Strong Arm Of Recovery
Strong Arm of Recovery
Arc: None
Summary: Phillip makes a cybernetic friend while recovering in the Med bay.
Date: 2659.247
Related Logs: None
Participants: Ackerman Phillip

The med bay is little busy this evening with multiple crewman from across several of the escorts in private rooms due to extreme injuries. In the main room, are several pilots recovering from more minor injuries that modern medicine can patch up in a few days or less. One in particular is pretty well bandaged up around his chest. Most pilots and a fraction of the onboard crew would recognize him as a pilot from the Minutemen Rapier Squadron.

Lt. Phillip Bradford is looking down intently at his datapad. His brow furrowed and demeanor far from cheerful…. hard to say if it is anger or sadness that prevails.

Larry had been coming to the medical bay for routing calibration of his prosthetic arm. As he enters the room and takes in the scene, however, he quickly realizes that the calibration is probably going to have to wait. He looks around the room for his usual doctor. Not seeing her, and with no-one available to answer his questions, he tries to find somewhere to wait until someone tells him that he isn't going to be seen.

Phillip looks up from his pad like he has every time somebody has entered the med bay…. Why? Who is he expected to come through the door. Cole? Paz or Taylor to tell him about some amazing rescue operation or that one has successfully rescued the bomber pilot. After seeing it isn't any of those, his eyes sadden slightly as he goes back to looking at his pad.

Several nurses are milling about attending to the limited needs of the handful of moderately injured personnel. The doctors must be engaged with some of the more severe patients or on break.

Larry reaches up into the left hand sleeve of his uniform, a look of distracted concentration on his face for a moment before the prosthetic arm goes limp, and the low-level buzzing in the back of his skull disappears.

Iceblade can't help but look over to newly arrived pilot when he sees somebody remove their arm out of the corner of his eye. His eyes narrow slightly as he gets lost in a tangent. Pilot… Illumanti…. cybernetic arm? Can you fly with one. I guess it would interfere. Huh, still I wonder if that makes flying difficult. "Getting the arm checked out?" Phillip says toward Larry - only slightly higher in volume than his normal speaking voice - room is fairly quiet.

Larry had been half-watching the younger pilot, trying to get a sense of his state of mind. Larry knew from first-hand experience that the doctors on these ships were pretty good at putting bodies back together, but sometimes the person inside them could get forgotten. When Phillip speaks up, he nods. "Yeah. It's a cheap model. The calibration keeps sliding off. If it doesn't get checked for too long, it gets pretty hard to bear."

Ouch, Phillip thinks to himself. "So what does it do when its calibration gets off?" he asks in a fairly conversational voice. His mind momentarily distracted from recent events.

Larry responds, "It's a direct neural interface, so phantom sensations and the like. Motor control's fairly robust, else I wouldn't be allowed to fly with it. Unpleasant, but it doesn't get in the way of flying, at least not for a while."

Phillip nods and thinks for second, "So phantom as in touch or… something more… painful?"

Larry answers, "I usually run it with the pain channels deactivated and insulated, but it has mixed up touch and temperature once before. That was unpleasant."

Phillip grimaces and then jokes, "Ouch hot hot… wait that isn't a stove." A thought crosses back into Phillip's mind and his demeanor sullens.

"Yeah, something like that," seeing Phillip's demeanor change, Larry pauses, then steps over to the younger pilot's bed and asks "do you want to talk?"

"Huh…," Phillip sighs, thinking for a couple of seconds if wants to talk or not, and decides alright, "I suppose you heard about the 13th's CO going missing after one too many rounds of flak?"

"Only rumours. You were on that flight, I take it? Larry, by the way, or Kobold if you'd rather."

Phillip slightly raises his right hand before thinking it would be a better idea not to twist his upper body. The young Lt. raises his left hand instead, offering it for a handshake. "Its good to meet you, I'm Second Lieutenant Bradford. You can call me Phillip or Iceblade or Phil, I'm not that particular," Phillip says with his voice still somewhat dour.

Larry takes the offered hand in his right, and shakes it gently. "A Pleasure. How are you holding up?"

"Probably a lot better than Cole is right now," Phillip responds rubbing his bandaged chest before adding, "… assuming he's still alive and not kitty dinner."

"Here's hoping," Larry agrees. "This war's claimed enough already."

Phillip nods solemnly and says with his eyes unfocused, "Way too many."

Larry watches Phillip's response almost more than listening to it. The younger pilot was clearly taking the situation hard, but anyone would. Larry knows that he has in the past. He sighs, wanting to be able to help, but not knowing what to offer.

Still with eyes distant, Phillip adds, "You know, I guess I've been lucky to have lost so few comrades thus far…" He then chuckles to himself, "Or I have a very skilled or lucky group of friends."

"Lucky has got to be worth something." Larry agrees, and then trails off, remembering some of the less luck pilots he's flown with.

"Hmm… true, just wish I could give all of my luck to my brother…back when he really needed it," Phillip says sadly.

"I know that feeling. Better than I'd like."

Phillip turns his head toward Kobold, his eyes more 'present' than before, "I take it the cats have a taken a few of your siblings as well?"

"Too many. I was stationed on the Imperious prior to this. I'd started to get a reputation for surviving disasters before she was destroyed. I lost too many friends to think about that day."

Phillip's eyes widened, "Man, I've really be lucky then, so sorry."

"Yeah. I've survived more than I probably should have done. Lucky in a way, but… It gets hard, but you find a reason to get back in the cockpit."

Phillip nods and responds, "At one point, I would have said revenge, but it's developed into something different… I want to get back out there not to kill cats, but to keep my friends alive and keep the cats from creating holes in other families like they done to mine."

"Yeah. Get in the cockpit else someone else would have to. There are worse reasons to fight."

Phillip momentarily trails off in thought, thinking about the other reason he flies. Iceblade feels unsure if he wishes to admit the joy of killing cats, even to himself. "Uh yeah definitely some worse reasons."

"Lt. Ackerman?" One of the nurses heads over to the pair. "The doctor can see you now, but not for long I'm afraid."

Larry pushes himself up from where he had been leaning. "Thanks. It needs at least a quick re-alignment." He turns back to Phillip. "See you around. Let me know if you want to talk through anything. I'm no shrink, but I've survived the kind of fights you've been through."

Phillip looks toward the nurse then back to Kobold and nods seemingly feeling a little bit better, "Thanks, and good luck."

"You too." Larry turns and follows the nurse out of the central room.