy began. She trailed off, trying to find the words. Ears wilted a bit again, tail followed suit, before she found a large marker stone to sit down on. "It's been - rough. Physically I'm - well, about ninety percent, ninety five. Still some sores, can't quite lift my left arm without a sting, still working on getting my full strength back. Mentally?" she shook her head a bit, staring off into the distance. "Well, is there anyone really who came out of the war the same as they went in? Don't we all have our own stories, or own Acadias? Our own recurring nightmares, whether metaphorical or real?"

Andraste smiled kindly and moved closer to where Mercy had taken a seat. "I'm not counselor, but...we do, yes. Anyone who says they don't is just in denial. Someone sometime in earth's history said war is hell, and they weren't wrong."

"I've always found 'hell' an interesting concept. Place you end up when you're dead, but you get tortured and suffer for all time? And with so many religions having a similar afterlife myth you're bound to end up in one of them," Mercy mused, glad to have been able to divert the topic of discussion to a broader concept instead of focusing on her personally. She was planning to see the counselor on Venture when she was good and well settled, there were still some things she could work through. The Migrator knew there were things she still needed to. "We have no concept like that on Sirrah."

"I don't actually believe in any Hell or Heaven, as proper named places," the doctor admitted. "I just use hell, lowercase H, as a way to describe bad things." She paused thoughtfully. "And what do you believe about it on Sirrah?"

"I mean, there are various religions on Sirrah. The most common one though by far, is not really a religion but more just a creator myth," Mercy explained. "It says that before there was life, there was the Great Migrator, seeding the stars with souls, every soul a tiny piece of the Migrator himself. Eventually he spread himself over all the worlds and became all life. When we die, our soul goes back, and the very last Sirran alive will become the new Migrator and start the whole cycle again. We have no afterlife with eternal reward for a good life or torture for a bad life - just - .... Be good, you know. Our schools and universities have a common saying, in the pursuit of great, do not forget to do good. And I try to live by that."

Andraste nodded. "Sounds like a good philosophy to live by to me," she agreed warmly. She looked around and realized that she should probably get back to work. "Want me to see if I can help you find where you'll be staying while we wait on the Venture?"

"Sounds like a plan," Mercy rumbled as with a slight wince she rose to her full height again. A smile, the flick of an ear and a slight wag-like twitch of her tail. "We can get a drink, catch up a bit."

"This evening, absolutely!" Andra said with enthusiasm...and then she visibly wilted. "But first, I have to figure out what in the name of New Bajor to do with fifty liters of cateline!"

 

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