Doctor Gott - Discretion Is The Better Part of Profit
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Karrod Niac
Aug 12, 2024, 8:26:33 PM8/12/24
to USS Ronin – StarBase 118 Star Trek PBEM RPG
((Medical Pavilion, Module C, Deep Space 33))
Gott: 'And with the stoic nobility of warrior poets of old I stood before the storm, unwavering and sure, my duty to my patients the mortar holding the bricks of my resolve in place as all the quadrant seemed to burn around me and...'
Safely within the confines of his office on Deep Space Thirty Three, Doctor Gott scowled at his console and by association, his digital assistant Atraxia who he had instructed very clearly not to interrupt him while he was recording. The conclusion of 'Gott Courage: A Personal Exploration of The Heroic Ideal,' his most recent contribution to the world of literature exploring his experiences facing danger while serving with the IME, had to be just perfect and he'd been really picking up momentum when he'd been so rudely interrupted. With one aggrieved but well manicured hand he slapped at his controls and all but hissed at the air.
Gott: Atraxia! I told you no interruptions! I need to get these final edits over to my publisher before I board the Billable Hours and head off to Pacifica! You know I have no intention of hanging around while those Starfleeties start playing with their torpedoes!
Atraxia's husky voice was uncharacteristically subdued when she replied and Gott's ears perked up instantly.
Atraxia: I'm sorry, Doctor Gott. I'd never want to deprive your vast audience of your literary and psychological insights, Doctor Gott. But I thought you'd want to know the station has just gone on high alert, Doctor Gott. All ship departures have been canceled and you have been instructed to head for the nearest shelter immediately, Doctor Gott.
Gott scowled deeply at the display as he considered the ramifications before stepping into the lobby to his office, where the stations alarm klaxons filled the air and running security personnel moved from place to place, laying down blinking equipment packages with extreme care before moving on. It only took him a few minutes to realize he was staring at large packages of explosives, a string of which now surrounded the module, his office and, most critically, him.
Some hybrid emotion that lay at the uncharted intersection of panic and personal annoyance filled his chest and he began stalking towards the nearest turbolift. From his bejeweled padd in the interior breast pocket of his Tholian silk jacket Atraxia helpfully called out.
Atraxia: Station Operations is currently restricting access to authorized personnel only, Doctor Gott. There is a Forward Operating Base for security personnel near a sporting goods shop in the Beta module and several officers are coordinating the civilian evacuation are located in one of the primary cargo bays, Doctor Gott.
He did a bit of quick mental arithmetic and came to several conclusions. The Stations Commander and his patient, Stergis, wouldn't be pushed around and couldn't be bought. He struck her name from the list of potential targets immediately. Security personnel who were all keyed up by the alert would be useless to him, they were just as likely to stun him and throw him in the stations brig as they were to listen to his very pointed objections, so they were out. That left only whoever was in charge of the cargo bay.
Gott: Take me to the cargo bay, Atraxia! We're getting out of here! I've got a book on heroism to publish! I've got no time to stand around while the station is being blown to bits!
Atraxia: Of course, Doctor Gott!
As the turbolift doors slid closed Doctor Gott straightened his jacket, slicked back his eyebrows with a moist finger and prepared himself to be comprehensively charming and persuasive. His lobes buzzed in anticipation as the lift hummed its way towards the center of the station.
((A few minutes later, outside Cargo Bay A24, Main Module, Deep Space 33))
Making his way down the access corridor that Atraxia assured him was correct, Gott found himself forced to duck out of the way as heavily armed and armored Starfleet personnel jogged past, their faces a mix of steely determination and real fear. Whatever was happening outside the station was bad enough to rattle them deeply and the few times he'd heard them speak, he heard the subtle hints of forlorn resignation in their voices. It was the sound of people who didn't think they'd survive the next few hours and that was all the motivation Gott needed to hurry his steps. When he came to the door marked 'Cargo Bay A24' he stepped forward and smushed his nose against the door surface as the computer angrily blatted a 'No Access' notification at him. He responded by sticking his tongue out at it a moment before he began pounding on the door with both fists.
