“Cadet candidate Pallas Padmavati Parthenia Gens?” The doctor looked up from the pad that held her details, his face professionally blank.
“Yes sir, that’s me,” Parthi ventured a smile.
“Your parents seem to have been fond of the letter ‘P’.” His wry tone suggested the doctor didn’t think he was being original. “We’ll start by listening to your chest. Take off your shirt, please.”
Parthi quietly complied, while the nurse, as professionally disinterested as the doctor, was off to the side and busying herself with various instruments.
Both women caught the doctor’s near invisible double take when he saw her torso, exposed but for her bra. “So, you’ve not been in the Navy before, Miss Gens?” He drawled the question just this side of disbelief.
“I have never previously enlisted in any branch of any military service, sir.” Parthi had prepared that answer for its complete truth.
He circled her, noting the old scars and the faded energy flash burns as he did so. “But you were caught up in the fighting during the late war?”
“A great many people were, sir.” She remained relaxed as the doctor’s body language suggested this wasn’t going to become an unscaleable hurdle.
“Right then. Lieutenant,” he turned to the nurse, “book the body scanner. We’ll be doing a full transfer medical workup, not just an induction examination.” He turned back to Parthi, “We should find out what, if any, medical greebblies you picked up during your exposure to the fighting.”
Parthi raised an eyebrow at him. “Is greebbly a medical term, sir?”
“A very technical one,” he replied solemnly and the nurse snickered. “Now, would you like to tell me about the through and through on your left shoulder?”