Rue Wydown

“How in the blue blazes did you find that?” Dr Moon adjusted the scanning device while Commander Wydown simply shrugged and stepped out of the way. The doctor examined the pin prick of a wound located on the ambassador’s underside of his upper arm, then glanced back up at Wydown. “Seriously, how did you find that? The initial bioscan didn’t even find that?” “Don’t worry about that. Just tell me if that had something to do with his death, hmmm?” “Maybe, but probably not. “ “Oh?” “You jump to too many conclusions, ma’am. This could very well be what it looks like…a death by natural causes.” “That’s a Romulan. And this is Excalibur, Andrew. Nothing is ever what it seems.” Wydown leaned against the wall panel and motioned with her hands for the pathologist to continue his work. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “What did you say the cause of death was again?” “A systematic shock reaction to an anaphylaxis condition. A trace amount of the antigen found on the wound you identified was a food born reactant so to make it look like a normal allergic reaction.” Dr Moon grumbled, not happy that the commander was right about where the antigen was introduced into the body, nor the cause of death being suspicious in nature. “The onset of anaphylaxis was gradual, due to where the antigen was introduced to the body. Anaphylaxis led to his difficulty breathing, or the coughing that was observed. Then low blood pressure and loss of consciousness during the shock phase. Once the body goes into shock, vital organs being to shut down quickly, even for a Romulan.” “When can I get the final autopsy and toxicology report?” “I can have it to you by the end of the shift. If—“ Dr Moon paused then gulped. “…if you tell me how you found that wound?” Wydown smiled as she approached the pathologist and gently took him under the arm to demonstrate. “Because it’s how I would have done it if I wanted to be discreet.” She wiggled her index finger against the underside of his arm, mimicking the pin prick, giving the man the shivers, then turned to leave the room. “I’ll be looking for your report.” Dr Moon frowned as he watched the executive officer stride off, “Remind me not to make her mad.”

Some might think me madder than a box o' frogs, but back in the day, when I started a new gig, I used to ask me workmates one absolutely crucial question that to determine how I'd interact with 'em from the start. If ye could have one and only one super-duper power, whot would it be? The usual responses? Wellllllllll, we've got ourselves invincibility, telepathy, walk through walls, invisibility, flight, super human strength, fast heal, incredible speed, time travel, ability to leap tall building single bound, etc. etc. etc. Superman meets Ironman meets random super-hero wanna-be-bludger. Booooooooring. Know what I want? The ability to simultaneously balance my checkbook and fix me favorite banana smoothie while performing complex brain surgery on a Vermillion flea beast. Wicked answer, aye? No wonder me supers asked me to stop askin' the question. I mean how can ye top that? Of I can see why my answer is a bit wonky for some. But my point is this: I've always wanted to do more than what I'm physically or mentally capable of. That and to multitask on a grand scale. But that's another story. It's no wonder that I was flustered and flabbergasted (gods, I love those words, that and gobsmacked. But again, I digress), when this bloody emergency exploded. I wanted to be the woman with the answers. The one who could creatively solve all problems with a snap of her fingers. The girl with the mad skillz. 'Cept I've only been on the job for a week. And my expertise is medicine, not engineering, computers, navigation, security or bimolecular neural science. And this emergency might be just sliiiiiiiiightly out of my league to handle alone. Oi! I'm only human! I can do only what I know how to do. And I need to let the others do the same. Let the experts be experts – you just need to give 'em what they need to do their jobs. After that, it's control what you know, Rue, let go of what you can't. And right now, I can control these beasties environment. Hot. Cold. Dry. Moist. Light. Dark. Loud. Silent. Low Gravity. High Grav. Upside down, right side up. Topsy turvey. Welcome to Wydown's Wild Ride. Keep your seatbelts fastened, and hands and feet side the ride at all times. Thanks you. Because when you mess with this ship, you mess with me. Don't think I'm mental enough do the extreme 'cuz I'm a bloody doctor. Not on your Nelly. I didn't live this long, survive wars and deep space missions, to be taken down by a bunch of greasy eight legged acid spewing arachnid tossers on speed and flippy trippy flying wallies who are afraid of a wee lil' light. Better decide now, mate. Either rack off or I'll kick ya three ways t'Sunday, ye slimy gits. ~~ Author's note: Yes, I know I mixed my regional slang here…but that's the advantage of your character coming from a fictional planet. There's no right or wrong way about it. Besides, it's internal dialogue. . . .and a whole lot easier to understand than the author herself.

