Chapter Text
2390 Spacedock (Earth)
“You lost?” came a woman’s voice from behind.
“Looking for the E-run, deck eighteen,” Jimon Rozhenko answered, turning to find a Betazoid ensign pushing a samples cart.
“Right deck, wrong part of the ship. You’re looking for the sphere. Did you just board at the station?”
“Yeah,” he answered. “First posting. Bet it’s written all over me.”
“Just a little,” she said, extending both a hand and a warm smile. “I’m Tasía Athena.”
“Jimon Rozhenko.” He scanned his PADD again and added, “It’s room eighteen-oh-seven.”
“Aha!” she exclaimed. “Tommy Cooper is your bunkmate. He’s been talking about you for days.”
“Who should I talk to about that?" he asked, tugging nervously at the ponytail he habitually wore draped forward over one shoulder. "I don’t think I’m supposed to have a room? I figured my bunk would be on the lower decks.”
“No lower decks on an Olympic class ship. If you give me a second to drop these samples off, I’ll take you there.”
Jimon nodded his thanks and followed the ensign to a laboratory where she left the samples in the care of a lieutenant commander who ignored them, only seeing the rows and rows of samples on the trays lining the ensign’s cart.
She waved for him to follow forward to the ship's spherical section.
The USS Vivien Thomas was neither new nor terribly famous. Much like the man for whom it was named, it was a quiet, unassuming, dependable ship of the line. Solid and stalwart.
Jimon thought she was beautiful, imagining that if she were a person, she’d be observant, and reserved. He’d been so pleased standing in formation at graduation, hearing his name called out and then the Vivien Thomas. He hoped that he would live up to its namesake.
They were big boots to fill.
The Thomas’ corridors were pristine, filled with the chatter of crew going about their business. Both he and Tasía received many smiles and casual greetings. Taking in the ship as though it were the first he’d ever seen, no one would mistake him for anything other than the greenest of newbies, the academic perfume of classrooms still clinging to him.
In a stretch of corridor where there were few people, Tasía continued their conversation.
“If Tommy becomes a pain, you let me know, okay? We’re not exactly bosom buddies, but we know each other. We work on the same shift.”
“You sure it’s normal that I get a room?”
“Only the very oldest Olympic class ships had the kind of open crew bays you’re thinking of, and those were retrofit within no time. Back to front, the secondary hull of the Thomas is made up of shuttle bays, medium and non-critical wards, and engineering. Everything else is forward. Did you really want to sleep in a hallway?”
He hadn’t, but neither had he wanted a plush first assignment robbing him of the kinds of stories he overheard from senior officers. Those who had it easy from the start were always the butt of jokes when those stories came up.
“Understood,” she said and then quickly grimaced. “Sorry. I don’t need to tell you that Andorians are often latent telepaths. If you think as loudly as that around me, I can’t help but pick some of it up. I don’t mean to. If it makes you feel better, it’s nice to get new blood that actually wants the grit and the grind. I’m with you there.”
Her smile was embarrassed and apologetic. She was very pretty. Willowy with lustrous dark hair. Her immense irises were deep pools.
She blushed, as did Jimon in response, forming a kind of feedback loop.
Tasía broke the cycle with a hearty belly laugh.
“You’re gonna be fun,” she said enigmatically.
The corridor sloped upward slightly at the junction between the secondary and primary hulls. Tasía pointed out different departments and wards that Jimon forgot within seconds of passing them. There was too much to take in. So many people of different sizes, shapes, and colors, all of them working together in the service of medicine.
“Here we are,” she said gesturing to a door at a random point within a corridor he only now realized was curved to match the sphere. “Tommy’s also on duty. He'll be somewhere aft right now. Should give you a little time to get settled. They do try to keep roomies on the same shift, so I’ll be seeing you around.”
She turned crisply on one heel and headed back whence she came.
The door to his quarters swished open to reveal double bunks along one wall with partial enclosure and privacy doors, the hallmark of shift work. A glass-topped table for two with a pair of chairs was in the corner opposite a set of small, but individual workstations. As spartan as the room was, there was a mild air of disorder. Not messy, but not inspection-ready either. Perhaps his bunkmate had been some time without sharing his space.
The unoccupied workstation pulsed his name slowly across the screen. He dropped his duffle and keyed in the code he’d been given upon arrival. His name cleared and words rolled up the screen.
