Of Family and Service - Commiseration

Posted on 28 Feb 2015 @ 7:10am by Lieutenant Olsam Mott & Lieutenant JG Wakeham Paul Alasia Ph.D.

1,831 words; about a 9 minute read

Mission: Episode 07 - Sojourn
Location: Starbase 84, Replimat
Timeline: MD41: 1238hrs

Paul walked briskly despite his lack of purpose as he crossed the threshold from the hallway to the massive open central area where the replimat resided. The physical space on board Starbase 84 transitioned from tight and cramped to wonderfully open - a rare feeling in deep space.

Through the hustling throng of alien transport personnel and members of Starfleet Paul made out the visage of his brief commiseration partner from a few weeks earlier. He had eaten recently but hadn't had much in the way of pleasant company on this supposedly relaxing stint between missions.

Olsam was standing off to the side from the replicator banks enjoying three different pastries (at the same time) while trying to decide what he wanted for a main course. Suddenly, he felt a presence at his side. He stopped in mid-chew and slowly rotated his eyes to the side.

Paul sidled up to the Bolian. "You mind if I join you? I haven't had a non-I'm-in-trouble conversation in, like, two days."

"What?" Olsam asked, dispersing a few flakes of filo dough into the air when he spoke. After a brief moment, he recognized the ship's diplomat and gave a grin full of tiny raspberry seeds. "Oh, hi, Paul. Sorry, you startled me. There are just so many people on the starbase, and some of them have no regard for personal space, you know? You can't just sneak up on a man like me. I'm a doctor. We know tens of thousands of ways to kill a person, and I can't always be held accountable for my reflexes. Wait, what did you say? Non-I'm-in-trouble conversation? Do you get in trouble very often? I always thought you were very mild-mannered. Hmm, let's see, what's your affliction... I bet you're a pyromaniac."

Paul pressed the selection dial on a replicator. "Ham and cheddar melted on toast, 40 degrees, please." Paul's sandwich hazily materialized. "I, too, have been startled at the rampant prevalence of pyromania among the Starfleet set." Paul smirked. "I never attended the actual academy but from what I can tell it must have been mostly seminars on how to start fires and self defense using pastries." He sighed. "Nah, I'm afraid my misdeeds are a little on the boring side. Did you hear about that scuffle between the Master Chief and that dipshit underling from the Cardassian ship a couple weeks ago?"

"Mm-hmm," Olsam said, sounding more than a little distracted as he eyed the ham sandwich. It was a good selection, and he found himself holding the diplomat in higher esteem. "I understand there were a number of people unhappy about their visit."

Paul sighed and grabbed the plate in his left hand. "Yeah well, I never submitted a report on it to Federation Diplomatic. I have been asked the same ten questions about fifty times each - slightly different phrasing each time. It's exhausting." Paul shook his hand and took a bite of his sandwich.

Olsam decided to order an identical sandwich, which he retrieved from the replicator and followed Paul off to a nearby table. "Sometimes I don't submit reports to Starfleet Medical, either. All those people ever want are reports. Do you ever think maybe they just mark them as received and toss them out? That's what I would do. I can't imagine sitting around reading about some Master Chief shoving a Cardassian or whatever. They're way back on Earth! We're the ones out here dealing with stuff; bad enough we've got to handle it, then they want some dumb report about it, too. Do you think they're trying to catch you in a lie? The Starfleet Medical Ethics Board once did that to me in a hearing. It takes a lot more than a panel of crusty old flag officers to trip up Dr. Olsam Mott, though."

Paul sighed in commiseration. "Yeah, no, you're right but... this was different. I knew. I knew I was supposed to file this report. I talked to, um... well I won't tell you who I talked to about it - I don't want you to get roped into this - but I talked to people a lot higher on the totem pole than I am. They told me to bury it in order to protect someone else higher on the totem pole than I am. So... you know, I'm new, right? What the hell do I know? I don't want to step on any toes. I bury it. I never sent it in. And obviously, someone from the support team or... somewhere else filed their own report or... maybe the Cardassians filed a complaint or... I don't know. Obviously something happened and now they know. And this is my first real mission. I could be setting a record for shortest officer's career in this history of the fleet."

"Oh, yeah, they're probably going to court-martial you," Olsam said, nodding his agreement. It was a completely unhelpful thing to say, but he felt it was the truth and there was no reason to hide it. "But don't worry, sometimes they just say, 'Don't do that again.' Everyone makes little mistakes, right? And it was just one diplomatic incident. It's not like that's ever started a war."

