Lieutenant Drex - I want my clothes back
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Drex Drex
Feb 7, 2026, 11:14:16 AM (4 days ago) Feb 7
to sb11...@googlegroups.com
((Main Sickbay Meeting Room - Starbase 118))
It was immediately obvious to Drex that none of presents had much experience with construction. He kept that assessment to himself, though a distinctly impolite thought was reserved for his half-brother for maneuvering him into this situation in the first place.
They must have drunk far too much the night before. That was the only explanation he could find for the irritating gap in his memory.hH could not recall why they had accepted the commission, nor what, precisely, they were meant to build. Still, admitting that in front of clients was out of the question.
So he did what he had always done. He leaned on fundamentals. Terrain never lied. Geological data was the backbone of any serious project, the one area where uncertainty could be turned into process instead of embarrassment. And if the data was not there yet... well. That bought time. Core samples, further analysis, another meeting.
Drex: If we can get core samples at several depths, we’ll have a much clearer picture of how stable the substrate really is. ::Gesturing towards the PADD:: Do you see any areas where the soil or mineral layering might require extra attention?
Foster: I literally have no clue what you are talking about.
Drex studied the three officers: the uniforms were unmistakable, and so was the confusion in their eyes. That, at least, was familiar and not encouraging.
He searched his memory for the details of the commission and found nothing. No brief, no specifications, not even a half-remembered sketch. The absence irritated him more than it alarmed him, but he kept his expression neutral. Whatever this was, it clearly had not started well.
Wethern: Drex maybe we leave the samples for a while.
Drex gave a brief nod in acknowledgment. If they were the clients, then their preferences set the pace. He adjusted his expectations accordingly, considering what could be postponed, and how to keep the discussion moving without pressing for details they clearly did not want to provide yet.
Voss: Should we...? I mean, we’re trying to nail down more information about this Ameoneian flu we may have to deal with, and while we wait for the blood samples, we’re running an environmental simulation. That’s... that's what we all agreed to do. Right?
The Andorian commander immediately spun around to face the young woman.
Foster: Not you, too... that doesn’t make any sense either.
Voss: No, no, it does make sense. Why you think it doesn’t make sense is what doesn’t make sense.
Wethern: Commander Foster, the plan was to focus on the samples in preparation for the arrival of the delegates.
Drex listened in silence. Slowly, a few pieces began to line up. A delegation. That explained the urgency and the faces around the table. They were not just building something; they were preparing to accommodate visitors. Living quarters, most likely. Reception areas. Perhaps even a congress hall or diplomatic complex. And if those visitors might become ill... then a medical wing would be essential, with a tightly controlled environmental system, adaptable atmospherics, and isolation capacity. That narrowed things further. Ral had really outdone himself this time. This was not a modest commission or a retrofit. It was a major project, politically sensitive and structurally complex. Something truly huge to design.
Foster: I think they’re both loopy.
Voss: Okay, this is... ::looking between the three men:: something weird is happening here. Are you all feeling okay? Faint, feverish, lightheaded?
Wethern: Ok everyone, lets take a moment. Foster, Drex how you feeling?
The Denobulan lifted his gaze toward the Human. The Lieutenant had a device in hand; it took Drex a second longer than it should have to recognize it as a tricorder. That hesitation unsettled him more than the question itself.
Drex: I’m fine, thank you.::A polite Denobulan smile accompanied the answer::Please, keep going. Listening helps me understand your needs more clearly. :: If he focused on the requirements, the rest would sort itself out. It always did.::
Foster: Don’t worry, I’m totally fine. ::he paused and he thought about that:: Ok, maybe I’m not totally fine. But I also haven’t completely lost my mind.
Voss: ::with her hands on her hips, deeply confused:: Oh good, that’s very reassuring...
Wethern: Sir, you are acting a little bit eccentric....well more than usual.
Neither the man nor the woman looked particularly convinced by their commander’s words. Drex could not tell whether he was acting strangely, or if this was simply typical Andorian behavior. Still, the thought began to take shape that perhaps he should leave the three of them to sort out their discussion and suggest rescheduling the meeting for a better time.
oO If you leave, they may decide to call someone else. Ral won’t be happy. Oo
The Denobulan sighed lightly. He could not leave, not until he had obtained official approval for the commission.
Foster: What in the seven layers of Gre'thor is going on here?
The Lieutenant chuckled, and Drex found it unexpected. He had always imagined Starfleet’s hierarchy to be far more formal and structured.