May I have, please: Just South of Normal

I've seen bumps, bruises, broken bones, contusions. I witnessed the consequences of drunken brawls, transporter accidents, holodeck escapades gone haywire. Dislocations, punctures, lacerations, amputations. A bug in the ear. Head injuries. Brain slugs. Broken backs. Skin tags. Severe ache. I've dealt with compound fractures, splinters, phaser blasts, ingrown toe nails. Pandemics. Poisonings. Bolts in the head. Excessive facial hair. Excessive body order caused by rate Aritian bacterial fungus between poorly cared for toes. Let's now add a green baby to the list. Asthma attacks. Allergic reactions. Allergic reactions that cause discolorations to the third mid-thorax of a Repturian gladiator. Disembowelment. Snot rockets. Viral infections. Excessive ear wax. War wounds. Severe acute respiratory syndrome. Disease. Male patterned baldness. Operated on a Vulcan, green blood and all. Dealt with clones, imposters, Founders and charlatans. Radiation exposure. Space sickness. Exposure to the vacuum of space. Bovine madness. Guys who think they have special super-elite ninja skillz. A Cait shredded to bits. A Klingon/Romulan coworker with anger management issues. Toxic waste. Rapid aging. Deceleration of cellular growth. PMS. Sleep depravation. Starvation. Dehydration. You see, I can never claim to have seen it all because every day brings a new medical condition, a new disease a new injury. That's why I enjoy my job, because every day, every hour brings variety. A new problem to solve. Of course that doesn't stop me from thinking that the universe has gone a bit daft. I was flummoxed when Commander Teykier burst into sickbay with a spider attached to her, yelping: "Get it off and fix it and then fix me now." Now I can add performed surgery on a tarantula to my resume. Blimey, I love my job.

“So, what should I put on the maintenance report about what caused the damage?” “Hormones.” “Hormones? Seriously? C’mon Doc. I need more than that.” Standing in the doorway of the exam room, Crewman Dalton of the custodial staff flashed the PADD in the Chief Medical Officers direction. Behind him, his partner worked to diligently repair the table mangled in Rue’s last encounter with one of her medical staff. Rue slurped her banana smoothie loudly through a straw, seeming to consider her response thoughtfully (or trying to annoy Crewman Dalton, take your pick.) After an awkward moment, she pointed at the line on the PADD that read ‘cause’ and responded, “How ‘bout female hormones then.” Dalton scowled. “I can’t put female hormones on this report, ma’am.” Rue glanced up. Flashed an innocent doe eyes expression and let her subtly accent slip in. “Why no’?” “Because you and I know the chief will have my head.” “Oh rubbish,” Rue took the PADD from the crewman and entered the data in herself. “Remind me to surgically remove that stick you have back there next time. Just let ‘im know that I’ll have the incident report out before the game. He knows I’m good for it.” She handed the PADD back and started to cross sickbay back towards her office. “You’re playing tonight?” “Aye.” “Seriously?’ “Whot? I cannae have a little fun? I can play a game or two. And drink. I’m no’ a nun, you know.” The woman looked over her shoulder at Dalton. “Welllllll…I could have been. I could handle the chastity part, but the poverty part…” Sucked air noisily through her grinning clenched teeth. “ Couldn’t manage that.” Paused again, “Welllll…I could have. But Mother Superior felt my talents were better applied elsewhere anyway. Although I still think we could have made a killing for the orphanage with the holy water shampoo formula I discovered. Oi, better get going, lad….” Rue glanced over the now completely aghast man and motioned to his partner now leaving the exam room. “Looks like your mate’s ready to go.” She physically turned him around to face the other direction, gave him a pat on the back, then turned one her heals and headed back to her desk. “Be a good boy and run along now.” He left without pressing her for any further details. Exactly as planned by the CMO. Shook her head, smirking. “That was a right laugh.” Wydown flopped back down into her chair, and dragged her hands through her hair, making the short ends stand up in spikes. Stared at the incident report she was trying to word smith. The Doctor was having trouble writing the truth yet keeping B’Etor out of trouble for property destruction. Her exercise in avoidance would only buy her so much time, then it would be time to pay the piper. “Whot am I supposed ta say? *You* try dealin’ wif a pregnant half-Klingon-whatever and let me know how that works for ya.” Sighing, she threw her stylus at the blinking curser on the screen. “Oh mercy, what am I going to do. I’m really beginning to wonder if I haven’t made a big mistake. Everything seems to be falling apart here. Two anxious parents, a green baby, one pregnant officer, an officer with an anxiety disorder, and an engineer who become a lightening rod on two occasions. In a weak moment I gave away my Pirate Booty recipe to the Orion. Oh and a partridge in a pear tree.” She glanced over to the picture at the corner of her desk. “Perhaps I should have listened to you. Stayed back at StarFleet Medical. Taught wanna-bee’s. Enjoyed the good life. Sipped banana smoothies under a tropical sun. Instead of resorting to blabbing to *you*.” Angry slurping of the dredges of her drink followed. And a sigh. Wydown leaned back in her chair, stared out into the main medical bay and watched the traffic going past her door. While everything seemed to be returning to normal, the experienced doctor knew that looks could be deceiving. The next disaster was just around the corner. Or adventure. Her eyes drifted back to the console screen where her screensaver was now cycling through pictures of her past adventures. Slowly her lips curled into an impish grin. Her nose twitched. Adventure. Danger. Risk. Chaos Theory. It continued to appeal to her, even through the battles and pain. She believed on facing problems head on. Accepting responsibility for ones actions and taking steps to correct the problems you cause. Letting others learning the hard way about personal limitation or the great cause and effect of one’s decisions. Testing her own limitations. And gleefully accepting the twisting rollercoaster of a journey that is life. She picked up the photo she’d been talking to. “Ignore that load of tosh. I’m just having a mid-shift crisis. I’ll get it all sorted.” Tossing the photo down haphazardly. It skidded across the desk, resting precariously on the corner. Rue picked up her stylus again and started writing. “Besides, you’re not going to get the last laugh this time. Jokes on you, mate. In the most recent past, I’ve sailed the clouds of Satarimi. Helped with a turbolift repair…sorta,” she grinned at the memory of being upside down. “Won a bet with Finola so I don’t have to do house chores for the rest of the month.” She typed steadily. “I can handle one tinsy tiny incident report and keep my cool at the same time. I could probably come up with a way to have universal peace if I really set my mind to it. Wellll….maybe not universal peace per say. I mean, I’m only one person and the universe is a big place. But maybe perfect my banana smoothie recipe. And *that* could bring about universal peace.” She smiled to herself as she continued to type, her sense of humor restored and therefore increasing her chances of keeping her staff out of trouble. Wellllll…maybe not out of trouble, but at least out of the brig for the time being.

