A couple hours later, Vadim awoke to the sound of his alarm clock. For a moment, he seriously contemplated staying comfortably tucked under his blanket but his brain was unfortunately quick to remind him of the present situation. With distaste, he starred at his claws and how he was curled up in his bed, right when they were finally going to get time to rest this shit had to happen. He sighed and threw off the blanket. Time to get some work done. He got up quickly.

Not a bright idea apparently, given the splitting lance of pain that surged through his skull. Maybe downing half a bottle of vodka and expecting to process it that fast hadn’t been too wise. Or so he would have thought if he didn’t have a bottle of water and a tablet of painkillers within arm’s reach under his bed.

Always prepare the terrain for your next bout of drunken debauchery (or in this case alcohol induced emotion dampening). The difference between a good officer and a bad one mostly boils down to preparation, case in point. Getting some additional extra strong painkillers had been the first thing on his mind at their last port of call in Purfleet.

Now it was high time for him to get some food to help settle his stomach, he was running on fumes. Hopefully the rest of the crew had already had their meal and he would be free to have his dinner in silence, the way he preferred it. Hopefully Rahul hadn’t overdone it with the spices again...

Vadim grabbed a fresh set of coveralls from his wardrobe, not bothering to transfer his items from the last one’s pockets, or to put on anything under it (it was already hard enough to put it on as is due to his goddamned wings). He would have to take it off later on anyway to adapt it to fit his new form better. Shoes were a no-no for now until he managed to snag the tools to adapt it to fit digitigrade feet.

He went to grab his keys on the desk, but stopped when he noticed a folded piece of paper stuck under the door. He picked it up quickly; curious about what it was about. It was a message from Micha, written in polish.

‘Vadim,

Captain announced departure for 25 May 1600WT, demanded to begin work on refitting respiratory gear for the fire suits. Engineers are busy with it (in engine room) but any help is welcome.

Charts ready for entry into port, Alejandro says you gotta do the mooring plan and choose a team to handle the lines ashore. Must be ready before 10 on the 25^th. You’re doing the mooring operation on deck with the Chief (I’m on bridge with De Vries and the captain).

Spared some sewing supplies for you in my room. Door’s open, top shelf in the wardrobe by the bed. For the shoes, Boris is doing it for the deck department. Drop yours off for him by the cafeteria before 2000 if you don’t want to walk bare feet.

Nguyen left you a meal in the kitchen. Tried out the new diet, can still eat anything, but apparently now we have a preference for meat. Mind the spices, tongue’s very sensitive to curry. Haven’t tried the rest.

Remember for the watch : yours is now the 4 to 8, AM and PM. You’re with De Vries (who’s expecting her his vodka).

Xx

PS : attached a copy of the list (with species) on the back, thought you might find it useful

Vadim nodded his head, now having a rough idea of how to go about his evening. He took a folder from the filing cabinet, as well as some paper and a pen which he shoved in his breast pocket. He would, try to catch up on his work as he ate. He also remembered to take his shoes. If Boris was intent on helping with that he wasn’t going to stop him, he didn’t have any clue on how to modify his shoes himself.

Walking out of his room, he contemplated how odd it felt to walk bare feet with his new paws. On one hand (or maybe would it be topical to say claw) his front gave him the feeling of walking on his hands without suffering from the soft skin being hurt (the scales on his palms were much rougher than human skin but managed to somehow retain their sensitivity).On the other hand, his rear half was still puzzling him what with walking on his toes, the paw pads dulling the impacts of each step and the retractile claws nestled between his toes (that he hadn’t bothered to figure out how to use. What were they for anyway? Climbing?).

There was no one out in the hallway and Vadim could see that the drizzle outside had resumed. The ventilation was blasting air loudly and if his hearing was right, a second generator had been started down in the engine room. That was a sign the engineers were running the main compressor to clear the main engine and have it ready in short order.

