"So... How long has she got, doc?" asked Max, standing off to one side in the examination room of the station's infirmary, making sure she kept out of the way of the bustling doctors and nurses.
Jazz, the subject of Max's query, was mopping the sweat from her forehead with a small towel. She'd just run five simulated miles, the last in an excruciatingly long series of physical tests, and leaned against the exam table now catching her breath. A sheen of sweat glistened on her chest and arms, making her tank-top stick to her skin, and perspiration ran in rivulets down the sides of her face.
Doctor Cherrin looked up from the PADD displaying the test results and replied with all seriousness, "I've rarely had a patient as healthy as Miss Phoenix. She'll live well into her hundreds."
"Hmmph," snorted Jazz as she shrugged her uniform back on over her tank top. "I'd live even longer, but I think your tests knocked at least a couple of decades out of me." Cherrin declined to respond to that, the joke lost on his staid disposition. Jazz shrugged and zipped up her uniform. "I assume that means I'm cleared for active duty?"
"Yes, Commander, you're Four-Oh. Your long stay on that Cardassian prison planet didn't seem to do you any permanent physical harm; in fact, you're probably more fit today than you were twelve years ago when you were sent there. The harsh living conditions, no doubt."
"And a balanced diet of rocks and sand," added Jo helpfully from her perch atop a biobed behind Max.
"No doubt." Cherrin punched a few notes into his PADD, then set it down and addressed Jazz. "There's just one more thing to take care of," he said, pointing right at her face.
Jazz was momentarily insulted, but then realized what the doctor was referring to. Reaching up with her hand, she felt the long, ugly scar that disfigured the entire right side of her face. It was an unwelcome reminder of everything she'd been through for the last twelve years; every terrible indignity she'd been forced to suffer, every life-or-death struggle she'd barely survived. Its presence still shocked her every time she looked in the mirror. She hated it.
She gladly followed Cherrin over to the operating table.
"Hold still," he ordered, selecting the heavy-duty dermal regenerator from the instrument tray. Gripping Jazz's chin firmly with one hand, he began running the medical device over her face. To Max and Jo, still watching from the sidelines, the results were immediately apparent. Scar tissue disintegrated, turning to flakes and dust and falling away under the regenerator's intense sonic field, to be quickly replaced by fresh pink skin underneath. Cherrin next applied an anabolic protoplaser to the region, and the new, tender skin instantly matured. Two minutes after the procedure began it was finished.
Cherrin handed Jazz a handheld mirror. "Take a look."
Jazz took the mirror, but hesitated to use it. She'd grown used to hating mirrors; or maybe she'd grown used to hating what mirrors always showed her. It wasn't just the ugly scar that disfigured her face; the damage went much deeper, to the core of her being. Her very soul had been scarred by her ordeals on Lazon II, until she no longer considered herself a 'good' person. Lying, stealing, even murder-she'd been forced into it all in order to survive. Survive she had, but had the price been too high if she couldn't even look herself in the mirror anymore?
"You've got a new face!" exclaimed Jo, unaware of Jazz's morose thoughts.
"Actually, she's got her old one back," corrected Max.
Jazz brought up the mirror and steeled herself, but the shock she received when she looked was a positive one! She did indeed have her old face back. The scar was gone, and it seemed to have taken some of her inner evil with it, as if the evil had somehow been infused into the scar tissue itself. The dark eyes that looked back at her were somehow less stony than she remembered, revealing something of a soul that had a few less calluses than before. She found herself smiling, the first time in a very long time.
"Glad you like it," responded Dr. Cherrin, taking her reaction as approval of his handiwork. "Now get out of my sickbay, and take those two lollygaggers with you." He hitched his thumb in the direction of Max and Jo. The rarely displayed twinkle in his eye belied the serious tone in which he delivered that line, and Jazz altered her opinion of the man somewhat; it seemed he wasn't entirely humorless.
She pinned her communicator back on her left breast and prepared to leave the infirmary. "Thanks, Doc," she said over her shoulder as she walked out the door, the two lollygaggers close behind.
"Since the place did you so much good, after you retire from Starfleet you can settle down on Lazon II and start a health resort," quipped Jo as the trio walked down one of the station's infinite hallways.
"Sure, and you'll be my first customer, Schmidt," replied Jazz, not the least bit amused by the thought of ever returning to that hellish place, regardless of its alleged beneficial health effects.
