Personal Log: Malcolm Adeyemi

[Malcolm Adeyemi]

=/\=Personal log=/\=

In the vein of improving myself and keeping a liberal knowledge of my field I have been studying up on an old subject related to medicine, healthcare.

Apparently, back in the 20th and 21st centuries if a man got sick or hurt through no fault of his own he had to pay for the treatment to make himself better.

There was a giant mechanism in place to make sure the man paid everything he possibly could. Not only that, this same system also pretty much guaranteed that he'd never be healthy again. This monster of efficiency and greed was called healthcare.

The main reason for healthcare was to make money off of people's misfortunes. Anyone who worked for a living had to have healthcare. They even made it a law!

The shadowy leaders behind healthcare even forced its own workers, all of whom had undeniably dreary jobs, to buy into a company's insurance so that, they, too would be bogged down by healthcare. I am truly glad no one but me can read this; there are a lot of archaic terms and concepts I'm flinging about.

Insurance consists of a promise of monies paid out to a doctor or hospital if a person was hurt or sick. The cost of the treatment was so astronomical that no one could possibly afford it. The best way for a corporation to make money off of a man being sick or hurt was to get a worker to give up his or her pay to buy in to some insurance.

After being treated the patient was probably so loopy from the cockamamie medicine of the day that they were never quite right again. And even if they managed to slip through the cracks they were kept in line. If a man got decent treatment healthcare kept him pinned down for years with bills, follow up visits, referrals, expensive untested and in truth dangerous drugs.

You almost have to sit back and admire such a behemoth, as savage as it is. If a man wanted to make money he had better find a way to destroy his fellow man with healthcare.

Luckily we're more evolved these days.

[Malcolm Adeyemi]

=/\=Personal log=/\=

We have finally returned from the away mission. It seemed like I had been clinging to that mountain-sized floating tablet with the brutal infinity of space trying to rip me off of it for centuries. But I am finally back on the Gettysburg.

How strange that after so short a time this ship is beginning to feel a little more like home. My quarters are a whirling mess, just like back on Earth. There's a few more nods of recognition as I begin to see the same people more and more often. Not that I respond to any, mind you. Riffraff is riffraff is riffraff.

I was in sickbay running a diagnostic on a biobed when I overheard that there was a new Flight Control Officer appointed. Apparently he's experienced and knows the captain. While I usually only mix with my own kind I don't mind the redshirts as much as their lunk cousins, the dreaded gold menace. Flyboys are OK, you just have to know how to handle such hotshots. And command officers are, of course, everything I aspire to be. One day I'll be in command. I feel I deserve it after having to go through what I do on a daily basis...

[Malcolm Adeyemi]

=/\=Personal log=/\=

I was flexing in front of the mirror the other day and noticed a small band of fat sloshing over the brim of my undergarment. Concerned, I moved my body until I found an angle where it didn't show so that's taken care of.

The latest news on from the home front is heartening. As Laura is past the first trimester the morning sickness is fading and her food aversions are not as strong. There was a time with our first child that certain food smells made her nearly vomit.

Gerald also is beginning to realize that there's another baby on the way, though I don't feel he will truly know what it entails until it's here.

Speaking of it, Laura's next check up will be when she is 17 weeks, well within the time a person can find out the sex of the baby. I fully intend to and to be prepared. Research and preparation cost little compared to failure and disaster, my father always said.

[Malcolm Adeyemi]

=/\=Persona log=/\=

I am not sure how or why but my fitness has definitely been lacking lately. I guess in all honesty my heart isn't really in it.

There is a thing called couvade which is a man displaying symptoms similar to his partner who is pregnant. Mood swings, irritability, cravings, tiredness. Check, check, check, and check. So if I get a little more doughy blame it on the awesome all encompassing couvade.

Part of me just resents that I am missing a very special time in our lives. Laura may never be pregnant again. A man simply cannot get any time spent back, my father used to say.

[Malcolm Adeyemi]

=/\=Personal log=/\=

I'm not young and foolish enough to think everyone will get along. I have always had the attitude that work and my personal life are separate. This is all for the better. The less those worlds interact the better off they both are.