He proceeded to make his way to the centre of the ship where he took the stairs down one deck, on the level on which the cafeteria and the kitchen were situated. It was a much bigger deck than those above and it was there that you would find the ratings’ cabins, those for any possible passenger, and the ship’s gym (albeit a small one). The cafeteria and the kitchen, both adjacent to each other, were placed all the way to the back of the ship. Vadim crossed path with a couple sailors on the way, including a thoroughly pissed off cat who shoved him out of the way as he stormed out of the cafeteria yelling something in Italian. That barely earned him an annoyed glare from the griffon who already had an idea as to what caused the feline to react that way. He pushed the door and went inside without a look back towards the cat who still was yelling in frustration.

“Hi there Rahul, I see you’re still antagonising Roberto. What’s the deal this time?” He said whilst making his way to a table.

The cafeteria cut away from the interior design of the rest of the ship by being decorated with a brighter atmosphere than the dark tones found elsewhere: the walls were painted white with spots of light blue here and there. As for the floor, it was covered in black and white rectangular tiles. An ugly choice, but preferable because of how frequent it was to accidentally spill something on the ground when the ship jerked about. There was a wide window on the stern side of the room giving a very good view of the ship’s trail. Most tables were arranged on that side of the room, but there were some on the opposite side too, where the buffet and access to the kitchen were, meaning there was a fair sized void in the middle of the room. A couple fridges and water dispensers lined the sides of the room. In one place, someone had placed a white screen next to a projector that was safely secured to the roof.

There were only two other persons in the room besides Vadim: a dog who was cleaning the buffet and a griffon who was seated at a table, hunched over a sewing machine. Both were looking at him, the dog with a cocky grin on his face.

“No deal to speak of Officer, just sharing puns with a fellow sailor.” The dog answered.

Vadim addressed the other griffon in the room a look with a raised eyebrow.

“Really now? Puns?”

“Well yeah, what he doesn’t say is he’s been assailing our poor secretary with cat puns non-stop for the past twenty minutes. I can only admire the Italian, ‘cause that was like watching a tennis watch, except you replace the ball with witty remarks.” The griffon, Boris, said.

“Cat puns? That’s not very inventive of you Rahul, shame on you. Regardless, I trust you to know when to stop so he doesn’t lash out right?” Vadim commented offhandedly, handing his shoes to Boris who placed them on top of a not so insignificant pile. The guy was practically swimming in half dismantled shoes and bits of leather.

“Really?” Boris said “He barely gets a slap on the wrist and I get called to the captain’s quarters whenever I have a verbal spar with Artyom?”

“Last I checked bird-brain a verbal spar doesn’t end with someone getting smashed in the face with a bottle of rhum.” Vadim drawled flatly.

“Quick reminder dear officer” Rahul pointed out “I’m seeing two half birds in the room and one of them just happens to be you.”

“Point to the fleabag, I gotta work on my wit. Now if you wouldn’t mind serving me a plate so I can get back to my work?”

The Indian cook threw his hands in the air “Hold on there, no need to get offensive, we’re all adults here.” He said.

“Sometimes I wonder...” Vadim muttered, though that fell on deaf ears because Boris was already back to modifying shoes and Rahul had gone off deeper in the kitchen.

Within minutes, Rahul was back with a tray full of food for him. On it were a plate filled to the brim with curry rice and beef, an apple, some bread and bottle of coke. Vadim accepted it with a curt ‘thank you’ and turned around. Oh right, can’t carry a tray if you’re walking on all fours.

“Say Rahul, you wouldn’t know how to...”

“Trolley next to the water dispenser, you can’t miss it. Please don’t even try to walk with your tray, the other quadrupeds already made a mess of it earlier. You drop it you clean it, I don’t care how important your duties are it’s a cafeteria not a pig pen.” Rahul cut him off.

