Rehab, pt.3
19 Sep 2021August Davenport
(Continued from Rehab, pt. 2)"Beep! Pardon! Invalid coming through! Make a hole!" I shout as I speed my new mobility chair through the busy dockside corridors. Haven't felt this purposeful, energetic in a while.
Finally, I arrive at Bay 12's tower. "I'm Commander Davenport," I announce for the duty controller. "I need to file a flight plan for ship ID AUV-ZD."
"One moment."
I nod and smile, nearly giddy for having a purpose. It wasn't at all that I was missing the rehab thing. Nope. I'm a responsible pilot. Skirt something like post-exposure treatment? Nope. Not me.
"Um, Commander, seems there's a bit of an anomaly. I'm going to forward your request to the Dock Master. They'll be here shortly."
"What's the problem?" I ask.
"It's best if you talk to the Dock Master, Commander," they reply.
Oh, titular. This isn't a good anomaly. "Sure. I'm just gonna take my seat over there." I turn my head to a corner. It's about all I can lift at the moment, but it works. The chair zoomies over to the corner. I spin slowly. Learnt not to go fast in the medical ward. I get motion sick in gravity now.
Minutes later, a middle-aged woman, salt and pepper pixie and the start of several wrinkles in her lean face approaches. "Miss Davenport, I hate to tell you so bluntly, but you're not going anywhere in that ship for now."
"May I ask why?" I inquire. "Shoot me straight, chief." Nice, remind her I respect her. "I grew up on Hickham's. Dad runs the medium pad there." Bonus points I hope to score.
She smiles professionally. Not a good sign. "Then, you'll know Pilot's Federation requirements more than most. Specifically, the requirements for preventative checks and services."
"Shit, it's my annual, isn't it?" I frown.
She nods. "Yeah, and there's no way your boat would pass muster in its current state."
"That bad?" I ask.
She nods, "Twenty percent hull integrity. Missing panels, exterior damage. Your scoop has been jury rigged and is out of spec. The list goes on...."
"Okay, I got it. That's fair." I pause and look sad. "We both want folks to fly safe, especially in the bubble, right?"
"Yeah, that's right." She says.
"And I definitely don't want to compromise your word. So, what can we do to get me past annual in a couple hours time?"
She blinks, "Honestly, nothing. We'll have to order the parts from Saud Kruger for the panels, and even getting those would take time. If you have any part of your pressure hull compromised, or essential equipment damaged, we could be looking at a long lead time to get it repaired."
"Ah," I nod. "So, you're here to tell me that until that the ship passes, you're forced to impound it?"
"Sorry, but that's station policy here."
I nod, "And appealing to your humanity. Telling you I'm trying to head to my passenger liner to rescue those poor stationeers in Cornsar... that's not going to really do anything but make you upset, is it?"
"No, sadly, it isn't," she sighs. "Were we military on an installation... or private company...." She stalls.
"Nope, I get it." I smile. "Look, you have my holo. Do the inspection, and if you've got a Saud-qual'd A&P here, give me an estimate. I'll see what I can't do. For the foreseeable though, I'm going to have to charter a private flight."
She frowns, "Sure. Thanks for understanding."
"You're welcome. I know what it's like being in your shoes. Dad used to come home and bitch about all the self-important, Imperial entitleds trying to run his dock. I don't want to be that."
She nods, "Commander?"
"Yes, chief?"
"Good luck out there. Bring them to safety for us."
"Wilco. Just one question." I reply. "Which way to the passenger lounge here?"
She gives me directions and my chair is back off, doing zoomies through the corridor. "BEEP! Get outta my way!"
(Continuing in the Passenger Lounge (Citi Gateway) and at the Galactic Bar)