---

---

Sweat dripped freely from his brow as Goose pulled himself up one last time up with his right arm. "One...hundred." The one-armed man says to himself before letting go of the pull-up bar and finally letting his body rest after finally finishing the last set of his pull-ups. Goose had made this his waking routine ever since he had been hired by Lord Livingstone. To wake up, get clothed, and train the same way he trained when he was still in the 78th. It had been a good two years since the Chaos incursion in Rothea Prime wiped out the vast majority of the Hellhounds. His face hardens with a cold and almost vacant look on his face. If only the armor column hadn't been attacked and managed to push through to support them...maybe...just maybe, things would have been different. At the thought, Goose had balled his left hand into a fist so tightly that the servos and gears whined in protest. "First one in the training room and first to finish once again, huh Goose?" Someone says. Snapping him out of the trance before tossing a towel at the sweaty head of the former Sargeant. Goose turned his head to look at who had thrown the towel to see a fellow ex-guardsman walking towards him from halfway across the training room. Goose smirks at the man and stands up from his resting position to use the towel to wipe away the sweat off. "As per usual. I can't afford the luxury to have noodly arms like yours, Crispin." Goose ends with a chuckle. "Bastard." Crispin replies before joining Goose in laughter. Soon afterward, he stops wasting time and excuses himself before beginning his daily exercises. Goose waves him goodbye before deciding that it would be a good time to return to his quarters.

Then he felt his stomach rumble.

Maybe a quick trip to the Mess first.

---

"Damn." Was the only thing he had to say to the 'meal' before him. Sitting on the metallic food tray was a thick clumpy grey paste with random pink streaks. Dark oddly shaped raisin-like things were in the mix of the unappetizing slurry. He overheard a couple of other crew members say that it was made from something called a Ta'agvalian Slug...whatever the frak those things were. It looked like Corpse-Starch to him. In another division of the tray was a myriad of colored pills and capsules. Immediately recognizing them as supplement pills and maybe vitamin pills. And in the opposite division of the one containing pills, was a single cup of weird brown liquid. Goose in all 28 years of living had he encountered this strange liquid. Was it even safe to drink? Of course, it was. But what in the Throne's golden plates was a 'fruit'?

But overall, the meal was unappetizing to the normal person.

Not to Goose, however.

"They're serving the good stuff today. Praise be to the Emperor for the meal." And with that, the man begins to eat the slop with gusto. Discovering that the strange brown colored drink would be the newest addition to his favorite things to consume. To newer members of the crew, this was a strange sight to behold. A sane human being, eating the weird looking and even weirder tasting food with such a look of satisfaction on his face. But to the rest of the crew, this was just a regular day when the food in the Mess actually had any flavor to them.

After finishing his meal, Goose would finally retire to his quarters to clean up and get ready for the duties he was to perform for the day.

---

In a room left alone thanks to terror and paranoia, in an uncomfortable and cramped part of the ship, the only non-human member of the crew lay, her feet up above her head, and a lho stick in her mouth. She would reach across her dirty and worn metal desk to take her electric lighter out of its charging port, place it to her lip, and then squeeze down the button that would cause a tiny superhead jet of flame to arc out, igniting the end of the white stick in an instant.

Inhaling deeply, she would turn, her stomach letting out a grumble. As a mercenary, her single and only duty aboard the ship was to stride through the flames of kavaal, and until time came that she needed to risk her life, it was, she had had made clear to her, not only expected, but fully preferred that she did as little as possible and especially didn't show herself to the rest of the crew. Stil, she was a warrior of the fire caste, and until such a day as these useless gue'las delivered her food to her door, she would need to venture out to mess.

Her hooves clopped against the metal floor of her room as she stepped outside. Leaking smoke as she walked, she followed the protocol she usually did- gaze in front of her, don't look to the left or right, don't meet the gazes of the imbeciles that had hired her. Reaching the mess hall, she would get her slop quickly and sequester herself in the corner, eating it slowly. She wanted to do something. Too long aboard this ship, hidden in her room. She needed a shakeup, something to make her decision to abandon her peoples worth more than just her freedom.

---

---

Isaiah stared up as the lights flickered a bit in the cargo hold as he sighed deeply, moving throughout the different areas and counting as much as he could ever desire in such a messy bay. He took a peek down at his PDA as he smiled softly, rubbing the back of his head, "So many things on board... I bet there is plenty of contraband through these bays.." He thought to himself for a moment and shook his head; he was technically crew now, after being, would pressganged be the correct word?

