Back Home to Work...

[Mreh K'hal 0]

Back Home to Work

Part 2

A small shuttle gracefully banked and softly touched down atop the landing pad near the outpatient entrance to Starfleet Medical. As Mreh popped the rear hatch, awaiting whatever patient whose condition didn't warrant the transporter, he switched the exhaust from the rear vents to the dorsal before rising from his seat to wait just outside. Gracefully curling his fluffy tail around his right leg out of habit, he scanned the walkway and spotted a nurse walking with a soft-clothed humanoid. After a short moment the two arrived, and the nurse smiled at Mreh while keeping an arm lightly on the puffing passenger.

 

"Lieutenant," the nurse said. "This is Dr. Thomas, and here's all of the data for you," he finished, holding out a PADD.

 

Mreh took it, but looked to Thomas first. Besides being a bit out of breath, the man had the peaked appearance of someone who had pushed himself a bit too far in a marathon. Appearing to be in his early sixties, with a noticeable paunch erupting from a lime green jumper, and sweat beaded on his brow, Thomas looked more apt to be exiting the shuttle on his way into SFM and not the other way around.

 

"Dr. Thomas," Mreh began. "Why don't we get you settled in so we can get you on your way."

 

"Fine, fine," Thomas wheezed, and without further ado stepped up into the shuttle and headed toward the cockpit.

 

"Have a nice flight," the nurse said softly and with barely disguised humor in his voice before turning on his heel and walking briskly back toward the building.

 

Mreh entered the shuttle and whacked the button to close the hatch with a paw before heading up to the cockpit. Thomas was already settled comfortably in the co-pilot's seat. As he opened his mouth to speak, Mreh was cut short before uttering a single syllable.

 

"Get me a Guinness, would you?" Thomas asked without even looking back, his attention on the console in front of him.

 

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Dr. Thomas," Mreh said, working hard to keep from sounding too brusque. "This is a medi-shuttle, and the replicator isn't programmed for... those types of medicines."

 

"Ah, should have known," Thomas replied grumpily. "Well, get this thing in the air and we can stop at Paddy's."

 

"Hmm," Mreh said as he settled himself into his seat. Glancing down at the PADD, the Caitian ran a scarcely extended claw over the orders written out, hoping for some insight into the nature of the beast beside him. It showed only basic vitals, which showed the man was considerably older than he looked by a good fifty years; a note that Thomas had just had a second liver installed. and was to be returned to Utopia Planitia Shipyards. Based on the request for a Guinness, Mreh could guess as to why the man was going through livers even in this day and age of synthehol. "I'm sorry Doctor, I'm afraid the flight plan doesn't allow for any deviations, I'll have to take you straight back to UP."

 

"Hmmph!" Thomas grumped, looking over at Mreh. "I see pointy ears, but you're too damned furry to be a Vulcan."

 

"That's for certain," Mreh agreed amiably while he requested take-off clearance textually.

 

"By the Book," the old man barked, the disdain dripping fom the words. "That's the problem with you Starfleet types nowadays, you're all so wrapped up in that big Book of yours that there's no fun anymore."

 

"That very well could be, Doctor," Mreh said as he coaxed the shuttle into the air. "However, the ones in charge love that Book so much, they'd pound someone to death with it should they try reading from some other tome. I'd just assume keep my fur tidy."

 

"There's something to be said for self-preservation, I suppose," Thomas said grudgingly. "Can't go for a swim if you never get your feet wet, though."

 

"True," Mreh said as he maneuvered the shuttle into orbit. "Since I don't like getting my fur wet, though, I'm not terribly concerned about that last one."

 

"Huh. Suppose that shouldn't be any surprise for a felinoid."

 

"Don't," Mreh said, slanting a look over at Thomas, "get any ideas about calling me a scaredy-cat. I may not be a Vulcan, but I've always wanted to give that neck-pinch a try." Mreh smiled as Thomas laughed. "You know, there are a number of synthales that are comparable to Guinness..."

 

"Synthale!" Thomas erupted. "Pah! The damned stuff tastes like processed urine!"

 

"I don't want to know how you're qualified to make that comparison," Mreh said, "but you're letting your emotions and not your taste-buds do the talking there."

 

"Hmph, never liked the stuff," Thomas said stubbornly.

 

"When was the last time you tried it? When Kirk was still an admiral?"

 

"Watch it youngster," Thomas growled, though the glint in his eye showed that he approved of the insult. "I was designing shuttles while your grandparents were still breastfeeding."

 

"Oh," Mreh said with a fang-filled grin. "Maybe they filled out this flight plan wrong... should I be heading to the ancient history museum instead of Utopia Planitia?" He flashed his grin over at Thomas after the old man was done laughing.

 

"I was right, you are too damned furry to be a Vulcan," Thomas said. "It's been a while since I've had a pilot that hasn't just cowed his head and agreed with every damn thing I said while he was hitting up the engines for more speed. Maybe you have some potential after all."

 

"I tried that a little while ago," Mreh conceded. "I always had spoken my mind, but then thought I should try to fit in, not rock the boat. After a while, I was taking swipes at my fellow doctors and was a whisker away from clawing my CMO. That was the end of that experiment."

 

"Fellow doctors?" Thomas asked.

 

"Yeah," Mreh said, smiling sweetly over at Thomas. "Mreh K'hal M.D. at your service."

