AWD #539: Group Hang
Group Hang
Summary: Marines talk with Major Ommanney about a few things post-Leonis invasion.
Date: 12/12/2016
Related Logs: None
Amos Mallas Miri Randy 
Recovery Ward
About half the size of the Medical Center, the Recovery Ward has fewer beds to allow space for those who are going through recovery. Rather than the drab gray of most of the center, the walls in here have been done in a neutral creme color. The beds are a little thicker and the blankets are actually present. There are a few clocks and the only other decoration are a couple of flatscreens that show muted movies from the ship's library. A couple stacks of old magazines are available near the door for nurses to pass around, too.
29/06/2006

The recovery ward is jammed with wounded from Leonis — Marines, civilian fighters, and at least one Six. Beds are at a premium, and it seems Private Mallas has come up short. He was hit several times when they stormed the government seat on Leonis, but not as bad as some. So he's lying on one of the many stretchers on the floor, with an IV stand is near his head, bandages on his neck, right forearm, and around his torso, and a disgruntled look on his face. He's trying to sleep, but there's so much activity in the ward that it's all but impossible, and he's clearly not getting enough pain killer to knock him out. Likely that is at a premium too.

Specialist Zahav is resplendent in a neck brace and hospital gown, which hides the bandages on her abdomen. Her left hand is in a cast. She might be sedated or she might be shell-shocked: either way, her glassy eyes stare at the ceiling.

Randy's body has made a fair amount of progress since she was admitted to the recovery ward, but she's still being watched carefully by a nurse as she goes about her duties in the ward, and for some reason they haven't yet kicked her out of her bed, though the nurse talks about it as she tucks the Marine's thermal blanket around her after checking the woman's dressings. She looks out of it, staring at the ceiling, face drawn. The nurse pulls the food tray stand thingy closer so Randy can pick off it if she wants to. Near to Randy's semblance of a meal is some other patient's, picked clean ages ago. The nurse takes those with her. None of her bandages are really visible, but her leg looks like it must have some sort of splint or cast to it since it stands up under the covers.

Rank has it's priviledges they say, or possibly it's because Amos was unconcious when he was brought it, either way, he apparently merits a bed. Years in the marines mean he can sleep just about anywhere, and he has been, on and off, for most of the day. Right now though he's awake, with a large surgical plaster over a chunk of one cheek, his right arm in a sling, and his left bandaged. All in all, could have been much worse, but that doesn't mean he's free to escape yet. He can sit up though, and he's doing that now while trying to summon up enough concentration to read reports of the other happenings down on-planet. Noting movement down by the side of his bed he glances across and spots Mallas, offering in a deadpan tone, "if you're struggling to sleep Private, I've some reports you can read through. Works a fraking treat."

Without opening his eyes, the Private responds. "That's real kind of you, sir." He doesn't spare the sarcasm, and his face twists into a grimace of distaste. "I'd rather get the frak out of sick bay, Captain. Can you just … clear me for duty, sir?" Maybe Mallas took a hit to the head? He's not usually asking to go back to work. He cracks a hopeful eye, looking towards Amos and the bed-ridden members of their team, Miri and Randy. "I'm not in a bad way, considering."

"I can't imagine any reports we have coming out of Leonis will be anything other than horror stories," comes the dry, hoarse voice of the freckled medic. She doesn't bother to look over.

Randy doesn't chime in. Just silence and staring. She already had a battle with the nurse in the morning over morpha and lost. Randy wanting more, the docs wanting to wean her off of it. It got…heated, so now she's on a sedative instead of the heavy duty drug.

"I think most of would Private," Amos replies, setting the reports down on his lap since he's apparently found conversation. He doesn't correct the other man on the apparent demotion mind, just lets it go for now, answering instead, "sorry though, I doubt I could swing that even if I were out myself. If you can get hold of a spade though we could try and dig our way out?" He hasn't noticed that Randy is awake but Miri's comment gets his attention and he mulls over an answer for a moment before offering a half shrug, "yes and no, some are hard to read, others?" He picks on up from the pile, "this one is good though. We just added three basestars to the fleet, that's going to help a whole lot."

"Not me," Mallas doesn't have his entrenching tools handy, sadly. "Maybe, I could get brigged for striking an officer, sir?" If that didn't require him to get up off the floor, maybe. He shakes his head a little at Miri's comment, sounding more subdued. "Yeah. I thought Picon was frakked up, with all those kids fighting and shit? But for all they went through … almost seems like they got off easier." And after Amos has delivered his news, Mallas is grouchily incredulous. "You frakking kidding me? We can still shoot the Centurions, right? Or are they switching sides too?"

"As a corpsman, I'm going to have to ask you not to dig holes in sickbay, sir." Miri's eyes drift toward the men, though her head stays still — neck brace, after all. "Who exactly do we have to crew these basestars?" She's making conversion, but she doesn't seem entirely invested.