Voss: Yeah. That’s a very good question. Dr. Wethern, did that nurse make it down to Lieutenant Voxa? And should we start running brain scans or something?
Dr. Wethern checked the PADD
Wethern: Not yet but suspect we are going to find something similar.
Drex: Would you like me to give you a moment to sort things out?
Before he could push his chair back, the young ensign stood up and paced a few steps away from the computer.
Voss: So, Commander. What do you think is going on here? Walk me through the last ten minutes or so.
Foster: ?
Wethern: Let's go one step further. Name and rank as well.
Foster: ?
Drex inclined his head slightly.
Drex: I am Drex, the architect from Kalus. Lieutenant.::He paused briefly, then continued in a quiet and measured tone.:: From what I have observed in the last several minutes, there has been discussion regarding the delegation and the environmental and medical requirements for accommodating them. Details about schedules and sample handling were also addressed, though the full context remains unclear to me.
Voss: How is everyone else feeling? Confused? Headachy? Anything?
Wethern: Oh wow that's an interesting blast from the past. :to Voss: they seem to have regressed. Have our guests docked?
Drex’s gaze flicked briefly between the others, noting their expressions.
Drex: I do not feel any physical discomfort. Mentally... there is some disorientation, though I cannot pinpoint the source. :: He kept his voice calm, betraying nothing of the nagging sensation that something was off.::
Foster: ?
Voss: Looks like the Ameoneians docked about thirty minutes ago and actually entered the station quite recently. I know we don’t have much information yet, and it might be a bad look, but should we tell the diplomatic team they may want to get everyone into a quarantine zone?
Wethern: Nothing showing up on preliminary scans. Until we get to the bottom of this no one leaves sickbay. Let's call the welcome wagon and see what is going on no need to panic so far.
Drex gave a small, polite nod.
Drex: I’ll let you handle the procedures. ::He returned his attention to the PADD, focusing on the terrain and core data, leaving Starfleet matters firmly to the others.::
Foster: ?
Wethen: Voss. We need to prepare in case these two are just first and it affects us both. Document everything and lockdown this sector of sickbay.
Voss: ?
Drex/Foster: ?
Corey sighed.
Wethern: Also find them an assignment to keep them busy.
Drex: I have enough to do, don’t worry for me. ::He pointed to his PADD::
Externally, he gave a slight nod, acknowledging Wethern’s instructions. Internally... he bristled just a little. Being stuck in a Starfleet facility, monitoring protocols and quarantines, was far from how he imagined spending his day. His work should be with the terrain, the design, the foundations, not endless lockdowns and medical procedures. Still, he kept his composure, letting the others carry the Starfleet responsibilities while he mined the data that mattered to him.
Foster/Voss: ?
(( OOC: I leave the following, but Drex won’t hear any of the conversation between Wethern and Fairhug or Ross ))
Corey moved to a side of the room slightly out of earshot.
Wethern: =/\= Wethern to Fairhug or Ross =/\=
Fairhug/Ross: (whoever is available)
Wethern: =/\= Yeah we have a slight situation in sickbay. Foster and Drex have started to what all I can say is regress. It's like babysitting cadets. =/\=
Fairhug/Ross:
Wethern: =/\= We will look into it but suggest we keep our guests at least away from sickbay for now until we know what is going on. =/\=
Corey wandered back to the group.
Wethern: Right where are we up to?
Drex: You were discussing accommodations for the diplomatic delegation. :: Raising his head from the PADD:: Can you tell me how many people you expect? I’ve reviewed some of their physiological data, and I can ensure the sensors and environmental controllers can adjusted appropriately.
Voss/Foster: ?
Drex listened quietly to the response, weighing their suggestions. After a moment, he shook his head slightly.
Drex: No. That won’t be necessary. ::He rose from his chair, gathering his PADD.:: I think we should reconvene when the geological information is ready.
Wethern/Voss/Foster: ?
As the Denobulan approached the door, his eyes caught his reflection in the polished panel, and he froze. The blue uniform was not his. It hung awkwardly and unfamiliar across his shoulders, and for a moment his mind searched for an explanation. He tried to recall why he would be wearing it, but the memory refused to come. The tactile feel of the fabric, the cut of the sleeves, even the insignia, none of it fit what he knew of himself.
oO Why am I wearing this? Oo
The question nagged at the edge of his consciousness, unspoken, yet impossible to ignore.
Drex: ::frowning:: I’ll need my clothes back.
Wethern/Voss/Foster: ?
Drex: I don’t know, and frankly, it doesn’t matter. Whatever the reason, I’m leaving and I want my clothes back.