He shook his head once again and took a deep breath, "they are lucky they had me looking over them, I am a kind soul I allowed them to get away with half of the items hidden, I bet there is some form of contraband on a heretical level my father thought I could never handle."

"Well, I am sure there is something decent to indulge myself compared to what is on the station here... I am sure I can find it, it's a traders ship, so there is something better to eat right, I mean. He trades, he's probably as rich as my father with something to fit his taste." he dreamed for a moment before leaving they bay he was in to find something else on the ship to do.

---

After a quarter-hour of trying to find his way up to the mess hall, he stared at the liquid the man was having. He had his dreamed ruining a moment's notice as he sighed deeply, no, the average meal of everyone else he ever knew on that station, it would be his life as well. He was saddened that not even officers got a better lifestyle on the station, but this shattered his hopes of eating well once again.

He took a deep breath and found himself at the counter waiting as well; maybe he could find a way at the next station to salvage his tastebuds. But now, this would be his life, eating liquid. After a few minutes he would find himself with the liquid in front of him in some random table near the center. He looked around to see if anyone else was having a hard time with it before he tried the liquid and slowly started on it. Dissapointed, he looked back up only to find some heresy, or at least some weird looking blue chick in the corner, and some guardsman leave. He looked back down at the liquid and sighed, it was making him see shit wasn't it, a blue chick, that shit has to be expensive for that coloration of skin.

Fascinating. Truly fascinating. A veritable plethora of new sensations and stimuli to be explored, all only a touch-receptor's distance from Hesiod's curious cogitators. Condensation-steam from rusting and nigh-antediluvian pipes. Fungi left to grow by ratings dismayed and disgusted by what nutrition the mess offered. Rats! Living rats! This was a void-station not of the Mechanicus, but of common humanity. Here, he was not to blend in as one of many, but to truly stand apart as a being of significance. Of course, somewhere in his positronic databanks, he knew the implicit danger that therein lie, the risk of discovery and destruction by those who would blindly hate his very being. But for now, oh, the joys of sensation knew no bounds!

Oh? A crewman approacheth! To Hesiod, this one felt... A carmine red, perhaps? Certainly intense, with a bloody dark depth. Exciting! As his photo-receptors scanned every inch of the rough voidsman, he began to speak. Low Gothic! It had been a year or more since last Hesiod had heard the gruff tongue of the fleshed masses. Amongst the cold iron company of the Thuleans, binary cant was the lingua de jure, so cold and clinical! As Hesiod continued to wax poetic within his head, the crimson-seeming crewman spoke up again, more insistently. This time, Hesiod actually took the time to process what was being said: "Hey buddy, got a light?"

A fascinating question! Did Hesiod have a light? Why certainly. He had many. His photoreceptors were luminescent, and his electro-flail sparked dazzlingly when activated. Even the electoo coils on his back glowed brilliantly when he so chose. So which lights would fit the increasingly agitated bystander's request? The shipman was becoming more irritable, and once more spoke, holding a Lho-stick out towards Hesiod. "Look, you got a light or not?"

Now Hesiod understood. This was a test. The man wanted to see his lights. So Hesiod showed him. Every glowing device festooning the false-priest's body lit up, shining brilliantly as the Emperor himself upon his Golden Throne. The crewman screamed, stumbling back as dazzling luminens overwhelmed his vision, and scrambled blindly to reorient himself... Blindly, and dangerously, as he groped at the walls to find purchase in solid reality. Hesiod watched with silent fascination as the poor unlucky voidsman grabbed hold of a blistering heat-pipe with both hands, listened with eager audio-receptors to the screams of agony that followed. The pain was... Informative. And so, lights slowly dimming as device charges grew low, Hesiod turned to leave the depths of the station, making his way to the concourse above, abandoning the screaming, burnt crewman to his agony.

Fascinating, truly fascinating.

@Searat@Jamesyco@ReedeThe23rd@BangoSkank@Xenonia@Flagg@Lady Selune

Livingstone, being otherwise engaged with his Astartes visitor, had given instruction that dear Dr. Lazarus Germael should undergo a thorough medical examination of each potential newcomer to the Pride; to this end he had pulld many threads, and calld in a number of favours, in order that a specific room aboard the station - known only as 'Room 85' - should be kept free for the duration of his stay and, though the Praetorian owners of the station would like it not, to be made into a pop-up medical centre. It would be much less than Lazarus was used to, of that Edmund had had no doubt, but would suffice to clear any of his 'picked crew' of mutations and so forth - there were also a couple he knew that wold infuriate the man, which was all part of the fun.

