Back to Work

Month 14 Day 28

0726 Hours

Smitty

Smitty walked into engineering and wondered at the oppressive silence that suddenly fell over the place. As he started for his office, Wilson approached, a smile pasted on her face, and concern in her eyes. "How are things going, Wilson?" he asked without stopping, forcing her to tag along with him.

"I was about to ask you that, sir," Wilson answered. "Is there something going on that I should know about?"

"Nope, nothing," he answered, and walked into his office. She paused in the doorframe. "You know how some days, no matter what you do, you always seem to be running late? Well, today, it seems I'm running early." Which will leave Jane having breakfast with only Drake. One of them will probably have words for me later about it. If not both.

"Did you want me to turn the shift over to you at this time?" she asked uncertainly.

"No, I'll just sit here in my office until the clock catches up to me. I've got some reading I can do."

"Very good, sir." She turned and left.

Smitty called up the letter he'd gotten from his old Academy chum, Benedicto 'Stinky' Facchini. He'd tried to read the letter a couple times yesterday, but his thoughts kept wandering, and it didn't make much sense to him. And that worried him, because Stinky might reek of garlic, but he knew engineering, always only a point or two behind Smitty on all their exams. So he set a personal alarm to remind him to relieve Wilson at shift's end, and tried once again to read the letter.

It seemed Stinky's ship, The Blaze, had been chosen for a retrofit of a portion of the hyperdrive's power relays. Stinky, as always, was worried about the crystals that were used to focus the power stream, since the new power relays were made of different materials than the old ones. Stinky's always worried the crystals will give out. Still, he's got one point. There's nothing wrong with the old power relays; they've been used for years, and they get the job done. If something's not broken, don't try to fix it.

He glanced at the personal alarm, then at the clock, both of which seemed to be crawling. So he gave up consulting them, and switched to glancing at the screens that showed him the engineering floor, particularly the one screen that had a good view of the main entrance.

It wasn't long before he gave up all pretense of reading, and was staring at that screen, waiting for a certain redhead to show up. Where is she? It's not going to look good if she's late, no matter what her excuse.

He wiped his hands on his pant legs, for his palms were wet. For that matter, he was sweating, probably in anticipation of seeing Colleen again, at long last, after 2 days of not even a glimpse of her. He couldn't sit here any longer.

He hurried out to the engineering floor, to the very entrance he expected Colleen to come in at any second. He paced back and forth in that large entrance a time or two, but still there was no sign of her. What am I doing? Acting like a fool, that's what! I should go back to my office. No, that would only make it worse. Well, if I must act like something, at least act like the officer that I am!

He whirled and made a circle of the immediate area, stopping at each console to watch over the shoulder of whoever happened to be there, but he had no clue what anyone was actually doing. He was too busy watching the entrance with his peripheral vision. He saw some B shifters come in and meet up with their counterpart, but not the redheaded one that he was waiting for.

And then he saw her, and time stood still.

She approached engineering at a measured pace, her left hand gripping Harris's arm. Smitty turned for a better look, and pain engulfed him. Her hair was pulled back into her usual top knot, making the ugly purple bruise down the right side of her face the first thing an observer would see. It was darkest in a thin line down her forehead and the middle of her cheek, but all told, the entire side of her face was bruised.

She walked with a little bit of a limp, exactly as if she didn't quite trust her right leg to hold her up. If the female uniforms still consisted of shorts instead of long pants, he had no doubt there would be an equally ugly bruise on her right thigh.

Her hands were still bandaged; he had thought those would come off this morning, before she arrived here.

And her right arm was encased in a sling that held the arm tight against her body. That injury had happened after she had left his quarters the other night. If he had made the effort to take her to sick bay himself, it might not have happened at all. All of her injuries were his fault, but particularly the shoulder.

She and Harris stopped just outside the doorway to engineering, to speak for a while. Colleen glanced his way a time or two, but refused to look at him. Harris moved inside, and Colleen smoothed down her tunic, straightened her back and walked forward, straight for him.

