Star Trek

USS Ganymede

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Keeping Count

Posted on Thu Nov 28th, 2019 @ 8:36pm by Lieutenant Commander Deneel Vochik

Mission: 1 - Gaharey
Location: USS Ganymede - Sickbay
Timeline: MD01 - 1540 HRS

Dr. Deneel Vochik sat calmly behind the desk in his office, a small, transparent-walled room adjacent to sickbay proper. The placement of it allowed him to see everything that was happening in the facility while shutting out most audible distractions, making it an ideal location to read up on the latest medical literature, discuss important matters with patients or commanding staff, or to simply take a momentary break from the often stressful, fast-paced environment of a starship sickbay on the edge of known space.

The towheaded officer didn't feel the need to to break from anything right now, though. Matters in sickbay had been rather calm of late, as the Ganymede had recently gone on a more diplomatic detour than explorative, providing everyone on staff a bit of reprieve and a chance to assess the state of medical supplies, update and repair more frequently-used technology, and brush up on their familiarity with important categories in their field. There was no telling what the next mission would bring, or even what the Luna-class starship's next mission might be, but the doctor preferred to remain as prepared as possible for anything.

He was reading a report recently published by a biological scientist from another ship on the many hexopodal and invertebrate species, both advanced and primitive, that had been discovered in the Delta Quadrant so far when the door to his office chimed.

The doctor spoke without reaction, deep-set eyes still focused on what he was reading. "Ul'kana."

Recognizing the alien syllables as a linguistic alternative for the usual Standard keyword, the door unlocked and opened with a quiet mechanical whisper. A young, blue-uniformed ensign stepped inside; if memory served, she was fresh from Starfleet Academy, and the Ganymede was her first assignment. The ginger-tressed humanoid carried herself uncertainly, as if intimidated by the Lieutenant Commander's silent aura.

"Sir?"

Deneel glanced up from the computer screen, no sign of annoyance or irritation on his face despite the interruption. He was still on duty, after all. "Yes, Ensign."

"I've completed the report on sickbay inventory," the Tellarite grunted, passing over the PADD with a polite, hoof-like appendage.

The Bajoran took it and scrolled through, casting attention across every number and taking a moment to visualize each count in his head. It was vital that he and the rest of the medical staff had what the needed for the journey ahead, whatever said journey might entail. Even on the quietest of missions, one surprise, one mistake, one unanticipated shortage or broken piece of equipment, and someone could suffer unnecessarily or even die under the doctor's watch.

"It looks like we're a bit shorter on buprenorphine than I thought," he commented, then feel silent, scrolling down further.

"That's odd," he spoke again, "I could have sworn we had a few more amoxicillin bottles as well."

The ensign shifted a bit, as though uncomfortable being confronted with the doctor's doubt, but remained silent.

Standing up from his desk, Dr. Deneel moved past the ensign and exited the office without a word, traveling with quick, striding steps in the direction of the modest-sized storage closet where most of the more important supplies — like antibiotics and pain medications — were kept until needed. The ensign froze with alarm for a moment, but then turned and followed after, anxiety written all over her snout. Had she really counted wrong?

Opening the storage space door, Deneel looked from the PADD to the shelves, noiselessly counting up the vials himself. Blue irises scoured each meticulously-organized section, making sure that the information on the PADD matched up with what he was seeing in person.

After a few moments, he stopped counting, exhaled a quiet sigh, closed and locked the door. Returning his attention to the ensign, he passed the tablet to her, offering a slight smile of consolation.

"Seems I thought wrong," he told her, "Good work, Ensign. Carry on."

With a poorly concealed sigh of her own, the ensign accepted the PADD and hurried on to her next responsibility.

 

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