Unfamiliar Territory

Posted on Mon Sep 7th, 2026 @ 5:07am by Lieutenant Syvar MD & Lieutenant JG Charlie Johnson & Lieutenant JG Luke Beaumont

2,910 words; about a 15 minute read

Mission: Season 1 Episode 2: The Garden at the Edge of Night
Location: USS Genesis - Sickbay

ON

The sickbay doors hissed open with a pneumatic sigh, his mouth opening and Luke ducked slightly as he stepped through the threshold—a habit born from years of navigating spaces not quite designed for someone his size. His right shoulder throbbed with a dull, insistent ache that had only worsened since he'd misjudged the weight distribution on the polearm an hour ago. The weapon had twisted in his grip, and his shoulder had paid the price. He'd tried to work through it in the gym, but eventually common sense—or perhaps the memory of his sister's voice in his head, scolding him for being stubborn—had won out. Now he stood in the medical bay, his massive frame somehow making the spacious facility feel smaller, more intimate than it probably was. His fitted white training vest clung to his broad chest and shoulders, still damp with sweat, leaving much of his muscular arms exposed. The loose fabric of his gym shorts hung comfortably at his hips, but he felt conspicuous nonetheless, aware of how much skin he was showing in the clinical environment.

The sickbay was bright and welcoming in a way that surprised him—nothing like the sterile, cold medical facilities he'd imagined. Pale surfaces and warm indirect lighting created an almost peaceful atmosphere, while transparent monitoring displays flickered silently above the orderly biobeds arranged in the central diagnostic area. Treatment alcoves lined the walls, their doors closed and dark, and medical stations with neatly organized cabinets stood at precise intervals. The advanced technology was discreetly integrated, making the space feel more like a sanctuary than a place of clinical procedures. Luke's dark eyes swept across the room, taking in the neat arrangement of equipment and the diagnostic displays. He wasn't the most book-smart guy on the Genesis, and he knew it. Medical terminology made his head spin. But he knew his body well enough to recognize when something wasn't right, and his shoulder definitely wasn't right.

He shifted his weight, his left hand instinctively moving to support his injured arm. Movement caught his eye—someone moving between the diagnostic beds with an unhurried, measured pace. Luke's gaze lingered for a moment before he looked away, suddenly aware he'd been staring. The doctor was tall, he'd noticed, with pale blond hair. There was something composed about their presence that made the sickbay feel even more orderly than it already was. Luke wasn't sure why he'd looked so long. Probably just assessing whether they seemed like the type to be patient with someone who didn't understand half the medical jargon they'd probably use.

A flutter of nervousness settled in Luke's chest—the kind that came with meeting someone new, especially someone in a position of authority over his care. He cleared his throat awkwardly and took a step forward, unsure whether he should wait to be acknowledged or announce his presence. His usual confidence seemed to have evaporated somewhere between the gym and the medical bay, leaving him feeling oddly self-conscious about his size, his sweat-dampened clothes, and the fact that he'd managed to injure himself doing something as simple as practicing with a polearm. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, searching for the right words.

Syvar paused between two beds, hand stretched out to examine the new beds with his own eyes and touch. He liked the bright but warmer lights here in the medical facility and he was glad he had insisted on it when he learned he had somewhat of a choice on the furnishings. He looked around when he hear something akin to someone clearing his throat and his eyes settled on a giant of a man. "Oh my," he managed, glancing between the man and the diagnostic bed only a few paces away. There was no way this man was going to fit!

Still, going on the sparsely clad man's features, Syvar didn't need to be a genius to know he was in pain. Grabbing a tricorder on the way he approached. "I'm Syvar," the youthful doctor introduced himself, "and you look like you're in pain... Come, sit on that bed over there and tell me what happened."

"Thank you, Doctor." Luke's voice came out rougher than he'd intended. He moved toward the indicated bed with careful, measured steps, his left hand still cradling his injured right arm against his torso. The throbbing had settled into a persistent ache that radiated down from his shoulder socket, and he was acutely aware of how much he was favoring the limb. "Yeah, I—I don't know exactly what I did to it."

He eased himself onto the edge of the diagnostic bed with more caution than he'd normally use, the biobed's surface cool against the backs of his thighs. The bed held his weight without complaint, though he still felt oversized perched on it, his feet planted firmly on the floor. Luke tried to shake off the strange flutter of self-consciousness that had settled over him since entering the sickbay—the awareness of his sweat-dampened clothes, the way his training vest clung to his chest, the fact that he was taking up so much space in this orderly, pristine environment. He cleared his throat again and met Syvar's gaze briefly before looking down at his shoulder. "I was practicing with a polearm in the gym—just running through some drills—and I misjudged the weight distribution when I went to shift my grip. The whole thing twisted in my hands and my shoulder just... went a bit wonky." He grimaced slightly, both at the memory and at his own choice of words. *Wonky. Real technical, Luke.* "As you can see. It's probably nothing serious—I'm sure I just pulled something—I figured I should, you know, actually get it looked at before I made it worse."

