lightconductor | IC Inbox

Six hours is not very much sleep, especially for an extended period, combined with physical activity, and yes, the very great stress all of us are under. How are you eating? - JW

Six hours should be plenty for a Tradeline officer when there's work to be done.

[She's gotten by on far less, she thinks.
(Except that no starship emergency lasts months!)]

I make sure to eat at least twice a day. Enough calories. I lost a lot of weight, a while ago, but it's stabilised now. I still don't have much appetite, but that's the stress. I have a routine so that I don't neglect it.

I'm glad to hear you're taking care to eat. Still, whether this is illness or exhaustion, increased rest will do you good. The body needs rest to fight off an infection. I will still lend you the books, of course, but even a soldier must take time to recover from illness or injury so that she may be of use again. - JW

He does not think it is illness. But he can pretend it might be.

[It's a good call. She's certainly more likely to listen that way!]

I hear you. I do. Under normal circumstances I'd do just that. But I'm still useful, and the way I see it - I can rest as much as I want when I'm free and I don't have the thread of eternal torture hanging over me. Until then, I have to keep going. I have to do all that I can.

I am not telling you to stop entirely. You must do what you feel is right, of course. But there is no reason you cannot rest so that you can continue later, compared to driving yourself into a complete collapse. I have seen men do that. I would spare you that, if I can.

Would you feel comfortable with allowing me a personal examination? I may be able to shed some light on the situation that a book might not be able to. - JW

[There's a delay in her response, because again she has to think about how far she trusts him. They aren't close - but she saw him vulnerable back in Peshawar. He'd allowed her to try to help him then, as far as she could.]

Yes, I'd be willing. I think it might help. You might spot something that I can't. How can I pay you for your assistance, make it fair contract? I have some snacks and nuts saved, or maybe the infirmary cupboards need organising?

[Fair contract being essential to her, she does want to offer something in return.]

[Wow, no one's offered to pay him for ages. It's almost a surprise. And the infirmary is perfectly organised, so...]

I would not say no to a collection of nuts, if you have them. I don't ask much. - JW

Perfect! I'll bring them over. See you later.

[It isn't terribly long later when Lieutenant Tayrey turns up at the infirmary. She carries a wrapped parcel; she'd taken great care in selecting assorted packets of nuts from her stores and putting them together. That there is no currency here doesn't mean that nothing has value.]

Peace and prosperity.

[She offers the greeting with a wan smile. Tayrey has never been happy aboard the ship that she considers nothing but a prison, but her condition has deteriorated. Her uniform hangs off her, too large now, and that would make her look terribly young - if not for her face. Clear fatigue, dark circles under her eyes, a somewhat unfocused look. No wonder she thinks she's ill.]

[He takes in her appearance swiftly, a habit that serves well both for a doctor or a detective, though he's rather more confident with conclusions for the former career. He's honestly much more concerned now than he was. Still, he smiles, reassuring, the stethoscope already in his hands.]

Peace and prosperity to you as well. Have a seat, make yourself comfortable.

Thank you. Here, this is for you.

[Tayrey hands over her wrapped bundle of nuts, before taking a seat opposite him. She looks a little apprehensive. On her own ship, she tended to avoid the infirmary unless she was actually bleeding, and medicine here is - through no fault of Doctor Watson's - that bit more primitive.]

It was good of you to see me so soon. I hope you don't think I'm the sort of person to complain of nothing. I've tried to solve this, but I haven't gotten anywhere.

No, I don't think you're the type to complain of nothing, either. Thank you.

[He takes the nuts gratefully, and sets them aside on a nearby counter for safe-keeping.]

I'll start with your heart and your lungs, if you don't mind. A straightforward and simple place to get a sense of things. How long have you felt this way?

[How long has she felt this way? She hasn't felt right since she was on the Prosperity, but that's to be expected, isn't it?] I'm not sure. It crept up on me, I think - but I've been seriously concerned for about twenty days. That's about when I started falling asleep unexpectedly.

