SD 241306.21 | XO & CMO | Cmdr Ivanova & Lt Rofer | The Upsell of Medical Issues

Posted on Fri Jun 21st, 2013 @ 6:58pm by Lieutenant Carrie Rofer M.D., Ph.D. & Admiral Rochelle Ivanova

2,807 words; about a 14 minute read

Mission: Secret Meetings

Carrie scratched her head and walked into the turbolift, turning around on her heels to stand facing the door. She tapped her pocket again, verifying she had her PADDs with her, then the other pocket for her emergency micro-kit, her trusty never-leave-sickbay-without-it equipment.

"Deck One," she said, a little too loudly, and waited for the lift to respond with its whooshing sound, her foot tapping the floor nervously. She never liked turbolifts. They were small, cramped, and by the name of all the worshiped gods in the universe, their speed was atrocious. Had there been any problem with the lift's inertial dampeners, most humanoid lift occupiers would result in a splosh of melted goo somewhere on the ceiling.

Then again, the same could be said about Starships. Carrie wasn't entirely fond of those, either, but at least the expanse of a ship -- especially such as the Vindicator -- made it seem, even if only superficially, as if it was stable in its incredible movement through space.

The doors opened with their whoosh, and Carrie's foot stopped its tapping, allowing the woman to walk out of it with some relief. She pulled on her collar for a brief second to aerate her neck and turned the corner towards the XO's office.

Rochelle Ivanova was in a rare mood. A rare mood indeed. A gift had been sent in the form of a letter opener, a useless piece of antiquity that would come to sit idle on her desk and catching dust, but a gift none-the-less. She sat in the deep cushion of her seat, her elbows resting on her desk as she turned the chromed piece of steel over in her hands, admiring the tooled images of cardinals and chickadees embossed across it's delicate blade. It may have been useless, but it was beautiful and a welcome addition to her otherwise devoid and lifeless new office.

"Come in." She called when the chime rang freely, otherwise failing to bat an eyelash as she spun the blade over one final time as if expecting the refined image of the birds to change or disappear, to leave without warning or dissolve into something darker and more horrifying.

They didn't. The birds flew free and perched merrily in the pine boughs.

Carrie walked in and stopped short, her head tilted, her eyebrows furrowed slightly as she looked at the Commander in front of her with growing curiosity. The item in the woman's hands was intriguing, a knife that seemed almost delicate - hardly a quality Carrie assumed should be requested from such a tool. And yet, the Commander seemed to admire it like it was some religious artifact.

Carrie blinked off her temporary daze and cleared her throat, balancing her curiosity with some measure of respect for ones' rituals.

"Am I disrupting your routine, Commander Ivanova?"
Hey, to each their own.

"Routine? Hardly, Lieutenant, have a seat." Rochelle replied, glancing up to see the doctor come through the door and pause. While medical personnel weren't her most favorite types, especially not after the drama of the Rose on Griffin, this new CMO intrigued the Commander. Now, whether or not that was a good thing certainly remained opened to interpretation. Setting the opener upon it's little wooden stand, the redhead turned her full attention to Rofer. "What brings you to the bridge today?"

Carrie nodded and took a couple of steps to rotate the seat and slump into it, her feet barely touching the floor. "The turbolift," she blurted seriously, adjusting her posture in the seat.

"Though I do wish there was another, much slower and.. and safer.. way to travel. Like the Jeoffrey Tubes," her voice trailed off a bit as her brain allowed the tangent thought to manifest out to the open.

"Opening them up as a commute option may be beneficial, and it could certainly be good for cardiovascular activity. Hm," she scratched the edge of her nose thoughtfully and nodded, "I may draft a proposal about that," she finished thoughtfully, then blinked. Twice. Then shook her head quickly, as if to physically change the subject in her own brain.

"In any case, I came to submit requisition requests, and to request your support in a couple of regulations I am hoping to implement as the head of the infirmary," she plucked the PADD from her belt, turned it on meticulously, and handed it to the Commander like a child handing over homework she expects good grades on.

For a long moment Rochelle was silent as if she was stunned by what had come from the young woman's mouth. In all reality the Lieutenant had caught her by surprise and deeply, roundly confused her. "First things first," The redhead finally cleared her throat and set the PADD down on her desk, "The Jeoffrey Tubes will remained closed to traffic. While a great source of exercise, they can be dangerous and would slow operations down." She continued as she skimmed through the PADD, "Besides. You don't want to be bitten by space rats. They have sharp teeth and will choke you with their hair. Trust me."

Never looking up, not daring to even trying to read whatever expression half manifested itself on the Doctor's face, Ivanova continued to read. If she had, the gig would be up. After all, amusement, at Carrie's expense, ran rampant through the redhead's eyes. "Now... Let's discuss your requests. I'll let you lead."

