AWD #596: Frankly Sir
AWD #596: Frankly Sir
Summary: Dr. Nadir and Lt. Col. Io discuss one of her pilots, piloting in general; a frank conversation is had. Also, never give a marine enough time to get creative. Just as a cautionary warning.
Date: Tue 7/Feb/2017 (OOC Date)
Related Logs:
Robin Samtara 
CAG's Office - Deck 2 - Battlestar Orion 
This nine by nine space is largely dominated by filing cabinets and a desk. A coffee maker is perched atop one cabinet, but the others are rather barren of decor or personal items. There are a pair of uncomfortable, molded plastic chairs facing the desk. The last vestige of open space is occupied by a lounge chair. It's one of those old, well-loved beasts that was likely pulled off of somewhere on Piraeus.
Fri 25/Aug/2006

It's that time of the day when most are getting off duty, but for those in strained leadership positions, or leadership positions at all…the day sometimes doesn't end. Even after a few months and going through massive losses in the Blue Axe campaign, Robin's office is still devoid of any personal belongings. She's standing up by the cabinet her coffeemaker is perched on, reloading it for another round and looking in the closest mug to see if it is clean.

With the first half of the day being exclusively to her medical duties, save for when there's incoming wounded, Sam hurrying through the ship between her scheduled times to be at either A or B and navigates her way through the air wing corridor to find the CAG's office. She raps her knuckles smartly on the frame of the hatch before going further.

"Come in," Robin calls over her shoulder. The hatch door is kept closed, perhaps because of regulations. Perhaps because Robin likes it that way. After double-checking to make sure the coffeemaker is on its way to making her some piping hot beverage, she moves to sit down in her chair.

Dressed already in off duty sweats, which - knowing Sam - is probably just a time saving step not an actual indicator that she's off duty, Sam steps through the hatch once the door is swung on it's pins enough to allow this, "Sir, may I have a moment of your time?"

"Yes, of course Major. Please. Come in. Sit or stand, whichever seems more comfortable." It might be a subtle joke as Robin gestures to the uncomfortable excuses for chairs she has in front of her desk. There's a glance at Sam's attire, but the Colonel says nothing. "I find they keep people brief, but to be honest, the furniture came with the job."

"I believe I have these exact chairs in my office, Sir, and for that same reason. Though the padding on the ones in my office are a rather alarming shade of burnt orange. Only the requisitions office can explain why anything, anywhere, is that color, and in bulk, I'm sure," Sam replies as she takes one of the offered seats. "Forgive the attire, Sir, I'm in transit between my morning duties and my afternoon of getting my ass handed to me in hand to hand training. I needed to speak with you about one of your pilots, Ensign Heron."

Robin smiles at Sam's comments about the color of her chairs. "Ah yes. Of course. That does make your attire make more sense." She leans back and glances at her coffeemaker as it starts to make little puttering noises. "Please, go on." She folds her hands over her lap, elbows still propped up on the arms of her chair.

"Appropriate attire, and all that, yes," Sam agrees then draws a quiet breath, exhales equally quietly before venturing, "if I may, sir, may I ask how acquainted you are with the ensign's time as a POW and her condition upon return?"

"I debriefed her." Robin's smile fades. "Is there something wrong with her? Something that was overlooked that cropped up with her most recent injury?"

"Frankly, sir, I'm honestly not sure," Sam admits, briefly rubbing her hands together to thaw out her fingertips before she tucks her hands into her pockets. "When we returned from her experience, there were portions of her memory that she was not able to access. I gather that some of her time is clouded by the use of some sort of drug cocktail. I don't honestly know, and I can't medically speculate. I can tell you that, in tandem with her appearance being younger in physical age, I'm beginning to wonder if her maturity hasn't taken the same step back. While treating her after the last mission the air wing was on, she indicated that she has full access to her memories now but would only be willing to speak of them with Captain Salazar if appropriate alcohol or other compounds were part of the conversation. I'm not entirely certain she intended that remark to be picked up on. When pressed as to why she had not voluntarily divulged any new information, her response edged the line between defensive and juvenile."

