J.U.I.C.E.

Posted on 13 Oct 2014 @ 8:37pm by Lieutenant Olsam Mott & Lieutenant JG Wakeham Paul Alasia Ph.D.
Edited on on 13 Oct 2014 @ 10:49pm

2,011 words; about a 10 minute read

Mission: Episode 07 - Sojourn
Location: USS Galileo - Deck 3, Cargo Bay 1
Timeline: MD -27: 0500 hrs

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It was 5:00 o'clock in the morning, and the body of Dr. Olsam Mott was sprawled on the floor of Cargo Bay One. His arms and legs were akimbo like some murder scene victim out of a holovid; he had a bottle of Bolian Beryl Bourbon in one hand and an Erlenmeyer flask in the other, just the tiniest amount of liquid left inside from where he'd fallen and let its contents slosh on to the deck plating. He couldn't remember how long ago it was that he'd tipped over, maybe five minutes, maybe fifty minutes. His mind was a little hazy. He knew he needed to get up and get back to his quarters because being relieved of duty didn't mean permission for public drunkenness, but the deck was pretty comfortable. And it wasn't covered in Caitian fur, like his quarters.

Just as that thought crossed the Doctor's mind, the door on the far side flung open. Paul Alasia ambled into the cargo bay with a quizzical look on his face. Paul absently marched through the stacked cargo shells looking for a long-forgotten chest that was meant to follow him on-board from the starbase weeks ago, when Paul first arrived. Finally Paul turned the corner only to see the visage of the Bolian doctor jump out at him.

Paul yelped loudly and jumped back, clutching his hand over his heart. "Jesus Christ, I didn't expect anyone would be in here this time of the morning." Paul shook off his initial reaction and looked at his nameless colleague. "Are you ok, sir?"

Olsam cracked a bloodshot eye, blue capillaries crawling everywhere among the white sclera. "Huh? Of course I'm okay." He rolled over on to his back and stared up at the bright lights overhead. Who turned those stupid things on? "Are you okay?"

"I'm... yeah - I'm ok. I turned the lights - I'm sorry. I can turn them off in a bit."

Olsam uncovered his eyes and let the flask and bottle drop to the floor while he propped himself up against a cargo container. He wasn't quite as drunk as he probably should have been thanks to the Bolian digestive tract, but he was still definitely in a mental space of not caring very much about anything. In a moment of lucidity he checked the other man's pips and felt somewhat relieved he wasn't going to be in any immediate trouble.

"I've been lazy about coming down here. I'm ashamed to say I've been wearing the same, like, two outfits since I came aboard. I figure for hygiene sake it might have been time to get the rest of my things." Paul shook his head realizing all at once his faux pas. He extended his hand to the Bolian. "I'm Paul Alasia, by the way. The diplomatic officer."

Olsam took the hand, shook it a bit, and then used the leverage to heave himself into a better position. He was unsteady, not so much from the alcohol but from being sprawled on the floor for who knows how long; it had done something awful to his sense of balance. "I'm Dr. Olsam Mott, Assistant Chief Medical Officer. Sorta. I've been relieved of duty." He scoffed, wobbled. "So I don't know if that just means I'm a regular doctor now... Or what. I've never been relieved of duty! It's unthinkababable... Unthinka... Unthinkamable."

Paul turned his head so the Doctor wouldn't see him chuckle. Paul motioned to the space next to Mott. "Can I offer some company? It sounds like you're having a bad day."

"Okay," Olsam said sullenly, slumping his shoulders.

Paul lowered himself down to the floor with an exaggerated "wargh!" He shuffled around to make himself comfortable. "From what I've read, there's been some weird happenings in that sickbay. You being relieved of duty have anything to do with that?" Paul asked with an empathetic tone.

The Bolian cut his eyes to the side and lifted a hairless brow, wondering which weird things he was referring to. There were certainly plenty of them, and he was feeling pointedly defensive about all of them. "If they sent you down here to make me...uh... What's that word? To make me... You know, that word where you say bad stuff about yourself on the record and then it gets taken to court? I'm not gonna do that! I don't have anything else to say to you people!"

"Incriminate yourself." Paul chuckled. "If you've been relieved of duty it seems to me whatever incrimination was going to happen already has." Paul tapped the ground with the palm of his hand. "I don't think you could find someone farther from the center of power on this ship than me. If you don't want to talk, you certainly don't have to but... that bottle seems to imply you've got something on your mind. Might feel good to get it out."

Olsam eyed the bottle. What had that bottle been implying about him? Look at it. With that accusing label, those deceptive curves, that libelous mouth. "Aren't you a diplomat? I thought they were always at the center of power... Or do they just bring you out to sign the papers? I bet you have nice penmanship." The doctor spared another glare at the bottle then sighed. "I got a little mouthy with Commander Blake during a disciplinary meeting about Sickbay's triage performance. I was only trying to defend the staff! They're good people. Dammit."

"Wait, the medical staff had a disciplinary hearing? That's... interesting. I actually spoke to your Chief yesterday and she didn't mention anything about it. From what I read - if anything - I kinda would've thought the Commodore..." Paul thought better of finishing his sentence. "What did you guys do wrong?"

Olsam nodded as Paul spoke, though the nodding seemed to continue far beyond the point where he'd actually stopped talking. Like a nervous tick of sorts...

