"One of My Own"

Posted on 02 Apr 2026 @ 2:17am by Lieutenant Commander Riah Amberlyn XMD

916 words; about a 5 minute read

Mission: Arawyn’s Itchy Trigger Finger
Location: The Morgue, Arawyn

“One of My Own”

Death was a funny thing sometimes, funny in the sense of odd or mysterious. Even though it happened to everyone, death, like birth, never got old, never seemed mundane. At least not in Riah Amberlyn’s 15 years of medical experience. And she considered that a good thing. The absence of awe in the face of the mysterious would be to lose one’s delicately balanced grasp on reality. For mystery was not the lack of reality at all, but perhaps the most profound aspect of Truth, of actuality.

Embracing death in an infirmary, in a hospital, on the battlefield, in Engineering, in Sickbay was a developed skill. Riah had been instructed in med school and in Starfleet to capsulize her feelings in the midst of a crisis, to deal with the emotional aspects later, in private, when the critical job was accomplished with success … or failure as the case might be. And Riah was good at that, very good in fact. If asked, she’d say her strongest emotional response to anything in the recent crisis had been the surprise at the onset and touches of irritation when the treatment processes encountered some glitch or didn’t move smoothly like they were practiced for, drilled upon, and anticipated.

But what set Riah apart from her instructors in med school was her handling of the reactions to death that came later. She chose to allow those feelings to be seen and heard by those in her department and they had permission to do the same. Not to wear those emotions on the cuff of their sleeves, but to recognize and honor that human connection. The Arawyn was a family of some 200+ people. They had all eaten together or played games, or worked out, or fought next to one another. Grief was not necessarily keening and tears. It was acknowledgement of a life cut short, friendships truncated, and of the sadness and loss it would mean to those left behind.

Lab Tech PO Melinda Willeman, a talented singer, loved to read fantasy and had written at least two fantasy holo-novels. She was always on time, usually early enough to the Alpha shift to arrange for real dripped coffee for the doctors on the shift. She had a lyrical voice and often broke into song, some number from a musical theater performance, just when the department needed it, or while she was alone, restocking in the supply closet.

Melinda had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Dead by electrocution from a power surge on a console she’d been leaning against at the time of the attack. Riah had since learned the backstory there from one of the other Techs. For a friend, Melinda had done an unofficial test in medical that morning. Later that day, she’d gone to her friend’s workstation in Engineering to give her the news privately: the friend was not pregnant. But it was a bladder infection, and she’d need to come into medical to get it treated.

That wouldn’t be necessary, because that friend, SPO Dari Avagard, was now dead as well. When that console overloaded and exploded, the concussive force slammed her back against the railing of the mezzanine around the upper level of Engineering. She had flipped over the rail and fallen, suffering massive back and head injuries.

Under ordinary circumstances, Riah would have had to scold the Lab Tech for doing that test, but now, looking at her cold figure, the doctor sighed. To make matters a little more personal, Riah had once been in the position of the friend, wondering if it could possibly be pregnancy that was the issue. One sigh led to three more. The morgue scanner traced its beam along the length of the body and gave a very clinical readout on the monitor. It would generate a proper and complete report for the file, which, like the one for Avagard would be sent to the Captain. Riah would have the opportunity to add notes to that report, and she’d be sure to speak to what she knew of Melinda, the songs, the coffee.

After completing the exams for Melinda and Dari, Riah turned to the blue form of Ensign Bar’lark, the Bolian. He was young, enthusiastic, as Bolians were known to be, but perhaps a little shy. He’d been in the sickbay the week before with a sprained shoulder, the result of an encounter with a stubborn door underneath the city on Lathira IV. Riah had been prepared for a challenging effort to escape a long conversation or unsolicited medical suggestions, but he had not been the usual gregarious, never-met-a-stranger, good-natured individual Riah expected. Now he was still and cold, the victim of coolant poisoning, which he had inhaled, cauterizing his lungs and leading to asphyxiation. Riah would add to Ensign Bar’lark’s final report what she knew of him; what others had told her about his meticulous attention to detail, his willingness to work in harmony with others, and his affection offered to the Feline Welfare group aboard Arawyn.

Another heavy sigh. Her heart ached for each of these crewmen, and she was aware that Captain Corbin had to write personal letters home to their families. The Captain, by far, had the harder duty.

Rest in Peace:

PO Melinda Willeman, Medical
SPO Dari Avagard, Engineering
Ens Del Bar’lark, Engineering


~~~
LtCmdr Riah Amberlyn
Chief Medical Officer
USS Arawyn

 

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