So it was that messengers were sent to seek out those personally selected by their overlord, Gustave Boucher, Isaiah Hussian and Monty all swiftly approached during their allotted mealtime and given hand-held instructions to report to Room 85. For others it was a little harder, Roald Cliffbloom especially (being a Ratling) took an entire two platoons of Armsmen to locate in a seedier section of the Bakka station and possibly didn't even remember 'volunteering' for assignment to a Rogue Trader.

A message was sent for Hesiod in binary, though whether their newest member of the Mechanicus would respond or not was unknown, those Martians being somewhat temperamental and not all there Livingstone had found. Then again it mattered little, the Traders last Martian had imploded while handling a rather nasty looking Necron artefact and this 'Hesiod' was needed whatever way you looked at it.

Lastly was Alma Fang, who was asked very politely and without coercion as befitted her station, to treat her more roughly would likely be a mistake that even Edmund Livingstone would regret.

It was a travesty. Truly criminal. An utter insult of the highest caliber. One might as well call it heretical, if only to emphasize the utter disgust the "medical facilities" established in this 'Room 85' left in Lazarus' gut. Where was the Methuen Detector? Or the Prognostic Analyzer? Were this not onboard an Imperial Space Station, these standards would barely meet the requirements of the 2nd Millennium, let alone the 42nd! It was a fantastic thing the good captain Livingstone was only sending the other 'handpicked' members of the crew for medical examination, and not the entire capacity of the ship. This facility just might make do after all, with a good sprucing-up before anyone arrived.

After a careful rearranging of the equipment within the makeshift medicae workroom into something passably-tolerable for his standards, Lazarus had time before anyone was set to arrive to review the basic preliminary briefings he'd been given on these 'handpicked' members of the crew in order to be at least vaguely prepared for interacting with them. Some files were larger than others, and one was even from an individual Lazarus had previously examined. Oh well, no harm in the occasional checkup.

First in the file list was Gustave Boucher, a grunt Guardsman from a hive world. Lowborn types on hive worlds inherently carried some genetic deviancy due to the general pollution in the air and water at the lower levels. Luckily they were usually benign or otherwise treatable with minimal issues. No problems should arise from this one.

Next was Isiah Hussian III, a youthful nobleman and fellow naval officer. Lazarus expected no unintentional or unsanctioned deviations in this lad, and frankly looked forward to meeting someone of similar stock and career. They'd at least make for a better conversationalist than most of the other drivel inhabiting the Captain's vessel.

Following behind was one Roald Cliffbloom, the first of the 'oddities' Lazarus would discover. Immediately one thing on the man's briefing document stood out. Homo Sapiens Minimus. A Ratling abhuman. Certainly an interesting choice, and not one Lazarus was very concerned about. Ratlings tended to be genetically stable, occasionally moreso than their normal human counterparts.

Next. The one he was familiar with. Tecca Nina, the vessel's Astropathic Choir-Master. Homo Sapiens Psychicus. Prior medical examination returned no anomalies or issues beyond those associated with her conditions as a sanctioned psyker with her duties, but when dealing with psykers one can never be too safe. Not to mention that any chance to study the effects of psionics on the human mind and body was always a joy.

Hesiod. An Explorator Tech-Priest of the Adeptus Mechaniucs. After the unfortunate accident with the last AdMech liaison in the crew, this one would be a welcome addition. Finding anything actually organic on these individuals was always difficult, but Lazarus welcomed the challenge. Tech-Priests were oddly more enjoyable to the man, perhaps because their inherent reluctance of engaging in small talk coupled with their scientific drive meshed with his own. Nonetheless, he'd hoped they'd get along at least as well as the last one before their tragic accident.

Another highborn noble. Alma Fang. Her basic briefing seemed simple enough, high class adventurer-mercenary, classic rogue trader fare. He didn't expect much trouble from this one as well, and given her age figured her to be a fair bit more experienced than that boy Isiah as well. Hopefully someone with whom he could tolerate a conversation.

Interesting. The next file more resembled a barcode than any sort of document, however brief it was before someone took to it with a black auto-inker. The only thing able to be made out was the name, Kane, and part of an abhuman species. Homo Sapians [REDACTED] stared as intently at Lazarus as he did it. This was someone he'd know nothing about until he saw them with his own eyes.

