Standing on the Edge

Posted on Mon Mar 31st, 2025 @ 2:57pm by Captain Malcom Llwyedd & Lieutenant Commander Elias Ford

1,724 words; about a 9 minute read

Mission: Shore Leave 1
Location: Earth Orbit, San Francisco Naval Yard, USS Firebird, Deck 3, Main Sickbay

[ON]

The ship was already starting to feel empty to Malcom. He had plans of his own to beam down to his house and spend some long overdue time with his wife. But he still had a few tasks to take care of, and meeting his new Chief Medical Officer was at the top of the list.

Sickbay had been cleaned and set to rights during their trip back to Earth. Not being able to go faster than Warp 4, allowed for a more thorough clean up than would otherwise have been possible. He stood near the CMO's office, watching Nurses Beddite and Mox put some of the finishing touches before they also left for shore leave. He nodded at Lieutenant Green. The young surgeon had a haggard look on his face as he nodded back. Malcom knew that there had been many long hours in surgery and not everyone had survived.

With the entire crew needing to be medically cleared for shore leave, it made the sickbay as busy as it could get. At the same time, medically clearing everyone for shore leave meant peace and quiet, peace and quiet to sterilize the entire sickbay. Completely sterilizing the sickbay takes time, a lot of time. And he hated every minute of it. However, completely sterilizing the sickbay prevented future problems. Elias had to learn this the hard way. The last sickbay that was handed to him harbored an infectious strain that had been laying dormant for years. And it just had to wake up on his watch.

Managing to make himself angry at another past failure, he stepped out of his office to inspect the progress of the sterilization. It was then that he found himself double-checking the pips on a man's neck.

''Captain on deck!" he snapped to attention

Malcom raised a hand. "As you were," he said with a smile and approached the doctor. "Commander Ford, my apologies for not getting down here sooner. I've been in a never-ending cycle of meetings about our recent adventure in the Gamma Quadrant," Malcom said. He looked around sickbay again. "It appears that you have things well in hand. I know that the crew was eager to get to their shore leave, and that created a lot of work for you. Not the best welcome to a new ship."

Ford straightened himself out. "Yes, the, the crew. Lovely bunch. In fact, I think the entire ship went through here in a day." He was not used to ships as small as this, with around 25 officers and 70 enlisted. This could very well be the first time he could learn everyone's names on a ship. "Everyone but you, sir. You must be here to be cleared for shore leave as well. Let me take care of this for you."

Malcom's face froze as he realized the gravity of the mistake he'd just made. He'd forgotten the first rule for all officers when encountering a new CMO: Don't.

"Ah, yes. Shore leave medical clearance. Very important," Malcom said as he thought desperately about how he could avoid the onrushing physical. He couldn't think of a quicker way to ruin his new relationship with the doctor than to simply turn and run. He sighed. "I'll just jump onto that biobed," he said and followed suit.

That was weird; usually, when Ford said that, the captains would just sign themselves off on the report. But this one actually went ahead with it. ''I guess small ships are different," he thought. "It will be over before you even notice, captain" he said as he was activating the diagnostic subroutines of the bed. "Anything bothering you lately? Any injuries or discomfort during your last mission? How's your appetite?" His questions were accompanied by the rhythmic hum of the medical tricorder.

Malcom raised his left arm. "I had a rude collision with a bulkhead during the Jem'Hadar attack... ten? days ago. It is still bothering me. Mainly pain," he said. "As you'll learn, I suffer from PTSD from my time in the Dominion War when I served on the USS Iowa. It hasn't caused me any trouble recently, but I know it is always there. Other than those, I think I'm doing ok," Malcom said. He always felt exposed when he talked about the things that were wrong with him. He was supposed to be the one helping others.

''A war hero? That's impressive, Captain'' He was really impressed the federation stuffed their war hero into a cramped ship like this one. He put the tricorder away and prepared 3cc of asinolyathin in a hypospray. "You have some minor inflammation. Your arm was treated, but it looks like it needed more rest. I'll give you a muscle relaxant, and we'll treat it with the regenerator one more time."