Gott: I demand access! I'm a medical professional! We're not supposed to be in battles! I do much better after battles!
It could've been a few seconds but to Gott it felt like several hours before the doors opened and he locked eyes with a young man he hadn't seen in nearly a year. He made a point to not remember most of his patients, as was appropriate for anyone in his field, but Mr. Nolan Hobart's blacker than black Betazoid eyes and hawkish appearance had stuck in his memory nearly as much as his request for...less than legal means to dull the pain of his telepathic gifts. A crate of the latter was still collecting dust in the Billable's sensor shielded cargo bay but that had never bothered him, the holding fees alone would help him reupholster his hovering therapizing couch.
Gott: Things must be pretty terrible if they've left you in charge of anything, Ensign Nobert!
Hobart: You know, I thought to myself, if there was one Ferengi on DS33 who was sure to suck every last stinkin' strip of latinum out of Starfleet before he ran from an impending attack, it'd be you, Doc. You're a testament to your people.
A young Kressari officer with handsome head ridges who Gott hadn't met scurried past the two of them in a tizzy, yanking the access cover off a nearby replicator before jamming his hands into its innards. Gott prided himself on his lack of practical mechanical knowledge and even he could tell the young man was making an absolute mess of whatever it was he was trying to accomplish. The puff of smoke and shower of sparks that followed seemed to affirm this observation.
El’Heem: There’s a reason I’m not in engineering.
Gott: That's the first intelligent thing one of your Starfleet people have said all day! Now who do I need to talk to about getting my ship cleared to leave? I've got a very important appointment on Pacifica! This...::He gestured towards his face and lobes::...doesn't happen by itself, you know! If I don't get my thrice yearly skin treatments I'd never be this radiant! I booked this months ago! If I don't show they'll charge me a....::he gulped down the unpleasant taste of the words but bravely plowed on::...a late cancellation fee! You have to understand how serious this is!
Hobart: Response
The slightly scorched Ensign rolled out of the replicator still smoking slightly.
El’Heem: ::Clearing his throat.:: Almost failed some of those engineering course ::chuckling:: I’m…fine
Gott: Of course you are son! Look at you, fine upstanding member of Starfleet. I bet someone with your qualifications and...::he muttered under his breath::...brain damage could show me the way to my ship right now!
Hobart: Response
El’Heem: XO Hobart ::then looking at the Ferengi:: uhhh Ferengi, I apologize I didn’t catch your name at the conference. Sorry about this.
Gott prepared another zinger as the man walked over with a hypo in each hand and, without any warning or preamble, jabbed the both of them and pressed the activator. The devices hissed as Gott swatted at his arm in annoyance.
Gott: And what in the Debtors Prison of the Criminally Fraudulent Fron't was that?!@
Hobart: Response
El’Heem: Uhhhh I call it Hyropinephrine. Kinda like adrenaline and Hyronolin had a baby. I’ll explain later but it’s all I could make here. Uhhhh Enjoy!
Gott's eyes widened as the drug began coursing through his bloodstream. He could feel his lobes tingling painfully as his heart began hammering away inside his chest. Even as his panic was amplified Gott saw an opportunity and siezed upon it like a drowning man grabbing a loose chunk of driftwood.
Gott: Did he say....adrenaline?! I'm allergic to adrenaline! I need to get to my ship! Atraxia has a fully automated medical bay there, she can administer a counter agent before it's too late!
Hobart: Response
Gott felt like he was vibrating quickly enough to phase through the bulkheads and his vision was turning strangely green.
Gott: Hibes! Amd a swoolen toonge....ammd...ammmd....
Gott held up his hands and each of his fingers had engorged to truly absurd, sausage like proportions.
Gott: Muh shioup! Haove toaw gwet toh mai shiop!
