Cargo Round Up
Posted on Sat Feb 22nd, 2025 @ 7:24pm by Captain M'Raz & Lieutenant Commander Jason Reeves & Lieutenant Meerah Praavor & Lieutenant Elias McEntyre & Lieutenant Micheal Taggart & Lieutenant H'iri & Lieutenant Richard Pierce MD & Kenneth Hunt
3,092 words; about a 15 minute read
Mission:
Resistance is Necessary
Location: Cargo Bay 1, Deck 6, USS Addams
Timeline: MD001 - 1215
Evacuee Count: 350
The Cargo Bay was anything but organized or quiet. As Raz entered, a thousand things on his mind, the din was ... painful ... and only years of training and discipline kept him from roaring out a command to be quiet. Traumatized, he reminded himself, scared. They needed gentleness not more terrifying. And so, he took a moment and a deep breath and then spoke into the confusion. "If everyone could be a quiet a second," he said, his tone measured and calm.
It took a moment, more than a moment, for the crowd to quiet, but they did. "I'm Captain M'Raz, commanding officer of the USS Jane Addams." His boot tapped the deck plate to punctuate his next words. "That's the name of this ship. I know you have a lot of questions, and we'll do our best to answer. For now, we're setting up sleeping areas for all of you and our Chef is organizing food and drinks. Those should be showing up shortly as well."
"Lieutenant Pierce," Raz said gesturing toward the ship's Chief Medical Officer, "is a doctor and will be seeing those with injuries."
Dr. "Popeye" Pierce stepped forward, pushing his sleeves up as he took in the assembled crowd. His sharp eyes scanned the faces, quickly assessing the level of distress, injury, and exhaustion among them. He let out a breath and clapped his hands together, offering a reassuring smile.
"Alright, folks, I know this isn't where you expected to be today, but you're here now, and that means we’re going to take care of you. If you're injured or not feeling right, I need you to come see me or one of my team so we can get you sorted out. No heroics, no 'I'm fine' when you're clearly not—I've got years of experience seeing through that nonsense."
His voice was firm but warm, an approach that had served him well over his years in Starfleet. He gestured toward a cleared space in the cargo bay.
"We’ll be setting up a triage area right over there. If you’ve got anything more serious than a scrape or a bruise, come see us. And if you’re not sure? Come see us anyway. I don’t bite—unless you happen to be hiding a cheeseburger somewhere on you."
A few chuckles rippled through the crowd, easing some of the tension. Pierce shot a quick glance at Captain M’Raz and nodded. "We’ll get through this." Then, rolling up his sleeves a little further, he gestured for the first patients to come forward. "Alright, who's up first?"
"Security is going to come through and scan you individually. If you are carrying weapons, please make that known at once. And, for those of you who are Starfleet, please make yourself known to our First Officer, Commander Reeves," and here Raz gestured toward his First Officer. "We'll need to know where you were assigned, what your specialty was, the usual."
Jason looked at the sea of personnel in the cargo bay. The seriously injured had been taking to sickbay earlier. This wasn't the first time, that he had seen people clearly dealing with trauma. Just not so many, at least not from Federation members. Whoever these Borg were, they kicked their asses pretty damn hard. The only good news is that at this time, they were focused on Earth and hadn't moved onto to any other worlds.
From out of the crowd, a Caitian with long blond hair started making her way towards the Captain. Her eyes were wide, not from panic, but shock. The white haired Caitian could not be denied. It had to be Raz. After so many years, their paths crossed again. But how? Why? On what already was the worst day that she could remember since he left her. Why now? Softly, she purred at him, "It has been a long time, Raz." She paused, her eyes shying from his eyes. "Do you even remember me?"
Pale gray eyes turned in her direction but whatever emotion he felt was hidden behind the wall that slammed down, cutting her off from any insight into his feelings. "I remember you, Lieutenant," Raz said, his deep voice nearly a growl as he spoke. "As though it were yesterday."
