Sexual Healing

Posted on 26 Aug 2015 @ 4:25pm by Commander Norvi Stace & Lieutenant Olsam Mott
Edited on on 28 Aug 2015 @ 2:42am

2,315 words; about a 12 minute read

Mission: Episode 09 - Empires
Location: USS Galileo - First Officer's Office, Deck Two
Timeline: Mission Day 3, 1005 hours

[ ON ]

Olsam's march to the executive officer's office was a slow one as he kept having to make his way around damage from the their transition through the anomaly. It left him stepping over bits of blown out corridor paneling, ducking under EPS wiring and ODN conduit dangling from the ceiling, and squirming through a narrow opening where a bulkhead had collapsed. If there was anything absurd about stepping through such carnage on a mission to deliver a report about the sexual health of the crew then it was, of course, completely lost on Dr. Olsam Mott. The state of the ship was unfortunate, but this was a public health emergency that couldn't wait for some silly little repairs.

At the door to Norvi's office, he found that the control panel next to the door wasn't illuminated. He took that to mean the entire door mechanism was offline - probably for one of those nonsense repairs the engineers kept blathering about - so he fished in the pockets of his doctor's coat for something that might help. Locating a duranium tongue depressor, he jammed it into the narrow space between the two halves of the door and worked tirelessly until a small opening appeared as the doors parted. To this opening he placed his mouth and with muffled voice whispered inside.

"Commander? Psst. Commander Stace? Hello? Are you in there? Norvi? Norvi!"

Stace was bent over double picking up some personal pieces that had been cast across the floor from her desk. The vase of daffodils had shattered and the lifeless charred, yellow blooms were fit only for the bin. As she clutched the wilting flowers, the irritating voice of Mott cut through the silence. She stilled herself and then rolled her eyes, her back to him. But then she stood up fully, steeled herself and then braved a smile.

"Mr. Mott. And what can I do for you today?"

She let the flowers fall to the floor as she walked over to the door and, with his assistance, prized it open further. "Come in to my office, Doctor," she said as she walked back to what used to be her desk. "And take a seat if you can."

"Okay, thank you. I could have gotten that, you know. The door, I mean," Olsam said, motioning behind him. It didn't seem proper to look weak in front of the executive officer. He uprighted a chair and flopped into it, immediately noticing and pointing at the dead flowers on the floor. "Your flowers are dead. Are you going to eat them, or can I have them?"

Stace pursed her lips and with a frown simply shook her head, looking over to them on the floor and then returning her gaze back to the doctor. "I'm not going to have them," she said evenly, lingering for a moment as she thought about how to reply, "but I also don't think it's a good idea for you to have them either. In fact, I'm going to insist that you don't." Stace then returned her face back to her usual soft smile and took in a breath.

"Mott, you know that I enjoy our little chats - I really do - but," she motioned around her office, "I'm a little caught up with trying not to ruin my uniform with charred smudges. What can I help you with?"

The Bolian seemed so lost in his sullenness over the flowers that he might very easily not have heard her at all. He stared at them, forlorn, and finally managed to tear his eyes away to look at her. Only then did he seem to realize her office was in a state of disarray.

"Oh, it's a mess in here! You should get someone from Ops to clean this up for you. Gosh, everything is broken." One foot slid out toward some half-broken piece of decor, which broke completely when he tapped it with the toe of his shoe. The left corner of his mouth turned down in horror, and he carried on speaking hoping she wouldn't notice. "Well, there's a medical emergency on the ship that I thought I should bring to your attention. Dr. Allyndra is busy treating patients, so I figured I'd just move it up the chain of command myself."

"Medical emergency?" Stace parroted, a look seriousness now adorning her features. She'd read the casualty report immediately from the rift and hadn't picked up on an epidemic. She paused and with a furrowed brow added, "What's going, Mott?"

"People," Olsam began, "are having sex on this ship, Norvi."

He sat back in his chair, crossed his arms, and raised both eyebrows, allowing time to let the implications of his statement sink in.

The barb shot into her consciousness as Mott had intended. It was true and Norvi was rather more aware of this than she cared to be. Or Mott had probably realised. She sucked in the air through her teeth with a considered expression and then shifted uncomfortably in her chair, crossing one knee over the other to appear more relaxed, even though she was anything but. This may turn into an uncomfortably long discussion knowing the doctor.

"Olsam, this isn't something that we," she indicated to the doctor first and then to herself with a gesture, "you or I, should have any dealing with. I am well aware of certain...relationships forming." Her mind was suddenly cast to the discussions she had had with both Gyce and Tyrion but she brushed them away quickly. "And I appreciate your concern, since I share it, but we can't do anything about it."

"What? But we have to!" Olsam said, abruptly launching himself out of the chair. He fished a small, portable holo-projector out of the pocket of his doctor's coat and linked it up with a PADD, displaying a massive spreadsheet in the air. It appeared to detail every crew member and their past movements, cross-referenced with known outbreaks of certain diseases and segments from psychological profiles to provide a statistical probability that the crewman in question might be carrying a sexually transmitted infection.

"There are on average six different sexually transmitted infections endemic to each society in the Federation. With 162 member worlds that's 972 possible pathogens floating around here at any given time. The bio filters aren't infallible, especially when it comes to bodily fluids, and don't even get me started on the trip to that Klingon ship. They are not well-regarded for their hygiene, which triples the possibilities."

He held up a hand to ask for patience.

