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Doctor Leonard McCoy looked at the next proposal with only mild interest. He was about to curse out loud when he reminded himself, 'You asked for this, Leonard.'
He had retired after an emotional decommissioning ceremony for the Enterprise A. In fact, he was in a real hurry to leave that day. It was easier than trying to deal with the many emotions of the moment.
Also, he was leaving to see his daughter, Joanna. She had invited him to live with her and he accepted, eagerly. It was time to heal the emotional wounds of the past. Her guest room became his and he began to enjoy not only the daughter he never really knew, but the grandchildren as well.
That arrangement lasted about sixteen months. All too soon, it became a matter of retelling 'war stories' to the grandkids and just plain boredom. Finally, he didn't feel needed. There was respect and admiration and many other things, but Joanna had her own life and priorities. That life did not 'require' or even need the presence of a father who hadn't been around very much. At least, that's how he perceived the situation.
So, he contacted an old friend at Starfleet and asked if there were any jobs available for a ship's surgeon with 'high mileage.' There was a job; it was this one. He'd actually hoped for a research posting or even another ship, but no such luck.
He envied Scotty. The engineer had cherished his boat, but after fixing everything that was wrong with it... he became bored. Scotty remembered the adage about the two happiest days of a boat owner; the day he buys it and the day he sells it. After selling the boat he published some technical papers, then decided to move to the Norpin Colony. However, fate intervened and the ship he was on crashed. He survived, but it changed him. He returned, reinvigorated and began making suggestions on future ship designs. At first, he did a bit of consulting for Starfleet, then they returned him to active service and put him in charge of new ship construction and refits. This included working the newest Enterprise, the 1701-B. McCoy's friend was doing critical and essential work; not boring and menial.
Sighing heavily, Leonard put the thought away and returned to the task at hand. After reviewing a rather lengthy proposal from one of Starfleet's newest doctors, he picked up a stylus and placed his signature of approval at the appropriate place. Using just a bit of a flair and style, he signed it, Leonard H. McCoy.
The proposal was modest but far reaching in scope for the fleet. It called for two surgeons to be assigned to ships with a crew as small as fifty. On a larger ship, up to three surgeons were not uncommon, but most of those ships had a complement of several hundred or more.
Still, the proposal made a lot of sense. First contact ships, no matter what their size, were subject to all types of dangers and hazards. A medical officer, chiefly a ship's surgeon, was essential to balance those dangers and hazards. If a ship had only one medical officer, and that person became impaired or lost, it could have disastrous consequences for the remaining crewpersons.
McCoy's own personal experiences had proven that over and over again. It seemed only logical -- ye gods, did he really use that word? -- extending the practice of multiple medical officers to ships of smaller crews.
He checked the signature again. Maybe he should use his middle name on official documents. After all, that was his 'official' name, Leonard Hammond McCoy. The Hammond came from his mother's maiden name, Eleanora Hammond of Charleston, who had married David Michael McCoy. She said the only reason she had married the man, was because she had no middle name. Tired of signing her name with the N.M.I. postscript indicating No Middle Initial -- or name for that matter -- she took pity on poor David and agreed to be married.
The ongoing joke always caused his two parents to start a mild battle of wits and wisdom. But he had never seen the two actually fight or even argue. When they settled in rural Georgia, the well-suited pair had a reputation as the gentlest couple in the south.
They had passed those traits onto their only son, Leonard, named after the paternal grandfather. His mother had insisted that the long slender fingers of her son were a sign for him to become either a doctor or a piano player. Since he was also blessed with a tin ear...
He hadn't really been pushed in the direction of medicine, just nudged gently. At first, he resisted a little. However, he found that he was fascinated -- oh, no, did he use that word? -- with life sciences. Eventually he grew to love being an M.D.
When he joined Starfleet, it was from a deep-seated need. He was recently divorced and had a need to get away and focus on something else. He also had a need to be challenged and to push his medical abilities and knowledge to the maximum. In Starfleet, he found his needs were met, especially with James T. Kirk as captain.
He really missed his old friend. In fact, sometimes it even hurt just to think of him. After serving on two ships named Enterprise with Kirk, he doubted anyone could come close to the man's abilities. While McCoy was with Kirk, he felt he was making a real contribution and a difference.
Here at Starfleet Headquarters, he was just another cog in a very large medical wheel. Oh sure, he had been promoted to the rank of Captain of Surgery, but along with the rank, came a mountain of paperwork, meetings, lectures, briefings and, worst of all, recruiting tours.