If the last file had been a barcode, this one was an attempt at homemade black synth paper. The name and position of "Monty, Armsman" was the only information listed. At least he knew this 'Monty' was intended to be combat-capable, which gave him a vague bit of a baseline to work with in terms of their physical fitness requirements.

Overall, it was clear that for most of these individuals, their medical examinations would likely wind up being part interview as well. Not an ideal situation, but always an opportunity to leaarn.

Mont'yr did not have high hopes as she walked through the halls towards Room 85, her hooves clopping softly against the plasteel floor. Two knocks would be all she offered before entering, tiredly saying her full name and duties aboard the ship as soon as she had closed the door behind her. "Shas'la T'olku Mont'yr, or as you Gue'las know me, 'Monty.'" She would remove her blade and her handgun, placing them down by the door, before reluctantly snuffing out the lho-stick she had been trailing all the way here.

"T'au Fire Caste Warrior. You probably haven't seen one of my kind before."

The forwardness of the introduction certainly caught Lazarus off-guard, as did the one giving it. He'd heard of and read about this kind of Xenos before, alongside others the Imperium regularly encountered, but he had been on the near-opposite end of the galaxy from where they were supposed to be from at the time, so he'd never expected to meet one alive and in the flesh, much less as a member of an Imperial Rogue Trader's crew. Beneath the reflective glasses, his eyes shifted from one of sudden surprise to that of careful scrutiny as he stepped over to introduce himself in return.

"You would be correct in that assumption, even my background was not exactly a hospitable environment for meeting Xenos who were not in various states of posthumousness. Nonetheless, it’s a privilege to meet you. You'll know me as Doctor Lazarus Germael, the ship's chief chirurgeon. I trust you were given at least some explanation as to why you were sent to me?"

"From what I understand you're here to ensure I can do my job, which, I assure you I can do perfectly well, but I presume you must confirm it somehow. To begin with, let me tell you a number of things every fething trooper has asked me. I am not herbivorous. Equally, I am not an obligate carnivore, nor do I devour human flesh. You are thinking of the kroot."

"What else... My reflexes are apparently slower than yours. I do not feel sexual attraction to you. I cannot brainwash you; mind trick you, bamboozle you, hypnotise you or any other number of mental trickeries that you gue'las insist is possible. I can drink alcohol, I generally refrain. I smoke lhos. Is there anything else before we get started?"

As the T'au began detailing information about herself and her species at large, an auto quill worn over Lazarus's right finger began to scratch away furiously at documenting synthpaper, transcribing exactly what the alien said for future reference and cataloguing. Her candour, while blunt and understandably harsh, was much appreciated in comparison to his usual visitors of crewmen who would take an hour to explain that they had a sprained ankle. As she finished, he briefly skimmed over his transcription before returning his gaze to her.

"Well, the good news is you've already answered some of the information I needed to obtain from you. I should clarify, I'm merely here to evaluate your physical health and ensure the ship's medicae staff and facilities are capable of treating any injuries or pre-existing conditions you might have without putting yourself, ourselves, or anyone else aboard at risk. Your efficiency in combat will likely be evaluated by whoever the captain deigns to assign you under."

"Now, as for what I need for your medicae records: Knowing that you're omnivorous, and capable of consuming human-manufactured alcohols as well as the narcotics within a lho-stick shows an unexpected similarity in physiology to our own. I must ask, however, are there any substances or materials you know of that when ingested or touched cause illness to you or those of your species, but not to any humans you've seen exposed to it in such a fashion? I'd like to ensure our mess hall and quartermaster don't accidentally kill you because we didn't know you couldn't eat an apple or something like that."

The T'au would exhale shortly, running a single finger along the slit in her forehead. She had noted the device over his finger scribbling down her words, but paid little mind to it. As equally as she could not read his mind, he could not read hers, because that was patently and utterly ridiculous. Her physical health and the ability to treat them?

"Can you set bones? Suture wounds? Treat burns? Remove shrapnel? Then you are adequately fitted for my recuperation and recovery." she cricked her fingers backwards in a move that no doubt looked extremely painful for the human, but was really nothing special to her. "I have lived with Gue'las for more than a few cycles, I would know if any of your staples hurt me."

It would seem the forwardness of this Xenos specimen knew no bounds. Lazarus would be lying to himself if he didn't admit it was a welcome change of pace from the drivel that traditionally crawled into his office. If the Xenos word was to be completely trusted, it would seem her species' physiology was similar enough to enable her to survive in Imperial space with no medical issues, if not possessing distinct anatomical quirks that emphasized her entirely alien origins.