Welcome to the USS Vivien Thomas
Ensign Jimon Rozhenko
Shift: Beta
Billet: 1807-E
Supervisor: Cmdr D’Vana Tendi
Section: General Triage
Please report to Staging Area Three by 16:00 hours
Seeing D'Vana Tendi's name, a powerful surge of memories bubbled up through Jimon. When he’d first arrived on Earth, there was a new world to be seen, new people to meet, new languages to learn, new food to discover. They had been heady days filled with a constant barrage of input. Only later did he appreciate how well Worf had chosen for him. The forests broken by glades and clearings filled with flowers in the spring were quiet and secluded. He could run and run and run. When he went into the city, it was a cacophony, a sensory overload. Through the filter of his studies, his tutors had helped him unobtrusively follow the careers of the people who had saved him, but he hadn’t seen or spoken with D’Vana Tendi since the Blackbird. The images in his mind were of her busy tending to the Orion children. She had given him a full physical as well, though he hadn’t known it at the time. The purpose of the instruments she’d waved over him had been opaque to him then. His days at the Academy had slowly illuminated her actions, given names to the instruments, and made sense of the conversations he’d overheard concerning Ensign Rutherford, the man with the strange implant covering a large section of his head. He was no longer commissioned with Starfleet and was now Dr. Samanthan Rutherford, of the Daystrom Institute. Most of those short days aboard the Blackbird, Jimon had spent cleaved to the young human who had argued with his friends in order to save him. He was Captain Boimler now, with his own California class ship. The woman with the braided hair who had been found unconscious was the only one with whom he’d managed to keep in touch. Like Dr. Rutherford, she had also moved on from Starfleet and was now Ambassador Mariner working alongside Worf. She’d accompanied him to the house now and again over the years, and every year on the anniversary of his rescue, she sent him birthday greetings, and sometimes a small gift arrived for him, treasures with which to adorn his room. It was as good a day as any to celebrate since he didn't know his actual birthday.
He had a couple of hours before he had to report to the staging area and took the time to unpack his duffle. The upper bunk was untouched and, as the junior crew member in the room, would naturally fall to him. There were two closet panels adjoining the upper bunk and five drawers adjoining the lower to the opposite side. One of the closets was empty and so were the topmost three drawers. Peeking into the ones that had been claimed by his bunkmate, they were jammed with things and gave the impression that the room had been hurriedly cleaned, giving just a superficial appearance of tidiness. He wondered what it had looked like before.
Jimon took a deep breath through his nose. Once he had accepted that the things in his room at home were his things, and the room was his room, he had taken to being more fastidious than his new brother and sister, though Vera had made a small competition with him as to who got more praise from mama for their neat, tidy spaces. His brother Boris had never shown any interest in the game and Jimon imagined he would get along just fine with whomever his bunkmate turned out to be.
His duffle contained personal effects. A few clothing items, his prized copy of Dr. Beverly Crusher’s book on subdermal micronutrient implants she had autographed for him after a lecture she gave in his second year, and a framed photograph of his family, Ulyanna and Sasha standing proudly behind their children, Boris, Vera and himself that had been taken at a Maslenitza festival.
His bunk had a small shelf that ran along the top. He climbed the short ladder bolted to the bunks and placed the picture carefully in the corner of the shelf.
It made him miss his family.
He sat at his terminal and typed a short letter home.
Mamochka,
I have just unpacked in my quarters aboard the USS Vivien Thomas. It’s everything I had hoped it would be. A friendly Betazoid medic helped me find my room when I was in the wrong part of the ship. She told me my bunkmate is named Tommy, but I haven’t met him yet. He’s on duty at the moment. I don’t think he would enjoy our game of chastaya komnata, but maybe I will show him how to play. I have a meeting in a little while where I hope to meet my new shipmates.
Obnimayu,
Jimon
He dispatched the letter and before shutting down the terminal, sent his basic data file to the replicator. It contained a list of his favorite foods and drinks and also his clothing measurements. He replicated two sets of uniforms and hung them neatly in the empty closet panel. He also replicated socks, underwear, and sleeping attire, laying these neatly in the topmost drawer with the easiest access from his bunk. After a moment’s thought, he placed his copy of Dr. Crusher’s book on the shelf with the family portrait, over in the other corner.
His part of the room no longer looked so empty and forlorn.
Not knowing what the rest of his day would be like, he replicated a sandwich and a glass of iced tea in case dinner was late. He made short work of both and wondered what to do with the rest of his time. He had just short of an hour before he needed to be in the staging area and chose to make his way back now, in case he got lost again. Outside of his room, the same bustle of crewmen. He stopped a young human and asked for directions.
“Deck sixteen, then follow the grey line on the wall all the way aft. You can’t miss it. Leads you right to areas one, two, and three.”
