Chapter Text
Captain’s Log, Star Date 58125.3
The last thing I told her- I said I was going to kill her.
She took off and-
Ransom was supposed to stop her and-
…..it might be the last thing I ever say to her.
__
He wakes up alone, which he thinks is wrong, and confused, which also seems wrong.
The bed is unfamiliar, and so is the room. Large and sterile, with empty computerized beds lining the walls, he dimly recognizes it as some kind of medical setting.
The only other occupants of the room are across from him, with their backs turned. An older woman, presumably human, in a red shirt, and a Caitian in a blue coat. They hadn't paid him any attention, all their energy focused on the patient in the other bed.
"Your name is Beckett Mariner, and you're on the USS Cerritos," the cat person said, slowly and calmly to the other patient, the effort clear in trying to keep her voice level.
He didn't recognize any of those names, but looking around, it was obvious he was on some kind of starship. The quiet but constant humming in the background clearly indicated a warp engine, and the uniforms denoted a Federation vessel.
But how and why he was there still eluded him. It wasn't a guarantee that he was also Starfleet, because being in sickbay could mean anything from them picking up his distress call, to them coming to rescue him from a disaster at a remote space station, or anything in-between.
He didn't remember being some sort of scientist in peril, but then he didn't remember much of anything. Worry began to set in, cutting through the pleasant wave of whatever drugs he must be on, and he could hear the computer monitoring him beep faster as his heart rate increased.
"Aw shit, Ransom's panicking. Come on, Captain."
He watched the human woman across the room tear herself away from the other patient- Beckett, supposedly- and hurry over to his side. Up close the Caitian looked much angrier, hovering over his other shoulder, waving a scanner and adding to his tension. "Ransom, come on buddy, you gotta relax for us, ok?"
"Am I Ransom?" He didn't recognize his voice.
"You are," the woman said. "You are C-"
"Jack Ransom. Your name is Jack Ransom." The cat doctor interrupted, speaking slowly. "We don't want to overwhelm you if you don't remember. Can you tell us what you do remember?"
He frowned. "Nothing. Nothing before waking up here."
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Captain's Log, supplemental. It's been twenty hours since the- since it happened. Both Beckett and Jack are conscious, but neither one can remember a thing. Doctor T'Ana assures me she's dealt with amnesia cases like this before, and that if we all follow her rules, my crew will be back to normal in no time.
Frankly, part of me wants to call bullshit on this. But I just know if I play the grieving mother card, she'll pull some sob story about having a whole litter that lost their memories. Remind me never to pick a Caitian crew member again. Computer, delete the last two lines. I can’t let my frustrations get the better of me, but dammit, Ransom has become a good friend over the years and Beckett-
The biggest rule is not forcing their memories. But how can I look in my own daughter's eyes when I am a stranger to her?
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"I know you."
It’s late at night, possibly early in the morning when the eerie hum of a near-silent sickbay is broken. He looks around in the darkened room, lit only by the glow of screens and wall panels, trying to find the source of the voice. The room is mostly empty, and has been for the last few hours.
After the initial shock of waking up confused and triggering a cardiac event, Ransom was sedated, and slept most of the day, waking only at shift change. He overheard Doctor T’Ana go over the rules with her staff, mainly insisting that the two amnesia patients were to be left alone as much as possible.
At the time, he glanced over and saw the other patient, Beckett Mariner, still sleeping.
But now she was awake, sitting cross-legged in her biobed and staring right at him.
“Yeah, you. The handsome jock lying in bed there. I know you.” She sounds friendly enough. There’s an undercurrent of frustration to her voice, but Ransom senses that it’s self-directed, that she’s more annoyed at herself for not being able to remember how she knows him. He knows because he feels the same way.
He’s drawn to her. There’s something about her that feels familiar and, while not safe exactly, has his heart pounding in a comforting way. It’s more than attraction, because that was something he briefly felt earlier with his one human visitor- Carol, she had said. This was something else entirely- a new sensation, but the closest thing to something recognizable he’s felt since he first woke up without his memories.
“And I think I know you. You’re Beckett Mariner?” He crosses the distance between their beds and sits down carefully on the edge of hers. It feels wrong somehow, that he should be closer to her, but he keeps his distance in case he’s misjudged it. The last thing he wants is to push away the one person who knows exactly how he feels.
She shrugged. “That’s what they tell me. You can’t remember anything either?”
"Not even my own name. Apparently I'm Jack Ransom."
She pursed her lips in thought. "Doesn't ring a bell. Got any other info?"
“No. Do you think- were we together in the same accident? On the same ship, I mean?”
Another shrug. "No idea."
Ransom frowned, growing irritated by Mariner's lack of urgency. “Well what else could it be?”
She starts counting off on her fingers, a smug look on her face. “Two opponents crashed during a race, or synchronized piloting, or one of us in a ship and the other running the docking-”
“Ok, I get it. It could be anything.” He sighed. “Do you think you’re a pilot? Does that sound familiar?”
“Nothing sounds familiar,” she groaned. “Except the engines. I knew I was on a Cali-class ship before that captain told me. That hum is unforgettable.”