Wethern/Voss/Foster: ?
TAGS / TBC
It was immediately obvious to Drex that none of presents had much experience with construction. He kept that assessment to himself, though a distinctly impolite thought was reserved for his half-brother for maneuvering him into this situation in the first place.
They must have drunk far too much the night before. That was the only explanation he could find for the irritating gap in his memory.hH could not recall why they had accepted the commission, nor what, precisely, they were meant to build. Still, admitting that in front of clients was out of the question.
So he did what he had always done. He leaned on fundamentals. Terrain never lied. Geological data was the backbone of any serious project, the one area where uncertainty could be turned into process instead of embarrassment. And if the data was not there yet... well. That bought time. Core samples, further analysis, another meeting.
Drex: If we can get core samples at several depths, we’ll have a much clearer picture of how stable the substrate really is. ::Gesturing towards the PADD:: Do you see any areas where the soil or mineral layering might require extra attention?
Foster: I literally have no clue what you are talking about.
Drex studied the three officers: the uniforms were unmistakable, and so was the confusion in their eyes. That, at least, was familiar and not encouraging.
He searched his memory for the details of the commission and found nothing. No brief, no specifications, not even a half-remembered sketch. The absence irritated him more than it alarmed him, but he kept his expression neutral. Whatever this was, it clearly had not started well.
Wethern: Drex maybe we leave the samples for a while.
Drex gave a brief nod in acknowledgment. If they were the clients, then their preferences set the pace. He adjusted his expectations accordingly, considering what could be postponed, and how to keep the discussion moving without pressing for details they clearly did not want to provide yet.
Voss: Should we...? I mean, we’re trying to nail down more information about this Ameoneian flu we may have to deal with, and while we wait for the blood samples, we’re running an environmental simulation. That’s... that's what we all agreed to do. Right?
The Andorian commander immediately spun around to face the young woman.
Foster: Not you, too... that doesn’t make any sense either.
Voss: No, no, it does make sense. Why you think it doesn’t make sense is what doesn’t make sense.
Wethern: Commander Foster, the plan was to focus on the samples in preparation for the arrival of the delegates.
Drex listened in silence. Slowly, a few pieces began to line up. A delegation. That explained the urgency and the faces around the table. They were not just building something; they were preparing to accommodate visitors. Living quarters, most likely. Reception areas. Perhaps even a congress hall or diplomatic complex. And if those visitors might become ill... then a medical wing would be essential, with a tightly controlled environmental system, adaptable atmospherics, and isolation capacity. That narrowed things further. Ral had really outdone himself this time. This was not a modest commission or a retrofit. It was a major project, politically sensitive and structurally complex. Something truly huge to design.
Foster: I think they’re both loopy.
Voss: Okay, this is... ::looking between the three men:: something weird is happening here. Are you all feeling okay? Faint, feverish, lightheaded?
Wethern: Ok everyone, lets take a moment. Foster, Drex how you feeling?
The Denobulan lifted his gaze toward the Human. The Lieutenant had a device in hand; it took Drex a second longer than it should have to recognize it as a tricorder. That hesitation unsettled him more than the question itself.
Drex: I’m fine, thank you.::A polite Denobulan smile accompanied the answer::Please, keep going. Listening helps me understand your needs more clearly. :: If he focused on the requirements, the rest would sort itself out. It always did.::
Foster: Don’t worry, I’m totally fine. ::he paused and he thought about that:: Ok, maybe I’m not totally fine. But I also haven’t completely lost my mind.
Voss: ::with her hands on her hips, deeply confused:: Oh good, that’s very reassuring...
Wethern: Sir, you are acting a little bit eccentric....well more than usual.
Neither the man nor the woman looked particularly convinced by their commander’s words. Drex could not tell whether he was acting strangely, or if this was simply typical Andorian behavior. Still, the thought began to take shape that perhaps he should leave the three of them to sort out their discussion and suggest rescheduling the meeting for a better time.
oO If you leave, they may decide to call someone else. Ral won’t be happy. Oo
The Denobulan sighed lightly. He could not leave, not until he had obtained official approval for the commission.
Foster: What in the seven layers of Gre'thor is going on here?
The Lieutenant chuckled, and Drex found it unexpected. He had always imagined Starfleet’s hierarchy to be far more formal and structured.
Voss: Yeah. That’s a very good question. Dr. Wethern, did that nurse make it down to Lieutenant Voxa? And should we start running brain scans or something?
Dr. Wethern checked the PADD
Wethern: Not yet but suspect we are going to find something similar.