Smitty looked at the clock; she was there with 2 minutes to spare. She wasn't late, after all. She walked right up to face him, and he nearly drowned in her green eyes. "Good morning, Mr Smythe. Forgive me, I'm not allowed to salute, but I am reporting for duty."

Very proper greeting, in the circumstances. Don't think I've heard her utter one before this. Not towards me, anyway. What happened to calling me 'Smit'? "Col—" he started, and realized that others were no doubt watching them, no doubt wondering how they would get along, now that she was, in her eyes, no longer his fiancée. She had opted to act formal, distant... cold. Much as he hated it, it would probably be best if he followed suit.

"Yes, I was briefed on your... temporary limitations by Dr Davis," he croaked, and cleared his throat. "3 days of light duty is my understanding."

"Yes, sir."

"That will mean desk duty," he clarified.

"Yes, sir."

"Fine." He started to walk away. "Come into my office."

"Sir?" She managed to put incredulous alarm in that one word.

He turned back to face her. "All the forms for you to work with are already on my computer in my office. I can't see moving them to another computer for that short a stint of light duty. Now come along. I'll show you what needs to be done, and then I'll let you do it."

"Yes, sir." How did she put so much emotion into such a simple phrase? This time, it had been icy cold obedience.

Fine. She wants us to be all proper and official while on duty? That's what she'll get. I'll bet she warms up after shift's end.

Taking Stock & Reporting on a Patient

 

Taking Stock

Month 14 Day 26

1855 Hours

Drake McGregor

 Bugalu tossed his whiskey down his throat and put the glass on the coffee table before his sofa. "So there's no doubt he believed she was pregnant."

"No doubt," Drake confirmed, and sipped his own whiskey. "The only thing to wonder is whether or not he still believes it."

Bugalu gave him a funny look. "How could he still believe it? It should have been obvious when they had sex."

"Not necessarily. The heat of the moment. He wouldn't have been expecting any obstacle, and when it comes right down to it, the hymen isn't much of one, so he probably didn't even notice."

Bugalu looked about to object, paused to think about it and frowned. "You're right. The heat of the moment being as... strong as it is." Drake was able to take another sip of whiskey before Bugalu went on. "I haven't been able to talk to her; I still don't know what happened that she's called it off."

"Apparently, because Smitty thought she was pregnant."

"That wasn't a problem for her a week ago."

"Well, she's done some research on Oakhurst's computer. Statistical probabilities or something, and they convinced her she would be better off being truthful with Smitty. So she went to him last night, to tell him the truth. She was nervous and upset, and managed to give herself several bruises trying to get it said. Before she could, he said he already knew, and it didn't matter."

"He must have thought she was trying to admit being pregnant."

"That would be my guess. But she took it to mean that he knew she wasn't pregnant. Then later, when he started telling her the plans he'd made for their life once she had to leave the Fireball because of her pregnancy, it was quite a shock to her. One, that he still believed she was pregnant. Two, that he'd planned out what they'd do without discussing it with her. Three, he hadn't given her any choice in the matter. And four, that any future babies had better be his."

"Wow, the first 3 would set her off," Bugalu agreed. "But I don't know how calling off the wedding is going to get her any closer to what she wants."

"She plans to leave things the way they are for a few months, until it becomes obvious she can't be pregnant. I think she's convinced it will show him, somehow, that she can be trusted not to cheat on him."

Bugalu sighed, his shoulders slumped. "Yeah, that sounds like the kind of reasoning she would grasp at. She doesn't always think clearly when she wants something bad enough."

"How long do you think it will take before she realizes that plan isn't going to work?"

Bugalu shook his head, unwilling to hazard a guess. He picked up his glass and stared at it for a long moment before he put it down on the coffee table with a dull thud.

 

 

Reporting on a Patient

Month 14 Day 26

2015 Hours

Dr Margaret Davis

Margaret was making notes in a patient's file when someone cleared his throat. She changed the screen on her computer and turned to find Mr Smythe standing in her office doorway. "How can I help you, Mr Smythe?"

