Star Trek: Deep Space Nine -- Frontier Medicine

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From: jantrim@netcom.com (joyce antrim)

Subject: ds9 story Frontier Medicine

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Date: Fri, 23 Dec 1994 16:55:14 GMT

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Frontier Medicine A Star Trek : Deep Space Nine Story by Brenda S. Antrim

copyright on Star Trek : Deep Space Nine (tm) and characters, by Paramount

Pictures, Inc. : copyright on story Brenda S. Antrim, December 1994. 

Comments are encouraged.  Enjoy! 

     "Just a typical day on the frontier," Doctor Julian Bashir

muttered wryly to himself, "Holding it all together with bandages

and bailing wire."

     "What?  Were you talking to me?" Kira Nerys' voice close to

his left ear caused him to jump slightly, then wince.

     "Just remarking on how I enjoy a challenge, Major!" he lied

through his teeth, tossing her a glowing smile.  She managed to

hold her glare for another few seconds before turning back to her

console with a chuckle.

     "Right.  Of course you were."

     Behind her back, his smile slowly faded.  It had been a

hellish day, and now he was committed to who knew how many hours of

listening to Vedeks and Healers pontificate about alternative

healing methodologies and the concept of the pagh.  He sighed,

careful not to let the Bajoran officer hear.  Normally he would

have been excited at the prospect of learning new medical

techniques, soaking up information like a thirsty sponge.  At the

moment, however, he felt more like a well used sponge, with no room

for anything but a long rest on the shelf.

     Secure in the knowledge that Kira had the runabout well under

control, he closed his eyes for a catnap.  As if she would ever

need him for any sort of technical assistance -- unless she'd been

knocked unconscious and he was the only one left awake, he thought,

grinning to himself.  It felt good to smile.  He hadn't done much

of that in the last fifty two hours.  He sighed again, even softer

than before, and let his mind drift back through the last two days.

     She wasn't Jadzia.  She didn't have the experience of a three

hundred year old Trill, or the unstudied elegance, or the warm wit. 

Or the spots. Julian really liked Jadzia's spots, and at one time

had seriously desired to count every single one of them.  Like

reading Braille.  But that time was past, probably, well, almost

certainly.  And after a three month dry spell caused by too much

overtime at the infirmary and filled with many too many Cardassian

epics, he finally had a date.  She was Andorian, a beautiful

merchant trader he had met at Quark's Place, and they were just

beginning to enjoy her leave when it happened.  Again.

     "Sisko to Bashir!"  Oh, no, not the Commander.  That always

meant big problems and short dates.  Julian smiled a little sickly

across the table and answered the page.  Then wished he hadn't.

     Plasma burns.  Broken bones.  Crushed limbs.  Internal

injuries.  Cardassian equipment to treat Ekosian pirates with

Federation techniques using Bajoran supplies.  Sometimes even a

multispecies specialist had to improvise.  He had worked for ten

hours straight, with breaks to update his records and gulp sweet

hot tea, until the last of the survivors of the docking accidents

were treated, sedated and resting as comfortably as possible.

     He had tried to contact his erstwhile date, to explain,

apologize, wheedle if necessary.  She'd left the station.  He'd

figured she would.

     Then Ensign Braige went into labor.  Early.  With triplets.

     At least Betazoid physiology wasn't all that different from

Human or Bajoran, so the equipment and the process wasn't all that

unusual.  But he'd had to admit (at least to himself) that eight

hours of hearing a mother bonding telepathically as they went

through the birthing process was enough to make a man swear off

having children.  And he really liked children.

     Which, as it turned out, was a good thing.  He'd spent the

next hour sorting out and patching up two budding Klingon warriors,

each determined that they were more honorable, not to mention much

tougher, than the other.  Thank the Deities Klingons, even young

lads, had thick skin and thicker skulls.

     At this point he had been on his feet over twenty hours, and

it was beginning to show.  The fifth, or perhaps twelfth, time he

had tried to match up records and growled at the interface

variations between the handheld tissue regenerator (standard

Federation issue) and the infirmary archive computer (basically a

Cardassian/O'Brien fusion) his Bajoran nurse had had quite enough. 

Taking his hand, she gently laid the regenerator on the counter,

led him to the cot in the back of his office, left him there and

closed the door.  The whole maneuver took less than a minute and

was completed in utter silence.  Julian looked at the closed door

with shock, then let loose a crack of laughter.  He felt like a

cranky toddler, put down for his nap.

