The cries of pain, the growls, and the pitiful pleas for help filled the sickbay. It was being overwhelmed as triage began for the mix of Romulan civilians, militia, and captured Klingons sent to the Gemini from Dhaillak. Additional injured Romulan officers from the IRW Valorex only added to the chaos. To say the medical staff was understaffed would have been an understatement.

“How dare you treat these scumbags! They bombarded my home, attacked our people, and you simply address their wounds as if nothing happened!” an angry Romulan officer yelled at Viamame as she stepped away from treating a Klingon patient.

Staying calm, Viamame moved to the next patient. “It’s Starfleet’s principle and our medical oath to assist those in need of care,” she said, preparing an infusion for a wounded woman. “If you have complaints about our bedside manners, take it up with my Captain. I have people to save.” She focused on the urgency surrounding the Romulan wounded nearby.

The Romulan growled. “They slaughtered our people! My brother is dead because of them, and here you are wasting resources on their kind?!”

“If we abandon our principles in times like these,” she replied, locking eyes with him, “what makes us better than the ones who attacked you?” Viamame held her ground, defending the principles of Starfleet.

From his biobed, the Klingon warrior grinned. “Ha! What a sign of weakness, to show compassion to your enemy. Starfleet’s principles are why Dhaillak is in this situation!” Despite his severe injury, his voice carried his disdain.

“Those principles are keeping you alive,” Viamame retorted without missing a beat. “Feel free to die if you’d prefer that, but I’ll still save your life, whether you like it or not. And if you die from a simple blood infection? Good luck finding your way into Sto’Vo’Kor. Being killed by an iron pipe is just sad.” Her sharp reply silenced both the Klingon and the Romulan, for now.

L’iera flinched as another Klingon warrior tried to shove her away. “Sir, I need to attend to your wounds, or you’ll make it worse!”

The Klingon spat in her direction. “I don’t need your pity! A true warrior embraces their wounds and tells tales of their victory. Starfleet pity is a sign of weakness!”

Whether Starfleet or not, it was as Viamame had said earlier, L’iera had to treat anyone who required care, even this Klingon. She raised her hands as a sign of no aggression. “Sir, while I understand your position, I see you’re a strong warrior who has fought countless battles. But that stab wound in your back needs treatment.”

The Klingon glared at her. “It would be an honorable death.”

L’iera met his gaze without flinching. “Perhaps. But you’d leave your House weaker without you. They’d lose a strong warrior. I believe your battle days aren’t over yet, you still have spirit left.”

“Fine. Do your treatment, Deltan,” he growled, seeing the wisdom in her words. “But hurry up.” Even as he consented, his eyes burned with the desire to fight the Romulans around him.

Ready Room 

The Chief Medical Officer entered the ready room, where Silina was seated at her desk, debating with Centurion Varek. Viamame didn’t waste time. “I’m here to deliver a quick update on the situation in sickbay. My team is overwhelmed with the injured from the Valorex, Dhaillak, and the wounded Klingon warriors.” She placed a PADD on the desk. “Some Klingons’ injuries are severe, and I had to prioritize them. The Romulans aren’t happy about it.”

Varek’s expression grew colder. Folding his arms, he turned to Silina. “Not happy? My people are outraged. You prioritize these beasts, these murderers of innocent lives, for medical care first? Tell me, Captain,what good are your Federation values when they only serve to weaken us?”

Silina rubbed her temple, her eyes shifting to Varek. “Centurion, I understand your frustration, but Starfleet’s mission is to save lives, no matter whose. If we abandon that mission, we abandon what makes us who we are.”

“And what are you?” Varek leaned on the desk. “Idealists? Martyrs? Because in the real world, it’s strength that ensures survival, not compassion.”

A soft tsk escaped Silina, her frustration visible as her jaw tightened. “Compassion is a strength, Centurion. It unites people. It shows that we’re capable of rising above our differences. And it ensures that when this war is over, there’s something worth surviving for.” Narrowing her eyes, she leaned forward slightly. “Now, are you going to cooperate with us, or are we going to bicker every moment about what you think is right versus what we do?”

Varek’s expression softened slightly, but he didn’t concede. “I hope you’re right, Captain. For all our sakes.”

Sickbay

As the last Klingon prisoner was escorted out of sickbay and back down to Dhaillak, Viamame slumped against a counter, exhaustion etched across her face. She looked up briefly as L’iera approached, offering a small smile. “You handled that better than I expected, Doc.”

“Did I?” Viamame asked, rubbing her nose and letting her head fall into her hand. “I prioritized a Klingon over a Romulan today. I did my duty, but that doesn’t mean it feels right.”

L’iera touched her shoulder gently. “Starfleet isn’t about what’s easy. It’s about what’s right.”

Before Viamame could respond, Silina entered the room. “Doctor. Ensign.” She looked around the sickbay, now quieter than it had been all day. “Good work. I know today wasn’t easy, but you upheld everything Starfleet stands for. I’m proud of this team.”

Viamame managed a small smile. “Thank you, Captain. Let’s hope the Romulans agree.”

“They may not today. But they’ll remember. Compassion doesn’t always yield immediate rewards, but it leaves an impression that lasts,” Silina replied with a firm nod. Her gaze drifted to a biobed still stained with Klingon blood, her own biases tugging at her thoughts.