Robin drums her fingers on her lap. "Well you're the medical doctor Doctor. I'm not sure if I'm even qualified to make any comment as to whether she is or not. Have you tried taking brain scans and comparing them to prior ones? Or to other teenagers? It would seem there are some sort of indicators for common brain development at different ages that would allow you to get more certain or maybe the Arpay have some kind of technology to determine it? But I have to ask, if it did, what more can be done? Although I do appreciate the heads up, what more /should/ be done? She already /is/ a Colonial officer in the Fleet. We also need her expertise."

"Running more tests isn't just a matter of ordering the Ensign to report to sickbay, though at this point I think I could get permission if I run it past someone in psych. The sticking point, setting that aside, is the data being withheld in the first place. Any intel the Ensign can provide, be it to medical or intel or anyone else who needs to be made privy to anything she can share? And withholding it for any reason? I find that worrisome, Sir," Sam emphasizes this with a slow shake of her head, "very. And while I am quite aware of how much her expertise is needed on the flight line, it speaks to her decision making abilities."

"Ensign Heron has been directed to report anything further if she remembers already. Now that I know she has information to divulge, I will give her a certain amount of time to divulge it of her own free will. If she does not, I will call her in to talk to her about it and see if the new information called for further debriefing or not." Robin chuckles at Sam's choice of words about Ellie's judgement. "The girl became a POW because she essentially tried to take a SAM out while retreating when the order was to fall back immediately. She already had questionable judgement. It's all over her record. We will evaluate her like any other Ensign as per protocol. If there are any other incidents, I would like to stay apprised. I'll make sure her Squad Lead is aware to float such things up to me. I hardly think someone who has gone through psychologically traumatic experiences taking their time sharing them with their boss or even avoiding it is a huge cause for concern in the big picture. It's an emotional response to something that surpasses most people's sense of duty…but, it could be, a concern that is, so I will keep this in mind and make sure this doesn't become a pattern."

Sam makes a small sound that is part assent part contemplative even as she nods along. "Fair enough, sir," said before she exhales a breath. "Alright then. But, Sir, there's also a fine line between post combat adrenaline and blowing off steam and insubordination. I'm also not particularly thrilled with the manner in which the ensign addressed me. Let me be clear, for the sake of brevity, that I've been slugged, sworn at, cussed upside and down again, puked on, bled on, and everything else on by patients in varying stages of post or mid combat treatment. There's a difference between that and the attitude the ensign aimed at me. I'd appreciate if you'd include that in your big picture. No, I'm not writing her up. It'd only draw attention to the Ensign which is what I am theorizing that the Ensign is seeking. Drawing attention would thus be rewarding bad behavior and reinforcing said behavior. If it continues, however, that is the next step. I'm no pilot, sir, that doesn't mean I'm not serving in the same war with everyone else."

"I'm not discounting that. I plan to speak to Captain Salazar about this and ensure that proper responses are made and fielded through Major St. Clair if necessary and Heron's acting Squad Lead. As I said, she will be dealt with like any other Ensign. I do not wish to hamstring my squad leads of an opportunity to step through a personnel matter. It would rob them of a moment to learn or me to learn more about them, regardless if they need to learn or not. And I need to constantly be grooming my existing leaders as well as identifying new ones." Robin sits up a little more in her chair and grins slightly. "Major if this continues I hope that you will continue to respect my department and allow my people to take care of it, barring something that may need to be escalated to MPs."

"Sir," Sam begins, "usually it's not an issue. I'm accustomed, as I said, to a great deal of venting and aiming at the nearest soft target. It's just part of what we do, and we get it. We understand it. We don't really know each other, sir, so ask anyone, my beside manner isn't the best. I'm very good at what I do, and I'm one of the best surgeons in the fleet. I am, equally, very NOT good at interpersonal relations and I greatly miss the days when all of my patients were properly prepped and sedated before being worked on. That doesn't mean that I don't grasp the complexities of the various traumatic injuries and emotional responses that surround, support and cloud the reactions times of sames. In long hand, I'm saying I get it. If she'd yelled and been snarky, to use a phrase, that's one thing. This wasn't an example of that. Which is why I brought it to you instead of making it a formal thing, written up, part of her record. Sometimes teenagers are teenagers, sometimes they're not. I've never had one, personally, and I loathed being one, when I was one. I trust you and your department to do what needs doing and sort out what needs sorting. And if I or medical can lend a hand in any way, just say the word."

