Max had packed his meager belongings into the compact duffel which he slung over his shoulder. He gave his quarters a final look, ensuring he had left nothing. He had not, of course, as he only really owned four or five things. And even these were easily replaceable when he arrived at his first duty station if it were necessary. He tucked the little box the captain had given him upon graduation, once holding his new ensign pips and now containing his cadet first class insignia, into the bag last.

Picking up a primitive medkit from the foot of his bed he departed his quarters for the final time. It was highly unlikely he would need that medkit, of course. The ship, the shuttle and his eventual new home all had kits stashed away that were far better suited for the practice of contemporary medicine than the dated tools. Still, without tools, he felt powerless in his craft. Max walked down the passageway to sickbay. A half smile as he passed newly arriving cadets and now fellow officers along the way.

Upon arrival in sickbay, Max walked past the biobeds and straight to the CMO’s office. Finding it vacant as expected he entered, placing the oil painting of a nebula he had painted shortly after his arrival on the otherwise barren desk. It’s removal from his travel bag freeing up needed space and allowing the bag to return to a more normal shape.

He departed without any further goodbyes and no words spoken. Walking again until he reached the turbolift. Upon stepping inside he turned to face the door.

“Shuttle bay,” he said. As the turbolift began to move he looked down at the medkit in his hand. The words “Max Woolley, M.D.” etched into the titanium side. No rank. No mention of Starfleet affiliation at all. Just a doctor and the tools of his craft. Max stood ready to embark on the next leg of his journey as the turbolift began to slow and the doors finally opened. He didn’t look back and a smile found its way back to his face as he stepped out and onward.

Ensign Max Woolley, Medical