sharpestscalpel

Chekov can't hold the con by himself. Uhura is helping, just to keep some semblance of peace, while Sulu is still recovering. Usually, an attempt like that would have ended with him dead or in the brig instead of in my sickbay, but with Pike and that goddamn pointy-eared bastard gone, the chain of command has gone to hell.

Word has reached the rest of the crew that we're dead in the water. Well, dead in the vacuum at least. Which is not an image of comfort. Nor should it be; space is disease and danger wrapped up in darkness and silence - what the fuck did these little dipshits expect?

And did they expect the Empire to gift wrap them like fine fucking crystal before sending them out into the void? Everyone's all squeamish just because Sulu has weeping patches of skin infection. I told him to take care of those grafts but no. He figured it'd be just goddamn peachy to fuck some tail and completely ignore that the fluid barrier is just good sense. You don't go rubbing someone else's wet stuff in your own damaged tissue.

I mean, for fuck's sake, I thought it was a well-known rule:

If it's wet and sticky and not your own, don't touch it.

Or at least don't be surprised when you pick up some nice little foreign bacteria and they start eating your flesh.

Which reminds me, I need a booster vaccine against blood-born pathogens and the rest of the crew need their shots. Now's as good a time as any.