Lesson 5 – Observation
"As CMO, you'll be invited to – and be expected to attend – many routine events in the life of a ship –landing party briefings and debriefings, Captain's Mast and disciplinary hearings, promotion boards, qualification boards, and so on. Sometimes you'll wonder what business a doctor has being there. You'll decide they're waste of your valuable time and start inventing ways to avoid them at all costs.
"Resist the temptation. Your primary job is the mental and physical health of the Captain and crew and these everyday activities give you the best window on crew morale and discipline and, in turn, on whether the crew is being well led. See how crewmembers react to the Captain and how he reacts to them, how decisions are made, how bad news, correction and discipline are conveyed and received. The clues are always there. You must place yourself in position to see them."
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"Attention on deck!"
McCoy and the other officers lining the briefing room table jumped up from their seats and snapped to attention as the Captain entered the room. A part of McCoy rebelled at the requirement. It still felt awkward to be forced to rise to his feet for a man several years his junior, his best friend for the past three years, and a man whom he'd seen in just about every emotional and physical state imaginable. But this was the military and Jim was his CO. Like it or not, at least for now, he'd reward him with the satisfaction of showing the respect that was his due as Captain of the Enterprise.
"As you were," Jim said, sliding into a chair at the head of the table as his officers quickly retook their own seats.
There was, McCoy noted, a certain swagger in Jim's demeanor when he entered the room, a carriage that screamed out, 'I'm meant to be here.' And, at times like this, when Jim took control of the room like a man who'd done this thousands of times, not merely a handful, it was as if some hand had indeed placed him in just this spot for a purpose.
Today's meeting was to discuss the upcoming away mission. It was essentially a check-in, "show the flag" visit to Bexar 9, a planet that had recently joined the federation. A couple of meals, a tour, and an exchange of gifts were the main agenda items for the landing party, along with a bit of shore leave for the rest of the crew.
Around the table were representatives from the ship's divisions involved in the event. Spock led the group through the minutiae that were so critical to the success of any planetary visit. It was something for which Spock was perfectly suited for; Jim less so.
Even so, McCoy had to admit that thus far Jim had adapted to the administrative requirements of being Captain better than he'd expected. While the hours chasing down Nero had been filled with non-stop action, the day-to-day running of a ship was a much more mundane process. McCoy had sneaked a look at Kirk's calendar and found his days uniformly filled with meetings more or less like this one.
Jim had come to the meeting well prepared and McCoy wondered how much of that was his uncanny ability to cram an amazing amount of information into his head at a moment's notice and how much was due to the briefing materials Spock had undoubtedly prepared for him. Either way, it made Jim look good.
After a crisp and efficient summary of the expected weather and atmospheric conditions from Ens. Jacques, Spock turned to Lt. Phil DeMarco, one of the security officers. "Mr. DeMarco, do you advise that the landing party wear phasers and what is the rationale for your decision?"
McCoy was pretty sure Spock knew the answer to his own question; the purpose in asking was to assess the security officer's level of preparation.
"Um, well . . . I think I'd advise against it, sir."
Spock raised a single eyebrow. "You think? Mr. DeMarco, are you not responsible for security on this mission?"
"Yes sir."
"Is it therefore not your job to evaluate the need for some or all of the landing party to be armed?"
DeMarco swallowed hard. "It is, sir."
"Do you believe the Bexarians pose a security risk?"
"Well, sir, they're a Federation member."
"A new member." Spock favored DeMarco with a withering glare. "Tell me, Lieutenant, do the Bexarians typically carry sidearms in the normal course of business?"
"I don't know, sir."
McCoy bit back his desire to grin at the Lieutenant's discomfiture. He stole a glance at Jim, who seemed content to let Spock continue his interrogation.
"Have you reviewed what the last Starfleet landing party did with respect to carrying phasers?"
"Yes, sir," DeMarco replied crisply, obviously relieved to be able to provide the First Officer with an answer to something. "Only the security officers carried phasers."
"And was the date of that visit before or after Bexar 9 joined the Federation?"
DeMarco consulted his notes, nervously fumbling on his PADD to find the necessary information. Spock's stare never wavered. Finally, DeMarco raised his eyes to meet it. "Before, sir."
"In your view, is that at all determinative?"
"I, uh, I'm not sure, sir."
McCoy could see that the young man was now thoroughly flustered. Spock could too apparently as, with a final derisive lift of his eyebrows, he settled back in his chair, crossed his arms, and shifted his gaze to Jim.
Jim now turned to the hapless young officer. "Mr. DeMarco, as security chief on this mission, you need to come to these meetings better prepared. Understood?"
"Yes sir."
"The answer to Mr. Spock's question is that we do not carry weapons on a diplomatic mission to a Federation planet unless one of three things occurs. First, Starfleet Command has notified us of a known security threat. Second, it is the normal custom of the inhabitants of the planet we are visiting to carry sidearms. Third, we are specifically requested by our hosts to come armed."
