When Lili woke up the following morning, her PADD was flashing. “Huh,” she said, as she padded over to her desk. Her roommate, Sophie Creighton, was still sleeping. But it was very early, a necessity in Lili’s line of work.
“Malcolm Reed, huh,” she whispered as she walked into the little bathroom. She read as she cleaned her teeth and combed her hair.
Dear Ensign O’Day,
I wish to apologize, again, for pushing you to reveal such information as I inquired about yesterday. It was rather boorish of me to ask. I do hope you can find it in your heart to forgive my overstepping of boundaries. You were quite correct when you characterized me as standoffish.
I also wanted to thank you for how thoughtful you have been regarding steering me toward dairy-free foods. I greatly appreciate your discretion in this matter. Espionage agents have naught on you when it comes to secret-keeping!
I hope you realize that I shall keep your secret, too, regarding how you lost your parents. I consider it a sacred trust and I know it may have been difficult to confide such a thing to me, a standoffish relative stranger. You can count on me.
Ever Onward,
M. Reed
She smiled at the letter. “Your mother raised you right. This was thoroughly unnecessary but polite just the same. I now have this vision of you, if there had been any real paper on board, sending this on engraved stationery.”
“Lili!” came Sophie’s voice from outside the bathroom door.
“Almost done, sorry,” she tied her hair back with a turquoise ribbon and opened the door.
“Yanno,” Sophie yawned, “You talk in your sleep. And now I guess you talk to yourself, too. I can never get any sleep,” she complained.
“Oh, sorry. Gotta go get breakfast started.” Lili got out quickly. Sophie was not the best of roommates.
=/=
In Sick Bay, Doctor Phlox looked over Crewman Sandra Sloane. “Anything you wish to discuss with me?” he inquired.
“No,” she looked down her nose at him.
“Crewman,” he explained, “depression can be signaled by a great many different symptoms. One of them is increased aggression. Now, that is more often found in men than in women, but that does not mean it’s an impossibility.”
“What are you saying?”
“What I am saying is, you are behaving somewhat, well, your patience appears to be sorely tested all the time, and you seem to be developing quite the attitude.”
“Listen,” she snarled, “I’m sick of this place. And I was getting sick of it before. But now, I gotta stay. And apparently somewhere in there, I’m supposed to be getting with one of the guys on the ship. And they’re pretty much all a bunch of losers.”
“Crewman,” Phlox begun to struggle to maintain his composure, “your behaviors are indicating to me that you have changed since coming aboard. Starfleet would not have consented to you being hired for the Enterprise if they felt that it would be such a difficult assignment for you.”
“You’re darn right it’s difficult. And it’s only gotten worse. I hate the Expanse, I hate my superior officer,” she spat out the word superior as if it were a rotten bit of food, “I hate the selection here. Need I go on?”
“Crewman,” he explained, “I believe that you are undergoing a bit of a personality shift. There is such a thing as a depressive personality disorder. It may have made you more critical of others than you were before. It may have thrown problems you were having into far sharper relief.”
“I’m not depressed,” she snarled, “it’s just that everything sucks. You do know what that means; don’t you?”
“Of course I do.”
“Then leave me alone. Don’t try to medicate it out of me or anything like that. I’ve got a right to hate this place, don’t I? Or does it have to be happy talk all the time?”
“It does not have to be this so-called happy talk all the time,” he said, getting a little flustered despite himself, “but Crewman Sloane, your behavior, well,” he sighed, “I don’t think I need to tell you that you are often an impatient and abrasive woman.”
“No. You don’t have to tell me that. But I do my job, right? Is that fag putting you up to this?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“My boss, Reed. Is he pushing for you to get me on drugs or something? ‘Cause he’s got his own agenda.”
“Crewman,” Phlox did his best to will himself to remain calm, “Lieutenant Reed has nothing to do with this. This is me, as your personal physician, telling you that I feel you may have a problem, and it may be affecting your job performance and your relationship with the remainder of the crew. Furthermore, this crew’s overall morale is of the utmost importance.”
“So their needs trump mine, is that it? You dope me into a stupor in order to keep everybody else happy?”
“No, and no,” Phlox’s fight for his patience was becoming a losing battle, “it is more that everything is clearly magnified. I scarcely think that a person who casually tosses out such slurs would have ever been hired by Starfleet. Perhaps you had these feelings earlier, and they were being suppressed. But they don’t seem to be suppressed anymore. It’s as if you have lost some of your inhibitions in that area.”
