EPI S: The curious case of Humpty Dumpty [Day 03

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EPI S: The curious case of Humpty Dumpty [Day 03 | 2330 hrs]

April 14, 2026, 06:18:49 PM

The privacy screen shimmered around the recovery bed with its annoying, dull buzz; barely noticeable, yet perceptible enough to set one’s teeth on edge if you let it.

Arven stood adjacent to the biobed with his attention directed away from the unconscious patient, his eyes narrowed in concentration as he reviewed the case file, scans, surgical results, and medical history simultaneously. A three-dimensional holoprojection shimmered in the air off to his left, various sections and biological systems highlighted in turn, each represented an injury or trauma previously noted and corrected – either by his hand or Vi-Nine’s – during the previous hour or so bout of surgery. The list of injuries had been long but distinguished; nothing the Doctor hadn’t seen before, with the caveat of this patient being Romulan adding a unique twist to things.

The patient (Arven couldn’t be bothered to remember his name – point of fact, he couldn’t really pronounce it correctly anyway) seemingly stumbled into the Vector 03 battle-sickbay some time ago, requested assistance, then promptly passed out mid-examination. Leux hadn’t been present at that initial diagnosis, but he could imagine what caused the loss of consciousness…

Simply put, it was difficult to remain lucid while your lungs filled with blood; not to mention the…other problems.

Violet eyes flicked to the small, transparent canister sitting upon the edge of the small desk beneath the monitors to his right, and the device held inside: some form of neurological agitator of Romulan design. A single spike of seemingly unremarkable metallic alloy, yet every few seconds it deployed a plethora of barbed mechandrites, so thin they were barely visible to the naked eye; these would slither along the victim’s nerve endings, embracing each neuroplastic pathway like a long-lost lover – and hijack the receptor/receivers at the cellular level. A rather ingenious, if altogether wholly immoral and unethical piece of bioengineering. Romulans seemed to ignore or blur the rules when it came to extracting intelligence… or simply enjoyed torture enough to not give a shit. The doctor frowned at it, then returned his attention to the screens with a shrug.

A minor groan issued from the patient; subdued, almost a snore. Leux turned his head a fraction, watching the Romulan reach up to the device that beeped and buzzed upon his forehead in his peripheral vision. The Doctor reached and patted the questing limb away. “No touchy,” he warned, then continued his study for another moment before turning his whole attention to the patient, giving the man time to come to terms with where he was and what had likely happened.

Arven let the device on his head finish its cycle, then peeled it off without ceremony with an audible rip of adhesive and skin.

“Usually this is the part where I ramble off the litany of injuries you sustained and inquire as to how you feel, if there is any lingering pain, et cetera,” he shrugged, “but something tells me you feel better than you did. The lingering neural damage will sting, no doubt, but that’s to be expected given the…well,” Leux frowned, lifting the canister off the desk for the Romulan to see. “I’m not sure what to call it. It was embedded in the greater vagus nerve in your neck, which in Romulans,” Leux gestured, “is the major pathway to autonomous controls – heart rate, digestion, breathing. Thankfully, it was dormant and thus easier to extract. Had it been active? Well…,” the Doctor sighed and set the thing back down. “You’d probably be dead.”

He let that sit for effect before continuing.

“I can deduce and understand why you waited to be seen,” Arven nodded, “given what we’ve all just gone through. I’d be remiss to remind you however, in the future, it would behoove you to get in here a little faster – especially with latent injuries that appear less serious than what they are. Internal hemorrhaging is nothing to ‘limp off’, unless you’re a Klingon with the corresponding secondary organs and really don’t give a shit.”

His spiel/lecture concluded, Arven shrugged. “Of course, that’s your prerogative. Anyway, would you like to hear something interesting I discovered, looking for a blood donor,” he asked, eyebrows lifted with the barest hint of excitement. Arven suddenly remembered the man probably wanted some clothes first and tossed a set of medical PJ’s over. “You’ll have to excuse Vi – she doesn’t take modesty into account while working,” he explained, then turned and called up the info he’d discovered while the man dressed.

Re: EPI S: The curious case of Humpty Dumpty [Day 03 | 1900 hrs]

Reply #1 – April 14, 2026, 07:34:15 PM

[ Specialist Hirek tr'Aimne | Sickbay | USS Theurgy ] @Dumedion

The hand moved before he was fully awake.

It found the device at his sternum and wrenched — or tried to. His fingers closed on it, knuckles whitening, and for three seconds he was not in sickbay at all but in a chair in the sub-levels of the Citadel with something very like this pressed against his chest by a man whose name he had taken pains to memorize for later use. The smell of his own scorched skin. The particular quality of silence that Tal'Shiar interrogation rooms were designed to produce, sound-dampened so that nothing you did in them carried anywhere useful.

Then Leux said something, and the smell went away.

Hirek released the device. Laid his hand flat on his sternum instead, feeling his own heartbeat, methodical and unimpressed with the last thirty seconds. He looked at the ceiling of sickbay for a moment, then at Leux.

"My apologies." His voice was rougher than he'd have preferred. "Reflex."

He looked down at the device properly now — the housing, the contact points, the particular geometry of the emitter array — and something moved across his expression that wasn't quite amusement and wasn't quite the other thing.

"A vel'drath stimulator." He said it the way a man identifies handwriting he recognizes as his own on a document he didn't write. "The design is mine. Or was, originally." He sighed, shaking his head. "I developed the prototype approximately eleven years ago, after a close acquaintance with a Breen energy dampener during what I can only describe as an inadvisable diplomatic encounter. The experience left my cardiac and peripheral nerve function in a state that my own people's medicine addressed with considerably less elegance than I thought the problem deserved." The corner of his mouth moved. "I was bedridden. I had time to think. The device I eventually built was intended to support heart and nerve function during recovery from acute systemic trauma — a tool for healing, with several secondary applications I found personally interesting."

He looked back at the ceiling.

"I am not surprised the Tal'Shiar adapted it. They have been attempting to recruit me since before I had anything worth recruiting. Every refusal cost someone I cared about something they could not afford to lose. It became something of a motivating factor in my decision to kill as many of their operatives as opportunity permitted. Which is what led me here." He stopped, realizing the medicine the doctor had given him and loosened his tongue far more than normal and he'd just said more to this man of acquaintance of five minutes than he normally said to better "friends." "Forgive me." He said it without particular self-flagellation, the way a man corrects a navigational error. "You are the chief medical officer of a department that is, from what I understand, currently held together with whatever the Theurgy equivalent of twine and optimism is. My history with the Tal'Shiar is not a pressing concern in your professional hierarchy."

He sat up slowly, accepting the offered pyjamas with a glance that suggested he found them faintly absurd but was willing to concede the point. He pulled them on without drama.

"I can help." He said it simply, as a fact being reported rather than an offer requiring consideration. "I hold cross-training in field medicine and biochemical trauma response — useful if not formally credentialed by Federation standards. The science department has granted me latitude to pursue certain experiments, but the scheduling is flexible." He settled the collar with one hand. "I cannot promise consistency, but I can promise competence, and I suspect at the moment one of those is more available in your department than the other."

He raised an eyebrow at whatever Leux had said next — the offer, the question, the thing Hirek hadn't quite caught in the residue of adrenaline still working its way out of his system.

"Proceed," he said. "I have always been a curious sort. It is, in fact, at the core of most of my documented problems."

Re: EPI S: The curious case of Humpty Dumpty [Day 03 | 2330 hrs]

Reply #2 – April 15, 2026, 09:38:41 PM

Arven turned to glance over his shoulder at the Romulan – Perek? Jihjek? – whatever his name was, after a reasonable amount of time had passed to ensure the man had at least put some pants on. If the man had indeed designed the torture device, that clearly spoke of useful competence; Arven chose to dump the emotional attachment described as it struck too close to home with his own history with Cardassians. Above all, it was the way he offered to help that did it, really; there was a simple confidence in the Romulan’s tone that grabbed the Doctor’s attention. Unfortunately, upon registering the yellow/greenish PJ's, (the color reminded Leux of the gooey mucus he'd irrigated out of one of the pilots not long ago, or – more accurately – the runny bowel movements of a human newborn), Arven couldn’t quite focus on much else for a moment.

