You're Hired!...Again.
Posted on Sun Jun 21st, 2026 @ 12:52am by Petty Officer 1st Class Moana Thomas & Lieutenant Taren Zhol M.D.
Edited on on Sun Jun 21st, 2026 @ 12:54am
1,702 words; about a 9 minute read
Mission:
Episode 1: The Fissure
Location: Sickbay
Timeline: The evening prior to departure.
Mo had not always been a Starfleet nurse. At the start of her career, wedged in after the years of study that had followed an earlier stint as a junior medic in the marines, she had done the rounds in several Earth-bound hospitals for just long enough to value the benefits of ship-based service. Less resources but a static clientele, a generally-smaller workplace to keep organised and a lot less opportunity for bureaucracy to interfere with your day-to-day decisions. Sure, the big-knobs at the top might eventually have something to say but it was usually after it was too late to actually do anything about it. Mo had always subscribed to the 'forgiveness trumps permission' school of workplace management.
There was also the point that there were just better options for building a solid team. Larger departments involved a rotation of staff, an influx of specialists and an inconsistent stream of patients who often didn't stick around long enough to finish their cup of tea, much less allow any time for ongoing chit-chat. Mo was a woman who thrived on the relationships she could build and it frankly pissed her off to be reduced to the function of a cog in a complex clockwork where her only value became a study into just how much strain she could bear without the whole kit-and-kaboodle crashing down around her. Sure, people weren't always at their best when in a medical setting, but Mo still liked them. Most of them. And the ones she didn't like at least kept things interesting. Hospitals had a lot more opportunity for career expansion but that also came with an increased potential to serve jail time for failing to perfect the art of eating your own fist every time a chief surgeon waltzed in late.
Starships were peaceful, by comparison.
Which made it perfectly justifiable that Mo's preferred method of performing stocktake was during the anti-social hours of Gamma Shift, with music blaring. Had there been patients present, she might at least have asked permission first, but with the ship still docked and departure now less than a day away, working out whether or not the emergency supplies on hand would suffice for a long trip to the arse-end of who-knew had taken on an urgency that couldn't really be postponed. Medical replicators were amazing things but nobody in their right mind left a supply cupboard bare in the hopes that there'd always be plenty of power to go around during the kind of situations where medical supplies tended to be required en masse. At least this nurse wasn't about to take that kind of chance, not if there was a good opportunity for late-night karaoke to be had.
The doors hissed open Dr. Zhol entered like he already owned the department.
Bolian. Immaculate posture. Crisp medical uniform that looked more tailored than issued. The kind of expression that suggested he had read every regulation twice—and corrected the margin notes. He paused just inside the threshold, taking in the room like it was a space that had been functioning incorrectly before his arrival. He raised his eyes, in a very questioning manner, almost in a Vulcan manner.
"Computer, halt music." he ordered. "You are?"
The sudden absence of music was more jarring than its elevated volume, in Mo's opinion. Perhaps fortuitously, any significant protest was delayed by a rather preoccupying maneouver that had her arm half-wedged inside a cupboard trying to reach a support brace that had lodged itself in at an odd angle. It was apt, perhaps, that it put her on her knees, supplicant to the slightly-judgemental authority that was now staring down at her from its lofty perch. Mo didn't think much of it; a lot of doctors were like that.
Especially junior doctors.
And, whilst this one didn't seem to have done his research, Mo was a Head Nurse who took her job far more seriously than deranged guitar solos would indicate. There was only one Bolian due in her Sickbay as far as she was aware and she'd made a point of learning his name prior to him even arriving. She didn't move, partially because she couldn't really without losing all progress with her intended quarry, but she did meet the Bolian's gaze with equal candor and tried not to make it too obvious just how much she wanted to laugh at his posture. "About to offer some very choice words to whoever threw these cupboards together," she answered the question unhelpfully, having intentionally misconstrued its intent.
"Ah, yes Nurse Thomas, I am glad you are here." Dr. Zhol smiled, she was a fairly attractive woman, her curly hair parted to the side showing her Tattoo on her neck as she stocked the shelves, "perhaps we can arrange something better? I can talk to Operations see if there is any materials left over to redesign of the Storage System here in Medical. I do have a question though, why Gamma Shift, I had reviewed your file, and you have quite the talent, it is a shame to waste them on this shift."
