Posted by Lieutenant Junior Grade Vanessa Slade (CNS) in Office of the Counselor = Psych Eval

Posted by Lieutenant Commander Edelu (CMO) in Office of the Counselor = Psych Eval

Posted by Lieutenant Commander Edelu (CMO) in Office of the Counselor = Psych Eval
Posted by… suppressed (21) by the Post Ghost! 👻
The corridor outside the counselor’s office was quiet, with only the low hum of the ship underfoot and the occasional muffled hiss of a distant door opening. Dr. Edelu paused there—not out of hesitation, but out of habit. The Mintakan way was to observe before acting. And though Federation culture leaned more toward efficiency than contemplation, some instincts refused to be unlearned.

He adjusted the edge of his medical coat, simple and traditional in its tailoring. A visible badge of belonging, and yet still a symbol of distance—of a journey traveled farther than most Starfleet physicians would ever imagine.

He had read what was available about Lieutenant Junior Grade Vanessa Slade. South Boston roots. Big family. Big energy. No patience for nonsense. The kind of person who probably made her patients talk even when they didn’t mean to. He imagined her office smelled like burnt espresso and lavender hand lotion.

He didn’t mind that.

The real question, as always, was whether she would mind him—a Mintakan, trained off-world, charting a life far beyond what his own people still believed possible. He had met counselors who recoiled at his logic, or tried to coax out trauma where none had been claimed. But something about Slade’s file told him she didn’t deal in fragility. She dealt in real.

That, at least, they would have in common.

He stepped forward and tapped the chime, his voice smooth and even:

“Lieutenant Commander Edelu, reporting for onboarding psychological clearance.”

Then he waited, standing at ease, expression composed—ready to face the first of what would be many first impressions aboard the Genesis.

-Lt. Cmdr. Edelu
Chief Medical Officer

His response was not immediately met. Instead small grunts and soft pops could be heard if Edelu was listening carefully enough. About ten seconds after he reached out, he heard a breathy yell of “okay be right there,” followed by some more soft pops and grunts. A minute later the door opened and Vanessa along with another crew member appeared in the door way. They were dressed as if they were playing tennis and breathing as if they just competed in something like Wimbledon.

“I am really sorry about that vase Vanessa,” the officer said. “My back hand can get a bit crazy at time.” He had a sheepish look and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Its fine,” she waved him off. “I mean it was only something my grandmother made in her pottery class at the senior center. I will just get her to whip me up another one. Next week same time,” she said.

“Yeah but can we do something less physical. Maybe we can play scrabble. See you. Sir,” he nodded at the CMO before walking out of the room.

Edelu nodded in acknowledgement of the young officer.

“Sorry about that,” Vanessa said dropping the racket into a basket by the door. “I sent a timer on the program but it didn’t seem to go off. I will get engineering on it. Come on in. Can I get you something to drink?” Heading to the replicator, Vanessa replicated a large iced coffee.

“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” as was Mintaken tradition, you always followed your host’s lead.

Generating two iced coffee’s Vanessa hoped it would be okay. Many people liked tea over coffee but it was too early to tease him about his beverage choices. She also grabbed a tin box that was hexagonal in shape.

After finishing with the replicator she plopped down into one of the large living room type chairs in the space. Her outfit was not the tradition counselor uniform. It was in fact a white tennis skit with navy trim and matching white v neck sweater with with navy trim. Her hair was pulled back into a long pony tail that bobbed with each step and movement. “So how was your trip here? Easy enough of I hope?” Vanessa had an easy and relaxed quality to her personality. She greeted the CMO as if he was a friend stopping by for a long overdue chat and not with the formality of an intact meeting.

Vanessa Slade CNS

Edelu appreciated the informality immediately. Protocol, rigidity, and formality—these were all constructs he’d had to learn when he joined what he often referred to as “the advanced universe.”

“I always find long trips on quiet transport vessels rather relaxing,” he said, settling in. “It’s the closest I get to feeling like I’m back on Mintaka III—outside a holosuite, that is.”

-Lt. Cmdr. Edelu
Chief Medical Officer

Vanessa had placed his coffee on the table and opened the tin. Inside were several large, oblong cookies. “My grandma’s keep me stocked up on these. They are called biscotti. The are a cookie that is hard as a rock. They are twice baked so they are supposed to be like this. The benefit is they travel really well because they have the consistency of a brick.” Tapping it on the table she let out a small chuckle. “What can I say though. It is a piece of home. Help yourself but if you don’t like it please don’t be polite. I am not one to stand on ceremony around.”

