[center][h2]”The Least Of These” - Part 3[/h2][/center]

[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/OKSkiwf.png[/img]
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Part 3 of a JP/Collab from [@Xandrya], [@PatientBean], [@Bugman], [@Gunther], [@wanderingwolf], and [@sail3695]  

Joe Hooker helped the young woman push her wheelbarrow up  the cargo ramp. The same one he helped back at the demolition site where they gathered the bricks. Her load was heavy, but he had no difficulty getting it up into the cargo bay. Then he helped her brother and three or four other Anabaptists get their wheelbarrows into the cargo bay. “Those certainly are heavy loads,” Joe mumbled loud enough for others to hear. 

The dark haired girl he helped turned to him, held out her hand with a warm smile on her face. “The name’s Mary. Mary Wright.” Joe took her hand to shake. “Thank you for all you’ve done for us Brother Joseph.”

“Nice makin’ yer acquaintance, Miss Mary. Take yer brother and go with the others through that aft door. See the bearded man with the thing that looks like a gun? Go talk to him. He git ye squared away. It’s OK. You are safe. It isn’t a real gun. He needs it tah scan the chip in yer arm.” Joe smiled back at the young woman. [i]She had the same eyes as Sister Lyen. Maybe they came from the same planet?[/i] Joe wondered quietly to himself. 

Joe watched the people head through the door to have their chips removed and their lives restored. He knew his place was in the galley. He ran up the stairs to begin working on a sandwiches. [i]I wonder if Mistah Yoo Ree found someone to help me in the kitchen?[/i] Joe thought to himself. The number of mouths to feed had quadrupled.

Alana stood waiting, one hand wrapped around the other in front of her in a welcoming stance. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail to avoid potential distractions. First in line she saw a man, younger-looking therefore quite possibly an adolescent. Others followed, part of her relieved they looked to be on the healthier side and not so much ill, because given the bunch they were helping, that was a very likely possibility.

"Chip removal? This way please..." Alana motioned to have him follow her into the infirmary, a friendly smile on her face. "I'm Doctor Lysanger, but we don't need to be so formal around the Doll so you may call me Alana." She then addressed the others before allowing the young man his privacy from them. "I'll be with you shortly pending a quick procedure with no complications."

The clothes felt…strange to him.  They were comfortable, and obviously well made by the precision of their stitching.  Brother Elias now wore a pair of denims, a soft flannel shirt, and a simple covering that Brother Peter called a “hoodie.”  His feet were covered in calf length stockings adorned with a colorful pattern, and these shoes.  They were so comfortable!  Not at all like the hard soled boots with wooden heels he’d known his entire life.  There was a springlike sensation to his step…he felt as if leaping might send him higher than he’d ever flown before!    He thanked Brother Peter for his kindness, and with a last glance toward his old clothing on the boy’s frame, followed the smiling doctor into a frightening room.

“Yes, Sister Alana,” Raphael felt himself shrinking into himself at sight of the array of tools she laid out.  “What should I do?”

"Uh, yes... First, answer me a few quick questions about your medical background," as she spoke, Alana went over to grab her datapad even though she knew the questionnaire by memory. That, and she also needed to record his responses. 

"Are you allergic to any medication?" 

“They tell me that when I was a babe in arms, I was allergic to mother’s milk,” he admitted.  “Nowadays it’s just cats…so, no?  Guess I’m not,” he answered.

"Cats, got it," she smiled. "Are you currently taking any medication?" If she were to be playing a guessing game, Alana would bet the answer was no. Nonetheless, she looked him in the eye and awaited his resonse as with the other questions. 

“No, Sister Doctor,” Raphael said, his confidence growing.

"Alright… Have you ever had any serious illnesses or surgeries in the past? I don't mean to pry, but you'd be surprised the reactions people have had from a simple procedure such as the one you're about to undergo."

The young man thought hard over that.  “Never a surgery.  Couple catgut stitches now and again for a knee or a lip.  “There was a fever…swept through our flock back in aught-nine. A dozen of us were called home.  I was four at the time. Remember bein’ real sick, but momma pulled me through.”

"What would we do without our mothers..."
 
Alana turned away to fetch one last item for her tray as well as hide the pain in her eyes.
 
And then…he was finished.  The device so crudely ground beneath his skin was gone, with nothing left but a small bandage to tell of Sister Doctor Alana’s work.  “Thank you, sister,” Raphael nodded his gratitude  as he was shown out of the Medbay.  The tall man he’d come to know as Brother Elias was there, patiently waiting his turn.  Somehow, his presence in this place seemed other worldly, as if he were part of a dream that had followed Raphael into wakefulness…the outsider who’d sheltered in their midsts.  He’d shown them kindness, and the Anabaptists had returned the grace.  There’d been rumors that sometimes he was an avenging angel, stepping outside the codes of their conduct to smite those who were cruel…but Raphael had never witnessed such.  As he looked up into those expressive eyes, he’d only recognize the goodness.  “Thank you, brother,” Raphael touched the giant’s arm.  “We owe you a debt.”
 
Elias recoiled the slightest bit at the touch, for in his waiting he had fallen into the slightest bit of a stupor musing upon what he would do when he was free. He didn’t bother signing anything, nor writing anything down. Instead he simply grunted a reciprocal thanks, returning his own pat on the arm of his counterpart. He knew it was in the way of the congregation to thank people for so much as smiling in their direction, such was their hospitality. But still it made Elias uncomfortable a slight amount, namely because he felt in their relationship the Anabaptists had done more for him than vice versa. His past as a soldier, his size, none of it had come into significant play. Sure he hefted a few heavy things for them, and he had used his education to repair what knick-knacks they might have needed fixed up that their captors didn’t particularly care to maintain. But still, he knew that without them he’d probably be dead, whilst without him they’d be… well, in about the exact same spot minus one man. Realizing he was again stuck in his own mind, he would hastily retract his arm from the man and nod to him again, raising an eyebrow in question regarding whether or not that was the end of their interaction before moving on if it was.
 