Paul laughed in spite of himself. "Thank Christ you're not a Counselor."

"I will thank him if I see him," Olsam said, assuming Starfleet Medical's counseling division had received a new director named Christ. "I'd hate to be a counselor. Not that I mind listening to people, it's just much harder to fix someone's mind than their body."

"How about you, how's life treating you?" Paul asked.

"Oh, it's okay! I got married to Norvi and Tuula, and my family is visiting," Olsam replied, looking a little cagey. His eyes shifted from side to side, looking for Bolians, and then leaned in closer to drop his voice. "They're driving me insane. They've been here for weeks and weeks, and if they don't leave soon I'm afraid I might murder one of them."

"Holy cow, I completely forgot about the wedding! Congratulations!" Paul furrowed his brow conspiratorially. "How long has your family been in town?"

"I've lost track," Olsam said, looking off into the distance. "Like I've been trapped in a temporal distortion that goes on and on and on..." He blinked, cleared his throat, and then smiled at Paul. "But they'll be gone soon. I love them, don't get me wrong, but there are a lot of them. And they're all very opinionated and hungry. Do you get to see your family very often? Family seems a little less important to Humans. My neighbors in France only saw their families occasionally, and then when they did see them they didn't single-handedly empty the larder."

"Well, I think you're sort of meeting the wrong kind of human as far as that goes. People that join up for ship duty in Starfleet - they have a wanderlust. It's just not very conducive to family life. You get a lot of people with few family attachments or none at all. It's actually one of the biggest ways I really feel outside the norm here. I just read an article that says there are more than 50,000,000 hours of leave that go unused every year by Starfleet personnel. 50,000,000. I mean - I just don't get that. It's the way I'm wired I guess. I miss my family. I miss my wife. I can't wait to get back to Earth again." Paul looked off wistfully a moment. "It's just so interesting to hear you say that because I feel the same way... about Starfleet, I mean, not humans in general."

"Huh?" Mott responded. "You feel like Starfleet single-handedly empties the lard-... Oh. You mean about the importance of families. I get it now." Paul chuckled.

Mott continued. "Well, if they'd quit building these tiny ships then I think it would help a lot. You've just got to swing one of those swanky assignments on a Galaxy or Sovereign class ship. I heard they let you take your family on board. That's probably why you don't see too many Bolians serving on those ships; they wouldn't fit." Olsam chewed thoughtfully on his sandwich until he seemed to grasp upon good news that perked him up. "Hey! If you get court-martialed and reprimanded, they'll probably suspend you for awhile. Then you'll get to see your family, Paul. See how the universe works? So mysterious...."

Paul smiled. "Well, when I stand court-marshaled and humiliated at least the beaches back home will be waiting for me. Would you want an assignment on one of those bigger ships? I feel like the bureaucracy is too overwhelming. It's just too much - too many people to make a difference. I'm not sure I could convince my wife to join me on a starship of any size."

"Hmm, maybe. I've served with some large medical missions, and we were usually so busy that there wasn't really time to sit around being bored. But they were mostly planet-side. A ship... Hm. Maybe not. You'd have no opportunity to get to know your patients. They'd just be files. And I bet it would be really hard to keep up with the gossip, too."

"Well, that's it right there. Without gossip, what are we? You know, what's even the point of all this if you can't learn the most intimate details of the lives of friends and wellwishers?" Paul smiled mischievously let slip a short laugh.

"It's a hollow and meaningless existence, really," Olsam concurred, looking somewhat serious. "Besides, it's important for a doctor. As you know, some people really hate to come to Sickbay. Actually, I think most people hate it. But anyway, if you're paying attention to the gossip then you find out things that are pertinent to the crew's health. People often don't like to report embarrassing things, such as getting objects stuck in orifices, contracting sexually transmitted infections, or cutting off appendages in work-related accidents. So if I hear about those things, I try to ease their embarrassment by making house calls." Olsam paused meaningfully and then added, "Also, I'm kinda nosy."

"Sir, you are nothing if not a diligent protector of the crews health." Paul raised his water glass in facetious salute. "No detail too small or mortifying to escape the attention of Lieutenant Olsam Mott! The next time I contract a disease from a syphilis-riddled implement jammed in my backside, I'll know who to call. Yours is truly God's work." Paul chuckled heartily.

"Yes, I'll extract whatever needs extracting in the name of whatever deity you choose. It is my calling. It is...my destiny," Olsam said with dramatic flair, lifting his own glass to Paul.



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

Lieutenant JG Wakeham Paul Alasia
Diplomatic Officer
USS Galileo

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