Owens hesitated, the question having taken him completely off guard. He shifted on his feet slightly; "Ah, well...I suppose that, ah...I suppose we should inquire with...." He paused, looking at the younger man before him, briefly fighting between his own caution, Ellis' words to him earlier, and the possible consequences of a decision here. From everything he'd heard, the most dangerous threat on this project had come not from their guest, but from one of this vessels' own crewmen, a matter that had been quite sorted.
"I suppose that will be acceptable Lieutenant." Owens said, somewhat uncertainly. He instantly regretted saying the words. Prehaps I should check with Captain Wells He thought. But he'd spoken, and didn't want to appear any more indecisive before the subject.
Angela Wight had observed the exchange quietly, if somewhat uncomfortably. Satisfied with the result, she walked back closer to the entrance hatch, and spoke: "The ships' normal cook is back on Manhattan with the others, and I guess there isn't much I can help with in the medlab, so .. I can prepare some breakfast for you gentlemen if you wish. May I?"
[color=#FFCC00]Pryce.Research.N101
Main Hangar Bay
Doyle nodded at the man, noting his reaction.
"Good," he responded, pulling his hand back up and slipping it into a pocket on his flight suit, "Just wanted to make sure we're on the same page and all."
He looked over at Angela and smiled a little.
"If you want to. Anything beats S Rations."
As if they'd know what he meant by that. It was a guilty pleasure to drop old expressions and the like in front of these people knowing full well they had no idea what they implied. It eased the tension, for him at least, and maybe made him seem more genuine to them. Or crazy. Either way, he really was hungry.
S...rations? Doctor Marcus Owens opened his mouth to add his answer, as Angela exclaimed; "Great! I'll get started!" Something...Old-fashioned. Pancakes maybe? She thought. Beaming, she walked quickly out of the hangar, apparently having forgotten Owens.
Owens stood silently a moment, then muttered under his breath; "Odd girl." He adjusted his labcoat uncomfortably, and turned to Doyle. "Right then. If you would kindly follow me Lieutenant. The tests we are looking to conduct at present, won't take more than a few minutes. The medlab is this way." At that, he began to walk towards the hatch, pausing for Doyle.
The present Sickbay on this Pryce vessel had been added almost as an afterthought. After so many refits in its relatively short history, the space alloted to Medical facilites had gradually gotten smaller and smaller, until Captain Wells had finally pushed for increasing emergency capacity. The result had been the refit of what once been a storage room for mining machinery. Cramped, with three beds, counters along every bulkhead, it contained a fairly correct set of medical equipment, to treat most light ailments and injuries, but as of yet, lacked a dedicated medical Doctor; though there were two crewmen with good emergency training.
Doctor Samantha Ross, technically the scientist in charge of this project, was having a conversation, and trying her best not to lose her calm.
"We just don't know enough yet. We've really only just gotten started with the man himself."
Professor Ulysses Morris spoke as if he was addressing a first year assistant, as he did with most everyone he met, a patronising, indeed sarcastic, tone wrapped in a layer of impatience; "If you force me to take charge of this project Samantha, I'm afraid that it shall leave you with nothing to do, no reason to be with us at all. That would be quite a shame, as I was led to believe you have a reputation for expedient progress. Such a pity that it appears to be unfounded."
Ross fought to keep her voice even. So few had the power to draw her ire as Morris did. Most especially when he was in one of his moods. "Professor, in just a few minutes, we're going to draw a sample of Doyl..."
"I am quite weary of hearing what you *intend* to do Samantha. I want the full results, and I want them soon. The Instiute needs results. We don't have the resources for a ten year study here, and we need something that I can use to.." Morris paused. "Send me everything that you have so far."
Ross hesitated. "Incomplete data can be harmful Professor, I trust you recall Doctor Pryces' last survey in the Kansas system?"
Morris didn't respond for a moment. Then; "I want everything you have transmitted to the N102 by the end of the day, or I will come over there and obtain it myself. "
The communication cut off abruptly, and Ross was alone in the sickbay. She was used to Morris' unpleasant demeanor, and knew her friendship with Doctor Pryce was all that kept him in check. But lately, she'd noticed somewhat unsettling changes in his behavior, his directives. This odd directive to obtain a fairly large amount of unrefined gold ore, for example. The requirement to do so specifically with the use of a third party, also something that had begun to make her worry. She would have to have a talk with Wesley when they got back to the Institute. It was something she didn't want to do. The old man had quite enough to worry about.
She glanced at the door, then at the time. What's keeping them?
Futuristic though it was, the vessel was still, at its heart, a space ship. Relatively cramped corridors and heavy use of artificial lighting was still the norm after a thousand years.