"I do, as well," she replied even softer than before. Her eyes lowered further. The old pain of being abandoned came back. Add to that the Borg and the Kobyashi Maru test she had just taken earlier in the day.... Bad things always came in threes, did they not? Why did the Gods punish her so. H'iri looked back up at Raz, her eyes glassy. She wanted to say more and question more, but this was neither the time or place. People needed to be comforted and taken care of.
"Speak with Commander Reeves," Raz said. "If you'll excuse me, I need to return to the Bridge, Lieutenant." He nodded politely and then moved off to speak with his First Officer. "Number One," he said, "go ahead and interview her. Call in the counselor if you need help. We're looking for information on the Borg, what they were doing, how they acted and also, for the Starfleet personnel, names and records. Do a first pass to see if they would be good for the ship and if so, we'll talk about it later."
H'iri's jaw dropped slightly, her heart dropping further into the pit of her stomach. She did not expect a warm reception from Raz, but to be completely dismissed...? Not addressed by name? Once again, H'iri had to remind herself that there was an emergency going on. There were priorities. Their joint past would have to wait.
The First Officer had remained silent but overheard the conversation between Raz and this H'iri. Guess it would be a great start in funneling through Starfleet personnel to begin here. "Lieutenant give me a brief breakdown of your yourself."
"Commander Reeves," Hiri started. "I was in Command School when you picked me up. I just completed the Kobyashi Maru and had another year of classes to go. I've been a Chief Operations Officer and I'm a polyglot. I hope that I can be of service."
Reeves started jotting down some information on a PADD. "How did the Kobyashi Maru go for you?"
"I'm trying to decide if it is still going," H'iri answered. "I just had it this morning."
"Pulling up your service record now," Jason announced. "USS Alpha Centauri, moved up to Chief of Operations in 2365. Approved for Starfleet Command School in 2366. Yes, Lieutenant you can definitely be of service."
"Thank you, sir. Feel free to use me as the ship requires. I can speak several languages and you will find that I am quite organized."
The Commander nodded in approval. "That's all that I need for now. Unless you require any medical attention. Please report to the Operations Department. Someone will be assigning you a task. One other thing. Did you have direct interactions with Borg?"
"I do not require any medical attention. Thank you for asking." The Caitian's tail swished lightly behind her but drooped. "I had no direct interactions with the Borg. What I did see was that people were being injected with something and transported away by the Borg. I also was running towards the ships but each time a ship went up, some energy beam would strike them down. I called for a retreat and to hide. The next thing I knew, I was dematerializing and here."
"I'm just gathering intel from anyone who encountered them. If there's a need for a follow up question, I know where to find you. Thank you."
Next in line was a very large Caitian who had to be well over 6'5". Not only was he tall, but quite massive even by the standards of his people. "Please come forward," Jason replied. "Just need name, rank and a brief breakdown of your background."
Stepping forward, still holding the small trembling form of his brother in his arms, Elias McEntyre. 48 hours awake and counting, he looked haggered, exhausted. His brother was not better off, head laying on Elias' shoulder, asleep at last.
"McEntyre, Elias, Lieutenant, SC-406-774-Lima. Assistant Chief of Security, Earth Spacedock." He stated for the commander in red in front of him.
Jason looked at the man holding the child and couldn't help but to wonder about his own children. "Lieutenant how is your son doing?"
"Brother, Sir. This is Clay, my brother." Elias corrected. "And it's been....hard. I would like to take him to medical though to get him checked out after everything that's happened."
"Yes, of course. My apologies for my mistake." Entering his information on the PADD, he pulled up his record. Quickly going through it, Jason looked up at the man. "Combat experience and it seems you have quite an opinion on the security of the Federation."
Elias simply nodded. "Yes, Sir. All before today was merely theory and debate."
"I'm certain during that debate even you didn't consider something of this magnitude," the First Officer responded with a sigh. "One last question. Did you encounter the Borg while down on the surface?"