“Note to self, burn those,” Arven deadpanned, "every single one, then pick a new color," then cleared his throat to compose himself before returning his attention back to the matter at hand. “No one is stopping you from getting your hands dirty – just find the head nurse for the shift and do what they tell you, if you want to help with the day-to-day. As it happens, I have a case I believe your expertise could prove useful. But first,” he gestured to the screens with a hand and made room for the Romulan to approach.

“You might not be aware, but the number of Romulans currently on board have dwindled; with our replicators damaged, our ability to synthesize plasma is limited until repairs can be made – hence my search for a suitable blood donor. Unfortunately, you seem to have a more rare type,” Arven shrugged, “so try not to let anyone poke holes in you for the next week. Anyway, by sheer luck, or…fate, I don’t know, I found this.”

Leux nodded to the screens, which displayed two sets of DNA in a rotating double helix; one belonged to the Romulan, and the other was human – minus a pair of identical genes that matched perfectly in both strands.

“It appears you have a long lost relation on board; probably five or six generations removed, I’d guess,” Leux shrugged again.

“Curious, isnt it,” he folded his arms, thinking. Cross-species hybridization was hardly new, yet was still exceptionally rare – statistically speaking. “By all means, feel free to cross-check the analysis if you like. I’d rather be safe than sorry before I give the other party the news.”

Re: EPI S: The curious case of Humpty Dumpty [Day 03 | 2330 hrs]

Reply #3 – April 16, 2026, 08:24:58 PM

[ Hirek tr'Aimne | Main Sickbay | Recovery Ward | Deck 11 | Vector 2 | USS Theurgy ] @Dumedion

"They are," Hirek agreed, looking down at himself with the expression of a man who has accepted an unfortunate reality, "a precise shade of something I have had occasion to irrigate from living tissue and would strongly prefer not to be reminded of while wearing." He paused. "Burn them. I endorse this entirely."

He moved to the head nurse instruction with a single nod that conveyed both comprehension and mild personal reservation.

"I will note that my interpersonal skills are — functional, in the way that a tool with a hairline fracture is functional. Adequate to purpose under normal conditions." He considered this characterization. "A recently acquired...friend of mine, once told me that I should put on my big boy panties and play well with others." His mouth curved. "I have found this framework more applicable than I would have predicted. When the situation warrants, I am capable of deploying it."

He turned to the screen.

The double helix rotated slowly. He leaned in, cataloguing — the Romulan strand first, his own, familiar enough in the abstract though he'd never had particular cause to study it at this resolution. Then the human strand, and the matched pair of genes sitting in both sequences like two people who had arrived at a party from opposite ends of the city and found themselves standing next to each other at the drinks table.

He noted the gender of the donor. He was quiet for a moment.

"Ah," Hirek said.

It was a small sound, but it carried the weight of a man rapidly running probability calculations and arriving at a conclusion he found simultaneously unsurprising and cosmically ill-mannered. The gods of his islands had always had a pronounced sense of humor. He had learned to recognize their fingerprints. He had a suspicion on who it might because it would be just his luck, his family's luck in fact, if it was who he now presumed it to be.

He straightened. "There are, as you note, not many Romulan donors aboard in any condition to be useful. I will make the verification a priority." He turned from the screen and looked at Leux directly. "The case you mentioned. Tell me about it."

Re: EPI S: The curious case of Humpty Dumpty [Day 03 | 2330 hrs]

Reply #4 – April 22, 2026, 10:36:16 PM

While the Romulan spoke, Arven had already busied himself with another PaDD, updating the patient’s file for upload into the ship's archive. If he had any concerns for Hirek's social skills (or lack thereof), the Doctor’s expression didn’t show it; truth be told, he was only half listening anyway, but registered enough to get the jist.

Arven inhaled deep through his nose, then lifted his eyes from the PaDD in a moments consideration.

“Well,” he sighed the word out, brows bouncing with his shoulders, “when in doubt, just let the nurses do the talking. I try to avoid interaction with patients,” he admitted, then returned to typing on the PaDD, “mostly because they ask too many dumb questions.”

Whatever the Romulan’s reaction was to that was lost on the Doctor as he fired off a quick message to the Vulpinian, Ms. Feynri:

Meet me in Biolab 2 ASAP, preferably; if unable, then I require audible permission from you to disclose medical information to a non-Federation third party as well as written consent form 91b submitted within the next 24 hours. And no, I don’t know where that form is – only that it exists, and I need it to treat you sooner rather than later. Maybe, it read.

With that done, Leux deactivated the privacy screen around the biobed station just as the Romulan inquired about the case. Arven nodded, meeting his eyes briefly.

“Be happy to, soon as I attain the patient’s consent,” he gestured to the side with a hand. “Follow me for now. I’ll show you what I can while we wait for her,” he added, then set off for the lab.

Nurse Kitty was waiting directly in his path however, forcing him to halt with a flinch; she looked even more haggard than Arven felt.

“Stim dosage – increase or no, make a decision,” she demanded.

Arven sighed and rubbed his unshaven jaw. He’d dodged this issue for as long as he could; there was just too much to do and not enough people to do it – sleep had become a luxury, and would likely remain one for the next several days.

“Up the dose to eight hours, but keep the cycle the same,” he sighed out, “mandatory 24 hour come-down. Make that known,” he told her.

“FAB guys are asking for half that time,” Kitty reminded him.

“I don’t care. Its my call,” Leux deadpanned, then walked around her as she spun off towards main reception.

“That,” he jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the retreating blonde, speaking over his shoulder to the Romulan, “is one of the lead nurses you’ll be wanting to talk to about helping. If you cant find them, just ask reception, or anyone around.”

It wasn’t a long walk to the lab. Arven spent the rest of it trying not to dwell on the potential consequences of authorizing even more stimmed-up crewmembers to work even longer shifts; it was a short-term solution, he knew it, Cross knew it. He only hoped it didn’t come back to bite them all.

As they entered the lab, Leux gestured to a chair then grabbed a rotating stool for himself, sliding it over to the multi-screened workstation before seating himself with a grunt. He wasted no time, fingers tapping away; the data on the screens – several anatomical scans, biochemical compounds, DNA sequences, neurological mapping and activity scans, and a plethora of on-going simulations – sequentially redacted all personal information. What little remained visible was utterly useless out of context, only to be revealed in full once the Vulpinian arrived and gave the go ahead.

The Doctor frowned at the prospect of ‘small talk’ while they waited, but was too tired to sit quiet; he’d probably fall sleep otherwise. And so, Arven spun to face the Romulan once he had finished, tired curiosity writ on his features.

“You didn’t seem to share my incredulous reaction back there,” he thumbed towards the ward, brows raised. “I thought Romulans were more animated than your Vulcan cousins,” he wondered aloud.

Re: EPI S: The curious case of Humpty Dumpty [Day 03 | 2330 hrs]

Reply #5 – May 03, 2026, 05:21:23 PM

[ Specialist Hirek tr'Aimne | Main Sickbay | Biolab 2 | Deck 11 | Vector 2 | USS Theurgy ] @Dumedion

He followed at an unhurried pace, watching.

The nurse — Kitty, apparently — had intercepted Leux with a no-nonsense energy likely developed from working directly with Leux. Hirek observed the exchange with the neutral attention he gave most things: the doctor's jaw working, the calculation behind the eyes, the decision arriving not because the problem had resolved itself but because deferring it further cost more than deciding. The answer was delivered, the nurse dispatched, and Leux moved on without breaking stride.

