Shave and a Haircut (Two Bits!)

Posted on 06 Sep 2014 @ 5:42pm by Lieutenant Olsam Mott
Edited on on 07 Sep 2014 @ 12:34am

1,341 words; about a 7 minute read

Mission: Episode 06 - Legend of Souls
Location: USS Galileo - Deck 3, Main Sickbay
Timeline: MD09: 1100 hrs

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Olsam frowned at the readings on the monitor at the head of Abbey's biobed. Blood pressure 3 over 47? Blood oxygen levels at 33%? No pulse? The Bolian looked from the monitor back to the patient, just to make sure she wasn't actually dying, then gave the display a good smack. The Olsam Mott School of Engineering advocated hitting things until they worked. Failing that, you tried to fix it yourself. Only after being unsuccessful at repairing something way beyond your expertise did you actually call a qualified professional.

He checked three other biobeds - all with erratic readings - before deciding there must be something wrong with the sensor suite contained within the bulbous protrusion on the ceiling above. Grabbing a nearby medcart, he centered it below the sensor suite and climbed on top. It groaned in protest at his weight but stayed in place without collapsing; staying upright was a good start in do-it-yourself repair projects.

Straining, the doctor reached for the maintenance hatch next to the sensor housing but found it wouldn't budge. He frowned at the it, reflected on what to do, then reached out and gave it a swift palm strike. The hatch flew open and released a tangled mass of fur that fell to the deck below, revealing what must have been the ugliest tribble he'd ever seen in his life. Its hair was matted and unkempt in a dozen different places; burned and singed and outright missing in others. There were three streaks of brown fur amongst all the pink, but for all intents and purposes it just looked like it had been rolling around in a waste extraction unit.

Olsam audibly gasped at the sight and fought the instinct to take a step back, which would have sent him sprawled onto the deck plating. He clucked his tongue as he started to descend the medcart. "Oh, honey," he said, shaking his head and emphasizing the sentiment with several sounds of disapproval. "Honey, honey, honey... We can't have that. Uh-uh, no way, not in my Sickbay."

Once his feet hit the deck, he shuffled around the medcart and bent down to pick up the Ugly Tribble. He waded through the throngs of other tribbles to a biobed and placed the hideous little furball on top. Taking a half step back, Olsam brought his hand up to his chin to stroke at a non-existent beard while he took an assessment of the state of the Ugly Tribble. Around and around the biobed he walked, sometimes leaning further back while at others he leaned in closer; sizing up a client was all about perspective.

"Okay, I've got it," Olsam said, continuing to speak as he turned away to walk to the medical supply cabinet. "You're gonna be the belle of the ball by the time I get done with you. Just wait right there, ma mie."

Coo-coo.

Moments later, the Bolian physician-turned-hair stylist returned with a belted series of pouches fit snugly over his uniform, evidently some sort of "beautility" belt that one might assume all Bolians kept on hand for just such emergencies. Fitted into each of the pockets was a different tool, including shears, combs, styling clips and what looked like a laser scalpel repurposed as an electric shaver.

From one of the pockets, Olsam produced a black barber's cape. With one great flourishing snap he unfurled the cape in the air and draped it across the biobed with all the care and concern one might give to the preparation of a sacred altar.

Cooooo-coo-coo-coo.

"Don't you worry about that, I'm gonna take good care of you today. You'll be turning the head of every tribble on this deck by the time you waddle out of here," he said, picking up the Ugly Tribble and placing it on the barber's cape.

Coo.

Olsam gave the tribble one more appraising look before reaching down and producing a pair of stylist's shears with all the practiced precision of a veteran Marine unholstering his sidearm. He brought the shears down toward one of the longer stray clumps of fur protruding from the tribble, hesitated a moment and then set about making several quick, precise cuts that sent fur flying in different directions.

"Can you believe how much the ship has changed with all these tribbles moving in? I told my sister on subspace the other day that you don't even recognize the place when you walk around. It's just tribbles as far as the eye can see, you can't tell one corridor from the next."

Coo. Coo-coo.

"And speaking of changes, did you hear about that young geologist dumping Keval, the Andorian engineer?"

Coo?

"Mm-hmm, like a hot flatrokk, girl. Found himself a new man, Kohl. I don't know what people see in him, I honestly just don't see it. I guess there's something about a moody mysterious man with a physical disability for some people, but every time I see him he's got that big ol' frown on his face and I just could not imagine waking up to that every morning."

Olsam paused for a moment, switched shears, and then set about clipping fur again.

"Oooo, and speaking of morning, yesterday I passed by Ensign Jones's quarters and saw that quartermaster slipping out of there. It must have been 0700, and the whole corridor smelled like Risan sausage patties. Now what do you think he had been up to, hmm? He had that look on his face, too. Mm-hmm, you know the look. The look. Not that it really means anything, that man would sleep with a sack of potatoes and derive some kinda satisfaction out of it. I've gotta start scheduling him for regular examinations before he catches something. In fact, there are a lot of people that should probably get regularly screened. I'm not namin' no names, but... Ellsworth Hudson, Keval, Grayson Jones, Oren Idris, that woman that just had a baby and is already tryin'a have another one, the Commodore..."

Coocooooo.

"Oh, I know, hormones run high on this ship. High, high, high. They do, indeed. But it's good for morale, I think. You know who hasn't been getting any though, don't you? The captain. Mm-hmm. When I first came on board I thought he had a little thing going with the commodore, but it turns out I don't think they even like each other! Besides, she's got something going with one of those intelligence officers that give me the creeps."

Coo?

"Nope, uh-uh, not the really creepy one. The less creepy one with the weird name and the red hair. Ooo, and speakin' of hair, have you seen Commander Blake? I don't know who is doing her hair, but it is definitely a Bolian. Nobody but a Bolian could layer like that."

Coo. Coo-coo-coo-coocoocoo.

"Oh, don't even get me started on that, you hear? Now, take a look. Tell me what you think. Don't hold back, give it to me straight."

Olsam whipped out the mirror from his "beautility" belt and held it up to the tribble, who in turn moved from side to side as if to examine its new look. The fur was evened out perfectly and its natural highlights had been emphasized, eliciting soft coos of approval. The whole scene had drawn the attention of quite a few tribbles who now crowded closer and closer to the biobed as the Ugly Tribble-turned-Beautiful Tribble shuffled away. Some of them were trying to climb over the others and all cooing loudly, as if demanding attention.

"Now, now. Let's do this one at a time," Olsam said, picking out bits of fur from his comb as another less-than-stylish looking tribble made its way up on to the biobed. "No pushing and shoving, there's plenty of time for everyone..."

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Lieutenant Olsam Mott
Assistant Chief Medical Officer
USS Galileo

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