"You used a what?" The young Vulcan queried as he got closer. "Wonky huh?" He continued as he flipped open the tricorder and ran it over this patient's shoulder. "You were wise to come here," he continued, his expression turning serious, "you didn't just pull something, you've torn it, though it's beyond me how you managed to do that."

Luke's eyebrows shot up. "Torn? As in—actually torn?" He glanced down at his own shoulder as if expecting to see visible evidence of the damage, some telltale sign that would explain how something as simple as a training drill had done that. "I thought maybe I'd just strained it. You know, overdid it a little." He let out a short, disbelieving laugh, more at himself than anything else. "I clearly need to reconsider my life choices when it comes to polearms."

The joke fell a little flat even to his own ears, and he shifted on the biobed, suddenly aware of how close Syvar was standing, how focused those pale eyes were on the tricorder readout and then on him. Luke swallowed, the humor draining out of his voice as the reality of the diagnosis settled in. "Okay. So—it's actually bad, then." He tried to keep his tone even, but there was an unmistakable thread of concern woven through it now, the kind of worry that came from a man who relied on his body, who trained and drilled and pushed himself daily, suddenly confronted with the possibility that something might be seriously wrong. "What does that mean for me? Like—treatment-wise. Am I looking at surgery, or is this something that heals on its own? And realistically, how long until I'm back to full strength?" He tried to sound practical, professional even, but there was something almost boyish in the way he watched Syvar now, waiting for the answer.

The boyishness was almost equal as Syvar looked up from his readings and gently placed a gloved hand on the giant's arm. "Don't worry," he said, "yes it's really torn but it won't require surgery of any kind. I can mend the ligands and muscles but you're going to have to ease off on the heavy exercise for a while and carefully build it up again." He paused, reaching for something on a tray nearby. "How good are you at sitting very still for a few minutes?"

Luke felt the light pressure of the glove against his skin and had to resist the urge to shift beneath it, telling himself it was just the treatment, nothing more. "Ease off," he repeated, the words landing heavier than Syvar probably intended. "Doc, I don't really have that luxury right now." He rubbed the back of his neck with his good hand, the worry finally breaking through the surface. "The gym's basically my whole world here. And it's not just me anymore—Commander gave me standing orders to get training programs set up for the crew *and* the civilians aboard. That's not something I can just... put on hold for a few weeks while I sit around waiting to heal." He glanced down at the hand still resting on his arm, then back up at Syvar, something searching in his expression. "Sitting still? I mean—I'll try. I'm not exactly built for stillness, but I'll do what you need me to do." He hesitated, then added, more quietly, "But is there anything you can do to speed this up? Something that gets me back on my feet—back in the gym—faster than 'a while'?"

Pulling his hand back, Syvar was aware of the worry his patient experienced. "As I said I can mend the ligands and muscles but they do take a few days to fully heal. You can do your demonstrations and exercises but not with the full force you usually do. You're going to have to build up because doing it as you're used to will only make things worse. I can tape it up to limit your range and remind you to take it easy." His explanation was patient, his tone understanding and pleasant as he spoke. "I don't think you want to make things worse," he continued as he gently probed the afflicted shoulder. "What I'm about to do may feel a little unpleasant and may give a prickling sensation," he warned as he picked up a specific regenerator. "It's vital for you to relax, I can give you something to help you with that if you want. It also helps to be distracted..."

Syvar smiled encouragingly. "Is there anything else you like to do?" Despite his Vulcan appearance, the young doctor's obvious and strong accent clearly originated him from the Terran Australian continent.

Luke's face lit up, the question apparently far easier to answer than anything involving actual patience. "Oh, loads of stuff. Rugby's a big one, and I do Mok'bara most mornings—keeps me loose. Suus Mahna too, when I can find someone who won't tap out after the first round. Parrises Squares if the deck's free, and Anbo-jitsu whenever I want to get properly knocked around." He grinned, a lopsided, easy thing that spread slowly across his face. "Basically anything that involves hitting something or getting hit. My sister got all the smarts in the family, I got the shoulders."

"But surfing's the one, if I had to pick," he continued, and there was something different in his voice now—looser, warmer, like he'd forgotten entirely that he was sitting half-undressed on a biobed with a torn shoulder. He shifted forward slightly, gesturing with his good arm as though he could conjure the ocean right there in sickbay. "Nothing beats Bells Beach, back in Victoria. You catch the right wave out there and it's like the whole galaxy just—stops. Best feeling in the world." He glanced sideways at Syvar, some of that restless energy still humming just beneath his skin, apparently unaware or unbothered that he'd been chattering on without so much as a breath.

