Still Trying

Posted on Mon Apr 14th, 2025 @ 4:24am by Lieutenant JG Sylorik MD & Ensign Garabed "Garo" Hakobyan

Mission: MISSION 0 - History Speaks
Location: Deck 10, The Bean Cafe
Timeline: 1810 Hrs, 3 November 2397 (Beginning of S6E1)
2297 words - 4.6 OF Standard Post Measure

The civilians laughed uproariously.

"The Bean" was abuzz with activity in the early evening now that Alpha Shifts had ended. Booths and tables were occupied as was the bar area where the intoxicating aroma of freshly-ground coffee and fragrant smell of liqueurs wafted from. At the dozen or so tables in cafe, Sylorik spied various salads, steaming soups, and a few sandwiches--all looked and smelled delicious.

The promenade was equally bustling in activity as officers, crewmembers and civilians alike hunted for supper, slid-in a bit of shopping among the many boutiques, or were simply enjoying a leisurely evening stroll.

In his two weeks aboard Elysium, Sylorik found what he could consider a steady footing in terms of routine. His day followed a fastidious rhythm: meditation and exercise followed by breakfast, a duty shift in Sickbay, more meditation, an evening meal followed by holo training/practice in one of the ship's surgical suites, meditation once more, and then a standard six-hour sleep. Rinse and repeat.

Not one to make friends, he had gently and politely rebuffed some of the other doctors and nurses when asked to join them for social gatherings. It was entirely plausible their invitations were motivated by social courtesy rather than genuine sentiment, he reckoned. Nonetheless, Sylorik had shared a working lunch with Doctor Sthilg the week prior and he had enjoyed the silences most humanoid species found 'awkward' with the Gorn.

Sylorik sipped from a strong cup of decaffeinated coffee, his eyes glued to a data PADD which contained a recent medical journal. The current article in the journal discussed some of the ethical implications of memory blockers in medical treatment. It was a contentious topic stretching back several decades. Sylorik found the author of the article seemed somewhat halfhearted in taking a stand one way or the other.

He sighed and set the PADD on the table--a break from reading was required.

Glancing around the cafe, he let his eyes wander. And his mind quickly followed suit.

At the table nearest the exit, he spotted two female officers from the science department. He did not know their names but knew they served in astrophysics. One was human, tall, with long blond hair meticulously styled into a distinctive cone shape and then backcombed. A beehive, thought Sylorik, remembering the name. Her female companion was shorter, of average height with auburn hair that fell into perfect curls just below the chin.

Both women were smiling happily and sitting across from two young human men in civilian clothes. It appeared to be the ancient form of human courtship--something Sylorik had not been witness to very often. While Vulcans shared meals together, it was not typically considered a form of dating.

At the thought of courtship, Sylorik found his mind had veered into painful territory. He pictured the face of his once-betrothed and how their koon-ut-so'lik had come to an abrupt end when their careers had forced them to walk very different paths. He wondered where she might be all these years later and then quickly dismissed it as a trivial.

He let his eyes continue to roam the room while sipping from his coffee.

At another table were two fortysomething Starfleet officers and--presumably--their young child. A girl of about five years with medium-length black hair and dark eyes clutching a stuffed animal.

Sylorik did not know either of the couple. Both were human--the male in a red command uniform and the female in the teal of sciences or medical. The male held an air of exasperation and his body language was definitely defensive. His mate was unhappy with something and was letting him know verbally but in quiet tones. She seemed to address him with a pointed finger.

He shifted his gaze back to their child who had squirmed her little body around on the chair and was now facing Sylorik--staring right at him with a mixed expression of melancholy and curiosity. It reminded him of something--not the child, the expression.

Sylorik suddenly felt self-conscious. Staring at others--especially their offspring--was not an acceptable activity in most cultures.

Picking up his data PADD, he feigned reading in the hopes the child would forget about him. Afterall, he came to read and drink coffee--not stare at others.

A few moments later, he cast a furtive glance back to the girl and found her with head cocked to one side and still staring directly at him. This outcome is a consequence of illogical behaviour, he chided himself.

