Diagnosing Wounds (Day 5 Morning)

Never to be long separated from her brother, Haddie had returned to the room. “Good mornin’ Miss Haddie,” Dorian greeted the child as he returned. “Let’s have a look at yah leg. C’mon…hop on up.”

As the silent Sister Lyen drew close, Adler undid the child’s dressing. He studied the wound just below her left knee, then glanced toward his assistant. “Generally good healin’” the medic said. “Tha graze is healin’ quickly, but Ah want tah give tha shot puncture anothah day before we bond tha tissue. Let’s replece her dressin’.”

Lyen was asserting herself, outpacing his hand to the various tasks involved in the dressing’s creation. At his core, Dorian didn’t mind. An uptick in her initiative and experience would only make them a stronger team…if serving in medical was still her desire. On the other hand, the aura she seemed to project contained every bit of the temperament he’d just weathered from Yeva, a situation he couldn’t tolerate in the infirmary.

“A fine dressin’, Sistah,” he offered approval of her technique. “Miss Haddie, come see us tomorrah before upthrust an’ we’ll make that wound disappear. Mistah Gill, Ah’ll be back around in awhile, aftah yah’ve had yah breakfast. We’ll getcha cleaned up. Sistah Lyen?" He gestured toward the door, “let’s have a look at our next patient.”

He led the way to the infirmary, past the medbay lounge and the offending couch still heaped in his sheets and blankets. “Kindly have a seat,” Dorian pointed toward the medical workstation. “We got some imagery in that foldah…tha one called ‘Roose’….let’s open ‘em up.”

The nun was perched on his high backed stool. Dorian leaned against the treatment table, eyeing the screen over her right shoulder. Onscreen, the image which bloomed into a ghostly fluoroscopic grey-white was unmistakable. “Tha patient is Roose, tha old trackah who assisted us with findin’ Gill an’ Haddie,” Adler offered. “Yeva caught these captchas on tha night you’n Ah searched fah tha kids on foot. We’re lookin’ at his knee.””

He pointed below the patella to a muddy grey patch with a jagged looking edge. “Ah think that’s a torn cartilage,” he said, “but Ah want a bettah look before we start pokin’ around. Would love tah see him tahday, if he’s still aboard.” He called the image up to the large wall screen. “Yeah,” Adler muttered to himself, “Ah want some bettah imagery.”

As his eyes studied the injury, he finally worked himself around to the silence between them. “Sistah,” Dorian said carefully, “Ah’d be very much obliged if yah’d tell me what has gone amiss between us?”

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