Doctor Ordered

Posted on Fri Dec 20th, 2024 @ 9:03pm by Lieutenant S'Lace

1,515 words; about a 8 minute read

ONE YEAR AGO...

Back when S’Lace had decided upon her path of Archeology she had found it of profound interest that despite centuries of technological advancements there was still nothing that could replace the meticulous labor to a uncover the ruins of an ancient civilization. One could employ sensors to spot a site, but in the end it came down to being on one’s hands and knees, applying a brush to ensure ancient stone and rubble remained unharmed, that small artifacts could be found undamaged.

That remains could be uncovered in a manner to preserve the dignity of those long dead.

She regarded the images of the skeleton, arms crossed. She had not expected her past life as a medical doctor to come into play but here she was, acting as a forensic scientist to piece together this mystery.

Doctor Yuan stared in fascination at the images. He was not a man used to violence so the fact that he was looking at the skeletal remains of a murder victim unnerved him.

“You are certain?” he finally murmured.

“To a high degree of probability,” S’Lace replied. She pointed to the rib cage and the marks, “These are evidence of a sharp object thrust into the body, a blade of some sort. We have twelve such markings on the ribs and other bones. And a depression in the back of the skull which implies blunt force trauma.”

“So,” Hoyer, a young student said, “Likely the victim was struck behind and either killed outright, with the blades used to make sure they were dead, or knocked senseless and unable to defend themselves.”

S’Lace nodded, “A likely hypothesis. There are no defensive wounds in the extremities.”

“Dead like Beckett,” Stewart murmured, “Or Julius Caesar.” He glanced at S’Lace, his face adopting an abashed expression, “Sorry, Doctor. Those were murder victims on ancient Earth.”

“I have visited Canterbury,” S’Lace replied, turning back to the images, “Julius Caesar is familiar to me as well. One cannot spend decades working and living with humans without experiencing a certain…”

“Cultural osmosis?” Hoyer suggested.

S’Lace turned to the young woman and favored her with an arched eyebrow, “As good a means of describing it as any,” Hoyer’s papers were rather well written, with salient insights. Stewart leaned a bit too much upon analogy but S’Lace conceded both worked tirelessly to uncover the Nasdreth dig.

“It is fortunate someone of your background was on hand,” Yuan noted, “But I am afraid this find will cause the dark cloud of sensationalism to fall upon this dig. The person who said any publicity is good publicity was a fool.”

“I see this as a positive,” Stewart replied, “Where the person died might give some insight to their culture. Was this a random robbery or religious rite? Was it a political assassination or a revenge killing due to some slight? Once we know more about the site of the murder-“

“This may not be the sight of the murder, “S’Lace replied, “The body might have been moved. In fact judging by the surrounding area and depth of the skeleton compared to the rest of the dig it is quite possible the body was buried.”

“You sound like you’ve had experience in such matters, Doctor,” Stewart replied with a smile.

“I have,” S’Lace replied. She saw the faces of the students grow sober and she mentally berated herself.

“You mean your time in Starfleet during the war with The Dominion,” Yuan stated.

It was a lie. S’Lace never murdered and hid the bodies of Jem Hadar troops. Cardassians, however…

Before she had to craft some fiction to allay the concerns of the students her comm beeped. What was that human saying? Saved by the bell? She tapped the badge, “This is Doctor S’Lace.”

“Doctor," Dron Chippee, the dig's logistics head said over the comm "There is a Starfleet vessel up here. Captain says it’s important. They would like you to beam over.”

S’Lace frowned, which for a Vulcan was the slightest downtick of her mouth, “Very well. Give them my coordinates.” She would have preferred to clean up first, but if it was truly important the Captain would not mind a layer of grime…

*

“So you see our problem,” Captain Klir finished.

S’Lace did indeed. She read through the casualty reports. She saw the names of colleagues, the sons the daughters of colleagues. The grand children of colleagues. She set the padd down.

“You are employing the emergency activation clause.”

“I am,” Klir replied with a sober nod, “I am making the rounds, scooping up retired Starfleet personnel. I know you’ve made a life for yourself here, Doctor, but we need you.”

S’Lace was quiet for a long moment. In retrospect rejoining Starfleet seemed…inevitable. This would be her third time to don the uniform. But in what capacity?

“I am a medical doctor now,” she stated, “And an archeologist.”

“We need the former more than the latter,” Klir said, “After an assessment I figure you’ll be made Chief Medical Officer on some
ship or station, although to start they might be moving you around some, sending you to where you can do the most good. I hope you travel light.”

“I do.”

Klir rose from the conference table, “I’m sorry about this, Doctor. I am aware of your record. You deserve retirement, but…”

S’Lace rose as well, “It is an honor to serve, Captain.”

Klir’s expression turned wry, “Here’s hoping more retirees feel the same.”

Klir left S’Lace, she made a mental list of what needed to be done. She would have to compose a letter of resignation for Doctor Yuan, finish reading the papers of the students, collect her few personal possessions. As she composed the list there was a…sensation in the back of her mind. Was that…anticipation? Was she…looking forward to being reactivated? To becoming a Chief Medical Officer? Was she viewing this as a new challenge?

Of course not. Vulcans did not seek adventure. Still…part of her-a tiny part-wondered how she would decorate her office…

*

S’Lace felt distinctly uncomfortable in situations like this. She would have preferred to have sneaked away but Doctor Yuan had insisted on a brief farewell. Yuan spoke, “I realize the ship is waiting so to be brief, I speak for all of us when I say your meticulous work and salient insights will be missed. You will be missed, Doctor.”

S’Lace nodded politely, to Yuan and the massed students, “I too regret not being able to complete our work here with you. It has been…most pleasant.”

And that had been true. There were Vulcans who could not tolerate working with humans, finding their emotions, their facial expressions, their obsession with sexual intercourse to be noisome in the extreme. But S’Lace did not mind any of that. Humans had a great many positive qualities. And they needed guidance sometimes; who better than a Vulcan to aid their quest for knowledge and enlightenment?

“We have a gift,” Hoyer said, “Well, Stewart has the gift.”

Stewart stepped forward, “When Nan told us about the ahn-woon you wear around your waist-“

S’Lace gifted youn Nan Hoyer with a level stare. Nan Hoyer had the grace to weather the gaze. S’Lace’s ahn-woon was a modified version of the ancient weapon, with smaller, flatter weights at the ends to fit better about her torso.

“-it reminded me of an old motion picture my grandfather showed me, it partly led me into archeology,” He held out a small satchel. Curious despite herself, S’Lace accepted the satchel and opened it, Her eyebrow ticked upward as she removed the item.

It was a bull whip. Not made of real leather, of course, but the replicated facsimile was quite similar. She slowly uncurled it, felt the way the handle fit in her palm.

Hoyer murmured, “He wanted to get you a hat, but we didn’t think it would fit properly on your head, what with the ears.”

“Indeed?” S’Lace murmured. She shook out the whip, it rippled like a living thing, “This must have been a curious motion picture if an archeologist wielded such a weapon.”

“Well, he was a man of action and adventure,” Stewart explained, struggling for her sake to suppress a boyish grin, “And the field of archeology was much more, ah, dangerous in the motion picture.”

“I see,” S’Lace looped the whip and replaced it in the satchel.

“Ah, if you don’t like it.”

“I do not dislike it, Mister Stewart. Thank you. You may smile again."

Stewart did considerably more than that, but S’Lace was used to human facial contortions. As she made for the transporter site outside the camp she pondered the source of Stewart’s inspiration. Perhaps she would look up this motion picture. And perhaps she would learn how to use the bull whip.

For research purposes of course...

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