Epiphany

[Rachel E Garrett 0]

"Epiphany"

 

To say that Rachel Garrett had changed would be an understatement. Her encounter with Jorahl – Centurion Jorahl, her chief, that is – had led her to an epiphany, and epiphanies have a way of working on one's psyche, which is exactly what it did to Rachel. Since then she had decided she was tired of being frightened, stepped on, and ridiculed, and no matter how frightened she felt from now on she would not react in fear. She would attack. And so she did, whether the situation called for attack or not.

 

Case in point was her encounter with unsuspecting Damian Porter, OPS manager for Sky Harbor Aegis. The situation began quite innocuously – two middies meeting to compare notes on the EPS for the diplomatic wing. Problem was that Porter had other things on his mind. He was, frankly, distracted and overworked, and didn't seem – to Rachel, with her lack of social awareness – to be as interested in her problem as he should have been.

Somehow Damian had missed the memo that said he should drop everything and work on her problem. After all, her work on the EPS for the diplomatic wing was much more important than anything he could possibly be doing because it involved an ongoing diplomatic celebration whose interruption by a simple power failure could not only reflect on her abilities as an engineer but could instigate, in her mind, a full-blown interstellar war – or at least a diplomatic one – which could result in the demise of the entire galaxy.

 

The conversation, from Rachel's perspective, went something like this:

 

"I need to check these EPS figures so the power doesn't crash during the party. Wouldn't that be ducky if it did? His Highness would probably space me." Rachel had begun calling her chief His Highness because the name she otherwise would have called him, though apropos to his demeanor, was inappropriate for her position as s Starfleet officer.

 

Porter grinned. "Now, that's a thought."

Strike one: spacing Rachel was a thought he found amusing. She tried to ignore it. "Yeah, right," she replied. "So, think we can match them up with what you have?"

 

"Match who up with what?"

Well, at least she had his attention, but gees… was he that thick? "My EPS figures for the Dip wing with what you have on the master board."

"Erm... ohhhhh, okay, yeah, I dunno, will you be able to?"

Not only was he distracted, but now he thinks she's not able to do her job? Strike two.

"Will I be able to what?" said she.

"Make 'em match," said he.

Deep breath. Temper rising. "Well, yeah. I guess I can."

"You are... strange."

He's saying she's strange? Right.

"Bad mood? Boyfriend trouble?"

"Me? Bad mood? Boyfriend? You gotta be kidding!" Rachel's thoughts had now completely shifted from the EPS of the diplomatic wing to the station communications malfunction masquerading as Damian Porter. "So, am I allowed to touch the OPS console or not? I mean, it's your territory 'n' all!"

"Is that why you're huffing a puffing like a steam locomotive?"

Strike two and a half. With a shove that would have sent an unmilked cow across the stall, she took over the console. What followed was an exchange that escalated into a session that would have made any diplomat green with envy and could, had it been during diplomatic session, have caused an implosion at the galactic core, or at least given the station enough energy to last through the next millennium.

"His Highness will be pleased," she said in a futile attempt to distract her thoughts from the now-alien entity hovering beside her. After a quick one-two punch to match her figures with those on the OPS console, she flipped it back to his configuration and bolted for the turbolift to stop herself from doing what she most wanted to: assume full attack mode.

 

But the turbolift did not come.

"Hey, J tube rat," Porter shouted to her across the CT. "A couple of days ago you were unable to move with awe when you came up here, now this attitude. Careful, I'm over worked and sleep deprived."

And still the turbolift did not come.

"Fine, be miserable in deep space then."

Didn't he ever give up? "If you're sleep deprived, go sleep," said Rachel, still facing the closed lift door. "You're barking up the wrong tree here! Where the hell is the turbolift?" she shouted, slamming her fist against the firmly-closed door as if her insistence that it come would move it any faster. It seemed that the entire universe had turned against her.

"Be that way! I'm sure you're the kind who has all the friends she needs out here."

Strike three. Full attack mode. She spun on her heel and strode towards Porter, upping the volume a notch or two. "Tell you what. With friends like you I don't need enemies! I don't need any friends. I can take care of myself. Got it???"

"And don't go biting my head off! Whatever put you in that mood, it wasn't me!"

At that the turbolift doors opened, but – as fate would have it – the lift was not empty. "Whoa. Did someone kill another relative?" Scott Coleridge engaged evasive maneuvers to escape the line of fire, sidestepping Rachel as she marched in.

"Oh great. Another one," said Damian, apparently now at odds with Aegis's entire engineering team. "What do you want?" he shouted at Scott. "Yell at me, too? Join the queue!"

Rachel's epiphany had worked its worst, succeeding not only in damaging Rachel's immortal soul, but Damian's mortal ego. After a fume and a few well-placed kicks at the turbolift wall Rachel began to settle down. Maybe she had lost one friend, but she still had Scott. Maybe. Unless her outburst at Damian had ruined that relationship, too.

 

She sighed.

The EPS in the diplomatic wing seemed to be working fine, so she would live to see another day. Maybe.

But most of all, the galactic core was still intact, so life wasn't all that bad.

Edited July 28, 2008 by Rachel E Garrett