Good Fortune Has a Waiting Room

Posted on Fri Jun 12, 2026 @ 6:10pm by Commander Tayanita 'Tay' Lio'ven
Edited on on Sat Jun 13, 2026 @ 3:14pm

2,657 words; about a 13 minute read

Mission: Jubilee
Location: Main Sickbay - Deep Space 5
Timeline: During the Jubilee Festival

The comet had not even reached its best viewing window yet, and Sickbay already looked as if good fortune had started taking hostages.

Tay stood near the central diagnostic table with a PADD in one hand and a cup of tea she had forgotten to drink in the other. It had gone cold some time ago. She kept carrying it anyway, partly out of habit and partly because setting it down felt like admitting the day had won.

The ward was full, but not catastrophically so. That was the kind of distinction only medical people found comforting.

A Tellarite trader with a sprained wrist sat on Biobed Three, arguing with Nurse Renn over whether slipping on spilled festival glaze counted as an act of sabotage. Two Human tourists occupied the detox alcove after discovering that fermented hasperat punch was not, in fact, “basically spicy wine.” A Bajoran child slept against her father’s side while a corpsman ran a dermal sweep over adhesive glitter caught in the folds of her jacket. Across the room, a Bolian performer kept insisting his face paint was supposed to glow, just not in response to warp field harmonics.

No one was dying.

That remained the best news of the morning.

The rest of it was getting creative.

“Doctor,” Renn called from the triage station, “we’ve got another three from the Promenade. Respiratory irritation, dizziness, and one says the ceiling tiles are singing in Vulcan.”

Tay did not look up from the PADD immediately. “Are they?”

Renn glanced up, because aboard Deep Space 5 it was worth checking. “Not as far as I can tell.”

“Good. Bay Two. Respiratory masks for anyone handling exposed clothing or fabric.”

Renn nodded and moved before the order had finished settling.

The D’ouaine comet had drawn half the quadrant to their doorstep. It had been two hundred and fifty years since its last pass, and every visitor seemed to have brought a different version of what it promised. Good fortune. Long life. True love. Safe childbirth. Profit. Forgiveness. A second chance at something they had already ruined once.

People brought hope onto a station the way they brought luggage.

Usually heavier than it looked.

The Sickbay doors opened again. Two security officers escorted in a man wearing a ceremonial cloak that appeared to be shedding metallic dust. A woman followed him, one hand clamped over her nose and the other pointing at him with rigid accusation.

“It was not my fault,” the cloaked man announced. “The incense was blessed.”

The woman coughed. “The incense was expired.”

“That is not spiritually relevant.”

“It is medically relevant,” Tay said, crossing to them.

The man registered the teal at her collar and drew himself up with wounded dignity. “Doctor, I am a pilgrim of the Fourth Path of Lurian Dawn. We travelled sixteen light years to greet D’ouaine’s fire.”

“And I’m glad you arrived safely.” Tay opened her tricorder. “Does greeting the fire traditionally involve airborne particulates and irritated mucous membranes?”

He hesitated. “Traditionally, yes.”

The woman coughed again.

Tay gave him a patient look.

He sighed. “Perhaps not so much.”

“Thank you.” She scanned the cloak first, then his hands, then the woman’s respiratory readings. “Renn, isolation screen around Triage Four. Low-grade filtration field, not quarantine.”

The pilgrim’s eyes widened. “Quarantine?”

“No. A poor incense decision.”

The woman gave a small, vindicated nod.

“You’re both going to be fine,” Tay said. “Respiratory stabiliser, then we decontaminate the cloak before you leave.”

“The cloak is sacred.”

“It will remain sacred. It will simply be less irritating.”

Someone nearby made the mistake of laughing under their breath. Tay pretended not to hear it.

Her comm badge chirped.

“Black to Doctor Lio’ven.”

Tay stepped back from the biobed traffic. “Go ahead.”

Laurence Black’s voice came through with its usual calm edge, which meant he was either standing beside trouble or had already named it. “We’ve got another cluster near the west observation deck. Six reports of visual distortion. Two adults, four children. All had contact with animals from the temporary petting enclosure.”

Tay glanced towards the sleeping Bajoran child. “Glitter exposure?”

“That’s the theory. Security says a pygmy goat got loose, shook itself through half the queue, then vanished under a food kiosk.”

“Of course it did.”

There was a pause. “Do you want me to ask how often this happens in Medicine?”

“No.”

“Good choice.”

Tay passed her cold tea to Crewman Dalen without looking. He took it, then realised what he was holding.

“Coordinate with environmental control,” she said. “Air sampling at the observation deck, the petting enclosure, and all access corridors between them. Tell them not to increase ventilation until we know how far the particles travel. If it’s the same lattice from earlier, I don’t want the system distributing it for us.”

“Already holding local circulation at minimum. Ops is annoyed.”

“Ops can be annoyed and breathing.”

“I’ll quote you.”

“Please don’t.”

The channel closed.

Dalen looked down at the cup. “Doctor, is this yours?”

“It used to be tea.”

“Is it still?”

“That depends how generous you’re feeling.”

