Echoes on Regula One

Posted on Wed Dec 3rd, 2025 @ 3:17am by Captain Mac Sullivan & Lieutenant Commander Kirak & Lieutenant Hlath & Lieutenant Alijas Dyrgen & Doctor Kim Standish & Ensign Kaaven Saenar

5,214 words; about a 26 minute read

Mission: Regula Gambit
Location: Shuttlecraft
Summary:
Timeline: Mission Day 2 at 0830

First Officer's Log, supplemental. Having reached Spacelab Regula One we have determined the facility has suffered attack by as yet undetermined forces. Current conjecture is that whoever attacked the lab were likely looking for information on the Genesis Project. The Captain has ordered an Away Team to board Regula One to uncover the fate of the security forces enforcing interdiction and quarantine, and determine the identity of the attacking forces. A notable complication: the destruction of the Genesis planetary system has imperiled matter-energy transport. We are therefore attempting to dock aboard the shuttlecraft Tereshkova.

[Shuttlecraft Tereshkova, Regula One]

With arms behind his back, Kirak strode board the shuttlecraft, a phaser set on his hip. Like the rest of the crew, he'd eschewed his uniform jacket for the warmth of a parka. And to his hip was attached a small oxygen condenser, the mask attached near his lapel. Both security officers wore similar. Kirak assumed his position at the Helm with a brief raise of his eyebrow. The shuttlecraft's rear ramp was open and ready for the crew to board.

"Shuttlecraft One to Bridge. We are preparing to board and depart. We will make a run for the Regula One facility when the subspace eddies have reached the next expected window in three-point-two minutes. Remain at red alert and deploy a communications buoy to boost signal traffic between the Away Team, and Proxima. Shuttlecraft One, out."

Standish was next up the ramp sporting a similar get up to the three officers that had entered ahead of her. She, too, wore a phaser on her hip and the black strap of a medical tricorder crossed her chest with the device settled against the opposite hip. She moved directly to the storage lockers, hefting a med kit into one of them and securing it before moving out of the way so that those behind her could access the rest of the storage spaces. "You do appreciate precision don't you Mr. Kirak?" she asked ears catching the second half of his communique to the bridge. "Three-point-two. Do Vulcans prefer not to round numbers down or is this more of a pilot thing that they don't teach us in Starfleet Medical?"

"To ignore precision may invite a chaotic element in to a critical moment, Doctor Standish." Kirak replied. "It is a Vulcan preference, one reinforced by the necessities of navigation through space."

Though her tone was light, there was an underlying seriousness to it and the normal curiosity that her features would have conveyed at such a question was instead replaced with a grim focus. Whatever was ahead of them it wouldn't be a a Spacelab full of hale and hearty scientist with no need for a doctor.

Ensign Saenar looked almost swallowed by the heavy Starfleet excursion jacket, its padded bulk hanging awkwardly off his narrow shoulders. The sleeves brushed past his wrists, and the hem seemed a little too long, but none of it dampened the eagerness radiating from him.

Clutching a toolkit in one hand, he raised the other in a somewhat clumsy wave. His cheeks were flushed from the effort of catching up. “Ensign Saenar, sir,” he said brightly, his voice carrying that warm, musical lilt unique to his people. He drew himself up, trying for formality despite the ever so slightly oversized coat.“Reporting as ordered.”

"You may stow your gear near your seat, Ensign Saenar." Kirak attested.

“Excuse me.” Hlath said politely as he moved around the exuberant young Ensign. He was not paying a great deal of attention to those around him, he was too engrossed in what unexamined subspace data he had been able to fit onto his auxiliary padd. He scrolled through it with his long, slender index finger, looking up only momentarily to find a spare seat. For most it would be their first time seeing him wearing his breather-tank apparatus, which had been uncharitably referred to as resembling a toilet seat around his neck in the past. It wasn’t currently active but he wore it anyway over his excursion gear pending their arrival in a questionable atmosphere; he’d rather be unfashionable than hypoxic.

Mac, the last to arrive, strolled onto the shuttle ramp as he finished fastening his parka. "Seats, please," he quipped as he stepped to the front of the small craft and slipped into the co-pilot's chair.

"Bridge. Captain Sullivan has arrived." Kirak reported with a touch of the comm control. He closed the rear ramp a moment later with a squeal of a control key.