A glint in the nurse's eyes was of a specific type of unabashed amusement that paraded almost as affection. Doctors, as far as she'd ever experienced, tended to fall into several categories. That Zhol had started out in the Stick-in-Arse group and shifted very swiftly into the Silver-Tongued category was going to make things interesting if nothing else. "Things were quiet, we're not far from departure so I shooed the rest of them out to make the most of last-night drinks. Don't worry, you'll have plenty of opportunity to put up with me on the busy shifts."
With an elongated groan, Mo abandoned her current efforts and pushed herself to her feet. "The cupboards themselves are fine, it just seems like the contents were overlooked last time anyone thought to do a requisitions check. All the rest of it," she extended her hands palm-first to the rest of the room and gestured in vague circles, "is already accounted for. Priority equipment first, this stuff is more the emergency overflow."
"Where we are headed, I am sure we are going to run low on stock. I certainly hope the Ombudsmen in Operations took that into mind when the resupply orders were submitted." Zhol lifted a crate to look at it. "Have you had your break yet Nurse?"
It wasn't unfair to say that, in a hospital setting, the doctors generally didn't take a lot of interest in nursing rosters outside the expectation that one be available at whim. (Perhaps it was a little unfair in some cases, but on average, Mo felt like she had plenty of annecdotal evidence.) It was true that starship service tended to create a closer-knit staff where the hierarchy was a lot less defined but, since part of her official duties included managing the roster, Mo was still surprised to be confronted so early on with a question about her own well-being. Her raised eyebrows didn't seek to hide it.
"I considered it," she tempted fate with a sprinkle of playful sarcasm, "but our resident house-fern in the corner wouldn't agree to cover for me." The potted plant, a solitary attempt to make the waiting area more inviting, was technically the only other living thing currently on duty. Mo hadn't been lying when she'd said she'd sent the rest of the staff out to enjoy their last night of certainty for a while.
He wasn't sure, but was she flirting with him? That would be extremely unprofessional. How could he put a stop to it... Perhaps he should reach out the Counselor and seek advice.
The silence was deafening, if not a little perplexing since the query had been unprompted and now the response seemed to have earned a cold shoulder. In the privacy of her own resignation, Mo sighed. It was always the young ones.
"Now that you're here," she tried changing tacts, and there was a slight nudge to her disposition to match. If he wanted to play authoritarian, so be it. "I have some procedural documentation to go over with you." Dusting her hands on her pants, Mo strode over to her nook tucked away in a smaller alcove beside the doctor's main office and re-emerged carrying several PADDs. "I've drafted a preliminary roster for the first two weeks, and updated our emergency procedures to include the stipulations Starfleet threw at us regarding First Contact situations." One by one, she handed the small mountain over until the stack threatened to become a balancing act. "Uniform policy, requisitions list, evacuation plan... I'm working through the crew manifest to highlight any specifics we need to watch for. We've already had a few changes, our pilot no longer requires routine Chlorophyll adjustments."
"Well done," Zhol looked over the information in the PADD's of information, "I would ask that you are Primary Nurse on Alpha, that's the only change and leave Graveyard to someone else or even better the EMH and other holographic counterparts. I would also like you to have a 'more direct' role in Sickbay, a senior nurse role. You seem present and here. That is what I need."
Despite every effort to avoid it, Mo felt her eye twitch. She understood, of course, that the Chief Medical Officer had some capacity to organise the shift rotations, like any department head. The fact that she had been appointed to the role he was now offering her by their mutual superiors was not, Mo had to concede, a ratified certainty until the doctor signed off on it. There was still something about the way Zhol approached the matter, not the least starting with his inability to understand that her current endeavours were extra to the Alpha-shift she'd already clocked for the day, that left her a little hesitant. Oh, honey. One of us has a lot to learn.
Her smile, nonetheless, was bright and abundantly cooperative. "You're the boss."
This moment of awkward professionalism brought to you by:
Lt. Taren Zhol
Chief Medical Officer
and
Petty Officer 1st Class Moana Thomas
Doubly-instated Head Nurse
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