NOTE present UPP: 7568E8 due to ongoing Physical Fitness Program

Ex-Navy (Medical Branch)
Ex-Lieutenant (O3 – 2)
1 Term College (Honours Graduate) 2 Terms Navy

His father was a respected property taxation expert and he was born into the retinue of a minor Regina Noble House. A frail child, the result of a difficult birth (his mother did not survive) and an at the time undiagnosed blood disorder (now fully cured), he spent most of his childhood being raised by and studying under the household teaching staff. There were several children roughly his age in the Noble House and as an indulgence to his widowed father he shared their tutors.

Whilst his own academic achievements were consistently high there was a minor scandal when a tabloid news-sheet suggested that many of the computer records for teenage members of the Noble House, by which his father was employed, contradicted faculty members recollections of their ability and also showed a universally above average level of final marks when compared across their years of schooling. He was named by association only in the article but mention was made of his skills with computer storage systems.

Upon graduating from The University of Regina, with honours in general computing, he was successful in his application to join the sub sector Navy out of Regina. Initially the high level of education he had enjoyed carried him rapidly through the medical branch. However his physical limitations began to affect his performance and he was declined reassignment after only two terms being honourably discharged and awarded membership of TAS in recognition of his service.

After mustering out he entered civilian medical service and has been enjoying civilian life to the maximum extent of his income.

His father passed away towards the end of last year and surprisingly for a man so competent in financial matters left little or no legacy. He has no immediate surviving relatives.

Splinter looks round the clinical whiteness of his med-bay with it’s easy wipe surfaces and fluid drain channels in the floor, his eyes screw up as he defies the bright surgical lighting by staring straight at it. He raises his face towards the ceiling and sniffs the neutral sterility of the air and as he passes his hand over the door stud to open it his hair is moved by the breeze which results from the equalisation of air pressure. As the door cycles closed again the soft thrum of the pressure reducing pumps kicks in, a constant background rhythm to his time in the sick-bay, more often felt than heard he smiles as he imagines it to be the heartbeat of the ship herself. Despite the clinical loneliness of his surroundings he is happy here. This sick-bay has yet to become violated, it’s walls don’t yet echo screams and cries of fear and pain, it doesn’t carry memories of suffering, it doesn’t yet accuse him of failure by standing witness to his inability to fend off death. He still likes coming here his jokes and humor still create enough light to keep at bay the shadows forming at the corners of this room. He smiles and thinks " I wonder if the Captain would get a hot tub in the next ship?".

Splinter sensing that tension still exists within the crew over their last mission retreats to the med-bay. Logging on he goes over his notes regarding the injuries he has treated since he took flight on the Red Dawn. With disbelief he catalogues the wounds each crew member, past and present, has suffered. With tears threatening to spill from his eyes he stares again and again at the list of damage he has treated. Cringing inwardly he recalls the jokes about scars and wounds he made, good god no wonder the crew was taking this first true defeat so badly, most likely they needed the spoils of victory to help them suppress their fear and pain.

Looking around the med-bay he saw the shadows forming in the corners their thick smokey ribbons reaching out for him! Already he’d failed these people just thank god no one had died yet!

And now there was nothing to hold back the shadows, they grew out of every surface thick, black and choking. Coiling towards him they wrapped their greasy lengths around him smothering him in an inky blackness. His cell soon filled completely with the black tubes, they wound around him tighter and tighter, unable to open his mouth, for fear of letting them inside him, he screamed silently through the night. By morning he was ranting soundlessly within his own skull, until when he awoke he was so terrified to open his eyes that one again he ran and hid deep down within his dreams, far far away from the terror of reliving those events.

As the crew mumbles their goodnights and those not on watch prepare to retire a single gunshot echoes through the corsair’s halls and corridors. Even before a headcount is completed intuition has some of the crew dashing for Matt’s stateroom. Reaching it they find the door open, inside all is neat and tidy, too tidy in fact, the bed is stowed and sitting filled in the center of the floor lie two military kit-bags. The room is empty of all signs of the old soldier apart from these. Crossing to the fresher screen Splinter slowly pulls the plastic modesty screen aside, inside slumped in the shower tray lies what’s left of Matt Turner after he’s used the automatic pistol he took from the gulag chief, somehow kept hidden from the port inspectors, to blow a fist sized crater out of the back of his skull.