Hobart: Response
Tags / TBC…
======================================
Gott
Ferengi Commerce Authority Bonded Psychotherapist
Noted Author
Ships Counselor, Interspecies Medical Exchange
V239509GT0
Gott: 'And with the stoic nobility of warrior poets of old I stood before the storm, unwavering and sure, my duty to my patients the mortar holding the bricks of my resolve in place as all the quadrant seemed to burn around me and...'
Safely within the confines of his office on Deep Space Thirty Three, Doctor Gott scowled at his console and by association, his digital assistant Atraxia who he had instructed very clearly not to interrupt him while he was recording. The conclusion of 'Gott Courage: A Personal Exploration of The Heroic Ideal,' his most recent contribution to the world of literature exploring his experiences facing danger while serving with the IME, had to be just perfect and he'd been really picking up momentum when he'd been so rudely interrupted. With one aggrieved but well manicured hand he slapped at his controls and all but hissed at the air.
Gott: Atraxia! I told you no interruptions! I need to get these final edits over to my publisher before I board the Billable Hours and head off to Pacifica! You know I have no intention of hanging around while those Starfleeties start playing with their torpedoes!
Atraxia's husky voice was uncharacteristically subdued when she replied and Gott's ears perked up instantly.
Atraxia: I'm sorry, Doctor Gott. I'd never want to deprive your vast audience of your literary and psychological insights, Doctor Gott. But I thought you'd want to know the station has just gone on high alert, Doctor Gott. All ship departures have been canceled and you have been instructed to head for the nearest shelter immediately, Doctor Gott.
Gott scowled deeply at the display as he considered the ramifications before stepping into the lobby to his office, where the stations alarm klaxons filled the air and running security personnel moved from place to place, laying down blinking equipment packages with extreme care before moving on. It only took him a few minutes to realize he was staring at large packages of explosives, a string of which now surrounded the module, his office and, most critically, him.
Some hybrid emotion that lay at the uncharted intersection of panic and personal annoyance filled his chest and he began stalking towards the nearest turbolift. From his bejeweled padd in the interior breast pocket of his Tholian silk jacket Atraxia helpfully called out.
Atraxia: Station Operations is currently restricting access to authorized personnel only, Doctor Gott. There is a Forward Operating Base for security personnel near a sporting goods shop in the Beta module and several officers are coordinating the civilian evacuation are located in one of the primary cargo bays, Doctor Gott.
He did a bit of quick mental arithmetic and came to several conclusions. The Stations Commander and his patient, Stergis, wouldn't be pushed around and couldn't be bought. He struck her name from the list of potential targets immediately. Security personnel who were all keyed up by the alert would be useless to him, they were just as likely to stun him and throw him in the stations brig as they were to listen to his very pointed objections, so they were out. That left only whoever was in charge of the cargo bay.
Gott: Take me to the cargo bay, Atraxia! We're getting out of here! I've got a book on heroism to publish! I've got no time to stand around while the station is being blown to bits!
Atraxia: Of course, Doctor Gott!
As the turbolift doors slid closed Doctor Gott straightened his jacket, slicked back his eyebrows with a moist finger and prepared himself to be comprehensively charming and persuasive. His lobes buzzed in anticipation as the lift hummed its way towards the center of the station.
((A few minutes later, outside Cargo Bay A24, Main Module, Deep Space 33))
Making his way down the access corridor that Atraxia assured him was correct, Gott found himself forced to duck out of the way as heavily armed and armored Starfleet personnel jogged past, their faces a mix of steely determination and real fear. Whatever was happening outside the station was bad enough to rattle them deeply and the few times he'd heard them speak, he heard the subtle hints of forlorn resignation in their voices. It was the sound of people who didn't think they'd survive the next few hours and that was all the motivation Gott needed to hurry his steps. When he came to the door marked 'Cargo Bay A24' he stepped forward and smushed his nose against the door surface as the computer angrily blatted a 'No Access' notification at him. He responded by sticking his tongue out at it a moment before he began pounding on the door with both fists.
