Voices in the hallway ...

[T'aral 0]

After waiting a full hour without hearing from Ensign Tauariki, it was clear that once again an emotional being had chosen to forego regulations in favor of whatever pursuits suited him. This was becoming a pattern - she would have to consult with her collegues on other vessels to determine if such behavior was considered normal among humans and other emotional races, or if Comanche Creek was an exception. The latter would be most disturbing, as that would indicate that the crew had a problem with a Vulcan medical officer. If this continued to be the case, it would reflect poorly on the ship as a whole and on her in particular.

 

She pondered this question - perhaps she should turn primary care of all crewmembers to Leutenant Baliss and focus on administrative duties. The ship did have a staff that was capable of operating without her. Doctor Farrell was an excellent surgeon, Leutenant Baliss had a manner which was much more accepted by the crew, and Ensign Khole's bedside manner was beyond reproach. They were an excellent staff, and were all far more accepted by the crew than T'Aral was.

 

It was a good plan, but she would ponder it longer to confirm that she was making a logical response to the emotionalism she encountered, rather than returning negativism with negativism. She considered consulting the Captain or the XO, but decided against it. They had enough troubles already; the management of the medical deptartment was her responsibility. She would observe further, contemplate the issue, and decide on a course of action. The Captain need not be bothered; the decision wouldn't even require a formal filing - it could all be handled internally.

 

As she pondered this, T'Aral finished her review of the Proxima pathogen report. There were hundreds of thousands of local pathogens to be noted in the ship's database, though the vast majority were of the N-4 category - nuisance viruses. The galaxy was literally overrun with little things that would make one sick, but biological systems were remarkably resilient. Most were dealt with using normal immune responses, with only minimal cases requiring medical intervention. There would be a few cases of viral infections in the next seven to ten days, each requiring the same response - light duty or bedrest.

 

Finishing her review, T'Aral stepped away from Sickbay for a break. Moving through the hallways, she located the ship's kitchen - a holdover from the days before food processors. There were a few occasions, even on board a starship, which merited a cooked meal. When they weren't having one, the mess hall could be used by personnel who liked to cook.

 

T'Aral prepared a simple meal for herself: eggs scrambled with diced green onions, and a side of reconstituted orange juice. As she did so, however, she soon became aware that she had gained the attention of passers-by. It was curious: a small grouping had paused to watch her cook, and the comments whispered among them seemed to indicate their amazement that a Vulcan was cooking. T'Aral lifted an eyebrow at these comments - apparently the other races assumed that because one chose to be logical one didn't eat. They seemed to have the opinion that Vulcans didn't cook, leading T'Aral to wonder in curiousity how they assumed Vulcans took in nourishment - perhaps through osmosis?

 

Even the leutenants who broke up the crowd and sent everyone back to work paused to stare; they seemed to view T'Aral's cooking as one would observe a zoo attraction. The Federation ideals were those of tolerance: a feature which was extended to every race which would accept it ... except for Vulcans. All other races expressed their emotions, which allowed others to overlook physical differences. Vulcans, however, were psychologically different, which made them the butt of countless jokes and the recipients of hostility wherever they went. The Federation tolerated them so that they could be used as biological computers, while individuals continued to shun and mock them at every turn. It was rare for Vulcans to have friends outside of their own species, for finding an emotional being willing to accept others as they were was as unusual a happening as discovering refined dilithium lying about in a flowered meadow.

 

T'Aral sat to eat her meal while she accepted the situation with a Vulcan's typical silence. If she was accepted by the crew, that would mean that she would've failed as a Vulcan. To be a Vulcan was to be mocked, hated, and derrided by others. It was the way things were, and acceptance of these facts was the only logical solution.

Edited August 7, 2010 by T'aral

[STSF_Scooter 0]

Audraya walked into the ship's open mess for a fresh cup of coffee and some kind of carbohydrate to keep her blood sugar up. Reports from all parties on both Major and Minor reported random drive-by paintballings. Let Maya and Chief Nanohana deal with the reports for a while. And when I find BC, I'm gonna have his boys outfit the Goshawks with their own paintball ammo.

 

As she grabbed a couple of pineapple-filled powdered donuts and fresh coffee from the counter, she spied T'Aral sitting by herself. And apparently the subject of much rubbernecking in the mess hall. The evil eye of the XO scanned the room as she headed towards the ship's surgeon's table, and those crew and officers who caught it, turned back to their meals, and grabbed the focus of their tablemates who hadn't.

 

"Mind if I join you, Doc," Audraya asked, setting her napkin wrapped, highly sugar'd snack on the table.