Responsibilities gives migraine
Posted on Mon Jul 6th, 2026 @ 9:50pm by Lieutenant Celestine Eisenhorn & Lieutenant Commander Steve Ryan
1,159 words; about a 6 minute read
Mission:
Children of the Stars
Location: Sickbay
Timeline: Present
The doors to the infirmary parted with a soft hydraulic sigh, and Lt. Commander Steve Ryan paused on the threshold for half a heartbeat. The lighting inside was lower than the bright corridor outside, a cooler spectrum that gave the room a faint, clinical calm. Banks of diagnostic consoles hummed along the far wall, their displays spilling slow cascades of teal and amber data. The sterile scent of antiseptic hung faintly in the air, just enough to remind everyone who stepped inside that this was the one place on the ship where the body, not the mission, took priority.
Steve stepped inside, the deck plating beneath his boots barely making a sound and scanning the area looking for the Doctor.
The infirmary responded to his entrance the way starship medical spaces always did—quietly aware. A wall console chirped once as the doors sealed behind him, logging the arrival without ceremony.
For a moment, there was no one visible. Then a voice spoke from behind one of the diagnostic bays, “Unless you’re here to steal a hypospray,” it said calmly, “I recommend announcing yourself.”
Dr. Celestine Eisenhorn stepped into view from behind a partially raised biobed field. She had one sleeve rolled neatly to the elbow, a medical tricorder still open in her hand. The cool lighting caught the silver threads woven subtly through her blonde hair, and her expression held that same composed attentiveness she seemed to carry everywhere in Sickbay.
Her eyes took in Ryan quickly—not rudely, but clinically. Rank pips. Posture. Gait. Breathing pattern. The small things that told a physician far more than a patient ever volunteered.
“Lieutenant Commander,” she said, recognizing the insignia. The tricorder snapped shut with a soft click in her hand. She stepped closer, stopping a respectful distance away. “Dr. Celestine Eisenhorn. Chief Medical Officer.”
Ryan's eyes scanned the room and stopped on the figure of Celestine.
"Oh yes, we didn't have the pleasure to meet before" he presented himself with a broad reassuring smile "I'm Steve Ryan" he dropped the rank since the doctor already figured that out, "I'm the XO of the Montana" he explained while bringing his right hand to his forehead and casually massaging it as if it would do some good for his actual medical condition.
Celestine’s eyes tracked the movement immediately. Not the words. The hand.
Forehead. Temple pressure. Subtle wince at the corner of the eye. The kind of unconscious gesture people made when they believed they were hiding discomfort well.
They rarely were. She folded the tricorder lightly into her palm and gave a small, knowing tilt of her head. “Well, Mr. Ryan,” she said evenly, the hint of a polite smile touching her lips, “you’ve come to exactly the right place to not pretend you’re fine.”
She gestured toward the nearest biobed. “Please.” The gesture wasn’t forceful, but it carried the quiet authority unique to physicians who were very accustomed to starship officers trying to power through things they absolutely should not.
Ryan swung himself up onto the edge of the bed. The field shimmered faintly as it activated, soft scanning beams beginning their silent work along his spine and skull. He leaned forward slightly, forearms resting on his thighs, still rubbing the side of his head.
Celestine stepped closer and opened the tricorder again, its soft blue scan grid spilling across his face. “Headache?” she asked.
"Hmm, yeah" he answered "I am kind of used to it. Sometimes I just wake up with it but it gets away once I hit the gym or go for a walk around the ship during my usual routine departments' visits." he breathed deeply "this time it seems more resistant and doesn't seem to want to go away in its own" he declared.
Celestine didn’t answer immediately. Her tricorder hummed softly as it completed its first pass, the scanning grid shifting from pale blue to a warmer amber as it processed the incoming data. She moved the device slowly along the side of Ryan’s head, watching the readout rather than him now. “Used to it,” she repeated calmly. That wasn’t a question.
Her brow tightened almost imperceptibly. “Headaches that respond to exercise are usually vascular or tension related,” she continued, tapping a control on the side of the bed. A picture of Ryan’s brain appeared on the screen above the biobed. “Headaches that don’t respond to your normal coping routine tend to be something else.”
Another scan pass. The image of Ryan’s brain model sharpened on the screen. And for just a fraction of a second— The neural pattern spiked. Not randomly. Rhythmically.
Celestine’s eyes narrowed slightly. That wasn’t pain response. That was signal-like activity. She kept her voice perfectly neutral. “Mr. Ryan,” she said calmly, lowering the tricorder slightly. “When was the last time you were off the ship?”
The XO played calm and let all the scans be executed on him.
"Actually I was just passing by to meet you and ..." he tried stopping her but she was too busy running scans and using her trained clinincal eye on him to let him finish the sentence.
"...you mean on a landing mission?" he answered her.
Celestine didn’t look up from the tricorder. “Landing mission, shore leave, transfer shuttle, diplomatic reception where someone offered you an exotic beverage,” she said evenly. “I’m not picky about the category.”
She lifted the tricorder again and ran another slow sweep across the back of his skull. The device chirped—soft, thoughtful, almost hesitant. The neural model above the biobed pulsed again.
Not random. Regular. Like a signal searching for something to synchronize with. Ryan, for his part, watched the doctor instead of the display. Years of command had taught him a simple truth: when a physician went quiet, something interesting had appeared on the scan. “Mr. Ryan,” Celestine said very quietly now, “…are you hearing anything that the rest of us can’t?”
Steve acted anxious this time.
"W..what?" Was he getting crazy?
"No, I'm good" he answered staring at the doctor in anticipation of what the diagnosis was going to be.
Celestine increased the dampening field. For a moment, the signal weakened. Then it changed. Not fading—adjusting.
Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Adaptive,” she murmured.
Ryan lay still, silent, the pain easing—but the display told a different story. The pattern tightened, cleaner now, more deliberate.
Celestine tapped the console and briefly dropped the field. The signal surged. Locked.Resolved.
She froze for half a second. “…It’s learning,” she said quietly.
Steve felt his headache improving for a moment while being tested.
He tried to relax a bit but the half spoken comment of the doctor worried him.
"...it's learning?"
He locked his eyes on the doctor and asked.
"Who?"
:OFF:
Dr (Lt.) Celestine Eisenhorn
Chief Medical Officer
USS Montana
Lt Cmdr Steve Ryan
Executive Officer
USS Montana
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