Commodore Splat

Posted on Saturday February 13th, 2021 @ 6:44pm by Captain Tobias Bishop III

Mission: The Forgotten Outpost
Location: Main Promenade Deck
Timeline: Current

ON

If there is one thing that Dr. Smith likes to do on his days off, or whever he is posted to another facility; is to relax at a pool, as he watches the women go by, and as an SCIS Special Agent Forensic Pathologists, when he didn’t have a patient on his table stretched out for a Forensic examination, he was usually out and about wherever he was at.

Just arrived on the last shuttle to DS3, Dr. Smith now late in, arriving with the hundreds of other souls, came on the last flight, and checked in. With the day nearly gone, and it was a Friday evening, Dr. Smith decided on going out to see the Promenade.

Having spent most of his life working in a land facility; Dr. Smith found life on board the station to be a bit hectic. Remembering that there were over 180,000 people on board an eight mile high by six mile in width station, was like living in a sardine can. However with that many souls, the chances of him ever meeting his patients other than on the autopsy table was far to none, and very slim that he’d meet them while alive.
Seeing that the dining facility for the civilians living and working there was now closing, he found a small coffeeshop off the main promenade deck and proceeded to go there to enjoy a quick meal before entering his cabin.

Seeing that there was no one inside except for the propieter who owned the coffee shop, he stopped, looked around, and ordered a large cheesecake. Receiving the cheesecake, it was a thick and rich Kiwi cheesecake, with a topping of real Kiwi fruit, whipped crème, all on a graham cracker crust. Something which the replicators could not quite replicate.

So taking his order and the coffee he had ordered, Dr. Smith quickly sat down, made sure his personal belongings were with him, and proceeded to eat the cake. For the next 10 minutes all he could think of was how rich the cheesecake was, comparing it to the original New York style cheesecake he had at his last Convention in NY City, two years ago.

Finished with his cheesecake, Dr. Smith met several older civilians, and after talking to them he was going to finish reading an article from the magazine “Forensic Pathology Today” Sitting there he was engrossed in an article about how some prisons on earth were starting to incarcerate the harder criminals, by first placing them in a transporter chamber, breaking down their atoms, and storing them inside a Transporter sub routine.
The article went into the issues with long term storage, but as he read; the authors had already performed this on a small “Targ” which had been broken down some 10 years prior to the article, and had been revived, all of which caused no ill effects on the animal.

Even their age progression had stopped leaving them at the same age as when they were first broken down, and put back together again.

As he sat there enjoying his article, Dr. smith felt something on his head, it wasn’t blood but something made him look up, and up on the highest deck that he could see was a tiny blob which suddenly grew to a large size that it missed him, that landed some 40 feet away, with a very loud 'plop'.

Suddenly the sounds of women screaming, men getting up and trying to call for help, and as th commotiong grew louder, several security personnel were already at what was once human, but the height from where if fell, and the condition left the body torn apart, and the organs had just exploded, leaving a very bloody, shapeless mess on the deck.

From the uniform everyone deduced the body was that of either a humananoid, or human in the shape of a male/female and wearing the uniform of a Commodore. Unfortunately for what was left of it, the body bore the brunt of the fall, and judging by the damage, Dr. Smith determined that the man had fallen more than 10 decks above the promenade. Deciding not to go up and do his investigations, since he wasn’t officially on duty at this time, all Dr. Smith could do was take down his own observations, and let the Security personnel worry about the little stuff.

With the entire promenade floor now being covered by Starfleet Security, he spotted the starfleet security investigator, who was giving orders to other investigators trying to find out who died, and any witnesss or a subject

investigators who were now interviewing almost anyone outside at the time of the incident. Finally a young Lieutenant from Security interviewed him. Giving his name, and status, the Lieutenant found out that he was the new incoming Forensic Pathologists, and now they were asking him what happened.

But as he told them, he was still not officially assigned to DS3, and could not begin any Crime Scene investigation, but he could give a rough estimate as to the initial COD (Cause of Death).

Sitting down in his seat, Dr. Smith began to write a comprehensive report that he though was important, he was interrupted by a young Security Investigator. Who began asking him questions about the death. A bit irritated by her lack of imagination in performing a typical Medico/Legal Forensic Investigation, he decided to do his own Forensic Investigations.

First, Dr. Smith measured the angle and the position of the dead commodore, then as he worked, he worked out an equation that measured the approximate weight of the deceased, and the height in which he fell from which he called the “SPLAT” equation. Then he punched in the numbers and a few nanoseconds later, the equation came to show that the deceased was around 185 lbs (83 kgs), falling from a height of 93.1 m or in layman’s language (299.54 ft). Falling from that height was more than enough to kill him, considereing the post-mortum examinations

That amount of energy had enough energy to turn every organs into mush, tear every muscle/ligament away from their insertion points, pushing out every organ from the abdominal and visceral cavity to the outside. In other words, the former Commodore was now just a bag of torn flesh, broken bones, blown open internal organs and pools of urine, fecal matreial, and great pools of coagulating pools of blood in and around the body and the Promenade deck.

pulling up the shirt tunic of the uniform, Dr. smith felt the ribs finding that they were now floating in air, and as he continued down the pelvis, to the femur, knee caps, lower leg, foot and toes, all he found was mushy bones were their should have been solid bones. Writing up the toe tag, he wrote down the time of death and the probably cause ‘Death by falling”.

though there were other ways to identify the deceased, but being an old Pathologists, he still liked the old ways of doing things. Instead of calling him John Doe, Dr. Smith came up with a name “Commodore Jelly”, and left it that way. Now finished with his initial investigations he took out a cleaning rag, washed his hands and stopped to drink his now cold cup of coffee, and finished off the last of his pastry, all the while as he watched the brand new security officers now gagging and throwing up all over themselves as the smell of fresh urine, copious amounts of blood, fecal matter, and exposed organ got to them.

With the Commodore now wiped up and the last of his body organs now inside the bag, the entire bag was beamed directly into the morgue, and as everyone began leaving for the heads to clean up, Dr. Smith simply reordered another cup of coffee, and this time ordered a bowl of piping hot Chili, sat down and continued to read, another magazine.

End

Dr, Rex Smith, MD
SA, Medical Examiner
SCIS
Deep Space Three