Solar Winds on the Sargasso Sea
Posted on March 16th, 2004 by William Marlowe

“From the stars we came, and to the stars we return. . . . “

“What are you doing?!”

“The real problem is . . . ”

“That would be lovely.”

“Just keep her still!”

“Madison. There’s something I . . . ”

Soft white light overhead and the persistent chirping of the computer dragged Madison Wilkstein out of a fitful sleep. He stumbled over to the small desk allotted him in the midshipman’s berth and turned aside a thrown pillow with his arm.

“Damn it, Madison.” As with the pillow, the exhausted voice came from the bunk above Madison’s. Uncanny red eyes set within a snow-white face stared out from the unlit upper bunk, and though Madison had known Jae for months, her ghostly appearance in the dark still made him shiver.

“Sorry.” He slouched into a chair and tapped the “receive” button. “Computer, point two-five volume.”

There was a grunt and the sound of rustling sheets from the upper bunk.

The Federation seal vanished and a horribly familiar face replaced it. A pair of bloodshot eyes looked back at him through unkempt hair, and the broad Ylyscan face was streaked with tears. “Madison?” Eylesa’s mother asked. “Oh . . . I’m sorry for waking you.”

Madison swallowed. “It’s no problem. What can I do for you?”

There was a short pause before she answered. She had never liked the idea of her daughter with an alien. Of course, she had never been anything less than completely civil with Wilkstein; but in private Eylesa had often chided her for her provincial fear and dislike of off-worlders. But when her daughter died cold in space while Madison survived . . . of course she’d read the death notice and parts of Doctor Marlowe’s report, and she knew that the other crewmembers couldn’t be blamed–but, as often happens in such situations, she still resented them for their survival.

“We were going through Eylesa’s things and found something addressed to you. Would you like it?” She didn’t add that none of their computers could initiate the program, and not for lack of trying. “Of course.”

“Transmitting now.”

“I’ve got it. Thank you.”

“I’ll, uh, let you go back to sleep now. Goodbye, Madison.”

The Federation seal flashed back onto the screen.

“Oh, Madison, I’m sorry.” Jae slid off the upper bunk and walked over to her friend. “Are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine.” He knit his brow. “It’s a holoprogram.” He sent it to the holodeck directories and locked it with a password, then sat still.

“Don’t you want to see it?”

“Yeah.” He stood and left.

The Ylyscan sun set amid a firey sea of red and violet clouds echoed in the wildflowers carpeting the hilltop on which Madison stood. A lone tree with drooping boughs of lavender stood at the crest of the hill, and the shape of its foliage reminded him of a Terran cypress. A beam of light shone on a small circular patch of grass next to the tree, and Madison stepped into it. There was a rustle in the branches, and then Eylesa dropped nimbly to the ground.

“Hey, Madison.” She screwed a serious expression onto her cheerful face. “If you’re watching this, I must be dead.” She giggled suddenly and brushed some hair from her face–Ylyscans typically sported very pronounced widow’s peaks that stretched to their wide, delicate brows, and despite Eylesa’s best efforts to keep her hair in check, it was forever tickling her nose with dangling sandy strands–and leaned against the tree. “Of course I’m not, as long as you remember. I know you will. You’ll never be rid of me.” She laughed again. “Sounds kinda creepy, doesn’t it?” She walked to the edge of the hilltop, just before the downward slope began. She faced away from Madison, admiring the sunset for a moment. Her arms crossed and she sighed. “Death . . . I wonder how it will happen. Or happened, I suppose,” she amended. The sun sank below the horizon. A puff of wind blew across the hilltop. Eylesa sat down and, after a moment, tapped the ground next to her. Wilkstein obediently sat. “I feel like I should say something important now, and what I have to tell you is important enough, but I want to make sure it comes out right.” She turned to look at Madison and smiled again. “Let’s just sit together for a while so I can think about it. . . . ”

When Madison returned to his berth, Jae resisted the urge to ask him about the program–Eylesa had been her friend too; Jae had introduced them, in fact–but she forced herself to believe that he would tell her if the dead woman had left a message for her too. She heard his boots drop to the deck, and then he touched her arm.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. Want to talk?”

“Not now. See you in the morning.”

“G’night.”

*****

Chief Medical Officer’s log, supplemental. No wounded Starfleet personnel remain in sickbay, and the ill or injured colonists in cargo bay three will shortly be transfered to Starbase medical facilities.