Elias just stared at the Commander, blankly, blinking once before speaking again. "I was holding the line at the Academy before the evacuation order was given. I also encountered them while getting Clay. Our mother....." he stopped but the look that he gave Reeves conveyed what he was going to say.
"Thank you, Lieutenant," said Jason. He seen that look way too many times and he understood. Both brothers lost their mother who knows who else they lost. "Go ahead and get Clay checked out."
"Aye, Sir, if you could point me to ya doctor" Elias inquired.
Reeves pointed over to where Doctor Pierce and his nursing staff were checking out the injured. "Popeyes bed side manner is a little questionable, but he is extremely good at what he does."
"Trust me, I've dealt with worse, my uncle was a Ship Surgeon." Elias chuckled softly as he nods to Jason and heads over to where Popeye was.
Cadet Kenneth was at the back of the line. Initially he had made his way ahead of the other officers and enlisted refugees. But quickly realized that as a Cadet, him and his and friends were the least respected in Starfleet. They were told to move back to the end of the line, since the Officers and Enlisted were actually working. Hunt wanted to remind that all the working got their asses kicked by the Borg just like everyone else. But he maintained his professionalism and did as he was told.
"Next," Reeves called for the next in line who just happened to be a petite female Trill. Trying to do everything in his power not to come off rude but this was definitely going to be a long day. And it seemed as if the long just kept getting longer as folks were getting cleared by medical. "Need your name, rank and a brief breakdown of your background."
“Lieutenant Meerah Praavor; I’m currently a Diplomatic Officer, medical transfer from Communications,” she explained, tapping the visible portion of her implant on the right side of her skull. Before the First Officer could say anything, Meerah lifted her hair on the left side showing a smaller plate embedded in scalp.
“I am joined and Praavor’s previous hosts served in Intelligence, Medical Forensics and Cultural Liaison capacities,” Meerah added. She glanced around the cargo bay, astonished at the number of people crammed into the area.
The Commander raised an eyebrow as he took that all in as he tapped some things into the PADD. "Sounds like you've given this explanation several times before. Last posting on the USS Zhukov as the Assistant Diplomatic Officer."
Meerah smiled slightly and clasped her hands together in front of her.
“Yes, sir. That’s correct. I was here on Earth for a symposium…until…well, you know,” she explained sheepishly.
“Uhm…sir,” Meerah began. When the Commander looked up from his PADD, Meerah went on.
“Has there been any word about Spacedock One? Is it still intact,” Meerah asked, an edge of fear creeping into her voice.
"The Starbase took on heavy damage and had to be evacuated," Reeves responded. "Every available starship in spacedock joined the fight until the retreat was called. Not sure how many managed to leave spacedock before it inevitable was put out of commission."
Next in line, Micheal stepped forward, still massaging his temples, as he was helped by another crewman to remain on his feet. "Lieutenant...Lieutenant Micheal Taggart, helmsman." He was guided down into the empty sea those left.
Pierce glanced up from his medical tricorder, one eyebrow quirking as he took in the disheveled state of the helmsman. With a sigh, he gestured for the crewman assisting Taggart to ease him down onto the nearest available seat.
"Lieutenant Taggart, huh?" Pierce muttered, running a practiced scan over him. "Well, unless there's a fleet regulation about landing face-first into bulkheads that I haven't been informed of, I'm guessing you’ve got yourself one hell of a concussion." He tapped a few controls, shaking his head. "Pupils sluggish, mild disorientation… You been seeing double, or are you just naturally unsteady on your feet?"
Before waiting for an answer, he snapped his fingers at a nearby nurse. "Let’s get 10ccs of inaprovaline in him, and keep him upright—preferably conscious. Last thing we need is our helmsman slumping over mid-sentence."
Pierce gave Taggart a quick once-over again and smirked. "I swear, you fly a starship just fine, but walking in a straight line? That’s another story."