"I'll note it down in your file that you're to be given the same dietary needs and medical treatments as all other combat-ready members of the crew, unless any future situations arise that would require a different plan of action according to your physiology. Now, are there any pre-existing injuries, ailments, or illnesses you have that you would like to request treatment for?"

"There is one situation which, although unlikely to occur, is probably best for you to be aware of. If we encounter any other T'au that are not from the Farsight Enclave; that is to say their armour is not a crimson red, I will require a void-proof helmet and external air supply. There is a subspecies of my kind; the Aun, who have... Unwelcome effects on my mind, and I have been informed its effects are pheromonally derived."

"The forewarning is appreciated. I'll confer with the ship's quartermaster to ensure that equipment is always available to both you and your immediate superior in the event its needed. "

More scribbling with the auto quill would fill the air, most notably the emphasis made by the striking of three horizontal lines across a section of the paper. Setting aside the document and detaching the auto quill from his finger, Lazarus would clasp his hands together and address the Xenos yet again.

"Now, a procedure we perform after some combat injuries is blood transfusion, replacing lost blood with a compatible external supply. As I'm sure you understand, usable samples from your species don't exist anywhere we could conceivably obtain them, so such a process will be almost impossible with you.

However, in the unlikely event we locate another member of your species from which to obtain a sample or we devise some means of artificially designing an equivalent for use until your body rejuvenates its own supply, I'd like to have a sample of your blood in or medicae records. With your permission, I'd like to draw a small sample from you now, just enough for biologis analysis.

You can refuse of course, given the unlikelihood that it'll ever see the chance to be put to use, but I hope you'll agree that having an example of your species' blood on file in our records will serve as a sort of safety net in the event we figure out how to utilize it for medicae purposes the way we do human blood."

"Forgive me, doctor, but do you really think that your superiors will allow resources to go towards the health of a..." She paused for a moment, rubbing her fingers together. "Filthy, perfidious, unclean, degenerate, backstabbing, treacherous, heretical, treacherous, I could go on, really, xenos? Or is it more likely my blood would be used to synthesise something quite different?"

At this, Lazarus would lower the rims of his glasses, the reflective lenses giving way to a firm gaze, the forced eye contact hopefully hammering home the gravity and intent behind the words that follow.

"Shas'la T'olku Mont'yr." He would say, taking careful steps to mimic her pronunciation of the name. "As long as you are in service to the same superior as I am, I will do everything in my power to ensure you survive and remain medically fit and healthy for your duties. Your species is of no regard to me in this sense, you are a member of the crew and you will receive all the same courtesies and treatments from myself and my staff as that warrants. I understand if you do not wish to provide the sample, but let it be known that you have my word it will only be used in order to ensure you can continue to perform the duties called upon you by the captain."

With that, he would return his eyewear to their proper position, his hands clasped together and thumbs softly drumming against one another as he awaited her reply.

"If I go into anaemic shock, just shoot me and my drone and toss me out the airlock doctor. I don't intend on such a course of action needing to take palace, but... Well... Just do it. It'll be easier for us both."

"If that's what you want, then that's what we'll do should the situation arise. Now, are there any other medicae-related concerns you wish brought up before I dismiss you?"

"If I need anything else, I'll contact you... Actually, do you have a light? I appear to have left mine in my room." She would twirl the half-burnt stub of the lho she had been smoking before she had arrived.

Lazarus would crack the faintest hint of a smirk as he produced a small lighter and offered it to the T'au. "Keep it, I don't really have much use for it anyway. Just don't let me catch you telling anyone else that smoking those damn things is doctor-approved."

She would nod as she relit her lho, before belting her blade and handgun back onto her waist. "In the best of ways doctor, I hope we meet as little as possible."

"That's all I ask from my charges. Stay safe, and I'll let the captain know you've got a clean bill of health and are ready for duty."

---

---

Isaiah stared at the drink as he slowly began consuming it. Wishing he had a mess hall compared to something other officers would get onboard the station, or at least being able to trade meals for solid and possibly better foods. He stared at the liquid as it was slowly lowering only able to tolerate so much of it in his mouth at once. It was like he tasted his mouth, not being able to clean himself due to the lack of items properly, but he hated the taste. His eyes closed as he pressed his lips to the cup once again, and he placed it down.

