A Nervous Lunch

Posted on Thu Aug 8th, 2024 @ 2:12pm by Lieutenant Michael Amato & Commodore Brian Anderson

0 words; about a 1 minute read

Mission: Mission 5: The Price of Paradise
Location: Starbase 10: Commodore Anderson's Office
Timeline: M5 MD06 (2268.07.29) 1100

The waiting room outside Commodore Anderson's office on Starbase 10 was particularly plush compared to the utilitarian environment of the Midway... Walnut paneling on the walls and even the couches were clad in rich Corinthian leather. The young figure of Dr. Mike Amato occupied one of the couches, sitting in his full medical blue uniform. He leaned on the armrest, his chin resting on his left hand as he waited. The Commodore had asked to see him, to see him... of all people. He looked at the clock, twenty minutes... If he were a smoker he would be on this fifth cigarette by now.

The Commodores aide came round the corner. "Are you still waiting Lieutenant? I know the Commodore was looking forward to meeting with you. I'll be right back, sir." The young man said. He knocked on the door and stepped in the office. A minute later he stepped out of the office. "I'm sorry Lieutenant, there was a secure message that the Commodore received and had to take urgently. He'll be right out."

A few more minutes passed and Anderson stepped from his office looking fit to be tied and twice as mad. "Kevin, unless it's my wife, or one of the kids, I'm busy for the rest of the day and ... "

"I know the routine sir. Unless it's Earth or the Klingons make appointments and you'll call them back tomorrow or the day after. No worries sir. The aspirin or anti-acids sir?"

"For once neither. Just some lunch, a haircut and maybe a message." Anderson said grinning and trying not to laugh a little. "Dr. Amato, I'm sorry for making you wait, security briefing ran longer than normal." Brian said extending his hand as Mike stood up. "Have you eaten lunch yet?"

The doctor took the hand, "Not yet sir," he responded in a polite and professional manner. He managed to control his nerves and give the Commodore both a firm handshake and a confident look in the eye.

Anderson nodded. "Come on." The two walked out of the office and after a few minutes they stepped into Captain Nemo's and to the Commodore's regular table.

Tommy Michaels the waiter stepped up. "Commodore, you're early. What can I get for you sir?" He placed two menus and coasters on the table.

"I'd love a glass of iced tea and extra lemon." Anderson asked picking up the menu.

The waiter shot a glance towards the young officer in the blue uniform, "Ah... A Coca-Cola... No ice," the doctor responded, before picking up the other menu.

As the waiter left, the doctor looked up from the leather bound menu and glanced at the Commodore, "What are your preferences here sir?" he asked, trying to innocently get an idea as to what was within bounds for a lunch selection.

"I'd recommend just about everything myself." Brian said scanning the back of the menu. "I guess what they say is true. Go with your first instincts, you'll be disappointed otherwise." He said muttering to himself. "I keep going back to the French Dip."

"Understood sir," Mike responded. He generally ate fairly healthy and kept looking at the salads, hoping he wouldn't be judged too badly.

The waiter returned with the drinks. "What'll you have gents?"

The Commodore made a gesture towards Mike, "Oh, I'll take the Cobb salad please, Altair dressing," he added.

"French dip. Toast the roll. Chips." Brian said.

Michael's made a note. "Extra horseradish as always?"

"Yes, thanks." Brian said handing the menu back.

"Well, I'm a doctor who takes his own medicine at least," Mike responded with a smirk, trying to make a little joke and hoping it wouldn't fall flat. He certainly had never had a one-on-one with a flag officer, although Commodore Anderson knew Captain Faust about as intimately as he did... Of course Tristan wasn't here.

"Doctor ... Michael if I may." Anderson said softly. "The reason I wanted to meet with you is because I need a medical opinion. And it's a touchy subject for me."

Michaels returned with the food. "Sir I snagged a few of those pickles you like. We just finished a fresh batch yesterday." He said with a wink.

