Reuben the "Kidnapped" Captain

Posted on Thu Mar 23rd, 2017 @ 12:53pm by Captain Rueben Gregnol

Mission: Mission 3 - Negligence
Location: Deck 7 - Sickbay Complex
2118 words - 4.2 OF Standard Post Measure

Previously on “Getting creative” :

"I need it checked... you will understand why when I take my shirt off." Slowly he undid the tunic showing burn scars all over his right shoulder. "It's a long story but basic is a console blew up and then my shoulder was shattered and repaired badly. Can you do anything?" He said carrying on it Betazoid. It was nice to talk it again.

"Who operated on you, a drunken Klingon with a rusty d'k tahg?" Mosley said with some amount of disgust, though answering in Betazoid as well, even if he was more comfortable with Federation Standard. He shook his head disdainfully, before producing a medkit of blocky Farian design from his belongings. He wasn't prepared to admit to it's existence but try as he might he still had a soft spot. Mosley took a quick tricorder scan of Gregnol and examined the results with another sigh.

"Pretty much," Rueben answered thinking of the Orion Surgeon who had fixed him up.

"This is well beyond what I have the tools for in my belongings, a portable bone reginerator wouldn't be able to scratch this. If this Sickbay had even period medical equipment in it..." Mosley mused regretfully as he prepared a hypospray, "For the moment all I can do is give you a hypospray for the pain and encourage you to stay off it until I come up with some other options." As he applied the hypospray to Gregnol's neck, Mosley hoped he'd be able to do that before he ran out of injections. If he didn't come up with some medical equipment, he'd be forced to barbarically cut open the human's shoulder like they did in the 20th and 21st centuries.

And now, the conclusion:

Rueben sighed as he sat on the biobed looking around the Medical Bay or lack of medical bay. Mott was right they really did need more Medical supplies it was pretty drab with all the empty cabinets and drawers. Maybe after this mission, they could use the next mission’s latinum to get more supplies or maybe they could acquire more guests, it was the best he could offer unless Empok Nor had supplies that hadn’t been looted or used. Engineering was more important, it kept the lights on and the oxygen clean, allowing them to move through the universe.

“Anyone here?” He called out hoping that it was Leiddem and not Mott. The Betazoid was easy to manipulate to help him, they both had a common point of interest - Jeassaho.

"I'm afraid Dr. Anyone isn't in right now. It's just me, Dr. Olsam Mott," Olsam said, fairly loudly, from somewhere behind Rueben. How he'd gotten there without the other noticing him was a mystery for the time being. He extended his hand for a handshake as he came around in front of him and smiled at the captain like this was the very first time he'd met him, which it most certainly was not. "What can I help you with? Maybe a little tightening around the eyes? New toes? Sexual health screening?"

“New toes?” The human wondered looking at the Bolian incredulous for a second before shaking his head ignoring his other suggestions. He just didn’t want to know, he was just getting used to the quirkiness of the Doctor and now this had thrown him again. Rueben raised an eyebrow at the man as he was offered a hand in a very human gesture but took it either way. “I require your help with my shoulder.” He admitted defeated, either way, he needed the help and with Kea not here he would just have to talk to the man.

"Oh, right. Your shoulder. I remember some notes from Dr. Mosley about that," Olsam said.

From within one of the pockets of his lab coat, he produced a large tricorder. It had no detachable sensor wand like most of the modern medical tricorders, nor did the interface flip open. It was one solid piece, larger than Mott's hand, with old duotronic circuitry and actual push buttons and switches. It was heavy, too. Heavy enough to kill someone if need be, Olsam had once remarked to a patient.

Several moments went by with Olsam silently holding the device in his hand, far longer an amount of time that should have passed in silence between two people who didn't know each other very well. The doctor seemed content to stare off into space until the tricorder beeped, and he snapped back to reality with a smile.

"These old models have to boot up," he said, grinning. Then he made a big show of waving it around Rueben's shoulder area and frowning at the display screen. "Did an Orion fix this?"

The Captain didn't mind the silence normally the Doctor prattled away about a raise or how brilliant he was and how his sabbatical would enhance his career track with Starfleet. Rueben looked around the triage room taking in everything that needed to be got to make it a more working sickbay or at least able to deal with an emergency.

"Yes." Rueben didn't want to say anymore, it brought up memories that he didn't want to think about even now three years on.

"They're like butchers. You can always tell they've been working on someone if it looks like the repair work was done by a first-year medical student," Olsam complained. "Ordinarily, I'd be able to fix this very quickly. A little sedation, a little laser scalpeling, a little osteogenic repair. It's just a matter of removing the flawed bone fragments, regenerating new ones, and doing some repair work with the musculature and connective tissue. But, of course, I don't have any of that stuff on board the Mary Rose because you're miserly and refuse to shell out for it, so how do you feel about having your whole arm removed at the shoulder?"

Rueben listened to Mott complain about the standards of the ship and just stared him out, it wasn't the first time and he expected it wouldn't be the last time he heard the complaint from him. "I would rather just have painkillers than you remove my arm if possible." The Captain asked hopefully.

"Are you a substance abuser? An addict?"

