Poisons and Chasers

Posted on Fri Jul 21st, 2017 @ 5:16am by Fleet Admiral Donatella Figueroa & Lieutenant Commander Ezekiel Hill
Edited on on Fri Jul 21st, 2017 @ 5:30am

Mission: S01E01 - At the Brink of Night
Location: Deck 8 | The Roosevelt Lounge

Deck 8 was the designated "Recreational Deck" for the starship Musashi, small recreational rooms were strung about easily equipped with everything from basic physical exercise needs to that of mental discipline sharpening through games likes chess, Vulcan Kal-toh, or Kadis-kot. Table tennis and other old Earth sports were easily set up, and one room on the deck was the perfect racquetball court. However, none of those appealed to Captain Figueroa like the call of The Roosevelt. It's been one of those days she thought to herself, but she could not help but hear the sassy little angel on her shoulder going 'Honey, it is always one of these days and you just are making excuses' meanwhile on the other side was a very smooth voice going 'The Klingons made you into this' as if that gave her the right to drink her troubles away.

The new Chief Medical Officer was aboard the starship now. At least that's what scuttlebutt had it as. She knew nothing about the man or woman that Starfleet had assigned to her. For the most part she had the ability to read through and review candidates, pick her own personnel. Not when it came to the Medical Department and for good reason. They threw a Ship's Counselor her way, a bonafide clinical Psychiatrist. There was no way in hell she was going to allow some head shrink on her starship. She hated them all. Counselors, Therapist, Psychologist, but Psychiatrist by far took the cake. Pump me full of drugs and tell me my Elektra theory penis envy type daddy issues another day she thought to herself. She had basically rejected to idea vehemently to Starfleet Command and they agreed no Ship's Counselor, but then they pulled the rug from underneath her and took over the selecting of Medical personnel. So, for all she knew she was going to be stuck with somebody hell bent on making her work out her issues.

I self prescribe thank you very much she thought as she walked behind the bar and fell in love with the selection of liquor and flavored liqueur. She pulled down a few bottles and then one glass for herself. The Longue was empty because it was not officially re-opened yet. They were still taking on crew replacements and new personnel at the Tellar Repair Yards, but the door whooshed open and she saw a man walk in. "Come on in" she said aloud with a scoff. "What can I get ya? Better get it while the getting is good" she added.

Zeke hadn't been on the ship for an hour before he was inundated with duty. The moment he tossed his bag on his new bed, an orderly from sickbay was waiting for him at the door. She was a bubbly young woman, with red, bobbed hair, and her voice was irritatingly squeaky. On their way to the sickbay, the orderly reminded Zeke several times that his predecessor was, "an amazing doctor" who, between treating disruptor wounds, took the time to treat her Bolian measles. Zeke just nodded, and reminded her to come by for a check up, from time-to-time, to avoid relapse. A person with case of Bolian measles in relapse, more often than not, ruined bedding and carpeting.

Sickbay was impressive, despite the Musashi's designation as a warship. Zeke wondered if the engineers compensated for bad wiring by having a roomy sickbay.

If you happened to get a plasma burn from a faulty conduit, at least you could rest in comfort. He thought to himself.

The sickbay staff were running around wildly, trying to get everything up-and-running. They were too busy to notice they Zeke walk in. That was until he found a metal tray, and slammed it against the wall a few times, bending it irreparably in the process.

He introduced himself, and tried to make his staff calm down -- gave them assurances that everything would be ready by show time. Their was a brief calm before they all swarmed him with paperwork to sign. It took him two more hours to get through it all, and by the time he was done, he wearily desired a drink.

That same annoying orderly pointed him in the direction of the ship's bar, "The Roosevelt."

Speak softly, and carry a big stick. Zeke recalled the famous quote, Whole lot of good that attitude did with the Klingons.

He made his way to the lounge, and he was immediately spotted by a woman. She was stately in her new-style uniform, and Zeke felt that wearing her hair down was an interesting choice.