“So I hate,” Vanessa said leaning down and untying one shoe as she talked, “the whole tell me about yourself. What are you deep secrets schtick.” Pulling off one shoe she started working on the other. “I mean who would just sit down and unload their crazy on their first visit. Normally it takes a second one,” she laughed again kicking her other shoe off. “So how about we do a twenty question type thing. I will tell you something about me and then you can tell me something about you. Since we are going to be DH buddies I figure we should get to know each other a bit more. To make it less weird I will go first. I have nine brothers and they all start with the first letter D. Dalton, David, Daniel, Duncan, Dane, Dallas, Dylan, Dexter and Dennis. Its not some weird cult thing. We are Catholic. Typically you name your first born son after the dad however my brothers were twins and there was a small mix up when they were born. The doctor delivered them and then presented them to my mom but couldn’t remember which one came first. So my parents decided to use the first letter instead of calling one Doug junior and later finding out he was technically Doug the third.” Vanessa wore a small smile on her face. My next two brothers were named after my uncles so the D thing just kept going except when I came along. My Dad decided to use my Mom’s first letter. Anyway that is the weird fun fact about me. I have a football team of brothers that all start with the letter D. Your turn.”

Vanessa Slade CNS

Dr. Edelu arched a brow at the counselor’s unconventional approach. It wasn’t unwelcome—just unexpected. But he found he appreciated it. The honesty. The looseness. It reminded him, faintly, of home.

He accepted the biscotti with a polite nod but made no move to eat it yet.

“My parents died in a famine when I was nine,” he said evenly, settling deeper into the chair. There was no weight of drama in his tone—only quiet finality. “I nearly died as well. But we endured. My tribe took me in.”

He let the words sit for a moment, not to elicit sympathy, but to honor the truth of them.

“That’s my one for the round,” he added softly, offering the smallest trace of a smile.

-Lt. Cmdr. Edelu
Chief Medical Officer

“Hell of a round one,” Vanessa said. Her tone was empathetic but she could not hide the surprise in her tone either. Many in Starfleet had lives very different than her upbringing. Depending on who she spoke with, they wore the same expression she had hearing how large her family was and how close they were. Vanessa didn’t know if and when Edelu might want to circle back and talk about his family. She also knew this was a check in. Before he left, she would circle back and let him know that her office was open for more than light banter.

“What do you do to unwind? I run marathons. Well I run the Boston Marathon. I am not one of those crazy people that scour the universe to try and win a trophy,” she corrected her statement to be more accurate than a single sentence.

“The answer i tell people about why is that I have nine brothers and if you weren’t the fastest to the dinner table you didn’t eat.” She wore a warm smile as she spoke. In Starfleet families were more like acquaintances due to the large distances between one’s home world and their place of employment. “The actual reason I started running the Boston Marathon was due to my job at the VA. As you might have noticed, I try to engage my clients in their hobbies as part of their therapy. Ensign Becker is a tennis nut. The holodeck was full so we just played the computerized version on the PaDD. It tends to give people more control. Especially when I don’t know my ass from my elbows about their hobby. They teach me and I help them work through things. Anyways,” Vanessa waved her hand casually as if clearing the air from her previous statement. Edelu was not a normal check in from the standpoint he was a department head. He was also the doctor and it was not uncommon for Vanessa to limp in after a therapy session due to an injury.

“A lot of my prior clients were ex-security types at the Boston VA. The one thing they all have in common is running from training and PT and such. Normally we would just run around most of the session. Well that was before I could manage to keep up,” she let out another laugh. “I had one client who pushed me as hard as I pushed him. He promised to start opening up if I promised to train for the marathon. In the end we ran it together as in he took off like a bat out of hell and I showed up four hours later at the finish line. The hobby stuck although I haven’t run a real marathon in the past year.”

Vanessa Slade CNS

Edelu listened with the same attentiveness he gave to patients in crisis, though a faint smile curved the edge of his mouth as she described her marathon experience. There was something comforting in her candor. Unvarnished, unforced. Like conversation on a warm evening under open skies.

“Running,” he echoed thoughtfully. “I’ve never quite mastered the appeal of moving quickly for pleasure.”

“Oh you will learn,” she laughed. “Especially when you are being chased by Rodent like being or stuck in a maze with timer over your head like some bizzarro version of GlaFlix’s Squidaro game. I swear every away mission I am running for my life.”

He raised the biscotti to his lips and tried to take a bite, nearly chipping his tooth in the process. He looked at the pastry inquisitively.

