[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=00C5CD]Friedrich Knochengeiger[/color][/i][/b][/h1]
[img]http://i.imgur.com/Kk1Wef1.jpg[/img][hr][b][color=00C5CD]Location:[/color][/b] Retribution Bridge -> Medbay[hr][/center]
The subtle hints thrown in Finger's direction hit their mark. He narrowed his eyes, fighting against a sudden sneer that threatened to break his cold, almost corpse-like expression. He couldn't leave before seeing what the pilot actually planned to do, so he spent a few minutes looking over his shoulder, or more specifically, at his neck. Those were some nice veins...

When the man initiated the routine diagnostics, the medical officer decided it was high time to proceed with his own. The captain has received the report, there were new orders, and he would have to continue to exert his energy at logistics to increase his chance of actually succeeding in following said orders. A brisk pace took him to the medbay, and he almost collided with his assistant on his way out. There were more orders apparently, a slimming-down of crew for one reason or other. This would have to be dealt with later.

In the following quarter of an hour, all supply deficiencies were miraculously addressed, though Finger still suspected that receiving the "minimal" amount rather than the "recommended" one on some supplies meant that the requisitions bastard is going to have a field day on the black market after the Retribution's liftoff. This was the price to pay for stressing the need for said supplies on numerous occasions. The man may be an asshole, but he wasn't an idiot. Which is even worse.

Once the supplies were catalogued, stored and secured, Finger strapped himself into the folding seat in the wall next to his desk. He used the terminal to bring up the medical records of the remaining crew, to pass the time, and put the abridged version of the pilot's ongoing preparations for launch in the corner of his screen.