He stood, done with it before he turned to a messenger, some young lad like him who had been tasked with finding him and asking him to go to the medical room for an inspection. Why would they need to look over him, they shanghaied him, for what reason, probably just needed crew. He rolled his eyes and muttered to himself as he walked past the man, "Fine, yep gonna go see the doc for whatever reason..."

After a few minutes, he stopped and thought for a moment where was the damn infirmary, medical deck, whatever the ship had. He didn't know the ship that well, or at all, but what little signage or crew was near him helped. It might have helped if he had gained augmentation for some form of visual assistance, but he despised it as much as his parents did. Now, what he could go for is the beautiful landscape of his homeworld, lovely beautiful skies lacking the smog of hives, wide-open dunes, the eventual grasslands full of roaming beasts to ride upon, or even the few tropical forests that dotted the landscapes. Possibly he could have been sailing on a luxury yacht with some beautiful women on the outskirt. Still, no he decided he was going to be in the navy, not the PDF, not one of three regiments of guardsmen the planet kept reinforced and maintained.

He eventually found the doctor's office through his daydreaming and more or less annoying whomever he could see where he was going. Knocking on the door to wait for his 'appointment,' was it an appointment, or was it just an inspection.

((TBContinued in a cooperative))

Isaiah eventually found the doctor's office through his daydreaming and more or less annoying whomever he could see where he was going. Knocking on the door to wait for his 'appointment,' was it an appointment, or was it just an inspection.

The sound at the door roused Lazarus from the data entry terminal he'd been provided, and had been using to log the last patient's record. Rising to his feet and smoothing out his coat, he stepped around to the other side of the terminal's desk and called out in a stern, yet polite tone. "You may enter."

Isaiah's head popped out from the corner of doorway as someone had exited some minute or so before without his noticing. "Is this the office for a physical? I was told I was supposed to have another this cycle." he said entering as he stood a foot or so in the doorway hoping he would not have to have a physical training test as well. The young man looked more, enlisted then he did an officer, as well as high strung and empty of life and energy. His undershirt was pulled out some due to movement of trying to find office, and he also had a belief that at this moment, he needed not to wear his uniform properly.

"Ah, yes. You must be Ensign Hussian. Excellent. I am Doctor Lazarus Germael. Captain Livingstone is having me perform a part-medical examination part-interview for his 'handpicked crew' as he put it." Stepping up to the man and stepping aside to invite him into the room proper, closing the door behind him when he'd step inside. "If you have any initial questions, ask them now, otherwise I'd like to begin."

He nodded when he said handpicked and he looked at the room before stepping inside, "None really... I assume it's all the same procedures that the navy uses unless if there is some height enforcement." He stopped and he turned around once in the near center of the room, "but since I am 'hand picked' I assume I don't have to worry about it." he said putting emphasis on the handpicked.

"Right...I assure you, no different than any other medical examination. If anything it might be briefer than previous ones." stepping past the lad and rustling through assorted medicae equipment, he'd pull out a device resembling a dataslate, holding it before him with its back turned to Isaiah, tapping away at the screen as he continued. "Right, first things first: Any food or medicinal allergies?"

"None that I can think of other then the winter fruit from my home world's northern lake." Isaiah said as his head turned to follow the man, "but that's almost impossible to find off planet."

He thought for a second and shrugged, "Implants... it usually kills my family, but that hasn't been tested in about a hundred years since my family doesn't allow implants of any kind, even if we have a lacking of an appendage." It was probably superstition but he would rather not have to deal with the painful death he was told he would have.

"No implants. Understood." Continuing to type away at the dataslate, and without looking up, he'd ask "How about preexisting medicae conditions? Are there any you have that you require or would like to request treatment for? His typing on the dataslate would pause following the question, the slight shifting of his head the only indication that, behind his reflective lenses, the doctor was looking to the young man rather than the device in his hands.

Isaiah sighed softly as shook his head, "Not at all... liquor consumption if anything, aside from that I do not have any preexisting conditions or ailments. And I have no need for anything other then liquor, which I am sure I can find my own prescription for that in the cargo hold or requisition..."

Lazarus rolled his eyes underneath his eyewear. "I'm sure you can." After yet more data entry into the handheld slate, he'd set it aside and touch the tips of his fingers together in a gesture held aloft directly in front of him. "Now, we like to keep a blood sample of every crewmember aboard in the event the information is needed for a blood transfusion or genetic identification. Is there any reason this cannot be done in your case?"

