Guts, Gusto, and Grousing...

Posted on Fri Jul 22nd, 2011 @ 3:17am by Captain Nathan Cowell MD & Ensign Andrexi Callai MD

Mission: Tomorrow's Arizona
Location: Commodore's Ready Room, Bridge, USS Arizona
Timeline: Following 'The Great Unknown...'

Dr. Andrexi Callai strode out of the turbolift onto the bridge. The computer had indicated that his quarry was in the ready room on deck one. As he looked around the ship's command center, he came to the realization that he had no idea what the layout of deck one was. There were three doors, other than the one he'd entered through, but he had no idea where they led.

The man standing at the tactical station glanced at him questioningly. "I'm looking for the ready room?" The man nodded toward a particular door. Andy nodded his understanding. "Thank you, sir." He strode to the door, then pressed the chime, glancing back over his shoulder at the large view screen and the crew performing various tasks at their stations.

"Come!" the thundering voice of the Commodore called out, spurring the door that separated the rest of the compartment from the somewhat smaller Ready Room to part. Inside, Nathan was engaged in reading a book, his feet planted on the surface of his desk.

"You gonna stand there all day, or are you going to come in?" the Commodore said bluntly when the Ensign didn't walk in immediately.

Andy turned back, surprised. "Oh. Hello, sir." He stepped inside, glancing around briefly as the door slid closed behind him. He stepped cautiously toward the desk. "I'm Dr. Callai."

"The new assistant down in Sickbay," the Commodore said, his tone not of a question but of a statement of fact, "You need something?"

"Uhhh," Andy nodded, willing himself not to be intimidated by this man -- and not entirely sure why he was. "I'm sure it just slipped your mind, with everything that's happening," he offered as a way of opening the conversation without placing blame, "but you missed your appointment for your physical." He smiled. " I know how busy you are, so I thought I might save you the trouble of rescheduling?"

The cold glare that replied to the Ensign's offer was enough to make even the Breen shiver a bit, "You do realize I'm a physician..."

"Actually," Andy grimaced slightly and shook his head, "no sir. According to Starfleet regulations, your role is command of a ship of the line rather than a medical ship, which means you're not functioning as a practicing physician. And even if you were a practicing physician, Starfleet regulations prohibit you from performing mandatory physical assessments on yourself." Callai found himself suddenly glad that he'd taken the time to look up those particular regulations, after mentioning to the med techs not to bother rescheduling him, that he would take care of finding the commodore and performing his physical -- and receiving mental wave after wave of 'Good luck, sir, it's your funeral' and 'We should probably prep Sickbay'. "Except in emergencies declared by Starfleet, there are no exceptions to the MPAs. And" he added quickly before the commodore could tear his head off, figuratively or literally, "just to be sure, I checked. Starfleet hasn't declared an emergency in this sector."

Nathan closed the book he was reading slowly, an impassive look settled on his face as he set the book on the desk and slid his feet off the surface onto the floor.

"How old do you think I am, son?" the Commodore asked evenly.

Andy blinked at the unexpected question. He blew out a contemplative puff of air, carefully studying the man's features. "If I had to guess?" When the Commodore didn't answer immediately, but continued to watch him, Andy scratched at his chin. "I'd say... 605, sir?"

"Very good, boy," Nathan said, staring him down.

Nathan was already aware the boy was of Betazoid decent, it was pretty easy to tell when he felt another mind brushing against his. Thankfully, he was more than a match for the youngster in the realm of keeping his mind shut when he wanted to. Nathan inhaled just a little and the walls of his partitions erected themselves, turning the once opened book of his thoughts into a fortress.

"Now, without cheating this time," the Commodore said as he continued to stare the boy down. "How long do you think I've been practicing medicine?"

