242302.11 || Arrival Backlog || Roial Bren

Posted on Sat Feb 11th, 2023 @ 11:20am by Lieutenant Roial Bren

“Personal Log, stardate: 242302.10 - Roial Bren recording…

“It has been months since the Joining, and I’m still not feeling any better. According to the doctors I’ve spoken to so far it’s entirely possible that I’ll just feel like shit for the rest of my life—well, at least for as long as my symbiont holds out. I feel weak and exhausted; almost like having a terrible hangover yet I’m completely sober and there’s never any relief.

“My previous host and I talked at length about some of the things that he—and therefore Bren—had gone through over the course of his Starfleet career. Add to that the strain of 9 lifetimes prior to that, and the long-term effects of quantum displacement and it’s no wonder the Symbiosis Comission deemed it too dangerous to join him to an 11th host. But hearing those stories only made me want to do this that much more. Now those memories are a part of me … more or less. Everything before the joining is foggy; almost like our memories were all mixed together and while I remember what most of what happened, trying to remember specifics of my past lives only seems to push them farther from my conscious reach.

“Now that I’ve been cleared for light duty we’re en route to our next assignment—Mission Specialist aboard a time-ship run operated by the SFMC. I don’t know how they’re gonna react to a ‘retired,’ civilian 20-something tagging along, but I’m feeling strangely optimistic. If this is anything like our last assignment then I’m basically there to support the crew wherever possible, and advise the Command Team should the need arise.”


=/.= USS Velocity
=/.= En route to DS9

Roial let out a heavy sigh as he tapped the pause button on his recording PADD and leaned back as far as the copilot’s chair would allow. Grimacing, he proceeded to take long slow breaths—in through the nose, out through the mouth—as a wave of discomfort washed over him. {{It’s alright buddy}} he thought to himself. Gritting his teeth he began slowly rubbing his abdomen. {{Calm down… we’re not doing anything crazy…}}

Though he was certain that his symbiont wasn’t *actually* violently struggling to escape his innards, it’s newfound residence among the rest of his internal organs had resulted in spontaneous waves of agony that could only be described as an attack. Somehow patting his belly and talking in calming tones had become one of the many new habits he found himself performing reflexively. He often wondered exactly which of his hosts he’d many of them up from.

“Sorvo,” he said, glancing over to his holographic companion. “I think it’s time for another treatment… I want to make a good first impression…”

Ensign Bren-Parmenter rose quickly, collecting an empty hypospray and returning with a fresh one. He knealt beside Royal, gently lifting the man’s shirt and applying the serum directly to his abdomen and ancient symbiont within. Then, he placed a photonic palm directly over the injection site and began to rub the area gently. “I’d recommend you head back and get some rest,” he replied without attempting to hide his concern. “By the time you wake up I’ll have us docked, and if you’re hungry I’ll prepare something for you before we go report in.”

Royal smiled weakly, eyes still closed he nodded slowly and allowed Royal to help him to his quarters.
Though they’d become fast friends long before the Joining, Admiral Bren’s photonic offspring had taken it upon himself personally to care for his father’s symbiont following the significantly older Trill’s death; following the delicate operation that blended what remained of his father with one of his best friends he’d taken a sabbatical from his Starfleet career. Neither of them were under any illusions about just how lucky Roial Bren had been to have survived at all those first few weeks, and Sorvo made it clear that he just wasn’t ready to to leave while Bren remained in such bad shape.

The hope was that over time, with the right combination of medication, rehabilitation, and determination that the bond between host and symbiont would stabilize; two months had already passed and any improvement was marginal at best. So, a request was made and granted allowing Sorvo to serve as full-time caregiver and companion.

Once Roial was physically able to leave Starfleet Medical they collected their belongings and claimed Admiral’s runabout, allowing them to travel between assignments and the like without risking use of the transporter which had been a noteworthy factor in symbiont’s weakened state.

True to his word: when Royal returned to the co-pilot’s seat following a few hours rest and quick change of clothes he found their ship docked, a light lunch waiting for him, and Sorvo studying something on a PADD with an intensity that didn’t invite distraction. Roial had almost finished his meal when Parmenter tore himself away. “Information just came through regarding our new surroundings.” A quick command opened the forward blast shutters, revealing a massive, and highly active flight deck.

At first glance it was a little overwhelming. Roial hadn’t spent much time on starships, and the sheer size of the place blew any expectations he’d had out of the water. The number of people, and the dedicated efficiency with which they moved seemed almost unreal. As they were lead to the rooms they’d be sharing for the duration of their stay the two of them found themselves talking about how it felt ...different… in a fashion neither could quite put his finger on. It felt like they’d just been dropped in the middle of a freshly-polished, well-oiled machine but lacked a schematic. Glancing around, most of the people seemed just a little taller, or slightly more muscular than the groups he had worked with thus far. At one point someone flashed them a brief smile and Roial would have sworn that even their teeth were whiter than anywhere else he’d ever been. Clearly these people put a lot of work into caring not only for their ship, but themselves as well.

By the time the two Bren’s arrived at their quarters they still weren’t certain that they fully understood the enormity of the ship, or the size of her crew. Their guest quarters were quite spartan, but maybe a break from living on the Velocity would do him some good. Who knew? Maybe Marine doctors had solutions that his Starfleet doctors hadn’t considered. “Someone should have asked him about reporting in…” Roial realized soon after their stoic ship-board sherpa had taken his leave. “Is it the same as regular Fleet ships? Do we salute?”

Sorvo smirked, chuckling slightly as he gave his friend a gentle pat on the shoulder. “I’m not certain,” he replied, “But I can’t wait to hear all about it when you get back. I wouldn’t want to intrude on your first meeting with our gracious Captain.”

“Oh crap! Do we call them Captain or something else!?” he exclaimed as he adjusted the jacket of his suit—he still wasn’t sure how he felt knowing that he’d never wear a Starfleet uniform again. Still, his civilian wardrobe had grown into a very respectable collection of varied suits from all over the Federation, and he felt amazing whenever he wore one of them. Today it was an asymetrical black jacket with Captain’s Chair Red accents. “Colonel Rochelle… Captain? No? What about ma’am? Colonel, sir?….” Continuing to mutter to himself distractedly, Roial retracted his steps to the turbolift. Maybe he’d get lucky and she’d clear that up in the first few seconds of their introduction? He didn’t find himself pondering the subject for much longer, however, as a sudden wave of agony staggered him just as the turbolift arrived and it’s doors hissed open.



=/.= Roial Bren
Mission Advisor, USS Sanctuary

=/.= Ensign Sorvo Bren-Parmenter
Holographic Lifeform, USS Sanctuary