Jimon thanked him and made his way to the nearest turbolift.
On the other side of the turbolift doors of deck sixteen, he quickly found the grey line on the wall among several other differently colored lines. When the deck sloped downward, he found himself within one of the ship’s main arteries, much wider than the rest of the corridors so far. The line he was following joined even more directional lines making a web along the top of the corridor wall.
“Pardon me,” said a Bolian lieutenant junior grade in a yellow operations uniform, tapping him on the shoulder. “I’m looking for staging area two. Can you help me?”
“I’m heading there myself,” Jimon said. He pointed to the network of lines. “We’re supposed to follow the grey line.”
“Mols Drasa,” said the Bolian, extending a hand and a wide grin. “Engineering.”
“Jimon Rozhenko,” he replied. “Medical, obviously.”
“Ah, yes. I heard your name when we boarded at the station. Imagine my surprise seeing an Andorian!”
Jimon gave a practiced noncommittal grin. How many times had he heard those identical or very similar words?
“Let me guess,” said the affable Bolian. “That gets old really fast?”
Jimon could not help but chuckle. “It’s okay. This your first assignment?”
“Second,” he replied. “I was on the Sacramento before this.”
“How do you feel about serving on a medical ship?”
“Engineering is engineering,” he replied. “And the plumbing is much, much better on these ships. And you? How are you liking the Thomas?”
“I’m nervous,” Jimon said. “People’s lives depend on us.”
“That’s true for all of us,” said Mols in a sage tone.
The crowd in the corridor was becoming denser as they went along. There was more conversation, more milling about, and a group of bright yellow uniforms appeared standing within the opening to a large bay.
“This is me,” said Mols. “Good luck, Jimon Rozhenko.”
A few heads turned before Jimon could say, “You too,” and continued on past the knot of people.
Ahead, on the other side of an intersection, there was another crowd of people, much larger, and all in blue uniform tops. He recognized several faces from the transfer at the station. They had boarded along with him, some from other ships, a few new graduates like himself. He tried to mingle as invisibly as he could, the chaos of air currents, the miasma of different smells and perfumes from many different people hailing from many different stars was overwhelming. His antennae itched and he had to resist the urge to rub them. As always, his own people, the few other Andorians he noticed, were where his anxiety was at its greatest. He entered the bay and tried to backpedal his way to one of the walls, but familiar eyes caught his. The Betazoid woman named Tasía waved him over. She was leaning up against a workstation with a human man who had large green eyes, a wide, attractive smile, enviable hair, and the beginnings of a belly. Jimon wormed his way through the crowd, apologizing as he stepped between low conversations.
By way of introduction, Tasía said, “Jimon - Tommy Cooper. Tommy Cooper - your new reason to pass room inspection.”
Tommy made a dramatic face, mouth agape, and put a hand to his chest in feigned high dudgeon.
“You are a truly evil woman, Tasía. Giving my new roomie bad ideas about me before I’ve had a chance to do it myself.” Turning his attention to Jimon, the man made a stage bow and said, “Ensign Thomas B. Cooper of the Des Moines, Iowa Coopers, which is to say, of no name or reputation other than what I earn myself, at your service.”
Wow, thought Jimon. The man had a personality to match that wide grin.
“Jimon…”
“Rozhenko!” Tommy finished for him with an exaggerated faux Russian accent, rolling his R. “In Russia, winter so cold, only Andorians survive! No, wait, also Klingons.”
“Sobachiy kholod,” Jimon said. “That’s what we call the worst days of winter.”
“Sobmanchey ho-ho!” Tommy said exuberantly. “Yeah, I only speak bad English. Sorry, man. Welcome to the crazy, bro! I’m super jazzed you’re here.”
“Like I said,” Tasía cut in. “If he gets to be too much…”
A wave of silence interrupted them. Someone had entered the bay and the bay had taken collective notice. A diminutive Orion woman in a white lab coat over her uniform entered the room. He recognized her instantly. She was older now, thinner, with a distinguished grey/green stripe running through her hair.
“Please, everyone, settle down,” she said. “I'll keep this brief, as I know many of you have just ended your shift. Make sure you’re close enough to hear me. I am not going to yell. The cool kids standing in the back, I’m talking to you.”
There was a murmur of voices and soft laughter at having been called out.
“For those of you who-” and there was no mistaking that she’d seen and recognized him. Her gaze was piercing. She began again. “For those of you who just boarded, welcome to the USS Vivian Thomas. I am Commander D’Vana Tendi, C.S.O. If you are unsure how to address me, let me be clear in saying that I prefer Commander Tendi. Can someone tell me something about the ship’s namesake? I want to hear from someone new.”