Badonk-thunk………..badonk-thunk………badonk-thunk. “So this is why you were excited about the new digs. So you can slack off without the audience. “ Badonk-thunk………..”Yeah, right,” ……badonk-thunk………badonk-thunk. “Want me to read another?” Badonk-thunk….”Sore throat.” The Chief Medical Officer smirked, then returned to tossing the small blue racquet ball against the wall. Badonk-thunk….. deftly catching it in her left hand before tossing it with her right. Finola Gray watched the blue blur her roommate was lobbing at her office wall for a moment before turning to the PADD in her lap. “Laryngeal cancer which is cancer of the larynx. You’ll need to see an otolaryngologist. In the meantime obsess about artificial voiceboxes. Although you know, it’s probably too much yelling.” Finola glanced up at Rue and for a moment both women remained silent. Badonk-thunk……….. the sound of the ball hitting the wall broke the hush and soon the room was full of tittering giggles. “So why are you hiding in here on your break? Aren’t’ you the one who insist sanctity of the sanity break?” FInola scrolled through the view on the PADD. “Headache.” Rue sighed. Badonk-thunk………..badonk-thunk “Oh?” “No, I mean read ‘headache’ from the PADD.” Rue smirked. Badonk-thunk……….. “I couldn’t leave. Things are messed up down here as it is. I’m down two doctors because their personal life is a mess. I have another who will have to be searched for Klingon painsticks before she exacts her own personal corporeal punishment. I have Commander who’s looking for early parole even though we just emancipated her from ICU.” Rue leaned over to peer out the opening door passed Finola just to check to see if JoNs was resting. “I am afraid that if I leave, our sickbay is going to implode.” “In that case, I understand. Although be warned, when you start instituting strip searches for your employees I am *not* coming to visit you up here anymore.” Finola glanced back down to her PADD. “Headache – you may have a brain tumor which is a growth of abnormal cells. You’ll need to see a neurologist. In the meantime, you’ll be obsessing about losing the sense of smell. But you know, it’s probably just stress.” Finola snickered softly. “What is this thing anyway?” “ ‘Yes, You’re Probably Dying – A Hypochondriac’s Key to Worst-Case Scenarios.’ Isn’t it a kick? Clayton sent it to me for my birthday this year. He thinks that this should scare me about turning 40.” Rue arched her eyebrows. “There was a reason we never had kids. There were two kids in that relationship in the first place, we didn’t need to add another one .” Rue paused a moment before tossing the ball over handed at the basket in the office corner. Too much bounce. The blue projectile ricocheted against the basket walls until it freed itself to skitter across the floor, coming to rest under Finola’s chair. Rue glanced at her roommate before making a ‘gimme’ motion with her hand. Finola scooped the plastic fun ball up and placed it in her friend’s hand. “So what did you do to keep the Commander so quiet?” “Gave her some reading material. “ “OH please don’t tell me you gave her—“ “The Rooster Crowed at Midnight by Abigail Porterfield? Uh huh. Among others She has choices.” Rue smirked. “You’ve got a real wicked sense of humor.” “I know.” Rue flashed a cheeky grin. “Years in space have really warped me. Warp. Get it?” Finola made a face at her friend. “Fine. Just read ‘Blurred Vision’.” “Blurred Vision – You may have Mad Cow Disease which is a degenerative brain disorder. Again with the neurologist. In the meantime obsess about not eating meat. But it’s probably just a hangover.” “Hmmmm…I’m going to have to remember that one….” Badonk-thunk………..badonk-thunk………badonk-thunk.

