Waking... oh that hurts

Posted on Fri Nov 7th, 2025 @ 9:13am by Cadet Freshman Grade Miran Lalor [Lalor] HRH & Commodore Phoenix Lalor-Richardson

Mission: Season 6: Episode 6: Conglomerate
Location: Main Sickbay
Timeline: MD2 02h00 Onward
1238 words - 2.5 OF Standard Post Measure

Sound came first — the soft rhythm of monitors, the distant thrum of the warp core, and the quiet murmur of medical voices.
Then came light — harsh and white, forcing Miran to flinch and squeeze her eyes shut.

A groan escaped her as she shifted, a stab of pain lancing through her left shoulder and ribs. The last thing she remembered was the beast’s roar and the blinding flare when her sword struck home.

“Easy there, Cadet,” said a calm, steady voice beside her.

She turned her head slightly. The man was Human, mid-forties perhaps, his teal uniform pressed and immaculate despite the chaos beyond Sickbay’s doors. His nameplate read **Lt. (jg) Dr. Ren Hale**.

“You’re safe,” he continued, adjusting the readouts above her bed. “You’re aboard the Elysium. The fight’s over.”

Miran swallowed hard, her throat dry. “The hound?”

“Scrap metal,” Hale replied, glancing at her with a faint smile. “You stopped it before it reached the others. Now it’s our turn to patch *you* up.”

She tried to push herself upright, but his hand pressed gently to her good shoulder.
“Don’t. You’ve got a plasma-scored laceration across your left shoulder and a couple of cracked ribs. Nothing permanent — but you’re grounded until I say otherwise.”

Miran let out a shaky breath. “You sound like my sister.”

“Good. She’s been down here twice, by the way. Commodore Lalor-Richardson doesn’t exactly take *‘resting comfortably’* at face value.”

A weak smile tugged at Miran’s lips. “She worries too much.”

“That’s what older sisters do.” Hale made a few notes on his padd, then looked back at her. “You lost some blood and you’re dehydrated. I’ve got you on fluids and mild painkillers. Give it another twelve hours before you try anything heroic.”

“Understood, Doctor,” she murmured, her voice low but steady.

He adjusted the bed to a gentler incline so she could see the ward — quiet now, dimmed lights, the antiseptic calm that followed chaos.
“You did well out there, Cadet,” Hale added softly. “You saved lives. Remember that when you’re counting scars.”

Miran’s eyes grew heavy again. “Aye, sir,” she whispered, the words slurring slightly as exhaustion pulled her under.

“Good,” Hale said, lowering the lights. “Sleep. I’ll let the Commodore know when you’re awake for real this time.”

As she drifted back into rest, the hum of Sickbay faded to the steady rhythm of her heartbeat on the monitor — a quiet promise that, for now, she was safe.

---

The reports had stopped coming in a steady stream, but Phoenix knew better than to think the crisis was over. Every department was bruised — Engineering exhausted, Security stretched thin, Medical overwhelmed.

Her desk was littered with padds: casualty lists, repair estimates, power redistribution summaries. Each one carried weight. Each one carried names.

She rubbed at the bridge of her nose, exhaustion catching up with her, when the comm chirped.

> **=/= “Sickbay to Commodore Lalor-Richardson.” =/=**

Phoenix straightened automatically. “Go ahead, Doctor.”

> **=/= “Ren Hale here, ma’am. Your sister’s awake. Stable, responsive, vitals strong. She’s still groggy and sore, but she’s out of danger.” =/=**

For a heartbeat, Phoenix didn’t speak. She felt something in her chest unwind — a knot she hadn’t realized she’d been holding since the moment she saw Miran carried into Sickbay.

“Thank you, Doctor,” she said quietly. “Tell her I’ll come by once she’s cleared for visitors.”

> **=/= “Understood, Commodore. I’ll keep her resting until then.” =/=**

The channel closed, leaving only the gentle hum of the Elysium’s life support in the background.

Phoenix set the padd in her hands down with care. Her fingers lingered on it for a moment before she rose and crossed to the viewport. Beyond it, the stars drifted past — distant, cold, and endless. Somewhere beyond them, their mother was still unreachable, separated by a gulf of galaxies.

“She’s safe, Mother,” Phoenix whispered under her breath. “I’ll make sure she stays that way.”

Her reflection in the glass stared back — the crisp lines of the Commodore’s uniform, the commander of the most advanced ship in the fleet. But behind the mask, the faint tremor in her hand betrayed her.

Duty came first. It always did. But tonight, she allowed herself a small grace — one deep, quiet breath of relief.

Then she turned back to her desk, squared her shoulders, and tapped her comm again.

> “Bridge, this is the Commodore. Bring up internal sensor sweeps and start re-running containment grid diagnostics. We’re not giving those things a second chance.”

As the orders went out, her tone was steel once more — but the faintest hint of warmth lingered beneath it, like a light that refused to die in the dark.

---

The Sickbay doors hissed open with their usual quiet efficiency. Phoenix paused just inside, the faint hum of biobeds filling the sterile air. The ward was calmer now — fewer medics rushing, fewer alarms blaring — but the scent of burnt circuitry and antiseptic still lingered, a reminder of how close they had all come.

Dr. Ren Hale looked up from a console, caught her eye, and gave a slight nod. “She’s awake, Commodore. Coherent, though still sore. Don’t let her talk too much.”

“Understood,” Phoenix replied softly.

She crossed the space between them and came to stand beside the biobed. Miran was propped slightly upright, pale but alert, her left shoulder wrapped in a regenerator sleeve. The light from the readouts danced faintly across her face.

When Miran noticed her, she smiled — small, tired, but real. “Hey, sis.”

Phoenix felt something twist in her chest. “You look like hell,” she said, trying for wry, but her voice betrayed her — too gentle, too relieved.

Miran gave a breath of laughter that turned into a wince. “You should see the other guy.”

“I did,” Phoenix murmured, folding her arms. “They’re still scraping what’s left of it off the corridor bulkhead.”

For a few moments, neither spoke. The noise of Sickbay faded into background hum — just the two of them, sisters in a rare, quiet moment between chaos and duty.

“You scared me,” Phoenix admitted finally. “When the call came in… I thought I’d lost you.”

Miran’s expression softened. “You’d have yelled at me for weeks if I had.”

“I’ll still yell,” Phoenix said, but her lips curved into the ghost of a smile. She reached out, resting her hand lightly over Miran’s. “You did well, Miran. Foolish, but brave. The crew’s alive because of it.”

“Comes with the family name,” Miran murmured, exhaustion creeping into her tone.

Phoenix let her thumb brush gently over her sister’s knuckles. “Rest now. That’s an order, Cadet.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Miran whispered, her eyes already drifting shut again.

Phoenix lingered another minute, watching her breathing steady, the monitors holding their slow rhythm. Finally, she straightened, her voice low enough that only Miran — if she were half awake — might hear.

“I wish Mother could see you now. She’d be proud.”

Then she turned, the mask of command settling back into place, and walked toward the exit.

Outside the ward, the Commodore paused only once — glancing back at the quiet figure in the bed — before stepping through the doors and into the corridor, ready to face whatever waited next.

OFF