AWD #601: Trained instinct
AWD #601: Trained instinct
Summary: Sometimes trained instinct is the same thing as gut feeling; or it's possibly paranoia mingled with second and third guessing. Decide in haste, repent in leisure? Buyer beware?
Date: Sun 12/Feb/2017 (OOC Date)
Related Logs:
Bennett Samtara 
CMO's Office- Deck 3 - Battlestar Orion
Durable gray, industrial weave, carpeting covers the floor from wall to wall in this small, utilitarian and ruthlessly organized office. The left and right walls are covered in white boards with metal filing cabinets stacked side by side beneath each board, the tops of which serve as additional space along with room for a coffee maker and cleaning supplies. A pair of uncomfortable looking chairs take up the floor space to either side of the door and a heavy desk with a worn looking chair made equally of battered looking metal consume the rest of the space not occupied by shelves. Above the desk is a printed poster listing the periodic table of elements alongside a wall mounted lightbox for inspecting x-rays and other images.
Wed 30/Aug/2006

Leaning against the edge of the desk in her office, both hands curled around the mug of coffee that she's holding, Sam is staring at the white board to the left of her desk and the complex flow chart and equations done in precise steps all along the clean surface. The coffee pot holds enough to fill two or three more cups, and the door to her office is open, but the main sickbay is not thronged with wounded or chaos. For the moment.

Like the other volunteers for the Arpayan medical procedures the previous morning, Bennett was discharged about thirty minutes ago and given leave to return to light duty. No flight, of course, which must be a source of irritation - not that her expression gives any indication of such, when she shows up in the doorway of the CMO's office in her fatigues. "Major," she greets politely. "Do you have a minute?"

Shifting her attention away from the white board, the first glance that Sam aims at the Major is still slightly abstract while the doctor pulls her mind away from the equations, and then with a blink she straightens. "Of course, Major," and sets the coffee mug down. "Come on in. Coffee?"

"Did you get my message last night?" the pilot queries. Her eyes, as Samtara would well know already, are a completely unrecognisable shade of pale amber, and lock onto the doctor's with some blinking while they speak; it's like she's gazing at a very bright light. "Ah, no, thank you." To the coffee. "I had some.. concerns regarding Doctor Jimenez."

Angling her head in a single nod of confirmation, Sam holds up one hand, "One moment," and moves through the tiny office to flip on the desk lamp then paces toward the door and flips down the switch to turn off the overhead lamps. "There, that should help with the light tolerance." And back, retrieving her cup of coffee again, "Had or have, Major?" she wonders aloud.

Bennett smiles slightly at the distinction made, and clasps her hands behind her back loosely as she observes Nadir moving about. "Both. Or.. perhaps it is us I am more concerned about, to be precise. I am concerned about what has been done to us, and to what ends it may lead." Vagueness, thy name is Bennett.

"Why did you volunteer, Major?" Sam wonders in return. "Eventually or not, someone else from the air wing might have decided to volunteer. Or. Conversely. Not. The marines that returned from the mission that led to all of this, they were raring to go, whether it was ultimately a good idea or not, they were ready. Everything that medical could do was to try to balance and outline, study and understand the why and the how and the parameters. By the time any of the marines that were on the mission returned and were in Sickbay, they had all already circulated among the crew. Their leaders and envoys had already spoken with command. Language had been shared. If this were a foothold situation, Major, it is the least violent way of having accomplished it than what the Cylons or Skinjobs did, or humanity in general, over the course of human history. If we accept that as a working premise, why did you volunteer? And now that it's done, what do you see or envision as the way forward and ramifications?"

Bennett arches a brow slightly, though inklings of her smile yet remain. "I believe we have already discussed this, Major. I am curious why you are so hung up on my rationale? If this is to be another disagreement over acceptable motives, then I will excuse myself immediately. If, however, you are willing to entertain my concerns for a moment, and ensure that due diligence is performed before you depart Orion in one week.." Her mild tone tips up in a slight question there, expression still ever so polite.

Sam smiles, a faint a smile as it is, it's still a smile. "Then enlighten me, Major. Or, at the very least, outline what you're worried about. I have worries of my own, and I'm curious as to whether or not any of the ones on my list will align with the ones on your list."

"I am afraid I have nothing to enlighten you with, doctor, save for that feeling one gets when someone, in some way - however miniscule - does not appear to be entirely genuine." St. Clair does have the grace to look sincerely sheepish about this. She is a woman, first and foremost, of intuition over cold hard evidence. "It is possible that my concerns are unfounded. But I would request, at the very least, that those of us who underwent the procedures not be returned to active duty, or be permitted weapons until there is reasonable certainty we do not pose some sort of.. risk."

"Trained instinct and gut instincts are sometimes one and the same thing. A 'knowing' or 'feeling' can be as viable a threat vector or any predictive test or warning system in place," Sam muses, taking a calm sip from the cup of coffee she's holding and holding her silence for a moment while studying the major. "Because you feel that Dr. Jimenez is not entirely genuine. By due diligence, do you mean on my part on part of the entire command staff thus far? In some sense, I've spent more time speaking face to face with the Arpay, save for the Marines who met them first, than anyone else."

Bennett's brows knit slightly at the first thing said, then smooth again a moment later. She can smell the coffee from where she's standing, and is distracted for a moment by it, until Samtara speaks again. "I realise this, yes," she agrees on the topic of face time. "It is partly why I am bringing this to you. I do not see a need to cause any panic, and as I have said, I.. may be wrong. In fact, I would go so far as to say that I am probably wrong." She smiles faintly. "And I leave it up to you, Major, to do what you feel is best. I merely felt I should mention my concerns to you, however ill defined." She takes a step back toward the door, though does not quite depart yet.

"Will it help to know that I don't accept any of this, not that which the Arpay have offered let alone anything else about this war entirely, at face value, fait accompli?" Sam wonders in return. "Sometimes I think it's an unhealthy sort of cynicism or skepticism or just a basic inability to believe that anything offered at face value without asking for something of equal value in return, feels like a trap of some sort. Walks like a trap, talks like a trap, is possibly a trap. That said. I think that the Arpay need us, maybe as much as we possibly need them. Or, undeniably, need them. I don't know. One of the reasons I want to do this year of service is to see, actually see first hand, how the populations they are fighting to save actually interact with the Arpay in unsuprvised conditions. Unstaged. I think that they are what they say that they are, and when I come back, I'll be able to prove that."

Bennett considers that for a long moment, and finally gives a slight nod in acquiescence. They, perhaps, have an understanding at last. "I understand, Major. I do implore you to err on the side of caution, still. Though I do not disagree that they are who they say they are; I do not believe there is any grand subterfuge happening here. Merely.." She trails off there, takes a breath. "Anyway, if you will excuse me, I have some things to attend to."

"Merely room for caution and perhaps more due diligence," Sam remarks in turn before she gives a measured nod. "I typically err on the side of caution, or over caution, anyway. This is not the exception, it is the rule." She gives another slight nod, "Of course."

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