Bunnyman
Posted on November 19th, 2015 by Ilaihr

Ilaihr was stood overlooking the Golden Gate Bridge on a typical sunny San Francisco day. It was a sight he had always enjoyed; looking out into the bay, as the sun glissened on the water’s surface through the gentle mist around Alcatraz Island. Before him stood Starfleet Medical, for all intents and purposes, his least favourite building in the entire quadrant. It had been many years since Ilaihr had last entered it’s doors, a lifetime had passed since the first, and it had surely grown; but it loomed ominously to him, as it always had. He put his cane forward, and trotted up the few steps before entering the building.

The lobby had changed very little in a century; the same dulcet colour palette, that irritating murmur to the room, and that strange smell of carbolic acid; which was especially strange since it had been used medically for around 300 years. What had changed was the tone of the place, it had been busy and bustling, yet it was eerily quiet.

“Excuse me sir!” Called a very sweet voice. “Can I assist you?”

Ilaihr looked around for where the voice was coming from, to no avail. He was certain he had heard it, and adamant that his eyesight couldn’t possibly be that bad.

“Can I help you?

This time he approached the front desk and upon peaking over the top, saw a young Caitian officer on the floor; transfixed by the workings of her shoelace.

“Greetings my girl.”
“Ahh.” She purred, pulling herself away from her novel footwear. “Good morning sir. How may I be of assistance?”
“I do not have an appointment, but I am here to see Doctor Kessel Moran.”
“Of course sir.” She smiled, typing away at her console to complete his request. She started frowning a few moments later, shaking her head. “We don’t seem to have anyone of that name working here, sir.”
Ilaihr himself frowned at the girl’s news. “Could you search again please, my dear? I am certain he works here.”
She did as he asked again, but again shook her head. “I’m sorry sir, I don’t see anyone of that name.”
“That’s impo….” He paused, looking pensively for a moment.

“EH! Mi amigo! Como estas!” Shouted a very excited voice.”What the hell are you doing in a place like this Zid Ziih? I thought I could sense you in the building.”

Ilaihr around and smiled, seeing a very handsome and tall blonde man down the hall.. “There he is.” He said to the Caitian.
“That’s Doctor Echo Bunnyman, sir.” She replied, confused.
“Is that the name he’s going by now.”

Seeing the conversation in the distance, the doctor quickly sprinted down the hall and rushed Ilaihr away. “Ixnay on the name-ay, old man.”
“Old man?”
“Yes. You are old.”
“Not as old as you.”
“Ahhh, but the age doesn’t show on my… anything. So everyone can go on thinking I’m 35, long after I hit my millennial… if I havent already.”

“What is with the new name?”
“You get bored of a name after a while. Thought I’d mix it up, y’know?”
“Not really. Why that particular name though?”
“It’s a reference. From the 1980s. Good decade. Awesome music. Lots of big hair. Not to be confused with the 1970s, which was infamous for a different kind of big hair.”
“Why would you make your name a reference to something no living person could possibly remember?”
“Because I… am a perpetual child, and it amuses me.” The doctor gave a cheeky grin. “So, what ya doin’ here for?”

Before Ilaihr could answer, his hand began to tremor again; his cane tapping on the floor. He held his hand tight, until it subsided. “I came to see you.”
The childlike cheek had been washed from the doctors face as he looked on at Ilaihr with concern. “Come with me… now.” He took Ilaihr’s arm, and hurriedly escorted him to his office.

“Take a seat.” The doctor gestured as they entered his office, holding the chair out for he old man, before moving around the desk to his own. “So…”
“So.” Ilaihr replied sombrely.
“How long have you had that tremor, Captain?”
“It’s Lieutenant now. And about 2 months.”
“Any headaches, loss of focus, visuoauditory hallucinations, strong emotional impulses?”
Ilaihr simply nodded.