Once again, the pilot's chair was denied. Mac had a feeling Kirak didn't approve of a hands-on Captain, or at least as disapproving as a Vulcan could be; he allowed a small smile as he began tapping, "Pre-flight complete, your controls." He turned to face the crew behind him, confident in Kirak's abilities, "We believe we have located a functional docking port, and all indications are that whoever inflicted the damage to this station is gone, but let's be smart over there. No wandering off, security will take point, let them do their jobs." Holding their gazes for a moment, he nodded, "Alright, let's be about it."

"Shuttlecraft One, to Shuttlebay Control. We are prepared to depart. Initiating after thrusters." A moment after confirmation, the Vulcan checked the chrono. They were departing on time which somewhat pleased Kirak's structure of the world. The Tereshkova lifted and passed through the sizzling crackle of the main shuttle doors' field which kept the area pressurized. With a slight shift of the gravitational feel, the ship was in open space. "From here until docking procedures, expect some turbulence. We have been able to move during a minimum of subspace disruption, but the number is non-zer-" The shuttle rattled- almost rippled- as a shaking feeling coursed through it. The shields of the small craft sizzled. "A non-zero chance." Kirak finished.

"Respectfully Commander, mild though they may be at present, I am not aware of subspace disturbances of this nature on record." Hlath added. "We are dealing with a practically unprecedented level of scientific malfeasance. I realise it may be too late to change, but I would have recommended magnetic boots under the circumstances, in the event conditions worsen." He said it as much for the record as a suggestion, overly cautious though it may be.

Kirak nodded agreement. "To my knowledge, use of proto-matter and the unanticipated scale of the device's detonation have damaged the structure of baryonic and subspace in ways we have not yet come to understand. The device was not intended to generate a star system from a nebula." In the main window of the cockpit, the damaged station, with pieces of its superstructure blasted and adrift, began to loom larger.

"We did consider the possibility that the station may have lost gravity, but it appears to be functioning according to the security teams when they boarded some time ago. Agility was also a factor to consider. We cannot rule out that whoever attacked the facility is not still present, or the possibility that degrading portions of the station may demand a swift exit." He turned toward Hlath briefly. "However I do anticipate that it will be, as the Humans say, a bumpy ride. If you prefer, I believe a set of boots are stowed in the aft in the above compartments."

"Old fashioned straps should do the trick, surely," Standish piped up dryly. She had already taken the liberty of affixing herself to her seat with the appropriate straps to secure her there. "Maybe not so easy to move around here, but I've got my fingers and toes crossed for a safe crossing. Would just as soon use my supplies on anyone over there than need to break open the kit before we even set foot on the station. I'm sure Mr. Kirak can get us there without any significant trouble."

She looked Hlath over, her expression wry amusement despite the circumstance. "Never did much like having my feet tied down like that anyway," she offered and then shrugged. "But to each their own."

Hlath smiled in response to the Doctor, though he was all the while considering grabbing himself a pair of the boots. He did forget from time to time that this was the natural environment for his colleagues, and not one in which they felt restrained as he did outside of the water.

Mac ran a sensor sweep as they approached the station, he reached out with the shuttle communications to establish a link. After a pregnant pause a green light appeared on his console, "I've established a link with the airlock, Mr. Kirak. Diagnostics show green." He glanced at the chronometer with a slight grin. "You think you can get us sealed before the next subspace eddy? We're two minutes out - or should I say two-point-four minutes to be appropriately precise?"

The Vulcan nodded, eyes blinked closed, in the affirmative. "Of course. With perhaps thirty five seconds to spare." His fingers went to work on executing the Captain's request in the time frame allowed.

"You're the pilot," Mac jested, then turned to address the group behind him with a more serious tone. "I'm with the doctor on the magnetic boots - they'll slow us down more than help us. But remember your Starfleet training for unstable platforms: always maintain three points of contact, keep one hand free to grab hold of something, and make sure your footing is secure before you move. With the subspace distortions and potential gravity fluctuations on that station, we can't assume anything is stable."

He paused, making eye contact with each crew member. "Security takes point as discussed. Doctor Standish, I want you on medical tricorder, scan for life signs, injuries, environmental hazards. Hlath, you're on science tricorder, analyze whatever the hell happened over there and watch for any remaining subspace anomalies that might affect our equipment or safe passage."

