Post 295: In the Absence of the Sun

Stardate: 70711.1111
Title: In the Absence of the Sun
Author: February Grace
Scene: Holodeck Four/Beach
Time: Concurrent with the beginning of "C'mon Baby, Light my Bonfire"
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February sat on a large log down by the bonfire set-up that Lily had constructed earlier. She strummed her twelve string acoustic guitar gently as she watched the light of day fading- the sun a gigantic orange and pink blur to her as it seemed to melt into the sea of blue beneath it.

A tear streamed down February's face as she began to wonder how many more sunsets, real or holographic, she would get to see.

At first she thought that it was just the dimming of the day. A trick of the light. Things had looked progressively darker and blurrier to her as this day had gone on. Her headache had gotten much worse. She had done her best to convince herself it was just heat, sun, and uneasiness of mind that ailed her. Those lies were now worn thin to the point of disintegration.

*What if they can't fix this,* February wondered as the reality of her situation set in. *What good is a pilot who can't see?*

There were advances in modern medical science which could restore vision to a satisfactory degree; for most professions and certainly enough for most patients to go on and lead 'normal' lives. But those procedures involved removal of the eyes altogether, and also assumed no damage between the eyes and the brain itself. That connection had been damaged as well when February became so ill after her joining to Grace. It wasn't only simple mechanics of the eyes in her case, there was more to it than that.

While Starfleet allowed for these radical, reconstructive procedures -even if the results were not perfect- for people in other departments, flight controllers were required to have a higher measure of visual acuity. Once those parameters were no longer met, they had a choice. Transfer to another position, or leave the service.

February didn't like either of those options. Flying was the only thing that made her feel free, and giving that up would be a nightmare beyond her ability to fathom. She knew that something needed to be done about this soon, but she couldn't bring herself to end this day with her friends just yet. The moment was too perfect- even though it carried a huge amount of uncertainty with it. She wished she could just hide out here forever, away from the harsh realities on the other side of the arch.

She also didn't want to leave because here, she didn't have to deal with him, or the awkward silence that she was sure would exist between them from now on.

She had done a pretty good job of hiding the fact that she was feeling her way along the walls of the house since dinner- casually offering to take Sunshine down the beach for an after-dinner walk as TC settled in with the guys to play cards. She was lucky that the dog seemed to sense that she was the one who really needed supervision.

He also seemed to like the music she was playing, and he licked her hand gently whenever she would stop, as if to say, 'play it again, ma'am.'

As the darkness settled over everything, she found that she was enveloped by it. She could just barely make out faint lights in the distance that she knew were coming from the house. She couldn't make out the stars above, or the dog's face, not even in the bright moonlight. She realized that she better wait here for everyone to come down for the bonfire, then she could choose her moment to talk to Dr. Trind.

Being Trill and with so many lifetimes of experience as a doctor (all her previous hosts having been doctors as well) Trind would likely be able to offer her an honest and unemotional assessment of her condition- and her chances. She had no history with this doctor, they didn't know each other well enough for Trind to have any reason to try to soften the truth.

After so long lying to herself about so many things, the one thing that February wanted more than anything else tonight was for someone to finally speak the truth and do so plainly.

"I can't see anything, Sunshine," she confided, setting her guitar aside and hugging the dog. Instinctively he moved closer to her, pressing his forehead against hers and whining in sympathy.

She had to say the words aloud to herself, at least, to begin to try to understand what they might mean for her future.

"I can't see anything," she repeated. I'm blind."

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Lt. February Grace
Helm/Flight Controller
USS Independence NCC-90791