A voice from somewhere behind him said, “First modern human cardiothoracic procedures.”
She nodded and said, “What else? Why was that special?”
“Never been done before,” came another voice.
“Not wrong, but that’s the definition of first, which was already mentioned. Anyone else?”
No one else spoke, so Jimon raised his hand. She nodded for him to proceed.
“Dr. Vivien Theodore Thomas only had a high school education when he began working with Dr. Alfred Blalock. He had no medical training at all, and despite vicious prejudice against him, he eventually became an instructor of surgery at the Johns Hopkins School of Medicine, the same institution that gave him his doctorate.”
“Excellent, Ensign Rozhenko.” She held his eye for a long moment before addressing the crowd again. “That is why I prefer commander rather than doctor when you address me. Whether you are a medic, a nurse, or a doctor like myself, each and every one of us wearing the blue is a healer first and foremost. We are here to care for the sick and the injured. We are here to help them return to their lives, and when that is not possible, to comfort them in their final moments. If we cannot give health, then we have an obligation to at least make room for dignity. You are not here to pass judgment, but to give care and compassion to those in need, no matter their origin, race, species, gender, or anything else that has no place in your mind aboard a ship like this, among other healers such as the ones who stand next to you now.”
Jimon was taken with the gravitas the commander lent to her introduction.
“New arrivals are assigned to general triage until I can assess your skills and where you can be of greatest help. All of you here comprise Beta shift, so look around you, these are the faces you’re going to see for a while. The captain informed me earlier that we received orders and have been assigned to a humanitarian mission. Second contact is wrapping up with a new Federation member species and they’re dealing with what appears to be an epidemic. The cause is still unknown. We will be working hand in hand with the local medical establishment. This will be the very first time these people receive Federation aid, and it will also be the first time they lay eyes on the true diversity of Starfleet. First impressions are crucial, and I know you will show them the very best that Starfleet has to offer. If you’ve been in this room before and enjoyed my speeches, you already have your duty stations. If you’re new, I will see you here tomorrow at oh seven hundred. I do not - make room - for tardiness. Dismissed.”
The crowd filtered out of the room in a susurrating mob. He, Tasía, and Tommy were among the last to exit.
“Ensign Rozhenko, a moment, please,” said Commander Tendi.
“We’ll wait for you in the room,” said Tommy. “There’s a little place in the arboretum where we can have a drink and get acquainted.”
Jimon nodded and watched the two of them leave the bay.
When they were alone, Jimon suddenly found himself in Commander Tendi’s embrace. She hugged him so hard, his back almost popped.
“Look at you, look at you, look at you!” she said, her eyes bright and sparkling. “So tall, so handsome! And this hair,” she said touching the gold clasp that held the ponytail in a neat bundle. "It looks good on you. Unique."
Jimon did not think himself ugly, but he was hardly tall, particularly by Andorian standards.
“I’m a little taller than the last time we met,” he said shyly.
She brushed nonexistent dust from his shoulders. “You are much, much taller in that uniform. I’ve been following you, you know.”
He had not known, though he had diligently followed her career like the others aboard the Blackbird. She had become a respected name in cross-species pathogen research.
“The last time I saw you, on Verex III, I told Brad it was a bad idea to bring you with us. Those words have haunted me since that day, Jimon. You don’t know how much I’ve hoped to get a chance to ask for your forgiveness.”
The moment of which she spoke was etched in his mind, that day in the slave market. He remembered it like it just happened. He remembered where he stood, where she stood, where Brad stood and spoke on his behalf.
“You didn’t say that,” he replied. “Your friend did, the other Orion. You said it was dangerous, and you weren’t wrong.”
But her face said those words weren’t what she hoped to hear.
“Commander Tendi, if you want my forgiveness, you have it. But you helped save me. You took me away from something I didn’t even realize was as horrible as it was and you gave me a new life - this one.” He brushed his fingertips down the front of his uniform. “You gave me a chance.”
A single tear escaped her control and she wiped it away.
“And you did wonderful things with that chance,” she said. “I have your complete academic file right here. Very impressive.” She tapped the PADD that lay on the table next to her. “I would have requested you even if I hadn’t already known you.”
“You requested me?”
“To be honest, I demanded.” They stood for a moment, each unsure what to say. “Okay, that’s it. I won’t say any more. I know the rules too. I promise not to be embarrassing, and I meant every word I said to everyone just now. Your record speaks for itself, but I am the resident hard-ass so it can’t be any different for you. I have a reputation to uphold, and I would only be doing you a disservice not to expect the best from you.”