 

"K'hal?" Thomas asked, swiping a hand over his chin. "Your mother wouldn't by chance be a vicious, tempermental security type back there?"

 

"I see you've met," Mreh said, looking over at the old man and pondering. "What did she do, catch you smuggling in bottle of Guinness?"

 

"Hell! I was barely five steps into the building before she snatched it from me, the devil woman!" Thomas complained. "Like it's any of her never mind if I need a little boost after a surgery."

 

"Well," Mreh chuckled. "I'll have to take the blame for that. She had years of practice swiping smuggled candy off of me."

 

"Oho, that's how she learned it. If she had decided to be a pickpocket instead of a constable your family'd own Ferengenar by now," Thomas said. "Let's see, K'hal, K'hal... I think I knew your great-grandfather as well, if he was an engineer."

 

"He was."

 

"Hot damn, imagine that. Damn fine machine man, was old..." Thomas drifted off a moment, thinking. "K'Lan! That was the old tiger-tooth's name, right?" Mreh nodded. "Met him working on the USS Unity, back when we still did refits at UP. I swear, every time I turned around he was in my way, making sure I wasn't going to sabotage his equipment. Tempermental sort too, he was. Took one of those big paws of his and slapped my hand away from the dilithium matrix once when he caught me tinkering with it." The old man chuckled quietly. "Never did make the connection with your mother, as I was too busy cursing her black-spotted face for filching my suds."

 

"My mother does have that effect on people, yes."

 

"Well, I suppose you've got some fine genes in you. Though I don't recall either your mother or K'Lan having that big old feather-duster attached to them."

 

"Feather duster?" Mreh asked, his brows furrowed before he realized Thomas was referring to his tail. "Well, no. Hmm," Mreh said, never failing to be rather embarrassed by it. "My father's side doesn't have it either."

 

"Well, well," Thomas said, smirking over at the Caitian. "Can't say as I've ever seen a Caitian with a tail like that. In fact, I haven't seen a tail like that since I saw a Denobulan fox."

 

"All right, all right, I get the picture," Mreh interrupted grumpily. "Maybe I will coax a little more speed out of these engines." Mreh shook his head as Thomas merely laughed merrily. "Grumpy old coot, what're you still doing puttering around UP at your age?"

 

"Oh, they haven't put me out to pasture, yet," Thomas said proudly. "Still some useful ideas rattling around in this head of mine. "You know, I was in on the Excelsior trans-warp project? Course, I was still baby-faced and didn't realize that when the other engineers were saying I couldn't find the 'aft deck of a well-traveled Connie with a map' that they weren't talking about ships," Thomas said with a sly grin, looking over to see if Mreh could get the joke.

 

"How long did it take for you to mount that particular plasma coil in the right slot?" Mreh asked, to the gut-busting approval of the old engineer.

 

"Not too much longer," Thomas said after getting his breath back. "We're still working on that, after all of these years, would you believe it? Along with Dyson we managed to get the Prometheus to run, but we still can't make it efficient. Though, I will say that the data we got from Voyager will go a long way to making it happen."

 

"Ah, so that's what you do." Mreh said. "Working on transwarp would drive me to drink too."

 

"Oh, I like you," Thomas said after laughing. "So, keep an eye out for it one of these days. Maybe a hot-shot pilot like you can get a crack at being the first to fly her."

 

"I'm no hot-shot," Mreh said, smiling. "What's the fun of transwarp, anyway? Can't do this while you're at transwarp," he said and then put the shuttle into a tight barrel-roll.

 

"Hot-shot," Thomas accused.

 

"Mmm-hmm, yeah, whatever you say, sir." Mreh put the shuttle back on course and they passed a moment in companionable silence as their destination grew larger in the window.

 

"Heh, as a doctor, would you say my file would probably have something written in it that will keep my doctor here poking his nose into my glass every time I sit down?" Thomas asked.

 

"I would very well imagine that you'll have nutritional guidelines set down after this latest liver," Mreh agreed. "If your doctor cares, he'll be a pain in your butt."

 

"Damn," Thomas grumped as he looked at UP out of the front.

 

Mreh was ordered to stop at a certain transference point and to have Dr. Thomas ready for transport. He acknowledged the comm and moved the shuttle into position. Putting the shuttle into station keeping, he looked over at the old man.

 

"This is your stop, Doctor."

 

"Yep, back to the old grind," Thomas sighed. "It was a pleasure to meet you, son."

 

"You as well, sir," Mreh said, gesturing the doctor onto the single transporter pad. "Take it easy, and if you should manage to get some genuine Guinness, treat it like liquid latinum and you won't have to worry about going back to Starfleet Medical."

 

"Doubt I'll get any," Thomas said as he took his place on the pad. "Can't find any out this way, and I'll be damned if I'll order it just to have the doctor come to my door with a frown."

 

"You never know," Mreh said as he tapped his comm badge. "Shuttle SFM-Alpha-005 to Utopia Planitia. Dr. Thomas is ready." As the old man began to shimmer, Mreh smiled. "Take care, you grumpy old coot," he said and was rewarded with one last laugh that faded away with the whine of the transporter. After returning to his seat and putting the shuttle back on course for earth, Mreh put through a comm. After a moment, his sister's face came on screen.

 

"Mren, have a favor to ask of you," he said. "I need you to pick up a six-pack of Guinness, package it in a case that says 'Engineering manuals,' and send it off to a Dr. Michael Thomas at Utopia Planitia..."