"Now I know, they're not all harmful. Denobulan conjunctivitis just turns your eyes blue. Big deal. But Andorian syphilis will make your penis fall right off by attacking the corpus spongiosum. One minute you're in excruciating pain but otherwise fine, the next minute your penis falls right into the waste extraction unit. And my mother didn't send me to medical school just so I could fish some filthy miscreant's genitalia out of a toilet and reattach it with a dermal regenerator."

"So," Stace countered, absorbing Mott's usual expedition into the superfluous with a graceful smile and a gentle nod, "out of the nine hundred and seventy two possible outbreak-pathogens we could have had on this tiny ship, how many have you come across in sickbay since your posting? Just so I can get an idea of how many people are going to be dropping appendages left, right and centre on the bridge."

"Well," Olsam sputtered, glancing at the hovering spreadsheet. Clearly he hadn't anticipated the question having been so focused on the potential for infections. "None. But, this is about addressing public health concerns before they become a problem. It's a preventive intervention. Just because we haven't had a case doesn't mean we won't, especially with two Deltans on board now. Have you seen the way that pilot looks at people? All it takes is one of them breaking their vow for sexual madness to be loosed on the ship."

The issue with the Deltan had also crossed her mind and, unusually, it took her aback a little. However eccentric and outlandish Mott was in his views, mannerisms and customs, she found herself, more and more as their friendship developed, seeing eye to eye on increasingly frequent occasions. She took in a breath and changed her expression, one from a superior officer to one as a friend. "I agree with you on that, Olsam," she started with, a twinkle in her eye, "but without any evidence to support an outbreak," she added, steering clear of the Deltan, "we can't do much but educate the crew on sexual health. And inter-species relations. I certainly can't order people to not divulge, as much as I would like to try."

Olsam looked completely appalled as he recalled with disgust the last few conversations he'd had the misfortune of overhearing during meals in the mess hall. People were way too open about their daliances. "Yes, educate the crew, precisely, I couldn't agree more. And also disperse low levels of hormone and pheromone suppressants through the environmental system to supplement that education program with temporary, ship-wide chemical castration."

He turned his attention to his PADD and began fiddling with it, preparing to draw up the finer points of his plan.

Stace remained stoically unresponsive to Mott's ludicrous suggestion and instead laid a hand out on the table in front of them. "You can start by writing a proposal for such an education programme, especially with us being such a small ship." Her mind then cast itself to the conversation she had had with Gyce about the admiral and reasoned with herself instantly that moving this situation up her own chain of command was out of the question. As was divulging the information to anyone else. "A proposal from yourself as to why this is needed... medically. You may also put anecdotal evidence in there to support your case. But just come to me with it for now."

"Okay, I ca-" Olsam cut himself off short. A sly grin slowly appeared on his face and spread wider and wider. "Just to you, huh? You mean like, a secret project? No problem. I can do that. I'm a master at covert operations. I'll keep everything off the grid."

She paused a little at the Bolian's enthusiasm and then sighed. "Mott, is there anything that you're specifically worried about? Any certain crewmembers that you have heard discuss these things?"

"Discuss sexually transmitted infections? No." His eyes shifted from the left to the right and back again, never looking at her. "But I hear other things." Shift, shift, shift. "People talk, you know." Shift, shift, shift. "Okay! Okay! Stop pressuring me! If I had to tell you about every sexual encounter I've heard about, I'd be here all day. I'm worried most about that Deltan. The pilot, Jynn. The psychophysiological effects of sexual intercourse with a Deltan are...extensive. I just don't think he seems very restrained - you know, based on rumors - and we both know people on this ship aren't restrained. Dr. Voutilainen has been acting strangely lately, and frankly I think someone needs to sit Jones, Hudson, and Khnailmnae down to give them a lecture on self-esteem and sexual promiscuity."

"Deltans take their oaths very seriously, Doctor. You should know that." She cut him a look as if to scold a child but her sharing of his sentiment weakened it. She'd made it her life's work not to get involved with crew relationships unless it put their work or the ship at risk. And neither her nor Mott could categorically say that anything was at play or underhanded on the ship. But it was a tricky situation. "I don't doubt that your instincts are wrong, Doctor. And you are the Assistant Chief Medical Officer. Your opinion and concerns have to count for something. You must do what you think is right within the confines of your responsibilities."

Olsam nodded. "Right. Right... Yeah. I see what you're saying. Confines of my responsibilities. So what you're saying is if I want to sterilize the crew, I should do it on my own time."

"I genuinely don't understand how you've managed to elevate yourself to the rank of lieutenant and position of assistant chief medical officer, Mott," Stace replied with a sideways cock of the head. "The confines of your position, Mott!" she then clarified with a squint of her eyes in a disbelieving fashion.

"Are you saying you don't have confidence in me as a doctor?" Olsam huffed. The indignation seemed to temper a little bit as uncertainty crept into his voice. "Are you demoting me? No, nevermind, you wouldn't do that. This ship needs me as a voice of reason. A source of stability and medical expertise, an individual of integrity, if you will." He held his head high and looked proud, having only moments ago looked as if he was about to be airlocked, demonstrating again the Bolian's capacity for self-delusion.

"If you carry on talking, I will demote you, Ensign..." She allowed the glint in her eye to issue that as a jokingly veiled threat but understood that Mott would neither understand it, nor take it on board if in fact, he ever could. "Just keep an eye on things and we'll go from there. That sound like a reasonable plan?"

"Yes, of course," Olsam agreed, nodding his head as he made his way to the door. Lost in his own thoughts, his voice dropped to a low whisper. "I'll keep an eye on them all right..."

[ OFF ]

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

AND

Commander Norvi Stace
First Officer
USS Galileo

RSS Feed

Comments (2)