"I have not intoxicated myself in months so I see no reason that it cannot be done." he said with a slight smile, "but take it from my left arm... the vein on my right arm is hard to see, the last physical where blood was drawn took about an hour as he refused to look on my left arm."

"Right then, let's get it over with, shall we?" Gathering up the necessary tools, Lazarus would step over and carefully prepare the vein on the man's left arm before drawing the needed blood sample. Once it was finished he'd carefully set it aside to be labeled in full after their meeting. "Now, do you have any other concerns you wish to bring to my attention before we finish up?"

Isaiah shook his head, "I am surprised there was no other test, just blood and a few questions... normally this would last for an hour with me standing behind a screen as you looked through me..." he thought about the last time and sighed, "well... if there is nothing else, then may I head out, I am sure I am not needed anywhere but here since the cargo bay's are well supplied with men to make my job as annoying as possible."

Gesturing to the dataslate he had been holding earlier, Lazarus said firmly "The majority of the biometrics were handled by that, essentially a smaller version of the scanning screens and such. The rest was handled by trained visual analysis." He'd lower his glasses for a brief moment, making eye contact with the man before pushing them back up. "Best of luck with the cargo crew. I'm all to familiar with some of the more...rabble-like on the crew can be."

"I've been on this ship... a day or so now maybe, those cargo haulers and servitors are fools, I don't know how they could find anything aside from their own lockers and bunks, or charging ports..." he looked at the little machine, "that is incredibly useful... and probably extremely expensive, so... just make sure it doesn't break or go haywire, I heard there are some members of the Cult Mechanicus on the ship, and well... you know how they are when things like that come out. Or I am just from some back water pleasure world, and was stationed on some backwater station in the middle of no where."

"Indeed. Well, I wish you a good day, and if anything comes up and you need my assistance, be sure to come at your earliest convenience." Lazarus would gesture to the entryway before turning back to take his place at the data terminal again, needing to enter in Isaiah's record updates.

"Well... If you too need anything, just come and find me, or send someone... but I shall come if needed." he said as he went into the office, and he turned back, "And if you find what the blue epidermal covering is on... I don't know the individual, then tell me, it would look gorgeous on some people I know back home, unless if takes away the nose and ask if the skin holster can be placed on the back of the head instead of where the bridge line of the nose should be, I am sure it can be hidden with a beautiful wig or covering."

That was all he could think of for things he needed at the moment, so he would soon leave the office as well and head out to continue his work, of doing something that he barely understood because of the previous occupants of the cargo bay and their backwards way (depending on the person) of sorting, and placing items.

Lazarus would chuckle to himself as the young officer mentioned the previous patient he had seen today. Hopefully the others coming into contact with her would make the same mistake and simply see her as an extravagant human. As Isaiah left the makeshift office, the doctor continued to enter his records, as well as personal notes on the man, into his data terminal, awaiting the next arrival on the list.

---

---

Just as Goose stepped outside his quarters, a messenger caught sight of him and made a beeline for the former guardsman. The sudden rapid movement from his peripheral caused the man's instincts and training to kick in. One second the messenger was on his merry way towards Goose, the next he was lying flat on the cold plasteel of the floor with a mechanical fist looming overhead, ready to crush whatever it's owner wished it to crush. Just as Goose was about to let loose his fist upon his would-be attacker, the messenger simply squeaks out that he was wanted in Room 85 in the station they were currently docked at. "Oh, you were just sending a message. Apologies, Adept." Goose then let go of the poor messenger and helped the younger man up and regain his bearings before dusting him off. "Here. For the trouble." The former sargeant says as he slips the messenger a pre-signed requisition form for more...juice. Just as the messenger was about to ask why he even had a slip, Goose was long gone and traversing the labyrinthine halls of the ship to his destination.

Goose wasn't sure how long he had taken in maneuvering through he ship, but he finally found room 85. Doing his best to make himself more presentable before entering the room. "Good day, Doc. Uhh...I was told the Lord Rogue Trader requested that select members of the crew were to be given a medical exam"

Lazarus would look up and nod to the next arrival, standing as he spoke. "Yes, of course, you must be Mr. Boucher, the armsman. I'm Dr. Lazarus Germael, the captain's chief chirurgeon. He's having me conduct medical interviews on specific crewmembers. Now, unless you have any questions for me, I'd like to begin." The doctor would produce his dataslate, holding it before him and briefly tapping at the screen.

"I don't think I have any questions, Doc." Goose honestly admits as he looks to the screen presented to him by the medical expert.