     Unfortunately, the nap didn't last very long.

     Nobody knew where Morn came from.  He didn't talk much, even

when he'd accidentally gotten in the way of an incipient brawl at

Quark's.  The bottle of fine Saurian brandy had shattered

thoroughly over the top of his head, and Julian had an interesting

few hours trying to determine what constituted "normal" readings

before Morn regained consciousness.  The readouts were at least

steady, so he stored them in the archive in order to study them

when he'd had more than two hours sleep in the last forty.  He

sincerely hoped he'd be able to retrieve them again without massive

aid from Chief O'Brien.  Morn himself seemed much more concerned

with the battered state of the three or four bristling hairs atop

his nearly balding pate than the state of his skull.  Moaning

softly to himself, he wandered forlornly out of the infirmary. 

Bashir wondered momentarily where he spent his time when Quark's

was closed.  He didn't think he'd ever seen him anywhere else.

     "Doctor?"

     Garak's soft question brought him back from his musings.  His

Cardassian friend looked sartorially splendid as always, a walking

advertisement for his tailoring business.  Julian stared blankly at

him for a long moment before he realized he'd been greeted.  It had

been a very long night.

     Garak blinked, surprised at Julian's unresponsiveness.  Taking

in the doctor's exhausted expression and somewhat glazed eyes, he

shook his head.  Really, Doctor Bashir tried to do too much.  He

watched with some amusement as Julian's face creased into a smile. 

     "Garak!  Were we going to have lunch today?"

     "Well, yes, that had been the idea, I believe."  The light

finally dawns, he thought not unkindly, stifling a chuckle. 

"Unless, of course, some urgent medical emergency detains you. 

Again."

     Julian peered around the infirmary, mentally listing tasks,

completely missing Garak's slight sarcasm.  As usual.  Garak

grinned.  Julian looked askance at him, wondering what he'd missed

in the conversation.  Talking with Garak was often like trying to

find one's way through a maze, and he wasn't up for it today.

     As he opened his mouth to make his excuses, he saw a momentary

flash of disappointment in the tailor's eyes, quickly masked.

     "I'd love to-" he found himself saying, "-but don't be

surprised if I fall asleep in my plate."

     "I'll ensure you come to no harm, my dear doctor.  Somehow,

smothering in a serving of Gakh sounds positively revolting."

     "Three more hours.  You still with me, Bashir?"

     Kira's voice jerked him from the near sleep dream state he'd

been in, sending him bolt upright to stare at her, wide-eyed.  She

sighed and shook her head at him.

     "No emergencies here, doctor.  Just wanted to see if you were

paying attention."

     "To what?" he managed, still shaking fuzziness from his head.

     "The music.  Bajoran wind quintet.  Derivative," she added

sardonically, "but I like it."

     Julian wisely refrained from replying, for once.  Kira was in

a snappy mood, apparently feeling a little anxious about seeing

Vedek Bareil again.  The latest Peldor festival had been ... a

fascinating experience.  He found himself looking at her lips, and

blushed to his hairline.  Deciding that discretion was the better

part of valor (and unwilling to admit he was hiding) he closed his

eyes and muttered, "It's very nice."

     Kira snorted delicately in reply, but Julian was already

dreaming again.  She looked for a moment at the lines of fatigue in

his young face, and then had to force herself to stop thinking

about the uncomfortable events at the last festival.  They had

never talked about it, and she couldn't see them ever discussing

it.  Setting her teeth, she aimed the shuttlecraft toward Bajor and

thought of Bareil.

     Lunch had been pleasant, but far too short.  Julian had

relaxed under the unceasing flow of Garak's words, content for once

to be the listener.  When the hour was up, he found himself loathe

to return to the infirmary.  Garak had to get back to business, so

he walked him down the Promenade toward his shop.

     "It really is a lovely suit.  Copper, but best really for

someone with discriminating taste, not at all flashy-"

     "I don't wear suits, Garak."

     "-and it would be quite flattering, say for the next Peldor

festi-"

     "Garak!"

     "-val or perhaps not.  Surely you socialize sometime, Doctor. 