 
 
With Raphael done, Elias would step in to the medical facility to similarly have the chip removed. Eager to have the damned thing out of his meat he had already rolled up his sleeve going as far as scratching a small star where it was upon his skin. 

Her eyes widened in surprise after she noticed the scratch while examining his arm. "Eager to get it done with, huh?" Alana was quick to switch out gloves, having gone over the same few questions as before. "Typically I'd advise against taking measures into your own hands, but you've beaten me to it."

The man nodded in the affirmative when asked a rhetorical question, looking about the scenery. Despite his scale, Elias still found himself a slight bit uneasy at the sight of the medical tools simply because their mirrors were toys for the reavers that had been used upon his mug enough to cause his bandana-wrapping predicament. His hands made the signs for “[i]Yes, I want it gone yesterday.[/i]”, but almost reflexively his hands went down to the piece of blackboard and chalk to write down: “YES. THE SOONER IT IS GONE THE BETTER. IF I DID NOT HAVE THE ANABAPTISTS TO CARE FOR ME AND ME FOR THEM I WOULD HAVE CARVED THE THING OUT MYSELF.” After a brief look at what he wrote he would present it to be viewed and then erase it to append a small addendum. “BEING A SLAVE SUCKS. IT SUCKS A LOT MORE WHEN YOU ARE ME.”  The former an understatement, to say the least. 

She could only nod in return. He had so much to say, yet he could not. Alana was empathetic, being more expressive beyond spoken words to communicate. She grabbed the datapad and refreshed the page to load an empty questionnaire. "See these?" Alana turned the screen to have it face him, tapping the edge. "I'm going to need you to answer these questions so I may know how to best proceed in the event you have any relevant history. You can nod or shake your head and it will be noted. I promise it will take but a minute or two..."
 
She was tiny next to him, making the encounter a smidge interesting if anything at all. As she went over the questions one by one just like she had done with Raphael, Alana paused to look at her patient. The doctor could see the same desperation in his eyes as she had previously seen in others throughout her career, but like in the past, she forbade herself from being attached in any shape or form. 
 
The man turned his head to the screen, squinting to what was on it. Well, that made sense enough. He’d had gone through a similar process in the fleet all them years back. Not wasting time, he simply nodded and gave a further thumbs up, but held on to his small piece of blackboard nonetheless in the not unlikely event he might have to elaborate with more than a binary answer. 

She placed the datapad down once done, motioning for Elias to lie back and get comfortable. "We can get started now, I know you're eager to." Alana switched out trays as she had prepared them in anticipation of the Anabaptists' arrival. If nothing else, Elias would appreciate the quick turnaround.
 
"First I'll apply a mild anesthetic for your comfort," she explained as she simultaneously put her words to action.

Going through the questions, he would answer rather simply. No allergies, and then after a short laughing fit remembering his mutilations he similarly noted no surgeries. 

But as the offer of anesthetic came he recoiled somewhat, raising both hands in an effort to demonstrate a request to stop. More or less unrelated to religious sensibilities, he had decided some years ago that he needed complete lucidity after all the mind altering nonsense he pumped himself in youth, and then was forced into him by the reavers. 

This was all far too much to recount on a small piece of blackboard however, and instead he simply wrote down “I WANT MY MIND WHOLLY THERE TO FEEL FREEDOM RETURN.” It was only slightly less nonsensical to explain, but at least it was far more brief and would hopefully elicit less requests to elaborate. After a brief moment of thought, he raised his sleeve a little further to reveal the scars from drills, hooks, and all other nasty implements that were used by the worst people in the whole verse. This would - he hoped - be enough of a tough guy routine to remove concern of pained reaction to the medical intrusion into flesh. 

[hr]

“Mistah Yoo Ree,” Joe yelled when he caught sight of the First Officer. “Might ah have a word with ye?”

Yuri had just ushered the last of the refugees through to be clothed and dechipped.  “Sure,” he nodded amiably.  “What’s on your mind?”

“With all these extra mouths tah feed, is there someone that kin help me in tha galley? Ah was plannin’ to make stew, but would need a lot of vegetables and pots. Lots of potato peelin’ tah be done. Lots of cuttin’.” Joe needed help.

“For now,” Yuri replied, “Imani Ozuka has stepped up.  I think she’s got simple stuff, sandwiches and the like, planned until you’re back aboard.  Once we’re in the black,” he added, “if Imani’s not up for the job, get with me and we’ll find you a galley helper.”

When the first officer left, Joe brought loaves of bread, cheese, ham slices, butter and tomatoes out of storage. He turned the heat on the large griddle.  With a knife, he placed several pads of butter on the griddle which began to melt. Each pad of butter he placed a piece of bread on. Then a slice or two of cheese. A few he placed a slice of ham or slice of tomato on. Then a second piece of bread and a pad of butter on top. He made sure the heat was not too hot to burn the sandwiches, but enough to brown the bread to an appealing tone.

When the sandwiches were cooked enough on the bottom, he flipped them over with a spatula and then stacked them on trays to be laid out on the galley table. “Grilled cheese, grilled ham and cheese and grilled tomato and cheese. Take what ye like. Also some potato chips and corn chips tah go with yer sandwich. Ah’ve made some coffee. We have Cola and a cherry-flavored drink. Plenty of cups, help yerself.” Joe repeated this to the small groups that filtered through the galley. He set aside a grilled ham and cheese for himself which he ate along with a cup of coffee.

[b]...TO BE CONTINUED…[/b]