"Thank you Tommie. My wife and tailor may damn you, but I'll enjoy them." Anderson said unrolling the napkin and tucking it into his collar. Tommie Michaels walked away chuckling to himself.

A few minutes passed. "You had a question sir?" Mike asked, bringing the conversation back on course.

"Sorry, ask Dr. Kitchener. I enjoy my food far more than a man my age should." Anderson said biting a pickle. "What I wanted to know is medically ... psychologically. With the Defiant relocated and now destroyed. What is your opinion of Captain Faust's state? And yours as well for that matter? If you don't mind my asking." He said before taking a bite from his sandwich, a few seconds passed before the horseradish caught him, and he all but sneezed. "That's fresh stuff." He said under his breath.

The doctor let out a sigh, "Frankly he's doing better than I am sir," Mike responded, "He's been trying his best to help me through this that I don't think he's had time to stop, think and grieve... He served under you for a long time, you know him better than I do."

"Perhaps but that was almost a year ago. Sure he's probably a few pounds heavier and worry lines at the eyes and mouth, but unless you are around somebody every day you only see the problems. Not the causes." Anderson said taking a bite of his sandwich. "I'd still trust him with the lives of my wife and kids, I don't want him getting too deep if you follow me." He popped a potato chip in his mouth. "I guess what I'm asking you to do is between you and Kitch, keep an eye on him for me."

"We already do that sir," Mike confirmed, "Frankly he's been looking out for me ever since launch..." He sighed, "That beef with Dr. Meddows could have gone a lot further than it did. Of course the guy was a lunatic."

Brian chuckled and took a pull on his iced tea. "Yes, it most certainly could have, but when you have good people around you. Well ... life has a way of balancing its own books." He said finishing the last of his sandwich. "I'll be honest with you, until I had a long talk with Kitch and the section chief surgeon ..." He trailed off.

"And?" Mike asked, his eyes widening slightly, although nowhere as wide as Toby's were normally.

Anderson half shrugged. "When you lay everything out, we all agreed that you had little choice in the matter. How Meddows made it past the academy psych eval and more so his medical school evals was beyond all of us. Boiled down it was little better than self defense. An frankly had the situation happened to my wife, or any other married man, the same result should have happened. If you ask me, Meddows got off easy with just a crack on the jaw." Anderson polished off the last of his tea.

Mike just nodded, he hadn't realized the Commodore knew of his and Toby's relationship. He should have realized the Captain and Dr. Kirchner wouldn't have been able to omit something like that from the report. "Well, I need to work on that hubris anyway," he responded.

"To answer your question, I concur with Dr. Kitchner that the Captain is fit for duty and the entire crew, although..." Mike started and the trailed off, finding his words, "We could use another psychiatrist, or counselor or something along those lines... Not another Meddows but someone to help the crew deal with some of this. I assume you have another explosive assignment for the Midway, hence this... Off the record research..."

"Concern more than research." Anderson said with a slight shrug. "I have a young lady who officially is assigned to 10, but will be on rotating duty to the ships in the sector. Gallagher is the last name .... Patricia ... Penny ... the first name escapes me all of a sudden." He said rolling the glass between his hands.

"It would be a help, certainly..." Mike responded. He paused and then chuckled, "And the Captain still wants a personal chef... Apparently there was a promise made somewhere along the line...," he paused, "Must be a joke I'm not in on," he confessed.

Brian chuckled a bit. "That Michael is a very, old, joke. Back on the Ti, Tommy Michaels over there was my personal steward. Tristan swore that if he ever got his own command he'd have his own chef just so he could have breakfast in bed everyday. Joe Tanner, he's good because Tommy taught him everything he knows. But like everybody he's not perfect. I have some on in mind. They'll be coming abroad later today." Anderson said shifting himself in the booth. "Michael, stay as long as you like, but I have things that need doing. If I can do anything just shout." Brian said getting to his feet. He stopped at the bar for a moment and had a quick word with Tommy Michaels, both men broke into laughter. "I'll tell Diane you said that." He slapped Michaels on the shoulder before leaving.

 

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