First Impressions, Mixed Results

Posted on Wed 26th Oct, 2022 @ 3:20pm by Khellian s'Siedhri MD & Criswell Sandbags

1,436 words; about a 7 minute read

Mission: The Hunted
Location: Brown Sector Dawnstar clinic.
Timeline: MD 9 1130

ON

Criswell Sandbags entered Dawnstar Clinic with a PADD under his arm, wringing his hands in the nervous twitch similar to that of a typical Ferengi. He had been to a health clinic in Brown sector once when he cut his right hand by accident while cleaning the kitchen in the buffet of what was now known as Qaraq's Casino. With his new job as Qaraq's Executive Assistant, Criswell's new health plan allowed him to get better care on the station, but Criswell was more than aware that most of the people in Brown Sector did not have such a luxury, which was exactly what brought him to Brown Sector's Dawnstar clinic today.

It looked like a rather slow day. One mother and her child were there waiting to be treated. The child appearing to have some kind of rash. Criswell hoped it wasn't contagious, but knew such things could easily be avoided, and this clinic looked like it was kept clean and safe. Whether Dawnstar had the faculties to treat the rash, if that was indeed the child's problem, was another matter entirely.

Criswell decided to sit and wait for his turn like everyone else. While he had no health problem at the moment, he believed there was a way he could help those who did. It appeared he would be right after the child with the rash, who was now being examined. While he waited, he took out his PADD and adjusted his schedule and answered messages from other employees of the casino who reported to Criswell.

Khellian called back the child and his mother, and his dark emerald eyes fell on the human male that was sitting waiting for his attention. He didn't appear unwell, but appearances could easily be deceiving.

It took approximately 10 minutes, before the mother and child left again. The lady was visibly grateful, and the boy was nearly asleep on his mother's shoulder. The rash on his face at least was visibly fading, though the marks from scratching it were still livid on his pale skin.

Criswell smiled at the mother as she walked by, but the mother didn't seem to notice him. Criswell was used to that. For the moment there was no one else in the waiting room, and no one had been called in after the boy.

The doctor came in and looked at the man, seated in his waiting room, and nodded at him. "You are not ill." It was a statement, and an invitation to share why he was here.

Criswell stood and smiled. "Oh, yes, I am quite well. My name is Criswell Sandbags. I work directly for Mr. Qaraq, the owner of the new casino here in Brown Sector. I was wondering if I could have a few minutes of your time?"

"I have no pressing engagements at this moment. If I get a patient in, they will take precidence of course. ".

"Oh! Of course!" Criswell said, his eyes shifting around the room.

"What does the owner of a Casino want with me? I must admit surprise about his attention on my clinic."

"I'm glad you asked!" Criswell said with excitement in his voice. "My employer has purchased the casino here in Brown Sector, which just opened. Mr. Qaraq is not familiar with the Federation or Starfleet, so he is looking to build strong ties here that may lead to other business ventures inside Federation space. Mr. Qaraq is aware that Brown Sector is home to several people who are less-fortunate than in other parts of the Starbase. I myself have lived here for six months without a livable wage, working under the previous owners of Qaraq's casino, and I am very familiar with Brown Sector's needs. Mr. Qaraq wishes to give back to the Brown Sector community by way of very sizable donations to the various institutions that can help keep people fed, safe, and healthy. We are also taking steps to ensure that the children of Brown Sector receive an adequate education. We're offering our services to you and your clinic with, um, no... strings... attached..." Criswell still had trouble saying those words, knowing if this was home his father would be outraged. He continued, "...we simply wish to give back to the community who has welcomed Mr. Qaraq and his endeavors with open arms. Mr. Qaraq will not donate anything monetary, but he is interested in donating amenities such as supplies and food. Would your clinic be interested in opening a business arrangement with Mr. Qaraq?"

"How would he propose doing such a thing, without making me look as if I can be bought??" He countered, wondering how the owner of a casino would benefit from openly supporting his clinic. Not knowing anything substantial about the man, it was unlikely that Khellian would fully support this endeavor without learning more about this Qaraq fellow. "And why come to me, instead of branching out on his own? I am hesitant to yield the positive opinion I have earned, just because someone else it seems wishes to benefit from the good we are doing here."

"I'm sorry, I don't understand what you are saying," Criswell replied. "Why do you feel you are being 'bought?'"

"You must see it from their perspective friend, accepting supply and stock from someone who just came to the station would be seen as a betrayal of my principles. If I do such a thing, it will be thought that I can be influenced by Mr. Qaraq which while not the case, would be detrimental to my practice. It took me a long time to acquire any good will from these people. I am only just getting them to trust me with more than just the basic care, most of that goodwill earned by my daughter. It is absolutely necessary that the people who come to me, trust me. It is a point of pride for me, as well as a professional necessity. I ask nothing from them, except that they come to the clinic with their children, and their sick. I have seen the price that a virus running rampant through an area of poverty can wrest from the people. It is a price of lives and livelihoods."

"Forgive me," Criswell said, bowing his head. "But I don't quite understand. Wouldn't the people you are helping want the best care? Wouldn't new medical supplies make it easier to treat people? Don't you think they would want that? I ask now out of personal curiosity. If your answer is no, my employer will respect your wishes. He wants what is best for Brown sector and knows that you are more aware of their needs."

"Many of these people are not used to having any care at all" Khellian spoke quietly, taking in every word of what the man was saying, and what he wasn't saying. "Would additional supplies make things easier? Yes, they might. Would they want it? That I do not know, these people do not conform to the norms one associates with people. I have found it best to ask them, when such questions arise. "

"You have to ask 'these people,' who do not 'conform to the norms,' if they want the best care?" Criswell asked. "Forgive me, but what kind of medical clinic treats its clientele with such hubris?"

"How often do we see those that have the ability to take care of themselves properly, and choose not to? It is more common than you think. Many of the people we care for here have thrown Starfleet doctors and their fancy equipment out, run them off and refused their care entirely. Makila and I have worked very hard to gain the trust of the people here, and yet I cannot suggest all the things that I would if I were at my Primary practice because of the nature of that lingering distrust. So yes, I would ask them. " He countered calmly, trying to not show his irritation at being insulted in his own clinic.

"I suppose you would know better than I," Criswell conceded. "Let me assure you, my employer Mr. Qaraq gives this offer with the best intentions. He is not looking for repayment of any kind."

"Perhaps I shall venture to his establishment...A conversation over an ale might be beneficial to both parties."

Criswell's eyes lit up and he smiled. "I think Mr. Qaraq would enjoy that!"

"I think I might as well." Khellian chuckled softly shaking his head at the whole interaction. It was quite interesting how much his life has changed since coming to this place.

 

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