Mac checked his phaser, adjusting the setting. "Mr. Kirak and I will be armed backup, phasers on stun, safety off once we're through that airlock. We don't know if whoever hit this place left any surprises behind." He looked back toward the looming station. "Standard away team doctrine applies: stay in visual contact, call out anything unusual immediately, and nobody goes anywhere alone. Questions?"

Hlath put the padd he was reading away in a breast pocket and took his tricorder from his belt, beginning his scans. "I will keep an uplink with the shuttle as long as possible to ensure maximum subspace resolution, sir. Hopefully it will remain linked long enough for us to access the station's own sensors." Hlath said in acknowledgement, though it wasn't exactly a question.

"You will want to don your breathing masks before we open the airlock doors." Kirak reminded. "The air pressure within the station is significantly less than that of the shuttle. You may feel a popping in your ear canals, or pressure. Also a sensation that one is being blown in to the station." As the gathering had discussed next steps, Kirak docked quietly with the station.

Kaaven inclined his head as the Commander laid out the instructions, his expression a mask of calm attentiveness. The breathing mask rested in his hands, cool and solid against his palms. He turned it over slowly, almost ceremoniously, his gaze lingering on each connection point, seal, and valve. In truth, the equipment had already been tested and cleared long before it was ever handed to him, Starfleet procedures ensured nothing less, but nervous habits kept him cautious. He constructed a mental checklist as he examined the mask, running through every detail as though he could catch some unseen flaw.

It was a practice he’d carried with him since his earliest days at the Academy. Trust the protocols, yes, but trust yourself more. Kaaven allowed himself a faint exhale, the smallest sign of reassurance, before lifting his gaze again. He was ready.

"And if you start to feel off you find me," Standish added. "Won't be any use to survivors if we're not paying attention our own bodies. It's not gonna feel normal in there, but sudden spikes in pressure, pain, that sort of thing... Your body's going to tell you if something is wrong. Or ... well... more wrong than what's already the case in there." She looked to the Captain offering a half shrug and then reached for her mask, settling it in her palms in a practiced way.

Hlath pressed the button on the front of his rebreather, it activated with a gurgle.

Mac felt the gentle thrum of the shuttle's docking clamps engaging, followed by Kirak's subtle adjustments to equalize pressure differentials. He reached for his breathing mask, checking the seals before fitting it over his face. The recycled air tasted metallic, but the flow was steady and reassuring. "Alright people, masks on," Mac ordered, his voice slightly muffled through the apparatus. He moved to the hatch controls, running through the standard cycling procedure. "Security, you're up first. Establish a perimeter just inside the airlock, then we'll follow in order."

The two security officers, Petty Officers Novak and Silva, moved to the front of the group, phasers drawn and set to stun. Both wore their breathing masks with the practiced ease of veterans who'd done this drill countless times.

Mac activated the hatch cycle, and the familiar hiss of equalizing pressure filled the shuttle. As Kirak had warned, there was an immediate sensation of being drawn forward as the shuttle's higher pressure sought equilibrium with the station's atmosphere. "Novak, Silva, go."

The security officers stepped through the airlock with Starfleet precision, Novak taking the left side while Silva covered the right. Their movements were economical, professional, sweeping the immediate area with both phasers and eyes before signaling the all-clear. "Perimeter secure, Captain," Novak reported through the comm system. "Corridor appears empty. Some debris, but structurally sound."

Mac stepped through next, immediately noting the difference in gravity, slightly lighter than the shuttle, but stable. The station's lighting was dim, running on emergency power, casting long shadows that made every corner potentially threatening. "Doctor, Hlath, what are your tricorders telling us? Life signs, atmosphere, structural readings?" His tone was conversational, but focused. He kept his phaser ready but not raised, eyes scanning the corridor that stretched ahead into darkness.

The shift to a different gravity never failed to disorient and it took Kim a moment to get her bearings. She muttered something unintelligible to the rest under her breath before stepping out of the way for those coming behind her and shifting her tricorder from where it was looped around her neck and resting on her hip. With a few practiced flips of her fingers complicated only slightly by the gear they were wearing the device lit up. A brief arc to cover the visible area and round them resulted in the kind of results doctors didn't hope for.