All things considered, the last few days might have gone far worse if not for the rest of the medical staff. Nelson and her nurses have performed admirably as always, and Weis is shaping up to be a fine doctor. Doctor Idrys, however, remains in his quarters pending a full psychological examination. I’m not certain–

“Doctor?” Nurse Meirill stood in the open doorway. Marlowe looked up.

“Yes?”

“Midshipman Wilkstein wants to see you.”

“I’ll be out in a moment.”

Meirill nodded. Marlowe leaned back in his chair. “Computer, save log and store.” He stood and left his office. Madison waited by a biobed.

“Can I help you, Mr. Wilkstein?”

“I have a question, sir. About the breach, I mean.”

Marlowe’s face seemed to tighten at the mention of the attack that trapped him, Wilkstein, and Eylesa Sankawah in a breached compartment. “Are you experiencing any discomfort you feel might be related to your injuries?”

“Not at all, sir. That’s not why I came here, sir.”

“What do you want, then, Midshipman?”

“I don’t–” He thought for a moment. “How did you repressurize the compartment, sir?”

“It’s all in my report. I suggest you read that if you have any questions.”

“Your report says that Mr. McKnight rescued us, sir, but–” Madison stepped in closer and spoke in a near-whisper. “–but before I blacked out, I saw you drift away from the turbolift car after it’d been blown into space, sir, and I wasn’t far behind. There’s no way Mr. McKnight could have saved us both, sir.”

Marlowe clenched his jaw. “Step into my office, Mr. Wilkstein.”

Madison followed the doctor. Marlowe had clasped his hands behind his back; his hands gripped each other with such force that Madison saw that his knuckles were white, even through the green that wrapped itself around his right hand. The door hissed shut behind them and Marlowe whirled around. The doctor’s careful, measured, professional voice twisted into a jagged growl.

“Do not mention that incident in my hearing ever again, if you value your career.” His glare was dark, and the threat terrified Madison. “Everything I know is in my report.”

Marlowe was obviously furious now; but there was a trace of desparate frustration in his voice that convinced Madison, on a level he was unable to articulate, that the doctor was telling the truth.

“Aye, sir.” The response was safe enough.

Marlowe sighed, straightened his uniform with a sharp tug, and sat at his desk. When he spoke again, his anger had subsided; the Orcadian accent he had learned to bury while on duty reasserted itself, and his voice reaquired the musical melancholy of his youth. “I apologize, Mr. Wilkstein. If I were in your position, I would be asking the same questions.” He tapped the desk with his vine-wrapped knuckles. “So would anyone else.” Marlowe looked Madison in the eye. Madison saw sadness, frustration, but no anger now. “You want to know why the universe took her life and spared yours. All compassionate sentients who’ve lost a comrade ask themselves the same thing at some point, and not everyone finds an answer. It’s not a problem I can resolve for you.” His knuckles idly rapped the desk again, and Madison realized that the doctor was growing uncomfortable. He could sympathize with Marlowe–he’d had to give a similar pep talk once, when a subordinate of his lost a friend on damage control duty. He’d never pretended to be good at speeches, and the experience was very awkward. Happily, his comm badge bleeped for attention.

“Alswaer to Wilkstein. You’re on duty in five minutes, Midshipman–where are you?” Jae liked to sound angry, but Madison had long ago seen through her.

“Wilkstein here. I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Step to it, Midshipman. Alswaer out.”

“Is there anything else, Mr. Wilkstein?” Marlowe’s tone was once again calm and professional.

“No, sir.”

“Then see to your duties.”

“Aye, sir.”

The ubiquitous hum of the Atlantis muffled their words as they spoke in the lounge after their shift. The place was slow at the moment, and their drinks arrived quickly.

“You look exhausted,” Jae said.

“No reason why I wouldn’t,” Madison answered.

“Are you all right? I mean, really?”

“I think so.”

Jae bit her lip and finally mustered the nerve to ask what she’d wanted to know since the night before: “Did she . . . say anything about me?”

Madison quirked a brow and looked up from his drink. “She did, as a matter of fact.”

Jae waited for him to say something else, but nothing was forthcoming. “Well? Aren’t you going to tell me?”

He smiled softly. “I will.”

Jae waited for him to say something else, and when he didn’t, she let out a short laugh in disbelief. Madison finished his drink and stood.

“I’m going to go look around the station for a bit,” he said, nodding out the viewport at the starbase docking bay beyond. The conversation was clearly over. Sensing her defeat, Jae stood as well.

“Would you like some company?”

“Yes, I would.” He gestured toward the door. “After you.”