He focused on preparing the regenerator as he pretended he did not hear the part about PTSD. No commanding officer he served under so far would share details like that to someone they never met before. Medical officer or not. "It will only take minutes, but you should really rest that arm. Half-treated injuries can be just as dangerous as untreated injuries."

Malcom shook his head. "There are no heroes in war. Just victims," he said. "As for the arm, yes, I definitely need to get more rest. Sadly, the life of a starship Captain is rarely restful. But I like the job, so I think I'll keep doing it as long as I can. Tell me, what do you think about the new ship? She's probably quite different from what you're used to. There are only two ships of this type in the fleet."

He paused his breathing as he prepared the regenerator. What did he think of this ship? He had bigger quarters as an ensign at any given starbase. Furthermore, though smaller with an even smaller number of crew aboard, the sickbay seems busier somehow. What did he think about this oversized runabout?

Well, he was not about to share; he knew from experience Captains were a special breed. And very overprotective of their ships.

"I uh, its different. Definitely. Quite cozy.'' He used his left arm to knock on the bulkhead. He could never be able to reach it from the operating position in any other ship. ''Two ships, huh, really? Impressive." It's impressive how they managed to shove me into one of the only two of these on the fleet. He thought.

''Just flex your fingers for me, please. Sometimes, the regenerator can make your hand feel sore."

Malcom did as the doctor asked, his eyes watching the new CMO as he talked. As Captain, he had to be a keen judge of character. He'd read the man's file, and he heard the carefully crafted response to his question.

"Cozy is just another way of saying that she's a damn small ship," Malcom said with a grin. "But there's more than size. Did you know that this sickbay is the same size as one you would find on an Akira class? And our top sustainable speed is also far higher than we should have. And we have industrial replicators? The mission of the Firebird is to react to emergencies more quickly and with more resources. We are, in essence, an emergency response ship. I'm not going to lie, and your job is one of the hardest you could have. Right now, you're dealing with boring, routine physicals. Don't get used to it. We deal in death and danger," Malcom said as he shook his hand. "But we do it because it is a calling and because nobody else does it like we do. And because we save lives. Either you'll live up to that, or you'll move on to a bigger, more boring ship. That's up to you to figure out."

His forehead creased deeply. It was not every day that Ford got to be read like an open book. And every time it happened it cut him like the first time. But after hearing all that, he almost grinned back. In any other situation, he would ask for permission to speak freely. But this was still a physical examination. And he had a medical opinion to offer.

"That did not sound like someone who viewed himself as a ''victim of war," captain." He started to put the medical instruments away. The displays above the biobed turned off. "I, for one, think the federation needs their heroes." He tapped on the console to finalize the medical report. "Asinolyathin has a half-life of one hour in humans, so you should avoid heavy lifting for at least two."

An almost one-of-a-kind ship. Led by a federation war hero. On a mission to save lives where no other man could. Ford from 20 years ago would be downright thrilled at the very thought.

"The only things I am going to be lifting are my fork when I eat homemade food and a steady, but not excessive, procession of good drinks," Malcom said and slid off the bed. "My wife is planning an informal reception at our home. You should come."

He was taken aback. Commanding officers usually did not extend personal invitations, especially on first meetings. He pushed his usual caution aside, trying to recall how long it's been since he last visited Earth.

"I... would be honored, Captain."

Malcom smiled. "It's settled then. I'll send you the location and how to get there. Thanks for the checkup," he said and with that, turned and walked out of sickbay.

It took a few seconds after the doors of the sickbay closed for him to take everything in.

He just medically cleared the captain. No yelling, no attitude, no ''I'll sign it myself". Nothing of the sort. He was not used to this. He scoffed under his breath, realizing he had completely forgotten what he was mad about earlier.

''Death and danger, is it?" he muttered as he walked back in the office. "I guess they really don't make you captain unless you have a speech ready for everything."

[OFF]

Captain Malcom Llwyedd
Commanding Officer
USS Firebird NCC-88298

Lieutenant Commander Elias Ford
Chief Medical Officer
USS Firebird NCC-88298

 

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