AWD #484: Responsibility and Rank
AWD #484: Responsibility and Rank
Summary: Dr. Nadir & Specialist Zahav have a brief conversation at Charlies. The specialists idea of being trained toward medical residency and, ultimately, full rank as a medical doctor is declined.
Date: Tues 18/Oct/2016 (OOC Date)
Related Logs: http://battlestarorion.wikidot.com/good-ideas
Miri Ariadne Samtara 
Checkpoint Charlie's - Piraeus
The first structure completed on Piraeus was a 'recreation center' that was thinly veiled as such. Checkpoint Charlie's is in every other way a blue collar bar with an unsurprising bent towards the military establishment. Camouflage netting hangs from the ceiling with some kind of dried vine tangled throughout. On the walls are pictures and mementos of times past on the planet they currently reside on. There are a few billiards tables smuggled out to Piraeus specifically for this location, along with card tables and an fully functional line of taps and kegs mounted to, perhaps unsurprisingly, a beat-up but taken-care-of oak bar. The matching stools and wood tables seem to indicate that the construction workers may have disassembled someone else's bar back on the Colonies. The story even goes that the name is taken from a former bar on Aerilon that happened to resemble, very closely, this particular establishment.
Fri 05/May/2006

The cold crisp evening air that drifts around the colony settlement on Piraeus carries with it the sounds of the colonists settling in for the night. Families and family units sharing their evening meal, the mess hall in the marine compound still serving what ever the special of the day happens to be masquerading as. Bundled up with a cap snugged down over her ears, a scarf tossed around her throat and a warm fleece lined jacket with gloves worn as well, Sam hurries through the crisp air into the almost shocking warmth of Charlies. It's not just the wave of light or sound that stuns her momentarily immobile but the sheer wall of heat that makes her sigh and being unpeeling all of the layers she'd worn just to get this far.

Ariadne is already there, her wool jacket underneath her on the bar stool she's taken up residence at. She picked one near the end which allows her to observe more of the room. A pair of turquoise mittens are on the bar top, neatly laid on top of each other. She's wearing a color block sweater that looks like she stole it off of somebody's grandfather…well, the cut at least. It has those lovely deep pockets and is worn over a cobalt blue turtleneck. Atop her nose is perched a pair of clear plastic rimmed glasses in a classic simple style. "I'll have whatever is most popular," she says to the bartender when he approaches. "Are you sure?" he asks, to which she gives a curt but friendly nod.

Dressed in warm, colorful leggings and an oversized yellow sweater, Miri sits at a table with a pitcher of cheap beer and what appears to be an anatomy text. Her thick curls are bound into a pair of braided pigtails.

"Flip sides of the equation," Sam announces as she reaches the table where Miri is seated. "The crisp cold and the to warm humid, the empty expanse and clear sky versus the crowded room." She gestures to the empty chair at the table, frowns at the pitcher of cheap beer, "Is it supposed to look and smell like that? The beer, I mean. I've often wondered at the logic of drinking something that smells that bad."

"Can't afford better in the quantities I need, sir," Miri explains to the doctor, at least half kidding. She marks her place in the book and closes it. "Can I help you?"

"Hmm. Better alcohol has a higher alcohol content which is more bang for your buck, so to speak, but beer is cheaper and there's the offset of drinking and drinking and drinking, the higher consumption value, to go with the experience," Sam muses this before she nods. "Yes, though in general that's typically going to be a yes. May I join you?"

"Don't think too hard about the beer here, doc. Take it from me," Miri says, kicking a chair out for Sam. "By all means."

"Ahh. Good advice, I'm sure. I've never really had a taste for it. I can't get past the smell, to be honest." Sam extracts a package of cleaning wipes from one of her pockets and takes the time to clean her side of the table, along with the edge, then the chair itself, before tucking it into the bag she carries for this exact reason and seats herself at last. "I had a chance to field the question that you asked when we spoke last. We have several physicians within the fleet, several on planet itself among the civilian population, but nothing that actually resembles a training program or a pipeline for advancement in medical sciences. We have training in place to to augment and increase skills in our allocated areas. But right now we don't have a functional program to that would make for the transition that you're looking for. I wanted to bring you the answer myself, not just leave the question out there."

With the back of one arm, Miri pushes her book off of the table. It falls into her open backpack. "Right," she says, keeping her expression schooled and her tone level. "Of course, sir. Thank you."

"That said, augmenting your skill set is going to be essential, not just in general, but word is that we have a major offensive coming so you're going to see more action in the field. Augmenting your skill set is going to save lives. It's not the answer you wanted, I know. And for that I am sorry," Sam adds, "so studying is going to remain to be important. Knowledge is useful, and every bit that we can employ to save any of the marines, navy or air wing in our care is another victory."

"Right. Of course." Miri isn't quite making eye contact, eyes fixed on a spot about a centimetre to the left of Nadir's temple. She refills her cup and takes a long drink, doing her best at biting her tongue, and it shows.

"I'll see about scheduling training sessions with yourself and specialist Mercier," Sam says as she rises again, once more gathering up her coat and scarf. She eyes the pitcher of beer then makes a small shake of her head, "A colleague once defined the difference between A beer and Ah beer as a bottle versus ah pitcher of beer. Enjoy the rest of your evening, Specialist."

"…sir?" Miri says, finally, looking up. "Just so I understand correctly. The corpsmen are expected to study until we might as well be doctors, but because doctors are possessive of their titles, we'll be an underclass of nearly-equally-skilled medical staff with all of the responsibility, but none of the rank?"

"No, specialist, your job is to save lives. Just like mine is to try to save lives. We're mechanics, of the human body instead of machines, but we're mechanics. We are here to try to save lives so that the soldiers that we're serving alongside may continue this fight so that we have a chance, even a fine glimmer of a chance, to win this war instead of being bred into obsolescence by those brain washed civilians, survivors and service men and women who have been abducted and forced into service. Your job is to help our marines, when they're in the field, stay alive so that they can continue fighting, Your job is to mitigate the damage that they take, in combat, and get them back to the ship or the rally point or the field hospital, so that another medical professional can take it from there. It's not about titles, or rank, or about responsibility. It's about saving lives. And the fact that there isn't a single medical school left standing that we have access too, and no training program in place, right now, to change that," Sam slides back into her coat and tucks her scarf into one pocket, "You don't have to like the answer, specialist, but it's the answer all the same."

Miri doesn't have a lot of fight in her today. She just nods and fills up her glass again. "As you say, sir," she replies flatly, drinking. The slight flush from the alcohol muddles with the freckles smattered on the corpsman's face.

Angling a solemn look at Miri, Sam fits the cap back in place as well before tugging it down to cover the tips of her ears. "Enjoy your beer," she says in parting before heading back for the door, easing her way through the various tables and chairs.

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