The meager sickbay was a deck above. As per spaceship fare it was more common to use a series of ladders to reach different decks, but the 101 had been outfitted with a modicum of creature comfort; a small lift was available, which Owens was predisposed to avail himself to. Doyle simply shrugged and followed suit; when in Rome, after all.
Owens walked in first, immediately catching the attention of Doctor Ross. He nodded cordially in her direction, then quietly shuffled aside with his eyes averted towards the floor.
Ross was about to open her mouth when Doyle stepped in, ever the image of a disheveled lunatic; were it not for the evidence he'd already presented, he'd have fit in well on the streets of Denver.
Of course, he was also armed.
"Hello again, Doc," Doyle said first, looking around the room.
Looks Spartan, he thought, But at least it looks like a sickbay. No giant probing machines in sight.
"So, what's on the agenda for today?" he asked, his eyes locking onto Ross' own. His hands were in his flight suit pockets, hoping that it would draw her attention away from his gun, or at the very least make a more casual impression.
<span style="font-size:10pt;line-height:100%][color=#FFCC00]Pryce.Research.N101
Sick Bay
Right then. Results.
Samantha Ross rose from the small stool on which she had been sitting, and spoke; "Hello Lieutenant." She began to walk closer to Doyle, holding what she hoped was a reassuring smile. She noticed the man still had that rustic firearm strapped to his side; her pace faltered ever so slightly, and she cast a short glance at Doctor Owens, who was staring intently at a blank part of the deck near his right foot. She made a mental note for later and continued with the business at hand.
"Ah, well , today we are going to.." She paused a moment, reconsidering her words, before continuing; "With your consent, we would like to draw a small number of cellular samples, specifically microscopic samples of dermal and subdermal tissue, a strand of your hair, and a small blood sample."
She rested her hand on a small case setting on the counter against the wall, and added; "We would like to see what, if any , changes are present in your body, as a result of your...experience, and it might also help us to understand what we saw in the hangar when you arrived. I assure you, it will be quite painless."
[color=#FFCC00]The Bridge
"Entering California Sir."
Wells nodded; "Yep. Keep us moving son."
Bartel replied; "Aye sir, entering lane. " He hesitated, then added; "Are we going to stop at Los Angeles Captain?"
Wells answered; "Nah, we need to pick up the on-leave folks first. Take us straight through to New York."
Needles. It was going to be needles. Unless they found a way to teleport blood samples by now.
So long as I don't see anything 'injected' it should be alright...
"I see," Doyle replied, grinding his teeth slightly. It was difficult to tell whether the sudden onset of discomfort was a result of anxiety or the mysterious trend of keeling over whenever he left the safety of his fighter. Either way, he was getting better at dealing with it, not to say that the effects were any less painful.
<span style="font-size:10pt;line-height:100%]Pryce.Research.N101
Sick Bay
"Splendid!" Ross replied. She opened the small case her hand had been resting on, and extracted a small white cube, approximately four centimetres by four centimetres in size, one side having a circular hole to the interior.
Ross held it up to Doyle, and spoke; "This is a microvenipuncture sampling unit. It uses a forty five micrometre needle to extract and store a small blood cell sample, and a cored sample of the tissue in the path of the needle. You will feel a light pinching sensation." She extended her free hand, and added; "May I have your hand Lieutenant?"
[color=#FFCC00]Galley
Angela Wight stood next to the stove, her eyes closed as she felt its warmth on her face, a welcome change from the slight chill of the ship. The smell of pancakes wafted throughout the galley, and into the small mess hall beyond. The smell brought sharp memories of home, where as a young girl she had often wandered into the kitchen, to watch the servants as they prepared the family meals. She had watched carefully and remembered much; when alone she often prepared small meals for herself. The combining of fresh ingredients, the skill of timing, and the reward of a perfect execution brought her a great deal of pleasure. Without ego, she admitted she probably had obtained the skills and knowledge of a professional.
She had truly surprised herself with her offer to cook for the others. For him. She had never remotely considered the idea before, for anyone else. For this was her secret hobby, at least so far as she was concerned. Others on the ship had seen her here before, but none knew how much she enjoyed cooking, save perhaps the ships cook himself. On the Estate, her parents had berated her for taking interest in a servants duties, and even as a young girl, she had begun to hide this interest from others, as she had learned to do with most of her passons.
She opened her eyes and flipped the pancake in a swift motion.
Let's face it, he thought, Even something that small could hold some kind of poison, or anesthetic. You thought about it before you even got here, so take the leap already.
He sighed.
And if all else fails, you'll probably be plucked out of the situation by them.
The thought of him spontaneously disappearing from out of their grasp as a result of alien powers would have been amusing were the reality not so dire.
"Alright, Doc," he finally said, pulling his left flight glove off and extending his hand.