Hirek fell into step behind him and said nothing, though something shifted briefly in his expression. He had told Leux, not ten minutes ago, that his own interpersonal skills were functional at best and required deliberate effort to deploy. He was now watching a man who communicated with his nursing staff primarily through sighs and the strategic deployment of "I don't care" tell him about the importance of finding the head nurse to coordinate with. It wasn't often that he came across someone with worse interpersonal skills than his own. Granted, what made his skills "bad" was a far cry different than, say, Leux, or a certain pilot who would remain unmentioned though clearly pictured and with scant clothing on in his mind's eye.

He did not share this observation as they entered the lab. The lab was utilitarian in the way that working spaces belonging to competent people always were — organized according to a logic entirely legible to its owner and nobody else. Hirek settled into the chair with the careful deliberateness of a man whose body had recently reminded him it was not indestructible, and watched Leux's fingers move across the console, redacting, sequencing, arranging the data into what could be shown and what had to wait.

Then Leux spun to face him with the question, and Hirek looked at him for a moment before answering.

"Animated." He repeated the word thoughtfully, as though testing its accuracy. "When you spend the better part of your life with an organization of considerable institutional patience and zero ethical restraint tracking your professional output, attending your family gatherings, and making note of everyone you've ever cared about as potential leverage — you learn fairly quickly that a genuine emotional response is a resource." He settled back fractionally. "Spent in the wrong room, in front of the wrong person, it costs someone else something they cannot get back. I have paid that tuition more than once. I stopped being generous with it."

He looked at the redacted screens without really seeing them.

"What I am better at — what most Romulans become better at, whether they choose to or not — is giving a room what it expects. The appropriate register. The correct amount of warmth or gravity or indignation. It is not deception, precisely." He paused. "It is more that the performance and the reality have simply been separated for long enough that one no longer assumes the other is present. Whether that changes with this new faction and its stated ambitions, I genuinely do not know. Culture is not legislation. You can rewrite the charter without rewriting what three centuries of institutional paranoia has built into the people."

He glanced at Leux.

"We keep secret names. Every Romulan. Not the name on the record, not even the name a spouse uses — a name that goes no further than the self, and sometimes not even to a spouse unless you are certain, at whatever level certainty actually reaches in a person, that the telling carries no risk." The corner of his mouth moved. "To an outsider, it is probably the most pointlessly guarded piece of information imaginable. To us, it is the part of yourself that your deepest motivations come from. The root of the thing, before the performance starts."

He raised his eyebrows.

"As for working register — what would you prefer from a collaborator on this case? I can manage peppy if the situation truly demands it, though I make no guarantees about the structural integrity of peppy under sustained clinical conditions." He smirked. "The sardonic humor, I should warn you, is essentially load-bearing at this point. Non-negotiable."

The door opened. Hirek turned. Ehfva Feynri stepped into the lab, and his expression shifted into something that was, for him, relatively warm — the particular quality of recognition he reserved for people he had stood next to while things were going badly and who had acquitted themselves well in the process.

"Ms. Feynri." He inclined his head. "I see you've managed to get the blood out of your fur since we last spoke. An improvement, though I admit the previous look had a certain — authority to it." The corner of his mouth curved. "Well done, on both counts."

He left it at that and turned his attention back to Leux, ready to proceed.

Re: EPI S: The curious case of Humpty Dumpty [Day 03 | 2330 hrs]

Reply #6 – May 09, 2026, 09:47:14 PM

Arven leaned into the Romulan’s response, almost fascinated; well, fascinated wasn’t exactly the right term – he had proposed the question out of idle curiosity, using it to fill the awkward silence that reigned while they waited – a risky endeavor, where most patients were concerned. While he noted the carefully masked twitches of physical discomfort in the Romulan’s movements (which was to be expected, of course), Leux hadn’t expected such a clearly stated justification in his response. Perhaps refreshing was a better term to use; yes - Arven found his honest use of dishonesty (however the Romulan chose to spin the phrase), refreshing.

Everyone lies, the doctor shrugged, brows bouncing a little with the movement. Some are better at it than others. His mind had already formulated a response, yet their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Ehfva Feynri, the Vulpinian of the hour, as it were.

Arven moved as soon as he saw her, face blanked of all amusement in an instant: she’d shuffled into the room, fanged maw clenched, clearly in agony. Her body, caught between physical forms (thanks to the meddling of unethical, arrogant beings that Arven would love to beat senselessly for what they had done) had continued to slowly morph - unhinged and uncontrolled - into an amalgamation of all three forms.

And it was slowly killing her.

A hand reached to steady Ehfva as he easily took her weight. “Steady,” he nodded to the chair, guiding her there. He didn’t need to scan her to see the obvious. “Your condition is deteriorating faster than I expected,” he admitted quietly, his tone dry yet clearly apologetic.

Once he had her seated – as comfortably as she was able – Leux returned his tired eyes to Hirek before moving back to the array of display screens. He pulled a hypo from a shelf, activated it by rote without looking, then broke eye contact to program it as he spoke.

“I’m giving you a mix of synthetic herbal compounds you should be familiar with; alliprous root, conferatii copus, extract of pyre-weed. These are used to postpone the pain of uninitiated kits, I believe,” he told Ehfva. The Vulpinian blinked at him slowly, then nodded with a faint whine. Arven returned the gesture, then pressed the device to her outstretched arm gently. “I noticed you two know each other – does that mean you trust him enough to help with your treatment? I need your consent to show him everything.”

Again, the Vulpinian blinked, then nodded, her muzzle wrinkled with effort.

“Let’s get to it then,” he sighed quietly, then glanced at the Romulan before moving to the cluster of display screens, fingers moving as he spoke. “Here’s the thing, Mr. tr’Aimne,” the Doctor’s tone returned to his dry, matter-of-fact bluntness.

“This isn’t Frost’ department; while I’ll freely admit the good Doctor possesses a certain...natural arrogance that could easily be taken advantage of – I’m not about to offer you the same leeway. No one operates solo here; we work as a team, supervised, checked and rechecked, verified by peer review and adhered to protocol. This isn’t personal, mind. I don’t know you. I haven’t read anything you’ve published - if you’ve published anything at all - I’ve never seen you work; I don’t even know if you’re capable or completely full of shit,” he stopped, turned, and met the Romulan’s eyes evenly. “But I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt and test the theory.”

He let that sit.

“As far as what register I expect from you – I thought it obvious, but I will certainly clarify: I expect authenticity. Not only for me,” Arven shook his head, and jabbed a thumb over his shoulder to the ward. “For the staff, and especially for my patients. Gaslighting will not be tolerated. Deception will not be tolerated. If you can’t step up to that plate, for whatever reason, I suggest you do as I mentioned earlier; let the nurses do the talking, or limit your activities here accordingly. Authenticity matters here,” he paused, hesitating; he didn’t have time nor the right to lecture the man. His eyes broke away, returning to the screens with a sigh of resignation. “Look, bottom line: we all have our reasons for being the way we are. Intent and action matter here more than interpersonal skills; I’m a perfect exemplar of that fact. Keep all this in mind while you offer assistance, and we’ll get along swimmingly,” Leux concluded.

On the screens, Ehfva’s medical case lay unredacted; the brutality of the Savi writ clearly upon the various scans – how they had savaged the Vulpinian’s ability to cleanly and controllably shift forms by surgically removing the lupercalis potestas majoris gland from the base of her skull, nestled deep in between the rear quarter lobes of her brain. Various treatment simulations played out alongside, each resulting in various degrees of success before ultimately failing in agonizing death.

Leux proceeded to brief them both without further ado - his tone moderated and clinical - stating facts; known traumas, condition, pain levels, vital statistics, responses to pain management and treatments thus far. He dictated the unfortunate death of Ensign Sashenka Kreshkova, whom the Savi had implanted with Ehfva’s stolen morphogenic control cluster; details were spared, for obvious reasons – yet the outcome was not. Any hope of salvaging the stolen neurological tissue was hopeless, as it had already become contaminated beyond recourse by foreign DNA. He moved on to the most hopeful of treatment simulations: a series of theoretical methods of neuro-pheromonic control, utilizing the proper combination of RNA/DNA reciver/transmitters to trigger a form shift. Each one depended on completely untested and unverified levels of biogenetic manipulation, keyed to every individual cell in the patient’s body.

