242006.18 || Virus Cured
Cry For Help
Location: Sickbay, USS Sanctuary
“Chief Medical Officer's Log, Stardate 242006.18:
“I tried to call a meeting of the senior staff, and I'm never doing that again.
“For one thing: the more people involved in a conversation means more people wanting to talk at the same time. An email would have been simpler. Scratch that—it would have been easier to send the nurses out to test everyone for the virus with a note pinned to their foreheads; at least that way I could skim through eveyrone's responses in an orderly fashion.
“It doesn't really matter, because our crew and the colony's population create a diverse enough mix for me to figure this thing out...”
=/\= Sickbay, USS Sanctuary
Starfleet technology—and more specifically lab equipment—was not made for three-fingered hands. Pulling the little vials from the centrifuge and and manipulating the delicate controls of literally every piece of diagnostic equipment added precious seconds to each step in the process of the grand majority of the tasks that his duties required. This was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because when he needed to take his time the reasons were obvious: he had three-fingered hooves for hands. A curse because when he was in a hurry the Doctor had a difficult time manipulating the tiny vials as he attempted to slip them into the tiny holes on the delicate machine to do the vital work that thousands of lives depended on.
That's why he was so thankful that Zev happened to be there.
Fytherix's Ferengi husband had long ago gotten into the habit of stopping by Sickbay as he made his daily rounds about whatever post they'd been assigned to. In the past it had been for professional reasons, but since their arrival on the Sanctuary Zev was not technically a member of the crew. According to the ship's manifest he was an Federation Amabassadorial Envoy on sabbatical, and if anyone asked too many questions he was there specifically as an observer-slash-consultant on behalf of the Starfleet Diplomatic Corps. Zev's doctorates in xenopsychology granted him the Starfleet naval rank of Lieutenant as a ship's counselor, and in that capacity he was also on long-term leave; if anyone asked too many questions he was a member of Fytherix's personal staff. It was for both of these reasons the Couns-bassador had the relative freedom to chose how and where he was assigned, or when and why he chose not to be. If necessary he could act in either capacity; if he wasn't assigned to a specific post, he had the freedom and security clearances to accompany Fyth wherever the doctor was assigned.
Zev's versatility and charisma were one of the things that Fytherix admired most about him. At any point the suave Ferengi would appear and talk his way through any situation. Would it be an exaggeration to say that Ambassador-slash-Counselor Zev talked the warp core of the USS Guardian from overloading during an armed conflict with the Tholians? That depends on whether or not you stopped to wonder why the ship's counselor and/or a Federation Ambassador was in Engineering during the heat of battle, and further why the warp core—which threatened to breach—chose not to. A lot of people died, and the ship barely made it back to port after three weeks adrift and four days in tow, but many of the senior officers—including and especially the ship's command team—were determined to be mentally sound when they were called in for court martial and ultimately relieved of duty.
So, when Fytherix glared at a PADD, glared at his husband, jabbed one of his three hooved fingers at the equipment currently being used to analyze the results of the latest samples, and barked “Start over. Take all of it out, and do it again!” Zev nodded, smiling as he began removing the samples and storing them as he'd been throughly instructed by his ...abrasive... husband.
Zev's Tellarite husband was a blunt, demanding, stubborn, bear of a man trapped in a five-foot frame with a difficult complexion and several addictions that, while questionable, were perfectly legal within the Federation. Zev had met and professionally interacted with a number of Tellarites: Fytherix was unique. Though he would never say it out loud, Zev felt that Fytherix hit every single stereotype ever spoken of his species, then took it up a notch.
At virtually no point over the course of their relationship had what would normally be an amicable conversation between Fyth and almost anyone on any topic upon which they might've had in common ended amicably. From what Zev could tell: Fytherix was an individual who demanded acceptance if not respect, and didn't give a damn about the thoughts, feelings, or opinions of anyone. He was too damn good as a doctor to get fired, shut out anyone who's socio-political positions posed a threat, and was fiercely loyal to those he considered friends—whether they felt the same way or not.
“It's still green, babe,” Zev smiled.
Fyth glared at his PADD, glared at his husband, sighed heavily, then tossed the PADD on a nearby counter. As he fished a cigarette out of his pocket, nodded to himself. “Then so be it.” With the flick of a lighter he tapped a few buttons on a nearby console. “I need a drink.” Following his last interaction with the Colonel, news of the cure could be sent in a text message; Razor would receive the genetic sequencing to begin fabricating it on the planet.
The two of them left sickbay: Fyth smoking, while Zev resumed his latest marital campaign: Who will choose their next duty assignment, opening a joint private practice somewhere, and whether or not to have kids in the interim.
Col-MayTa stands and looks at the CMO, that good yo9u guys and star Fleet worked on a cure. Once it gets here I want it ready to go.So you start prepering in getting it down there I'll ket Razor know to tart seperation sick from the healthy. I are setting uo a tent city on the east side f the city. Thts where all the non infected with stay.
"The Colonel walking out with a slow gate
He stops a few more things Doctor, I checked with Star Fleet and Medical Command. any thing you order me to do will take under advisement. You see since we are a T multi role Temporal war ship. Alot of medical rules and regulatins do not apply. To me or the Xo, Unless we are mentaly proven to be affected by a temporal anololy r something deling with a temporal issues that affects everyone. Or and alien mental attack. Ten yes uyou can over ride and take command or put use to bed under quaraten.
So in other words keep yur Rules and rgulations in your picket. as for the rest of the crew fine apply your rules and regilations. He looks back with a look that would kill a targ or freez anyonne in their track. I mean what I say Doctor once we are done with all this, we are going ot have a long talk.You need to stop being so over drematic and over Zelous with your work. Your going to make someone very mad at you. They are iether cheew you out or punch you dead smack in the face.
He looks at the Doctpr, as a persone your a good guy but your bed side maner and how approch everone
SUCKS. YOu keep it up i'll stick you in a Temporal pod at send you back your last command. He eyes him, hope I made my self cristal cleaar Doctor, now get to wrk e walks out and heads to the Bridge.