But now I am not so sure. I miss my family as if they were a physical need like eating or drinking. My mind is beginning to crawl over every argument and fight, every look and every tone of voice I've ever had with Laura. Compounded with the fact that I am missing out on my son's toddlerhood and my girl's pregnancy...

It's not common for raw recruits and junior officers to have family on board. I have always wanted to advance anyway, but now my goals are affirmed: get ahead and get my family here.

[Malcolm Adeyemi]

=/\=Personal log=/\=

After our first mission I find myself more eager to prove myself than I ever was before. With that in mind I have set my mind to doing some unfinished jobs in sickbay that no one else seems to want.

Starfleet Medical has recently began issuing a newer dermal regenerator that apparently causes even less micro-scarring than the device now in service. This is one of the the many reasons I try to keep on top of the latest news from back home. Even with all the stormclouds and rainbows gathering in my personal life I have been making  a diligent point of it. A man who doesn't take pride in his work doesn't take pride in himself, my father always said.

I've began to update the medical kits without the approval of Ensign Xoran, or Trisha as she prefers to be called. Hopefully a little iniative will go a long way on the G'Burg. Neural Tech Third Protheus is now Ensign Protheus. New officers will often be reassigned. While Protheus is a good man if he is transferred it can only be good for me.

[Malcolm Adeyemi]

=/\=Personal log=/\=

I wish I could say my recent feelings of fondness for my time here were continuing, but that is not the case.

Ever since that ugly episode with those yellow lunks who jumped me I've been meaning to step back into the holodeck and get back to training. But it just hasn't happened quite yet.

Part of me is torn. I think everyone is made up of several different people and these people will war with each other.

The root of everything I do is my family. My spiritual and physical center is them. That part of me does realize that entering into some clandestine secret society revolving around fist-fighting is barbaric, short-sighted, and wrong. This is also echoed by the part of me that is a medic in Starfleet.

There is another portion of me, however. It exists in every man but we like to pretend it doesn't. Especially these days. I suppose I am different in that I come from a much different place than most Starfleet personnel.

My home is in what was once Lycoming County, Pennsylvania. It's a brutal, rugged country, the kind of place where a man is not only expected and raised to fight but it is required. I shall explain more on that later.

I realize I make it sound like a harsh and inhospitable place but it is in fact the opposite. It was first visited by Europeans in the 17th century and was inhabited by indigenous peoples long before that. It fought through the Susquehanna Boom, the Underground Railroad, the Abolition Riots and the American Civil War and by and large it changed little throughout this. Nowadays, four hundred years later, it still proudly clings to its traditions. This is the portion of me that wants to go back and fight.

We shall see which one wins...

[Malcolm Adeyemi]

=/\=Personal log=/\=

I've been monitoring the situation somewhat on the bridge. The G'Burg is approaching a mysterious nebula filled with die-meth something. Whatever it is, it's dangerous. Die is right.

I sincerely doubt any of this is of any import whatsoever to the Federation. But it's there, unexplained, and therefore must be explored. Or so their thinking goes, and by that I mean the officers. Not a care in the world, that crowd.

I just had the computer look up and list off the effects of this stuff on a person, which are myriad and harmful. Besides being highly toxic and flammable the stuff was also a main ingredient in a recreational hallucinogen back in the day on Earth. Thanks to insatiable desire to learn I now have to prep sickbay for burns, gas inhalation, and crazy drug addicts.

Yippee.

[Malcolm Adeyemi]

=/\=Personal log=/\=

Well I am now a Nurse Tech Senior. It's a cool title, I have to admit, and the extra bit on my uniform does look spanking snazzy. Before long it will be Nursing Technician Third Stafford and finally Ensign Stafford. Then maybe I can bring my family aboard.

It began with Rennan but now it seems that officer fever is sweeping the Gettysburg. Somehow Revek got promoted to Petty Officer Third Class and now to ensign. I'm sure he'll be even more insufferable than usual. But isn't that what being an officer is all about, after all?

With so many new pips being handed out lately like handshakes and autographs it may be a long time before this lowly crewman sees one. Until the next recruiting period, at the very least.

Until now and then, who knows if I'll survive the machinations about this vessel. Maybe I should transfer to a nice, quiet science vessel or something...

[Malcolm Adeyemi]

=/\=Personal log=/\=

Well, I did it.