“You know engines,” he perked up. “Starfleet engines, specifically. That’s a start. Maybe you’re an engineer.”
She wrinkled her nose. “No, that’s not right. Look at my hands.” She held them out and he took them, his own fingers trailing over her smooth skin. “No calluses, no blisters, no plasma burn residue. How about you?”
She turns the tables, pulling him closer and examining his hands in the dim light. “There’s strength here, but they’re too soft. I bet you’ve got some kind of crazy moisturizing routine, like six different lotions.”
He blushes, withdrawing his hands and instantly missing the contact. “Look, we all can’t be as beautiful as you.”
“Have you looked in a mirror lately? You’re not hurting in the looks department.”
He hadn’t, obviously, but his heart soars at the compliment. It was depressing to learn he was so vain, but at least he was discovering something about himself. "So we know each other, we know nothing else, and we're both incredibly attractive?"
"Yeah, that's about it," Mariner said, drumming on her legs. "Seems like a good excuse to fuck."
He raised an eyebrow at her- hopefully the only part of his body rising.
She smirked back. "What? You know I'm right. Let's just go nuts and deal with the consequences later."
It was a very tempting idea. Mariner was gorgeous, and funny, and something kept pulling him closer to her, like a moon orbiting a beautiful planet. But something else holds him back, a small nagging part of his brain sending out this isn't right alarms. "We're under observation," he pointed out, the first coherent thought he has.
Mariner shrugged again, her motions somehow getting even lazier. "If they're gonna watch, we may as well put on a show."
Ransom opened his mouth to argue, but he's caught off guard by the small strip of skin unveiled by Mariner's movement. Her now-exposed shoulder showed a deep scar across otherwise unblemished skin. "You're hurt!"
She frowns, and pulls at her collar. "No, this is old. Look, it's super faded, and doesn't hurt at all."
"It looks bad though. Do you remember how you got it?" he added hopefully, desperate for any clue to help piece together what happened.
"Sorry man, I'm completely blank. I got nothing before waking up here with the captain."
"The captain?"
"Yeah, the human from earlier. 4 pips on the collar so she's a captain, maybe not the captain of all of this," she says with an arm wave. "But how many captains do you need on one ship, unless she's the captain- I've said captain too much, it sounds weird now."
He leaned back, looking impressed. He felt dumb for not noticing it himself, deciding then that Starfleet or not, Mariner must outrank him. "You really know Starfleet rules."
She looked conflicted for a minute, as though that bothered her for some reason. “Maybe I’m just really into sci-fi stuff.”
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Since waking up in the Cerritos sickbay, there had been a nonstop parade of unfamiliar faces stopping by his bedside and asking questions, all with the same sad, sympathetic look on their faces. He was sorry to disappoint such a large group of people, but since he didn't seem to recall them, he wasn't too worried about it. But the lack of familiarity was starting to get to him, an uneasy feeling growing in his chest.
He felt safe enough, knowing that no Starfleet crew would intentionally try to harm him, no matter who he was.
He tried to keep a list of who visited, hoping that would help narrow down who he was- mostly engineers would indicate he worked in engineering, or something like that. But it seemed like half the ship tried to work its way into sickbay, to visit him or Mariner, or both.
But mostly him.
Security tightened up after a few hours, after the head of security himself popped by.
"It's Shaxs!" the man repeated indignantly, and Ransom understood why, because the large Bajoran did not look like the kind of person anyone was likely to forget.
"I'm…sorry?" was all he could offer in return, and watch the anger fade into disappointment in the man's eyes.
Later, when things quieted down again, he tried asking Mariner about it.
They hadn't gotten as much time together as Ransom would have liked. Every time he seemed to be awake, she was asleep, and he assumed vice versa. It made sense from the doctor's standpoint, keeping things easier on the medical staff by only having one patient alert at a time, but it was frustrating not to have anyone around who understood.
"Do you feel like we're letting everyone down?" He stared at the ceiling but he knew she was awake from the beeps from her biobed. In the past twenty-odd hours he's gotten really good at understanding what the different beeps mean.
"Kind of? I feel like more of a zoo animal on display." He hears rustling, imagining her sitting up in bed again. The few times he's seen her awake, she could hardly sit still for more than a few minutes. "Like we're some exotic attraction for the crew. Which adds to my theory that we're not crewmembers."
This was the main area where they kept disagreeing. "You recognized the engine," he pointed out.
"I recognized the type of engine. Maybe we were on a sister ship that got attacked, and we're the only two survivors."
His blood ran cold at the thought. "That's morbid."
"That's Starfleet. These people face death all the time!"
He snaps his fingers, a thought suddenly occurring to him. "If we're Starfleet, either on this ship or not, we'd have uniforms."
Across the room, Mariner groans. "Dude, if our memories didn't make it, what chances do our shirts have?"
He resists the urge to roll his eyes. "We'd also have combadges."
"With computer access! And personal logs! Jack you're a genius!"
He can feel the warmth from her smile, even across the room. He clears his throat, afraid his voice would come out squeakier than normal. "Computer, play the last personal log for Jack Ransom."
