| Ill Communication |
| Summary: | Cidra comes across an ill Trask, finds him unresponsive, and has him hauled off to Sickbay. |
| Date: | 25 Mar 2042 AE |
| Related Logs: | Exchanges (first sign of sickness); continued in License to Ill |
| Players: |
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| Naval Offices - Deck 10 - Battlestar Cerberus |
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| Post-Holocaust Day: #392 |
| This area is set-up much like any standard office building. Cubicles have been constructed using cheap waist-high walls, their contents left neutral for whoever needs to use them. Inside each cubicle is a desk with a laptop and chair. Simple overhead lights bring dull illumination to the room except over the back wall where each one of the colonies twelve flags hangs from its own pole. Fake, potted plants dot the room and seem to be standard issue along with the water cooler and coffee machines. Off the main room are a few private offices such as that of the JAG or CAG. |
| Condition Level: 3 - All Clear |
Cidra is just coming on duty. Into the offices she strides, dressed in her blues, which implies she's planning to man her desk today rather than an aircraft. There's a tight-eyed and generally tired look about her, and she idly massages her temples with a pair of fingers, as if trying to rub away a headache without much success.
Paperwork is always boring, especially for a man of action and ideas. Even so, Kal Trask has never been the sort to nod off at his desk, even when overworked and assaulted by tear-inducing tedium. There is no mistaking the sound of relatively quiet snoring, though, coming from his cubicle.
Nearby, one yeomen says to another, "If he pops any more vitamin C, he's gonna turn orange." There is no reply, for the other yeoman spots the advancing Cidra and snaps to attention. "Major." Which is enough for the first yeoman to zip it and follow suit. "Major Hahn, sir." Although PO2 Grimes cannot fully conceal the vague sense of alarm he feels when it looks like the CAG also might be coming down with something.
"Yeoman. Petty officer," Cidra greets them rather tersely. Grimes in particular gets a level look when she registers his vague alarm. "What?" The question is posed rather flatly. Up close she looks more hungover than properly 'ill,' really. Not that she waits about for an answer. The sound of snoring gets her attention when she's in that vicinity, and she heads over to that cube to investigate.
If the CAG wanders off without waiting for an answer, does that make it a rhetorical question? After a moment's hesitation, Grimes decides it would be best to answer. It also will be safer to keep to himself his concerns about Cidra's appearance. So, instead, he follows a few steps behind and says, "It's Captain Trask, sir. He's clearly been feeling under the weather these past few days, but it seems to have only gotten worse. He had Lopez requisition a space heater from the quartermaster's office. He's been running it ever since."
Indeed, aforementioned space heater is running at full blast from atop aforementioned Captain's desktop. The low hum from the device somewhat drowns out the sound of Bootstrap's snoring. For his part, he has the haggard look of someone who is decidedly sick. There's a faint wheeze to his breath, his color is somewhat off, and despite being inches away from a steady stream of concentrated heat, his body involuntarily shakes every so often from the chills.
All in all, he looks like someone stubbornly fending off the flu, but who is currently taking a wee break from doing so. The way he's positioned in his chair is indicative of unplanned slumber, for it does not look the least bit comfortable.
"Wake up, Captain," Cidra intones, loudly enough that it should theoretically bother him. Just to make sure, she reaches out a hand toward his shoulder to give him a gentle shake.
In theory, it should. In actuality, it does not. Upon closer inspection, there is a visible flush to his light tan skin, and perspiration is evident, as befits someone running a high fever.
By this point, Grimes is peering over the cubicle wall, watching what Cidra does, waiting to see if she needs him to do something, as is part and parcel of being a yeoman. Meanwhile, Lopez pops on over, having heard her name mentioned. Seeing Trask, she remarks, "Oh, wow. He didn't look nearly that bad 20 minutes ago."
"Attention!" This time Cidra yells it, her alto voice projecting throughout the offices. While not a barker, the CAG has the ability to project when she wants to. And she is standing right by him. "Captain Kal Trask, report!"
<FS3> Cidra rolls Alertness: Great Success.
If tension across the brow, followed by further sweating and shakes counts as standing at attention, Captain Kal Trask is most certainly reporting for duty. Why, there even is a low groan. Although, in truth, that's not really an attempt to say 'Yes, sir!' but, rather, is an involuntary response to the feelings of nausea and body-wide aching. And being the sort who does not complain of physical ailments when awake, even when warranted, there should be no mistaking — especially to someone who knows him as well as Cidra does — that something is very wrong.
And then, there, right before the CAG's very eyes, the red tinge to Trask's skin grows more livid. No trick of the light, this. No, the onset of what appears to be a rash creeps along his neck, largely obscured by the collar of his green duty jacket but unmistakable when finally glimpsed.