Micheal shook his head slightly as he replied. "Not..not a concussion. I'm Betazoid. I...I felt my twin sister...my brother...my family cry out in absolute agony, fear and pain...then...they were gone. It felt like...like a huge chunk of my soul was destroyed."
Pierce’s smirk faded instantly, his usual dry wit giving way to something far more serious. His expression softened as he studied Taggart, taking in the haunted look in the Betazoid’s dark eyes.
"Ah, hell," Pierce muttered, exhaling through his nose. He adjusted his tricorder, running another scan—but he already knew it wasn’t going to tell him what he needed. There was no hypospray in the galaxy that could fix this kind of pain.
Lowering the tricorder, he rested a firm but steady hand on Taggart’s shoulder. "Damn it, Lieutenant… I’m sorry." His voice lacked its usual flippancy, settling into something quieter, something real. He wasn’t great at the whole touchy-feely thing, but he knew grief when he saw it. And this? This was the kind that gutted a person.
Pierce glanced at the nurse, his tone firm but measured. "Still give him the inaprovaline—shock like this can mess with autonomic functions. But get me a neural stabilizer, too. He’s not just dealing with physical symptoms."
Looking back at Taggart, he gave his shoulder a light squeeze before pulling away. "You're not alone in this, Lieutenant. Whatever happened… whatever you felt, we’ll figure it out. But first, we keep you on your feet. One breath at a time, alright?"
Micheal closed his eyes, and nodded slowly. "Thank you, Sir." He touched his forehead gently. "There is so much fear...so much pain that I'm feeling."
Pierce’s lips pressed into a thin line, the weight of Taggart’s words settling in his chest like a lead weight. He wasn’t a counselor, wasn’t the type to offer comforting platitudes—but he wasn’t heartless either.
"I know," he said, voice steady but softer than usual. "And I won’t insult you by pretending I can understand what that’s like. But I do know this—you're here. You're breathing. And we’re going to make sure you keep doing that."
He nodded to the nurse as they pressed the hypospray to Taggart’s neck, the hiss of the inaprovaline barely noticeable over the quiet hum of the sickbay. The neural stabilizer would take a little longer, but Pierce was already thinking ahead. A mind shattered by trauma wasn’t something he could mend with medicine alone.
"You don’t have to sort through this all at once," he continued. "Shock’s a bastard. But you take it moment by moment, alright? If the noise gets too much, I can get you something to take the edge off—but no pressure. Whatever you need, we’ll work with it."
He hesitated for just a second before adding, "And if you need someone to talk to… well, I’m not much for heartfelt speeches, but I’m not going anywhere."
Pierce wasn’t sure if it was the right thing to say, but when he saw the way Taggart’s shoulders dropped just slightly, the way he exhaled like he was holding onto something frayed, he figured it was enough for now.
Micheal looked up into the doctor's face. He glanced to the nurse, thanking her for the injection. He then looked back at Pierce. "Thank you again, Sir. I appreciate the offer. I just....I just need to figure out who I am now." He felt hollow inside. Though he knew his duty, as a Starfleet officer, he was still mortal, and the pain of so much loss was beyond numbing.
Pierce studied him for a long moment, then gave a slow, understanding nod.
"That’s fair," he said simply. "No rush. No expectations. Just take the time you need."
He wasn’t going to pretend he had all the answers—hell, he barely had any. But he knew that grief and trauma didn’t have a straight path forward, and he sure as hell wasn’t about to shove someone down a road they weren’t ready to walk.
"Figuring that out... it’s not a one-and-done thing," he added, voice steady. "But you’re not doing it alone. You need space, you’ll have it. You need a push, I’ll be here for that too. Just don’t shut yourself out completely, yeah?"
He didn’t expect a real answer, not yet. But as he turned to check the biobed readings, making sure the stabilizers were kicking in properly, he caught one last glimpse of Taggart—tired, hurting, but still here. And for now, that was enough.
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