Neutral but sheepish, Sylorik raised his hand slightly and waved at the girl. Neither of her parents noticed and were far too busy gesticulating their grievances to each other.

The child reacted slowly, raising a tiny hand to reciprocate the wave.

Sylorik returned to reading the insipid article. Several moments passed and yet he could still feel her eyes on him.

Glancing up, he was shocked to see the little human girl now replaced by a Vulcan child.

She was a tiny girl, her face covered in ash and her black hair a mess with stray strands shooting in every direction. Her sad expression combined with piercing dark eyes seemed to stab Sylorik deep in his stomach, and some distant alarm in his soul was warning him to seek safety.

He attempted to blink the image of the Vulcan girl away but she remained.

Sylorik set the data PADD back on the table in front of him and glancing down, noticed his hand was trembling and his fingers had lost all colour.

Not now.

He felt the familiar constriction of muscles in his abdomen and a coldness surging through his extremities.

No. Please.

The Vulcan child took a tentative step toward Sylorik's table. He felt his pulse quicken in response.

It is a hallucination--nothing more.

His eyes darted around the cafe out of self-consciousness. Strangely, it seemed as though time had slowed. The other patrons were still moving, talking and eating, but in a much slower timescale.

Sylorik locked eyes with the child and felt his brow beading with sweat. He felt a wave of nausea crashed over him and every bodily sensation seemed magnified by a million.

You are not here.

The child had now taken several more strides toward him but Sylorik could not look. Instead, he squeezed his eyes shut as if willing the image of the Vulcan girl to go away.

You are dead.

"Ah," came a male voice. "Doctor Sylorik!"

Fearing what he might find upon opening his eyes, he popped one eye open and saw a familiar face.

Standing before him was the same human male Sylorik had shared a shuttle with a few weeks earlier. His olive skin, hazel eyes and dark brown hair in a messy shag-style were unmistakable. If he weren't recovering from another episode of whatever-this-was, Sylorik would likely be annoyed.

Ensign Garo Hakobyan grinned at the Vulcan doctor.

"New form of meditation?"

Sylorik strained to see past the human operations officer. The Vulcan child was now gone. Moreover, the squabbling couple and their little girl had also vacated their table.

"I am Garo Hakobyan," said the officer. "I did not mean to interrupt. Just... you looked like you were somewhere else entirely. I'm not a doctor but I have made same face during third hour of safety seminar on isolinear chip storage."

A voice called to Garo from another table but the young Ensign raised a hand and flashed a solemn look toward a group of junior officers whom Sylorik assumed were his friends.

Sylorik felt the warmth slowly returning to his extremities. "Yes," he replied weakly. "I do remember you, Ensign." He observed the cafe's patrons were still eating, drinking and talking. A quick look to the promenade confirmed that nothing had changed in the few moments he had experiencing another of his 'episodes'.

Garo gestured to the empty chair across from the doctor.

Sylorik nodded while wiping the sweat from his forehead. The muscles in his abdomen had also begun to relax.

Garo flipped the chair around and leaned forward against the chair's back. "You need a refill maybe?"

Sylorik shook his head gently. "I am quite alright, Ensign."

"You sure? They've got this Cardassian blend that tastes like regret and cinnamon. Weirdly effective."

As his body and mind seemed to revert back to normal, it was as though Sylorik came to the realization that he was now trapped in a social interaction with another crewmember. At least he's not picking dirt out of his nails, thought Sylorik.

Garo once more flashed a smile. Sylorik noted that some human expressions included the movement of other muscle groups in and around the face. Garo's smile almost always included the creasing of the eye corners and a tightening of the chin. A very unique facial expression, observed Sylorik silently.

"You know," started Garo. "I was going to call you 'Doc', but that felt too obvious."

Sylorik sighed. "Improvised monikers are unnecessary, Mister Hakobyan."

"Nicknames"--piped Garo with mock authority, holding up a hand--"are forms of endearment."

"I do not understand the purpose of assigning whimsical nicknames to crewmembers."