"I understand Lt MacDowell has some injuries that may or may not interfere with her duties on Monday."

She considered how much she could say. He was, after all, MacDowell's commanding officer, and he had a right to know if she could not perform her duties. "Come in and close the door, please," she invited him. "Have a seat."

He did, but he seemed uncomfortable. "I didn't think this would be a long discussion."

"Probably not," she agreed. "Most of her injuries are temporary, and won't cause any problems with her work on Monday. However, the bruise on her thigh was severe enough to cause that muscle to give out when she walked last evening. She spent the day in bed today, so I don't know if it is still a problem. I would expect it to recover enough by Monday to not be a problem. I certainly hope that's the case. She has a torn ligament in her shoulder that shouldn't be used for a few more days. In fact, from the way it stiffened up today, I was about to suggest 3 days off duty, starting Monday. But she'll need physical therapy twice a day for about a week while that ligament heals."

Smythe nodded gently as he considered what she had said. "If she returns to duty, or when she does, I could have her report to physical therapy immediately after lunch. I assume she would come the 2nd time after supper."

"That sounds acceptable," she told him. "It's a delicate balance, to get the shoulder moving without doing any more damage while it's healing."

"So, if she returns to work on Monday, she may or may not have difficulty standing or walking, and she'll only have the use of one hand. If I understand you correctly."

"Not exactly," Margaret told him. "The leg thing is iffy, that's true. But the hands are healing nicely, and she would have the use of both of those. But only one arm that she could use, and that would be her left one. I don't know how much use she would be to you in that situation."

"What about a desk job?" he suggested. "It would keep her off her feet; she'd be working on a computer."

"That certainly sounds like a possibility, if you're ready to have her try her hand at paperwork. I didn't think she'd been in engineering that long."

Smythe smiled. "Now that she's not afraid to show me what she can do, she keeps surprising me. She may already know how to do all my paperwork. Although maybe not. I'm not aware of any manual that explains it in detail, and that's how she usually learns, it seems. So why don't I have her try a desk job on Monday and see how it goes?"

"In that case, I will make my suggestion that she be assigned to light duty for at least 3 days, such as a desk assignment," Margaret agreed.

"Good. That's settled, then," he decided, and prepared to stand up. "Unless... are there any other injuries that I need to know about?"

Like what? Since she was engaged to him, I assumed the 'consensual sex' was with him, and therefore, he would know about her various injuries. Maybe I was wrong about that. "No, nothing else that might interfere with her work."

He nodded again. "Well, let's consider any conditions that might not be called an injury. Are you aware of any of those?"

What is he asking about? And why? There's only so much I can discuss with him, superior officer or not. She gave him a professionally reassuring smile. "I think you'll find her completely back to normal in a few days."

"Good. Good." He stood up and shook her hand. "Thank you, doctor. You've helped me plan my work schedule for the week." But when he turned to leave her office, she saw a shadow of uncertainty in his eyes.

Sending a Message

 Month 14 Day 26

1739 Hours

Della Harris

 "Is it true?"

Startled, Della almost dropped the tray of food she was carrying. She'd already heard that question half a dozen times in the mess hall, but still... Half angry, she turned to face the helmsman as he came up behind her. "Don't sneak up on me like that!"

He stopped to face her, glanced at the tray of food she held. "Sorry, Della. Didn't mean to startle you. I just can't believe— Are the rumors true? Did Mac cancel the wedding?"

Della's mouth formed a thin line as she considered him. What does he care? He didn't want to marry her. Or has he changed his mind? Or are they really like brother and sister, and he's worried about her? Wish I could figure these 2 out. She gave up and sighed. "Yes, she did."

He let out a deep breath and shook his head in confused dismay. "Space," he muttered.

"You don't make any sense, Bugalu. You didn't want her to marry him, and now that she's not, you're not happy about that, either."

He grimaced. "The way I see it, the only thing that would be worse than her calling it off is if he had called it off."

