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SD241905.27 - Duty Log - CO - "Deep Sleep"

Posted on Mon May 27th, 2019 @ 3:40pm by Brigadier General Jonathan Grey

837 words; about a 4 minute read

Mission: The Sincerest Form of Flattery
Location: Versailles
Timeline: Current

=^= Stasis Bay =^=

The lights were out, a result of the power rationing from earlier. Priority systems were being switched on at minimal strength, but this deck was still in the dark. Even the gravity was only on for a short while. As soon as the visitors were done, it would be switched off again

The wrinkled officer could barely see what he was doing, and tried using his tricorder as a torch. The subject of his attention lay still inside a horizontal pod, its top opened like a casket. He ran the device slowly along the length of the man, grimly confirming what a number of other tricorders had confirmed.

"I'm afraid he's running out of time." said the doctor, giving a short sigh as the tricorder was pocketed once more.

The others in the room were a dozen marines in full armour, and Lieutenant Rogers; the General's Yeoman.

"Is there nothing that can be done?" Rogers asked, looking down at his CO in the pod.

"I'm afraid not." the doctor replied, taping commands into the pod's control panel. "The blow caused bleeding in his brain, which we've been unable to stop with limited power available. All we can do is put him into stasis and hope, eventually, that he'll be well enough to retire."

"Retire?" said Rogers, alarmed. "Surely not! Return to duty, you mean."

"No, I'm afraid I didn't." the doctor asserted, thumbing a final command and watching as the pod's door began to close.

"But, he's too young to retire, surely!"

"Yes, but the blood loss has already been...detrimental to his mind. With all the damage, it took us far too long to bring him down here. That long with a bleed inside the brain... I'm sorry." he declared, "but though the General may one day regain enough of his faculties to live a normal life, only replacing the damaged portions with technology could restore his IQ to a level fit for command. He'd be a ghost, more machine than man."

"I think he'd go for that." said the Yeoman, who knew his master. The man would be game for any such enhancement, especially if it meant cool, shiny surfaces.

"But Starfleet wouldn't, I'm afraid." said the doctor, referring to the dull glow of a padd to quote exact wording. "In the event that a flag officer is subject to the mechanical substitution of the majority of his brain, said officer shall not be permitted to retain a rank exceeding that of Commander (or equivalent), and shall not be permitted to hold any position commanding greater than thirty personnel."

"There's a regulation for that?" asked the Yeoman, surprised.

"Regulation 496, subsection 41-J, amendment 12. Sir."

"I see."

"In any case, if we don't put the General into stasis now, he'll die."

"Then do so."

"Aye sir." the doctor replied, pressing the large green button.

In a dull flash, the pallid face inside the pod was obscured by frost. Though the man hadn't been frozen, these pods were an energy-efficient model for long-term stasis, and temperature drop was a side-effect of the hyper-efficient process.

"Let the record show that I, Doctor Worral, am placing the General in stasis until main power is restored. We will then attempt a series of surgeries which may allow him to live out his days in a lesser role, or retire."

"Thank you, Doctor."

"You're welcome, Mr Sails."

A moment passed, and the marines in the room studiously inspected the walls as the Yeoman walked up to the doctor, his expression unreadable.

"Excuse me?"

"You have a ponytail almost the full length of your body." said the doctor, mildly, as a mechanical arm lifted the General's stasis pod into an open slot in the racks. "As disguises go, that uniform is terrible. I can still see your face."

Squinting in the gloom, the Yeoman looked hard into the doctor's eyes. After a moment or two, a small smile curled the corners of his mouth.

"And your disguise isn't much better." stated Rogers a-la Sails. "Fake wrinkles? Really?"

"Don't forget who pays your wages." said the doctor, looking Sails in the eye.

"That would be the General."

"A rose by any other name..." quipped the doctor, cocking an eyebrow. Above his eye could be seen, somewhat hidden between the wrinkles, the faint line of an impact scar.

"In any rate," the doctor continued, "you'll still get paid. Anonymous funds and such. While you're keeping an eye out for the new CO, I'm going to take a tour of the less...reputable places on the station. See if I can't track down those funding the assassins. After a short vacation, of course. Somewhere sunny."

"We're still stuck near the black hole." said Sails, falling into step alongside the doctor as they walked towards the exit. "How do you plan to find sunlight?"

"What with all the plasma fires around here, I'm bound to get a tan somehow."

"Hilarious, sir."

"Aren't I always?"

=^= End of Log =^=

Brigadier General Jonathan Grey
Commanding Officer
Starbase Versailles


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