"No life signs in the general area," she reported back, brow furrowed as she did another sweeping arc. "But there's humanoid matter that way." She pointed in the direction of the blips on her screen hoping they were, in fact, bodies and not merely viscera that had somehow been discharged in that location.

"Atmospheric conditions are unideal, but still potentially conducive to life." Hlath noted. "I am reading some significant structural damage and worsening faults on the outer superstructure, but the main access shafts appear intact. This could change quickly however, I believe the effects of the shockwaves are accumulating. Also..." Hlath began mid-thought, cycling through the operational modes on his tricorder, "I am not yet certain, but I believe I may be detecting trace evidence of disruptor-type weapons fire."

Right on cue, a sudden shockwave rippled through the station's superstructure. The deck plating beneath their feet groaned and shifted, emergency lighting flickered, and a distant rumble echoed from somewhere deep within the facility.

Mac grabbed the nearest bulkhead to steady himself, watching as Novak and Silva automatically adjusted their stances. "There's our reminder about those subspace eddies," he said with grim satisfaction. Another shockwave, stronger this time, sent loose debris tumbling from the ceiling. The station's hull seemed to shudder around them. "Well, at least Kirak's timing was accurate." Mac glanced back toward the shuttle. "Everyone, remember what we discussed about three points of contact. Let's keep moving."

"That was more powerful than I had anticipated, however," the Vulcan added. He'd stayed relatively steady in the rocking vibrations. "We must examine the possibility that Regula One's inevitable impact on the planetoid below may be preceded by its superstructure collapse." Kirak had his phaser raised in a more ready position, and gestured silently for the security detail to keep close quarters with the Captain.

Kaavven steadied himself, his boots crunching softly on the fallen debris. The faint hum of both the station systems and the tricorders, paired with the clipped breaths of his companions filled the silence, but his own focus remained sharp, eyes scanning the shadowed terrain ahead. Every flicker of movement drew his attention, every sound weighed and measured. He wasn't going to let his first away team experience be his last.

Kirak raised a brow after a moment and made his way gingerly over the foam insulation debris and discarded miscellanea cast across the floor. He approached a wall and raised his hand, fingers splayed. After a moment he stated, "The bulkheads are compromised. I believe I am detecting a draft. Likely from microscopic fractures in the hull."

"Captain," Kirak stated after a moment, "Logic suggests that we attempt to stabilize the orbit of the space lab in their control center. "We can better assess damage and status from that location."

"Is the control center that way?" Standish cut in, indicating the direction of the human matter she'd identified earlier. "If so then that works, but if not then I'd recommend we at least get a look at whatever that is. It's not alive, but it would help to know..." she hesitated, grasping for words. She didn't exactly want to say if the matter happens to be people we were hoping to find alive but it was what she was thinking. Any information about what her scans had indicated could only help them. Nonetheless she let her statement trail off, leaving it unpunctuated for everyone else to fill in the gaps.

"I defer to your judgment, Doctor. I respect that dividing the Away Team is a less than ideal prospect." Kirak replied.

Mac processed both assessments quickly. "The control center should be in that direction. That's where we need to be anyway." He looked at his security officers. "Novak, Silva, standard sweep pattern. Doctor Standish and Hlath, stay between security and the rest of us. Mr. Kirak, you're with me."

He nodded to Novak. "Lead us out, Petty Officer. Doctor, keep calling out those readings as we go."

Standish nodded her understanding--an odd sort of whole upper torso action thanks to the suits she wore. She kept her tricorder running and set off behind the Petty Officer leading the way. Navigating the debris while also taking in changes to her readouts was a bit of a trick and she found herself spending a lot of time with her eyes skipping back and forth between the ground ahead of her and the device in her hands. Finally, they reached the remains, or what passed for them, that she had identified on her first scan. She slowed, stopping and then turning. There was hardly anything body-like to speak off. A smear, of dark green on the wall indicated a spatter of blood. A quick scan confirmed what the visual indicated. "Vulcan blood, sir," she called out. She stepped closer and frowned. "It's not fresh, but..." she twisted looking for the source of the blood, "I don't see a body."

Mac moved up beside her, his eyes following the dark stain along the wall. The beam from his wrist light caught the edge of the smear, dull against the cold metal. “Not fresh could mean someone lived long enough to move,” he said quietly. He let the thought hang for a moment, then nodded once. “Mark the site, Doctor. We’ll find out where they went.” He turned his gaze down the corridor, jaw set. “Let’s keep moving.”