“That,” Arven sighed at the Romulan in conclusion, “is where, I hope, you come in.”

It felt like he had talked non-stop for at least an hour before he ran out of words. Arven moved and gestured for the Romulan to approach the screens while he tended to Ehfva, taking a clean towel to her maw where it dripped red-tinted saliva. “I can take you to the ward, if you prefer. You needn’t sit here in agony.”

He let the Romulan review in the silence that lingered, waiting with a patience his bone tired body didn't truly feel. He blinked then, remembering Hirek's obvious mobility discomfort. The Doctor reached around Ehfva and secured another hypo, programmed it, then reached out and offered it to the man.

"Romotrin, 200 mg dose. Take a hit every four hours, as needed. I'd offer you something stronger, but I'd hate for you to get loopy and let loose your secret identity."

Re: EPI S: The curious case of Humpty Dumpty [Day 03 | 2330 hrs]

Reply #7 – May 11, 2026, 03:40:52 AM

[ Ehfva Feynri | Main Sickbay | Biolab 2 | Deck 11 | Vector 2 | USS Theurgy ] @Dumedion

She had managed rounds for two hours. The recovery ward first, then surgical overflow. Vitals, pain management, and logged observations. She had kept moving, and the shift had stayed manageable — a low, involuntary tension across her misshapen shoulders and claw-hands that she could work around if she didn't push it. Then she couldn't work around it anymore.

The supply closet was the nearest door with a lock. She'd sat on the floor with her back against the shelving and ran the breathing patterns from her kit years, the ones the elders used for initiates who couldn't yet trust their own bodies to stay in one form. She'd just started a healing chant, sung only in her mind for the pain trying to use her vocal cords brought her, when Leux's message came through. She read it twice. Then she got up, with great effort.

She was panting by the time she arrived. The chair wasn't comfortable. Nothing was comfortable. Her body was neither fully furred nor fully flesh at the moment, and whatever it was in between did not sit easily in standard-issue furniture or anything else. She let Leux take her weight at the door without argument — speech cost too much right now, the vocal cords being, like the rest of her, partially one thing and partially another — and let him guide her to the seat.

She nodded at the herbs. Nodded once at Hirek — I know him, yes, that is enough, continue — and that was all she had. The hypo pressed to her arm. She breathed. Kept her hands flat on her thighs and breathed.

Leux moved to the screens and began talking. She closed her eyes. His voice was dry and clinical, and he did not soften any of it, which was easier to track than kindness would have been. When he offered her the ward, she opened her eyes and shook her head. The beds were for critical cases. She knew what was happening in this room, and she intended to remain present for it, in the chair, for as long as her body permitted. She settled back and let them work.

[ Specialist Hirek tr'Aimne | Main Sickbay | Biolab 2 | Deck 11 | Vector 2 | USS Theurgy ]

He listened to Leux's ground rules without expression.

When the doctor finished, Hirek said: "I would observe that the history of medicine and the history of science, while frequently cited together, are not the same history. Scientific breakthroughs have a tendency to occur in isolation — one person, an unauthorized problem, materials redirected from requisition orders that no one examines too closely. The vel'drath stimulator is a serviceable example. Medicine has never had that luxury. Medicine requires a living subject, and a living subject requires someone willing to act on incomplete information inside another person's body. That has always required a particular kind of arrogance. The useful kind, when the alternative is waiting for the literature to reach a conclusion while the patient does not." He held Leux's gaze. "You need not concern yourself with my conduct here. I know where I am. I have, on more than one occasion, been the subject rather than the one holding the instrument. It provides clarity regarding what is owed in that direction."

He turned back to the screens. Leux talked. Hirek read. He cross-referenced the briefing against the scan data as it came — the removal of the lupercalis potestas majoris, the contaminated tissue, the consistent failure point across every simulation — and said nothing. When Leux offered Ehfva the ward, Hirek waited. She shook her head, once. He returned his attention to the screen. He took the hypo from Leux without looking at it, pressed it to his neck by feel, and set it on the edge of the console. His eyes did not leave the screen.

"The simulations fail at the same point. The trigger mechanism." He pulled up the strongest of the RNA/DNA transmission sequences. "You need a signal precise enough to activate the correct receiver/transmitter combination for each distinct form, from something permanent, connected to neurological input that isn't fully predictable. You now have a device in your recovery ward built to do something structurally similar. For a considerably less agreeable purpose, but the architecture is the same." He turned. "A vel'drath stimulator, reprogrammed. The mechandrite array can be calibrated to target specific receptor sequences rather than disrupting them. Mapped to the neural pathways that govern each form shift and connected to the relevant control network, it functions as a permanent implant. A prosthetic trigger." He glanced at Ehfva, then back at the screen. "Surgical placement would need to be precise. Calibration would be specific to her neurological profile, and the reprogramming is not trivial. But unlike your simulations, it does not require rebuilding what was taken. It works around the absence."

Re: EPI S: The curious case of Humpty Dumpty [Day 03 | 2330 hrs]

Reply #8 – May 13, 2026, 12:14:09 AM

Arven laid a gentle, reassuring hand on Ehfva's misshapen shoulder – carefully, so as not to cause her further discomfort – then turned his attention to the Romulan; Hirek's assessment was met with a brief nod of understanding, initially. The Doctor’s posture shifted at the Romulan’s proposed solution, however: nothing dramatic – a slight crease formed above his nose as Leux folded his arms in silence. Violet eyes bounced rapidly from screen to screen, then settled on the Romulan, searching his expressionless face, his eyes.

What he found there was only what the Romulan had been told was expected of him: authenticity.

The Doctor’s mind raced; risk analysis, potential consequences, known procedures, potential implantation sites, nominal cycle limitations, subsequent follow-up treatments for various outcomes…

Stop, Arven’s jaw clenched.

Ehfva’s labored breaths, punctuated by every tick and spasm of her agony-wracked body, filled his ears. Arven was well aware how most people assumed he didn’t concern himself with much regarding his patients, based off his general attitude towards people; that assumption couldn’t be farther from the truth – he cared a great deal – yet didn’t give a shit what people thought about him personally. He was a Doctor; not a friend, or anything else. Emotional connection invited bias, clouded empirical judgement, and limited his ability to remain objective.

And yet...

Arven had learned a great deal about Ehfva’s species in his research; more than was clinically needed, perhaps. The ability to form shift held far more importance than merely a biological processes of impossible evolution; it impacted every facet of their culture – physically, psychologically, spiritually. It regulated emotion, reproduction, physical growth cycles…

It was who they were…and the Savi ripped that away from her.

And I can’t give it back. Not as it was…not even close, Arven admitted, teeth clenched in frustrated anger. He’s right, the Doctor’s eyes deliberately avoided the Romulan’s, everything ends in mutilation or death without some form of control.

Behind him, a high pitched, barely audible whine joined the chorus of Ehfva’s painful, ragged breaths.

Make the call, now, the Doctor told himself with a subdued sigh.

His arms unfolded as he turned. Tired, violet eyes met Ehfva’s, as he knelt to her level. There were so many ways to say what needed to be said; to tell her everything he had tried had failed, or would ensure she faced a limited lifetime of continual suffering. Normally he wouldn’t have bothered hesitating – not because he enjoyed giving people bad news – but because it was his job to inform his patients.

Leux couldn’t help but notice the way her misshapen hands had cramped into knotted clubs, or that one of Ehfva’s eyes had altered; the iris had swollen in size, the sclera barely visible – the color had shifted to almost pitch black, flecked with gold. His voice dropped to a whisper of cracked urgency mixed with raw sympathy; there was no hope of holding it back in the face of what he knew and the pain in her eyes.

“Hold on, okay,” asked her, face twitching with barely concealed emotion. “Nothing I tried worked. This just might. We’ll work as fast as we can.”

His chin dipped, then he stood.

Composed himself.

