[Paradise-IV] SD970314, Happy birthday, Mr. Iinuma.‏ (Corrected)

[Paradise-IV Logs]

"OK, you're free to go." The medical orderly stated in that deadpan tone honed by seeing so many come and go.

Ens. Komori Iinuma sat up and thought about his option.

The orderly took two steps away and begin scrutinizing the PADD he held to tell him what to do next.

Komori-san was still a bit bruised, but otherwise in fine shape.  It was his opinion that he should have been released days ago, and in fact would have been had it not been for the shortage of staff.  They were, rightly, busy tending to those who needed their attention the most.  Still, it meant staying in the hospital until they could realize he was no longer in dire need of their services.

He was happy to get out of the official hospital gown of humiliation.  Centuries of medicine, and the gown that showed it all was still top notch technology.  It didn't matter much, as Komori-san felt confident in his physique.  He began to dress.  Someone had received his request and delivered his second uniform.  The dress uniform was in a sack, and ruined with blood, dirt and minor tears around the seams.

He clipped on his sword, and expertly tied the ceremonial sash around it.

Komori-san talked to himself, "Free to go.  Where the hell would I go?"

"Hmmm?", the orderly, who was still standing near by looked up quizzically.

Komori-san hadn't meant to draw his attention, but now that he had it some explanation seemed proper, "It's my birthday."

"Really?" The orderly looked at his PADD and confirmed the information, "What do you know?  Well, happy birthday ensign." he said and walked off to attend to another patient.

By Starfleet rules Komori-san had his birthday off.  He walked to the front desk to see if anyone had recorded who brought him to the hospital.

"Looks like you were admitted by a Mr. Marcus Stout." said the lady at the desk.  "Thank you." he said, as he marveled that such a quaint position of receptionist still existed anywhere in the universe.

He walked out, again, talking to himself, "Well, it may be my birthday, but I believe I own Mr. Marcus Stout a drink!" and he made his best time back to the barracks.  There he fetched his PADD and began to locate Mr. Stout.  While doing that he checked his local account and winced.  He'd need to transfer some funds first.  He took care of that business while he walked to the pursers office and requisitioned some cash.  The purser was none to eager to oblige, but he did anyway.  Cash was still in short supply and handing it out for frivolous things like birthday parties was not high on the list, which is exactly why Komori-san had classified it as "Local Relations".  The money was his, but the cash itself had to come from the Starfleet operation until he could work out his own supply.  At least no one would be able to accuse him of spending Starfleet resources on personal items.

He followed the directions on the PADD to a dirty part of the town where miners were likely to be, and where it told him Mr. Stout had an accommodation.  No one was around.  The place was deserted as the miners were all deep in the mine.  Komori-san planted himself on the cleanest perch he could find and practiced the fine art of waiting.  Waiting was a difficult are for many in the modern realm.  The tsunami of information and entertainment meant that very rarely did one need to simply wait, which meant that few were practiced at it.  Komori-san simply sat and waited.

He waited for three hours.

Then a man who fit the description and ID photos came, along with about a dozen other men, up the narrow path to the door of the accommodation complex.  They noticed him, and with a look of disgust, walked past him.

Komori-san straightened and stood tall, "Mr. Stout?"

They all stopped and turned, but one stepped forward, "Who wants to know?"

"Ensign Komori Iinuma."

The miner rolled his eyes.  Komori-san was so out of place it was funny.  He was freshly pressed and clean and stiff and proper, where as the miners, buildings and streets were dirty, ragged and used.  "What can I do for you Starfleet?"

"You can let me buy you a drink for your troubles."

Mr. Stout thought about it a moment, "You don't owe me anything Starfleet.", and he turned again to leave.

Komori-san considered his options, and decided to try again, "I didn't come here as Starfleet.  I wear the uniform to be sure, but I came here as a man of honor to say thank you to another man of honor for an undeserved act of mercy on the field of battle."

Mr. Stout turned again "Battlefield?  That was a hospital, not a damned battlefield.  It only became a battlefield when you started shooting."

"And waiving that damned sword around." said someone from the mob.  The mob was getting angry.

Komori-san was stunned at that.  His entire life the blade has been his ally, now it might prove to be a detriment.  "I drew my weapon only in defense." he said.

They began to crowed around him, "Defense?!" said Mr. Stout, "Did you see any weapons other than those being used by Starfleet?"

"Gentlemen," Komori-san began to run tactical options in his mind, and none of them looked good, his only viable option was diplomacy, "I did not come here to resume the conflict the other day, but to acknowledge your act of friendship and repay it with my own."

"Get a load of this guy." someone said

"Acknowledge your act of friendship."

Mr. Stout spoke for them all, "Get a look at yourself man.  You talk like some sort of government bureaucrat and dress like a half-ass soldier and come here trying to tell us how to live.  We don't want you here Starfleet.  We didn't ask for your help, and what happened at the hospital is only going to be the start of things."

Komori-san just looked at them all and waited, as he had nothing to day.

"Why don't you go home now, while you still can." Said Mr. Stout, who motioned the way he should leave.

Komori-san bowed curtly, and walked off without another word.  Anger and pain may have won this round, but Komori-san swore it would not prevail for long.

Back in the barracks he began to prepare for the next day.  The a letter arrived from his wife, and for a brief time he was in a warm and comfortable place.  All too soon the letter concluded and the reality of paradise again reasserted itself.