He gave a tired little laugh and set it aside.

Dalen was young, capable, and currently wearing the expression of someone who had begun the day believing festival duty would mean handing out hydration packs and smiling at tourists. He had learned quickly. Tay appreciated that.

“You’re doing fine,” she said.

“I haven’t done much yet.”

“You haven’t panicked.”

“That’s the standard?”

“Some days.”

His eyes flicked to the doors as two more patients came in wearing comet-viewing badges and the same faint shimmer on their sleeves. He straightened. Not confident exactly, but deciding to keep moving.

Good.

“Bay Two,” Tay said quietly. “Masks first. Scan before you touch the fabric.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

He went.

Kalen was at the central table when Tay turned back, sleeves pushed neatly to the forearms, posture solid, eyes bright with professional suspicion. He had a good tolerance for chaos and a distrust of coincidence, which made him useful on days when Sickbay seemed determined to become a cautionary song.

“I have three more samples,” he said, setting sealed vials onto the table. “One from the child’s jacket, one from the Bolian performer’s face paint, and one from goat hair brought in by Security.”

“They caught the goat?”

“No. The goat shed evidence during its escape.”

Tay looked at him.

Kalen’s mouth curved faintly. “A tactical retreat.”

“By the goat or Security?”

“That remains under investigation.”

She reached for the scanner. “Please tell me the face paint is unrelated.”

“Mostly. It reacts badly to low-level electromagnetic fields and poor judgement, but it is not hallucinogenic.”

“That narrows the suspect list.”

The scanner began its pass with a soft pulse of light. Tay watched the first layer of results appear, then felt the small tightening in her jaw before she could stop it.

Kalen noticed, but did not comment.

“Concentration is higher,” she said.

“Yes.”

“Enough for airborne symptoms in a crowd?”

“If disturbed, possibly. Children first. Anyone with respiratory sensitivity next. The hallucinations remain transient, but panic spreads faster than chemistry.”

Tay looked through the glass partition into Bay Two. Dalen was helping one exposed visitor sit upright while Renn fitted a mask over another patient’s face. Frightened people. Tired staff. Too much glitter catching in the light.

The station seemed to press at the Sickbay doors.

“Where’s Ryan?” she asked.

“Mobile aid station, lower Promenade. Last report involved three sprained ankles, a heat-sick Ferengi, and someone claiming a commemorative comet pastry bit them.”

Tay looked back at him. “Did it?”

“Ryan did not specify.”

“That means yes.”

Kalen appeared to accept this as medically plausible.

“Doctor Vorn,” Tay called.

Vorn looked up from a diagnostic arch. Calm, precise, unhurried. She had the sort of steadiness that made panic feel badly dressed.

“Yes?”

“Bay Two oversight. Anyone with visual distortion gets neuro and respiratory baselines. No sedatives unless anxiety is driving the symptoms. I don’t want to mask progression.”

“Observation period?”

“Ninety minutes after symptoms resolve.”

“Parents will argue.”

“I know.”

“I’ll be kind.”

“Be firm first.”

Vorn’s mouth softened. “Of course.”

The Sickbay doors opened again before Tay could turn back to the samples.

This time it was not a cluster of tourists or glitter-shedding pilgrims. It was a Starfleet crewman in operations gold, walking under his own power but with the fixed focus of someone determined not to fall over. One hand braced against the wall. His breathing was too controlled, and there was a pale shimmer along his collar.

Dalen moved first. “Sir, this way.”

“I’m fine,” the crewman said.

Every medical officer in the room ignored that automatically.

Tay crossed to him. “Name?”

“Petty Officer Harrow. Environmental systems.”

“Were you at the west observation deck?”

“Jeffries access behind it.” His eyes flicked towards the overhead lights. “We shut down a local vent relay. Something got into the intake grill.”

“Something?”

“Feathers. Glitter. Maybe fur.” He swallowed. “Hard to tell.”

Kalen appeared at Tay’s shoulder with a scanner already open.

Harrow tried to straighten. “I can go back once you clear me.”

“No,” Tay said.

The single word was gentle. It still stopped him.

His mouth tightened. Duty pulled at him visibly, the way it often did in Starfleet people, like a hook beneath the ribs. Tay had seen that look in different uniforms, different centuries. People who thought stepping away meant someone else would suffer for it.

She softened her voice without softening the decision. “You did your part. Now you sit down before you become someone else’s.”

For a moment, he looked as if he might argue.

Then the room tilted under him, and Dalen caught his elbow.

“Biobed One,” Tay said.

Harrow let himself be guided, embarrassed enough to be alive. That was usually a good sign.

Kalen’s scanner chirped. “Respiratory uptake. Mild neurochemical disturbance. Elevated stress response.”

“Visual distortions?” Tay asked.

Harrow shut his eyes. “The floor keeps breathing.”

“The floor is not breathing.”

“I know that.”

“Good. Hold on to knowing it.”

His laugh came out thin, but it came.

Tay loaded a hypospray, checked the dose, then pressed it to his neck. “This will stabilise the receptors affected by the contaminant. You may still feel strange for a few minutes.”

