Pair-o-Docs (Backpost)

Posted on Thursday October 9, 2025 @ 1:58am by Lieutenant Commander T'Prin Price & Lieutenant JG Ramat'iklan

1,015 words; about a 5 minute read

Mission: Episode 1: A New Frontier
Location: Sickbay
Timeline: After "The Laughing Vulcan and Her Grog"

Having met the Captain, T'Prin's next stop was Sickbay. She'd wanted to go there first, but wanted to get settled in first. She had only her personal medical bag in hand as she reached the doors on Deck 10. She stepped inside, taking a breath of the fresh, recycled air and smiled to herself, watching the bustling activity as everyone was checking supplies, setting up the storage cabinets and going through the usual chaos of getting ready to disembark.

She weaved her way through the staff easily. Having grown up in a hospital, she knew how medical people flowed and swam through with practiced ease. She was leaning over to look at the controls on one of the biobeds when she heard a throat clear behind her and she spun around, her eyes going wide with surprise. "Oh!" she said, shocked. "Hello! You must be," her mind immediately ran through the roster she'd memorized, "Doctor Ramat'iklan. I'm Doctor Price; it's a pleasure to meet you." She held up a hand in a Vulcan salute, smiling.

Ramat'iklan, who'd been coordinating Sickbay's supply deliveries as acting CMO until then, glanced up from the PADD he was holding in surprise. Now, he'd heard that his incoming CMO would be part Vulcan, and so he'd expected her to act accordingly - logical, kind of flat-toned, not terribly emotional, as most Vulcans (and some part Vulcans) tended to be.

The response she gave, though, made him raise an eyebrow briefly. Clearly not all part Vulcans thought the same of suppressing emotions for logic.

"It is a pleasure to meet you as well, Commander." Ramat'iklan offered a nod in response. It was probably better not to shake her hand, at any rate - as tended to be the case with part Vulcans. "I am currently coordinating the delivery of supplies and equipment from Operations. Standard equipment has arrived in full; our supply of medications will complete delivery by end of day. I have directed our technicians to commence diagnostic tests of all biobeds as of this morning."

"Oh, that's great!" T'Prin said, smiling wider. "That takes like, six things off my to-do list, thank you!" she said. "I'll have to see what's been done so far. I do want us to have everyone show up for a pre-launch briefing, and I want to go over some duty roster changes. Why don't we move this discussion to my office?"

"Of course, ma'am." Ramat'iklan replied.

"Great," T'Prin said, gesturing behind him. "After you."

Ramat'iklan walked the few steps back to the chief medical officer's office - good thing he'd not left anything in there in his single day or so as acting CMO. An inventory spreadsheet was open on the CMO's terminal; he'd been filling it diligently as supplies came. Clearly he was the meticulous sort - a credit to his people, in an odd sort of way.

T'Prin sat down behind her desk and nodding approvingly. "Nice, very organized. My father loves a good spreadsheet. You two would get along famously." She minimized it and accessed her files. "So, tell me about yourself," she said while she searched.

"I was born in Facility Gamma Nine Bravo. I served the Dominion for many years before my vessel crashed on a jungle planet and I was rescued by a Starfleet crew that saved my life. And so I have been repaying the debt I owe them since." Ramat stated as he sat down in front of her. It was the same script he'd been dispensing for years, really - Jem'hadar rarely if ever cared for their own achievements anyway, and Ramat'iklan was no different, monumental as his achievements might've been.

"That was very...concise," T'Prin said politely, grinning at him. "How about some of the more colorful stuff? What do you do for fun? What's your favorite color? Do you enjoy music? I've never met an independent Jem'Hadar before, so I kinda can't take anything for granted, you know?"

Ramat'iklan suppressed a sigh of exasperation. That was the Federation for you - one's past was never enough. The person that resulted from the past, living in the present, was always far more important. It wasn't quite that Ramat'iklan hated discussing the topic; there was simply nothing much in his life to speak of, to him anyway.

"I prefer to keep my wits sharp on the holodeck - always with safety protocols engaged." He stated. As much as he wouldn't have minded having them off at all, well, suffice to say he wasn't that keen to sacrifice protocol for his own satisfaction. "I also make use of the gymnasium. Also, of late I have been attempting to learn how to bake. Thus far I have found that I need far more practice." Yep, the number of burnt pastries of various kinds he'd tried to make so far in previous postings said plenty. Clearly having inborn battle instincts is utterly useless for precision work like estimating temperature.

"I have, admittedly, not found a genre of music that I prefer. I think I will need to discover that in time to come." He added, somewhat sheepishly.

T'Prin lit up. "Baking? Really? That's awesome! I've been trying to get better at cooking. My Aunt Lauren is a whiz at baking, though. She says 'Cooking is an art, Baking is a science." Baking requires precise recipes, timing, and a knowledge of chemistry helps. I've got two out of three, so I stick to cooking. I do make a great batch of chocolate chip cookies, however," she grinned, proudly.

"I... I see. I believe it will come to me. Eventually. With enough practice." Ramat'iklan stated. As with all things he'd done since leaving the Dominion, of course. "Until that time comes I have decided to stick to eating replicated baked goods instead."

T'Prin nodded. "Well, practice makes perfect. You'll get it in time." She brought up her roster rotation and turned the screen so they could both see. "Okay, so here's what I'm thinking with the shift rotations..." she said, walking him through her changes.

 

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