With that matter settled, Vadim got himself seated after moving his tray with the trolley (and putting it back after some nasty curses were directed at his person courtesy of a certain cook, he preferred Nguyen for a reason). As it turned out, Micha had been understating the reality of his tongue’s sensitivity because even if the curry was pretty mild by Rahul’s standards, the poor griffon still found himself with his beak stuck under a water dispenser after finishing his plate. He couldn’t even accuse the cook of messing with him because the colour of the plate clearly indicated he had used a lot less spices than the usual fare. That being said, the plate had been a fulfilling meal, and hopefully provided him with the right nutrition. Not that anyone said they couldn’t use diet supplements in any case.

“Word of advice Vadim” Boris intoned “I know some will say it’s a dumb idea, but if the cooks are gonna stick to their spices, you might want to smoke a cig or two before dinner.”

“You’re right Boris” Vadim said between two gulps of water “That is a dumb idea” He stuck his head under the dispenser again.

“Beats drinking a litre of water per plate I’d say.” He looked towards the counter; Rahul was off again “Unless you manage to convince Nguyen that is... He would make us a menu, Rahul sure wouldn’t, too prideful.”

“I’ll look into it; consider it a payment for the shoes. Why are you doing that anyway?”

“It was that, or help Roberto file some documents. I’d honestly rather die than do paperwork. The guy’s nuts, we’ve got an apocalypse on our hands and he’s worried about being late with his papers. Also, it’s simpler than it looks once you get the hang of it. I’ve already completed three pairs and I’m just two hours into it. Easy peasy.”

“Whatever floats your boat I guess? You feel like taking part in the mooring tomorrow? I need a few guys to go ashore for line handling.”

“Sure sign me up; just remember I’m not a certified boat pilot.”

“Not a problem, I already got an idea for the pilot. Hope you don’t mind riding shotgun with Danny, do you?”

“The welder? Nah he’s alright. What’s he turned into anyway? Too many things to keep track of you know...”

“Hold on” Vadim looked at his list “Apparently he’s a she-parrot.”

“She-parrot?”

“I mean he’s turned into a female. Tread carefully with that, I can’t help but think all these guys-turned-gals are a ticking time bomb on our hands.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. Don’t tease him too much ‘bout the lost dick and it will be alright.” The Russian said, barely paying attention.

“Boris I’m serious, the situation is bad enough that I wouldn’t be surprised if someone snaps and attack his fellow crewmembers. Don’t add fuel to the fire, roger?”

“Roger...” He relented with a soft nod. “Still, can we choose our third guy?”

“Sure, just slip the name under my door.” Vadim said and then returned to his table to work on his mooring plan.

Drawing up the plan was done rather quickly. The berth they had their eyes set on was just a regular quay for roll-on/roll-off vessels, meaning they would be able to use their rear ramp (the biggest) and make sure the ship was solidly held in place. They would even be able to open a side ramp if necessary because the berth was L-shaped. He only placed lines on the side of the vessel and didn’t bother putting any on the stern; experience had shown they only ever were really needed in case of storm or a very exposed berth.

Having to work with three guys less for the mooring would make things slightly difficult but if he put the bosun on the stern and he dealt with the bow they would have a good enough oversight of the situation, though he would have to insist on going slowly. With two or three sailors per winch, Artyom and he wouldn’t have much of a margin if the equipment started being capricious.

He would leave it up to Artyom to figure out who went where for the mooring. The guy had a better appreciation of his subordinates’ seamanship and would know who to trust with a winch.

Before he could put the finishing touches on his plan and add a secondary berth in case theirs was taken, someone –a brown cat- burst through the door.

“Hoy, we need Vadim down in the infirmary stat. Anybody seen him?” He cried out.

“I’m right here.” The aforementioned griffon said, standing up. “What’s the situation?”

The cat turned towards him. He was a bit dishevelled, and was panting loudly. He had a white apron (marking him as the ship’s other cook, Nguyen) above his coveralls and some rubber gloves. Both were stained with blood.

