Though Buran's assistant, Quinn, has been after her to tell her some of the latest gossip, the latest paper on her desk has called her to the infirmary to discuss her case with Dr. Hammarkin again. Apparently the test results are back, and this should be more important than another still found and destroyed in the Temple…

The Siamese Khatta looks at Buran as she enters the infirmary. "Hi again, sugah. Here to see someone?"

"I've an appointment with Dr. Hammarkin," the Sphynx replies.

"An appointment, sugah?" The Khatta glances at the technopriestess and smirks. "I'm sure he's expecting you. Just a minute and I'll check." Setting aside nail polish, she stands and walks into the hallway.

Buran idly paces back and forth. After a while, she grows tired of wearing a groove in the floor and settles down on a bench to leaf through one of the incredibly-out-of-date pamphlets cluttering the waiting area.

The Siamese Khatta slips out of the hall again. "Well! Go in already, you're keeping him waiting," she drawls. "He's in room three, on the right side."

Buran sighs. (I'm coming… ) But, as directed, she makes her way down the hall and into Room Three.

The masked Khatta sniffs daintily, then returns to her work.

In room three, an office strewn with papers and with a Kavi skeleton hanging in one corner, Dr. Hammarkin looks up. "Ah! Technopriestess Buran. Do come in and sit down over there, please. How are you feeling? No headache or stomach pain, I hope?"

There's little available to sit upon, unless one moves some papers aside from rickety wooden chairs.

The Technopriestess eyes the chairs, realizing that there's little choice. Carefully, she lifts the papers from the chair with the least clutter, placing them in neat piles on the floor nearby. Buran sits down carefully.

The slim Rath'ani clears his throat. "Now, you do remember the prior test results where I told you that the drugs you were taking were apparently dream suppressants and other associated medicines and herbs?"

Buran nods solemnly. "I do, Doctor."

"Well, Priest Caramon called in the other day to complain that the drugs he was taking were completely ineffective in preventing his nightmares," Dr. Hammarkin says with embarrassment. "It looks like some wires got crossed in the testing laboratory, and the lab intern gave him your drugs, and his medicine was what got tested when we were checking on your own prescription. I'm sorry about that, Technopriestess, and I've instructed the interns to be more careful. We're lucky that they didn't mix up anything more serious."

Something rattles… but Dr. Hammarkin seems to have taken no notice of the dry sound.

Buran seems to take it in stride – after all, she's had her own share of experience with the Technopriesthood's own newcomers. She flicks her whiskers a bit and replies, "Indeed. All right, then. Were you able to finish the tests on the right sample?"

The Rath'ani nods. "As you probably already know, the tests confirmed that you're lacking in some of the Inner Spirits that would normally process food and transform it into usable essences for your body. However… "

Buran's ears perk forward.

"I believe that some of the new treatments we're working on might be able to treat the condition more permanently," Dr. Hammarkin says. "In other words, rather than continue to treat the symptoms created when you eat food that your Inner Spirits can't handle, and thus rebel within you, we'll introduce new Inner Spirits that will hopefully take up residence to fill the gap. It's a theory we're still testing, but it's shown some promising results already."

"That sounds wonderful, Doctor." Buran sounds pleased to hear of the new treatment.

Dr. Hammarkin nods. "All right, Technopriestess. If you're willing to be a part of the experimental group then, I'll need you to sign the waiver." He rummages through the papers, evidently trying to find where he put it.

Buran's wingfeathers rustle slightly as she leans over slightly, peering at the papers which lie on the floor near her chair; she points to one of the piles. "Is that it, Doctor?"

"Where?" The Rath'ani whirls around, his chair hitting one of the larger piles. It begins to topple over with heartbreaking slowness…

And then the papers whoosh across the floor with the sound of flapping wings.

The Khatta instinctively dives for the teetering pile, hoping to save them _all_ from scattering. "Oh, no!" she cries.

The sheets riffle right over and under Buran, the edges fluttering. A crazy moment: it sounds as if someone is whispering right into her ears, "He lies. Do not trust him… " And then she feels the Rath'ani's hands on her shoulders, trying to help her up.

Dr. Hammarkin says, "First Ones! I'm terribly sorry about this, Technopriestess."

Immunology reports and case histories are scattered all over Buran now, and the floor. The doctor, or perhaps an intern, will be a while sorting this out.

Buran surveys the mess. "No, sir. I apologize – I'm the one who caused this. I should have been more careful." She sounds a bit dazed, and her eyes dart around the room while her ears strain to catch any more of the strange voice, should it speak again.