“Thank you, Commander,” he replied.
“Thank me later. Go find your new friends,” she said. “Follow Ensign Athena’s lead. She’s a good influence. Dependable, serious. Maybe you can help her influence Ensign Cooper. He’s a good medic, don’t get me wrong. He’s a goofball, but when the chips are down, he’s solid. It’s when the chips aren’t down that he could use a little polish. Think you can manage?”
“Yes, sir,” he replied.
She gave him another fierce hug, then gently pushed him out of the staging area.
The place Tommy had mentioned turned out to be a small tiki-style bar called Pana’s tucked into what appeared to be the remains of a gigantic tree trunk, but was clearly artificial. The arboretum was immense for a ship this size, practically a park taking up two whole decks, the ceiling far overhead in a pale calming blue, but it made sense since it would be used by convalescing patients as well as the crew. A middle-aged Denobulan man was tending the bar. There were no other patrons at the moment, so he brought the elaborate drinks directly to their table.
“Two Kane Kane mai tais and one Menehune zombie. I do hope you enjoy.” The man grinned as only a Denubulan can and returned to his cleaning of glasses and wiping down the bar.
“Okay, so what’s the deal? Why did the commander want to talk to you?” Tommy asked, leaning over his drink to get the straw in his mouth. “How do you know her? You obviously know her.”
Jimon’s instinct was to bluff his way as far around the outside edge of truth as possible, but he was going to be living with the man and if he strayed too far now, he would never remember what he’d said and Tommy seemed to be the kind who missed very little, and Tasía, a Betazoid, would miss even less.
“Some of this is going to be a real buzzkill,” he said, taking in a deep breath. “Before I was a Rozhenko, I was a slave.”
Tommy’s jovial, malleable face took on the expression of having just been slapped - hard.
“Go on,” said Tasía with careful reserve.
“Commander Tendi was an ensign then. She was part of a team that infiltrated the slave market to try to break it up. That’s how I came to know Ambassador Worf.”
“I understand he does quite a bit of off-the-books work,” Tasía offered.
“Yes,” said Jimon, wanting to skirt away from that topic. He was permitted to speak about his own past and how he’d come to know the commander, Worf, and the rest of the team. The other part of their mission, the part that had nothing to do with him, was forbidden territory. “Anyway, he was leading the mission and I was one of the people who made it out on that occasion. I was too old for any of the programs that help the younger kids…”
“Younger?” said Tommy in disbelief.
“My earliest memories are of being a messenger boy,” Jimon continued. “Little kids were used for stuff like that. Take a message here, bring a thing back there. Stuff like that. The programs for the kids said I was too old, so the ambassador took me to Earth where he has cousins, Sasha and Ulyanna. I went to live with them.”
“How long ago was this?” Tasía asked.
“Eight, maybe nine years ago. Everyone at the Academy was a lot younger than me. I had to do some remedial before I could consider applying.”
“But you look super young!” exclaimed Tommy.
“I’m a chan.” Jimon shrugged. “Chans always look young, and I’m little even compared to other chans,” he said and took a long swig of the mai tai. “Makes me look even younger. And... that’s how I know the commander.”
“I’m going to assume you had no formal education before being placed with the Rozhenkos?” Tasía asked.
“I could read and write a little, but not much.”
“The Academy is four years at a minimum,” she stated with furrowed brows. “You squeezed all your education, including the Academy, into eight or nine years?”
“My mom, Ulyanna, didn’t want me to get left behind. There wasn’t much else to do but study. They live way out in the woods.”
Tommy’s gaze passed back and forth between Jimon and Tasía. A huge grin curled his lips crookedly. “Ha! You had me going there! Oh, you’re good, man. You’re good,” he said slapping his knee.
Tasía eyed him with a stony glare. “I don’t get even the faintest whiff of a lie from him. He’s telling the truth.”
Tommy noisily slurped the last of his drink through the straw and turned in his chair to address the bartender.
“My good sir, three shots of Jack, if you please. The real stuff.”
The drinks came in short order and Tommy picked his up and made a toast. “To the newest addition to our little bag of bonkers, Jimon Rozhenko. I probably won’t be the best roomie you ever have, but I promise to be the funnest.”
He tapped the bottom of his glass on the table and downed the alcohol. Tasía followed suit and made a comical grimace at the burn. Jimon also tossed his back, learning that Tasía’s grimace hadn’t been all that comical at all.