“Neurological mapping wont be completely reliable given the morphological flux in progress, but we can compensate for that with a fresh scan upload upon implantation,” Leux spoke as he moved with purpose to the haptic interface in front of the holoprojector, adjacent to the screen display. His fingers activated the console with deft movements, altering the projection of Ehfva’s neurological system into an overlay of three-dimensional imagery. “I’ll get started threading her system structure with archival shift data; that should give us at a baseline for connective tissue variance. What else do you need from me?”

While he spoke, a baseball-sized scanner detached itself from a docking port near the projector to hover up and down along Ehfva’s body where she sat; it droned softly, feeding continuously updated scans into the imagery Arven manipulated with swipes of his fingers; isolating nerve clusters, navigating neurological pathways – zooming deep within the wrinkled mass of her brain.

All of it, down to the individual synaptic pathways between neurons, was slowly changing, only to revert back, then repeat again; he dove deeper - into the deepest, oldest sections. “Here,” he circled an area at the apex of Ehfva’s brainstem, “this hippocampus-like structure appears stable for now; with direct connections to hind-functions and the greater neocortex,” Arven announced, but when he looked over his shoulder, the Romulan was gone.

“What the fuck,” the Doctor sighed.

Re: EPI S: The curious case of Humpty Dumpty [Day 03 | 2330 hrs]

Reply #9 – May 13, 2026, 08:51:10 PM

[ Ehfva Feynri | Main Sickbay | Biolab 2 | Deck 11 | Vector 2 | USS Theurgy ] @Dumedion

She followed what Hirek was saying. The mechandrite array. Receptor sequences. Prosthetic trigger. Her mind was slower than usual — the pain had a way of narrowing things down to immediate sensation and not much else — but she tracked the shape of it well enough. A reprogrammed version of the device that had been used to hurt Hirek, now used to help her. She noted the irony without dwelling on it.

What she dwelt on was the implant itself. For the rest of her existence, her ability to shift would depend on the accuracy of a device. On its programming remaining intact. On no one tampering with it, damaging it, removing it. Every shift, for the rest of her life, mediated by something external, something that could fail. The thought sat in her chest like a stone.

Then her body reminded her, as it had been reminding her for days now, what the alternative felt like. Every muscle group in a constant argument with every other muscle group. Her hands neither paw nor hand but something unworkable in between. The sounds she made when she tried to speak. The supply closet floor.

She would take the implant.

When Arven turned and began talking about neurological mapping, Ehfva straightened as much as she was able and focused. The words were moving fast and precise and she needed to contribute one thing before the moment passed. She pulled air into her lungs, worked her throat, and pushed.

"Cay — " she stopped. Tried again. "Cay-u-ga." The word came out warped at the edges but recognizable. She held up a hand, one finger, asking him to wait, and forced the second word through. "Sscans."

She exhaled and let her hand drop, hoping it was enough. Standard procedure for any Vulpinian serving in the Federation or bonded to a Federation member — all four forms in her case, documented in full, for exactly this kind of situation. The Cayuga would have them on file. All of them.

[ Specialist Hirek tr'Aimne | Main Sickbay | Biolab 2 | Deck 11 | Vector 2 | USS Theurgy ]

When Leux agreed, Hirek was already ahead of him.

He had known the doctor would agree before the words were out. The simulations had exhausted every other direction. Ehfva was dying — not quickly, not cleanly, but dying in a way that left no room for continued deliberation. The stimulator was the only remaining variable worth testing, which meant the time being spent discussing it was time better spent retrieving it.

He stood, walked out of the lab, and said nothing to either of them. The nearest nurse looked up when he approached. He described the device — the housing dimensions, the contact configuration, the canister it had been stored in — and watched her face move from confusion to recognition. She led him to a row of secured lockers along the far wall, keyed in a code, and a drawer slid out. The canister was where Leux had left it.

Hirek picked it up. Turned to go. He was three steps away when he remembered what Leux had told him, earlier, about the nurses. He stopped.

"Thank you," he said over his shoulder and kept walking.

He returned to the lab, set the canister on the nearest clear workstation, and looked at Leux.

"I don't have unrestricted access to the ship's systems yet. You'll need to unlock a workstation with your credentials before I can begin the reprogramming." He pulled up the stool and sat. "Also — Federation starships. Do they operate on a shared medical database, or is each vessel's records isolated? I don't know how your network architecture functions at the individual ship level." He looked up at Ehfva, then back at Leux, and shrugged at whatever the doctor's expression was doing. "She mentioned her mate served on the Cayuga. If those records are accessible, they would give us a reliable pre-injury baseline for the neurological mapping." He looked back at the canister. "It seemed worth asking before we proceed without them."

Re: EPI S: The curious case of Humpty Dumpty [Day 03 | 2330 hrs]

Reply #10 – May 19, 2026, 09:25:14 PM

Of course, Arven mentally kicked himself; if not for Ehfva’s painful vocalization of what should have been obvious to him – they'd have wasted precious hours trying to program the implant using less than accurate data. Yes, he was tired – but that mistake could have been disastrous.

Hirek decided to reappear just then, which broke the Doctor’s momentary bout of self-criticism; Arven's eyes darted from the Romulan’s to the container that held the stimulator and back – blinking with confusion before his irritation-flushed mind caught up. A spotted hand reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose then swipe down Arven’s face as he took a deep breath to steady himself, then nodded.

“Thea, kindly grant full temporary lab access to Mr. tr’Aimne as a proximity user to myself under direct supervision,” Leux spoke to the air as he turned back towards the holoprojector. “Authorization: Leux, acting CMO, Two-Six Echo Sierra.”

“Access granted within designated parameters,” a feminine, disembodied voice announced almost instantly.

“Thank you for the reminder,” Leux continued, directed at Ehfva in a quieter, calmer tone. “You might have just saved your own life.” As the workstation directly in front of Hirek beeped, followed by a chorus of similar alerts from all the other equipment in the lab, the Doctor’s fingers danced across the LCARs display.

He addressed the Romulan’s ignorance of Federation data-sharing while accessing the stored medical files synced from the Cayuga:

“Under normal circumstances, every ship holds its own internal database which is constantly uploaded in backups to Command; these can also be shared ship to ship, in the event that contact is lost with Command. Theurgy severed that link after she fled Earth for obvious reasons; but we can still sync with friendly ships.” He wondered, briefly, when Thea would reestablish contact with Starfleet HQ, as a series of files popped into view: all four distinct shifts – complete full body biological scans.

Arven snapped his fingers. “Got them,” he clapped, then set about stripping each set down for data integration into the three dimensional holographic imagery. The tempo of his fingers taps increased, violet eyes narrowed in focus.

“I want a full analysis of the device before implantation; blueprints, diagnostics, everything,” Arven announced suddenly, addressing Hirek while his attention remained on the screens. “We’ll run a full simulation once the device is reprogrammed,” he paused, head lifted fractionally. “Thea, can you assist?”

“Of course,” the ship’s AI intoned. “Analyzing,” a pause. “This device is not intended to treat or diagnose any medical condition that I’m aware of, Doctor.”

Arven forced himself not to sigh out loud. “We’re improvising, Thea,” he said instead.

“I see. Standing by,” Thea replied evenly.

After another moment, Arven tapped all four images and flicked his fingers to the projector using the haptic interface; then observed as each one melded into complete biological synchronization with the real-time upload image. He took a breath, then flicked off layers one by one, until only Ehfva’s neurological core remained. It looked monstrous, a brain linked to too many structures – too many pathways – like the twisted, overgrown roots of an ancient tree.

“Don’t see that everyday,” Arven muttered, equal parts amazed and concerned. He turned to Hirek then. “The specific pheromone keys for each shift are color-coded in the morphological matrix; I cracked them —” he stopped once he realized the Romulan had already accessed the biochemical compounds and had begun coding them into the neurological output transmitters of the device.

The Doctor cleared his throat with a shrug, then moved to observe the Romulan's handiwork. "Not used to working with others, are you," he wondered aloud, without really meaning to.