The doctor slammed his hand down, flat on the desk. “Why the hell didn’t you come to me sooner?”
“I didn’t feel that it was important enough to inconvenience Admiral Blackthorne. And Atlantis simply hasnt been…”
“It has nothing to do with an Admiral, Ilaihr!” He took a deep breath, and leant forward, lowering his tone. “You are ashamed, embarrassed… like a Vulcan.”
“It is no one’s business but my own, Kessel! I do not like my personal affairs being broadcast to anyone it doesn’t concern.”
“This concerns Atlantis’ doctors.”
“No! NOOOO! I will not end up like Solir!” Tears could be seen welling up in the old man’s eyes. “I wont!”
Kessel stood up, and rounded his desk. Pulling out a medical tricorder he began scanning Ilaihr, waving the scanner either side of his head, before sitting on the edge of his desk. “Well… you didn’t need me to tell you what was wrong… why even come at all?”
“You are my friend. We have known each other, a lifetime.”
“Yes… we have. Our relationship goes beyond family. Yet; you still argue with me and ignore my council, after all these years.”

“I am scared, Kessel.”
“I know.” He lowered himself to Ilaihr’s level. “You are only in the early stages thus far, there is still plenty of time.”
“There is no medical treatment, Doctor.”
“No… not by the standards of Starfleet medicine. But there is a treatment. Just because it was too late for Solir, doesnt mean it is too late for you.”
“The Fal-tor-voh requires a match… there isn’t one. I do not have children of my own.”
“They don’t need to be biologically related to you, merely a psionic match. That can come just as much from nurture as it can nature.”
“And there still isn’t one.”
“What about Dan’el? He may only be Romulan, but he does have some latent telepathic abilities.”
“He didn’t take to them. They are poorly developed. Not strong enough.”
“Then Jinto… Reman telepathy is vastly more powerful than a Romulan’s… some more so than a Vulcan’s.”

Ilaihr sat silent. “Jinto is gone.”
“He’s dead!?”
“Possibly. He cast off all bonds, and vanished.”
“Then he must be found.”
“If he does not wish it, he shall not be.”
“Ilaihr, you need to find your son!” Kessel sighed. “I can only slow the process so long… without Jinto your neural peptides will continue to deteriorate… eventually it will cause massive and irreparable neurodegeneration…”
“And then I will end up like Solir.”
“Yes.”

“What I dont understand, is how I have this. I am not Vulcan.”
“The neurology of telepathic species is still not widely understood; least of all the neuropathology of telepathy. It may be a similar disorder amongst many species; simply with different names, or it’s in some way transmissible. A Betazoid neurologist posited the theory recently, that it could be a consequence of the pursuit of logic, and the alterations it causes the brain.”
“This could be because of my time on Seleya?”
“Causal links are hard to find. It is merely a possibility.”

“Thank you doctor.” Ilaihr propped himself up on his cane. “I trust this shall not leave this room.”
“Oh no. We’re not playing this game… since you wont tell the doctors aboard your ship, and I am bound by both the Hippocratic oath and my loyalty to you… this will very much be leaving this room, along the two of us.”
“You cannot come with me… what about your position here?”
“Fuck my position here. I’ve worked in two dozen different posts, on seven different occasions, over the course of three centuries. My relationship with Starfleet is more on/off than yours… and Medical will survive without me stalking the corridors for a while. Besides, I haven’t been on a starship since Betty… I’m finally bored of being planetside now.”

“Still… I am currently working aboard a restricted access starship.”
“But you will be going back to Atlantis soon?”
“Perhaps…”
“Well then… I will put in the transfer request, and make my own way to Vinland station.”
“How did you…?”
“Subspace network news. Saw a clip a few months ago of Atlantis going in under her own power, despite not having any… it warmed the cockles of heart.”
“I gave her everything that was left.”
“Come on old man… I’ll buy you dinner, we can talk proper.”
“Will you finally tell me how old you actually are?”
“Nope.”

Kessel took Ilaihr’s arm again, and escorted him out, gently tapping his hand.
“If you do put in the transfer… at least use your actual name. None of this Bunnyman malarkey.” Ilaihr asked, almost giving him an order.
“Fine.” Kessel bellyached. “Spoilsport.”