moon phase

[warpfairy]

Isabella's videos (and their transcriptions, and their translations) are not instantly the topic of conversation in every household in the Federation over breakfast or its local equivalent, but they gain traction, and the Federation is still scrupulous enough not to send Starfleet to get her in the middle of the night for recording her opinions.

(Her opinions are limited here to the subject of her "repatriation" and to the Prime Directive. Her thoughts on genetic engineering are confined to the "polarbear" handle on long-dormant accounts on old, in some cases defunct, fora.)

It is a few months before she's invited to a speaking engagement by an activist club at a university on Viarat, a moon inhabited by predominantly human colonists but some Vulcans.

She accepts the honorarium, writes a speech, and (in the recovered Prometheus, which Renée has been holding for her) goes to Viarat, accompanied by her husband.

They get a hotel room; a liaison from the activist club shows her to where she's giving her speech, she gets as far as thanking them for inviting her and beginning to outline her planned topic before someone in the back row pulls a phaser pistol and squeezes off a burst that hits her in the sternum.

She collapses, exhaling all her air voicelessly. Someone next to the shooter tackles her and gets the phaser away.

Comments

[dream_me_up]

And...

There's no way on any planet Lalita could get her to somewhere private for a blood transfusion, not in time to make it a better bet than the nearest hospital.

The nearest hospital had better be a damn good one.

He calls an ambulance.

[warpfairy]

Isabella is still awake, for some reason, but that's about all she is. Breathing's hard. Everything hurts.

She shuts down the one part of her consciousness she does have control over, with effort, and shuts her eyes.

[dream_me_up]

The ambulance arrives, collects her, and departs. Lalita is denied the opportunity to ride in it, but he follows as fast as he can.

[or_the_broken]

When Isabella reaches the hospital, she is delivered almost immediately into the care of a trauma surgeon.

"That's a mess, all right," he observes as he operates his diagnostic equipment. "Still conscious? You're a tough one. But I'll need to put you under for the next part."

True to his word, he applies a hypospray a few seconds later.

There follows a very busy hour and a half, during which no visitor observation is permitted.

When Isabella regains consciousness at the end of it, she will find herself tucked into a hospital bed, wearing a hospital gown that mostly covers the bandages over her chest, on a moderate quantity of painkillers, and otherwise generally intact. Whatever damage she initially sustained has been expertly repaired; she can breathe and even speak without pain, if she's careful, although that may change if she tries to sit up or puts any pressure on her reconstructed chest.

And the surgeon who did all this is standing just inside the closed door of her hospital room. His nametag, if she can read it at this distance, identifies him as Dr. M. Hall.

[warpfairy]

Isabella tests her breathing, finds it painless, says: "Where's - my husband? Was the shooter caught?"

[or_the_broken]

"Your husband - tall, brown, curly hair, excellent bone structure? He's been asking for you, but considering you've just been shot and I only had his word the two of you are married, I decided to wait until you woke up before letting him in. I did tell him the surgery went just fine and you'll barely even scar. Be careful, though, the bone repairs are still a little weak. Stay lying flat as much as you can, don't rest anything on or against your chest, don't lift heavy objects. Yes, they caught the shooter, although I can't tell you much more than that." He smiles faintly. "Been busy."

[warpfairy]

"We're married," Isabella confirms. "Maybe I should wear a ring if I give another speech." She holds still as instructed.

[or_the_broken]

"In that case," says the doctor, "I'll go get him for you."

Off he goes. He returns a few minutes later, trailing Lalita—

[dream_me_up]

—who, having been cautioned against hugs, leans over Isabella to give her a very careful kiss on the cheek.

"You okay?" he murmurs.

[warpfairy]

"Surprisingly comfortable, but I haven't tried to move yet."

[dream_me_up]

"Could be worse."

He sits down in a conveniently located chair beside her bed, rests his hand on the nearest one of hers, and aims a smile at Dr. Hall.

"Good work, Doctor."

[or_the_broken]

"I try," he says dryly.

[warpfairy]

"How long should I expect to be in the hospital?" Isabella inquires of the doctor.

[or_the_broken]

"A week, minimum. I'd say more like two if you were mostly human, but Vulcans bounce back faster, so if you're very lucky it won't take any more than a week."

[warpfairy]

"I will hope that I am as resilient as is plausible."

[or_the_broken]

"You do that." He looks between his patient and her husband and then adds, "If anybody gets on your case about visiting hours, send 'em to me. Just don't do anything to make me regret it."

[warpfairy]

Isabella squeezes Lalita's hand. "Thank you."

[or_the_broken]

"No problem."

And out he goes.

[dream_me_up]

"Well, he's friendly," Lalita remarks. "Cute, too."

[warpfairy]

"And very good at his job." She tries gingerly moving her arm, finds that her collarbone doesn't like it. "Well, I'm going to be fantastically bored, it would seem."

[dream_me_up]

"Want me to read to you?"

[warpfairy]

"I think I would like that."

[dream_me_up]

"Okay. Vulcan poetry?" he suggests.

[warpfairy]

"Oooh, yes."

[dream_me_up]

So he will read her Vulcan poetry. He has a good voice for reading out loud.