"Hippocratic Honor" Continued

Usually, Dr. Bashir preferred to wait battles out in sickbay; but as chief surgeon, he had the option of taking a seat on the bridge. For this battle, he took that seat. It wasn't so much to watch his crew and his ship battle their foe, but to watch another ship in the same battle. His curiosity was like a strong craving. Though not exactly ethical, he used sensors to spy where his eyes longed to see. Having quvQob's medical scan enabled him to see there was an adult female Klingon of her approximate age with her considerable internal injuries, seated in the center of the bridge of the Bird of Prey. Sensors told him an adult male, presumably bepSop, stood nearby. As the battle raged, he watched the pair closely. Did he tell her, as he'd promised? Did she accept him, or was she put off? And why did he care about people he'd just met, and would never see again? Part and parcel with the role of a doctor, body and soul. He looked around at the tense faces of his fellow crew members. Did his caring for strangers somehow diminish his love for those who had become his friends? No. There was a line between a doctor's care and personal care, after all. His deep thought almost caused him to miss a crucial bit of information.

"The Cardassians are boarding the Klingon vessel." Worf announced grimly.

"What?" Julian gasped, drawing brief attention from everyone in earshot.

"Troop transport in range." Worf went on, ignoring the doctor.

"Are they armed?" Sisko asked.

"And shielded." Worf confirmed.

"Then open fire." Benjamin Sisko was above firing on an unarmed carrier vessel, but an armored personnel carrier was another story.

"What about the jaghchon?" Julian asked about the Klingon ship.

"Right now, we have our own problems to deal with." Sisko suddenly looked around at the doctor. "Why aren't you in sick bay?"

"Thought I might be needed here." Julian offered, weakly.

"Not for tactical advise," Sisko warned. "Understood?"

"Yes, sir." Julian turned back to his sensors, scanning the captured ship. There were mixed lifesigns, indicating a pitched battle on the bridge. If the distribution of signals were any indication, the Klingons were holding their own. Colder blooded Cardasians seemed to be stuck in corridors and doorways. He imagined staunch bepSop, shielding his beloved HoD from battle with his enormous body, and the intrepid quvQob practically ravenous to get at the enemy with her sword. Or maybe they stood back to back, joined in battle against their common foe. As the Defiant shuddered and rocked from the impact of battle, the doctor worked on monitoring his own crew with one eye and the Klingon crew with the other. Suddenly, a bright flash caught his attention. He looked up at the view screen, in time to see the Cardassian Troop Transport explode. Not waiting around, the Defiant turned her back and went to see how her partner in battle was faring.

"The Cardassians seem to be leaving the jaghchon." Julian finally had something to add.

"They no doubt found Klingons do not make good captives." Worf theorized. "Either that, or they are preparing to destroy the jaghchon and must retreat to a safe distance."

"Let's keep our distance; see what the Klingons want to do." Sisko rubbed his chin, sitting back.

"Klingon vessel powering up!" Dax suddenly cried, from the sensor position beside Julian's.

"If they fire at that range,..." Sisko left the obvious unsaid. Should the Cardassian ship explode, surely it would take the jaghchon with it.

"It is not their weapons, which are powering up," Worf clarified. "I believe they intend to ram."

"Cardassian vessel releasing tractor beam, and powering up engines," Dax reported. "Making a run for it, I'd guess."

Suddenly, the newly released Bird of Prey lurched toward the Cardassian fighter. At the last moment, the Bird of Prey pulled it's nose up; strafing as it went. There were a few small explosions, than one huge all consuming one. For a millisecond, everyone on the Defiant's bridge held their breath. Then, from the gout of flame and debris, the nose of the Bird of Prey emerged; shields glowing white with stress. It looked like glory. It looked like victory. The Klingon vessel cleared the brief conflagration, then slowed to a stop.

"Doctor Bashir; assemble a medical team, and-" Sisko stopped, because he saw the still swiveling seat Bashir had been sitting in, was now empty.

The smell of barbecued meat filled Julian's nostrils, as he and his team beamed aboard the jaghchon. "Smith, Caruthers, go aft and check engineering. Johnson and Kessler, take decks one and two each. I'll check forward. Call in any supply requests directly to sickbay."

"Aye, sir." Julian's team answered, and got to work. Taking a bracing breath, he headed forward to see what had happened. The sight that met him, did not disappoint his expectations.

"They automated the bridge, and ordered us aft." The helmsman explained the situation. "They knew it was too tricky a maneuver to execute by remote."

"Here died *warriors*." The weapon's officer pronounced, then threw back his head and roared. Others joined him, until the noise was enough to make Julian's teeth vibrate. Then, filled with wonder and awe and a strange sort of satisfaction, Doctor Bashir of Starfleet threw his *own* head back and roared. It was not a roar of grief, but a genuine roar of celebration and warning to those of Stovokor that true warriors would soon stand at their gates. For many weeks, though, the image of the cooked corpses of bepSop and quvQob would pop up in his dreams and nightmares; forever locked in each other's arms. Everything in his culture and training told him this was so wrong; but something else, something from long ago and far away, told him it was good and true and *right*. Here, indeed, died warriors.

The crew of the jaghchon was soon made ready to go on their way. Already, in the span of one week, legends and sagas were beginning to form. As part of the stories, Julian did nothing to rebuke the inflated tales; even when they contradicted.

"In a way," he explained to Worf, "*all* of them are true, you see."

Worf nodded, knowingly. "That is the deeper truth of legends. They tell more about what happened *here*," he thumped his chest, "than what happened *here*." Sweeping his arms, his gesture encompassed the entire universe.

Julian considered this. "I always thought of stories more as entertainment, than another perspective on history. I see, though, how that could be so."

Again, Worf nodded. "Songs will be sung for many years; perhaps, even, forever. Your name will ring through, a witness to what has passed." Something almost like a smile, dawned on the Klingon's face. "How does it feel, to be immortal?"

Julian winced a little, then shrugged. "Too much responsibility. I'm not so sure I like it."

Worf leaned in conspiratorially. "Welcome to *my* nightmare." He growled, then turned and walked away.

"Good Lord," Julian breathed, slightly stunned. "Worf's making jokes. Perhaps it really *is* the end of us all!" Spirits lifted, for the moment, he headed back to sickbay.

But out in space, where all is silent and cold, two forms locked together as one tumbled endlessly through the void. And following them, was the vibration from roars of the throats of Klingons. And, of course, one human.

THE END





Return