Mindless of the gore that drips upon him and the blood that soaks into his clothes Splinter crawls into the shower box next to the cooling body. He wipes the blood splashes from Matts face and closes his eyelids; reaching across the body he lifts the chromed 9mm out of fingers that seem to elastically want to retain their grip. Checking the safety is on he slides the weapon across the floor towards Devlin. “We had better hide that well Captain, in case they do a spot inspection.” Turning to Duncan he asks the steward to fetch a large bio-waste sack from the med-bay, “We don’t have any body bags on board, but it should be big enough for the body.”

When Duncan returns the two men worm the old marine’s body into the heavy duty sack and lying on the floor Splinter heat splices it air-tight. Sluicing the shower through for several minutes removes all traces of the inside of Matt’s skull. Indeed so careful has Splinter been that the only visible evidence remaining is the small damaged area of shower wall which the still tumbling round hit after leaving Matt’s body.

Unzipping the larger of Matt’s kit bags Splinter falters slightly as a small square scale leather case is revealed, embossed upon its upper surface is the Imperial sunburst symbol, “I never did find out the rest of what he did to earn this , guess I’ll dig a little deeper!” reaching past the medal case Splinter removes the cutlass’s dress scabbard and belts( the weapon itself is sealed in the ship’s locker) these he hands to Devlin, “Captain, he had no family that I know of so I believe protocol dictates I return his medal to his regiment, I will look after it until we return to Imperial territory, if that’s OK.”

As Splinter unfolds himself from the floor he looks towards his Captain, his face reflecting gentle gratitude for the sentiment expressed. As Devlin studies his crewman he notices for the first time the changes that have occurred, never an imposing physical specimen the Doc does now appear more muscular, he’s less gangly and more co-ordinated also despite his recent terrible injuries he looks fitter more healthy. Devlin recalls the long hours of physical training the Doc went through with Matt and can’t help wondering what kind of friendship developed between the two men during those in-jump hours.

Picking up Matt’s kit bags Splinter carries them to his own stateroom, once there he drops them on the bed and turns to stare at himself in the mirror. Splinter knew that after what he’d gone through on The Shire back at Margesi he would never be able to face life on a Naval Starship again, and indeed his transport to, and time on the Gash had nearly broken him, exposing his damaged mind to the bleak, black memories of his final days as a Navy medic. Sadly he realised that once more he had failed a crewman he was supposed to serve. His childish withdrawal into fantasy over the last few weeks had robbed Matt of any chance of being saved.

Still looking at himself in the mirror Splinter saw his reflection’s face contort into an image of self-hatred, after several seconds of staring at this mask of loathing Splinter forced his facial muscles to relax, as lips slid back over teeth and hatred evaporated from his eyes his features returned to almost normal, but not completely. The Splinter that reflected out from the mirror looks older, more serious and totally incapable of uttering a single OOK!

Here is Splinter’s Resume:

I’m familiar with the random casual injuries human beings inflict on one another: concussions, fractures, broken bones as well as the more calculated damage of war: kinetic trauma; high energy burns; decompression damage etc. Also I can deal with ship born parasites and viruses, sexually transmitted diseases, engine room injuries and food poisioning, for everything else i know how to use an index.

I can screen crew for most of the common drugs and only take bribes to hide the trivial stuff, I can monitor battle, fast and slow drug use.I will not admit to any knowledge of psi-drugs.

I can operate service and repair your ship’s computer both in flight and on planet. I can monitor run time efficiency of your inboard systems, secure your data files, clean up your storage medium and maximise efficencey of your computer. I can repair and maintain personal computer equipment, hand terminals,notebooks etc.

I can service maintain and repair electrical items as well as electrical components on small arms and personal armour along with comms gear, I’ve some limited experience of vehicular electronics.

I’ve also full membership of TAS with all associated benifits.

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Mustered Out on Regina

Mike "Splinter" Harris

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Mike "Splinter" Harris