"Surfing" Syvar asked as he continued to heal the injured limb, grateful for his patient's distraction. "Also, you don't come across as not having any brains...you know a lot about sports by the sound of it, and if you're training people don't you have knowledge about muscle groups too?"

"Well, yeah, but only because I'm doing that all the time." He gave the Doctor a sheepish look, rubbing the back of his neck. "I couldn't do what you do. Not a chance. All that science, remembering all those little details, knowing what to do with them... that's just not me."

"Well then," Syvar smiled as he continued. "I wouldn't be able to do what you do either. Besides Suus magna, I know precious little about sports and I won't be able to instruct anyone. It's a miracle I can actually swim. It's not my hobby, but I get by." He set down his tools and gently probed the joint again. "How's this? Move it around a little, is it still sore?"

Luke slowly rotated his shoulder within its socket, testing the range of motion. The pain had already diminished to little more than a dull ache—nothing he wasn't accustomed to, and certainly nothing that would keep him from working. He'd pushed through far worse injuries in the past and carried on regardless.

"Better, thanks, Doc," Luke said with an appreciative grin. Without thinking, he reached over and gave the slender Vulcan a friendly pat on the shoulder. The force behind the gesture was considerably greater than he'd intended, nearly sending the Doctor stumbling to the deck.

Luke's eyes widened in alarm as he immediately pulled his hand back. "Sorry. I sometimes forget my own strength."

The unexpected and somewhat undesired touch sent him stumbling a pace or two. "Ahem," he breathed, trying to recompose himself from the surprise that was quite visible on his face. "Please don't do that again," he requested as he got closer again, probing the shoulder a second time. "I'm going to restrict your movements," he continued as he grabbed for some elastic tape, applying it with sure movement. "Don't take this off for the next three days." He was certain if he didn't, the big man would just ignore his instructions.

"Understood, Doc," Luke began, but the words died on his lips as an ominous electrical hum suddenly reverberated through Sickbay.

The overhead lights flickered violently, some dimming to a dull glow while others abruptly flared back to full illumination. For a moment, entire sections of Sickbay were plunged into darkness, leaving equipment and patients silhouetted in the gloom, before the lights in those areas snapped back on and another section dimmed in their place. The strange pattern swept through the room in an unsettling sequence, accompanied by the persistent electrical hum.

Luke's brow furrowed as he stared around the room, trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

"What the hell?"

"Not again," the young Vulcan moaned, flinching as one moment sickbay went dark and the next moment they were awash in blinding light. "Engineering, this is sickbay. Systems are going blindingly haywire!"

Charlie's voice came back over the comm system "Acknowledged, Sickbay. Stand by, there was a power surge; attempting to correct. Just need to reset the power grid as per the manual, and there!"

All the lights in sickbay suddenly went out completely, plunging the entire room into darkness, lit only by the glow of various consoles.

"Are you sure they're reset?" Syvar asked as his eyes started to adjust to the darkness. "Only some consoles are functional, but otherwise nothing's working."

"Reset?" Charlie's confused voice came over the comm system. "That should have resolved the issue." A muffled voice came over the comm as Charlie consulted with Ensign Peters. "Yes, I can see that.... No, that's not proper procedure... Well, I suppose we can try.... Stand by Sickbay."

After a few moments, all the lights came on at their normal illumination level; all consoles came back online.

"Report Sickbay. Are you still with us?" Charlie's voice was concerned.

"Affirmative," Syvar managed, squinting as the light came back on. He cast a concerned look towards his patient. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Doc. You've got other issues to deal with. I'll get out of your hair." Luke hopped down from the biobed—or as close to a hop as a man of his size could manage. Given his height, he was practically touching the deck already when seated. He rolled his shoulder experimentally, careful not to push it too far.

"I promise I'll go easy on it in the gym. And once things settle down, you and me are going surfing!" He flashed the young Doctor a broad, winning smile, completely oblivious to the way his attention lingered a moment longer than necessary. There was something about the Doctor that Luke found himself inexplicably drawn to—the quiet confidence, the sharp mind, even the little mannerisms he couldn't quite put his finger on. He simply chalked it up to liking the man and wanting to spend more time with him. Luke patted the Doctor once more on the shoulder, this time in a far more controlled and conservative manner before he exited Sickbay, leaving the Medical Officer to deal with Engineering.

There was an audible sigh of relief over the comm system. "Acknowleged sickbay. Our board shows everything should be back to normal now. Let us know if you have any further issues. Engineering out."

Syvar was left on his own, wondering just what had happened. Things seemed functional but for how long?

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