ALT #421: Get Some Sleep
Get Some Sleep
Summary: Song gets a meeting with Thales to discuss a number of pressing issues
Date: Day/Month/Year (OOC Date)
Related Logs: None
Thales Song 
CMO's Office
The CMO's office is not huge, like most offices on the Orion. Nine feet by nine feet, most of the floorspace is taken up by a desk and file cabinets.
AXW #421

Doctor Song had sent the request out earlier in the day. It wasn't listed as an urgent request, but it was a request nonetheless, for Doctor Thales to meet with him at his convenience. Song is in the CMO's office now, standing next to the desk rather than sitting behind it, and is sorting through a sheaf of papers in his hand.

With the wounded people, paperwork and research, it's been a…very full couple of days. Doctor Thales is looking a bit like he got run over. His hair's disheveled, he's got about four days' worth of stubble on his cheeks and dark circles under his eyes. He raps lightly on the doorframe and peeks his head in. "Hullo?"

"Oh," Song says, a little caught off guard. Apparently this paperwork is pretty mind numbing work. "Doctor Thales, come please. Thanks for coming. I think you know some of the departments administrative duties have fallen to me recently, and your note about Leightner came across my desk." Song shuffles some of the papers and comes up with the one he means. "I don't see a problem moving ahead with your recommendation. I spoke with the man the other night and he seems solid to me. I just wondered if you had anything else to add before I run this up the chain?"

"The recommendation came from the marines. I've not seen a lot of his work myself, as I've not been here a particularly long time. But what I have seen supports the recommendation." If there's a chair anywhere near that looks like it might be free for sitting, Thales lowers himself into it.

Song nods at Thales's explanation, and sets the page aside. "That was my impression as well, but I don't see any reason to push back on the promotion. I'll kick it up tomorrow." Song leans back to half-sit against the edge of the desk. "But on your other point, it's nice to actually get a chance to meet you properly. We've both been so busy the whole time." Song shrugs and says in faux-formality, "Hi, my name's Martin. Nice to meet you." He grins and offers to shake the other man's hand.

"Jules," says Thales. He reaches across to shake Song's hand. "It's terrible, it really is. There's a few nusrses that I see every day whose names I can only guess at." He rubs his face and stifles a yawn. His accent is Virgonian, but rough around the edges rather than posh. "How're you finding things so far?"

"I know exactly what you mean," Martin says, smiling. "I've had my head down for so long in surgery, I don't even recognize faces half the time. I thought I'd hate the administrative work, but really… I guess I don't mind that much." Song's accent or more the flat, lack of any identifiable accent. "How about you? What kind of work were you doing before all this?"

"Oh, I was military. But before that, I spent a number of years in research. I'm a virologist. But…" Thales stretches and winces at a dozen little aches. "Pure research started to give me a headache. The pressure, the deadlinese. The panic surrounding grants. It sort of wrecked me, so I decided to go back to doing the kind of medicine where you actually deal with people. I was at a medical conference on Picon when everything went down. I was rescued about three months ago, and then headed out this way. How about you?"

"Well let's see," Song says, leaning back more on the desk, looking up at the ceiling as he counts in his head. "Been about 18 months on the ship, I guess. But I'm career. Started as a medic. Did my residency in Caprica. Then they shipped me out to the Anchorage and I didn't even know why. Turns out they were vetting me for this mission." He shrugs as if there's a lot more he could say about it, but the colonies have all gone to hell, so who can say?

"It almost seems…silly to talk about where we came from, doesn't it? Those places don't exist anymore." Blasted completely to rubble, in the case of Virgon. But Thales tries desperately not to think about it.

Song takes a deep breath and nods thoughtfully for a moment. "I don't know if I'd call it silly. I know what you mean, but for me… I mean those places. In my mind. Sometimes those places are still there. I try to let myself enjoy the memory for a little while."

"It is so hard to avoid depressing conversations these days," says Thales, though it's followed by a smile that fights to be genuine. "By the way. I've been working on some promising research with Doctor Augustus Mulciber of CIDSR. If you do become the new boss, I'd appreciate if my schedule would continue to allow for that. He's an expert in biomechanics. Between the two of us, we're making some headway in figuring out just what these humanoid Cylons are."

Song nods at Thales's assessment of common conversations, but let's it drop when the man wants to change the topic. As he listens though, his eyebrows climb up. "Is that right? What a stroke of luck. And yeah, of course, your schedule. That research is paramount. I'm also curious whether we'll be able to put that kind of research to use here in sickbay." Martin scoots back so he's sitting all the way on the desk down. "When I was in the ER full time, way back when, I started doing in-depth studies with prosthetic limbs. I'd like to make sure our soldiers have the best care they can get if anything like that becomes necessary, you know?"

"Doctor Mulciber might be useful in that area, too. He's pretty brilliant when it comes to things like that, and also…well, Cylons, to be frank. He just…well, he talks a lot. Fair warning." Thales chuckles a little. "We were actually in the same refugee camp on Picon." He leans back in his chair. It groans in protest. "I have a theory that we're investigating. But not enough to file a report yet. Ah, though…do you know if there is a disabled Centurion anywhere that would be available for us to study?"

Song soaks up Thales's information about Mulciber and everything else, dismissing Mulciber's downside with a grin and a flick of his hand. Apparently 'talkative' doesn't rate too poorly in his book. The request for centurion parts gets an eyebrow raise though. "Um, well, I'm sure I /could/ get some centurion parts. I know there are some bits laying around. But I'd need to see the write up on your theory before I put in that kind of request. They're gonna wanna know why we're asking for something like that."

Thales lifts a shoulder. "Fair, I suppose. I don't want to go too far into my theory, in part, because it's still gestating. But…" He leans ofrward and rests elbows on his knees. "The short of it is, I want to see if I can find any similarity between the skinjobs and the Centurions. Anything that would suggest they have the same maker."

"Nice," Song says, nodding as Thales explains. "I like that line of thinking. I can't make any promises because I'm not that high up the food chain here, but I can ask at least. Should have some kind of answer in a couple days at least." Song sits a studies the other man's face for a moment and finally adds, "Jules can you do me a favor though? Can you turn in early and try for some real rack time tonight? No offense, but you look like hell, man. I need you fit for duty, ok?" Song gives a gentle smile, but his 'request' is only gentle in tone. His look says he's prepared to make it an order if he has to.

"I appreciate that. Gus will, too. I do think we're on to something, but there's still a lot to be done." At the comment about his appearance, Thales shakes his head and smiles a tired smile. "You can order me to bed, but you can't order me to sleep. If you could, I'd beg you for the order every night around ten. As it is, well. I can't be the only one who doesn't rest easy."

Song shakes his head. "No, I'm sure you're right. We all have our demons to fight." He stands up, walks back to the side of the desk, and picks up the stack of papers he had before. "These are mine, I guess." He offers a wry smile and a shrug. "You should escape before I put you to work filling out forms - hey, maybe they'd help you sleep!" He chuckles, dark humor seems to be his specialty.

"Oh, no thank you. If I find I need to push papers to catch the nods, I've got plenty of my own that I can plough through." Thales heaves his slight frame up and gets to his feet. There's a slight waver, but he finds his footing. For all the medical notes on his file, there are very few instances of him making any serious mistakes or overdoing it. He knows his limits, it seems. He wouldn't still be in active service if that wasn't the case.

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