Gott: I demand access! I'm a medical professional! We're not supposed to be in battles! I do much better after battles!
It could've been a few seconds but to Gott it felt like several hours before the doors opened and he locked eyes with a young man he hadn't seen in nearly a year. He made a point to not remember most of his patients, as was appropriate for anyone in his field, but Mr. Nolan Hobart's blacker than black Betazoid eyes and hawkish appearance had stuck in his memory nearly as much as his request for...less than legal means to dull the pain of his telepathic gifts. A crate of the latter was still collecting dust in the Billable's sensor shielded cargo bay but that had never bothered him, the holding fees alone would help him reupholster his hovering therapizing couch.
Gott: Things must be pretty terrible if they've left you in charge of anything, Ensign Nobert!
Hobart: You know, I thought to myself, if there was one Ferengi on DS33 who was sure to suck every last stinkin' strip of latinum out of Starfleet before he ran from an impending attack, it'd be you, Doc. You're a testament to your people.
A young Kressari officer with handsome head ridges who Gott hadn't met scurried past the two of them in a tizzy, yanking the access cover off a nearby replicator before jamming his hands into its innards. Gott prided himself on his lack of practical mechanical knowledge and even he could tell the young man was making an absolute mess of whatever it was he was trying to accomplish. The puff of smoke and shower of sparks that followed seemed to affirm this observation.
El’Heem: There’s a reason I’m not in engineering.
Gott: That's the first intelligent thing one of your Starfleet people have said all day! Now who do I need to talk to about getting my ship cleared to leave? I've got a very important appointment on Pacifica! This...::He gestured towards his face and lobes::...doesn't happen by itself, you know! If I don't get my thrice yearly skin treatments I'd never be this radiant! I booked this months ago! If I don't show they'll charge me a....::he gulped down the unpleasant taste of the words but bravely plowed on::...a late cancellation fee! You have to understand how serious this is!
Hobart: Response
The slightly scorched Ensign rolled out of the replicator still smoking slightly.
El’Heem: ::Clearing his throat.:: Almost failed some of those engineering course ::chuckling:: I’m…fine
Gott: Of course you are son! Look at you, fine upstanding member of Starfleet. I bet someone with your qualifications and...::he muttered under his breath::...brain damage could show me the way to my ship right now!
Hobart: Response
El’Heem: XO Hobart ::then looking at the Ferengi:: uhhh Ferengi, I apologize I didn’t catch your name at the conference. Sorry about this.
Gott prepared another zinger as the man walked over with a hypo in each hand and, without any warning or preamble, jabbed the both of them and pressed the activator. The devices hissed as Gott swatted at his arm in annoyance.
Gott: And what in the Debtors Prison of the Criminally Fraudulent Fron't was that?!@
Hobart: Response
El’Heem: Uhhhh I call it Hyropinephrine. Kinda like adrenaline and Hyronolin had a baby. I’ll explain later but it’s all I could make here. Uhhhh Enjoy!
Gott's eyes widened as the drug began coursing through his bloodstream. He could feel his lobes tingling painfully as his heart began hammering away inside his chest. Even as his panic was amplified Gott saw an opportunity and siezed upon it like a drowning man grabbing a loose chunk of driftwood.
Gott: Did he say....adrenaline?! I'm allergic to adrenaline! I need to get to my ship! Atraxia has a fully automated medical bay there, she can administer a counter agent before it's too late!
Hobart: Response
Gott felt like he was vibrating quickly enough to phase through the bulkheads and his vision was turning strangely green.
Gott: Hibes! Amd a swoolen toonge....ammd...ammmd....
Gott held up his hands and each of his fingers had engorged to truly absurd, sausage like proportions.
Gott: Muh shioup! Haove toaw gwet toh mai shiop!
Hobart: Response
Tags / TBC…
======================================
Gott
Ferengi Commerce Authority Bonded Psychotherapist
Noted Author
Ships Counselor, Interspecies Medical Exchange
V239509GT0
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