Standish nodded her understanding before adjusting some controls on the tricorder and doing one more visual scan of the blood trail. She let her eyes drift downward, looking for evidence that the body in question had moved of its own free volition while it still bled, but the debris and dust made it difficult to make much out on the floor and with a frown she turned back to her readings.

Kirak's brow rose in a cocked curiously fashion. The macabre fact of his own species' life fluids on the deck of this place gave him pause, and then training pushed him forward. "I believe there was a Vulcan among the security staff."

Hlath remained quiet as they proceeded, he had nothing new to add, and the sight of spilled blood was more disturbing than he expected. It spoke of something... uncivilised. He focused on his readings, trying not to think about what could have caused such violence.

[Regula One, Station Control Center]

The control center was a tomb bathed in crimson emergency lighting. The pulsing red glow cast long shadows across overturned chairs and scattered PADDs, creating an eerie tableau that made Mac's jaw tighten. Every console was dark, their screens lifeless black rectangles that reflected nothing back.

But it was the bodies that commanded attention. Three figures in Starfleet security uniforms lay scattered across the deck, their positions suggesting they'd died fighting. The emergency lighting painted them in shades of red and black, making it difficult to assess the full extent of their injuries from a distance.

Mac moved carefully into the room, his boots crunching on debris. "Doctor, I need you to examine them. We have DNA profiles for the security detail, but their insignia should confirm identities." He kept his phaser ready, scanning the shadows. "Look for cause of death, time since death if you can estimate it, anything unusual."
His gaze swept the room, taking in the tactical situation with a pilot's eye for detail. That's when he noticed the gap in the main computer console. Where there should have been rows of duotronic data storage, there was nothing but empty brackets and severed connections. Someone had surgically removed the databanks, leaving the processors intact but useless.

"Mr. Kirak," Mac said, gesturing toward the dead consoles, "any chance we can restore power to these systems? Or did whoever gutted the computer core make that impossible?" He moved closer to examine the empty data storage slots. "Looks like they knew exactly what they wanted. Took the databanks, left everything else."

"Agreed," the Vulcan stated flatly, perusing the scan of the space with a sweep of his light. "It would be logical to conclude this was not simply an opportunistic raid. I would recommend taking forensics samples around the databank placements. Perhaps we can get an idea who did this." He glanced at Standish, "I would be of assistance, if you wish Doctor."

At first, Dyrgen thought his ears might have been deceiving him. Aside from the creaks and groans, and the occasional skittering of electrical sparks, he had not heard a single voice since the marauders had left many, many hours ago. Surely, it was his mind playing tricks on him, desperate for some impossible thread of hope to grasp onto. And yet...there it was again. Voices.

Dyrgen tried to speak, but in all the time that had passed, his throat had gone dry. All that came out of his mouth was a hoarse, pitiful rasp of sound. He knew that wasn't going to do him much good, at least insofar as getting anyone's attention, so he immediately switched tactics. He shifted slightly, sending the tingling feeling of pins and needles racing through his arms and legs. Pushing through the sensation, he shifted again, enough to give himself room. Then, he began to slam his fist against the side of the storage unit as hard as he could muster. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.

Kim was halfway through the process of confirming the identity of the first body when she heard the dull, though clear, thud of something... or someone... pounding against... Against what? She looked up from her work, pausing in her scan of the body to twist around, trying to find the source of the sound.

"I believe the sound came from over there." Hlath said, pointing a long amphibious finger towards the direction his hearing told him was the source. He refocused his scans in that direction.

Saenar nodded quickly, a little too quickly, eager to sound confident. “Definitely over there,” he said, his tone lighter than he intended, though a faint tremor betrayed him. The subtle quiver in his voice wasn’t lost on anyone paying close attention, but he tried to mask it by adjusting the strap of his equipment pack and refocusing on the task ahead.

The dim light caught the curve of his Haliian brow ridges as he peered in the direction he’d indicated. His pulse drummed softly in his ears, and he swallowed against the dryness in his throat. This wasn’t fear, he told himself, just adrenaline. Excitement, maybe. But his hands betrayed him, fingers twitching slightly against the equipment controls as he worked to steady them.

Still, he held his posture, eyes fixed forward, forcing the hint of a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “We’ve got this,” he added quietly, more to himself than to anyone else.

