Communiqué [Cole's Epilogue]
Posted: Fri Jul 14, 2017 10:52 pm== Part I ==
8 months following Nar Shaddaa
The quarters were cramped, and the lanky doctor was having difficulty getting accustomed to them. There was a narrow bed in one corner, a narrow desk in the other, and a narrow space between them; it seemed hardly fitting for the CMO, but at least he had his own private refresher.
A display panel was set into the wall above the desk that doubled as the coms. Cole kicked the chair off to one side and sat on the bed, he always felt like he was talking straight into the other person's nose if he sat at the desk. He still wore the familiar field uniform he'd preferred on Nar Shaddaa, but now there were insignia on the chest: one for the Medical Corps, showing the rank of lieutenant, and another for the Galactic Naval Peacekeeping Division.
Reaching forward, Cole turned on the recorder, adjusting his pants as he settled back. He ran a hand through his hair, and used one long finger to push his spectacles up the bridge of his nose, thought better of it, and removed the glasses, folding the arms and leaning forward again to put them on the desk. He settled once more, cleared his throat, paused as he had second thoughts.
With a deep breath, "hey, Shaisha. Uh, I was meaning to do this before now, but you know how it is. So, I hope that you're doing okay and all. And that if you've been getting in trouble, that you've got a medic with you that's at least half-competent. I know you won't have found anyone with quite my skill level," he smiled lopsidedly and ran his hand through his hair again.
"As you can see," he indicated to his uniform, "I'm still with the military. I know, not very creative of me. I've been promoted, though. It seems that I was able to turn my trip to Nar Shaddaa to my benefit, at least. I mean," Cole gave a half shrug, "I wouldn't have called the trip a complete waste, even if I hadn't, but still." Absently, Cole touched his jaw; on the right side below the corner of his mouth, a scar was healing over the angle of bone, a memento.
The chain of command had been holding him to ransom, so to speak, only counting his training done and ranking him to Ensign after he'd signed back on. An ultimately pointless distinction, as the private sector would have recognised his credentials, he would have had no need for the promotion upon resigning.
He decided not to bore the pureblood with minutiae, "I managed to get myself near the head of the queue for the new Peacekeeping contingent," his tone matter-of-fact, without boasting. "Promotion, position of Chief Medical Officer for the detachment, and even some input on the sector we're assigned to - what, with my expertise in Imperial/Republic relations and all." He winked and chuckled softly.
"I don't know if it's what I want, exactly," he admits, "but it seemed like a good compromise for the time being. I still have the full weight of the Navy behind me to provide the supplies I need, and I still get to go where I'm needed, for the most part. Right now, we're," he paused and looked off to the side, "I mean, I can't go into detail, but we're working refugee escort."
"We meet up with refugee vessels headed for Republic space," some pride crept into his voice, "I assign squads and we go over to administer medical aid, help them out with fuel and supplies. We're working our way further from Republic space, I probably shouldn't even say that much, but I have enough pull that the Captain doesn't eavesdrop on my messages."
Cole pushed a hand through his blonde curls, "I will say it's never boring. I don't want to make light of some of the horrific things these people have been through, but between the wounds and the plagues these people have, it's been keeping me on my toes. I've got people looking to me, too. Medics fresh off their four years of training who seem to think I've got the touch." He was shaking his head in disbelief.
"I, I guess that's it. You'd better be taking care of yourself out there, deviless. If I find out you aren't, I'll hunt you down, I swear. You had better still have all your original limbs," he deadpanned, running a hand through his hair and rubbing the back of his neck. He looked down and nodded, unsure how to bring his message to a close. "So, bye, deviless."
Leaning forward, he turned off the recorder, getting to his feet and fetching the chair again, seating himself at the desk. He encrypted the message, and sent it out into the black galaxy, careful to bounce it through neutral space until its source was buried under dozens of redirects and trackbacks. It was in the Force's hands now, and he unbuttoned his jacket, heading into the refresher.