Wasn't there just an Andorian merchant in the last batch of traders

heading toward the Gamma quad-"

     A scream and the sound of rending metal interrupted the little

tailor's words.  Julian and Garak exchanged one quick, startled

glance, then they both ran to the northeastern corridor of the

central Promenade.  A support beam had collapsed, pinning a

shopkeeper and two of her customers under rubble.  Bashir slapped

his commbadge, ordered reinforcements, and went to work.

     Five hours later he could have cried from a combination of

frustration and relief.  The shopkeeper, an elderly Bajoran woman,

would eventually recover.  Her two customers, a Vulcan male and a

young Horta, were also doing well, once he was able to synthesize

the correct compound to fill the Horta's wounds.  Bashir had been

challenged by the differing physiologies, but he was well able to

handle them.  Besides his extensive training, he had an innate

ability to make leaps of medical logic that always turned out to be

right, as well as the capability of doing several things

simultaneously.  He was well able, but not well equipped.  Once

more, he had had to pull a medical miracle out of thin air, when it

shouldn't have been necessary.  If he'd had real equipment, instead

of cobbled together pieces of Cardassian, Bajoran and Federation

junk, there wouldn't have been nearly as much risk to the patients. 

If he had the strength, he should feel proud of himself for the

incredible job he'd done.  Instead, all he wanted to do was find a

quiet corner and sleep for a day or two.  Once, it felt like a

hundred years ago, he'd told Kira that heroes were made on the

frontier.  He didn't feel heroic.  Just fatigued.  And in the

middle of stemming the fourth arterial hemorrhage, two hours

before, he'd have given all the glory he ever hoped to earn for a

modern biobed and another pair of hands.

     "Um, Doctor?"

     What?? he mentally shouted.  Julian turned to see Keiko

O'Brien cuddling a forlorn looking Molly in her arms, and his

impatience melted away.  He'd forgotten that Miles' family was

visiting this week.  Poor Miles, having to deal with collapsing

beams and balky replicators when he should be enjoying the company

of his wife and daughter.  He smiled gently at the pair, winking at

Molly and causing her to duck her head with a shy grin.

     "Hello, Mrs. O'Brien.  And Molly -- looks like somebody isn't

feeling very well."  He leaned closer to Molly and gave her a

comical grimace.  The little girl giggled and burrowed into her

mother's side, looking up at Julian from huge brown eyes.

     "She has a fever, Doctor Bashir.  It came on suddenly.  I

didn't want to take any chances."  Keiko's concerned voice matched

the worry on her face, and Julian efficiently led the pair over to

an examining table.  

     Thirty minutes, one thorough exam, a hypospray and a lollipop

later, a relieved mother and much happier daughter went in search

of Daddy.  Julian reviewed his options, realized he had slept four

hours in two days, and tried for another nap.  Unfortunately, while

his body was more than willing, his mind was buzzing.  Seeing young

Molly O'Brien had reminded him of other children who still needed

his help.

     Nearly four hours later, he rolled his shoulders to loosen the

tired muscles.  He sighed with relief and closed the commlink to

Bajor, glad that conversation was over.  The head administrator of

the Childrens' Homes program for the Provisional Government was not

one of his favorite people, but they managed to work together.  And

he had her permission, as well as Commander Sisko's go-ahead, to

make another supply stop at the orphanages in the sector

surrounding the monastery he would be visiting the next morning. 

Very few people knew about his little missions, just Sisko and

various shopkeepers who donated clothing, toys and food or allowed

him to purchase them at a substantial discount.  Sisko called these

missions mercy runs, the administrator called them humanitarian

aid.  He preferred not to put any labels on what he did.  In his

mind, he was just helping out, trying to make sure the Cardassian

children left behind when the Empire pulled out would have the

basic necessities.  He couldn't imagine not doing it.

     He usually was better prepared, however.  In all the rush in

the last few days he'd completely forgotten about the training

session he'd been invited to attend by the Head of the teaching

hospital and the Vedek Assembly.  It was a good time for it -- Kai

Winn saw a certain political advantage in strengthening the ties

between Bajor and the Federation; at least that was her attitude

this week.  Julian had planned to use the opportunity to visit "his

kids," using the runabout to transfer the supplies planetside. 

Unfortunately, he'd been so busy he had also forgotten to arrange

to pick up and pack the supplies.  Glancing at his wall chrono, he

saw that it was already early evening.  Looked like it was going to

be another long night.  His friends sometimes teased him about his

amorous activities, claiming he tired himself out chasing women

(and catching them).  He grinned to himself.  If they only knew.