Re: EPI S: The curious case of Humpty Dumpty [Day 03 | 2330 hrs]

Reply #11 – June 01, 2026, 09:18:04 PM

[ Specialist Hirek tr'Aimne | Main Sickbay | Biolab 2 | Deck 11 | Vector 2 | USS Theurgy ] @Dumedion

He wasn't entirely listening. He was aware of Leux talking — the cadence of it, the shape of the sentences, the technical back-and-forth with Thea. He caught enough of it to know he didn't need the rest. The workstation was unlocked. The canister was open. The device sat on the clean surface in front of him like a thing waiting to be finished properly, which, in Hirek's view, it was.

He turned it over in his hands once, assessed the casing, and got to work.

The mechandrite array first. The deployment mechanism had to be re-keyed at the base level — the trigger architecture was designed to find and disrupt, and before anything else could be altered, that impulse had to be removed the way you removed a hook from a line before re-threading it for a different catch. He worked with a tool from the kit on the counter, something Federation-issue and adequate for the purpose, and kept most of his attention on the interior contact matrix, where the reprogramming would either hold or it wouldn't.

Leux was looking over his shoulder. He could feel it the way you feel a change in wind on water. Hirek didn't look up.

"Only child," he said, by way of explanation. His voice was even, unhurried, pitched not to interrupt his own concentration. "My parents tried for more. But by that time, my mother had already crossed the wrong Tal'Shiar operative and was sterilized." He paused, isolating the first of the color-coded pheromone markers — the same markers Leux had cracked and that he had noticed on the biochemical display before either of them had finished discussing it. He began threading the first sequence into the output transmitter array, slowly, the way you worked a net when the mesh was fine and the knots had to hold. "I learned young to keep myself company. I had the island, the ocean, the lab my parents kept. I did not require assistance to find something to do with the hours." A quiet moment, focused entirely on the threading. The marker seated. "This translated, as these things tend to, into later habits. Brewing and blending the ales our islands are famed for, without a by your leave from a committee." The corner of his mouth moved. "The same applies here, generally."

He began on the second marker. This one was more complex — the layering had to account for variance in the shift pathway, which meant the thread had to run at an angle through the matrix rather than straight, and if he pulled it wrong the sequence would snarl. He worked slower. His breathing steadied.

"I don't pretend to omniscience. My suppositions have gaps." He said it without particular humility, the way a man reports a fact about the weather. "There are problems that require someone else in the room, and I recognize them when I encounter them. This ship is full of people who know things I don't, and I have already found that more useful than I expected." He paused, working. "But there is a category of problem — not all problems, not even most of them, perhaps, but a recognizable category — where I have the knowledge, the access, and the means, and the only thing standing between the beginning and the completion is the ritual of asking permission. I find that particular ritual exhausting. So I skip it."

The second marker seated. He moved to the third.

"I should note," he said, after a silence that had contained several minutes of precise, unbroken concentration, "that I am aware of what this device was doing to me, six hours ago." He did not say it for sympathy. His voice was the same measured register it had been since he sat down. "And I am equally aware that Feynri is sitting behind us in a state that the available literature describes as terminal without intervention." He looked at the array for a moment, at the fine lines of reconfigured architecture beginning to take the shape of something that would help rather than destroy. "I don't feel anything so uncomplicated as delight about the conditions that have put this back in my hands." He pulled the third thread through and tested the tension, gently, as a fisherman tests a new knot against the pull of the current. It held. "But I would be performing a variety of dishonesty I find genuinely distasteful if I claimed I wasn't enjoying the work."

He kept his eyes on the device and said nothing further, his hands steady, the threading continuing with the patience of a man who had once built boats from raw wood and understood that the quality of the finished thing depended entirely on what you did not rush.

Re: EPI S: The curious case of Humpty Dumpty [Day 03 | 2330 hrs]

Reply #12 – June 07, 2026, 09:00:10 PM

There was something oddly – perhaps intentionally – difficult to follow about the Romulan’s speech patterns; the more Arven listened, the more he found himself struggling to passively comprehend what the man said. Perhaps that was the point; growing up on Earth with humans, Leux had grown accustomed to the easily recognizable way most of them went about communicating. Overall, most tended to be direct, polite, yet prone to emotional flavoring and usually projected far more with their bodies than whatever words they were trying to say. Over time, Arven picked up their habit for “passive” listening, too. By comparison, Hirek’s choice of words and sentence structure forced Arven to actively pay attention, which the Doctor found both an irritating and surprisingly novel experience.

Now wasn’t really the time to dwell on such nuances, however.

Recognizing when someone had chosen to turn their full attention and concentration away from conversation and into the task at hand, Arven nodded and moved on from over the Romulan’s shoulder. Questions and minutiae could come later; they both had work to do.

While Hirek threaded the programmed receptors into the device’s mechandrite array, Leux prepped the casing itself for implantation; coded to a Romulan’s physiology, it required a full molecular re-code of its surface area before implantation, else the Vulpinian’s auto-immune systems would attack - causing scar tissue, tumors, and all manner of complications. This was achieved easily enough with a simple submersion in bioimbudine coded with the appropriate antigens; thus treated, the Vulpinian’s immune response would read the implant as just another natural component of the body and ignore it.

Arven glanced at Ehfva as they worked. He tried to smile reassuringly but wasn’t entirely successful; thankfully, he couldn’t be sure she was even paying attention to them – her gaze seemed blank, turned inward, like she had devoted the entirety of her will towards managing her tormented body.

Leux turned his attention back to the screens, the holoprojections, and data analysis. They worked in relative silence from there, broken only by pertinent questions or confirmations, the audible tones of keystrokes, and the whirring background hum of the ship itself. Minutes passed, which turned into almost an hour. Coding continued, while Arven re-ran the simulation data, monitoring the failure rates and projected biological outcomes. The numbers had improved substantially, then plateaued; new developments surfaced with every step. Pain thresholds were calculated, both during and post-shift, and deemed unsustainable almost immediately. The mind could only tolerate so much agony before it broke, and no one had any wish to see Ehfva reduced to a permanent state of psychosis.

The solution, after a brief debate, was a neurological “shunt”, implanted with the device, to “shield” the Vulpinian’s higher brain functions: if successful, the pain she experienced during the form-shift would be reduced to (hopefully) manageable levels and prevent insanity. Unfortunately, due to the nature of pain itself (which was completely unique from one individual to another, and impossible to quantify) trying to simulate or predict its success rates was futile.

In the end, Arven laid it all out for Ehfva:

Yes, the device held the best possible chance of not only stabilizing her physical form but also granting her the ability for future form-shifts.

Yes, there were limitations; the amount of pain she’d be subjected to during a shift, even with the neuro-shunt, was dangerous.

Yes, there was a small percent chance she could literally lose her mind due to pain-induced psychosis.

Yes, she would have to wait for an extended amount of time between shifts, 8-12 hours was estimated but unverified; it all depended on her pain-threshold and circumstances beyond their ability to predict.

The Vulpinian nodded weakly, regardless.

“Alright,” Leux sighed with a nod of his own. “Let’s do it.”

Arven returned the gesture, glanced at Hirek, then moved to Ehfva’s side. In a smooth motion, without a hint of effort, he cradled her misshapen form in his arms and carried her towards the OR, knowing without having to look over his shoulder that the Romulan would follow.

[Operating Room 2 | Some time later…]

Leux sighed out as he pulled the mask from his face, violet eyes turning from his work to meet Hirek’s with a nod. The Romulan’s face was unreadable, but the biological data and physical scans he studied were not: Ehvfa lay unconscious, her vital’s steady (given the nature of what her body was going through), with both the stimulator and neuro-shunt successfully implanted in the base of her brainstem. In the other corner, Vi-Nine stood at a separate control console, digitally integrated with the operating bed’s biomonitoring systems and surgical apparatus.

“Implantation complete Doctor, ready to reinitiate patient’s cognitive functions,” the droid announced in the tense silence.