"Sometimes... does that make a difference?" Rueben wondered.

"Of course it makes a difference," Olsam sputtered. "I'm not going to give you some potentially addictive substance to treat your pain. 'Why do we even have addictive substances on board, Dr. Mott?' Well, funny you should ask, captain. My theory - and I think you'll see where I'm going with this - is that the entirety of sickbay was temporally displaced from the dark ages of 2117 or somewhere thereabouts."

"I think it has got better with you in charge." The Captain said spinning it in positive. He was starting to wish that Mosley was there or Talon, both of them wouldn't have argued or been so caring about him and allowed him to use rank to get awake with something potentially dangerous.

"We have some less effective, non-habit forming analgesics. I'm going to prescribe you a limited dose to ease your pain," Olsam said. He started to load a hypospray but then stopped and patted his hip; beneath his lab coat, sitting in its holster, was his Dai-Matsa Consolidated Polarized Phase Blaster MK IX, also known as "the PPB" or "the Mark Nine." He had a sinister look in his eye when he spoke, "And don't let me catch you in here looking for the good stuff. I take theft of property very seriously." (Nevermind that he had himself been caught trying to steal an entire replicator out of engineering.)

"I am the Captain. Lead by example and if I was a thief I would have taken it by now." Rueben said simply. He wasn't going to steal especially as they now had stuff onboard. "Impressive Doctor Mott... Can you actually use it?" He commented on looking at the gun again.

"What? Of course, I can use it," Olsam scoffed. "I'm quite expert with it. I've been practicing so I can use it to shoot thieves. Or boarders. Or something along those lines. I figure in this line of work - mercenaries or salvagers or whatever it is that we are - you need to be able to protect yourself against threats both foreign and domestic." He nodded very slowly. "Yeah, that's right. I said domestic. I'll shoot a crewmember if I have to, don't think I won't. Same goes for you. I'll shoot you if need be, so best watch yourself."

Rueben just smiled at the man and nodded. "I will make a note of that for sure Doctor." Rueben was going to let the Doctor have the notion that he was a cowboy on an adventure.

"Right, now then," the doctor muttered, going back to loading the hypospray. "How did you get wounded in the first place? I bet you were drunk, weren't you? Eighty-percent of my civilian patients are injured while inebriated. Not that I don't enjoy a little nip or two myself from time to time - I'm not a complete teetotaler - but you'd never catch me engaging in dangerous activity while under the influence of something. And fighting! What is that about? If you're ever on a civilian station, you see at least a dozen bar fights. What are people even fighting about? It's the alcohol that makes them do it. Did you know that Dopterians have a particularly bad reaction to alcohol? I mean to say, it makes them hyperaggressive. Most bartenders won't even serve them, that's how bad it is. And then there's the Klingons - they get angry when you don't serve them, angry if you do serve them. What do you do with someone who's always angry no matter what you do?"

Lost in the wilderness of his own rambling monolog, he was at a loss as to what they'd been talking about when he finally finished. So he just stared at Rueben until it came back to him.

"Oh, right! How did you say you got injured?"

The Russian had zoned out while the Bolian had gone on and on about civilians and how they fought and drunk alcohol. He wished he had that luxury but he was still an active Starfleet Officer just one under cover and unhappy about it.

"I didn't but I was kidnapped from a Starfleet Vessel where I was serving as the Ships Executive Officer." Rueben blurted out wishing he could explain it better.

"That's the worst explanation I've ever heard," Olsam complained. "Rueben the Kidnapped Captain... Sounds like some terrible children's book. Who kidnapped you? Why did they kidnap you? How did you manage to get your shoulder shattered in a simple kidnapping? You probably resisted, didn't you? Isn't that like the first thing kidnappers tell you, don't resist?"

"Do you really want to know Doctor? I didn't come here for a counseling session just some painkillers." The Human complained back not wanting to really tell the story. He was trying to be mysterious to the crew so it left them with a small amount of fear for him that he might flip out despite wanting to run a legitimate business that was just on the edge of things to make it interesting.

"Right, okay. You don't want to say. Which means it's either from an adventurous sexual encounter gone wrong, or you just fell down," Olsam said, digging through the medcart. "As if I don't know. Patients always think they're clever. 'Oh, it was a kidnapping, doctor.' Right. Kidnapping. 'I got this venereal disease saving the president of the Federation.' Sure you did."

The Bolian rolled his eyes, produced an antiquated hypospray, and injected Rueben without warning, right in the shoulder. "There you go. Anti-inflammatory and analgesic. I think. Could've been a placebo, I'm not too sure. If you feel better, it was the real thing. Anyway, I'll actually fix your shoulder when we happen upon some proper surgical equipment. Until then, try not to fall down anymore. Oh, sorry, I mean, 'get kidnapped.'"

"You've got contacts in Starfleet... search my name if you really don't believe me," Rueben said standing up tugging on his t-shirt with a small wince at where he had stuck the hypospray. "I didn't want to leave..." Was all the man said before he disappeared out of the sickbay.

OFF::

Captain Rueben Gregnol
Commanding Officer
SS Mary Rose

Olsam Mott, M.D>
Ship's Doctor
SS Mary Rose