E On The Eye Chart
Posted on Mon Feb 16th, 2026 @ 11:43am by Captain Tristan Faust & Lieutenant Commander Marc Kitchner M.D.
988 words; about a 5 minute read
Mission:
Mission 6: Echoes of the Interphase
Location: Earth: San Francisco
Timeline: M6 MD05 (2268.10.08) 1400-1500
Later that day...
Marc and Tristan transported down to surface a block from an old school eye doctors office. They stepped up the door and knocked.
Marc and Tristan transported to the surface a block from an old brick storefront. The sign above the door read:
D. Halpern, O.D.
A small placard hung in the window: Closed.
Tristan studied it for a moment, “We could have scheduled this" he said.
“We did and will you relax,” Marc replied, knocking on the glass. A minute later a tiny woman about Marc's age opened the door. "Hi Julie, I see your still working for that old cow."
"The old cow is still the best in the city I'll have you know. Come on in. I'll tell him you're here." Julie said with a smile on her face. She stepped around a counter shouted into a doorway. "Doug ... we have company." Then she ducked under the counter. "Marc I have that box of readers you ordered. Let's see how long these last." She popped back up handing Marc a box half the size of a shoe box. Marc said slightly chuckling great fully taking the box.
"You’re certain this couldn’t be handled aboard ship?" Tristan asked, looking around the old shop. The ship's medical facilities were equipped to diagnose and treat any routine issue. Dr. Kitchner had explained all of the options available, but none were all that appealing to the Captain. This option had zero recovery time at least...
"A basic eye exam, yes. A complete eye exam, no."
A voice from the hallway answered, “And because I don’t salute.” Dr. Doug Halpern stepped forward, sleeves rolled, eyes sharp. “Captain," he greeted Tristan.
“Doctor," the Captain responded.
Doug motioned toward the exam room. “Let’s take a look.”
The Captain sat without complaint. His posture remained straight, composed. If he resented being there, it did not show. Tristan had only ever had basic exams and up until now he'd had no issues with his vision. Maybe their last away mission knocked a few screws loose, or maybe the mundane paperwork was actually burning his eyes out.
"Talk to me, have you been noticing your vision change, headaches, trouble in brightly lit areas ...? Do you have blood pressure trouble?" Doug asked as he looked Tristan over. "Look at black dot on the wall behind me." He waved a flashlight in his eyes. Doug pulled some equipment and checked the inners of Tristan's eyes. So far everything checked out.
"Blood pressure is elevated for a man his age, but is explainable by stress, overwork and caffeine intake." Marc replied not even giving his nephew a chance.
"I've had a few close calls, some head trauma," Tristan finished.
"Marc have you noticed anything else?" Doug said as he made notes in a file.
"He was flipping through a photo album the other day and kept looking at things from an odd angle." Marc said leaning against the wall. "At first I didn't think anything of it until I saw him doing the same thing trying to read a hard copy of a report this morning. You know the ... trying to look over the top of your glasses ... look."
“There it is,” Doug said, interrupting Dr. Kitchner. He leaned back slightly. “You took shrapnel near the orbital ridge, didn’t you?”
“Months ago, superficial,” Tristan replied evenly. “Sickbay cleared it.”
“They cleared the wound,” Doug said. “They didn’t clear this.”
He rotated the lens again.
“Small corneal nick. Likely from particulate in the blast. It’s healed, but the surface isn’t perfectly uniform anymore. I'm not surprised your vision has gotten worse not better,” he explained.
Marc stepped forward slightly. “Permanent?”
“Stable,” Doug corrected. “Unless aggravated, but vision has definitely changed.”
Tristan’s voice remained steady. “Effect?”
“Subtle distortion at the periphery. Slight depth miscalculation under fatigue, distance accuracy reduced,” the optometrist explained.
After a few minutes Doug shifted to the side of the room and threw two switches on the wall. "Okay Captain, read what you see."
"E legs left ... E legs right ... E legs down." Tristan said thinking to himself, 'I could have seen that from the street'.
Doug changed the screen. "Again." He changed the screen again and then a third time. "An one more time.
"T.. G .. A .." Tristan replied. "That's either a Y or an X at the end."
A few more tests and Doug rolled himself over to a computer terminal. "Marc except for reading the last two lines completely backward." Doug looked at Tristan with a sour face, the silly games that people play this was the worst. "I'm pretty sure he's got a mild myopia, with early onset presbyopia. The shrapnel, the head trauma it all adds up," he said.
“In plain English?” Tristan asked.
“In plain English,” Doug replied, “You are slightly nearsighted and no longer eighteen. Add fatigue and that corneal irregularity, and you strain.”
Tristan absorbed this with a thoughtful nod, “Correction?”
"Corrective lenses, especially on duty," Doug responded, "You can get away without them most of the time, but I have a feeling your vision will adjust and you'll get used to them all the time."
Marc almost smiled.
Doug folded his hands.
“Captain, this isn’t a career-ender. But if you ignore it, your reaction time and visual clarity will degrade under stress. That matters in your line of work.”
The Captain nodded in acceptance, "So be it," he responded, a tough of bitterness in his voice.
Outside, the late afternoon light reflected faintly off Golden Gate bridge in the distance. Tristan slipped the black cardboard box into his pocket.
“Two hours,” he said. “We return to launch preparations.”
Marc studied him as they walked toward the transport point.
“You’re taking this well," Marc responded.
“Hazards of command,” he said quietly. “Although I'd prefer a scar elsewhere..."
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