| Checking In |
| Summary: | The CAG visits the interim CMO to talk of broken pilots. |
| Date: | 25 Apr 2041 A.E. |
| Related Logs: | A Necessary 'No'; Tug of War and various other 'Tisiphone and Bell are broken' logs. |
| Players: |
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| Sickbay - Deck 10 - Battlestar Cerberus |
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| Being able to accommodate combat casualties requires room, and the Sickbay has it. Beds line each side of the room with privacy curtains strung up and readily available. Large vaulted lockers hold access to the supplies at the far end of the area. Nearer the front, a Petty Officer sits ready to dispense simple items like ibuprofen and aspirin. Further to the rear is an area prepped twenty-four hours a day for emergency surgery. To the side are a set of double doors that lead to the Recovery Ward where patients can recuperate. |
| Post-Holocaust Day: #57 |
There has been no official announcement of Sickbay's reopening as of yet — but those who come by are greeted with the frenzied bustle of medical staff, rather than engineers, for the first time in weeks. Those still recovering from their injuries are being carefully transferred in through the new, unblasted doors in a steady stream.
Near the desk that the clerk would occupy in less chaotic moments stands Lieutenant Bia, freshly appointed as Interim CMO earlier this morning. "You stick to worryin' about the clerk rotations. I'll get these doctors' shifts sorted. We've got eight hours for them to agree with eachother." She's speaking to a harried-looking nurse, who dips a nod to her before striding off into the thick of things, carrying a clipboard burgeoning with papers. Grace watches her leave, then turns her eyes down to her own clipboard, equally thick with Things To Do.
Bia's Desc
There's an undeniable presence to this woman, a clarity of purpose and determination making her seem as tall and statuesque as a caryatid carved from mahogany and brought to life. Her face is a fine-boned oval, keen eyes the colour of strong chicory framed by arching brows and high cheekbones. A sharp chin and proud jawline lead to a wide, full-lipped mouth. It would be easy to expect a cold, commanding voice from her — but instead there's a honeyed, drawling contralto as warm and lazy as the river-delta cities of her homeworld.
Bia is currently wearing loose-fitting royal blue hospital scrub top and pants, the color that designates the wearer as a doctor within the department. The top is short-sleeved, which can be worn with a white long-sleeved T-shirt underneath. There's a pocket on the left side that bears a cloth patch of the BS Cerberus, and the same patch appears on the left leg. The collar has cloth rank insignia rather than metal pips, that denote her to hold the rank of Lieutenant.
Into Sickbay strides Cidra Hahn. Dressed in her blues, unbloodied and under her own power. So this is likely not a visit related to any grievous injuries to her person. She takes a moment just to shift her eyes about the place. As if just getting a sense of the current state of things. Once that bit of visual reconnaissance is done she proceeds to the front. Expecting to find a petty officer there to bother. Instead, she finds Doctor Bia. She clears her throat softly but does not interrupt. She just stands there, regarding the doctor and nurse with her cloudy blue eyes, until one of them has a moment for her.
Cidra's Desc
Cidra Hahn is on the upper end of her thirties, tall for a woman and lean with a lanky build, though there's an easy, flowing quality about her movements despite her coltish figure. Her skin is fair, face oval-shaped with high cheek-bones and blue-gray eyes. Tiny laugh and smile lines have formed at the corners of her eyes and mouth, and there's an even, composed quality about her gaze most of the time that lends her manner a certain steadiness. Her hair is a ruddy shade of brown, straight and shoulder-length, though she keeps it pinned up in a loose bun when on duty.
Cidra is dressed in a Colonial officer's uniform. The medium blue jacket is tucked into matching trousers, with a black, brass-buckled belt around the waist. A softer, darker blue fabric decorates the shoulders. The black buttons are off-center, running up the right hand side of the tunic. The left breast sports a single button-down pocket, above which are her flight qualification wings. On her left sleeve is the black, gold and white Battlestar Cerberus patch. The pins on her collar show a rank of Major.
Engineering's done a fine job bringing Sickbay back up to speed. They've focussed their work where it's truly needful, and left things like stray bullet-holes to serve, at least for now, as mute testimony to What Came Before. As Grace flips a page over, she catches a glimpse of Cidra and tired, coffee-coloured eyes lift to regard the other woman. There's an automatic sweep of her form to check for injuries before the warm smile comes out from behind weary clouds. "Major. You showed up before I could get the party invitations out. There's somethin' you're needing?"
Cidra offers Bia the barest hint of a smile. It doesn't quite reach her eyes. But, then, few expressions on the woman's face do. The CAG is in general an inscrutable creature when she wants to be. And she usually does. She inclines her had politely to the other woman. "Doctor. It was my hope one of the physicians here would have a moment to speak with me about my people still under your treatment. But if they do not, I quite understand." Eyes go to one of those bullet holes, then back to Bia. "You've your hands full here, it is clear."
