Don't Do That

*” Me, I'm fresh on your pages

Secret thinker sometimes listening aloud

Life lies dumb on its heroes

Wear your wound with honor, make someone proud…*

Adler hummed to himself as he entered Kate’s work onto the encrypted database. He had to hand it to her…the messaging system she’d created to ride the hospital’s cortex network was a work of particular brilliance. Though the system’s own “deca-encryption” would defeat code crackers with its’ constant variations, she’d chosen to carry their own communications two steps further.

The resulting cipher involved its’ own lexicon of medical reporting terms whose sequencing was tucked cleanly beneath an eye rolling wealth of doctorspeak. If one were so gifted as to defeat the encryption and the cipher, the revealed message would offer little by way of reward.

Jack of Diamonds is taken by Ace of Diamonds Kate had delivered. Leo was in her hip pocket.

Ace of Hearts plays the deuce on Ace of Spades.

*Did she now?* he mused. Jacy had approached Marisol with information she’d picked up via her med bay bug. That would be the second time she’d acted on her intel. The first had ended with Serena’s outburst in the quarters corridor. *Jacy’s either confidant,* Dorian thought, *or she’s in a hurry to cover her tracks.* It was given that she didn’t want to land on the wrong side of her henchman. If Vas were to learn just who it was had set him onto a course of slavery and torture, Jacy’s position aboard this boat might be a precarious one…with sixteen days until a possible egress. Sixteen days to keep the lid upon a boiling pot…

*”Someone like you should not be allowed

To start any fires…”*

Fortunately, the alliance agent had a hidden cadre of browncoat operatives who were willing to help her along.

Ace of Spades deals Seven of Clubs to the Ace of Hearts.

Marisol had planted the seed. Dorian smiled. *To have been a fly on that wall* he thought.

What of the Ace of Clubs?

“What, indeed?” Dorian muttered to himself. Though his own assignment relied upon a nuanced approach, he had to admit that he’d done precious little to further its’ aim…before the intercom blurted him back to the here and now.

*"Doc, are you in the medbay? I think I need your help."*
Sister Lyen. Judging by the mild tremor to her voice, whatever had befallen her was enough to frighten the habitually buoyant nun. He keyed the hand mic. “Adler here. Ah’m in tha infirmary, Sistah. What’s yah location? Sistah?”

No response.

The black leather bag landed upon the counter. Dorian’s eye took hasty inventory of its’ contents as his hands shuffled compartments and pouches. Satisfied of the basics, he hefted the medical kit in his left hand as he turned toward the doorway.

The nun was there. Lyen cradled a balled fist which dripped crimson onto both her robe and the deck as she entered.

*"I was starting dinner and... well, the can-opener didn't work, so I got a knife, and.. I slipped."* Her face had gone ashen, telling of shock, nausea, or both.

Dorian nodded. “That can opener’s seen bettah days.” As he spoke, he reeled off a wad of gauze. “Please let me take a look.” Truth be told, his first glance didn’t reveal more than a fresh pool of blood in Lyen’s palm. To this Dorian pressed the thick wadding. “Kindly squeeze on that. Hand wounds tend tah bleed quite a bit,” he offered as the exam table whirred into the ‘flat’ position. “They look more dramatic than they usually are. Now, let’s get yah on tha table, and then we’ll sort this out.” After helping Lyen onto the table, Dorian added, “we’re gonna elevate yah feet just a little…should help yah tah start feelin’ bettah.”