| Ups and Downs |
| Summary: | Zaharis' office door revolves. First Shem, then Pepper. |
| Date: | 115 ACH |
| Related Logs: | None |
| Players: |
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Chief Medical Officers Office Genesis - Deck 13
115 ACH 23777 Souls
The office of the Chief Medical Officer is a small room, used mostly for consultations and review of sensitive patient materials than the paperwork of the Medical department, which goes through the Naval Administrative offices. Still somehow it has file cabinets along one wall stuffed full of papers, two chairs in front of a desk behind which a large leather chair is set. On the desk sits a computer terminal.
Sitting on the file cabinet is a Rod of Asclepius carved from two different types of wood. The rod is made from lighter wood, while the snake is darker. The eye of the snake is inlayed with tiny crystals so that it sparkles in the light. It stands on a smallish pedestal with a legend: Do no harm to thyself nor to others.
Someone is knocking at the door.
You hear shouting: Come in.
Shem comes in from Sickbay.
Shem has arrived.
Zaharis is, predictably, at his desk doing something on his computer. He looks up and towards the door as he calls his permission for his visitor to enter.
Shem shuts the door behind him. He looks dire. "I think I've found the connection between Lowes and the commander's suicide."
Zaharis takes his hands off the keys, gently rubbing his thumb into his palm. "That's good news. I hope. What have you got?"
Shem approaches the desk and salutes brusquely. "Lowes went to a party on the Destiny after they repaired her com systems, sir. Regas gave him one of his cigars."
Zaharis returns salute without paying attention to it. He raises an eyebrow. "Are you saying the smoke smell on Lowes was from the same cigars as Regas?"
"Maybe," Shem answers. He takes one of the seats across from the doctor. "The Destiny crew also gave him some cigars, that could be where the smell is coming from."
Zaharis frowns, folding his arms on the desk. "Alright. So they may have had cigars from the same…batch. Or something like that."
"I think the source is from Commander Regas, sir," Shem replies. "Some of his tobacco was laced with something, maybe one or two in his whole supply. He gave cigars to another person at the party, who's smoked it, and the fellow's doing fine."
"Lacing cigars with something that can induce suicide?" Zaharis rubs his fingertips over his forehead. "Who gave them these cigars? Were you able to find out?"
Shem shakes his head. "No, sir, I'm looking into it. But that's the shortest distance from A to B." He pauses. "Also, sir, I believe one of the Cylon agents was at the party. The old man, we've seen him before."
That stops Zaharis cold. "Frak." He clears his throat and frowns. "Pardon my language. What old man is this, now?"
"One of our marines saw a bunch of them in a crate during the raid on the basestar, sir," Shem explains. He hesitates. "I think it's reasonable to say that Lowes and Regas's suicides are linked, and it may be possible that the Cylons are responsible."
"Brilliant." Zaharis tenses his jaw. "So you know what this man, this…cylon looks like? Have they been looking for him?"
Shem nods. "We do," he confirms. "I'll be meeting with higher to talk about releasing the info, since we have some genuine proof that there's a living agent in the fleet, to see about starting a manhunt."
Zaharis nods. "Alright. I admit the cigar connection still just doesn't make sense on a medical level, but…there has to be a link. I'm going to get Sloan and do some more research. I'll let you know any updates."
"Yes, sir," Shem acknowledges. He stands. "I assume it goes without saying, sir, that the info about the Cylon agent can't leave this office?"
Zaharis looks up as Shem stands, and nods. "Of course, Lieutenant. It's your information to handle."
Shem salutes crisply. "Good evening, sir." And off he goes.
Shem leaves for Sickbay [o].
Shem has left.
Someone is knocking at the door.
You hear shouting: Yes, come in.
Pepper comes in from Sickbay.
Pepper has arrived.
And Zaharis' door revolves. He rubs his fingertips over his eyes as Shem leaves, taking a second before folding his arms on the desk and calling calmly. "Yes, come in."
Pepper slips in, decidedly out of uniform, carrying a small stack of file folders, from the middle of which stick out several sealed large envelopes. There's something else tucked in the crook of her arm, but it's not readily visible. "Evening, Major," Pep says quietly, summoning up a smile for the CMO. It's her usual bright one, but like everyone else, it would appear quarter rations are taking their toll. All in all, she looks healthy, despite the dark circles under her eyes. "I hope I'm not interrupting?"
"Ensign Peters," Zaharis sits back in his chair, somewhat relaxing his shoulders. "Very long time. What can I do for you?"
The smile warms as she closes the door behind her. "I was in Hera medical this morning and they had some files to come over for you, so I offered to bring them." Most of the stack goes on the corner of his desk, topped with what appears to be a bag of dark powder. "The confidential files are sealed and the others are supply orders and inventory." There's a handwritten note under the powder, written in a male hand.
"Oh. Thank you." Zaharis scratches his eyebrow and reaches over for the file stack before noting the powder. "Is this a pile of ashes from someone who got on Roubanis' nerves?"
"Chocolate, I think," she says, adjusting the files in her arms. And the note would bear that out - In Roubanis' hand is written "Donation for Medicinal Purposes." And it got sent over to Zaharis. Awww. It looks to be the good Caprican chocolate, the -really- good stuff, dark and rich. There's enough to stave off PMS for at least two days. "How've you been, Sir?" Pep hazards after a moment, studying the CMO carefully.
Zaharis actually chuckles under his breath. "I don't know whether I should hide this or put it outside and back away slowly." He looks over the note and smiles a little, before folding it over. "I've been just fine, Ensign. And yourself?"
"Doing well, Sir," she replies. Probably the stock answer, even if she weren't. At least she's smiling. "And Dr. Pike?"
"She's well. Very busy," Zaharis nods. "And Colonel Altair?"
"The same," Pep says quietly, the worry lines deepening slightly in her forehead. "Before I forget, Colonel Carter sent me to get a medical exception for rations and sent me here to do it. Am I alright to just speak to the doctor on duty?" Oh, she didn't want to ask that.
Zaharis nods, glancing at his computer screen. "You can, or I can just handle it for you. When was your last checkup on the Hera?"
"Ten days ago, Sir," she says quietly. "Nine week checkup, everything normal. My doctor's having me come in every two weeks to monitor my blood pressure since I had an issue with fainting early on." She doesn't give out a lot of detail, though.
Zaharis hits enter a few times on his keyboard, searching through records. "Alright…here we go. Would you like me to just go ahead and take care of it? Simple matter."
Her nose crinkles slightly and she nods. "Thank you, Sir. That way I won't have to bother any of the staff on the way out." The folders shift to her other arm. "Odd question, but have you seen or talked to Salin lately?"
Zaharis starts typing, the key clacking soft as he keeps talking. "Last time I saw him in person was shortly after Regas' death."
Pepper's lips thin slightly and she nods, once. "I was afraid of that," she says quietly. "Thank you, Major. Sorry to have had to bother you about this."
"Not a bother, it's what we're here for." Whatever Zaharis needs to do on the computer is easy when you have his level of clearance. He types here, types there, then taps enter. "You should be set. I'll make sure the Hera's aware."
Pepper dips her head. "Thanks Major," she says, rearranging her face into a smile. "Have a good evening, Sir."
"You as well, Ensign." Zaharis reaches for the pile of folders, pulling them closer. "Tell Roubanis we appreciate the cocoa."
"Will do, Sir," she calls over her shoulder as she slips back out again.
Pepper leaves for Sickbay [o].
Pepper has left.