Now that the necessary evil of the medical examinations was over, Jazz was intent on the next chapter in the saga of her return to the present: getting a duty assignment from the station's commanding officer. Rumors of growing hostilities between the Federation and an upstart empire she'd never heard of, Mulluria or something like that, were rampant on the starbase, and there was no way she was going to sit on the sidelines for the duration. True, she'd been out of circulation for over a decade, her knowledge of current events ended during the time the Founders and the Dominion were the Federation's biggest concern, but she was a quick study.
Hopefully there was room in one of the starbase's starfighter squadrons for her. Her first assignment after graduating Starfleet Academy had been in a fighter squadron and that's where she'd stayed ever since. Until that disastrous day twelve years ago when she'd been shot down by the Jem'Hadar. Truth be told, what she really wanted more than anything else was to be in command of Banshee Squadron again, but Lieutenant-correction, Commander -- Carter had that job now. She'd have to content herself with a secondary role. For now.
Jazz parted company with Max and Jo, they having duties to perform elsewhere, and boarded a turbocar bound for the Command Deck. The light bar on the lift's wall began scrolling by, indicating the passing of hundreds of levels, but eventually she was deposited in one of the big domes atop the gargantuan space station. A short walk through curving corridors later and she found herself before the door to Captain Kitara Mallory's office.
She buzzed and was admitted by an efficient young ensign manning the outer office, told to wait a minute, then ushered into Mallory's inner sanctum. On seeing her enter, Mallory stood from behind her desk and walked around it to shake her hand. "Greetings, Commander Phoenix. I heard your medical checkup went well."
"Yes, Captain," replied Phoenix. "And please call me Jazz. Everyone else does."
"Okay, well in that case, Jazz it is." Mallory returned to her desk and retrieved a PADD. Indicating the device, she said, "I see here you're requesting an immediate return to active duty."
"Yes, ma'am."
"You sure you wouldn't rather take some leave first? I mean... You must have been through hell on that prison planet you were on. Isn't there anyone you want to go see? Family?" Mallory seemed genuinely concerned.
Jazz shook her head slowly. "I've thought about it, but no. There's no one waiting for me; no family. And the only friends I have are by amazing coincidence on this space station."
"Meaning Banshee Squadron," supplied Mallory, to which Jazz nodded. Mallory sighed and seated herself behind the desk again, studying her PADD, while Jazz remained standing at loose attention. After what seemed like an eternity during which Captain Mallory perused the contents of the PADD, she finally said, "Very well, Commander. Consider yourself reactivated. Because of the military gear-up for the coming Mulluran conflict, we can use every available officer we've got. In addition, Starfleet R&D has recently begun sending vehicles and equipment for field testing, earmarked for Banshee Squadron, so there'll be no shortage."
Jazz's heart leaped. She knew what Captain Mallory's next words were going to be, and she wasn't disappointed.
Mallory could see the anticipation in Jazz's eyes and relished this moment. It was times like this that she really enjoyed being in charge. "Effective immediately, you are assigned to Banshee Squadron under the command of Commander Lee Carter. You'll get the details from her."
"Thank you, Captain."
"My pleasure," replied Mallory, satisfied she'd made the right decision in the matter. "Dismissed."
Jazz nodded acknowledgment, pivoted smartly on her heel and strode from the office. She smiled in triumph -- that was one more hurdle down in her quest to regain command of her old squadron.
"Nice of you two to show up," remarked Carter with barely disguised annoyance as Max and Jo bustled into the Banshee's briefing room. Ever since the return of Jazz Phoenix, she'd hardly seen those two. They spent all their time with their old comrade, fawning on her every need. It was almost like old times again, when Jazz had commanded Banshee Squadron. Well, maybe 'fawning' is a little too harsh, thought Carter. Jazz was a woman of extraordinarily strong will and overpowering presence. Those around her naturally seemed to want to do everything they could to please her. She had felt it herself-sometimes she felt like a lowly lieutenant again under Jazz's wing.
"Sorry, Lee," said Max as she slid into her chair. Jo seated herself quietly.
Carter frowned slightly in response. "Now, as I was saying," she said, "Our next mission is a basic recon patrol to the borders of Mulluran space to gather intel on supply movements."
"Why don't they send the Ronin or something?" asked Alex.
"Too overt," was the reply. "This has to be absolutely secret. We warp burst in, go to gray mode, collect the data, and burst out. No one will know we were ever there. Sam's Banshee is being equipped with a special sensor pod for this mission. We leave first thing in the morning. Any questions?"
There were none.
"Meeting adjourned. Go get some rest."
The five ladies pushed back their chairs and began to stand, when the doors to the briefing room slid open and in walked another figure dressed in the distinctive white and black of a Starfleet fighter pilot. Five heads turned.
Jazz Phoenix stood framed in the doorway. "Have I missed the briefing?" she asked.
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