File: RMTW73080411 – 00048S Date: 11 April 2008 Subject: Wydown, R. M. Classification: Confidential Prepared By: Commander D. Noble OFFICER ASSESSMENT FILE NAME: Ruth "Rue" Marie Thouvenot Wydown KNOWN ALIASES: Rue, Ruby. Pronunciation key: Rue = Roo Thouvenot = Too-va-no Wydown = Why-down AGE: Early forties SPECIES: Human BIRTHPLACE: Federation colony on Ralafea Prime PHYISCAL MARKINGS: Brown hair, blue eyes, 1 tattoo, no piercings, no birthmarks, various small scars on her calves, knees, forearms and one on chin. PREVIOUS MEDICAL EXPERIENCE: 4 years Star Fleet Medical Hospital, San Francisco 3 years USS Arden, Medical Officer 23 months USS Halsey, Medical Officer 6 months USS Yukon, Medical Officer 17 months USS Excalibur, Chief Medical Officer CURRENT OCCUPATION: Executive Officer – USS Excalibur EDUCATION: Thrace Academy – Lupino, Ralafea Prime St Ambrose Royal Academy of Medicine – Sidney, Earth Star Fleet Medical School – San Francisco, Earth SPECIAL SKILLS: Emergency medicine – main focus. Completed rotations in general surgical option – critical care, internal medicine and pathology. Subject claims to have had a dalliance with electroencephalography but dropped the course of study late in her rotation series due to 'boredom'. PSYCHOLOGICAL EVALUATION: During our meeting the subject appeared to be upbeat, alert and well balanced. Fellow officers observed the subject to be keenly interested in the welfare of her fellow crew members, hard working and dedicated to the medical field. Subject does tend view obstacles or problems as opportunities with an unusual gleeful attitude. Dr Wydown has admitted to an unexplained fear of balloon animals* and an obsessive compulsive craving for bananas. *Note: I'm not entirely sure if the subject was joking or not. MEDICAL EVALUATION: Mild hayfever and bee sting allergies. Concussion to the head while serving on the USS Arden. Broken wrist also received while serving on the Arden. Various small scars on her calves, knees, forearms and one on her chin. Subject would not elaborate on where such injuries occurred *Note: Rumor has it, Subject has participated in several vigorous sporting activities, including but not limited to holo-cycling and solar surfing. It is unknown if she continues to pursue such extracurricular activities. Subject just smile enigmatically at me when questioned. PERSONAL RELATIONSHIPS: Still has a positive relationship with parents John and Lily Thouvenot. Is the oldest and most vocal of the four Thouvenot children: Michael, Martha and Jack. Married for eight years to Clayton Wydown. Amicably divorced. No children resulted from the marriage. Claims to remain good friends with ex-husband but just can't live with him. Evaluee has numerous odd and diverse friends outside of the workplace which she wisely keeps to herself.