“Yeah they are supposed to be that hard. Use your molars,” she said off handedly.

“When time allows,” he continued, “I prefer stillness. Meditation. The preparation of tinctures. I maintain a small collection of medicinal herbs—some traditional to Mintaka, others more… contemporary.”

There was the faintest glint in his eye as he said this—just enough mischief to suggest that some of those “herbs” might offer more than just antiseptic properties.

“I find pharmacognosy a deeply satisfying art,” he went on, composed once more. “There’s something meditative in working with your hands, grounding volatile elements into something that heals.”

“As in boom volatile or cleanse the colon volatile?” Edelu was very interesting. He was free with the information but also cryptic. The adjectives he chose made her want to run down into his lab and start mixing things up.

Edelu allowed the faintest glimmer of amusement to tug at the corner of his mouth.

“Both,” he replied simply, with an elegant shrug. “Depending on the dosage. And the moon phase. And whether or not your spirit is in alignment.”

His tone was perfectly measured—just ambiguous enough to leave Slade wondering if he was joking.

Then, with the air of someone offering a serious aside:

“I’ve found the colon responds quite decisively to improperly prepared sel drava root. But that was a hard lesson, learned early.”

He folded his hands again, gaze steady and serene.

“Still, better the root than the fireberries. Those do go boom.”

He looked over at her, calm and unhurried.

“It’s not as physically demanding as a marathon, I’ll grant you. But it clears the mind. Brings the body into focus. And some of my preparations are excellent for sore muscles—should you ever find yourself limping into Sickbay.”

“Well I will be sure to pop in.”

“Candor, Counselor, is a characteristic of my race. I’ll give you answers to every question you may have…”

A pause. Then, dry as desert air.

“And unlike your friend from the VA, I won’t make you run a marathon to earn them.”

-Lt. Cmdr. Edelu
Chief Medical Officer

“I appreciate it that. I also don’t know if you know but I am a registered nurse. Before I enlisted into Starfleet I attended Bunker Hill community college. I got my degree hung out a Mass General in the neurology department. One of the doctors there I got really close to. He flip flopped several times between civilian life and Starfleet. Nathan was great to work with and piqued my curiosity with the mind. He answered the call of Starfleet and re-enlisted when they needed his skills on some border skirmish. The day he left Mass Gen I applied to the academy. What made you want to be a doctor?”

Vanessa Slade CNS

Edelu tilted his head slightly, absorbing the counselor’s words with more interest than he outwardly expressed. Registered nurse. That detail settled into his awareness like a stone tucked in a healer’s pouch—unobtrusive, but potentially vital. Useful in a crisis, he noted silently. Not that he expected one—but crisis rarely cared what we expected.

“Mass General has an impressive legacy,” he said after a moment, his tone thoughtful. “And I imagine neurology gave you no shortage of puzzles to unravel.”

He let the observation sit for a breath, then leaned back slightly in his chair, folding his hands with the kind of deliberate stillness unique to someone used to quiet observation.

“As for me…”

His voice softened, touched with the weight of memory.

“I was a medicine man. On Mintaka.”

A simple statement—but not without gravity.

“In my tribe, healing was… holistic. We used minerals, plants, pressure points. Chanting, sometimes. The work was intimate. Intuitive. You knew your patients, because you shared the same fire with them at night.”

His gaze drifted briefly to a point just beyond the counselor’s shoulder, eyes distant but not lost.

“When I left,” he continued, purposefully vague on the when or how, “I thought I was leaving medicine behind. But then I saw what Federation science could do. The speed. The precision. The—” he smiled faintly, “—luxury of antiseptics.”

His fingers tapped once, lightly, against his knee.

She watched him tap his knee and let her mind wander as he spoke. The tapping might have been a physical reaction to a memory or just a gesture. All people had small tells they used when dealing with emotions. She would have to pay attention to see if this action was a pattern or a one time thing.

“It fascinated me. Still does. Healing in minutes what once took weeks… or couldn’t be healed at all.”

His eyes found hers again—calm, open, and utterly sincere.

“Turns out, whether you’re brewing poultices or calibrating dermal regenerators… the goal is the same.”

A pause, then a dry addendum:

“I still prefer herbs for headaches, though. Old habits die hard.”

