Handholds

Posted on Thu May 29th, 2025 @ 12:01pm by

Mission: MISSION 0 - History Speaks
Location: Holodeck 10.B, Deck 10
Timeline: Current
1015 words - 2 OF Standard Post Measure

The climb demanded everything: balance, concentration and breath.

Iozhara hovered a moment in the holodeck's simulated microgravity, gloved fingers anchored to a jutting spar of synthetic basalt. Below her, the deep blue crescent of Europa glimmered against a blackened sky. Her pulse was steady--perhaps a little elevated, but her breathing was even. Her limbs were warm from exertion but not strain.

She shifted her weight, finding the next handhold.

The simulation--an asteroid crevasse laced with derelict orbital scaffolding--was not at all designed for relaxation. That was never the point. In zero-G climbing, there was no room for hesitation. Just one mistimed move could launch a body into an uncontrolled tumble. Therefore, each decision was a commitment. One must learn to move through the environment. Not against it.

As she pivoted, a biting memory crept in without warning.

* * *

Location: USS Herodotus
Timeline: 2396


The lights in Sickbay had dimmed the way they always had for trauma protocol: a subtle shift to cooler tones, clearer visibility for triage. Iozhara had been stabilizing a burn victim from the civilian freighter when the call came over the comms--two incoming: Commander Trulin and Doctor Eban. Critical.

There had been too much blood.

She remembered the smell first--ozone, antiseptic, and something scorched. Commander Trulin was gone before they could even get vitals stabilized. Chest trauma from an atmospheric collapse--lungs shredded and massive internal bleeding. Iozhara hadn't known her well. The female Denobulan had been a calming presence for the ship as First Officer--direct, precise and always smiling. They'd barely exchanged ten words.

But Doctor Eban...

He'd trained her. Trusted her. He'd once said she reminded him of a niece he'd lost during the Dominion War--"smart, observant, and stubborn as all hell."

She was the one to catch him when he convulsed on the biobed. His face pale, blood bubbling at the corner of his lips. A fragment of metal alloy had punctured his abdomen. Whatever it was, it had fragmented upon impact and ended up in the worst possible place.

They worked to save him. The whole team. A cortical stimulator, multiple transfusions, even cellular regeneration. Eban had remained conscious longer than expected. She had been applying pressure to his side when his hand found hers--and gripped it. His brown eyes locked onto hers.

"Don't stop," he said. Not about the pressure. About the work. The medicine. The people.

"I won't," she had whispered. Her voice had cracked, but she hadn't let go.

He died eighteen minutes later.

* * *

Location: Holodeck 10.B, Deck 10
Timeline: Current


The crevasse narrowed.

Iozhara rotated laterally, pressing her boots against a nearby stabilizer panel. Sweat slid along her spine, pulled upward by the artificial gravity. Her breathing came shallower now. Her fingers began to ache.

Two years. It still hit her like a ruptured bulkhead.

She hadn't cried in that moment--not until hours later, in the privacy of her quarters when the adrenaline had worn off and the grief had pooled underneath the surface.

Eban had believed in medicine as a form of presence. Not just treatment. Not just fixing what was broken. He believed in bearing witness and holding on when others inevitably let go.

That's why she was here.

Not the Elysium. Not the climb. But the work. The hands she held now. The ones she would.

She reached for the next handhold.

And climbed.

* * *

Location: USS Herodotus
Timeline: 2396 (Three weeks before Dr. Eban's death)


Sickbay was unusually still. Gamma shift and low-lighting combined with the steady him of medical monitors had seemed like the perfect setting for a lullaby. Iozhara sat at one of the side consoles, annotating a scan--looking for something out of the ordinary that wasn't there--when the door to the Chief Medical Officer's office slid open.

Doctor Eban emerged with a steaming cup of tea in one hand and a data PADD in the other. He moved with ease--someone long past needing to prove himself.

"You're still here," he said, eyebrows raised.

"I'm reviewing the post-op vitals from Crewman Selberi," she replied, not looking up. "A few complications in recovery."

He gave a soft grunt that could have meant anything. Then, without asking, handed her the cup. She smelled masala chai, faint and spiced--a hot beverage from Earth she frequently indulged.

"Take the break, Ensign," he said. "The scans can wait. The nervous system needs rest too, especially yours."

She took the mug, hesitated, then sat back.

Eban leaned against the console, sipping his own. "You've got quick hands," he said. "Sharper eyes. But you drive yourself too hard. Still chasing ghosts?"

Her jaw tensed. "No, sir."

"Mm. You don't have to lie. I've been haunted by worse."

There was a long silence. The monitor continued its soft, regular tones.

He tapped his PADD absently. "When I was your age, I lost my mentor. I'd been in Sickbay six months. Thought I knew it all. But when the alarms started, I froze. He didn't." Eban took another sip. "He saved a patient and bled-out before I even moved."

Iozhara looked up, surprised.

Eban smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "You'll lose people too. Some you never expected. Some you can't save. And you'll still have to work the next shift. Still have to look someone in the eye and tell them you'll help."

She held his gaze and felt something heavy moving in her chest.

"That's the calling," he said, pushing-off the console. "Not the medicine. The choosing to return."

She didn't reply. But she remembered.

* * *

Location: Holodeck 10.B, Deck 10
Timeline: Current


Back on the upper ridge, the simulation's finish point, Iozhara allowed herself to float--no tethers. Just the open void of digital space. She closed her eyes. The silence wrapped around her like gauze. Breath in. And breath out.

Her heart slowed.

She opened her eyes again, gazing down at the swirling shape of Europa.

A pale moon.

She reached toward the holodeck's control node, her fingers steady.

"Computer," she said quietly. "Save progress. End program."

The asteroid vanished and the stars dissolved.

And Iozhara stood again on the solid holodeck floor--alone. But not untethered.

* * *