Time felt stretched and slow. In the back of his head thunder was
rolling. The calcium shell, which had grown thicker over the months, was
cracking. He was shedding it, along with the old tepid air inside of
it. As his nostrils registered a higher level of oxygen his lungs
rebelled, emptying themselves of the last vestiges of carbon dioxide and
inhaling spastically anew. Light, reaching his now wide open eyes for
the first time in almost a year, felt like a hammer of photons against
his skull. He cramped and convulsed, too busy breathing to be able to
scream.
Felix raced through into the ship’s gleaming sickbay. “They got the
blood out pretty well,” he murmured to himself, coming to a halt next to
the fusty, rattling biped. The last half an hour had been a whirlwind
of personnel logistics and an earful of Monkfish; he looked across at
his new CMO, who had received the full Lone Star treatment in the space
of about seven minutes.
“Doctor Vaughn. We’ll do the niceties later. What’s his condition?” de
l’Isle pulled the face he normally reserved for Ferengi cuisine. “And is
that smell meant to be happening? He smells like a Klingon necropolis.”
Sickbay also now featured a smattering of dead skin.
"Unfortunately for all of us, this is apparently natural to his species
when they come out of the torpor," Andraste said over the noise of the
bucking body on the biobed. She'd done a very brief brush-up on said
species in the time it had taken to get from there to here. "It should
calm down momentarily on its own."
As if in response, the male figure on the biobed stopped convulsing and
sat up straight. He rubbed his eyes and let out an impressively long
tirade of curses in several different languages. Loudly. After that he
took a short breath, sighed and said - mostly to himself - "They say it
gets easier every time. Fucking liars. Can't believe Burgundy's gone
trough nine of these..."
His surroundings finally started to register; at first the beeps from
consoles and the talk of orderlies some way away, then the figures
surrounding his own biobed. Speaking of which: "Hey, I'm on a biobed!"
His glare turned suspicious when he surveyed his company. "Who are you?"
Not known for his authoritarian approach, Felix de l’Isle had a reasonably simple, rules-based approach to captaincy.
Number one: what the boss says, goes.
Number two: respect the rank, even if you don’t respect the person.
Number three: don’t be a dick. Felix warned Vaughn back from the biobed
with a look. He realised he’d probably have to undo this later lest she
think him a right shouter, but for now, it had to be thus. His look
asked her: is he, technically, all right?
She stepped back with a raised brow and the silent question, naturally
unanswered, as to what he intended to do. When he looked at her, she
looked at the man on the biobed and then offered a nod. Yes, he seemed
fine...
Upon what he thought was confirmation, the captain executed his plan. “Get on your feet now, Ensign!”
It was reasonably clear that, should Burgundy reject the invitation, he would be hoisted there by his new commanding officer.
The Ensign in question didn't so much hesitate as evaluate his choices.
Within about a second he had located Felix's collar and identified the
pips thereupon. He rose, just about fast enough that he couldn't
be accused of being disrespectful. "Am I on duty, Captain?" he inquired
flatly. "And what ship is this, by the way?" He glanced around the area
swiftly. "Or station, or whatever..." While his words were inquisitive
in nature, the tone by which they were delivered revealed an innate
disinterest. A chasm of indifference.
Starfleet had done nothing wrong towards the Science Officer. It just,
by his count, hadn't exactly done anything right either. It was boring.
It was tedious. It was filled to the brim with people demanding things
from him. The work never ended: as soon as he was done with one task
they just gave him another one. A despicable tradition that - he was
sure - the young Captain in front of him was keen to continue.
“Doctor Vaughn,” Felix intoned, rabidly unimpressed with Burgundy’s
lackadaisical approach. “Are you quite certain that the ensign here is –
well – well?”
de l’Isle was well versed with this kind of personality. He had worn it
himself, for a time. This one appeared to think he was the first to don
the garment. Felix caught himself before he smiled.
“To my untrained eye,” the captain suggested to the doctor, “it looks
like our Ensign Burgundy is suffering a personality disorder brought on
by his hibernation.” Felix’s non-specific American drawl came into its
own. He stepped closer to the Prepondrian’s presence, and face. “Are
there precautions we should take, Doctor Vaughn, to ensure he is – let’s
say – safe to the crew?”
Or he could just have a personality disorder, the good doctor
reflected, but she didn't say aloud. "To be honest, Captain, I have more
research to do on his species as it is, but frankly, I don't see it
reasonable to release him from sickbay immediately until I can be sure
that all is well."
Ensign Burgundy smirked a little. The doctor, he thought, was an ally.
"Doctor Vaughn is absolutely right, Captain," he said enthusiastically.
"I'm really not myself and I need rest after my long rest – I mean
ordeal. Light duties and short shifts are in order." He tried to look
sullen and tired, but acting had never been his strong suit. When he
found that smugness was surfacing again he decided to shift the
Captain's attention elsewhere. "You concur, Doctor Vaughn? Right?" he
demanded.
