Ensign Samwell Bollwyn was sprinting through the bustling and narrow corridors of the Columbia, his heart pounding with urgency and his mind racing with thoughts of the impending crisis. The distress call from Outpost Galen Alpha Four had sent the entire ship into a frenzy, and Bollwyn found himself in the thick of it all. The sounds of boots pounding against the carpeted floors and chatter over the intercom were deafening, creating a sense of chaos and urgency. As he turned the corner, he was met with a group of crew members frantically running towards him, each with a look of concern etched on their faces. 

As a junior science officer, Bollwyn’s training had prepared him for many challenges, but nothing could have prepared him for the sight that greeted him in sickbay. The Talarians, their angular features contorted in pain, lay sprawled on biobeds, their bodies ravaged by radiation burns from the neutronic storm. Most of them had been treated in the station’s infirmary, but as the station itself had taken damage, Captain Corbin had agreed to take on a number of the Talarians. As a result, Doctor Carrillion insisted on calling on everyone with a level four medical training to assist. 

After a quick briefing by the head nurse on duty, Bollwyn approached the first Talarian cautiously, his hands outstretched in a gesture of reassurance. “I’m here to help,” he said softly, his voice gentle yet firm. He looked at the teenager, who remained in a solid, strong posture. He looked like a statue. 

The Talarian narrowed his eyes with suspicion and regarded Bollwyn with wary distrust.  “Human tricks,” he spat, his voice tinged with bitterness. “You cannot be trusted.”

Bollwyn’s heart sank at the Talarian’s words, but he refused to be deterred. “I’m not Human.”

“It does not matter; your captain is!” The Talarian countered back with.

“No, he isn’t,” Bollwyn replied. “He’s Betazoid, and I’m Ventaxian.”

“It does not matter; you are all the same.”  

With patience, Bollwyn opened the medical tricorder and continued his efforts to help his patient. His movements were slow and deliberate as he closed the tricorder and took out a dermal regenerator before he applied a soothing treatment to the boy’s burns. Once he was done, Bollwyn gave a friendly smirk to the Talarian, who only just laid back on the biobed and turned his back from Bollwyn. 

Moving on, Bollwyn took his tricorder and medical kit to the second Talarian, a slightly older teenager. Again, he attempted to be friendly, but the Talarian only watched Bollwyn’s every move with a wariness born of experience. As Bollwyn reached out to administer a hypospray, the Talarian tensed, his muscles coiled like a spring ready to snap.

With a sudden cry of defiance, the Talarian lashed out, his fist connecting with Bollwyn’s jaw with a sickening thud. Bollwyn staggered backwards, stunned by the force of the blow, as the Talarian screamed at him to get away.

“Stop! I won’t let you hurt us like the others!” the Talarian shouted, his voice filled with raw emotion.

Bollwyn raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, his jaw throbbing with pain. He motioned for the nearby security officers to stand down. He turned his attention back to the Talarian. “I’m not here to hurt you,” he said firmly, his voice tinged with empathy. “I’m here to help you, whether you believe it or not.”

Slowly, tentatively, the Talarian’s defences began to crumble, his anger giving way to a flicker of uncertainty. With a weary sigh, he relented, allowing Bollwyn to tend to his injuries with a newfound sense of trust.

As Bollwyn worked, he engaged the Talarians in conversation; the Talarian shared that he was only a year younger than Bollwyn. The older Talarian, whose name was Zorif, spoke of the harsh realities of life aboard their training ship, the fear that gripped them as they faced the relentless fury of the neutronic storm.

Listening intently, Bollwyn offered words of support, his voice a steady anchor in the storm of uncertainty. He had been in a similar position of uncertainty from Frontier Day. “It’s never easy starting out in space.”

“It is a beast that must be tamed,” Zorif stated with conviction. 

“That’s one way of looking at it,” Bollwyn said with a nod as he finished his work. “Are you hungry, Zorif?”

“I could eat,” Zorif admitted.

“Then once I’m finished here, why don’t you and him,” Bollwyn gestured towards his first patient, “join me in Ten Forward for something to eat.”

Zorif looked over to where Bollwyn was pointed at. “He is my brother, he is…” Pausing, he considered his words. “Grumpy.”

“Most teenagers are,” Bollwyn agreed with a chuckle as he felt the effects of the punch from Zorif on his chin. He nodded in approval and left his new friend to rest while he went on helping the others.