He took a seat next to her, and ordered a bourbon on the rocks, "Captain Figueroa?"

Fig had mixed herself a dirty martini and had taken a seat when the man joined her, sitting in the seat next to her at the bar. "That depends on who is asking and what they want" she said, taking a good sip from the class, two green olives hitting against her upper lips as she consumed her alcoholic cocktail, heavy on the vermouth. "I'm not married, so I know you aren't bringing me divorce papers" she said in jest.

She turned in the bar stool and had a better look at the man. "Oh for stars sake!" she said picking up her glass and practically downing it, the bitter hotness clearly burning it's way down her throat. "Please don't tell me they sent me a Ship's Counselor" she said as she pierced the two olives with a small wooden pick and brought them towards her mouth, catching the trail of small dripping liquid with a cupped hand underneath them as she guided them on course to her mouth.

Zeke was thrown off by the captain's gregariousness, almost to the point of irritation. The mention of psychiatry put him in the mood to analyze her. Despite his lack of qualifications, he figured her boisterousness was a screen of sorts, and there was something dark lurking underneath the facade.

With a smirk, Zeke handed her the napkin underneath his glass. "Not quite, ma'am. I'm Dr. Ezekiel Hill, your new CMO."

"Chief Medical Officer" she said with a nod. "And you don't specialize in shrinking heads?" she asked just to make sure Starfleet wasn't pulling a fast one on her.

Even though he was uncomfortable, Zeke tried to jest with the captain, "I'll leave the psychoanalysis for when you really screw up on the bridge."

"Better schedule me in for weekly visits" she replied. "My First Officer and my Navigator were killed a couple of weeks ago, my EX Chief Medical Officer gave me the nickname Morte et dabo, and my Chief Engineer gave me the ultimatum 'Accept my transfer or accept my resignation'" she said giving him a brief rundown of her past dozen days. "Welcome aboard" she added sarcastically with a solemn look towards her now emptied martini glass.

There was a brief pause in the conversation, and Zeke wondered if the Captain felt the same misery that he did. Death had become so ever-present in Zeke's life that the mention of it was met with numbness punctuated by a fleeting tinge of misery. Misery had become a tie-that-binds.

Zeke, staring off in the distance, tried to recall some pertinent saying from the Torah that his father told him, but he simply raised his glass and said, "To absent friends." He turned to the captain and said, "As for me, I don't really care much for nicknames."

She looked at the man after having a second dosage of martini. Raising her glass she agreed to that toast "old friends and the many fallen" she said thinking of the many lives lost during the war. "They aren't all so bad...Zeke?" she said almost asking if shortening his name to that was acceptable for him.

Zeke. The first person that made the name stick was Matthew all those years ago. His parents and siblings had called him that, and he insisted that they called him by his full, first name. Matt was the first person who truly dispelled Zeke's air of formality, and from then on, the name stuck.

Zeke nodded, "Zeke works for me, Captain. I suppose since I'll technically be your personal physician, you'll want to hear something besides 'Captain' when I deliver some bad news."

"I don't do good news and bad news, Zeke" she said flatly. "There's just news and fake news" whatever that means she thought to herself and then looked him straight in the eyes. "You just deliver the news and I'll take it however I take it. Captain is fine. It depends on how long you stay. If you stay long enough then maybe calling me Fig will be fine, but never ma'am. Sir is acceptable, but ma'am is tossed out the airlock."

Zeke smiled, "I admire your stoicism. The war took my ability to sugar coat, among other things." His smile faded, but he continued, "I haven't been on deep space duty in months, and I don't intend to be planet-side for a while."

They were interrupted by a voice on the intercom, "Dr. Hill, please report to the sickbay. Dr. Hill, report to sickbay."

"Haven't heard that in a long time." Zeke took the last sip of whiskey, and stood up, "Sickbay will be ready by launch, Fig."

The Captain raised her glass to him. "See you again soon, Doc" she said seeing him off.

 

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