This is a hopeless conversation. "I don't know if I agree with that. She may have been the one to call it off, but she is far from happy to have done it! To feel you have to call off a wedding when you don't want to is just... a tragedy, that's what it is!"

"That's got to be rough," he agreed. "She's got her door locked. Can you get me in?"

Della shook her head. "She's got her door locked because she doesn't want to see anybody. Let me emphasize that: She doesn't want to see anybody!"

"Anybody," he repeated. "You mean... not even—"

"Not even him!" Della insisted. "Or as she put it, especially not him!"

"Wow. That sounds like she's determined."

"Determined, yes," she agreed. "But she's still not happy!"

Bugalu took a deep breath and let it out. "Okay." He deposited a handful of flowers and foliage on the dinner tray. "Then take those to her." He turned away and then stopped. "Tell her they're from Smythe."

So now he's sending flowers to his 'sister'? What's up with that? And why have me say they're from Mr Smythe? He just is not making any sense. But Bugalu had walked off by then, and Della turned and made her way to the quarters she shared with Mac.

The door didn't open when she approached, and she rather testily identified herself. "Lt Della Harris." Once she was inside, she placed the tray atop her dresser, got a vase from her closet and some water from the bathroom.

She was still arranging the flowers when Mac woke up with a groan. "Oh! I am so stiff!"

Della tsked. "That's what you said at lunchtime."

"It's still true now," Mac answered, and looked at the flowers Della was arranging. "What's the occasion?"

Della tightened her mouth for a second. "I'm supposed to say these are from Smythe."

"Oh." The redhead didn't sound excited about it. She gave a deep sigh. "Send them back."

Della stared at her. "Send them back?" One doesn't send flowers back, especially onboard, where it's hard to get them in the first place.

"Yeah, that's what I said," Mac answered, and began inching her way into a slightly different position. "This isn't a little argument where he can send flowers and everything will be fine again." She winced. "Ow. What a day this has been."

"I can't send them back," Della blurted out.

Mac stopped trying to move and looked at her. "Why not?"

How dare Bugalu put me in such a ridiculous position as this! "Because Mr Smythe didn't really send them. Bugalu did and told me to say they were from Smythe."

"Why would Bugsy do such a thing?"

"Well, I certainly don't understand him! First he doesn't want you to marry Smythe, then he gets upset when he hears you've called off the wedding and sends you flowers that are supposed to be from Smythe, like he's trying to get you two back together or something!"

"I'll have to ask him what he's up to," Mac decided and raised her left arm, then let it fall to the mattress again. "That is about the extent that I can move. So I won't be asking Bugsy anything today. Maybe tomorrow."

The intercom sounded. "MacDowell? Are you in there? It's Dr Davis."

Mac started to raise her arm again, but Della pressed the button to open the intercom. "Yes, she is, Dr Davis, but she's not doing very well. Stiff and in pain, I think."

"That's why I'm here. To look in on her, change the bandages. Maybe a little physical therapy, if she's stiff."

"Okay," Mac answered. "Computer, open door." She looked at her roommate. "That answers that question. It's past shift change, if Dr Davis is on duty."

"Yes, and I brought you some supper. But tell me if you want something else. Chef Hamara heard you were under the weather, and sent chicken noodle soup. I'm not sure how you're supposed to eat that with your hands bandaged."

"Actually, it sounds good, but we'll see if I can manage it. And what the doctor says about it."

Dr Davis entered the bedroom from the living room. "Chicken noodle soup? Well, let's see those hands, see how they're doing. Maybe you can lift the bowl and drink the soup." She moved over beside the bed, gave a quick look at the vase of flowers. "Nice flowers."

"They're from Mr Smythe," Mac stated softly.

What? Why did she say that? I plainly told her it was Bugalu who sent them, that he told me to say Smythe had sent them. And she said she was going to ask him why!

"I see," Davis said, sitting on the side of Mac's bed. "Let me see your hands. And I think I neglected to mention that your shoulder will need some physical therapy for a few days."

"You told me not to move it."

"That's right. I don't want you to use it. Leave it to us medical types to move it, slowly and carefully."