Lieutenant(jg) Regan Wilde - The Irredeemable Debt of Regan Wilde

[David Hemming]

  ((USS Arrow - Deck 2; Transporter Room))

Captain Shayne, Lieutenant R'Ariel and Regan stood waiting for the next Captain from one of the imposing ships in the fleet to beam aboard the Arrow, but Regan's mind was slipping from his task at hand - the safety and security of the ship and crew in the midst of all these dubious characters. He'd already embarrassed himself in front of the Captain and the Caldonian representative, let his prejudices come to the surface when faced with the Ferengi delegate, and put himself in an almost-too-compromising confrontation with the Orion privateer.

And some would say the worst was yet to come. The Klingon General, Cardassian Gul and Chalnoth Captain were yet to arrive, and R'Ariel had already confided her uneasiness with the emotions and feelings of the captains already aboard the ship. These were the big hitters, so to speak. The ones to watch out for. But Regan couldn't shake that feeling from the pit of his stomach.

He'd told R'Ariel his intention to quit Starfleet as soon as the mission was over. It was time to stop kidding himself that a career in the service was suited to him. It wasn't, let's face it. He was a terrible officer, and he treated the service like it owed him something simply because he graduated. So he graduated, that didn't guarantee he'd end up serving on the biggest, most advanced ship in the fleet. I mean, what did you expect, Regan, the Enterprise? So he was a damned good pilot, that didn't mean he automatically got his dream job as a test pilot. No, here he was on guard detail, surrounded by cut-throats and double-crossers, privateers and trouble-causers.

The truth was he was worried. Not worried for his safety, rather worried what the Captain's reaction would be when he told him. He didn't want to leave him short handed, but it was rather it be that than prolong this farce anymore than need be. And then there was his father...

  ((FLASHBACK - 239206.17 - The Federation Transport Ship Skylark))

It has been several days since the exchange, and Regan had been swept up in the bright transporter beams of the small personal craft of his cousin Danny. They'd warped out of Ferengi space as fast as the little warp drive could take them and rendezvoused with the transport ship as soon as they were clear. Regan tried to recall all of the details, but his head had been so clouded he wasn't able to tell you what day it was, and his face so beaten and bruised he was too scared to open his eyes in case they bled more. All he heard was voices, but they were distant and he couldn't quite pinpoint where they were. They'd docked with the larger ship, and he was taken on a stretcher of some kind into a large, sterile smelling room. He assumed it was a sickbay, or infirmary, since the voices now were kinder, more sympathetic.

Days later, he had been sonic-showered enough to get the filth out of every nook and cranny of his body, and his wounds had been mended immediately. He was as good as new. On the outside at least. The feelings still lingered, but they too were fading. 

His hangover was monumental even by his standards, and he spent the next two days vomiting and feeling like his head was going to explode. He was well enough to speak to Danny, who told him of his work tracking him down. It was handy that he logged into his personal banking account on a terminal, they were able to trace the account transmission when he transferred some of his latinum. That's how they found him in the end, he'd agreed to pay a Ferengi administrator to let him stay in the business complex. As quick as a flash they'd located him and set a course for the planet. His family were en route to rendezvous with the Skylark and soon would be returning to Earth.

The hardest part was yet to come. Under the supervision of a specialist Doctor, the medical team informed him the best way to get through the next phase of treatment was by sheer willpower. They could administer drugs and stimulants, but it would only hamper his withdrawal. No, he had to see this through the natural way.

And so the next two days were a living hell as his body, now sober, craved the alcohol it had depended on to function for the last two years. The stomach cramps bent him over double in the biobed, wrenching his guts to oblivion as he wept to end the pain. He soiled himself on more than one occasion, his loss of bodily control burning the embers of shame to new heat. His head ached constantly, and he began to have hallucinations as the cold sweat from his body sent him into feverish chills every other hour. His muscles cried out for relief, since they were used to being mostly immobile while under the influence of intoxication yet now they had purpose again, and they didn't like it. The worst was his mood. He started suffering from depression and anxiety, and the withdrawal made him see things that weren't there, and hear things in his head that weren't true.

They were all out to get him, he believed. The doctors, nurses and even his own family were conspiring against him. This was their plan. He wasn't sick at all! This was just a plan to trap him, keep him against his will. They didn't care about him, they just wanted him locked up, out of the way. Embarrassed by him. Ashamed of him! The dirty Wilde family secret they could just shut up in the attic and forget about. He spat at them. He tried to bite them, he swore at them in every language he could remember to let him go and leave him alone.