8 months following Nar Shaddaa
The quarters were cramped, and the lanky doctor was having difficulty getting accustomed to them. There was a narrow bed in one corner, a narrow desk in the other, and a narrow space between them; it seemed hardly fitting for the CMO, but at least he had his own private refresher.
A display panel was set into the wall above the desk that doubled as the coms. Cole kicked the chair off to one side and sat on the bed, he always felt like he was talking straight into the other person's nose if he sat at the desk. He still wore the familiar field uniform he'd preferred on Nar Shaddaa, but now there were insignia on the chest: one for the Medical Corps, showing the rank of lieutenant, and another for the Galactic Naval Peacekeeping Division.
Reaching forward, Cole turned on the recorder, adjusting his pants as he settled back. He ran a hand through his hair, and used one long finger to push his spectacles up the bridge of his nose, thought better of it, and removed the glasses, folding the arms and leaning forward again to put them on the desk. He settled once more, cleared his throat, paused as he had second thoughts.
With a deep breath, "hey, Shaisha. Uh, I was meaning to do this before now, but you know how it is. So, I hope that you're doing okay and all. And that if you've been getting in trouble, that you've got a medic with you that's at least half-competent. I know you won't have found anyone with quite my skill level," he smiled lopsidedly and ran his hand through his hair again.
"As you can see," he indicated to his uniform, "I'm still with the military. I know, not very creative of me. I've been promoted, though. It seems that I was able to turn my trip to Nar Shaddaa to my benefit, at least. I mean," Cole gave a half shrug, "I wouldn't have called the trip a complete waste, even if I hadn't, but still." Absently, Cole touched his jaw; on the right side below the corner of his mouth, a scar was healing over the angle of bone, a memento.
The chain of command had been holding him to ransom, so to speak, only counting his training done and ranking him to Ensign after he'd signed back on. An ultimately pointless distinction, as the private sector would have recognised his credentials, he would have had no need for the promotion upon resigning.
He decided not to bore the pureblood with minutiae, "I managed to get myself near the head of the queue for the new Peacekeeping contingent," his tone matter-of-fact, without boasting. "Promotion, position of Chief Medical Officer for the detachment, and even some input on the sector we're assigned to - what, with my expertise in Imperial/Republic relations and all." He winked and chuckled softly.
"I don't know if it's what I want, exactly," he admits, "but it seemed like a good compromise for the time being. I still have the full weight of the Navy behind me to provide the supplies I need, and I still get to go where I'm needed, for the most part. Right now, we're," he paused and looked off to the side, "I mean, I can't go into detail, but we're working refugee escort."
"We meet up with refugee vessels headed for Republic space," some pride crept into his voice, "I assign squads and we go over to administer medical aid, help them out with fuel and supplies. We're working our way further from Republic space, I probably shouldn't even say that much, but I have enough pull that the Captain doesn't eavesdrop on my messages."
Cole pushed a hand through his blonde curls, "I will say it's never boring. I don't want to make light of some of the horrific things these people have been through, but between the wounds and the plagues these people have, it's been keeping me on my toes. I've got people looking to me, too. Medics fresh off their four years of training who seem to think I've got the touch." He was shaking his head in disbelief.
"I, I guess that's it. You'd better be taking care of yourself out there, deviless. If I find out you aren't, I'll hunt you down, I swear. You had better still have all your original limbs," he deadpanned, running a hand through his hair and rubbing the back of his neck. He looked down and nodded, unsure how to bring his message to a close. "So, bye, deviless."
Leaning forward, he turned off the recorder, getting to his feet and fetching the chair again, seating himself at the desk. He encrypted the message, and sent it out into the black galaxy, careful to bounce it through neutral space until its source was buried under dozens of redirects and trackbacks. It was in the Force's hands now, and he unbuttoned his jacket, heading into the refresher.