Has the Kavi skeleton moved? No, it's only swung a bit on its hook, swaying a little after the sudden furor in the room. Dr. Hammarkin pays it no heed as he scoops papers from atop Buran, trying to clear enough of a space that she can stand up. "Well, at any rate," he grumps. "I can see I'm going to have to get some filing cabinets. I've asked Supplies over and over, and they always promise they'll have it in a few days. Any road, you can fill out a fresh waiver form, and I'll just fill the rest in again."

As she helps Hammarkin to clear away some of the papers and neatly re-pile them, Buran can't help but to smile a little. "A few days, a few weeks. Might as well be an eternity… " Her mind ponders the voice and its message. But why would the kind Rath'ani lie? Is that what it meant? Or was it her imagination? "Yes, Doctor. Will I need to do anything other than follow the treatment?"

"Well, for the first week, I'll ask you to stick to gruel," Dr. Hammarkin replies. "Your new Inner Spirits will need time in which they can establish a foothold in your G-I tract, and if you work them too hard, you might lose them. However, there's always the danger that your Inner Spirits might react poorly to the newcomers, and reject them, which might cause you to run a fever, have diarrhea, or any number of symptoms. Since this is an experimental program, if you want to participate, you'll have to agree to run the risks. We'll do our best to minimize them, of course, but no program is perfect."

Buran says, "Of course. Gruel it is, then. And if I have problems?"

The Rath'ani replies, "Then come see me immediately. Ah! Here's a blank waiver form. Just sign your name at the bottom and date it, and I'll fill in the rest later."

The doctor hands the paper to Buran.

Buran takes a few moments to read the form before signing it.

Apparently the form excuses the medical department of the Temple from any liability should the patient undergoing treatment (blank) experience any of the symptoms (blank) up to and including (blank). The patient has had the dangers explained and is willing to cooperate with the medical department in all ways, giving permission in advance for intrusive procedures and drastic treatments that may be required for the success of the experiment. It looks quite ominous really, but Dr. Hammarkin seems quite reassuring about the whole thing.

Kavi bones clatter lightly against the wall at the end of one swing, like dry laughter.

The Technopriestess' pen hovers over the form, then stops. "A question. What does 'intrusive procedures and drastic treatments' involve?"

Dr. Hammarkin says, "Well, for instance, if you slip into unconsciousness due to a bad reaction, then we might have to flush your system to give your natural Inner Spirits a chance to recover, hopefully eliminating the foreign ones. Or we might have to operate, if you experience internal bleedings. But we've already performed enough tests to have eliminated the significant problems, or I wouldn't be recommending this procedure, Technopriestess."

"I hope you're right, Doctor," Buran says as she takes a deep breath, carefully signing the paper. (I hope I'm doing the right thing.)

A dry rustling, like wings flapping on some faraway breeze.

Dr. Hammarkin nods. "All right then! I'll schedule you for your first treatment tomorrow morning, Technopriestess. By the way, I discussed the mix-up in your medicine with Dr. Maltar… "

Once again, Buran's ears rotate, trying to trace the sound. "Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?" The Rath'ani looks around.

Buran sighs, shaking her head. "I thought I heard a rustle. It must have been my imagination. I'm sorry; please go on."

"Ah, well, Dr. Maltar was quite disappointed to learn that your medicines weren't for suppressing bad dreams, after all," Dr. Hammarkin says. "He'd been developing a whole theory about the idea that you needed to confront your childhood fears and 'exorcise them', if you will, from your subconsciousness before you could sleep without bad dreams, without needing drugs to do so. In fact he'd planned to have a Vartan come into the room with your next session… "

The Rath'ani says, "He's a good colleague, but he can be a little controversial with his methodology."

"I know little of psychiatry," the Sphynx confesses. "But I am sure that he knows what he's doing."

Dr. Hammarkin hmfs. "Well, really, it seems a trifle bit over the line. We're modern healers here, not shamans or witch doctors, or – or circus ringmasters! Ah well, very well then, unless there's something else, you can go now, Technopriestess. I'll see you tomorrow morning at nine, sharp."

Buran makes her way through the strewn-about papers and into the hall, closing the door softly behind her, and out of the Infirmary…

The Siamese Khatta looks up. "So, did your appointment go well?" she drawls, blowing on her painted claws and admiring them. Each has been done in swirling patterns of colors, no doubt the work of many hours.

A raised eyebrow greets the secretary's … extraordinary … claws. "It was productive," the winged Khatta answers.

The receptionist smirks. "I just bet it was, Technopriestess. So, another appointment then?"

Buran ignores the jibe. "Nine, tomorrow morning."

The Siamese Khatta mms. "Very well then." She takes out a book and ostentatiously turns the pages, the paper crackling in her hands. "Nine… New Year's Day… Eleven. One Technopriestess Buran, to see… Dr. Hammarkin."

And, once more, Buran sets off to return to the endless mountain of work orders. (Quinn said he had something to tell me. I wonder where that rascal went… )