His mother wept by his bedside for hours, and retreated only when she could hear no more. His sister never left his side even when he begged to, even when he screamed at her to leave. Spat at her to leave. Even when he told he despised her. Danny never left the room either.

Then his father arrived after the long few days on a shuttle chartered from Earth. The worst of his withdrawal was over, he was just weak now. He'd fought so hard he tired himself out. He just mostly cried now, because he remembered the awful things he'd said. He hadn't seen his mother and father in the same room for many years, yet he heard them arguing in the corridor outside the sickbay. 

Marcus Wilde spoke to his son for the first time since he left the academy nine months previously. He couldn't remember the exact words but they were ones of small comfort, as any father would say to his only, sick, son. The conversation that followed would burn itself into Regan's mind for the rest of his life.

Marcus Wilde: You'll be better in no time. I've got you a fine room in the best treatment centre on Vulcan. You can heal there, meditate too, if you wish. It's supposed to be a good rejuvenating experience.

Amanda Wilde: This isn't a bloody weekend getaway! Look at him! He looks like a corpse! Do you think he needs a spa treatment on f****** Vulcan!?

Marcus: It's the best treatment centre for him! I will not take it through Starfleet Medical. This is a private matter and I will deal with it.

Amanda: Oh yes, deal with it like you usually do? Sweep it under the carpet! This is your son! Your only son! He needs you.

Marcus: I will deal with it!

Regan cried again. How could he put them through this after everything they've done for him? How could he repay them?

Regan: What should I do after the treatment centre?

Marcus looked down at his son and levelled his jaw. 

Marcus: What is it you want to do? You've still got a lot of avenues open to you.

Regan: I want to make it up to you, father. I'll do anything you ask. I'll go back to the academy! Perhaps I can pick up my grades...

Marcus: The academy!? Have you lost your goddamn mind? 

Amanda: Don't you dare speak to him like that!

Marcus: Do you realise how hard it is to get back in the academy!? ::Turning to Regan:: You were the first Wilde in two hundred and sixty years of Starfleet service to ever not complete the syllabus! Do you think I can just wave a magic wand and get you back in? What makes you think they'll take you back? You left in utter disgrace! You do not get to pick and choose when Starfleet is good enough for you, Regan. 

Amanda: He could have died on that planet and all you care about is your reputation! Not every Wilde has to go into Starfleet you know. I'm sure somewhere down the line one of your ancestors was normal!

From the corner of the room, Danny Wilde stepped forward. He'd been silent so far, but now he had to interject.

Danny: Forget the academy! I'll get him working with me in Intelligence. My line of work is less academy oriented anyway, and I can train him personally ::Turning to Regan.:: If you like?

Marcus: Forget it! The boy's a liability, to himself and others. I'm sorry but it's the truth. Having him train with you might be fun and games for a few months but what about when it gets serious and he has to go undercover? It won't take long to break someone with his issues.

Amanda: Issues!? You can't even look him in the eye and say what it is. That's the trouble with this family, all airs and graces and living in cloud cuckooland! 

The room was silent. Amanda left after shooting another disgusted look at her ex-husband. Danny, out of deference to his uncle, left too. Marcus thought long and hard, then returned to his son's bedside.

Regan: I promise I'll pass this time! I'll do it and become an officer and you'll be proud of me. You'll see...

Marcus: Alright, Regan. I can see you want to make a go of it. But this is your last chance. I will pull some strings with the Commandant and I'll try and get you back in. But you mark my words, boy, this is your final chance. And I mean it. If you so much as turn up late to one class, if I hear so much as one complaint from a teacher that will be it. ::Beat:: We'll discuss it tomorrow, when you've rested some more.

Regan: Yes, father... And... ::He hesitated.:: Thank you. The Ferengi... the latinum!

Thinking back to his escape from Lakata, he wanted to weep again. 

Marcus: It's alright Regan. Don't worry about it. It's all over now.

  ((END FLASHBACK))

  ((USS Arrow - Deck 2; Transporter Room))

The answer was simple. He couldn't resign his commission just like that. Starfleet could still remove him from duty, as per the caveat of his mandatory substance test, but he couldn't in good conscience quit. So there he was again in the transporter room. His thoughts now back and fixed on the apparent danger could materialise in front of them. He turned his head to the transporter console when Captain Shayne signalled for the next delegate.

TBC

--

Lieutenant(jg) Regan Wilde

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USS Arrow

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