“Farkas is down in the infirmary, got injured falling down some stairs while trying to get to the holds.”

Vadim was instantly walking at a brisk pace towards the exit door, not bothering to pick up any of his papers on the way out. He tossed his set of keys to Nguyen.

“Got it. Go to my room and grab the white folder with a red cross on it, it’s in my filing cabinet next to the desk. Find me another officer if you can, too.”

The Ukrainian swore in his head. He was considered to be the ship’s ‘medical officer’ but that was only due to him receiving a slightly more extensive training than the average officer, not him actually being any good at it. If the circumstances were normal, they would have a contact with the shore to evacuate a wounded or even just receive medical advice. But now... He was on his own, and someone’s life may be on the line (he dearly hoped it wasn’t).

The infirmary was a deck below the cafeteria, on the port side of the vessel. It was placed closer to the actual holds so that it would be easy to access in case of casualty, but that made it so that it was in a more Spartan part of the ship, surrounded by more practical rooms like the ballast control room and the ventilation controls. There, the walls turned to simple white painted steel covered in wiring and piping running along the walls. The floors were covered in a single shade of dark grey anti-slip paint that didn’t feel too pleasant against Vadim’s bare feet.

In itself, the infirmary was very barebones, much more so than it really ought to be because they usually counted on being able to evacuate casualties within hours. It consisted of two gurneys separated by curtains against a side of the room, a recessed area with a bed on the other side of the room, and the last part of the room being occupied by the cabinets, shelves, sink and whatnot that the medical officer would need to provide treatment to patient... Treatment which was, unfortunately, limited by the scope of Vadim’s own abilities as far as medicine was concerned.

There were two people in the room. One was a sphinx laying belly down on a gurney, Farkas, Vadim assumed. He had a blood soaked bandage wrapped around his front left leg, and the other guy in the room, a white parrot with a nametag on his coveralls which read Alvarez, was holding a now red rag against his head.

“Can I get an explanation on what’s going on?” Vadim asked, immediately going for the cabinets on one side of the room, next to which there was a sink which he used to clean his claws (all the more important considering the fact he had to use them for walking).

“Well, we were going to go down the holds to have a walk on the main deck. Just to get used to moving in those bodies you know...” Alvarez said.

“And then he fell down some stairs I head? Is that correct Carlos?”

“Yes it is. We didn’t even get past the first flight of stairs... At least that got us close to the infirmary.”

The sphinx, who for the past minute had just lied there silently, opened his eyes and spoke up.

“I tried to go down the stairs but I couldn’t really see how to. Tried head first, didn’t work out, I slipped and couldn’t catch myself... ‘cause you know, no hands and all.”

“Ah good you’re talking, that’s a plus.” Vadim brightened up. “Word of advice, try to treat stairs like they are ladders, it’s slow but it’s safer. Are you feeling dizzy or nauseous?”

“No” The sphinx squinted in pain. “But I’ve got one nasty motherfucking headache. And how in hell would you already have figured out how to take stairs?”

“That I would expect from falling on your head like that. Just trying to figure out if you’re concussed... As for the stairs, that’s just the way I take them when I’m not feeling steady, the usual two bottles drunk that is.” Vadim said. “Now what was it they said after nausea?” He muttered. “Was it sleepiness?” He turned to Farkas the sphinx “Are you feeling sleepier than usual?”

“Boy everyone on this fucking ship is sleepy, we’ve been working our asses off all month.”

“I will take that as a yes and add irritability, though that might be normal for you.” Vadim quipped, adding a barely audible ‘skurwielu’. “Carlos, can you drop the rag you’re holding and get me a bottle of paracetamol. It’s the white and red one in the top cabinet. And please grab an IV kit with that. Maybe some painkillers will make our dear patient...” He levelled a flat stare at Farkas “A bit more courteous.”

“Eh asshole if you think smashing your head against industrial grade flooring is anything pleasant, then go ahead and try!” Farkas cried out, but went ignored by both crewmen present in the room.