-Lt. Cmdr. Edelu
Chief Medical Officer

“My nonna’s would love you,” she said. “Medicine is free but time is not. With a family as large as mine someone was always sick and spreading it to the rest of us. If my mom took us to the doctors every time we had a sniffle, she would have lived there. Her go to was onions, potato, and soup,” Vanessa let out a huge laugh. “Onions for ear aches, potatoes for headaches, and soup for everything else that ails you. Although,” she chewed another bite of her biscotti as she thought, “they were not wrong. All the fancy medicine we develop has always come from plants and animals. Mostly plants but the universe is a remarkable place. A weed can be a cure for influenza for a Betazoid but deadly to a Vulcan.” This was not a fact but more to demonstrate the point that something common to one place could be scarce in another or something helpful to one thing could be deadly to another.

“I don’t know anything about herbs and medicine but I do believe in knowing what to do when technology fails you. I mean what good is it to be in medical shuttle full of equipment if that shuttle crashes on a planet and loses power. It is just hunks of junk. What made you choose to become a doctor?”

Vanessa Slade

He listened without interruption, the corners of his mouth tilting ever so slightly upward at the mention of Nonna’s home remedies. There was something universal in it—in the way all grandmothers, on all worlds, turned to soup and root vegetables before synthofabricated pills.

“Onions, potatoes, soup,” he repeated, more to himself than to her. “It’s always the humble things that carry the deepest traditions.”

He folded his hands loosely in his lap, then let the silence breathe for a moment. When he finally spoke again, his voice had softened into something more intimate—still calm, still measured, but drawn from a deeper well.

“You asked what made me choose to become a doctor,” he echoed. “The honest answer is—I didn’t.”

He paused—not dramatically, just long enough to let the weight of it settle.

“I was chosen to be a healer by my elders. The way one is chosen to keep the fire lit, or tend the stories of the ancestors. We didn’t think of it as a profession. It was a role. A burden. A gift.”

His answer surprised Vanessa but not his passion for honor and tradition. Starfleet was littered with first, second, and tenth generation officers. The vast majority joined due to a sense of honor, tradition, and expectation. Others joined for revenge due to war, loss, and accidents hoping to pay back what misery was dealt to them by a foreign enemy. She let her mind wonder for a moment how and why he was chosen. Was it a familial thing? Those were the hardest burdens to bear. The ones where a father, mother, or grandparent, looked to a person to carry on their legacy. “What did you think of it,” she asked in a gentle tone.

He glanced toward the nearby tea service, watching a curl of steam drift lazily from a cup no one had touched.

“It wasn’t until I left Mintaka that I had to make the choice for myself. To seek out medicine again. But this time… with scanners instead of smoke. Lasers instead of leeches.”

A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips. His tone shifted—not joking, but drier now. More wry.

“I confess, dermal regenerators took some of the mystery out of it.”

Then, after a beat, quieter again:

“But the heart of it remains. People still hurt. People still fear. And sometimes, they simply need someone to sit beside them while the fever breaks.”

He met her eyes.

“That part hasn’t changed.”

He didn’t say anything more just then. He let the moment linger—gentle, unhurried—as if giving her permission to speak… or not. Some truths didn’t require follow-up. They only needed to be heard.

-Lt. Cmdr. Edelu
Chief Medical Officer

“No it hasn’t and I concur with you about the emotional need of those you and I serve. It’s another reason why I get out of the office in my treatments. No offense,” she let out a small laugh, “sickbay has a certain” she waggled her head back and forth playfully, “connation to it. I mean does anyone really ever stop by to say how the hell are you?’ She wore a bright smile thinking about how even she never did that. “When I was a nurse, Dr. Harland insisted we try to connect with our patients without any medical talk. He felt that if you created a connection with someone then delivering bad news was easier. When i decided to become a counselor I employed that too. No one comes in and drops a metric ton of built up trauma on their first visit; however, with all my social activities and get off the couch approach, they see me more as person and not their therapist. It helps when they go into crisis too. Is that what you are also hinting at?” She tried not to monologue but at times, it helped someone understand where she was coming from and her responses.

Vanessa Slade CNS

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Edelu’s posture shifted ever so slightly—one leg crossing over the other, a small lean forward. It wasn’t calculated; it was instinctual, the body responding to shared understanding.

“No offense taken,” he replied gently, the corners of his mouth lifting again, just slightly. “Sickbay has its purpose… but it is rarely a place where people feel at ease.”

There was a thoughtful pause.

“I find that a shared space—a garden, a corridor, a cup of tea—can do far more for the healing process than a biobed and a tricorder. Patients feel less… observed. Less defensive. They speak more freely when they do not feel spoken to as a condition.”