So here he sat, unchallenged by man or beast, reviewing and rerouting memos and recommendations and being trotted out as a living memorial, to encourage graduating M.D.'s to join Starfleet and see the universe!
He looked at the proposal one more time then thought his endorsement was illogical -- oh, no, not again, that word -- by signing this thing, he had just condemned himself to another series of recruiting tours.
He got up from his desk to stretch his legs. His backside was suffering from a malady that he had coined 'buttitis.' It was the primary reason the doctor was always wandering about the old Enterprise, even on the bridge. Walking about the ship returned circulation to his extremities and worked the kinks out of his muscles.
Turning around, he could see a fantastic view of the city and San Francisco Bay. At least someone had the decency to give him something to look at while he was bored to tears. The skyline of the city couldn't help but remind him of the visit with his friends during the whale incident. What a voyage, but it saved Earth and made heroes out of pirates. Now that was one for the books.
The sound of the intercom 'buzz' disrupted his thoughts. At last, a break from the monotony, or was it just another group of files or memos to review. Oh well, damn the torpedoes, "Doctor McCoy here."
"Hello, Mac! You have time for a quick visit from an old friend?"
He knew in a flash who it was. The choice of his name was a dead giveaway. Nobody called him 'Mac;' he detested it. He got that bee in his bonnet from his father. "Son never let them call you Mac. You have a name, make them use it!" People outside his profession called him 'Doctor' out of respect. People within his profession or friends, called him 'Leonard.' But only one person called him 'Mac,' Admiral Rodriguez. In turn McCoy called him 'The Portuguese Man of War,' or just plain 'Port.'
"Sure, Port, come on down and mingle with the common folk." The not-so-slight bit of sarcasm could be detected in McCoy's voice, but it wasn't all aimed at Port.
McCoy cleared the deck, or rather his desk, for whatever 'action' the man had in mind. He was the Assistant Surgeon General and McCoy was an Associate Surgeon General, one of three. As such, he was one step under Rodriguez. As they say, trouble flows downhill.
In just a few short minutes, the door chime would sound. McCoy took his seat and opened the bottom drawer of his desk. In the very back of the drawer was a bottle of 'medicinal' Saurian brandy. "Yup, still there!" Now he was ready for battle!
It was perfect timing, the chime sounded. McCoy stiffened a bit, you never knew what to expect with this rascal. "Come!"
The pocket doors slid open easily and in walked Rodriguez, in a relaxed and easy going manner. His dark eyes held the twinkle of mischief.
Almost disappointed, McCoy was shocked. No water balloon, no 'scary mask', not even a bad joke. It was more than a social call, so he treated it as such, "What can I do for you, Port?"
The big man took a seat and smiled, "Normally, I'd say break out the brandy, but I just received a message from higher up."
At least the practical joker had his attention. McCoy was convinced that nobody higher up knew he existed!
Port continued, "I really think all those requests you've been putting in for a transfer have finally rattled someone's cage."
'Uh-oh,' McCoy thought. 'Now what have you done?'
"Trouble is, you rattled a bit too high. I got a call from the old man himself, Walking Bear."
McCoy must have shown his surprise. He saw the smile on Port's face and then figured the Assistant Surgeon General was only pulling another fast one after all. "Okay, you've had your fun and I'm surprised. The game is over. Now, let's have a drink and 'tell lies' about the good old days."
"Honest! He asked me himself, wanted to know if you were here today and then asked if he could 'borrow you' for a while, whatever that means."
"Port, this is really a great story, but I'm real thirsty and you're going to miss out on a genuine treat if I don't pour you a drink, so stow the jokes."
"Okay, but I swear this is the real thing."
McCoy gave the man one more test. "If you're telling the truth, then swear it on Christina!"
Christina was the Portuguese surgeon's daughter and he was devoted to her. This would call the man's bluff once and for all.
"Okay," he deadpanned, "I swear on Christina's head."
That almost knocked McCoy out of his chair.
"And, Mac, you've only got about seven minutes to get up to the Admiral's Briefing Room."
McCoy exploded, "Why the devil didn't you say so! I've barely got enough time to get there. I'm going to look foolish as hell if I'm late for a meeting with Walking Bear!" He stopped his ravings and looked at Port who was starting to laugh. Confused, McCoy sputtered, "But you swore by Christina --"
"Sure I did, and Walking Bear does want you, but on time!" With that, he broke into hysterics.
And that's the way he left Port, in the office laughing uncontrollably.
Buttoning up his tunic, McCoy hurried off to the nearest turbolift. If he was late, then Port would pay, dearly!
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© 2024 Brad McDonald / U.S.S. Kitty Hawk
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