“Do it,” Arven spoke in a tired croak as he pulled the gloves from his hands while the familiar hiss of a hypo filled the air. He turned back to Ehfva as she came around, easing her back into consciousness with a faint, exhausted smile. He let the moments pass, patiently waiting while his mind re-worked and re-verified every conceivable consequence of what they were about to do. He felt confident in his work, in Hirek’s; they had eliminated every other possible option.

It would work or it wouldn’t.

“Welcome back. Take your time, slow breaths. Whenever you feel ready, we can begin,” he showed her the hypo in his hand, the one coded to activate the stimulator and initiate her shift, then looked at her gnarled, muscle locked hands. “There should be a few seconds delay before it starts. I’m going to isolate you in a level three field, just as a precaution,” he told her, then nodded to Hirek for confirmation.

Arven took a deep breath, then held the hypo against her fur-matted skin.

“Say when.”

Re: EPI S: The curious case of Humpty Dumpty [Day 03 | 2330 hrs]

Reply #13 – June 08, 2026, 01:08:08 AM

[ Ehfva Feynri | Main Sickbay | Biolab 2 | Deck 11 | Vector 2 | USS Theurgy ] @Dumedion

She breathed. In, slow. Out, slower. The elders had taught the kits to do this when their bodies were at war with themselves — when the feral pulled one direction and the Vulpinian pulled another, and nothing agreed. You found the oldest part of yourself, the part that predated the argument, and you held to it.

The sounds of the lab came and went at the edges of her attention — keystrokes, the low consultation of two voices finding a shared technical language, the soft drone of the scanner working its way along her body. She let them be sounds. She went somewhere else.

The day the Freedom Fire came, the eldest kit in the colony had just made her first successful kill in her feral form. They were celebrating. Ehfva remembered the smell of the cook-fire, the sound of the pack in full voice. Then the ship's silhouette crossed the sky. She had known it would come. She had simply chosen not to think about that until the moment it was unavoidable. Her grandmother's paw on the back of her neck. Not comfort. Steadiness.

The crew walked down the ramp as one clan. Her mother in her natural Vulpinian form, ears up, tail moving with ease. An older brother, fully Vulcine, his pointed ears catching the light, his tail hanging loose at his back. Another in their feral form, simply sitting at the base of the ramp, waiting.

On Okashii Atama, you relaxed into your natural Vulpinian form only inside, only among family. The Vulcine form was something else — forbidden, a corruption of the true way, a capitulation to the desire to look like something you were not. She had grown up understanding this as fact, the way she understood that stars were fixed and fire was hot.

The Freedom Fire crew understood this, but they did not share the same beliefs. They were not being provocative. And into this strange world so "at war," with how her grandparents had raised her, Ehfva willingly walked, as it was the expected and right thing to do.

The first months were not something she often described to people because there was nothing useful to say about them. She had been wrong about things she had never thought to question, and that particular kind of wrong left a specific mark. Her siblings — her brothers and sisters from the same parents, the same ship, the same wandering bloodline — had not laughed. They had each gone through their own version of Okashii Atama's unwinding and come out the other side, and they left her room to do the same.

What she remembered most was not the forms but the technology. The humiliation of being unable to operate a panel that a kit of a different upbringing half her age navigated without looking. She had built "tools" from raw materials in her feral form since she was old enough to sharpen a rock. She had never needed anything she could not make. Now she needed everything. She went to the navigation array on the third day because it was the one station that made sense — angles, distances, the relationship of moving things to fixed ones. The elders had taught the kits to find their way home by stars. The technology was the same knowledge in different clothes.

She started there and learned outward, without asking for help unless she had tried and failed twice, and never in front of strangers. The Vulcine form came last, and badly, and in private. In time, she became the one the captain, her father, sent when the negotiation required someone who could read a room in the dark, because her feral form had taught her in ways all the others could not.

When news of Okashii Atama reached the ship, she had been in the navigation bay. She remembered the captain's voice — the specific flatness of it that meant the processing was already done and only the information remained. Survivors. Few. The colony, mostly gone. She finished the calculation she was running. Then she went to find her siblings.

Four had already decided before she arrived. Two more when she walked in. Her parents did not argue.

The Kyodai Obi Military was people with weapons and sufficient motivation, organized just enough to be more dangerous than a mob. She had been trained by elders who believed the most honest form of warfare was the one you won before the other side knew it had started. The feral form at speed in the dark. The natural Vulpinian form for the close work that required hands. The Vulcine form for the infiltration work, when you needed to look like something other than what you were.

The battlefield surprised her. Not the death. The sound of it — her own people in every form, turned entirely toward destroying each other, and she could not always tell which side was which until the fighting started, because they were the same people carrying different grudges.

The name came after the third mission. Ha'tIa. She had not wanted it. Names like that became the story people told instead of looking at you.

She had met him in her male Vulcine form because that was what the negotiation required. He had looked at her face and waited to see what she was going to say. Most people looked at the pointed ears and thought Vulcan, then noticed the tail and reassessed, then found the amber eyes and gave up on the catalog entirely. He skipped all of that.

He had lost his home in a way that rhymed with her loss without being the same loss. They had talked for three hours without agreeing on anything political and with complete agreement on everything that mattered.

Keokuk had already known her male Vulcine form — had known it longer than any other, had done business beside it and shared meals in it and trusted it with things he did not tell other people. What she showed him later was her female Vulcine form, and after that her natural Vulpinian form, and last her feral form, because by then there was nothing left to withhold. She wanted him to understand that the person he had been talking to for months existed in all of these, not one at a time.

He was from a Terran tribe that marked significant things. Many spirits, many selves, all of them real. He said it the way you say something you intend to remember. He had given her a name: Nicoma.

The lab sounds sharpened. The quality of the quiet changed — people finishing rather than working. She looked at the hypo in Leux's hand. She looked at her own hands — wrong, neither one thing nor the other, not anything the elders had a word for. She met Leux's eyes and nodded. When the hypo pressed to her skin she turned her attention inward, reaching for the most familiar pathway first. The natural Vulpinian form — as children, they learned it before any other. The first, the easiest. The one that should have required no thought at all.

It did not come easily. Her mind went down the corridor and found it blocked, turned, doubled back, turned again. She could feel the shape of where the shift should happen, and her concentration kept sliding off it like wet hands on rope. The hypo's compound moved through her, and she tracked it and tried again. Her body throbbed beneath the painkiller — present, insistent, the throb of tissues that could not agree on their own architecture.

The shift, when it came, came slowly. Not the clean unfolding she remembered from sixty years of practice. Something grinding and reluctant, her body arguing with itself about every increment of change. She felt it in her shoulders first, then the restructure moving down through her hands, and she kept her eyes closed because looking would cost her concentration, which she didn't have to spare.

An eternity passed. Possibly three minutes. She looked down. Paws. Her paws — her own familiar timber wolf markings, the fur the right color, the claws the right length. She looked at her feet. Matching. She lifted one hand and felt her muzzle, the elongated line of it, the teeth beneath her lips when she ran her tongue along them. Sharp. Correct. She tensed her shoulders, released. Tensed her haunches, released. Moved down through every muscle group the way the elders had taught, checking each one. Everything answered.

"Stable." Her voice came out rough, the consonants dragged over vocal cords built for a different phonology — growling at the edges, a faint hiss on the sibilants, but intelligible. "Shifted. Full form." She worked her jaw. "Sluggish. More pain than should be, as you said. Nothing past bearing."

She looked at Leux, then Hirek. "Thank you." She said it plainly. "The shift was not normal. I could feel the other forms already — present, waiting. As though they each had a claim on my attention and I was choosing between them rather than simply moving." She considered this. "This does not feel normal. But it feels stable." She did not attempt to stand. She sat on the biobed with her paws flat on her thighs, her tail hanging where it fell, and looked at them both.

"Should I return here in eight hours for the next shift? To do it in a controlled environment, where you can monitor what happens and confirm the implant is functioning correctly across multiple transitions." It was not quite a question — more the reporting of a logical next step, offered for their confirmation or correction.