Vadim pulled a lever on the side of the gurney which brought it to his level. Good, now he wouldn’t have to balance on his hind legs to examine his patient. He pulled off a corner of the rag on the sphinx’s forehead. Under the fur and coagulated blood, he could spot a jagged gash that was still bleeding a bit. It was about four centimetres in length. It would need stitches. That at least he could do. He put the rag back in place and instructed Farkas to keep compressing the wound with his right paw.

“Eh Carlos, what about the bandage on his left paw? Did you really get a look at it?”

“Not really” The parrot said from his side of the room where he was sorting through a cabinet “I just put a bandage without looking to stop the bleeding.”

“Okay, well Farkas I’m afraid I will have to take it off to get a look.”

“Just get on with it...”

Thankfully for Farkas, the blood had already coagulated under the bandage thus stopping the bleeding, but Vadim would have to remove the clot once he got a sterile field going: there were hairs in the wound, and just like on his forehead, the gash was long enough to require stitches too. On the bright side, it shouldn’t require any fancy technique to fix considering the edges of the wound were rather clean. He would have to take a look under to see if any nerve had been damaged.

“I guess you’re kinda lucky Farkas, ‘cause I don’t see any bone fragment in the wound. Doubt you’ve got anything broken, though you may want to take that with a pinch of salt, I’m no expert in this thing. Point is, I’d say it’s likely only sprained... Probably.”

“You sure sound confident there Vadim.” Carlos commented wryly.

“You try to remain proficient at that without any practice for months, then come back to me and see if you still got that wit. In either case, grab me a razor, I’m gonna have to shave around the wounds... and an armpit too, to plant his IV.” Vadim said, and then he put the bandage back in place. No need to inspect further without a sterile field and some disinfectant. “Also, where the fuck is Nguyen off to? That ship ain’t that big.”

“Why? Is he of any importance right now?” Farkas asked.

“Considering I sent him grab my medical folder, yes he is.” Vadim answered.

While it had taken Carlos a few moments to find the materials for the IV, Vadim had the benefit of being much more familiar with the infirmary. In a matter of seconds, he had brought out a foldable trolley onto which he piled everything he would need to take care of the wounds, including some local anaesthetic and disinfectant.

“Why do you need the medical folder anyway?” This time the question was coming from Carlos, who handed him a medical razor in a plastic bag.

“Two things in this case.” He started.

Vadim put on a pair of nitrile gloves. Actual sterile gloves wouldn’t be necessary for the first step, and using the expendable nitrile gloves allowed him to try to get them on a couple times without ripping them apart with his ‘index’ claw (hint : by the end of it he was surrounded by shredded blue rubber). The glove also had a finger too many, but that shouldn’t be too much trouble unless he somehow snagged it on something.

“One is I put the inventory for the infirmary in it. Gotta keep track of what’s used you know? Second is, I need to check out my procedure for concussions. The wound I more or less know how to treat. As far as what’s inside your skull however Farkas... I remember a few symptoms, but not the whole thing so in the meantime that’s no sleep or water for you.” He finished.

The sphinx just grumbled and laid his head on his front paws. Not that Vadim would complain, that made his forehead easier to reach. He began his work by pulling out the sterile razor from its bag and shaving a small area around both wounds, just enough that no hair would get in. After that, he shaved some fur in the crook of Farkas’ right elbow (if that was the right terminology anyway, not that he cared overly much) to make room for an IV.

“Eh Carlos, prep me some bandages and medical tape would you? Take one of the dressings for catheter, the green ones on the top shelf too. After that, grab some cotton balls and dunk them in isobetadine.”

While the Filipino was busy seeking what he had asked, Vadim had already placed a rubber band around the sphinx’s arm and was looking for veins.

“Come to think of it I should be considered a pioneer in the medical field.” The Ukrainian commented.

“And why’s that Vadim?” Farkas asked.

