Ensign Thomas Melville-Kilpatrick - Never invite an interesting night
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Sarah P
Jul 15, 2026, 10:29:43 PMJul 15
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((Bridge, Deck 1, USS Khitomer))
Thomas was used to late nights, being a medical school student had practically guaranteed those. It guaranteed far less in terms of being on the bridge, though as a cadet he'd grown familiar with much of the equipment, in the unlikely event he ended up as the highest ranked officer on the bridge.
Truly, a hypothetical that struck fear into the heart of every Starfleet ensign. Or at least, in the heart of Thomas. At least if anyone had an allergic reaction he would know what to do. The easy rhythm of the night had made things feel a little more relaxed, though having only experienced the chaos of the bridge indirectly, he didn't want to be on the receiving end of it.
He kept that to himself. Every doctor knew that the moment you expressed gratitude for a slow day, it would suddenly stop being slow.
Thomas turned and almost automatically started to rise before Lt. Commander Dewitt told them not to. He hastily got back into position, trying to stretch as neutrally as possible.
Dewitt: Ensigns. ::nodding:: Don’t get up, I’m not here to take the watch. It’s yours tonight, both of you. And I intend to leave it that way. ::beat:: I’m just the senior officer they make stay awake in case the ship decides to do something interesting. Which, in dry dock, it won’t.
Morda: Routine business so far, sir.
Melville-Kilpatrick: You'd better knock on wood. ::a quick glance around, finding no wood:: Ah, well.
Dewitt: Status report.
Morda: No priority traffic or alerts. Holding at station-keeping. Umbilicals, uh, nominal; we’re on external power with two fusion generators on hot standby, though engineering switched which two. Cargo and emergency transporters are offline for EPS realignment. Thomas…?
Melville-Kilpatrick: Got a weird signal off of one of the computers down in Science, but they resolved it quickly. Just background noise.
Thomas thought of the signals that biobeds could sometimes give off when their patients moved unexpectedly. Not necessarily an indication that something was wrong with the patient, though useful if the command had been to sit still.
Dewitt: Where are we on the dorsal hull repairs? Has the dry dock crew completed the installation of the armor plating?
Morda: Ah -- repairs to inner spaceframe members and intermediate hull layers are going through a second quality control check. I haven’t seen a report on armor installation -- Thomas, did that come your way?
Melville-Kilpatrick: There was one--ah! Yes, they're nearly done, but they were missing a few bolts at this last part, ::gesturing to an area:: and they thought it better to--
Whatever the dry dock crew thought was cut off and forgotten by an alert from one of the stations. Thomas' eyes flew to the hazardous material alerts first, trying to figure out what had happened.
Morda: Collision alert from the yardmaster, Commander. Workbee and a small cargo transport. Message on audio.
Thomas listened carefully to the message as he read over the science alert first, then the engineering one.
Yardmaster: --peat, alert: collision off Khitomer’s ventral engineering hull. Hazmat skiff collided with a workbee, both spiraling out. We have both crews via emergency beam-out. Khitomer, do you read? Can you assist recovery of the damaged vessels?
Melville-Kilpatrick: ::under his breath:: Never invite an interesting night. ::Out loud:: Commander, should we give them a shout?
Dewitt: Response
Morda: Aye; acknowledging the signal. Thomas, any idea just how hazardous the stuff on that skiff is?
Thomas looked up from the screen in front of him and shook his head, frowning.
Melville-Kilpatrick: It's not good, I'll tell you that.
Dewitt: Response
Melville-Kilpatrick: Sorry, sir. Not at my most polite in the night hours. It seems to be a contaminated alien mineral--nothing radioactive, standard Level C protection. Nothing you'd want to breathe in, but it's not going to send a plague through the ship.
Dewitt/Morda: Response
Melville-Kilpatrick: For those allergic, it could be fatal, but that's relatively rare. For everyone else, irritated mucous membranes. At least in those of us who have them. A trip to Sickbay, maybe, in smaller doses. I wouldn't recommend long-term exposure, but that's for anything that could impede breathing.
Dewitt/Morda: Response
Melville-Kilpatrick: Right. The thing to be concerned about is making sure anybody out there fixing it doesn't forget to wipe their feet. Ah, which is to say, they'll need to be decontaminated, just in case there's any remaining particles on them.