Mac snapped his wrist light toward the bulkhead lockers. “Phasers out. Novak, Silva, on me.” The pounding came again—faint, uneven, desperate. He gave Silva a curt nod, and the petty officer forced the manual release. The panel shuddered, then slid open with a hiss of stale, recycled air. A man collapsed forward, hitting the frame before Mac caught him. At first glance, the pointed ears and dusky skin tone read as Vulcan, but the softer features gave him away. Zami. Not one of the security officers then.

His Starfleet jacket was rumpled, not tactical issue, and the air that poured out of the compartment had the heavy, sour edge of carbon dioxide. Mac lowered him carefully to the deck, feeling for a pulse. “Doctor, over here!” he called, voice sharp through the mask. A tricorder slipped from the man’s side as he fell. Mac caught it and handed it off to Hlath. “Check this, see if he managed to record anything before he blacked out. We might finally get a read on what went down here.”

Kim was next to the Captain and the newly found officer faster than might have been expected. She had already shifted into movement the moment it became clear that a person had been locked in that space--not waiting for the Captain's order to assist.

"Lay him down," she said, slipping fully into the business-like mode of doctoring. With a practiced ease, even in the EV suit, she toggled the tricorder to a new scanning mode then crouched next to the Zami, hovering the device along his length until she had a full body scan. Behind her helmet her face screwed up in concern, and she swore quietly under her breath.

"He's been in there long enough to be oxygen deprived," she informed those around her without bothering to look up. "I'd rather have him back on the Proxima for treatment. She dug into a satchel that had been slung over her shoulder, pulling out a dermal regenerator that she promptly applied to a trickle of green blood that was dribbling down the man's cheek where he had hit the frame of the locker on his way out.

"Most recent readings show multiple lifesigns, not members of the crew. One human male, one Orion female, one Andorian, and one Nausicaan. Curious combination. Nausicaans are statistically unlikely to work in concert with other species, unless the rewards are particularly significant." Hlath said, flicking between the most recent readings and stored files. "I believe I have also found what appears to be an impulse signature of the vessel the foursome arrived in. It looks like - oh." Hlath said with a disappointed voice as the little light in the tricorder went out. "The device needs charging, its internal batteries are run-down."

The sudden influx of sights, sounds, and sensations very nearly overwhelmed Dyrgen. A part of him, perhaps instinctively, wanted to crawl back into the container where it was dark and safe and warm. But his arms and legs did not respond, at least...not the way he wanted them to. They were sluggish, like his thoughts, and he could feel someone else's hands on him, pulling him away from his shelter. "Who..." he asked, voice raspy.

Mac leaned close so his voice carried clean through the mask. “Starfleet. USS Proxima. You’re safe.” He squeezed the man’s forearm once, then looked to Standish. “Doctor, is he stable to move?”

Standish frowned behind her helmet, but nodded. "As stable as he's going to get without our Sickbay," she confirmed. "I'd rather chance moving him than hope we can find functional facilities here." She turned to look at the Captain for the briefest of moments, gauging his expression and body language as best she could through their suits and then returned to her tricorder for a fresh scan.

The whole conversation seemed far away to Dyrgen, as if it was happening somewhere off in the distance. Voices sounded muddled, and he couldn't tell whether they were speaking to him or not. If they were, he had no idea how to respond. Being in the cold, less spent air outside the container was helping a little. But the fog that had settled into his brain over the last several hours still stubbornly refused to clear.

Another tremor rolled underfoot. Mac turned to security. “Novak, Silva, lift and carry. We can't beam him out of here. We'll take him to the Tereshkova now.” He swept the room one last time, jaw tight. “We have what we came for. Collect your scans and break contact. If Starfleet wants this station saved, they can send a tug. We are done here.”

In a tiny part of the doctor's brain there was a desire to protest. It was, theoretically, possible there were more survivors. It is not as though they had searched the entire station. Then again, that wasn't their primary mandate and a true station search would require time and manpower--both of which they may not have if the bucking of the deck plating beneath her feet was any indication. With a sigh she addressed the two men that the Captain had instructed to carry the man they'd found. "Gently gentlemen. And with as much speed as we can safely muster." She straightened and placed a gloved hand on the man's arm. "We'll get you sorted soon," she told him hoping for reassurance in the midst of everything else.

 

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