“I just don’t give a damn anymore,” she told him, “and I don’t really care who knows it. Can ya let me go now?”
“We have another five minutes,” he reported.
“Oh, c’mon!” she rolled her eyes in exasperation.
“Your maturity level is also leaving a lot to be desired. Now, Crewman Sloane, here is a bit of non-medical advice. Take it for what it’s worth. Your behaviors and your attitude are going to spell trouble for you, sooner or later. I suggest you allow some form of treatment. This cannot stand. You could endanger everyone if you make it difficult for others to act in a team.”
“Are you through?”
“Yes.”
“I better not be hearing about this from anyone else. I’ve got doctor-patient confidentiality, just like everyone else.”
“You do,” he confirmed wearily.
“Then you keep your mouth shut about what we talked about. Depression? I hardly think so. There’s nothing wrong with me that getting the hell out of here won’t cure.” She left.
He clicked around on his PADD and wrote a letter.
Dear Captain Archer,
I may have gotten to the bottom of who spread at least some of the rumors about some of the crew members’ sexuality. It is entirely possible that there is more than one culprit, but I wanted to share my findings regarding what I have so far.
While I cannot reveal anything said during the course of treatment or a physical examination, I can tell you that I learned something from someone I had in for a physical. Here is a list of the seventy-two crew members I have already examined, out of the ninety-two total members of the crew.
I am unable, under my oath as a physician, to draw your attention to any particular crew member or even provide any additional identifying information, such as gender. However, I trust this information at least whittles down your suspect list.
In confidence,
Phlox, MD
=/=
Jonathan noticed the message on his PADD but kept it to be read later. They were approaching Paradise again. “Hoshi, send a note to everyone about naming the planet Amity. Uh, give them a voting option of yes, no or write-in, okay?”
“Sure.”
“Oh, and get me Jenny Crossman.”
Hoshi hit a switch. “Ready.”
“Jennifer,” Jonathan inquired, “everything all right down there?”
“Yes, sir,” she reported, “we had a little bump earlier due to a slight variance in the intermix ratio, but that seems to have smoothed itself out. Are you noticing any other issues?”
“None whatsoever,” he told her, “you’re doing a great job with Commander Tucker out on his honeymoon.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Archer out.”
His PADD flashed a few more times. More messages. “Malcolm, I’ll be in my Ready Room. You have the Bridge.”
“Yes, sir.”
=/=
First there was the message from Phlox. “Man oh man,” Jonathan said to himself upon reading it, “I don’t want to be going on a witch hunt.” He shook his head and filed that information away for later. Then he opened up the next note. It was from Crewman Tracey Carter, who was in Engineering.
Dear Captain Archer,
I would like to formally ask for permission to move in with MACO Private Oscar Tiburón.
Thank you.
Sincerely,
Tracey Carter
“Huh, well, sure,” he murmured, “and everyone else continues to roll on without me.”
Another note was from Joshua Rosen.
Dear Captain Archer,
Karin Bernstein and I would like to get married, in a Jewish ceremony, in about a month. Can you do that?
Thanks.
– Josh and Karin
“You may have just solved my problem,” Jonathan said, “I guess we’ll do some more switching.”
He composed responses to both notes, asking about the roommate situation. Tracey’s roommate would end up with Karin’s, and Oscar’s would go with Josh’s. That could work, he figured.
The last note was from Shelby.
Dear Captain Archer,
There’s some flowering on the coconut palm and the orange tree that we planted on Paradise. Since there are no natural pollinators there, we’ll need to return in order to take care of that. At that time, I’d like to plant some more tropical crops, if that’s all right with you.
Thank you.
Yours Truly,
Michelle Pike
“Sounds good to me.” He composed a quick response and sent it.
He got up and went back onto the Bridge. Malcolm was about to relinquish the captain’s chair, but he shook his head. “Hoshi, can you find a Jewish wedding ceremony in the database, and write it out so that I can read it?”
“Of course, sir, I’ll transliterate it right away.”
“I suppose this means that Miss Bernstein and Mister Rosen are to be wed?” Malcolm asked.
“Yeah,” Jonathan smiled a little tightly.
“You’ll need a glass,” Travis looked up from piloting.
“Do they drink wine or something?” asked Jonathan.