Re: EPI S: The curious case of Humpty Dumpty [Day 03 | 2330 hrs]

Reply #14 – June 12, 2026, 06:23:00 PM

He'd never witnessed a Vulpinian shift forms before.

Even knowing what to expect based on hours of research, (which, to be fair to the various authors of said material was rather bland), Arven couldn’t help but stare in abject fascination as it happened. The entire ‘episode’ lasted mere moments, but for the duration the Doctor stood transfixed just outside the force-field with only his eyes moving in a rapid series of glances; every few seconds, he'd check Ehfva’s fluctuating vitals, reading the changes in her body’s topography in-transition. It was quite extraordinary to witness; certainly more so than reading the scientific and medical analysis – an impressive display of unusual biological evolution – and he was thoroughly pleased about the fact that his patient wasn’t turning into a pile of biological ooze, or losing her mind due to pain induced psychosis, too.

In the end, Arven released the breath he’d been holding in an audible sigh of relief, then paid close attention while Ehfva tested her range of motion; the muscle tremors had ceased, apparently, yet there was no telling how much lingering pain would remain post-shift.

He lowered the field surrounding her once the Vulpinian spoke, her speech far more easily spoken and understood; still, the wet edge to her words would take some getting used to. She sounded like something that stalked the shadows, eternally hungry – Luex made a mental note to try not to piss her off anytime soon.

“Yes, that would be prudent, I think,” Arven nodded to her suggestion after waving a tricoder over her head, to verify that Hirek’s modified stimulator was still functioning properly. A series of beeps confirmed that it was. “I’ll begin replicating more pheromone injections for shift-initiation in the interim. Once we have transitions to all forms without any hiccups, and given time to analyze the data…I think you’ll be good to go,” he shrugged, blinking in equal parts relief and wonder.

Arven turned to Hirek, then – a hand extended. “This was very educational. Your expertise was invaluable,” he spoke in a rare tone of honest appreciation and respect, meeting the Romulan’s eyes with humility. “Should you ever require mine, you have it.”

The Doctor nodded, then clapped his hands together before turning back to address the semi-naked werewolf in the room as he made to leave. Now that the urgency and direness of her circumstances had changed, Arven’s cynical, deadpan tone returned without a second thought. “Right. First things first – let’s get you some clothes before you go prowling off through the ship in search of something to eat, shall we?”

Arven didn’t wait for a response; the door closed behind him as he hollered loudly for Nurse Kitty so she could deal with it.

Re: EPI S: The curious case of Humpty Dumpty [Day 03 | 2330 hrs]

Reply #15 – June 12, 2026, 10:32:47 PM

[ Specialist Hirek tr'Aimne |Main Sickbay | Biolab 2 | Deck 11 | Vector 2 | USS Theurgy] @Dumedion

He had read the literature on Vulpinian physiology. The literature had not prepared him for this.

He watched without speaking. The transformation was not dramatic in the way that spectacle was dramatic — no flash, no sound beyond the biological. The architecture of her body reorganized with a certainty that made the previous state, the weeks of wrongness he had already grown accustomed to, look like what it had been: an interruption. Fur resolved where there had been exposed misaligned tissue. The muzzle settled into its proper proportion. The hands — no longer the knotted, indeterminate things they had been — became paws. He watched the timber wolf markings clarify across her shoulders and forearms.

Thrai, he thought, the Romulan word for what the Terrans would call "wolf" only with the added elements of a wolf in humanoid form. It fit better than whatever the Federation taxonomy would have reached for.

When she spoke — rough, the consonants pulled through a phonology built for a different register, the hiss running underneath the sibilants — he noted the voice matched the form in a way her previous vocalizations had not. Everything was, at last, of a piece.

He agreed with Leux's suggestion that she return for monitored transitions across all forms. He did not say so aloud because Leux had already said it, and repetition served no purpose. Whether he personally needed to be present for those sessions was a separate question. He was curious enough that he likely would be, if scheduling permitted. He was also aware that there may be forms Vulpinians kept private in ways that had no clinical justification — whether her culture drew that line, and where, was not something he intended to ask in an operating room. He would find out eventually. Things of that nature became apparent over time, or they remained private.

Leux extended his hand. Hirek looked at it for a moment — the gesture was Human in origin, and he had encountered it enough times to recognize it, though his first instinct when someone extended a hand toward him was still a brief and automatic assessment of intent. He identified the intent, registered mild amusement at his own reflex, and took the hand. Shook it once.

"The work was its own reward," he said, and meant it, and accepted Leux's follow-on offer with a single nod. He did not add anything to it. Leux was already leaving, already hollering for the nurse, already on to the next problem.

He turned back to Ehfva. He looked her over with the same neutral attention he had given the scans — noting the proportions, the way mass distributed across the frame, the particular quality of stillness she had now that her body was no longer arguing with itself. She was shorter than him. Smaller in stature. Though he would not have described her as small.

"In my opinion," he said, "you are adequately clothed. I assume it is Federation propriety that requires anyone already covered in it to add a second layer on top."

Ehfva's muzzle shifted. The expression that crossed it — not quite a smile, but in the vicinity — showed teeth. Good teeth.

"Pinning the combadge directly into the pectoral muscle," she said, the words rough-edged but clear, "would be less than pleasant. Even after everything."

"A fair objection," Hirek conceded.

The door opened. Nurse Kitty entered, took in Ehfva at her full and proper height and dimension, blinked once with the expression of someone who had revised their working assumption and not yet decided what to replace it with, and left without a word.

Hirek glanced at Ehfva. Ehfva's ears shifted. They both declined to comment.

He watched her stand. She came to her full height, and he noted, without sentiment, that the mass on that smaller frame was not decorative. He had fought alongside her. He had seen what she was capable of when the situation required it. Whatever she could do in this form, with the claws on both sets of limbs and the teeth she had just demonstrated, he had no interest in being on the wrong side of. The literature had mentioned combat capability in the feral form as well, which he had filed without fully appreciating until now.

"Things still don't feel quite right," she said. Not a complaint. A report. "But I'll take this over what the Savi left me with."

Hirek made a short sound, not quite a laugh. "That's the instructive thing about torture. It recalibrates the baseline. Afterward, you're grateful for sub-par. You consider it a victory." He said it the way he said most things — without self-pity, the way you cite a fact you've had long enough to stop finding remarkable.

The door opened again. Kitty, this time with a folded uniform in the medical department color, sized — from the look of it — with more consideration than a standard requisition would typically produce.

"The doctor," she said, to no one in particular and both of them simultaneously, "failed to specify which form you'd be in. Your different forms will likely need different tailored uniforms." She set it on the nearest surface and looked at Ehfva. "Do you need help?"

Ehfva shook her head.

Kitty turned to Hirek. Her tone shifted — not unkind, but businesslike in the way that suggested she had run this particular errand on behalf of Leux before and had developed efficient methods for completing it. "The doctor left a list. A few patients where he thought your background might be useful, if you have time."

"I have time," Hirek said.

He did not move immediately. Ehfva was pulling on the uniform — no particular modesty in the gesture, simply the practical management of clothing.

"There is a term in Romulan," he said. "Susse-thrai." He said it in Romulan first, then translated: "She-wolf." He considered the uniform she was wearing, the bare feet on the deck plating, the set of her shoulders now that they sat correctly. "Having fought alongside you, I have revised my view of the term from its original form. For female Vulpinians, I think it can be used accurately." He inclined his head slightly. "It has been an honor to come through this alongside you. I expect we'll continue to be useful to each other."

Ehfva was quiet for a moment. The tail moved once, settling. "I hope we have less fighting ahead of us," she said. "I've lived through enough battles to value the routine of peacetime."

Hirek nodded. "On that, we agree entirely."

They left the lab together and separated at the corridor junction without ceremony — Hirek toward Kitty and the list of patients, Ehfva in the direction of wherever an executive officer kept themselves on a ship that had, in the last several days, had rather a lot to keep track of.

FIN