“You think anyone has ever stuck a needle in a sphinx? That’s gotta be a new one.”

“Are you always that reassuring to your patients? ‘cause I’m feeling real confident in your abilities right now...” Farkas drawled.

“What, you want the Captain or the Chief to do it? Last I checked neither of them have renewed their medical certificate, and Micha hasn’t had any practice in years. You with me on that Carlos, uh?”

“That I am, but what about the Cadet?”

“De Vries?” Vadim snorted, hunched over Farkas elbow. “She says they let you skip medical practice at the academies now. Guess what she did? Went sailing instead of practicing. On a fucking sailboat to boot. How bloody useful.” He muttered. “Ah, I think I got a vein there!”

It was that moment that Alejandro chose to enter the infirmary, with the medical folder tucked under his arm.

“Hey what’s going on in there?” The blue parrot asked.

“I’m treating a patient that’s what.” Vadim answered, not looking back towards his superior. “You wouldn’t know if we’ve got a contact with the shore would you? And where is Nguyen?”

“I sent cat guy back to the kitchen and no we don’t have any contact.”

“You got my keys from him at least?” Vadim grabbed the IV kit Carlos had dropped on his trolley and began disinfecting the arm.

“That I have. You need any help?”

“Yeah you can replace Carlos.” He looked at the Filipino “No offense buddy, but even if he’s out of date on his certificate, he’s got more training than you.”

“None taken.” The white parrot answered. “Want me to inform the captain?”

“You do that. Just remember to tell we’ve got it under control, no need to alarm him without reason, got it?” That came from Alejandro, who was leafing through the folder.

“Yessir, good luck with those stitches. And Farkas... take care; I will be back when they’re done.”

With that last phrase, the guy was off, leaving the two officers and the Chief Steward in the room. Vadim was quick to sum up the situation to his senior officer and asked him to bring up the page on concussions. He had a vague idea on the ins and outs of that procedure, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember if it was allowed to give patients fluids or not.

Vadim remembered to grab two spare needles in case he fucked up on the first try and failed to get the IV in (which he expected would happen).

“I hope you don’t mind needles Farkas, ‘cause I’m going in.” Vadim said just as he pushed his first needle in after testing it briefly.

He inclined the needle slightly and tried to carefully slip it in the vein, but the ship’s motion and his own position made him overshoot. Farkas winced in pain. Vadim tried to salvage the situation, but the blood had already congealed in the needle. Time to bring out needle number two then...

Much to his relief, this time he managed to slip it in just right and with a content sigh he pulled back the needle, leaving only the pink catheter in place. He immediately compressed the vein.

“Hoy Alej’, drop the folder and purge the IV for me, I don’t think Carlos did it. Be quick I don’t want that one to congeal.”

The Chief Officer was thankfully reactive enough to get the air out of the tubing in short order. Before Farkas had the time to contemplate on his poor situation, the system was in place and he had a flow of painkiller directly feeding into his bloodstream. Vadim hung the bottle to a hook affixed above the gurney his patient was resting on.

“Ah crap.” A mistake suddenly dawned on Vadim.

“What’s it now? Nothing too important?” The Chief Officer asked him.

“Nah, beginner’s mistake, I forgot to take his parameters. Shouldn’t be too big of a mistake though...”

“What makes you think that way?” Farkas asked.

“Not that I would know since I’m not a vet, but I don’t think your parameters occupy the same range as those of a human. Still, want me to take your temperature?”

“No, just begin that stitching so I can get some rest.”

Vadim didn’t bother answering that question and set about prepping his sterile field on the trolley. He also moved a stool next to the gurney so that he would be steadier. He’d honestly rather avoid leaving too big of a scar if he could help it. He was glad that he had tucked his tail in his coveralls because he was pretty sure he would have bumped it into a couple dozen things in the rather cramped room that was the infirmary.