Dewitt/Morda: Response
TAG/TBC
Thomas was used to late nights, being a medical school student had practically guaranteed those. It guaranteed far less in terms of being on the bridge, though as a cadet he'd grown familiar with much of the equipment, in the unlikely event he ended up as the highest ranked officer on the bridge.
Truly, a hypothetical that struck fear into the heart of every Starfleet ensign. Or at least, in the heart of Thomas. At least if anyone had an allergic reaction he would know what to do. The easy rhythm of the night had made things feel a little more relaxed, though having only experienced the chaos of the bridge indirectly, he didn't want to be on the receiving end of it.
He kept that to himself. Every doctor knew that the moment you expressed gratitude for a slow day, it would suddenly stop being slow.
Thomas turned and almost automatically started to rise before Lt. Commander Dewitt told them not to. He hastily got back into position, trying to stretch as neutrally as possible.
Dewitt: Ensigns. ::nodding:: Don’t get up, I’m not here to take the watch. It’s yours tonight, both of you. And I intend to leave it that way. ::beat:: I’m just the senior officer they make stay awake in case the ship decides to do something interesting. Which, in dry dock, it won’t.
Morda: Routine business so far, sir.
Melville-Kilpatrick: You'd better knock on wood. ::a quick glance around, finding no wood:: Ah, well.
Dewitt: Status report.
Morda: No priority traffic or alerts. Holding at station-keeping. Umbilicals, uh, nominal; we’re on external power with two fusion generators on hot standby, though engineering switched which two. Cargo and emergency transporters are offline for EPS realignment. Thomas…?
Melville-Kilpatrick: Got a weird signal off of one of the computers down in Science, but they resolved it quickly. Just background noise.
Thomas thought of the signals that biobeds could sometimes give off when their patients moved unexpectedly. Not necessarily an indication that something was wrong with the patient, though useful if the command had been to sit still.
Dewitt: Where are we on the dorsal hull repairs? Has the dry dock crew completed the installation of the armor plating?
Morda: Ah -- repairs to inner spaceframe members and intermediate hull layers are going through a second quality control check. I haven’t seen a report on armor installation -- Thomas, did that come your way?
Melville-Kilpatrick: There was one--ah! Yes, they're nearly done, but they were missing a few bolts at this last part, ::gesturing to an area:: and they thought it better to--
Whatever the dry dock crew thought was cut off and forgotten by an alert from one of the stations. Thomas' eyes flew to the hazardous material alerts first, trying to figure out what had happened.
Morda: Collision alert from the yardmaster, Commander. Workbee and a small cargo transport. Message on audio.
Thomas listened carefully to the message as he read over the science alert first, then the engineering one.
Yardmaster: --peat, alert: collision off Khitomer’s ventral engineering hull. Hazmat skiff collided with a workbee, both spiraling out. We have both crews via emergency beam-out. Khitomer, do you read? Can you assist recovery of the damaged vessels?
Melville-Kilpatrick: ::under his breath:: Never invite an interesting night. ::Out loud:: Commander, should we give them a shout?
Dewitt: Response
Morda: Aye; acknowledging the signal. Thomas, any idea just how hazardous the stuff on that skiff is?
Thomas looked up from the screen in front of him and shook his head, frowning.
Melville-Kilpatrick: It's not good, I'll tell you that.
Dewitt: Response
Melville-Kilpatrick: Sorry, sir. Not at my most polite in the night hours. It seems to be a contaminated alien mineral--nothing radioactive, standard Level C protection. Nothing you'd want to breathe in, but it's not going to send a plague through the ship.
Dewitt/Morda: Response
Melville-Kilpatrick: For those allergic, it could be fatal, but that's relatively rare. For everyone else, irritated mucous membranes. At least in those of us who have them. A trip to Sickbay, maybe, in smaller doses. I wouldn't recommend long-term exposure, but that's for anything that could impede breathing.
Dewitt/Morda: Response
Melville-Kilpatrick: Right. The thing to be concerned about is making sure anybody out there fixing it doesn't forget to wipe their feet. Ah, which is to say, they'll need to be decontaminated, just in case there's any remaining particles on them.
Dewitt/Morda: Response
TAG/TBC
Ensign Thomas Melville-Kilpatrick
Medical Officer
USS Khitomer – NCC62400
K240210TM2
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