"As far as I am concerned Private," Amos replies, "you can shoot as many centurions as you want. I am certainly not planning on telling you to stop any time soon." As for the brig plan, he frowns faintly then gives his judgement, "only if you can find another officer to agree to it, I think I have been battered around enough for now I am afraid." Setting the report back down he turns to Miri and nods once, "noted Specalist, I will try and keep that in mind if anyone does actually bring me a spade." As for her query about the basestars he flicks throughthe report and replies, "looks like a Twelve. Well, probably lots of them, but it was a Twelve that made contact when they jumped in."

"Aye aye, sir," Mallas responds to Amos. "Keep shooting Centurions." There's a snort when Amos declines the Private's escape plan, but no further comment. Then he looks over toward Miri when the Corpsman asks about the Basestar crews, then to the Major for the answer. "Those skinnies better be worth it…" he mutters, loudly enough to be overheard.

"Why are there twelve, anyway?" Miri asks, almost entirely rhetorically. "Why not eight or seventeen? Why does it even frakking matter to them?" Her hoarse voice raises in pitch, taking on a manic edge.

"They each represent a concept core to their design. Maybe someone thought they only needed so many concepts to make it work." Randy says without stopping her dead stare at the ceiling listlessly. She sounds like…well her mouth is just moving and sound is coming out. No more effort beyond that. Nothing there for intonation.

"They're worth it," Amos replies flatly, his tone suggesting that he's got an entire lecture lined up for anyone who might wish to question that statement. "I honestly have no idea Specalist, why are there twelve colonies? Twelve months? Have you asked our Piraean colleagues? They might have an idea as to the origins of it."

"Twelve's a sacred number," is Mallas' contribution. He offers no further explanation on that opinion, however. There's a grunt for Amos' assurance about the skinjobs, but he sounds less than convinced. "Good. Then let them do the fighting from now on. It's not like those fraks can die."

"Do they think real people have core concepts, too? What's even the point? Why even have humans when they can do our jobs and just reboot when they die?" Miri's breath catches and she starts gasping for air. One of her fellow corpsmen comes over and helps her get her oxygen mask on. Some sedative is injected into her IV. She starts to protest, but decides against it.

"Because they were created by humans to protect humanity. If they were designed by someone different, then maybe." The mental exercise seems to do Randy some good. At least she's speaking. She hasn't spoken since she screamed at Grey to shut up. But as Miri starts having physical troubles, it's like Randy doesn't even react. She goes back to her dormant state.

"Corpsman," Amos replies levelly, in a tone that suggeests he might not be entirely happy with what she just said, "are you trying to imply that Sergeant Knox is not a real person?" He lets that statement settle for a few moments, then glances down to Mallas, "They are fighting Private, I could show you some of the reports, but you already turned them down. Just because it isn't happening infront of your eyes, doesn't mean it isn't happening. They're mobalising all over the colonies, our relief yesterday was a battalion of Nines for example." He's starting to get an edge of grump to his tone but he's keeping it largely in check for now.

The gasping from Miri draws Mallas' gaze. And once the other Corpsman tends to her oxygen and the woman is breathing again, he pipes up, "Godsdamn. And I said you looked like shit yesterday…" Not that he can see the Specialist from where he is on the floor. After Sergeant Flynn and the Major have had their say, the Private heaves off a weary sigh. "Don't care much where they came from. But if they're keeping the people we've got left alive? I guess that's … something."

"Those frakking fives," Miri coughs. "They fired on a man with empty hands and a medic. Frak that garbage. Why did we kill them? It's not like it matters to them anyway." She presses her dry, lacerated lips together. "Knox is different. He understands that we only die once and gives a shit about preventing it."

Randy starts to turn over onto her side so she can put her back to the conversation, but then she's reminded by why she was staring at the ceiling. She didn't want to watch more people die. Too tired though, she sort of lays in limbo between the two positions, allowing the splay of limbs to balance her out from committing to one or the other. She grunts slightly and pulls back onto her back, her hand going down to her side.

"Something indeed Private," Amos replies, slightly more gently, but he still has a bit of a grump it would seem. Shifting the reports he eyes Miri and replies carefully, "I'm not fully aware of the circumstances yet, so I can't say for certain, but trust me Specalist, it is a matter I will be looking into. Death might be part of our business, but that doesn't mean I'm not going to find out what happened to one of my own."

"Told you it's why you're single, Mallas," Zahav replies belatedly, almost perfunctorily. They're packed in like sardines, and Miri reaches out for Randy's hand. "You make them pay, sir."

Randy doesn't take Zahav's hand back, but there isn't any resistance to it being taken. She's merely limp. No response.

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