At first, he dumped a box of single-use sterile tools on the trolley (now covered in an aseptic field), as well as some balls of cotton dunked in isobetadine. He hesitated for a bit regarding which type of thread to use, but elected to use a number 4 average thread on both wounds. It was probably wrong, but the material looked sturdy enough to him and he didn’t want it to break. These tools were joined by a syringe he filled himself with xilocaïne (a numbing agent he would use as the local anaesthetic) before dumping it on the field.

Confident he had the materials need to make his suture, the griffon nodded softly and grabbed some actual sterile gloves to begin his work.

“Okay, that should do it. Alejandro, I will need you to back me up and prep anything I might have forgotten once I get these gloves on. Do not touch my aseptic field under any circumstance, roger?”

The blue parrot, who was leaning against a wall at this point, gave him a firm nod.

“Anything else?” The Spaniard inquired.

“Yes actually, try to look for antibiotics. I will need ten days worth of it for him.”

Vadim then picked up the syringe he had prepped with anaesthetic and checked that it was void of air and that it had had the right needle, which he bent at an angle. He would start with the head wound. Syringe in one claw, cotton in the other, he ordered Farkas to peel off the rag covering his wound. The sphinx complied and Vadim, with his elbows propped up on the gurney, set about cleaning the congealed blood off of the gash.

Doing so resulted in a small trickle of blood, but the griffon deemed it negligible and kept going. This revealed more details on the wound: the edges were uneven and jagged, but it didn’t run too deep and it didn’t seem to come into contact with any important blood vessel. Unfortunately, it wasn’t linear, instead being shaped like a T. He would need to make a double point at the crossing or risk leaving a fold in the skin. But that would come later. He sprayed a bit of anaesthetic on the wound so Farkas wouldn’t feel the needle, waited a couple seconds, and then started making his injections directly in the wound.

To the Greek sphinx’s credit, he didn’t move too much when the syringe made contact with his skin, which was a nice plus. Moving would only have made the endeavour more painful for his patient. Vadim waited a couple minutes more to let the numbing agent take effect before dropping his syringe on the trolley and picking up a pair of medical pliers. Time to investigate the underside of the gash and look for veins and nerves.

Farkas barely registered when the pliers lifted a side of the cut, allowing his Ukrainian colleague to look under the skin. Nope, nothing on that side save for some stray hairs, which Vadim was quick to wipe away with some cotton. Inspecting the other side didn’t reveal anything either, so he judged it safe to begin the suture. He had however taken note of the thickness of the skin. The underside of it, he could see, was solidly fastened to the flesh underneath by wiry strands with a small but noticeable layer of fat (the colour was very distinctive) stuck between the two. The flesh directly under the wound was just scratched and tinted a crimson red by all the blood that flooded in the area, so no suturing would be needed under the skin (he didn’t have the thread for that anyway).

Getting the motion down with one finger less took him a bit longer than he’d rather admit. The empty latex finger on each of his gloves kept taunting him each time his grip on the surgical tools faltered, for he didn’t have a little finger to help stabilize the end of the tool that held the needle. He switched his grip a couple times before being satisfied with the position, squared his shoulders and dug in.

An actual doctor would have considered Vadim’s work crude and unprofessional. Unfortunately, beggars can’t be choosers and he had to take wide margins, poking his needle just a couple millimetres further away from the lip of the wound. He wasn’t confident enough in his abilities to risk having the thread break the skin when he tightened the suture point. Critics might say he also used too much thread on each point, but that was a moot point because the gash wasn’t long enough for it to be a relevant factor.

Vadim was so focused on his work that he didn’t notice the passing of time (or Alejandro peeking curiously at his work over his shoulder). He had to stop for a while around the midway point when Farkas remarked he was starting to get some feeling back, but that was solved by a quick application of anaesthetic.

He had to catch himself before he rubbed the bridge of his beak (that would have broken sterility). He was starting to feel parched so he stopped a moment.

