Ensign Sival: Then there were Five
James Scott Schumann
(( Holodeck 1, Deck 4, USS Juneau ))
By now the rain was pouring down. Sival could hear it inside. It reminded him of static on a com frequency. While listening to the rain, Sival thought he was beginning to piece it all together. His emotional instability over the past month was somehow related to the anniversary of his wife’s death, and now things were coming to a head in the form of off-balanced emotions and hallucinations. He had seen it before with his patients. In a way, he felt relieved, because he knew that this was a problem that he could solve with time.
He also believed he could control what was happening.
So, Sival ignored what sounded like Emily’s voice by anchoring himself in the moment. If he only thought about what was happening here and now, perhaps he would be able to shut everything else out.
He thought about a recent conversation he and his four friends had shortly before arriving at the armor’s shop.
Arys: Welcome to France - the weather is bad, the King looks weird, buuuuut they were famous for their wine and cheese. I think.
Sival: And many other fine culinary delights, if I’m not mistaken.
T’Lea: And many revolutions, if I’m not mistaken. :: at John:: You’re starting to look…:: she was going to say ‘good’::… more comfortable up there.
Kendrick: Response
He also thought about the stereotypical NPC who greeted them. Stereotypical if Bolians ever had a blacksmith culture, that is.
Weaponsmith: Ah! The Four Musketeers! You have come to rescue our dear King! Please come into my shop and take whatever suits your quest!
Sival was jolted out of thought as he heard crashes and bangs, one after another. He quickly turned his head to see weapons big and small falling from their racks into heaps on the floor. The sound was deafening.
He also saw T’Lea on the floor, apparently having fallen there. She looked afraid. That surprised Sival more than anything.
T’Lea: Son of…
Weaponsmith: Clearly not the armament for you. Try something in the crossbow aisle.
Trovek: …. Are you okay?
Sival: Do you require assistance, Commander?
Emily’s Voice: ::quietly:: How easily you offer it to her, Sival. I required assistance once. Where were you then?
Sival was determined not to acknowledge the voice. He would let it exit his mind as easily as it had entered.
oO I will deal with this later. Oo
T’Lea: I’m fine. I just…
T’Lea: I lost my balance.
Sival found this difficult to believe. Here was a woman who, no doubt in Sival’s mind, kept an acute situational awareness. But he conceded that it was possible.
T’Lea addressed the weaponsmith.
T’Lea: I’ll stick with the rapier, but wouldn’t mind a set of throwing knives.
Weaponsmith: Over here.
T’Lea: My boots were slick with mud. ::patting the hidden knives under her clothing:: Sometimes inconspicuous arms are more adaptable to the situation.
Sival suppressed any motion of his lips that might indicate the beginnings of a smile. He found the contrast T’Lea was drawing with her previous choice of weapon amusing. Yes, these knives probably wouldn’t knock over racks of stuff.
Sival: Being covert certainly has its advantages.
T’Lea: Have you, perhaps, noticed any inconsistencies with this program?
Several. Bolians in 17th-century France, for example. But Sival had the impression that T’Lea meant something else. Sival wondered why T’Lea was asking, and if it had anything to do with the fear he had seen in her face.
Trovek: … Actually yes, but I don’t believe it’s an inconsistency. Not in my case anyway. I’ve been hearing and seeing things, but I figure it’s just me being tired.
Sival was taken aback to learn that someone else had a similar experience as him. Perhaps there wasn’t something wrong with him after all, and something else was going on entirely.
Given this revelation, Sival felt it prudent to share.
Sival: It may not just be your case, Counsellor. I, too, have seen and heard things, but they are too specific to be a random glitch.
Kendrick: response
T’Lea: response
Sival looked at the door. Somehow, it had swung open to the outside. And there was a woman clearly leaning against it. He couldn’t make out all of her features because of the rain, but he could tell that she was a klingon, and she was wearing a Starfleet uniform.
Sival blinked, then she was gone, as if she had never been there in the first place.
Trovek: … Please tell me I am not the only one seeing this.
Sival: If you mean the Klingon in a Starfleet uniform, then no. I saw her too.
Any: Response
Emily: And what about the human in a Starfleet uniform?
Suddenly, standing amongst the four was a woman in her mid-thirties. She had the same shoulder-length cut, golden brown hair as when Sival had seen her in the bar. She was also wearing the same 2360’s blue sciences uniform.
Sival: And please tell me that I am not the only one seeing this.
Any: Response
Emily: Well, won’t you introduce me, Sival?
Sival did not know what to think. Clearly she was not Emily - he hadn’t lost his sense of logic. But who or what could she be? A part of a program? Some kind of clone? At this point, anything seemed possible to him.
Well, almost anything.
Sival: I do not know who you are, so I cannot introduce you. But I can say that you bear an uncanny resemblance to how my late wife, Emily, appeared before she passed away 30 years ago. You are even wearing the same clothing as she wore.
Emily: Ever so observant, Sival. So, may I join your game? ::to the others:: Sival never let me join him on anything this exciting.
There was a bite to that last remark. Sival felt it.
Something was wrong. Sival took a step back, confused. He looked at his friends for any clue about what was happening.
T’Lea / Trovek / Kendrick: Response
TAG / TBC
Ensign Sival
Medical Officer
USS Juneau, NX-99801
J239808S11