I went to the lunk club.

That's about what happened, too. A bunch of lunks clubbed me.

Last night at around 2330 I wandered into the auxiliary shuttle bay. The place was thick with golden enlisted crewmembers, all of them desperately trying to look busy.

I looked conspicuous but more dapper in my medical blues. I realized if there were any people in there who weren't members I'd look awfully out of place. I quickly whipped out a scanner for a medical tricorder I didn't have and started fake-scanning things.

A few minutes passed by and an operations ensign sauntered out of the bay. A minute or two later the number of lunks in the place promptly doubled. A few more minutes of everyone pretending to work, just in case, and then they began to congregate.

Briefly, as the golden lunks gathered around and I joined them, I was reminded of a time in Earth's past when men were property and if they gathered more than three at a time it meant death all around. Well, it might not be a death penalty but if any officers came by there'd surely be questions. Questions if we were lucky, court-martials if we weren't.

Everyone began to strip off their uniform tunics. It was cold and soon the bay was abound with goose bumped muscles. I felt inadequate amongst all these barrel chests and tree trunk legs. I was in good shape, sure, but these were all men who made a living from their backs and arms, not their minds like myself.

The gargantuan CPO, the old man who had kicked the tar out of me on my first visit to this place, emerged from his fellows. The same ripped out eye, the same mass of scarred bulk.

"No newbies here tonight. Let's get into it," he announced briefly, the voice brittle and strong.

I appreciated how he didn't call me out for it being my second time there.

Two crewmen, after a bit of discussion, started fighting and the savage shouts started up. It was over pretty quickly. One was launching wild haymakers and his opponent just sat and chose his spot. A sharp, precise knife-handed strike was all it took. The crowd cheered.

As the unconscious body was hauled off the voice creeped out, "First of your kind here,"

I turned and saw the CPO there. I looked up, and up, and up until I looked him in the eye. "You mean the first from medical?"

"First blueshirt at all," came the brief reply. "For the longest time it was just four of us. But word spreads."

I extended my hand. "I'm--"

"No names," the CPO held up a gnarled paw in an admonitory gesture. "There's enough of us here onboard where we can lose ourselves amongst the crowd. Don't want to complicate things."

"Understood," I answered, even though I really didn't. "How long has this been going on?"

"Better part of a year."

"And no one has noticed?"

"These men have," the CPO chuckled wryly. It sounded like a tiger trying to clear its throat.

"I meant no one who'd report it."

"I know what you meant. No, not a word in the wrong ear. Yet. I'd like for it to stay that way."

Not much chance of that. I was no mathematician but there were a lot more men here in the auxiliary shuttle bay than there was the last time I was here. I couldn't see how they could keep it a secret for much longer.

As if sensing my thoughts the CPO locked me in his lizard glare. "In fact, that's where you come in. We need you to do something for us..."

"He's up!" A rough voice and then rough hands shoved me into the middle of the circle.

"But I--"

"You barely fought last time, medic. It's your turn."

My opponent would be a lean and wiry maintenance tech I'd seen around the ship. I actually had a size advantage, which is rare for me.

He danced in toward me and bounced a fist off of my shoulder. Either he was just testing me or he couldn't hit much harder than my girlfriend play fighting back home.

I answered with a swift kick to his shin, an unexpected move as I hadn't seen anyone here kick before. Before he could react I landed a hammer blow to the bridge of his nose. The crowd of lunks roared its approval.

Even as I started to fight and win I saw the single blue eye of the CPO taking me in, studying me. What did he have in mind?

More importantly, what had I gotten myself into?

[Malcolm Adeyemi]

=/\=Personal log=/\=

I have almost reached a crossroads here in my career. With my bump to Senior Crewman comes the noncommissioned officer ranks of Petty Officer looming just ahead. And therein lies my conflict.

My father was an enlisted man in Starfleet but not particularly proud of it. He disliked it all and was mustered out despite being a good crewman. He had low opinions of everyone in Starfleet: noncoms and officers alike. With his every breath he warned me to stay away.

I was not particularly rebellious but my heart just leaned toward serving the Federation. On one hand, being a Senior Crewman is in many ways a breeze. You're not highly ranked enough to have responsibility and you're not lowly enough to be contemptible.