Garo's smile transformed into a sincere look. "It's how you tell people you like them without making whole emotional deal."

Sylorik studied the young human officer. There was something more to Garo Hakobyan than jokes. Yes, he was overly playful but he never seemed to mock.

"Fascinating," replied Sylorik with light sarcasm.

There was a long pause and Garo felt the need to change the subject. "How are you settling in to your assignment?"

Sylorik raised an eyebrow. It was an interesting question and one that no doubt applied to Hakobyan equally.

"I've found a sustainable routine," said Sylorik, weighing the past two weeks he'd spent aboard.

Garo slapped the table with an open palm. "Sustainable routine," he repeated, nodding solemnly. "That's what I call it when I eat same replicator burrito five nights in a row."

He leaned back and gave Sylorik a slight once-over. "Yours probably has fewer gastrointestinal consequences."

Sylorik raised another eyebrow. The jokes were becoming tiring but the young man exuded warmth and for the moment, warmth was something he could do with more of.

"And you, Mister Hakobyan," deflected Sylorik. "How are you... 'settling in?'"

Garo grinned. He had successfully initiated a conversation with the Vulcan doctor, broken his shell, and was now tickled to see him returning his verbal serve.

"Lots of preparation, lots of diagnostic, lots of work," confided Garo. "I don't get enough sleep or leisure time. But this will change. I am certain."

"And what function do you serve in Operations?" inquired Sylorik.

Garo puffed his chest out in mock pride. "I am a transporter specialist but I need to be jack-of-all-trades in my job." He sighed. "Today we were working in Engineering to reroute the plasma flow through the secondary matrix, but the system she does not like it. Hates it, in fact. Like my aunt hates my cooking. Much protest."

Noticing the data PADD on the table, Garo made a play for it, snatching it up. He began scrolling through its contents much to the chagrin of Sylorik who appeared thoroughly bothered.

Garo snickered. "You always read medical journals in your off-hours, or is this just a power move to claim the good table?"

"This seat was unoccupied when I arrived," replied Sylorik, gently retrieving the PADD from Garo's possession. "And I prefer to remain current in all things related to medicine."

"Naturally," agreed Garo. "Me, I've been reading the orientation guide for two weeks. I still can't find the gym or my self-esteem."

Sylorik nodded. The joke was not lost on him--he saw the humour in Garo's wordplay. As a Vulcan, he did not see a laugh or a response as being necessary.

"Perhaps the guide is defective," he quipped.

Garo nodded vigourously, his head seemingly oscillating. "Very possible, Doctor." He paused as if considering another option. "Or I am. But you don't give up on self-esteem. Not in my family."

Sylorik tilted his head slightly. "That is a surprisingly resilient philosophy, Mister Hakobyan."

Grinning from ear to ear, Garo spoke again. "My father is a collector of old technology and gadgets when he isn't tooling communication relays in low-earth orbit." His grin slowly faded as if recalling a memory close to his heart. "There was machine--appliance as it was called on Earth centuries ago. A toaster."

A slight smile returned to Garo's lips as he continued. "In days before replicators, people inserted a slice of bread into the toaster and it would cook until crisp." He paused once more. "My father has many toasters... all restored, repaired--some are on display."

"From the description of your father, he sounds like a passionate collector."

Nodding wistfully, Garo continued. "My father used to say, 'if the toaster sparks, it's still trying.' He also said that about people, come to think of it."

"An imprecise, but metaphorically sound axiom," responded Sylorik.

Garo grinned once more. Pushing himself back from the table, he stood up and righted the chair before turning once more to face Sylorik. "Back to the journals, then. But... if the circuits ever spark, remember what my dad said. Still trying."

With a final wink, Garo meandered back to the table he shared with his friends leaving Sylorik to consider the metaphor further.

Sylorik returned his gaze to the now-vacant table where the family had been seated. He thought about the image of Vulcan girl and felt his heart beat faster for a moment. A small surge of adrenaline pulsed through him as he sat staring at the empty chair where he saw the human girl, and then back to the chair Ensign Hakobyan had occupied.