"Space rats?" Carrie blinked, her eyes on a steady gaze at the Commander, her mind instantly shifting away from the actual cause of her arriving to the Commander's office.

"There are rats in the tubes? Isn't that a sanitation problem?" she blinked again, twice, "Not to mention an added 'creepiness factor'," she wiggled her fingers in an exaggerated quotation-mark sign, "which would undoubtedly contribute to stress-induced health problems..." she finished with dismay.

She wasn't new to rodents in underground maintenance shafts -- these existed in relative abundance in the Planetary hospitals she worked in during her studies and career, but.. but rats in space.... Well. That was just wrong on too many levels.

She couldn't help picturing a scenario in which the artificial gravity failed and hundreds of furry sharp-toothed ratlike monsters floated out of the hatches, twirling around the corridors, tangling in people's hairs and biting their feet. She shuddered.

Rochelle didn't even flinch as she slowly looked up at the Doctor's face. "The crew are well aware and are readily vaccinated for rat bite fever." She dead panned, "Besides... Sanitation is taken care of exclusively by insolent young officers who like to talk back." Not smiling, not laughing, not betraying her heightened sense of amusement was the single-most hardest thing the usually blustery Commander had been faced with in recent history. It took every fiber of her being and every ounce of her strength not to completely come unglued or, at the least, laugh at the Doctor's throbbing discomfort.

"Vermin aside, what else do you have for me?" Was almost like saying, 'just how badly can I jerk on your chain, Doc?'

"There are other health concerns than just bite fever," Carrie muttered, clearly distraught, completely missing the fact she was being punked. Also the comment about these 'young officers'. She, clearly, was an experienced professional Doctor. Those poor officers, she thought to herself with growing discomfort. She couldn't see how that punishment has any sort of effectiveness to correct whatever troublesome behavior they exhibited to win it. She may have to check into this further. She blinked again, and then, clearing her throat, she nodded.

"Right. Well." She gestured at the PADD, "there's the requisition forms, but you can go over those later. The infirmary is mostly stocked, but we need a couple of pieces of supplies for this big a crew. And then there's the regulation part," she finally resumed her trail of thought on her real reason of coming over, and her body language followed - straightening up, lifting her chin slightly, and filling with a bit more confidence.

"There are several rules I'd like to implement in the infirmary. For one, there's no reason why starfleet personnel would require weapons to visit the infirmary. They're adding a layer of unnecessary danger to my staff and patients. Especially," she pointed out in a mix of dismay and frustration, "since it seems the Marines make it a point to keep these pieces in unexpected and surprising hiding spots all over their bodies. I would rather worry about my patients, and not about getting one of my staff members shot or cut when one of your Marines bends over," she finished, gritting her teeth.

"So I want your support in a new regulation in the infirmary. Weapons remain out. Unless," she allowed, looking straight at the Commander for approval, "they need it specifically, notify the staff of their locations, and clear it with me. Well, clear it with you," she gestured at Ivanova, and then nodded. "You can just notify me so I make sure the staff is aware, and are careful."

It started as a snort. An undignified and strange noise that spread into a guffaw, cough and then a strangled little noise that fell away as the Commander nodded emphatically, trying as hard as she could to keep from all out laughter. Clearing her throat and licking her lower lip, Ivanova readjusted her seat and shook her head. "I completely understand, Doctor." She managed, trying her best not to further embarrass herself or injure the Lieutenant's ego any further. "And I want to formally apologize for whatever happened to make you bring that to the Command team's attention. Honestly."

Carrie gave Ivanova a weird concerned look, for a moment wondering if the woman was in need of medical assistance. She was about to ask, when Ivanova spoke, and Carrie understood she was simply.. laughing.

"Accidental premature weapon fire is no laughing matter," she muttered like a child, trying not to take offense, examining Ivanova's face. She finally let out a smile when she saw the Commander's impression contained no malice. Okay, well, maybe it was... mildly... amusing. After the fact.

"I'm glad you understand. I... think I will spare you the details," her smile grew a little wider, falling into her face into a more natural expression.

The bubbling feeling of laughter rose unbidden once again, threatening to squash her normally frigid demeanor, but Ivanova couldn't help but smile as she mentally batted away the implications. "No. It's a messy affair and embarrassing as Hell I've heard." Oh curse her for her shameless puns, they were all intended and far too good to simply pass up given the scenario. Besides... The idea of Ellis prematurely firing his 'weapon' was, well, rich. The stalwart marine wasn't often an easy target, but his trigger happy nature in the sickbay had left her itching to get under his skin. The Doctor had given her just such a way. "It's extremely amusing, I won't lie about that." She winked.