"That's," Andy began, squinting slightly in consideration as he watched the man, "a little questionable. More than 550 years," he decided, adjusting the weight of the medical pack on his shoulder. He frowned inwardly as a wall of resistance suddenly seemed to materialize all around him in the room. There was really only one explanation that he had ever encountered for that sort of sensation -- the Commodore had just raised mental shields to keep him out of his head. An impressively strong set of mental shields, no less. "Actually," an uncomfortable expression passed across his face, "I wasn't cheating like you think I was cheating..." He pulled a PADD from its slot on the medical kit and held it up to show the commodore's medical record.

"Doesn't matter," the Commodore remarked, motioning for the man to take a seat, "I don't like people romping around in my head. So do forgive me if I don't allow you the pleasure of hearing anything I have to think."

Once the boy was seated, Nathan leaned back in his chair, "I know those regulations you've had to look up by heart, could probably recite them backward in three languages... But the problem is, I know me better than anyone else knows me. I have yet to find a physician short of my brother... may he rot in hell... who's old enough to hold a candle to my 580 years of medical experience. I mean, have you combated plagues, battlefield injuries? When's the last time you amputated someone's limb? Have you delivered any children recently?"

Callai chewed carefully on his lower lip. It was more a nervous tick than anything else. "Yes, sir," he said simply. "My specialty is trauma and emergency medicine. I delivered my first baby, solo, when I was twelve years-old. I treated my first plasma weapon, blunt force trauma, and bladed weapon injuries when I was twelve years-old. I amputated my first limbs when I was twelve years-old. And I lost friends and family to the Kropan's Plague outbreak. Two friends I treated... when I was twelve years-old," he added.

The Commodore drummed his fingers against the desk before him, "And you think that suddenly makes you qualified? I'm wondering, kid... did you do all those things because you wanted to be a doctor that badly even then, or because you wanted to survive some ungodly horror?"

Andy's brow furrowed uncertainly. He'd come to perform a simple physical. How had something so simple turned into an inquisition about his experience?

"I became a medic," the Ensign said gingerly, evenly, studying the uniform fabric on his right knee in thought, "because I almost died. And people all around me were dying. I was twelve years-old. I couldn't fight, but I could help take care of the wounded, which freed up someone else to fight." He raised his eyes to meet the Commodore's. "I became a doctor because I was good at it and I liked making a difference in someone's life."

Nathan gave the boy a measured look for a long moment before speaking again, "So you've had a few personal triumphs in the face of adversity. Good for you, boy. But how does that make you qualified to be my doctor? What puts you above anyone down there in sickbay? What makes you stand out from the crowd kid?"

A skeptical eyebrow rose on its own. "The fact that I'm sitting here." He gestured between them. "And that I believe a Commodore should set the example for the rest of the crew in terms of meeting his requirements." He leaned back slightly, studying the man's expression carefully. "That, and I have no problems having anyone who doesn't comply with the requirements relieved of duty?"

The Commodore laughed, "You got spunk, boy. I like that, need more people like you on the ship. Alright... Go ahead and do your scans."

"Thank you," Andy said with a gracious smile and nod. He rose from the chair, drawing his tricorder and initiating the scan before the Commodore could change his mind -- or start grilling him about some other part of his past. "Are there any recent issues that aren't in your medical record, sir?"

"No, son, I've been pretty healthy for a man of my age. Haven't had a cold, an ache, or a bum limb to speak of. Must be my skills as a self-medicator," the old man replied.

"Self-medicator," Andy repeated with an amused shake of the head as he ran the scanner across his commanding officer. Ah, the classic tale of physicians, nurses, and medics -- and all those who thought they knew how to be a physician, nurse, or medic. "I know you know how often I hear that, sir." Given that, he blinked at the unexpected results. "However... in your case, it appears to be... mostly accurate." He tapped at the tricorder's controls a few times to focus the scan on various areas of interest. "Not bad for a 600 year-old..."

"Could have told you that," the Commodore grumbled, "But now's you've had your fun and you know I can take care of myself better than anyone else. Proof in the pudding, I always say."