     "Bashir to Dax."  Julian certainly hoped she didn't have any

plans.  He needed her help.

     "Dax here.  What's up, Julian?"  Her distracted reply wasn't

encouraging.

     "Um ... are you busy?"  

     "Not very, just ... preoccupied with a little something."  The

music and laughter in the background clued him in to where she was. 

He'd interrupted another Ferengi card game.  

     "I'm very sorry to intrude," he ignored her muffled laugh,

"but I need some assistance with a project, and it's got to be done

tonight.  Would you meet me at the infirmary so I can explain?"

     "All right."  She sounded intrigued.  "I'll be there in

fifteen minutes."

     "Thank you!"  Of course this meant she'd find out about his

little sideline, but it would be interesting to see her reaction. 

If he didn't sleep through it.

     "Garak's got the clothing ready.  You've paid for the toys. 

Benjamin coordinated gathering the foodstuffs -- how did he get

Quark to cooperate?  Scratch that.  I don't think I want to know." 

She looked at him warmly, impressed again at the depth to the young

Human across from her.  He had a great deal of potential, and she

was happy he'd gotten over his infatuation with her so that they

could become friends.  Well, she thought she was glad he was over

her.  And she was glad they were friends.  Pulling herself back to

the conversation, she continued.  "And you have the inoculations

and medical supplies for their check-ups."

     "It is the 'flu season, and many of the children have impaired

immune systems."

     Every once in a while Julian managed to really impress her,

usually when he wasn't trying.  She tilted her head to the side and

raised one arched brow.

     "Then why are we wasting time here?  We have work to do!"

     They had been up until the early hours of the morning,

supervising and assisting the crewmen with loading the runabout. 

Now, four hours into a five hour run, he just wanted to sleep for

a week.  He hadn't been this tired since he was an intern, and he

felt like he'd been running on full throttle for three years.  On

the wistful memory of a sparkling clean, fully functional, state of

the art and well stocked infirmary on far off Earth, he drifted

back to sleep.

     Kira looked over at the lanky form of the doctor, curled

compactly into the runabout seat, head gently bobbing in time with

his breathing, making tiny muffled snores like a sleepy puppy. 

Sometimes he irritated her until she wanted to hit him with

something, sometimes he amused her much more than she was willing

to admit, at least to him.  And sometimes, like after the

conversation she'd had with Dax over breakfast at the replimat that

morning, she was impressed with him and glad he was on the station. 

Of course, right about the time she was feeling in charity with

him, he had to start talking and irritate her all over again, but

at least he was asleep now.  Smiling, she relaxed to the haunting

sounds of the wind instruments and let her mind wander down to the

planet, and a certain someone waiting there for her.

     Julian awoke as they entered the atmosphere.  Kira piloted the

runabout to a smooth landing outside the main building of the

teaching hospital, attached to the Central Western monastery. 

Looking all around himself at the landscape, in the process of

being rebuilt after the Occupation, Julian concentrated on his

agenda for the day.

     The morning would be spent on an examination of the

interaction between the spiritual center of the Bajora, the pagh,

and the physical plane.  Seminars would concentrate on physical

manifestations of balance or imbalance of the pagh, and how healers

took both spiritual and physical well-being into accounts when

treating their patients.

     In the afternoon, he would participate in roundtable

discussions of similarities and differences between Bajoran and

Federation techniques and methodologies, and he was looking forward

to learning as much as he could.  Then that evening, he and Major

Kira would visit the two outlying orphanages.  They'd spend time

with the children, distribute their supplies, and he'd give them

check-ups.  Give them inoculations, patch up anything that needed

to be patched.  He looked forward to introducing Kira to "his

kids."  He'd been shocked but delighted when she'd opened the

conversation that morning by suggesting that she accompany him on

the visits.  He hadn't even known she knew about them, although the

supplies would have certainly given her a hint.  He undoubtedly had

Jadzia to thank for the pleasure of Kira's company.  He was also

interested in Kira's reaction to the Cardassian children.

     Stretching the kinks out of his back from the long ride,

Julian drew in a deep lungful of crisp Bajoran air.  He felt

invigorated, all weariness dissipated in the face of another full

day.  As he joined Kira and the Healers on their way into the

hospital, he reflected briefly on his circumstances.  All things

considered, there was no place, no place at all, that he would

rather be than on the frontier.

****************************************************************

**The End**