Anything higher, though, entails greater power but more worries, as well. It's a matter I shall have to meditate upon before I make any decisions.

[Malcolm Adeyemi]

=/\=Personal log

In a move that makes compete sense we have sent a probe to the nebula. If its a living organism we've just attacked it. If it's dangerous it's now on the ship.

In an equally confounding maneuver Revek is now an ensign. I'm used to Starfleet carelessly endangering its personnel but this kind of magnitude is unprecedented.

Will update further on these disturbing developments.

[Malcolm Adeyemi]

=/\=Personal log=/\=

As I get closer and closer to being a father for the second time I find myself thinking of my own childhood. My father was a good man and a hard worker but that was as far has involvement went into raising my brother and I. I joined Starfleet for many reasons. One was because I wanted to give something back. But primarily it was to show my children than they should follow their dreams. A man shouldn't have to merely work and work and never pursue his interests. All that accomplishes is a lifetime of drudgery and estrangement.

[Malcolm Adeyemi]

=/\=Personal log=/\=

Your orders will come. Obey them as you would any other.

The CPO's haunting words had stayed with me like an infected wound, always twisting and biting whenever I tried to relax or forget them. The punishment for not doing as he said was abundantly clear. Rehabilitation by fisticuffs. It had happened once before to me by his hands, and I once read that the things we fear the most have already happened to us.

The officer's name was Lieutenant Junior Grade Juan Delatorre. He was a visiting science officer from the USS Heimdall, a deep space vessel. A botanist, he was using our science facilities to test a new strain of high yield plant to be used on remote facilities and vessels like his own.

They wanted me to kill him.

"I could take maimed or crippled, if you can manage to make it look accidental," the CPO had commented, as if he was adding something to his dinner order. "As long as he's taken out."

The little words we use. Take him out. A small phrase for a big thing. That death could be so casually commanded and that a man has the power to do so is foundation trembling.

Delatorre had found out about the CPO's nightlife. The idiot blueshirt is a poor sleeper, per his medical records. Lots of requests for sedatives on the Heimdall and it continued here. In fact, the second day Delatorre was onboard he showed up in sickbay and requested something to help him sleep. The doctor's usual prescription of more exercise was brushed away. The only thing that worked was drugs, he told me.

Fine, the doctor had said. It wasn't the first time sound medical advice was dismissed due to a drug working, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. As he was a doctor of botany and a department head on his ship the CMO had lent him a hypospray and the drugs.

Apparently they didn't work or Delatorre didn't take them because Delatorre showed up in the auxiliary shuttle bay to fondle his plant samples in the middle of one of the club's raging night-fights.

The matter presented some difficulty. Delatorre had escaped their pursuit that night, the CPO told me. He wasn't an officer on our vessel and so could not be intimidated or worked over, the CPO lamented.

"You're medical, he's science. You both went to fancy schools. You speak the same language." I was told. If the CPO thought Starfleet's medical basic training was fancy he had another thing coming.

By the way, I know the Chief Petty Officer's name from the crew roster but refuse to use it or even acknowledge it. To do so would give the man a dimension of humanity and civility he did not possess. He is only the CPO to me. He is a vicious brute who beat other men half to death, not a person.

"When you get the order carry it out. I'll be watching," the CPO had finished. Then, almost as an afterthought, he'd turned back to me, his missing eye socket raw and wet. "It's not as if you have a choice. It's him or you."

I am under no such illusion, chief, don't you worry.

[Malcolm Adeyemi]

=/\=Personal log=/\=

My first bridge time on the Gettysburg has certainly been enlightening. For the first time since I arrived onboard I have had a chance to work with my fellow crewmembers. The results have been good. There is a sample of corrosive and flammable diethylamine that we are examining. I was called to the bridge to analyze and interpret the results.

They have been astounding. The command staff was concerned that the nebula itself might be an organism. My research indicates it is the beginning of one, kind of a primordial stew that hasn't started in the slow cooker. One of my fellow blueshirts in science, a Dimitri Brooks, also stated that such a concentration of compounds is not naturally occurring. I was a bit dubious at first but I have to concede, it's exceedingly rare.

I enjoy when work is actually interesting. It helps me forget about how much I miss my family.