Dr. Chakwas sat hunched on the edge of one of the medbay cots and rubbed the back of her neck. From cabinets to cots, from floor to ceiling, and hither, thither, and yon, her sick bay was entirely battle ready.
A glance at the time display informed her that it was very late, but there would be no sleep that night. She never slept on the eve of battle, not that she would want to if she could. At her age, staying up so late was getting harder and harder to do, but the weariness about her eyes and the creak in her spine were not going to keep her from her duty.
Remembering her accustomed decorum, Chakwas slid off the bed and walked over to her console. She typed out a message to Jacob, then, thinking better of it, deleted it. He would have more important things on his mind. She’d had to conduct far too many postmortem reports on soldiers whose last message had been a long declaration from a spouse or lover. There had never been a correlation drawn, but Chakwas had always wondered. Or maybe she was just a jaundiced old woman.
Chakwas smiled and shook the thought from her mind.
Report to medical bay immediately for examination when your time’s your own.
She looked in amusement at her faux-serious missive. She thought he’d like that.
She did need to take a look at his sprained leg, but the idea that she would already be thinking ahead of the mysterious potential conflict that could kill them all, he’d enjoy.
She only wished she really were.