A negative chirp. "Voice recognition failed," the computer prompted. "First Officer Authentication required.
"Shit, they must have locked us out," Mariner groaned.
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They resolved to ask the Captain about their belongings the next time she visited. She's been a semi-regular guest, never staying very long but her frequent inquiries keep him busy trying to figure out exactly how important they are to her.
They'd been awake for about three and a half days now, and no closer to regaining their memories. But aside from the amnesia, they seemed to be in good shape. Mariner kept active by pacing sickbay and talking out her theories, while Ransom alternated between situps and pushups to keep from being too restless himself. But his main hobby was Mariner.
He loved watching Mariner. She was magnetic- she drew your attention, like the brightest star in the sky. And she was clever. She talked out loud, mostly for his benefit, as she came up with scenario after scenario, and ruled out most of them just as easily as she considered them.
She was quick to dismiss bad ideas, and did not hold back from telling Ransom when she thought his suggestion sucked. But curiously he didn't mind it. If anything, he seemed to enjoy being dismissed by her, and he knew she certainly enjoyed it too, if her smug reaction to his halfheartedly offended rebuttals were anything to go by.
It was in the middle of one of Mariner's pacing/rambling sessions when Captain Freeman stopped by. She was flanked by both Doctor T'Ana and Lieutenant Shaxs, something that never happened before. Ransom watched them curiously, while Mariner clearly also had her guard up. Her sharp eyes roved around the sickbay in a futile search for something to defend herself with. He knew there were no options after having looked for impromptu free weights the day before.
"Hello Beckett, Jack," Freeman said slowly, nodding at them in turn. "How are you feeling today?"
"Same as yesterday," Mariner offered warily.
Freeman kept her face carefully neutral, which didn't ease Ransom's tension at all. "Your recovery is of the utmost importance to everyone onboard, and naturally we want you to heal in the best possible environment. After discussing it with Doctor T'Ana, she has recommended that you might prefer a change of scenery. We have guest quarters set up for you, and Shaxs here can provide a security detail to help escort you around the ship. Aside from a few classified areas, the Cerritos is at your disposal."
"You must be sick of that hospital gown," Shaxs agreed.
Mariner pounced on the opening. "Do we have clothes here? Is our stuff on your ship?”
The Cerritos staff shared an uneasy glance. “Nothing survived from your shuttle. All of your personal items onboard were destroyed.”
Mariner frowned, as if picking up on the omission. Ransom also noticed it wasn’t a direct answer to the question, but he spoke first, cutting her off before she could say something they’d both regret. “That’s understandable. We should be grateful you rescued us at all.”
Freeman nodded. “It was no trouble at all. I’ll have someone show you to guest quarters, and help you replicate some more suitable clothing, once Doctor T’Ana clears you. Our ship has many amenities for you to enjoy.”
“That sounds great, thank you so much, Captain,” Ransom gushed, cutting off Mariner again. He ignored her sharp glare.
“I hope to see you both at my table for dinner tonight.” She left without another word.
The second the sickbay doors slid shut behind her and the others, Mariner was on him. “What the hell was that? How do we know we can trust her?”
“We don’t, but this ship is the only thing keeping us alive right now. We’re in the middle of space, with no memories. Think about it, Beckett,” he implored, grabbing her by the arm. “We could be anybody. We could be Maquis infiltrators or Section 31, or on the run from the Orion Syndicate. I don’t know much about myself, or you for that matter, but I know the Federation. Even if we’re wanted by them, all they can do is throw us in a penal colony. Compared to most places in the galaxy, that’s like a trip to Risa.”
She still frowned, but he could see the anger subsiding in her face. “I-I have some memories,” she admitted. “Vague ones, but I can remember being detained by Klingons. I don’t think it was recent, but it’s not like I would know the difference.”
He winced. “I do not want to wind up in a Klingon prison. Especially when the alternative is this.” He gestured around the relatively quiet sickbay. “They’re taking care of us. We're not even really prisoners here, if Captain Freeman keeps her word. They’ll probably let us mess around in the holodeck, or check out the bar. We’re basically tourists.”
“Unless they’re transporting us to some galactic zoo. If she tries to fatten us up at dinner-” She was so beautiful when she was angry, but he couldn't afford to have her get worked up now.
“You’re mixing up two different Twilight Zone holos.”
“Shut up! Either way, I’m not letting my guard down.”
He huffed. “Neither am I! No matter what happens, we stick together, ok?”
She held out her hand. “Team Amnesia?”
He met it gratefully, admiring her firm grip. “Team Amnesia.”
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Captain's Log, Supplemental
Almost one hundred hours have passed, and neither patient has their memories back yet.
T'Ana hasn't given up hope. She thinks letting them see more of the ship might bring back some of their memories.
The crew has been doing an excellent job of balancing the workload, keeping the dignitaries entertained and monitoring the pulsar fluctuations. If we make it through the next week in one piece, I'll be writing commendations until I run out of padds.
It has been harder than I thought doing this without both my daughter and my first officer. The thought of losing either one was unbearable but both-
Maybe the amnesia is somehow a blessing in disguise, if it means she won't be making the biggest mistake of her life.