| Author | Message | ||
     Craig Serrold |
The EMH snorted in disdain. It waved its hand at the young Marine sitting on the biobed. "Captain Serrold, I appreciate your concerns. But I assure you that whatever pain you are experiencing is entirely in your imagination. My scans show that everything with your new appendage is working properly." Craig Serrold shook his head. "I'm telling you, it itches like hell. And there's a burning sensation where the mechanical parts attach to what's left of my arm." The EMH blew out a longsuffering sigh and threw up its hands in frustration. "Fine. Here is an analgesic cream. It should stop whatever pain you think you might be feeling. Now, will you please stop pestering me? I have real patients to attend to." Serrold was about to speak again when the EMH cut him off. "And no, I don't know when we'll be able to replicate you a new biological arm. It seems that our medical supplies are being conserved for those actually still allowed on duty. I suggest that you learn to live with your mechanical apparatus for the time being." ============ Serrold sat in the Seventh Heaven lounge nursing his fifth Aldebarran whiskey. At least, he thought it was his fifth. He wasn't sure. It might have been his sixth. Whichever drink it was, he was thoroughly drowning himself in the potent alcohol. He knew that he should likely be preparing his defense for his upcoming court martial or tribunal or whatever it was that they chose to call it. But he was tired of it all. He was tired of the fighting, against the Pfhor and against his superiors. He was tired of trying. He knew that he was young, but he felt older than the universe itself. The past year had taken a great toll, forced the reckless spirit within him to grow into something akin to he flinched at the thought responsibility. Shaking his head, unsure of what to do, Serrold ordered another drink. |