"Actually," Andy studied his readings for a moment, "you're showing the signs of early cartilage degradation in your knees and hips. Which, uh," he glanced up at the man and shook the tricorder gently to draw his attention, "nuts and herbs aren't going to do much to help, sir. We've got 'medicine' now to repair connective tissue." His tone was irreverent, but something in the sparkle of the grey eyes said he was simultaneously impressed by how healthy the man was while enjoying poking a bit of fun at his age.

"Hell, you try punishing your body for 600-odd years and see how good your own hips and knees turn out. By the looks of you, you'll be done crapped out and pushing up daisies before I see my next century through," the old man countered, poking an equal amount of fun at the boy's markedly shorter lifespan, "But yes, I know I'm starting to get a bit thin in the cushion area. Been toying with getting the work done, but I can't do it my damn self and I don't know a good doctor I trust to do it for me yet. So until then, I take my herbs and my teas and I just take it easier than I have in the past to keep from making it worse."

Andy chuckled quietly, shaking his head as he returned to his med kit. "You know it's... really not that difficult, sir. It's a simple procedure. You could stop by at the end of your shift, have it done, take the night off, and be back to work the next morning. The whole thing would only take," he glanced at the readings again, "45 minutes? Maybe an hour in your case?"

"You got ears, boy, you might want to try using them instead of your brain once in a while. I told you before, I don't trust another man to go rooting around in my ass. Gotta build up confidence in ya, see what you're all about. How do I know you won't buckle under the pressure, fuck me up, turn me into old Captain Pike, that sorry sonofabitch... I ain't one to sit in a damn chair the rest of my natural born life. So... I'll pass for the moment, but thanks for the offer," Nathan turned the man down as politely as Nathan was apt to be.

The younger doctor shook his head again as he opened up the med kit. "Then if I may suggest?" He withdrew a hypo and two vials. "Allogeine to reduce the inflammation and swelling," he indicated the one holding clear liquid, then the one with a rose colored fluid, "and chondrasol to rehydrate the collagen matrix? It should reduce the symptoms for a while."

Nathan frowned at the boy, "What do you think I've been taking for the last decade to keep myself from seein' a sickbay?"

"I wouldn't know, sir," Andy said with a respectful, straight faced expression, but with that same damnable gleam in his eyes. He placed the vials and the hypo on the commodore's desk. He straightened to a semblance of attention before the man, thousand meter stare focused somewhere well past him and through the bulkhead. "A decade ago I was fourteen, sir."

Nathan grunted at the comment, "Cocky little bastard, aren't you. Well, Ensign, since you've had your fun, waved your little toy around a bit, and got your one or two little jabs in, I think we can call this a day and you can go back to annoying the piss out of someone that won't launch you out a torpedo tube."

"Thank you, sir." Andy hiked the med kit back onto his shoulder and hesitated just before turning away. "Any suggestions, Commodore?"

"For people to annoy? Yeah, go visit the First Officer, I'm sure she'd love to chew you up and spit you out like a sunflower seed," the Commodore chuckled, "But seriously, go back to sickbay where you belong and leave hunting people down to your boss, that's what she's there for. No need for you to jump the gun and get all gunge-ho on your first tour in space. Just learn your job, do it well, and when the time comes, you'll be better equipped to talk shit to someone five hundred seventy years your senior. Might even have room to do it too by then."

The corner of the young doctor's mouth quirked upward slightly, barely noticeably. He nodded at the commodore. "Nice to meet you, sir." With that, he turned and exited the ready room. When the doors slid closed behind him, the grin broke unchallenged across his face. He certainly wasn't what Andy would have expected of a Starfleet captain or flag officer -- wasn't much of what he'd have expected of a Starfleet officer in general -- and somehow he found that... intriguing. Refreshing, maybe. 'I /like/ him,' he decided to himself, before turning on his heel and