[When Harvey started drugging her - but Tayrey was already sleep-deprived. It's true that she sets aside six hours, but between the insomnia and the nightmares ('normal trauma response' if you ask her) she never gets the full amount.

She starts unbuttoning her uniform jacket, and then looks back over at him.] Ah. I forgot. [Tayrey taps her chest.] Body armor. I'll take it off? I've got an undershirt beneath.

If you don't mind.

[Not many people take that sort of precaution on the ship anymore. But then, Watson has to admit, he's generally armed, himself.]

And you've been sleeping about six hours every night? Is that sound sleep, or restless?

[She's also armed at all times. Her gun is clipped to her belt right now - it seems sensible to her. This ship is not a safe place.]

Not at all. [Tayrey's more modest than most aboard, but Watson's a doctor, so she has no qualms about discarding layers of clothing. The body armor, when she gets to it, is a smooth black, conforming to her figure. It looks thin and lightweight, and one could be forgiven for doubting its effectiveness - but it's an advanced design from her own sector. She undoes the clips holding it together and pulls it off, speaking as she does so:]

I set six hours. It's... often restless, but that's to be expected, isn't it? I doubt there are many here who never have nightmares. I don't... I'm not going to blame myself for having an ordinary response to a traumatic situation.

[Very defensively. Either as if she expects Watson to criticise her, call her a coward for it, or as if she's trying very hard not to blame herself and projecting those conflicted feelings onto him instead.]

It'll all be fine when I'm free. [Better be. The Tradelines don't want damaged goods.]

Mm, certainly normal, certainly expected; let us hope they pass in time.

[He's not hopeful; he has his own memories from terrible times, which have never quite left him. Trauma is... like that. Watson is unable to avoid his eyes lingering on the body armor for a moment. Fascinating, and beyond his knowledge, and the sort of thing that could have meant the world to him, a decade ago.

He leans in with the stethoscope on her chest, listening to her heart, the sound of her lungs.]

Take a deep breath.

[She nods. She's still hopeful. She has to be; if her career's to be ruined by something like this, something utterly beyond her control, then what's the use in fighting it at all?

No. No, there's the trouble. Even if she wanted to give up, roll over and die, she can't.]

It'll pass. [With much more confidence than she feels.

She takes a few deep breaths. Her heart rate is elevated, her breathing a little quicker than normal, but there's no sign of a physical cause.]

[He frowns a little at that heart rate, but that? That could be anything. That could be someone who's just a little anxious. That could be Ari having rushed here from somewhere else.]

Are you nervous about doctor's visits, lieutenant?

[He turns away to grab a blood pressure cuff, and moves to slip it on her arm.]

A little.

[It's a quick answer, as if that's what she's supposed to say, that's what's easy.]

Actually- shipside, the only times I ended up in the infirmary and seeing a doctor, instead of just picking up supplies, I was badly wounded. Nervous enough about that, I guess.

[She's not the sort to book in for regular checkups, although she can hardly be blamed for that, considering how closely monitored she was in childhood. She does seem to have a certain amount of trust in Watson, as she lets him slip the blood pressure cuff over her arm before asking:] What does that do?

A sphygmomanometer. It's for measuring blood pressure. Try to hold your arm still. It will get a bit tight, but only momentarily.

[He starts pumping it up, eyes on the dial.]

It's true that a bad experience does rather... make it difficult to seek out medical care at other times. I know that myself.

I was always healthy, before. I'm supposed to be, genetically. I can get injured like anyone else, but the only time I was really sick was when a novel pathogen from an unexplored planet got onto our ship, and even then I recovered more quickly than the others. I guess I never needed much in the way of medical care.

[As she speaks, Tayrey has been holding her arm still - and she's very glad of the warning now that the blood pressure cuff gets tight. If she hadn't known the sensation would be momentary, she might have worried that it was malfunctioning!

Her blood pressure is within normal adult range - just about. Which isn't a particularly good result for someone her age who exercises as much as she does.]

I'll admit that I tried to avoid it - my experimental genetics meant I was constantly in the lab being tested as a child. But I trust you - at least as far as I can trust anyone here. Whatever I find, you won't use it against me.

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