New Blood, Same Color

[Mreh K'hal 0]

New Blood, Same Color

 

Hearing the Captain's announcement didn't lift Mreh's mood any; in fact, it had worsened it. Sickbay had become bad enough for him recently, but to know they were heading to a battle where there would certainly be major casualties was another arrow to his heart. He couldn't stand to be there, seeing the pain and suffering of the patients. As he made his way back to his quarters, he pondered how this had come about. Healing had always been his calling, and he had executed it well as a roving medic for months before he had requested and finally received the permanent posting aboard the Excalibur. Perhaps even then he had started to feel that despondency; since taking up post in Excalibur's sickbay, it'd only become worse. The quirky, informal and rather naive attitude of his CMO had grated on him from the first, and then seeing Maria and Alex attach themselves to each other at the hip had pushed him further. He couldn't blame anyone for any of it, but it was added stimulus to his troubles.

 

There he was, the Caitian with the golden hued bushy tail and red mane, alone and dissatisfied with his profession and the policies that were driving him. It was a miracle, really, that it'd taken as long to blow as it did, and even that roar was feeble. Sighing again, he regretted that barb at Maria and he hoped she would understand; if she didn't, Alex would hopefully understand and explain. Why Mreh wouldn't talk to Alex himself was a mystery even to himself; he had always been much more outgoing and personable than he seemed since coming here, and in fact past acquaintances had difficulty shutting him up. So this sudden reticence with someone trained (and apparently competent) at handling people's crises of the psyche was baffling.

 

So much did this professional and personal meltdown bother him, he had applied upon their return to Camelot for the helm slot that was open on the Excalibur. He hadn't trained as a pilot, at considerable difficulty to himself with the medical schooling alongside, for nothing. In fact, while he roved from system to system, ship to ship, he had been assigned a runabout and had flown it and medical supplies from temporary station to station. Knowing that being cut off from the Alpha Quadrant and the battles and other tragedies that have occurred made supplying crew difficult, there would be a limited amount of personnel available with the proper training; however, he also knew the same applied to sickbay, and he doubted that an experienced and licensed doctor would be allowed to slip away either. Plus, he imagined that someone with more experience (and prior intent to be a pilot) would be reassigned to the Excalibur anyway. Nonetheless, he had applied, and then went about his suffering in sickbay.

 

Arriving at his quarters, he slipped out of his smock and uniform jacket and then threw himself upon the bed. Looking at the PADDs on the nearby desk that contained the letters he had been writing since the Alpha Quadrant had closed to him, he wondered how his family would feel. He didn't actually care, though, as just being near them would be a lift. He missed them so much; their family had always been a tight knit one, so for him to be cut off from them, even from subspace messages, was torture. He imagined his mother was fraught with worry herself, not knowing whether he lived or died out here.

 

Thinking of his Caitian family, his thoughts traveled as well to the nearest Caitian available. M'Vess JoNs was her name, he had discovered. That oh-so-short moment where he had seen her was graven on his memory; the tawny fur, the scars and cropped left ear, all of it was as clear as if she stood in front of him. There was attraction there, of course; he was a male, though he always prided himself on not being a rutting one, at least. Just as much, if not more though, was the fact that she was Caitian, and that amongst all the smooth-skinned people around them, they could understand each other and their racial history. She could probably sympathize with the difficulty he had with his bushy tail and regulation Starfleet uniforms; after she laughed about it, no doubt. He knew his sanity could rest on finally getting to spend some time with her; he absolutely had to talk with someone about everything that had transpired, and being able to listen to someone else without the clinical detachment of a doctor would be useful as well.

 

He was a moment away from querying the computer on her whereabouts and duty status when the comm panel in his room beeped twice and lit up. Rising from the bed, he went over and sat before it; logging in with his voice and access code, he saw that he had a message from the de facto personnel office for this quadrant. With his paws rather unsteady, he pulled up the message and read it through, his ears rising from their previous droop to the state that his old roommate termed "baroo." He had been reassigned to the helm, with the added conditions that he assist the science department when the helm was static and begin learning operations protocol when feasible also. If they had added that he must also chase balls of yarn around once a day on the bridge he wouldn't have minded, despite the insult, so much was his determination to leave sickbay and the blood, gore and personality conflicts behind him.

 

The stunned relief of the reassignment was too overwhelming for him to jump for joy, and the prior depressed state that struggled mightily not to fade kept him from shouting for joy, as well. Slumping back into the chair, his heart thudding in his chest and breath short, almost as if he had been chased back to his quarters by a Scorpiad, he looked back at the smock that announced as much that he had been a doctor as a Caduceus pin would have done, Mreh imagined tossing it into a roaring bonfire. He was free. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that it was freedom from his own expectations and driving ambition as much from the circumstances, but it was freedom, nonetheless. He sipped from the room-temperature glass of water that had sat there since he awoke that morning while he settled himself.

 

Moments later, he left his quarters in a flash, and headed for the holodeck to refresh himself on Sovereign class navigation procedures. It absolutely would not do to be seen contemplating while he sat in the pilot's seat. At that mental image, however, his ever practical mind piped up with a question. When he reported for duty tomorrow, should he wear the red so standard to navigation officers, the blue of science and medical, or the yellow of operations? Immediately he tossed red out of the window; that was for officers that had taken the command track at the Academy, something he had never done nore desired to do in the future. The yellow would make him stand out less on the bridge, certainly, though he wasn't an operations officer and would only be training in it when the time permitted; with the upcoming battle, that certainly wouldn't provide much of that time, so that would probably wait until after. He decided he wouldn't wear the yellow until his training was complete. That left the blue, of course, and would also mean that Mreh wouldn't have to replicate new uniforms. It would certainly make the science staff more comfortable when he worked with them, and also remind everyone that his initial degrees were in Biology and Chemistry. He only hoped that the sight of a blue-shirt driving wouldn't strike fear into the hearts of the bridge staff.

[Dox Maturin 0]

Great log! Please don't crash into any moons.