“Say Alejandro, you wouldn’t mind calling the kitchen and ask them to bring down a bottle of water? All that sewing is starting to make me thirsty.”

Vadim didn’t even bother listening to the Chief Officer’s answer before he dove back in, intent on finishing that first cut quickly. His headache was starting to come back from the neons that lit the infirmary despite the painkillers he had swallowed earlier after getting up.

The good thing is, he was progressively starting to work at a faster pace the more used to the process he got. If putting the first point (a double suture that had required him to poke three times through the skin to secure the centre of the cut) had been difficult, the last one was almost a breeze that was accomplished in a couple seconds. All in all, he had put seven stitches on that cut alone. He tested the resistance of the suture with a gloved finger, then, satisfied; he put some disinfectant on it and hid it behind a pad of gauze.

Even if it was bleeding a bit more, the second cut was nowhere near as hard as the first and took him only half as long as the first wound despite being twice as long. Working on a limb was definitely less stressful than poking a needle around someone’s head. By the end of his work, Vadim had a twelve point long suture that (at least, to his own eyes) looked like some proper work.

Of course, a more squeamish person might have been a bit nauseous at the sight of Farkas’ blood soaked fur and the bits of thread snaking their way through his skin. That was not the case for the persons present and Alejandro looked at Vadim’s handiwork in amazement.

“Well pal, I had no idea you had it in you for that kind of work. Where did you get the practice for that? We’ve been at sea for what? Three, four months?”

“Pig feet. I try to grab one from the kitchen once every two weeks to practice. That burns through the medical supplies, but I get my practice and the company’s happy to keep the supplies coming.” He answered, taking off his gloves. Those weren’t really necessary for putting bandages.

Vadim was all too glad he could take off the blood soaked gloves, finally able to get rid of the itching at the base of his beak. Someone behind passed by on the way to the main deck and dropped a bottle of water for him, which he swiftly guzzled down.

Cleaning Farkas’ wounds and putting bandages on top was merely an afterthought with the biggest part of the work already done (except medical tape didn’t work with the fur and he had to waste some more gauze to keep the bandages in place). He instructed the sphinx to avoid changing the bandages unless he soiled them or felt any sign of infection under. He also gave him his antibiotics and told him to avoid straining his injured leg if he could help it (he probably couldn’t but Vadim felt it necessary to tell him). After that, he sent him off with a warning to be careful around stairs.

“You need help with cleaning up Vadim?” His parrot colleague asked, and Vadim noted that Alejandro seemed to tilt his head to the side whenever he asked a question or showed curiosity. Avian body language, that’s a new thing he noted in his head.

“I will be fine” He replied with a wave of his claw. “That should be done and filed in a couple of minutes. I will fill in the incident report tomorrow and send it to Farkas to sign. For the rest of work, I remember my watch plan, your mooring plan is in the cafeteria, just remember to pass it along and if you’re looking for me, I will be in my room doing some sewing after I’m done with that. Is that all?”

“You remembered to get your shoes to Boris?”

“I have. Have you?”

“Nah, we don’t have the same foot shape. De Vries is trying to think of something during her watch.”

“His watch.” Vadim corrected him.

“Yeah whatever. Not important.”

With that last remark, the Spaniard walked off ignorant of Vadim’s stare.

Gender issues were sooo going to fuck up this crew’s relations.

Vadim just tossed the used materials in the bin with a huff (that sounded like an annoyed trill).

Author's Notes:

The medical procedure present in the chapter is deliberately flawed to hint at the character's lack of experience so no need to point out the mistakes.
According to my schedule the ship should hit port in two or three chapters, which should be two or three weeks if I stick to my planned update schedule.

Some trivia regarding Amandine : she's actually widely inspired of the actual M/V Amandine (seen in the title picture) and basically has the same specs, with the biggest difference being that this story's ship has side ramps (for convenience later on).

For those interested the actual Amandine's IMO number is 9424871. She can be tracked via marinetraffic.