Andra lifted a dark brow, immediately disliking his tone. "Let's not put
words in my mouth, shall we?" she said, a tad archly. "I said I wanted
to keep you here for a short period of time for assessment. You may be
just as likely ready to return to full duty when I'm done." She really
had no idea if that would be the case, but she didn't care. It would be
up to her to decide and not the snappish stranger sitting in front of her.
Burgundy looked at her. His judgment had apparently been a little off;
she was not an ally. Resigned, he sat down on the biobed again and
sighed. "Fine," he said, some of the petulance now toned down. "Run your
tests. You'll find that all is as it should. Just give me a couple of
thousand calories of something that doesn't taste like shit and I'll be
out of your hair." He looked at the Captain again. There was defiance in
his eyes, but acceptance in his posture. "I'll find the Quartermaster
and get myself settled in. And I'll report in for duty tomorrow – if the
kind Doctor approves," the last added with afterthought and
sarcasm. He'd find a way to weasel out of things eventually. Just not
today.
She smiled politely. His tone was not missed, but it was unacknowledged.
"I suppose we'll see what the tests say, Captain." Andra turned her
dark eyes to Felix.
“Won’t we just.” de l’Isle’s own countenance had turned somewhat
brooding as he met the doctor’s eyes with his own. “Ensign Burgundy.
With your permission, I’d like to clear something up.”
Burgundy raised an eyebrow. "You need my permission? Go ahead, Captain.
It's your ship. Or station." It occurred to him that he still didn't
know where he was at all. Except that it wasn't the USS Maine.
“Indeed, that was part of the irony,” Felix replied flatly. “You see, Ensign, on board a starship
such as the USS Enterprise here, junior officers do not allocate
themselves to shifts, or suggest to the ship’s doctor the outcome of a
medical investigation. Perhaps this was not the case at your previous
assignment. However, I am certain that between Commander Animo and
myself, this misunderstanding of yours will be ironed out rapidly.”
Enterprise? The thought was jarring. If he was placed on the flag
ship of Starfleet, it must mean his family had done some hard diplomat
leg work. It also meant a much tighter cage, for now he would be watched
with interest by all the royal families of Prepondria. Fuck. "I understand, Sir," he said, this time his insubordination had been replaced with apprehension.
de l’Isle returned his attention to Vaughn. “Oh, kind doctor. When you
have determined that our recruit’s sass gland isn’t going to rupture and
kill him before someone else does, would you report to me for a debrief
that isn’t a festival of ego for a jumped up Ensign who’s forgotten
he’s on remand for a dereliction of duty charge?”
Andraste's lips twisted into a half-a-smirk that was probably not all
that professional, but oh well. "Certainly, Captain," she replied
easily. "I'll also make sure that the members of sickbay have their
hazard suits available in case the sass gland does erupt. We can't have
all of sickbay being sassy, sir, right?"
“Just me, and when you feel it appropriate, you. It’s your sickbay. But let’s contain it before it becomes an epidemic.”
Ensign Burgundy watched the exchange with distaste. He was being made a
joke of, he was sure. It was just that he couldn't quite understand how.
And this 'sass' thing, was that an ongoing internal thing or was it
only at his expense? A little confused he muttered, inaudibly,
"Prepondrians don't have a 'sass' gland..."
Rounding on Burgundy, de l’Isle eased over-comfortably towards the
Ensign’s personal space. This one had spunk: perhaps too much, and only
time and attention would determine which variety of irritation he would
become.
“You’ll report to Lieutenant Commander Animo when you’re called. In the
meantime, some advice. We’ve seen officers of all talents and
persuasions here. On the Enterprise,” de l’Isle added, sewing a sardonic
lilt into the ship’s title. “It’ll make or break you, this ship. The
ice is thick, but you can be easily kicked off the edge into the
unknown. Especially where we’re going.”
Felix winked, in a manner not entirely unfriendly, and smacked Burgundy
on the arm with an open hand, in a manner not entirely chummy. Then he
waggled a finger back and forth between Vaughn and his chest, indicating
‘you and me’.
“Don’t let the sass roam free, Doc,” de l’Isle imparted turning to move away. “Report in when you’ve got it locked down.”
The Science Officer - or patient, as it were - lay down. He looked
suspiciously at the other two, but refrained from saying anything more,
lest he'd be even more made fun of. I'm the right amount of sassy... Right? he thought to himself, still confused.
Andra nodded once towards the captain. "Of course, sir," she said
easily. So far, she appreciated that this commander had far more sense
of humor than her last one did. Turning back to the now-silent ensign,
who resembled a sulking teenager laying on the bed, she said, "Things
will be kept well contained, I assure you."
"I'm holding you to that!" Felix called, the sickbay doors drawing tight behind him.
-=-=-
by Ensign Burgundy, Science Officer
Doctor (Lt.) Andraste Vaughn, Chief Medical Officer
and Captain Felix de l'Isle, Commanding Officer