He considered her words about her mentor—Dr. Harland—and the connection-first approach.

“I believe you’re right,” he said simply. “It is easier to bear bad news from someone who has already borne witness to your joy. That kind of rapport… it makes the medicine secondary.”

His gaze was steady, but not piercing. He wasn’t assessing. He was meeting her where she stood.

“I do not speak in metaphor when I say that I see healing as an act of presence. We are not here to fix people. We are here to be with them while they find the strength to mend themselves.”

Vanessa listened to the words and nodded as he spoke.

There was no boast in his tone—only clarity, the kind born of long practice.

“And yes,” he added, echoing her last question more directly, “that is what I was hinting at. When the time comes—and it always does—people reach for the familiar. They turn toward the faces that have listened without judgment.”

He uncrossed his leg, then nodded once—slow, assured.

“You’ve chosen your path wisely, Counselor.”

There was no flattery in it. Only truth, plainly spoken.

Dr. Edelu, M.D. ○●●
Chief Medical Officer
U.S.S. Genesis

“Thank you,” she said but with a slightly distracted look in her eyes. Something he said had settled into her subconscious and was now trying to bubble forth. It was at first like a nagging of something you had forgotten. Now it was fighting to the surface for her attention. “Can we circle back,” she made a swirling motion with her finger to the heal themselves part.” Now it was square in her consciousness. He had multiple times referred to himself as a medicine man. Many civilizations relied on traditional medicine via herbs, tonics, and potions. In reality that is where all medicine came from however, science crafted the strength and potency into applicable form that was measured to such precise doses, doctors could tell you when you would feel better almost to the day. Traditional tonics tended to have more varied results since everyone’s metabolism differenced by sex and home world origin.

“What exactly does that mean?” Vanessa was all over a cup of tea to sooth the nerves or on the onset of a cold, but she was not fully on board with leaving sickbay with a couple of tea bags and promises. All cultures had their ways and all cultures had treated ailments before any Federation. Still she wondered where Edelu was on traditional versus holistic medicine.

Vanessa Slade CNS

Edelu inclined his head slightly, acknowledging both her question and the shift in her focus. There was no defensiveness in his expression—only quiet readiness, as though he had expected this moment might come.

“It means,” he began, “that I do not draw a line between the physical and the unseen.”

He didn’t speak with mysticism, but with a measured kind of reverence.

“I am a licensed medical doctor. I understand pharmacokinetics, neurology, endocrine responses, viral loads. I respect what science has given us—precision, control, repeatability. But healing is not only biological. It is also relational. And spiritual. At least, in the culture I was raised in.”

He paused, but not for effect. He was giving her space to object or interject, though he did not expect her to.

“I do not mean spiritual in the religious sense, though for some it is that too. I mean the deeper core—the beliefs a person holds about their place in the universe. About what they deserve. About what they have lost.”

His voice remained low, deliberate. Never rushed.

“My people are Mintakan. We are proto-Vulcanoid. Rational. Empirical. But before we understood stars or atoms, we understood story. We understood presence. The medicine man did not simply give a tonic or bind a wound. He sat with you. He learned your grief, your guilt, your joys. He saw the whole person. And in doing so, helped them see it too.”

He folded his hands gently, thumb brushing across thumb.

“There are patients for whom a hypospray is enough. And there are patients who will not heal until someone has witnessed the truth of what broke them. I strive to offer both. Not in conflict—but in harmony.”

A ghost of a smile tugged at his mouth, faint but warm.

“You may find, Counselor, that we have more in common than you think.”

He leaned back at last—not dismissively, but to signal the floor was hers again.

Dr. Edelu, M.D. ○●●
Chief Medical Officer
U.S.S. Genesis

His comment made far more sense now. In a way he appeared to be straddling the profession of psychiatrist plus over regular doctor. From Vanessa’s background, it was the perfect marriage of the two fields. In a perfect world, every doctor would embrace his professed approach to medicine. Unfortunately it was often not the case in the real world. He was definitely going to be an asset to the crew in more ways than most people could count. “So you said you assumed this role in your society. Is that because your father or mother held it in some fashion before you?” It was a universal constant that children tended follow in their parents footsteps directly and indirectly. While a parent might choose to serve in Starfleet, their child might choose to become a teacher. The root of both professions, though wildly different, were anchored by the belief in improving life. Familial ideals tended to influence offspring most of the time.

This was also a tricky topic because he already stated his parents were deceased. Vanessa didn’t want to pry or open old wounds but Edelu seemed to have few constraints on topics presented to him.