"Well, that's just like her, isn't it? Being humble and quiet, never making a big scene. No, no! Why would she have to when she's got a big blue sidekick bumbling around with her? Say no more, Dr. Allyndra, I'll handle this with insubordination." He snorted and gave a petty kick at the loud-mouth bottle. "According to Commander Blake, we made any number of dumb mistakes. Yelling at the Commodore, performing unnecessary surgery, violating patient privacy, treating patients incorrectly..."

"Well, I mean... did you guys do that stuff? Because unnecessary surgery especially sounds pretty bad." Paul said hesitantly.

"No, of course not!" Olsam said quickly, frowning and shaking his head. He pushed himself up more firmly against the cargo container as he gained fuller control of his faculties. Bolian metabolism was both a blessing and a curse; alcohol got flushed out of the system quickly, but you were always hungry. "There were some interpersonal issues with the Commodore, of course, but she did pull a phaser on one of our physicians. The surgery wasn't necessarily the route I would have gone, but it wasn't unnecessary or even ill-advised. We treated the patients as we could, when we could. Sickbay was overrun with 23 casualties! But you'd have thought it was an eight-ring Saurian circus to hear it told."

"I did hear about the phaser bit. The official report about what exactly preceded that was... uhh, let's say hazy. The Crewman on the table, is she kin to the Commodore? An old friend? I mean, I know flag officers can be very protective of their people..."

"Her fiancee," Olsam huffed.

"Oh" Paul said before pausing in thought. "Oh. That... that fills in some blanks."

Mott had his own opinions about the outburst and really wished everyone would stop calling them next of kin. They weren't even married, yet! "I think the captain will be speaking to her... I don't know." Olsam groaned. "I should have just kept my mouth shut. My mother was always saying, 'Olsam, you never keep your mouth shut!' And now look. I don't! You aren't supposed to back-talk your executive officer, even when they're wrong. I mean, horribly wrong. And sticking their nose in medical matters. And trying to direct treatment procedures..."

"I don't know, sir. I'm not exactly an authority on this but... if speaking up is called for, then you should stand by it. It takes courage to stand up for what you feel is right. Especially in these circumstances. I mean... I don't mean to pry but your suspension - it's temporary? It isn't permanent is it?"

Olsam laughed. "I'm not much of 'yes, sir' type. Just call me Olsam, please. Or Dr. Olsam, if we're in Sickbay. Assuming I ever get to go back." He muttered under his breath, but it wasn't clear what he said, assuming they were even words. "I was standing up for what's right! I was! Thank you! I'm glad someone appreciates that. I wasn't about to stand there and allow my reputation and expertise as a physician to be dragged through the mud. The Federation is a meritocracy, and even Starfleet isn't a dictatorship. We have an obligation to defend our reputations, our ability, our staff and to stand up when we disagree with decisions. We're not trained to be mindlessly obedient; Starfleet wouldn't function properly without some degree of dissent."

"The way I always heard it said was that 'we must not confuse dissent with disloyalty.' I consider those words to live by." Paul patted the Bolian on the knee with a sense of affection, leaned his weight to his left side and slowly propped his large frame back up to his feet. "One thing I've learned in life is that when someone needs a good wallow, you've got to let them have their privacy."

Olsam nodded, reflecting on the diplomat's words. They perfectly surmised how he'd felt in Commander Blake's office - he was nothing if not loyal to the Federation and dedicated to serving Starfleet, but he strongly disagreed with the commander's assessment and disciplinary directives. Of course she was quite right to send him off to his quarters; he'd gotten a little too caught up in the heat of the moment, as happened, but he certainly wasn't going to admit that out loud for several more days. A Bolian had his pride and all.

Paul made his way across the aisle to his trunk. He slid the container resting on top of it with one hand and the trunk out with the other. Paul turned back to the doctor: "For what it's worth - and unfortunately it's worth almost nothing - I think you did the right thing." Paul smirked "If they don't put you back in that sickbay soon, I'll raise whatever hell I can back in Paris. God willing, I still have a little juice back home."

"Thank you," Olsam said, smiling weakly as he watched Paul depart.

Sitting in silence, the Bolian wondered what good the juice in Paul's home was going to do. Maybe he knew someone at Starfleet Medical with a weakness for juice? He knew bribery wasn't altogether unheard of within the Federation, though it usually had more complex motives than a desire for breakfast beverages. Or maybe juice was diplomatic lingo for something, like an acronym? J.U.I.C.E. Jaded Unit of Impossibly Clean Efrosians? Jealous Uncontroverted Insincere Controlling Ellipsoids? Juries Using Insane Cabinet Elevators? Jumpy Uneasy Insomniacs Clumsily Eating?

Well, regardless, who was he to question the expertise of the ship's diplomat? He knew a lot about medicine (and a fair bit about juices, to be fair) but politics were largely beyond his grasp. If the man said he could help then he could help, and that small token of support had left Olsam feeling considerably better. Better enough, in fact, to get up and find some breakfast...

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Lieutenant (JG) Wakeham Paul Alasia, PhD
Diplomatic Officer
USS Galileo

&

Lieutenant Olsam Mott, M.D.
Assistant Chief Medical Officer
USS Galileo

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