Doctor's Orders

Posted on Sun Jun 18th, 2023 @ 9:23pm by Captain Tristan Faust & Lieutenant Commander Marc Kitchner M.D.

0 words; about a 1 minute read

Mission: Mission 3: The Peace Ship
Location: Deck 5: Captain Faust's Quarters

Approximately 8 hours had passed since Captain Faust had been discharged from sickbay. He'd slept off and on, but much more than usual. A starship captain barely got more than 5 hours of sleep a night, if that. He was in bed trying to reread From Russia With Love, but his vision kept going in and out of focus. The bell rang. He sighed and set the book down onto his chest. "Come on in," he said.

Marc poked his head inside the door. "Did I wake you up?" He asked, a tray of quarters sandwiches in one hand and a pocket medical kit in the other.

"No ... Been trying to occupy the time, but failing miserably," Tristan responded, "Need something from me? Or do I need something from you?"

"I came by for several reasons, five minutes of peace and quiet is high on that list." Marc lifted a napkin from the tray exposing a dozen quartered sandwiches. "Deviled ham salad on pumpernickel, turkey with swiss and mayonnaise on sourdough, and three cheese with mustard on white." Pointing to each one in turn. "Before you say it, I haven't eaten all day and apparently I get a little hostile when my stomach is battling with my brain for control." Marc said grabbing a ham salad and taking a bite. Tristan rolled over with a grunt.

"Still a little tender?" Marc asked, Tristan nodded and let out another grunt reaching for a sandwich. Marc pulled a hand scanner from the medical kit and stepped to the far side of the bed, half of a sandwich still in his hand. "Try and breath easy." Marc said strangely, a half full mouth and the ham sticking to his teeth. He pushed the last of his sandwich into his mouth as he started passing the scanner over Tristan's back. "Breath out and hold it." He made another pass with the scanner. "Tell me if this hurts." Marc tapped two fingers all along Tristan's right side, when he reached half way down the younger man almost tossed a sandwich across the room. "Sorry."

"Yeah I would say," Tristan responded.

"Six broken ribs and the last one nicked your lung. That one will be tender for at least a week." Marc said returning to the chair he was sitting in previously. He picked up another sandwich, this time turkey. "That bruise under your chin, looks ten times worse than it really is. I'm surprised all you got was a mild concussion and not a broken jaw. What did you hit?"

"I'm not sure if it was the lower part of the railing or the astrogator. I honestly don't remember," Tristan responded before picking up one of the turkey sandwiches, "Did you steal this plate from someone's funeral luncheon or a party celebrating my absence?"

"I doubt either. Apparently my head nurse and your head steward have something prearranged for situations like this." Marc shifted in his chair. "It dawned on me the other day that whenever I'm in a black mood, food randomly shows up if by magic." Marc said tucking into his third sandwich. "On this particular event I just grabbed a platter and ran. I think I said you called saying you were in major pain." He stuck out both legs crossing his feet at the ankles leaned his head back and closed his eyes for a minute. "Damned I'm tired." He groaned half to himself.

"Tell me about it," Tristan responded, "I'm starting to wonder if I'm not a foul weather jack... Every voyage has been a disaster."

Marc shook his head softly. "No kid you're not. The strange happenings in the universe are just that. Strange. It's not worth quizzing yourself over." He stifled a yawn. "It's what happens next is what matters."

"You want some coffee to help wash that down?" Tristan asked, "Or something stronger? I'd get it for you but I'm sure you'd scream at me..."

"I'd appreciate a cup of coffee." Marc said. "If I was going to scream at you about anything, it'd be over drinking synthetic booze compared to the real thing." He sat there grinning. Marc swore up one side and down another he could tell the difference between the real thing and the synthetic stuff.

Tristan reached up over the bed to the comm panel built into the headboard. "Mess ..." He said pressing the button.

"Mess here Captain." The steward on duty responded

"Can you bring up a pot of coffee for two to my quarters?" Tristan asked.

"Yes sir. It'll be up directly." The Steward said as the comm closed. Although the room food synthezier could dispense a simple cup of coffee, the black sludge was more akin to instant coffee than anything else. The mess was always the safer bet.

"Thanks Tris. I'm getting too old for these 30 hour days." Marc said shifting himself into an uncomfortable position. "Have you heard from your folks since we left?"

"No, I suppose they think I'm too busy," Tristan responded, "Normally they would be correct... But now..." He sighed, "I've written a few letters, but with our subspace radio silence I can't send them," he finished. "Have you heard anything?" he asked.

"Just your ma's regular birthday message at SB-10." Marc said softly. "Since your Aunt Jenny passed away, she always remembers mine." Marc's wife quietly and suddenly died in her sleep one night. That was 8 years ago. She had been the brightest part of his life and he hadn't forgiven himself for not spending more time with her while he had a chance to. Marc grabbed another sandwich just to keep himself from saying anything more.

Tristan nodded, "So how long am I laid up here?" He asked, changing the subject, for his benefit but also for Marc's. "I'm not sure how long I can sit here reading James Bond novels," he added.

"As soon as you can take a deep breath and hold it without wanting to put your fist through the bulkhead. So another day or two at most." Kitch said.

The steward came in pushing a small metal cart. "Coffees up. Yes, I remembered to make it on the stronger side. Hello Doc." The younger man said placing the tray on the desk.

"Hi Joe. How's the ankle?" Kitch responded. Joe the Steward tripped on a mat in the ship's gyms while they were at SB-10.

"Just fine Doc. Thanks." Joe said picking up the platter Marc had brought the sandwiches in on. "How were the finger sandwiches Doc? With everything going on I figured your lot could use a snack."

"Great thanks." Kitch said adding some sugar to his cup. "Black one sugar Cap?"

"Just black," Tristan responded before commenting on Marc's, "Yeah yeah, acid reflux... Whatever, I'll just deal with it." The seward set the cup down onto Tristan's nightstand.

Marc just grinned as he poured a bit of cream into his cup. "No ... no I just got you and your dad confused for a moment. I know better than to keep you away from your coffee." He took the first sip and let it settle in for a minute. "You took my advice didn't you Joe?"

Joe was grinning like a Cheshire cat. "I most certainly did. Touch of powdered cocoa, and cinnamon. I think I'm going to have to work on the ground chili though. It made Chief Conways eyes water this morning."

Kitch took to a fit of laughing. "Joe, I haven't had a laugh like that in quite a while. Thank you Joe, thank you." He finished his cup. "Cap, I'm going to leave a hypo-injector here for you with a mild pain killer. But I don't think you'll really need it." Marc pulled an injector from his bag and locked in a maximum dosage and left it on the desk." He closed the case and put a hand on Joe's shoulder before he exited the cabin.

"Will that be all sir?" Joe asked the Captain.

The Caption nodded, "Just take the tray if you would," he said, looking towards the empty sandwich tray, "I'll take dinner in an hour or so. Nothing too heavy, maybe an omelette with bacon and tomatoes..."

"Of course sir," Joe responded as he picked up the steel tray.

The Captain watched him go and then exhaled, not too heavily before taking a sip from the ceramic coffee cup.

 

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