Vanessa Slade CNS

Edelu’s gaze drifted—not away, but inward, as if he were momentarily standing on the edge of a memory rather than in the counselor’s office. When he spoke, his voice carried a softness not of hesitation, but of care.

“No,” he said. “Neither of my parents were healers.”

He let the silence linger there, unguarded.

“My father was a mapmaker. He charted riverbeds and mountain passes, often by hand, long after digitized topography made such efforts unnecessary. He said that to walk a place was the only way to truly know it. My mother was a stargazer—not in the Federation sense, not professionally. She studied the sky the way one studies a friend’s face. She believed the stars told stories, if you listened long enough.”

His hands folded loosely again in his lap. He no longer watched the counselor, though his presence remained entirely in the room.

“When I was chosen, it was not through lineage. It was through… observation. The elders saw something in me. Patience. Curiosity. The ability to be still. On Mintaka, that was enough to begin.”

A faint breath passed through his nose, something like a laugh without sound.

“I was thirteen. I didn’t feel ready. But readiness, I’ve learned, is often a retrospective thing. We are rarely aware of it when it arrives.”

He finally looked back to her then, steady once more.

“I don’t know if I would have chosen it on my own. But after my parents passed, the role gave me something to hold onto that was larger than grief. It gave me purpose.”

There was no sentimentality in the words. Just quiet truth.

“In that way, it was medicine, too.”

He did not add more. He never needed to.

The silence he offered now was not awkward. It was open.

Lt. Cmdr. Edelu, M.D. ○●●
Chief Medical Officer
U.S.S. Genesis

“So did the people that took you in after the famine chose you for the role you were assigned?” The question was hefty and very personal; however, Edelu was so young and impressionable at that age. Sometimes the lines blurred when one was so young and vulnerable. If he had no home or family, the suggestion of what he should do might have felt more than just a suggestion. Kids that age, who experienced trauma tended to be people pleasers or rebels. Since Edelu hadn’t reported he stole a car on a drunken binge, Vanessa guessed he was leaning towards the people pleasing type nature. He was very accommodating and agreeable. This was not a bad thing and it could be from his Mintakan upbringing. Races that embraced logic were often calm and reserved, they still had emotional responses. Even the Vulcan’s, who prided themselves on the lack of emotions, did have outbursts when pushed past the point of logic. It was rare but it did happen. Vanessa did not know enough about Mintakan’s so she would have to brush up on their psychological profiles. Right now she was far more interested in his mental state and how he perceived this choice from an adult’s lens versus the child’s lens when he had to choose.

Vanessa Slade CNS

Edelu’s head inclined slightly, an acknowledgment of the weight in her question.

“They did,” he said. “But not in the way one appoints a successor and closes the matter. It was not immediate. The elders… they watch. Sometimes for seasons. Sometimes for years. They are deliberate in their choosing, because the role is not easily set aside once given.”

He let his gaze rest on a point beyond her shoulder, not avoiding, but remembering.

“At thirteen, I understood it as an honor, though I did not yet understand its cost. I did not resist them. That was not fear. It was… trust. In their judgment. In the way the tribe has always allowed wisdom to be carried forward.”

His voice stayed quiet, but there was a finality in it, the kind that left no ambiguity about where he stood.

“As a man, looking back, I still believe they were correct. They saw something I could not yet name in myself. I did not choose the path—but I have no doubt it was the right one. The wisdom of the elders is not infallible, but it is rarely without cause.”

He folded his hands loosely in his lap again. “And so, I accepted it. Then and now.”

Lt. Cmdr. Edelu, M.D. ○●●
Chief Medical Officer
U.S.S. Genesis

BUMP

“So children on your homeworld blindly follow orders. Is that due to upbringing and respecting adults wishes,” she tested the waters. It was not that she was trying to piss the man off. It was more that the situation felt off although she wouldn’t tell him that. “I ask that but the front lobe of a brain does not fully mature until one is well into their twenties. At thirteen you are maturing but it is the reason most societies don’t let their offspring sign in contracts. Mintakan’s are closely related to Vulcan’s society and I will be the first one to admit Vulcan adolescents are way more mature than most human adolescents of the same age however Vulcan’s tend to still exert parental influences on their children. I again state that you are neither human or Vulcan however at what age do you allow your children to make adult decisions that forecast the path of potentially their life?” Every culture was unique and every culture had their own standards. Learning about them only helped others truly understand a societies individuals.

Vanessa Slade CNS

bump