Cidra winces some at her own volume, massaging her temples again. "As you were." A pause and she says, "You look awful. Why are you not in Medical?" Not that she looks great herself, but she's certainly better than *that*."
<FS3> Trask rolls 5 for Lopez's Alertness: Great Success.
Grimes and Lopez exchange sidelong looks. Did she just tell him 'As you were?' Eyes dart back to the CAG, then to the obviously sick SL, then back to each other. Seriously? "Um, Major Hahn, sir…" Lopez carefully starts, being either the braver, the more responsible, or the more stupid of the two yeomen, "I…'m not sure he can even *get* to Medical in his state. I swear, he didn't seem *that* bad when I dropped off the heater. Just really tired. Maybe a bit queasy and— my Gods! *That* wasn't there," she exclaims, dark gaze now firmly affixed on Bootstrap's spreading dermal inflammation, which, by the by, now also alights his jaw.
"Call for a medic," Cidra orders Lopez. "Tell them it shall require transport, and a stretcher. My Gods, Boots…" The rash gets a narrowed look from her, though she seems more concerned about his overall condition than that specifically. A look to Grimes. "How long has he been going on like this?"
"Aye, sir," Lopez asserts before dashing off to get on the horn with Medical.
As for Grimes, suddenly on the spot, he blurts, "Like *this*? Not long, sir." Lopez just said /that/, although the PO does not point that out. Then, a tad panicked that the inscrutable CAG of the acute owl-eyed gaze might be able to somehow /know/ what he just mentally snarked, he tacks on, "He started coughing a few days ago. Didn't seem more than that. Looked more annoyed than anything. He arrived on-shift looking like he scarcely slept, which isn't uncommon except he also didn't look wired on caffeine or adrenaline." And /that/ is unusual. "Complained it was cold. Asked Lopez to get a space heater since the thermostat is locked. She said he looked a bit out of it when she returned but figured that was just a side-effect of cold syrup or something like that."
As for the man in question, he doesn't rouse, save for another bout of chill-induced shaking.
"My inquiry was indeed to the length of his ill-health, thank you," Cidra replies Grimes, not taking her eyes off Trask. "What in all hells is wrong with you, Boots?" But the question is asked with hushed concern rather than /to/ him, as he's clearly in no fit state to answer. She'll wait by his cube until the medics come to haul him to Sickbay properly.
Lots of things are wrong with Kal Trask, as his more than a few detractors will be quick to point out. For once, however, what's wrong has nothing to do with his personality and assorted baggage. As for what is physically wrong, it really could be much worse. He's not convulsing, nor are there pus-oozing sores like there was with that one deckhand a few days ago.
The good news is that Medical just happens to be on the same floor as the naval offices, which means it takes very little time for the requested stretcher and medical personnel to arrive.
"Clear the way!" one calls out, ensuring no office grunts are obstructing the path to Bootstrap's desk, which PO2 Lopez is indicating to the medics.
Cidra clears out of the way of the medics without any need to be told twice, though she will follow them to Sickbay to see Trask checked in. "He was like this when I came in and not fifteen minutes ago. Not… responsive. The office personnel do say he has been complaining of some sort of cold for the past few days, but he has not missed any time on shift. Trying to work his way through it, I do think."
The medics offer more than the gentle nudge on the shoulder that the CAG gave, and that seems to warrant some reaction from the rather out-of-it ECO. "Wha' the…?" Waking with a bit of a start when medics start to take his vitals and maneuver him onto the stretcher, his disoriented instinct to physically retaliate at what is mistakenly processed as some manner of an assault reveals that he's suffering from overall bodily weakness, for his attempts at getting the medical team off of him are as successful as a kitten swiping at a pack of pitbulls. Such a far cry from the athleticism that makes short work of even the heaviest lifting on the Deck. "GET," he grits his teeth. "OFFA," he growls. "ME," he snarls. Then promptly topples over during the course of his failed attempt at self-defense. Thankfully, the medics keep him upright.
"Easy now, sir. You're ill. We're taking you to Sickbay," a corpsman tries to assure the Captain.
"Hey, he's got some kind of rash here," another Medic notes.
"You think this is related to the stuff going on the Deck?" the first one asks his compatriot.
Thus hoisted and secured, Trask groans as befits someone in an infirm, feverish state, and is promptly hauled off.
"There is something going 'round on the Deck?" But Cidra does not actually pursue any interrogation about this to the medic. She does follow them to Sickbay. At a discreet distance, but she wants to make sure Trask does not interrupt his delivery there - weakened state or no. And perhaps there'll be somebody there who's more available for inquiry.