"Of course. I could stand a moment's sit. Come you here and I'll call up the files myself." The Lieutenant inclines her head toward the back of the room, where the CMO's Office awaits, then turns to head that way with a brisk stride that shows little of any need for a break. "They've done themselves a fine job, don't you think, Major?" she says as the two of them make their way through the bustling room. "Come Friday I think I'll be bakin' more cookies for Captain Gabrieli and his crew than our own folk." She holds the door open for Cidra before following the other woman in. The CMO's Office shows classic signs of Change Of Management — an attempt to find order in the midst of a hurricane.
"Captain Gabrieli does excellent work," Cidra says as she follows the interim CMO. "In all things." A polite nod and soft "Thank you" as the door is held open for her, and in she strides to the office. "You are in charge here now then, Lieutenant…?" She trails off, head inclined again. Apologetically. "I am most sorry. Your name does escape me. I do give you my deepest sympathies. I did not know Doctor Diago well, but she seemed a good woman. All peace of the gods upon her."
Grace stops short in the process of sliding her overfilled clipboard onto the desk and looks back to Cidra. There's a single chuckle before she steps back around the table, offering a slim but work-roughed hand out to shake along with a contrite smile. "I'm terrible sorry, Major. Gracious Bia, Interim CMO. 'Grace' suits me just fine if'n you're comfortable with the familiarity, and I'm fine without it if you're not." After the handshake, she'll move back around the desk to sink down in front of the console, punching a few keys with long fingers to unlock the terminal. "Miss Glory fought hard, but sometimes we get called home before we're ready to go. I'm sure she'll be having Asclepius's ear about it by now." There's a moment's pause, there, in sorrow-tinged humour before she says, "We've got a few of yours in extended care, yet, but I'm betting you're here for the stircrazy ones."
Cidra reaches out her right hand to clasp Bia's. She doesn't shake, though. Rather she slides her palm over the other woman's arm and grips her forearm. Not too hard but her grip is steady, and she holds it a moment longer than one would an ordinary handshake. Blue eyes seeking to meet the lieutenant's darker ones. A beat of that, and Bia is released. And Cidra sinks to sit across from her, legs crossed, posture straight. She can almost be described as prim. "Yes. They are the main matter of my visit. Ensign Apostolos and Lieutenant Bell. I've not had updates on their progress these last days, but I understand that. Still, they should be on the road to return to flight status and I must needs monitor that closely." Her Gemenese accent wraps oddly around some words. Drawing out certain vowels and softening the odd consonant. Her language is smooth and well-schooled, but some of the odd phrasing speaks of one who learned Colonial Standard as a second language.
It's not what the Lieutenant's expecting, of course; she starts to draw her hand back a little, seemingly assuming the handshake's targeting was off, then realizes what's actually going on. At least she's a quick study. There's a small flurry of hunt-and-peck typing as Grace calls up the requested information. "Mister Jeremiah. Terrible luck with that wrist of his." Grace clucks her tongue to herself as her eyes scan the file. "I'm real happy to say he's on the mend faster than we thought he'd be. Bodies get tired of bouncing back, after a spell." Another few clicks, then: "Miss Tisiphone. She's on extra supplements she promised she'd be taking. Low iron and calcium weren't never good for mending." Another soft cluck of her tongue. "We've got them both lined up for final assessment come next Friday. Assuming they're both doin' as they been told, they should be right as rain."
"Very good," Cidra says with a short nod. "I would most appreciate any recommendations you and your physical therapists might have to exercises that could prepare them for entry into the cockpit again. Flying is like a muscle. It must be worked constantly to keep it strong. One never forgets, of course, but being a bit rusty can have hard consequences out there."
"They both left with a mittful of reading. I'll get right on forwarding you a copy of what they were told." Lieutenant Bia will do just that; by late this evening, the CAG's inbox will have a long, long document waiting in it detailing the recommended exercises passed along to both Bell and Tisiphone. "I hain't ever been out of work six weeks running since undergrad. I'm not privy to how their spirits are doin', and it says here they both refused post-trauma counselling. Can't be too surprised on that. Pilots tend to be a proud folk."
"Have they? Too proud at times, to my thinking. I shall see that their squadron leaders are aware of this and watch for signs of trouble with them." With that, Cidra stands. "I do thank you for that, Doctor Bia. And for your time. I should leave you to your duties now. I am sure you have many. But there is a comfort in that, no? Duty gives us reason to keep going when little else remains."
"My pleasure. Always happy to be passing along what's mostly good words, for a change." Grace stands as well, and straightens herself into a stately salute, holding it only a moment before relaxing. "Thought I was busy before, and then the Admiral got generous this morning while dishing up my plate." She's wry for a moment, there, before it's smoothed away to a more serious expression. "Couldn't agree more with you there. Last thing that's healthful for any of us is a chance to linger on our hurts. Have you a fine day, Major."
Cidra returns the salute fluidly. That bit of protocol is dealt with swiftly. She inclines her head to Bia again before she leaves. Almost deep enough to be a miniature bow. There's a formality to her manner's ingrained much deeper than OCS can manage. "Gods be with you, Lieutenant," she says simply. With that, she leaves the office.