Drex: Would you like me to give you a moment to sort things out?
Before he could push his chair back, the young ensign stood up and paced a few steps away from the computer.
Voss: So, Commander. What do you think is going on here? Walk me through the last ten minutes or so.
Foster: ?
Wethern: Let's go one step further. Name and rank as well.
Foster: ?
Drex inclined his head slightly.
Drex: I am Drex, the architect from Kalus. Lieutenant.::He paused briefly, then continued in a quiet and measured tone.:: From what I have observed in the last several minutes, there has been discussion regarding the delegation and the environmental and medical requirements for accommodating them. Details about schedules and sample handling were also addressed, though the full context remains unclear to me.
Voss: How is everyone else feeling? Confused? Headachy? Anything?
Wethern: Oh wow that's an interesting blast from the past. :to Voss: they seem to have regressed. Have our guests docked?
Drex’s gaze flicked briefly between the others, noting their expressions.
Drex: I do not feel any physical discomfort. Mentally... there is some disorientation, though I cannot pinpoint the source. :: He kept his voice calm, betraying nothing of the nagging sensation that something was off.::
Foster: ?
Voss: Looks like the Ameoneians docked about thirty minutes ago and actually entered the station quite recently. I know we don’t have much information yet, and it might be a bad look, but should we tell the diplomatic team they may want to get everyone into a quarantine zone?
Wethern: Nothing showing up on preliminary scans. Until we get to the bottom of this no one leaves sickbay. Let's call the welcome wagon and see what is going on no need to panic so far.
Drex gave a small, polite nod.
Drex: I’ll let you handle the procedures. ::He returned his attention to the PADD, focusing on the terrain and core data, leaving Starfleet matters firmly to the others.::
Foster: ?
Wethen: Voss. We need to prepare in case these two are just first and it affects us both. Document everything and lockdown this sector of sickbay.
Voss: ?
Drex/Foster: ?
Corey sighed.
Wethern: Also find them an assignment to keep them busy.
Drex: I have enough to do, don’t worry for me. ::He pointed to his PADD::
Externally, he gave a slight nod, acknowledging Wethern’s instructions. Internally... he bristled just a little. Being stuck in a Starfleet facility, monitoring protocols and quarantines, was far from how he imagined spending his day. His work should be with the terrain, the design, the foundations, not endless lockdowns and medical procedures. Still, he kept his composure, letting the others carry the Starfleet responsibilities while he mined the data that mattered to him.
Foster/Voss: ?
(( OOC: I leave the following, but Drex won’t hear any of the conversation between Wethern and Fairhug or Ross ))
Corey moved to a side of the room slightly out of earshot.
Wethern: =/\= Wethern to Fairhug or Ross =/\=
Fairhug/Ross: (whoever is available)
Wethern: =/\= Yeah we have a slight situation in sickbay. Foster and Drex have started to what all I can say is regress. It's like babysitting cadets. =/\=
Fairhug/Ross:
Wethern: =/\= We will look into it but suggest we keep our guests at least away from sickbay for now until we know what is going on. =/\=
Corey wandered back to the group.
Wethern: Right where are we up to?
Drex: You were discussing accommodations for the diplomatic delegation. :: Raising his head from the PADD:: Can you tell me how many people you expect? I’ve reviewed some of their physiological data, and I can ensure the sensors and environmental controllers can adjusted appropriately.
Voss/Foster: ?
Drex listened quietly to the response, weighing their suggestions. After a moment, he shook his head slightly.
Drex: No. That won’t be necessary. ::He rose from his chair, gathering his PADD.:: I think we should reconvene when the geological information is ready.
Wethern/Voss/Foster: ?
As the Denobulan approached the door, his eyes caught his reflection in the polished panel, and he froze. The blue uniform was not his. It hung awkwardly and unfamiliar across his shoulders, and for a moment his mind searched for an explanation. He tried to recall why he would be wearing it, but the memory refused to come. The tactile feel of the fabric, the cut of the sleeves, even the insignia, none of it fit what he knew of himself.
oO Why am I wearing this? Oo
The question nagged at the edge of his consciousness, unspoken, yet impossible to ignore.
Drex: ::frowning:: I’ll need my clothes back.
Wethern/Voss/Foster: ?
Drex: I don’t know, and frankly, it doesn’t matter. Whatever the reason, I’m leaving and I want my clothes back.
Wethern/Voss/Foster: ?
TAGS / TBC
============
Lt. Commander Drex
First Officer
USS Eagle-A
D240011D14
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