A Second Opinion

A vague disquiet followed him to the infirmary. The knowledge of Jacy’s surveillance was its’ own challenge; the bit of pantomime that Marisol and he had undertaken last night seemed more mischievous fun than a serious bit of subterfuge. But Vas, whose recent behaviors before and after their ill fated visit to the Skyplex, was a vexing complication. Dorian had always felt a friendship for the punk, a bond made all the deeper by Vas’ saving of his life on Ezra. If there was one person aboard this boat in whom he trusted without reserve, it was Vas Jat.

Until now.

The sudden interest in sterilizing the infirmary without consulting the ship’s medic was an odd maneuver. Given Vas’ refusal to mention either the work or his studious cleaning around the bug, the conclusion one might draw was a simple, if disturbing piece of two-plus-two. *Jacy has enlisted him,* Adler thought as he switched on the infirmary’s lights. It made sense; she wasn’t the first Mata Hari to seduce and exploit a willing man to her purposes. And while it pained Dorian somewhat to misdirect the boy’s attention this morning, he simply couldn’t divulge the actual mission objective to a suspected Alliance asset.

He checked the schedule. “Today, Ah am a veterinarian,” he said to himself at the time block reserved for each of the resident Droggies. There was also a visit with the widow...the closeness of Alliance Intel would force Kate to remain on the move. And for that ailment, he had just the cure. Her military and intel experience yielded just enough footing in field medicine to qualify her as the next “bush doctor” candidate. Her training would commence today.

But first on his schedule was their newest deckhand, Serena Edwards, recuperating from dislocations and crush trauma to two fingers on her right hand. Dorian opened her file, which contained precious little beyond her first treatment. The file’s image capture showed a strikingly pretty girl of softly Asian features, a face whose eyes were much like Sister Lyen’s in the loveliness of their expressive nature. Unfortunately, that expression was fear, bordering on terror. As he pulled a smock from the hanger, Dorian thought to take a different capture this morning.

Serena timidly knocked on the open door frame using her good hand. “Crew Chief… I mean, Vas said you wanted to see me?”

Dorian turned. “Good mornin’, Miss Serena,” he greeted the girl who hovered nervously in the doorway. “Time tah have a look at those fingahs. Hop on up, if yah please.” The treatment table had been set up in its lounge chair configuration, with the right armrest broadened to support the patient’s hand. Dorian pulled his stool to her right side, before lifting Serena’s hand. “Ready tah have these fingah guards removed?” He smiled easily.

“Ah am.” She replied, sliding into his fancy vernacular, his smile putting her more at ease. She folded herself into the chair in the med bay, the safest place on the boat, hesitating for just the briefest of moments, as if the armrest were a hot surface. “Is it gonna hurt?”

He wanted to laugh at her attempted drawl, but thought better of it. Serena still presented a nervousness that a bit of laughter, even self deprecatory, might spark. “Typically, no,” he answered. “But tell me..have they been hurtin’ these past couple days? A mild throb would be normal tah start, but Ah’d expect it tah reduce ovah time.”

“No, it didn’t so much hurt, just once when I hit it on the bed frame when Yeva and I were changing sheets in one of the staterooms.” She rested against the arm rest less cautiously, glancing around the med bay at all of the clean, new looking equipment. “But other than that they haven’t been bothersome at all, except for them being uncomfortable taped up.” She shifted her gaze again towards him, to watch him intently as he worked.

The medic unwound the cloth tape from Serena’s middle finger. “Good,” he said quietly as the tape gave way to reveal the tissue beneath. “Now fah tha guard.” With a gentle tug, the rigid enclosure came free. Dorian moved to her index finger, repeating the work, until both were laid plain beneath the medbay lights. “About right,” he said thoughtfully as he turned the girl’s hand over. Both fingers still showed some discoloration, with the nails presenting the blackest evidence of the wounds. “It’s not pretty,” Adler glanced up from his study, “but tha healing is running a good course. Kindly do me a favah.” He lifted one hand before her, index and middle fingers pointing skyward. “Bend them fah me...several times...like yah squeezin’ a trigger.”

“They look like Marisol’s before she gets the chance to wash the grease off ‘em.” Serena noted, complying with what he asked. The first attempts were stiff, as if the trigger simply didn’t want to give, and she winced with the action, but after a few times they ached but she was able to do just as he asked. “Are they gonna look like they used to again?”