“Stranger than the floor breathing?”

“Probably not.”

The hypo hissed.

Harrow’s shoulders eased by degrees.

Around them, Sickbay continued moving. Renn spoke quietly to the pilgrim of Lurian Dawn while his sacred cloak floated inside a decon field. Vorn crouched near a child in Bay Two, letting her hold the inactive end of a scanner while she explained what the real end was doing. Dalen sealed contaminated outerwear into bags with the solemn care of someone defusing a very sparkly bomb.

“Doctor Lio’ven.”

Tuval stood at the secondary station near the lab alcove. She had been quiet most of the morning, which usually meant she was either solving the problem or waiting for it to betray itself.

“I compared the contaminant samples against registered decorative compounds from festival vendors,” Tuval said.

“And?”

“No authorised match.”

Kalen’s eyes sharpened.

Tay did not move for half a breath.

The room did not change. Patients still breathed. Staff still worked. Somewhere behind a screen, the Tellarite resumed arguing that glaze should legally count as a weapon. But the shape of the day shifted.

Tay set her PADD down.

“Unregistered vendor product?” she asked.

“Possible,” Tuval said. “However, the adhesive matrix is unnecessarily sophisticated for decoration.”

Kalen folded his arms. “A polite way of saying engineered.”

“A precise way,” Tuval corrected.

Tay looked through the transparent wall of Bay Two, where the Bajoran child had woken and was watching Vorn with solemn trust.

People had come to see a comet and ask the sky for mercy. Someone had brought poison wrapped in glitter.

Tay felt something old and cold move through her, then let it pass. There was no use for it in her hands.

“Send the data to Security and Ops,” she said. “Medical priority. Potential deliberate environmental contaminant. No station-wide alert yet. We don’t start a panic without evidence.”

Tuval nodded. “Understood.”

“Kalen, finish the stability check on the aerosolised counteragent. I want it ready if this spreads beyond direct exposure.”

“Already doing it.”

“Renn, tell the mobile team to add respiratory filters to all Promenade kits. Quietly. Phrase it as dust control if anyone asks.”

“Dust control?” Renn called back.

“Festive dust control.”

“That sounds worse.”

“I know. Use your judgement.”

Harrow opened one eye from Biobed One. “Doctor?”

Tay turned back to him.

“The vent relay,” he said. “If we keep circulation low, the queue outside the observation deck is going to overheat before the viewing window.”

“I know.”

“People won’t leave. Not now.”

No, Tay thought. They would not.

Not after travelling light years. Not after carrying prayers and grief and promises all the way here. Not when a comet that returned once every two and a half centuries was about to burn across the glass.

Aloud, she said, “Then we keep them breathing while they wait.”

She tapped her comm badge. “Lio’ven to Ryan.”

A burst of Promenade noise answered before his voice came through. “Ryan here.”

“How busy are you?”

“Do you want the polite answer or the useful one?”

“Useful.”

“Busy, but mobile.”

“I need you near the west observation deck. Respiratory filters, hydration, crowd calming, and eyes open for glitter exposure. Don’t make it sound exciting.”

“Nothing says exciting like glitter triage, Doctor.”

“Try not to put that on a banner.”

“No promises. Ryan out.”

Tay allowed herself one breath that was almost a laugh.

Then she picked up the cold tea, remembered it was hopeless, and finally set it down properly.

For a moment, she stood in the centre of Sickbay and let the room settle into her awareness. The hum of biobeds. The soft chirp of monitors. The faint sting of decontamination fields. Voices layered over voices, fear tucked beneath irritation, exhaustion hiding behind jokes, duty moving from hand to hand without ceremony.

This, at least, she understood.

Not the comet. Not the old stories. Not whatever fool had decided to seed a festival with a hallucinogenic lattice and hope the station would be too distracted by wonder to notice.

But this.

The work.

The people.

The choosing, again and again, to keep the room steady.

Renn passed behind her with fresh filters. “Doctor?”

“Yes?”

“You should drink something that hasn’t died.”

Tay looked at the abandoned tea.

“So noted.”

“I mean it.”

“I know.”

Renn gave her the look nurses had been giving physicians since before warp drive and probably before shoes.

Tay lifted both hands slightly. “Water. Now.”

She crossed to the dispenser, ordered a cup, and drank half of it under Renn’s watchful stare. Kalen pretended not to notice and failed. Dalen noticed and wisely said nothing.

Outside the hull, D’ouaine moved closer, unseen from Sickbay but present in every crowded corridor and hopeful face aboard the station. A bright old thing returning on its long path, dragging legends behind it like a tail of fire.

Good fortune, people said.

Maybe.

Or maybe fortune was only the part people talked about afterwards, once the work had been done by tired hands in bright rooms, by officers holding ventilation systems together, by corpsmen keeping crowds calm, by nurses making doctors drink water, by frightened children learning that the lights were not really bending.

Tay finished the water and set the cup aside.

“Right,” she said, picking up her tricorder again. “Let’s keep ahead of it.”

The doors opened.

Sickbay breathed in the next piece of the day.

Tay went to meet it.

 

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