The screen was a basic readout of the soldier's biometric measurements, such as mass and height. The device adjusted its displayed numbers as it continued to scan Goose over. "My last patient was curious about the device, so I figured it prudent to make people more aware of its purpose in the future, as it seems to be rather uncommon." Lazarus would explain, before turning the device's screen to him and holding it so that the back directly faced Goose, typing occasionally at its screen interface as he spoke. "First off, are there any foods or medicinal treatments you're allergic to? Specifically any that would cause symptoms that would require medication or life-saving measures to treat?"

"None that I am aware of. But there was one time where the mess served something that makes me a little queasy. It was something that looked like an armored spider but was way bigger and had like pliers at the front. But other than those things, I suppose I'm not allergic to anything." Goose did his best to describe what could only have been a crab...or something similar to a crustacean. Though he did leave out some information. Mostly regarding the abuse of narcotics during his hive ganger days. He considered it an 'allergic reaction' when he went too long without it and caused withdrawal symptoms but, ever since he joined the imperial guard, he gradually 'grew out' of that 'allergy'.

Lazarus nodded and entered more information into the dataslate as the man explained his food illness. "It sounds like you have an allergy to specific forms of seafood. I'll advise the mess staff of this and make sure they do their best to keep your diet straight. If you have any other problems like this, let me know." Hearing the man speak, or rather the way he stopped, carried the weight in the air of him having more information than he let on on the subject, but the doctor had learned it was better to let people out themselves on the topic later than push and risk them getting defensive. "Now then, next question. Do you have any preexisting medical issues or conditions that require routine treatment? Such as any sort of body illnesses you need to take specific medicine for, or an old injury that needs therapy?"

"Routine treatment? Uhh, would maintaining my left arm count?" Goose rolls up a portion of his uniform to show Lazarus his bionic arm. It was rather crude looking. Numerous dents and scratches covered what visible parts were shown. "It may look a little clunky but it's reliable. Served me well enough for the campaign and the campaign afterward. I mean, for something the medics and gearheads put together in a rush, this thing is quite effective. Just don't put it anywhere near sand or salty water. Makes it hurt as much as the time that ork ripped off my real arm." Goose ends with a chuckle. It wasn't a pleasant experience, far from it, but it was a learning experience for the man. Ever since the incident, Goose would always have a spare chain and one extra promethium tank on his person before deploying into combat zones.

This one was quite a character for sure. Not the most bizarre patient Lazarus had worked with, but certainly up there. Perhaps this just came with the territory of former guardsmen. "That definitely is something my staff and I will want to work with you on handling more properly. Even the best field replacements can only hold up for so long. Ideally, we'd like to get you fitted with a properly-manufactured replacement, as well as take the time to examine the area where it connects with your body to make sure there are no lasting issues from it being a battlefield replacement." Making notes of this for further reference in the dataslate, the doctor would adjust his glasses and continue. "Next, I'd like to ask if you consent to have a sample of your blood taken for records and storage. In the event we need to perform any sort of blood transfusion or replacement or need to identify you after death, the sample will greatly aide in that situation, so I hope you'll be willing to let me take one."

"Sure thing, Doc." Goose says before presenting his organic arm to the doctor.

With professional haste, the good doctor would gather up the necessary tools, and in no time at all a sample of the man's blood was taken, labeled, and placed aside carefully for later filing. Say what you will about the grunts, but the ones that make it far know when to listen. "Something a bit basic, but still just as necessary: Is there anything you'd like to bring to my attention that wasn't covered by the previous questions? Any medicae issues you'd like addressed?"

"Hmm...not really a medicae question, but what in the Throne's gold plating is juice?" Goose asked with all honesty. He had added the strange brown drink to his top list of 'favorite things to eat' but had no idea what it was.

Lazarus cocked an eyebrow at this. He was not familiar with the drink in question, at least not using the word 'juice' to refer to a specific drink. "Well, I can't say I know for certain, but I imagine its some kind of alcohol or another form of intoxicating drink. If I ever get my hands on some, I'll be sure to figure it out and let you know if its an issue. For now, I'd avoid enjoying too much of it at any one time in case it is a liquor of some sort. Unless there's anything else, you're free to leave."

"Aww." Goose frowned slightly. Not even Dr. Lazarus knew what it was. "Thanks for trying anyway. Emperor guide you, Doc." Goose says before leaving the impromptu medical room and back to the docked ship.