“They do,” he explained, “but they also break one. I went to a Jewish wedding once; it was held on a rival freighter. They said a bunch of words in Hebrew, traded rings and eventually the groom stuck a glass under his boot and broke it. Then they kissed.”
“We’ve all got different traditions,” Hoshi said, “Oh, and I’ve got your transliteration, sir. I’ve sent it to your PADD.”
“Thanks,” Jonathan said, “Give me a chance to read it over and then I’ll retake command, Malcolm.”
“Very well, sir.”
=/=
Phlox greeted Hoshi once he saw her. “Ah, my next examination!”
“Yes.” She hopped on a bio bed.
He began to go over her with a handheld scanner. “A question, if I may.”
“Sure.”
“Would you care to go public with your diagnosis?”
“Huh?”
“The diagnosis of depression, Ensign. Would you, perhaps, be amenable to being more public about it?”
“Why do you ask?”
“It’s just that I have certain crewmen who could truly use treatment, and they are not getting it. There is still, in this day and age, a stigma attached to mental health problems and their treatments. I think a public airing – and for others to see that you remain as competent as ever at your duties – could potentially help to nudge a few others to voluntarily seek treatment.”
“I don’t know.”
“People are suffering, Ensign. I would like very much to help them, but I can’t force them to do so.”
“I know. It’s just, it’s a lot to ask. You’re right that people still feel there’s a stigma attached to it and all. Let me think about it, okay?”
“Very well.”
=/=
At the end of the day, Hoshi sent the day’s findings over to the captain. “I guess it’s official,” he said, “A quick turn on the intercom before we change shifts, all right?”
“Ready, sir.”
“All hands, this is the captain. I’m pleased to announce that the more temperate planet has been named Amity. We’ll be back there in a month or so. And at that time, we’ll have another wedding. But before that, we’re off to Paradise again. Shelby informs me that it’s time to start planting. Archer out.”
=/=
Ethan Shapiro’s Personal log, October twenty-eight 2037
I cannot believe she wouldn’t tell me she was engaged, and I had to hear it in an announcement from the captain! Dammit, this shouldn’t hurt me so much, not anymore. But it does. Karin, why are you with him? Why aren’t you with me?
=/=
Hoshi Sato’s Personal log, October twenty-eight 2037
Today, Doctor Phlox asked me if I would go public with my depression diagnosis. I am of two minds about this. I know it would do others a great deal of good. But at the same time, I’m a little scared of what people would think of me.
And then there’s Andrew. I like him, I do! But it’s a nonstarter. I just can’t seem to get up the guts to talk to him for more than five minutes, and always it’s about work.
I’m a fool for waiting. Someone will grab him first, I just know it. I know that this is the depression talking, but I just feel like it’s hopeless, and like I won’t be able to say the right things, and he’d never be interested in me.
=/=
Jonathan Archer’s Personal log, October twenty-eight 2037
Another wedding – this one will be a Jewish one. I’m no rabbi, but I suppose I’ll figure something out. It’ll be in a month or so, when we next return to the temperate planet, which we’ve named Amity. In the meantime, I’ll read and reread the Old Testament, and I’ll see if I can come up with something good to talk about. There’s the story of Adam and Eve, but maybe I’ll do something different. I don’t know.
The Xindi have agreed to give us a little space, which is helpful. But I do want to have something decided fairly soon, probably near when it’s time for the wedding. Right now I am really unsure of things. Some of that will hinge on how well things are going with the plants on Paradise. Shelby says that there’s flowering on the plants we have there. And now we have to pollinate. I guess the plants, at least, will get some, eh?
In other news, Tracey Carter will be moving in with Oscar Tiburón. So the roommates will switch, and Maryam Haroun – who was Carter’s roommate – will room with Cecily Romano, who is currently rooming with Karin Bernstein. On the men’s side of things, with Oscar Tiburón and Josh Rosen moving out, Dan Chang will be paired with Colin Myles.
I think that’s it for the roommate shuffle. At this point, the women are starting to be taken. There are thirty-four women and the following are taken – Judy Kelly Rostov, Karin Bernstein, T’Pol, Jennifer Crossman and Tracey Carter.
Twenty-nine to go.
=/=
Sandra Sloane’s Personal log, October twenty-eight 2037
I better not be hearing anything from the doctor about any depression. He’s totally barking up the wrong tree there.
I’ll go talk to Chang, maybe at that wedding. I need a diversion, something to do. Or, someone. Ha, I slay me.