Dorian snickered. “Our mechanic could benefit from a manicure evah now and again,” he chuckled. “As fah this, what yah seein’ is mainly clotted blood from yah injuries.” He took her hand once again to gently probe and test the contours of each finger. “Wondahful thing about blood vessels is how quickly they repair themselves. Ah’d give it a week, maybe two, but yah should be lookin’ completely normal by then. Ah do have somethin’ fah yah.”

He turned away. After a moment spent rifling through the supply drawers, Dorian emerged with a sealed package, from which he produced a single, almost silklike glove. “This is fah support,” he said as he offered it to her. “It’ll feel a bit tight when yah first put it on, but it’ll help with circulation and flushin’ out those clots. Try that on, if yah would.”

Serena’s eyes lit up when she felt the fabric, but then shook her head. “It’s going to get dirty, I have a lot of rooms to get through yet. And -- aren’t you going to tape them back up?”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Only if yah tryin’ tah make a fashion statement.” Dorian next opened the pharmacy cabinet. After two pills landed in a small paper cup, he filled a larger one with water. “Tha glove will get dirty in yah daily use….These are anti inflammatories. Kindly take them.” He nodded his approval as the girl downed the medication. “Yah can showah with tha glove, or scrub it clean at tha end of tha day. Let it hang tah dry while yah sleep.” Sensing a prolonged dissatisfaction with his answer, Dorian smirked. “If it’s not gettin’ clean enough, yah can always come back an’ ask me real nice fah anothah.”

“It’s just … “ Serena thought for a moment, glancing to the door. “It would feel better and I appreciate the glove, but I don’t want it to get re-broke.”

“She challenges mah treatment plan,” Dorian folded his arms in faux consternation. “How evah shall Ah go on?” As the support glove landed on the utility tray, he fished in a supply drawer. “Seein’ as yah’ve secured a second opinion,” he smiled, “A’ll wrap ‘em up like tha first time.” Now armed with a fresh pair of the rigid finger guards, he set once more to work.

Serena tapped her foot on the chair, balking at the sight of the metal guards. She looked towards the door again, then put her good hand on Mistuh Doctah Adluh’s arm. “Do we have to use the metal? Or can we just use tape? Metal makes it harder when I have to clean out the rooms, but with tape, the crew chief… I mean, Vas will know it’s still broke.”

“Serena Edwards,” Adler straightened on his stool to meet her with a direct eye. “You have sustained crush trauma injuries tah tha soft tissue of yah index and middle fingahs. That tissue is currently healing...rebuilding...and it requires a protective environment with a modicum of room. These guards,” he tapped on the metal objects, “will offah protection and room. Tha glove,” he continued, “will likewise offah support fah circulation and a flexible outer cover. Tape,” the medic concluded, “only serves tah wrap it up tight. It is an inflexible barrier, and it promotes neither tissue growth or propah healing. Now Ah’ve recommended tha glove, an’ when that was refused, Ah recommended a return tah tha guards. If yah insist, Ah’ll tape ‘em up fah yah.”

He turned away to replace the items in his supply drawer. “Just undahstand yah’ll have Marisol lookin’ fingahs fah a month or so.”

“Sorry,” she replied quickly. Serena looked down at the wrinkled up skin on her fingers and the blue black nails. She hadn’t really used the fingers since she came on the ship, and probably could lose one or two without it being all that big of a deal. Adham had lost his ring finger in an accident and he was still a good mechanic. Her shoulders slumped and her eyes cast down to the floor. “Ah’ll wear tha glove if tha offa’s still on tha table.” She relented.”I just thought since Gil got his taped, I could have mine taped too.”

He glanced over his shoulder, nodding his head toward the glove. “Please try it on.” As the unused supplies all made their way back to customary storage, Dorian said “Gill’s injury was a laceration..a jagged tear of tha skin. His treatment was different. Tha tape was used tah affix a gauze pad.” The tidying completed, he turned toward the patient once again. “So, doctah,” Adler said diffidently, “what’s tha prognosis?”

Serena chuckled at what sounded like a made up word. “Ah’m not sure wha that all means, but ah’m gonna find out what Gil did on account of ah don’t wanna make the same mistake and have tha crew chief cut mah hand too.” She slipped on the tight fitting glove, scowling as the first attempt didn’ quite match up with her fingers, but managing to get it right the second time. After rubbing her other hand over it to feel the smooth material, she held it up for the doctah to see.

“Hold on a minute,” Dorian’s gaze was deeply serious. “What are yah sayin’? Who cut Gill’s hand?”