Vaccinations
The standard disclaimers, I do not own Captain Scarlet, either the Original Series, or The New Adventures Series. (Although I do own copies on DVD.)
Once again, we stand at the start of flu season, and I’m desperately trying to work up the courage to vaccinated. (Give me another delivery system, and I’ll take it happily, just don’t come at me with the cursed pointy objects.)
A small group of Sickbay staff had taken over the largest table in the commissary. This was not a rare occurrence. After the Angels, Sickbay had the highest compliment of female personnel, and there was a tendency for male of all ranks, to seek out their company.
A commissary table claimed by sickbay was often augmented by all ranks, especially if Doctor Fawn was in attendance. The lower ranks all clamoured for a chance to rub shoulders with the Colour Coded staff, and Dr Fawn was by far the most approachable. That the Angels, other Colour officers, and even Colonel White might join the table was an added bonus.
It didn’t take long for the extra chairs, and nearby tables, to be filled by representatives of all departments and ranks, and good natured interdepartmental rivalry was the order of the day.
That Fawn had declared in favour of housekeeping over engineering, declaring engineering couldn’t penalise him without endangering themselves, but housekeeping could make his life absolutely miserable, was controversial, and was still being energetically debated when Nurse Jacaranda arrived.
Fawn stood, snapping back to ‘business mode’ as Spectrum’s Head of Nursing Services, reported that the latest round of flu vaccines had been received and stored, all correct; the resulting groans and catcalls from non-medical staff elicited groans from the nurses and orderlies in attendance.
Fawn smirked briefly, and focused on the long, thin cardboard tube Jacaranda carried. “Taking your post for a walk, Jackie?”
“No, delivering yours.” It was dumped unceremoniously into Fawn’s arms, before she headed off towards the food line.
Fawn examined the label, his face lighting up. “Oh, good. I’ve been waiting for this to arrive!”
Seizing a steak knife, he cut the thick layer of tape at one end, and levered off the cap. A couple of stray packing peanuts escaped as Fawn carefully extracted a long wooden object, sealed in a plastic bag.
“What’s that, Doc, a walking stick?” someone asked.
Fawn grinned. “Nope.” He slid the object out of the bag, and snagging a packing peanut squeezed it to a small tight ball, and poked it into one end of the object. Then, bringing it up to his face, took a deep breath and blew.
The packing peanut flew and scored a solid hit on the speaker, right between the eyes. He flinched back and everyone stared at the projectile, where it lay innocently in his leftover gravy.
“Gen-u-ine blowpipe, given to me by an obscure tribe of Amazonians, who still live a mostly traditional lifestyle,” Fawn grinned, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
Oblivious to the shock of his audience, Fawn carefully repackaged the blowpipe in its travel arrangement. As he stood from retrieving the stray packing, someone carefully asked, “That was a fluke, right? You’re not really that good a shot with it.”
“Aren’t I?” Fawn smirked. “Oh well, we may find out soon enough.” The grin intensified. “Anyway, I’ll be seeing all of you soon. Flu vaccinations!”
He all but skipped out of the door.
Silence reigned.
Eventually a young engineering tech asked, nervously, “He wouldn’t, I mean, he can’t … use that on people … Can he?”
A senior Lieutenant from security shook his head. “Either way, I’m not risking finding out.” He stood. “I’ll make sure I arrive early for my vaccination, this year,” he said over his shoulder as he left.
A murmur of agreement ran along the table.
