As author-editor Shawn Coyne of The Story Grid often opines, nothing kills a story like too much exposition. You want facts, go to an encyclopedia. This is a story, for Heaven’s sake. Get on with it.
You may have been muttering this to yourself. In this episode, you’ll see that you’re not alone.
“Pardon?” Jane asks. “Officer Candidate School?”
Scott smiles. “You think the Cortical Crew, with all its complicated language and processes, pops up from nowhere? Think about it: what are you except the sum of all you’ve seen, heard, experienced? Long before you were aware of anything you’ve learned, we’ve been hard at work down here. Let me show you.”
With that, Scott snaps his fingers, and immediately columns of light form throughout the transformer platform, transforming into multiple balls of light bouncing around the Transporter Room like pinballs.
“Move!” shouts First Sergeant (1SG) Spock Sr.
Sergeant First Class (SFC) Chekhov Sr brings the camera to his shoulder and begins filming, while simultaneously leafing through the file cabinet at his side. SFC Uhura Sr begins relaying orders via her headphones. SFC Sulu Sr keeps his eyes on the lights, readjusting his position as they bounce to and fro.
The Emotions jump into the fray, corralling some balls of light, as they knock others into a void. As they guide the remaining balls together, a more coherent mass of light forms, its edges beginning to become discernible.
Then SFC Chekhov Sr shouts, “Got it!”, at which point Joe, up in the Mezzanine, shouts, “Hey, what’s that?”, pointing to the left.
Over to the side appears a one-way escalator, moving from the Transporter Room area to the Mezzanine. And standing at the top, in full dress uniform, is a smiling Major (MAJ) Chekhov.
“Just because you all cannot come down here,” says Scott from down in the Transporter Room, “doesn’t mean that the opposite is true. Watch.”
And as Jane and Joe do, the light-form takes a humanoid shape and proceeds to ride the escalator to the top, at which point MAJ Chekhov points it toward a far door, and then both slowly fade away.
Joe and Jane turn back toward Mr. Scott.
“Day and night, awake and asleep, dreaming or not, we are always working,” he says. “Processing information from outside the body and from inside it, forming the officers, the very bases of your memories, your experiences, your physical processes.”
He turns to his soldiers. “At ease,” he says, at which point all assume a comfortable parade rest, and all, including Scott, look up at Jane and Joe.
“So,” he says. “That’s the full story of how we work to get PTSD better. It’s not just the Bridge and the Cortical Crew. It’s all of us, conscious and unconscious. We’re proud to serve.” He clears his throat and takes a step back. “So, any questions? Are we done?”
Jane’s eyes widen. “You serious? That’s all you have to tell me?”
Scott and his soldiers merely stand there, looking at them.
“Uh, Jane,” Joe mutters, “Say, why don’t we head back now, huh? I mean, we’ve got a basic idea of what we came for, and . . . ”
Jane looks right at him. “Joe, if you’ve had it with PTSD treatment because of your bad luck, that’s fine. But I’m here to figure out how PTSD can get better. I don’t even have a decent idea of how it forms!”
Scott clears his throat again. “Well, ma’am, if that’s what you’re wanting, we can help. But we’ll have to show you. And if we have to show you, you’ll likely have to feel it.”
Jane looks down at him. “Trust me, I can handle it, Mr. Scott. Let’s go.”
Scott nods and then snaps his fingers.
With that, a single column of light appears on the transporter platform. Immediately it transforms into a ball of light that flashes all around the room and then bursts open.
With it comes a sound. The sound of an alarm.