McCoy raised his own eyebrows. The kid knew his stuff.
"None of those contingencies exists here," Jim continued. "So we do not carry phasers." With a somewhat more sympathetic but equally dismissive look at the now miserable Lt. DeMarco, Jim turned to Ens. Kimble from Botany. "We're ready for your report on indigenous plant life."
Now, nearly an hour later, McCoy drummed his fingers on the conference room table and tried not to look bored. They'd discussed geography, meteorology, security, linguistics, diplomacy, and a half-dozen other topics, none of which had anything to do with medicine.
"Bones?" Jim finally turned to him.
"Yes, Ji--, Captain." On most starships, the CMO typically enjoyed a special relationship with the commanding officer. On this ship, everyone knew that McCoy and Jim were also personal friends. Thus, McCoy could get away with using Jim's first name in a situation where just about any other officer would be called on the carpet. Still, he realized it was important for Jim to be seen as the Captain, not just some kid fresh out of Starfleet Academy and McCoy's showing him that deference was an important element of that effort. So, while he'd still give Jim plenty of shit in private, in a forum such as this, McCoy did his best to observe proper military decorum.
"Anything you want to add?" Jim prompted.
Yeah, take someone else, is what he wanted to add, a statement that would earn him a stern rebuke, given that he and Jim had already had that conversation more than once.
When Jim had first broached the subject of his beaming down with the landing party, McCoy had protested, arguing that he needed to stay on the ship in case of medical emergencies.
"Bones, we're not leaving civilization. We'll have our communicators; they can beam you up to the ship within minutes if there's a problem."
That having failed, he reminded Jim of his fear of transporters.
"I'll respect your fear of transporters when you start respecting my fear of hypos."
McCoy then noted that there was no reason for the CMO to come on a diplomatic mission and that he was certainly not the person on whom Jim wanted future relations with the Bexarians to turn.
"It's good practice for you," Jim had replied good-naturedly. "It's important for my senior officers to attend and since you won't let Scotty go, you can take his place."
McCoy had argued strenuously that he hadn't created Scotty's heart condition and in fact was the one trying to fix it.
Jim was having none of it. In the end, he'd simply shrugged. "Consider it an invitation or consider it an order, Bones, whichever makes you feel better. Either way, you're coming along."
And that had been the end of that. "Nothing remarkable from a medical perspective," McCoy replied. "Their food is tolerable to humans; water is drinkable. No airborne illnesses that the decon units won't clear when we return. No known toxicities or allergens that would cause any serious problems. And their medical facilities are adequate for anything that's not catastrophic." McCoy wanted to make sure that everyone knew his department had done its homework.
Jim looked around the room. "Any other comments?" He paused a minute. "Then we're adjourned."
There was a rustle of chairs being pushed back and room quickly cleared, leaving McCoy alone with Jim and Spock.
"Kind of hard on DeMarco, weren't you Spock?" McCoy asked.
"On the contrary, Doctor. Given his lack of preparation, I believe I exercised significant restraint."
"It's okay, Bones. He'll learn from it. We've all had a few dressing downs in our day, right?"
More than he cared to recall during his surgical residency, that was for sure. And, more recently, when he'd visited a recovering Captain Pike at Starbase 17, he'd received a bit of a tongue-lashing for his antics in bringing Jim aboard. He was damn sure Jim had had it even worse, although he'd probably viewed it as a small price to pay for Pike's eventual support. Still, there was something about Spock's methodical approach that made McCoy vow he'd never show up unprepared for a meeting with the First Officer.
"Captain," Spock said, interrupting McCoy's thoughts, "with your permission, I'm scheduled to meet with Mr. Sulu regarding our approach to the Bexar system."
"Go ahead, Spock."
"Jim," McCoy said when the doors had closed behind him, "did you ever have that talk with Scotty?"
Jim bit his lip in frustration. "He's stubborn as a mule, Bones. I tried everything I could think of, from pleading to threats. No dice. He's terrified of the knife."
"I must admit that it doesn't do much for my self-confidence."
"You know it has nothing to do with you. Meanwhile, I'm trying to figure out where I'm going to find an engineer with even half of Scotty's expertise. We lost Olson and, after the casualties in battle with Nero, there's barely anyone left in Starfleet with the knowledge and experience to do the job." Jim pounded the back of the chair. "Dammit, I wish you could just slap him with a hypo and cut him open before he woke up."
McCoy smiled. "In some ways, so do I."
"You think they'll really reassign him?"
"Yeah, I do. You may be right that, with the severe shortage, they won't be able to replace him right away. But leaving him aboard is dangerous; even if they did ask my opinion – which they won't – I couldn't recommend it."
"I know and I wouldn't ask you to. It's just that everything was falling into place, and now this."
McCoy didn't need to deliver the standard lecture about commanding officers needing to deal with adversity; that realization was written all over Jim's face. Jim had already proven he could rise to a challenge; Scotty's situation would provide him with yet another opportunity to do so.
