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Sam_SemaJ

"Out of the Loop"

"Out of the Loop"

Personal Log -- S.K. Sema'J

SD 11103.25

 

<begin>

 

It had been a while since Sam Sema'J had woken up bleary eyed staring at the ceiling of Sickbay from a bio-bed. It had not been so recently that the frequency of such a situation bothered him, so he had to rack his brain a bit to piece together how he had gotten there this time...

 

An image of the large desk in his office heading quickly toward his face started to jog his memory. That desk had filled his memory for at least the past three months. About that long ago, Sam had decided to completely catch up on all crew-related work, and then bury himself in his dissertation and finish his doctorate. He had first set to work seeing absolutely every crew member on board, whether he had seen them recently or not. He had filed them through his office for 5-10 minute (some longer) follow-ups to make sure everything was squared away on everyone's file, and then had scheduled no office hours save for emergencies until further notice. This had of course been cleared with the senior staff, as had a reduction of his bridge duty shifts and other more administrative duties. Fortunately word had come in that the CMO position would finally be filled, as it had been long vacant and the papers (or padds) had been piling up.

 

"Positive and Productive Approaches to Individuals and Societies Under Duress from Technologically, Socially or Otherwise Superior Parties".

 

Since becoming exceptionally caught up in his work as counselor, this dissertation had consumed his life. The research had been done periodically over the last year or so. The original work began with situations he had worked closely with, such as Arcadia crew member [OMMITED]'s crippling inferiority complex after being coerced into cooperation by an imperialistic galactic government, and the members of a sentient race called the Hammarians who were essentially farmed by a giant corporation for mass produced foodstuffs, being completely oblivious to the situation and indirectly rewarded for their unknowing participation. These situations were used as case studies, along with previous work and accounts to form a philosophy of coping for general situations where inferiority and coersion were involved. Sam had gone on to show how this approach and these types of situations were relevant to a number of areas, from shipboard social situations and individual counseling to application of the Prime Directive (about which there was a wealth of work to draw from). When his interest had originally been piqued while working with crewmen [OMITTED], he had not seen the whole scope of the project, but it had completely drawn him in.

 

Why did he see this flash of his desk, followed by a white flash? As Sam reached to his bandaged head it became clear to him. He had fallen and hit his head on the desk. In his hand he had held his framed Doctorate, recently replicated and ready to hang. He wasn't really one for vanity to have his credentials hanging on his office wall. But he had invested an immense amount of time in this, and had on several occasions in the past corrected people who mistakenly called him "Dr. Sema'J". Well now they could, and for this reason, when the message came from the academy that his dissertation had been accepted and his doctorate granted, he felt a great sense of accomplishment, and so had replicated the framed copy of the official document included with the message. It was during the short walk from the replicator to the wall that he had fallen into the desk.

 

Why had he fallen? Were this half a year or more ago, a dizzy spell, blackout or lapse in balance would have been commonplace, remnants of a serious brain injury that had put him back at SF headquarters in a coma a couple of years ago. But physical and neural therapy had all but vanquished these complications and he was to the point of being able to take research breaks with long runs or bike treks on the holodeck. It must have been something that happened to the ship. What had been going on? Heck if he knew. About a day had passed between his submission of the dissertation and the message confirming his completion of the doctorate. Luckily he had finished everything else, and had submitted right in sync with the board's meeting (A board which his mother was a part of, and had sent her praises and pride shortly after reading the dissertation). The board had had the day to read the work, met to confirm it's acceptance, and messaged him immediately. What had he done that day? Whatever it was, he had been OFF DUTY, so as maybe a few shudders and a few yellow alerts...or red?...had occurred around him, he tried his best to nonchalantly go about his business. He had apparently succeeded, as he had no idea as to what was going on and what could have knocked him off of his now-steady feet.

 

Sam looked at a console and confirmed a yellow beacon still blinking. He shook away any sleep that was still in his head and swung his feet down from the bio bed. Seeing a flash of white scrubs in the corner, he knew this was a mistake.

 

"Sam, lie back down, what do you think you're doing? Why didn't you ring when you woke up, I need to look you over!"

 

The flood of reprimands was instant, if well-meaning, as Nurse Ratchet's 6th sense caught him in the act of sickbay escape (which honestly never succeeds) and was bustling her way over to him, tricorder at the ready.

 

"How long have I been out? And was it anything besides a head injury?"

 

"You've been out for about 10 hours, and no, it was just your head. But Dr. Steele wanted to keep you under observation when you woke up, based on your history. I know you've been doing fine, but she was unfamiliar with your progress, and she's the boss now."

 

Dr. Steele....who? Sam turned the name over in his head. It sort of came to him, a memo had flashed across his screen about a month ago...which he had obviously seen fit to ignore. From what he could remember she was the new CMO...realizing this skipped memo was actually a crew member he would be working closely with, Sam took a moment to cringe at the fact that he had actually let a whole month pass without so much as seeing her face. That would have to be remedied...but for the moment, he had had quite enough down time. He had to figure out what was going on and get back into the thick of it, he at that moment decided he would not sit at his desk again for as long as he could stand it. He looked down at himself and saw he was wearing an undershirt and uniform pants. Had they taken his uniform jacket off? No, he had not been wearing it, why wear a full uniform if you're not planning on having contact with anyone?

 

Sam put a hand up to the nurse's prodding tricorder. "I'm sure I'm fine, and I will come back in a while". He stood before words could exit her mouth and made a bee line for his office door.

 

"But...just let me-" But Sam was in his office already. Something crunched under his foot. He looked down and saw the shattered frame that must have fallen from his hands as his head approached the desk. That would have to wait. His uniform jacket was slung over his desk chair, he seemed to remember tossing it there about 250 pages ago.

 

Sam grabbed the jacket and slipped his hands through the sleeves as he walked briskly into the hall and toward the turbolift. He stepped inside and spoke a word he had not dared utter for months..."Bridge".

 

<end>

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