"When Ellis is concerned, all details need to be spared aside from the pertinent ones. You know how the Marines are." She all but scoffed and rolled her eyes, relaxing back into her chair having worked on the PADD a bit further. "Consider your requests for additional supplies granted as well."

Carrie nodded in obvious satisfaction, the smile still evident on her face. She didn't consider the topic amusing at all, but Ivanova's reaction made her consider it. Maybe it did have some amusemend factor after all.

"Good, thank you. Now to the second issue," she scratched her nose, the smile slowly fading, but only to a thoughtful expression. Carrie never was good hiding her emotions from her facial expressions.

"I admit I am fairly new to this whole Starfleet organizational hierarchy, Commander. My work so far has been in civilian hospitals, where the hierarchy is split into fairly distinct 'administration' and 'medical' authorities, and is given mostly by merit." She looked up. "I don't suggest this is not the same in the case of Starfleet, frankly I have no idea what are the bases for rank promotions, I never really understood the entire elaborate process that is involved." She remembered wondering exactly that in the case of several Admirals she's met, but decided examples would likely be inappropriate in this case.

She paused for a moment, considering, then looked up at the Commander. "I understand that the Captain is the head of this facility, and that you are his deputy. So far you both seem to be quite qualified and deserving," and she checked; only to releave her starship-phobia in this posting. It was quite comforting to note the pair who ran the place were good for it.

"But," she blinked, her face a mix of confusion without an ounce of malice, "I was rather alarmed to note that this authority seem to expand to override medical authority." Her brows furrowed. She wasn't used to be ignored, or waved off, as she felt she had been the last time.

A thin eyebrow raised at the mention of command and power, the thirst for it and the want, need... Desire. She eyeballed the young Doctor with a certain sense of scrutiny for a split second's worth of time before nodding and folding her hands on the cool desk top in front of her. "Doctor, the sickbay is yours and your orders in sickbay override just about all others... Within reason." Rochelle answered, "You have to understand that there will be certain situation where either myself or Captain Neyes will make an order that you will need to follow in order to protect the greater good, however, seeing that you're an extremely bright individual, you'll likely already begin the procedures that we would order."

Carrie considered that for a moment, then nodded. "Understandable. My priorities are for my patients, I do understand that yours is to the entire crew. I just hope these priorities won't clash unless it is really necessary," she blinked, having trouble imagining such a scenario, but conceding the prioritization of authority.

"Thank you," she nodded, finally deciding she is content with the conclusion.

"Your patients are my crew, Doctor, I doubt our priorities will clash." The Commander found herself smiling in-spite of herself, the idea that the Doctor cared was a relief. The idea that this Doctor wasn't some dry hearted schlub with a God complex, too, was a relief. "You're welcome. Is there anything else I can do?"

That wasn't necessarily true for all cases, but Carrie didn't think she should push that point. She nodded, appreciating the leeway, and then shook her head, the motion fluidly changing like some synchronized dance trick. "No, I think I'm good. I may alert you to problems if they arise, you know," she half apologized, "while everyone get used to the new.. uhm.. transition." She smiled.

Ivanova's smile bloomed a wee bit more, "My door is always open, Doctor." She advised as was customary, "I'm sure everyone will get used to everything rather quickly. If they don't? Advise them to take it up with me. Good luck, Doc."

Carrie's smile expanded too, and she jumped off the chair and offered a hand to the Commander. "Thank you Commander. I'll keep that in mind. Oh," she added, ponderous, "I will forward my recommendations regarding that rat infestation. Starfleet should really send you something to get rid of that."

For a second, Ivanova studied the Doctor standing there with her hand exposed and jutted out towards her like some sort of bizarre beacon. In the military world this was something completely foreign... Alien... But it was a handshake, something that business was often settled on back down on Earth between civilians. Later, the Commander would shake her head and chuckle, but for now she got up at shook the Doctor's hand firmly. "You're always welcome."

And then... The redhead nearly exploded into laughter. Nearly died. Right there. On the spot. It was a miracle and a half that she was able to keep a straight face. "Don't worry about that, Lieutenant, I'll have that taken care of myself. Have a good day." Space rats... Who knew she'd be taken so... literally.

Carrie nodded, her posture resuming her professional persona again with the chin high and her chest mildly puffed to compensate for her smaller stature, then she turned and walked out.

Before her visit she was planning to make her way back to the infirmary using the Jeoffrey Tubes. That, however, was no longer a valid option. With the greatest efforts to not audibly sigh, she walked into the turbolift and allowed her foot to tap the floor again.

* * *

Commander Rochelle Ivanova
Executive Officer
USS Vindicator

Lieutenant Carrie Rofer, MD
Chief Medical Officer
USS Vindicator

 

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