"Doctor, you should know that I do not doubt your abilities at all to be able to detect when behavior is outside the norm in your own department. You're a scientist." Robin stands and begins to pour herself a mug of coffee. "I appreciate your discretion, especially in this particular case. There is only so much that can be done legally, by both of us, so unfortunately most of our actions must be reactive instead of proactive. But thank you for taking the time. I know if it were not something substantial, you wouldn't have found time in your schedule," Robin commiserates. "Was there anything else you needed to discuss? Did Major St. Clair get in contact with you and have we been able to confirm her candidacy for the procedures?" Aka, have you given her all the fine print and has she signed on the dotted line?

Of all things, a hesitant almost smile forms on Sam's face and the sound she makes it almost but not quite a laugh. "My next step is going to have me wishing I could puke, sir, which is apparently the goal that one of the marines helping me has actually set. Fitting this in between my time in sickbay and the training room or the firing range is actually the last thing that I'm going to be doing, medically speaking, for the rest of the day. That said, yes," she confirms with a nod, "Major St. Clair did speak with me, she also spoke with Dr. Jimenez as well. Barring any objections, she's officially our first approved volunteer."

"Well, a little puking is a sign of any good training program," Robin says with an open smile. "We will only be committing one volunteer in the initial round of surgeries as requested. I'm sure it's obvious we didn't have any beyond her, at this point, given I would have preferred to not have her squad rotating in and out of Squad Leads like it has. But that's good news. I can check it off my list. If this surgery takes out one of my Leads I'll be expecting you to replace her," Robin teases as if Sam could just cook up a new Squadron Commander in the lab.

"Well, Sir, I get a bit motion sick and I can't promise not to puke on anyone," Sam replies, frowning, "and the logistics would be a bit of a challenge. But since Dr. Jimenez is replacing me, should anything go wrong, it's only fair that I would replace Major St. Clair if something goes wrong. Eventually you stop puking in your helmet, right?"

"Really you'd join us? I just as soon imagine you would science the shite out of it," Robin says, yes…she never cusses…ever, unless someone has listened to the black box recordings on her bird. She's still smiling though. "Our newest ECO, transfer from CIC. She also has issues with puking. Which, I should probably see if she's gotten better or if you and I need to explore other options….and to answer your question. Yes, you stop puking in your helmet when you run out of things to puke."

"Sir, I'd honestly rather go into any combat scenario on foot over going in as a passenger or a pilot. Vastly prefer, in fact. Overwhelmingly prefer, given a rating scale to work with. Don't get my wrong," Sam adds, somewhat hastily, "I respect what you and all the other pilots do, I just don't particularly enjoy being in transit between point A and point B. Part of my brain just doesn't entirely accept the science behind what makes it all work, and no matter how many times I read through the actual break down of the science and mechanics behind it, some of my brain insists that it just doesn't logically work. And it's only the power of some manner of arcane belief that anything ever gets up off the ground. Let alone out into space. Rather ridiculous, I know. Truth, all the same." She rises to her feet as she admits this and eyes the clock, somewhat apprehensively. "And I'm going to be late if I don't head out now, I'm sorry. I have a bad feeling that being late might include running laps through the ship wearing a backpack full of weights or. . something.. equally creative. Thank you for your time, sir."

"As a pilot who studied astrophysics once upon a time, I completely understand." Robin nods to the departing Doctor. "Probably. Though they are jarheads. How creative can it get?" She winks as if…well did she really mean it? Pilots. Ugh.

"Ours is not to question why, Sir, ours is also NOT to give any marine time to come up with any creative PT ideas, either," Sam explains. She pauses, "Ever," and with another glance at the time hastily books it through the ship.

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