He was a competent doctor who showed off to the wrong Captain in Starfleet Intelligence. Now he gets crated around exciting cargo bays as the bag carrying medic with no name. Or, at least that’s how he prompts himself on SpaceBook.
In reality, he’s just a good doctor with a unique set of skills in handling very dangerous, nasty things (Like Ebola, it’s fun for the whole family) in rather odd circumstances. Such as whilst under fire.
Stick insect’s look bulky. Don’t blame Jake for that, it’s a childhood and genes from the planet Mars that does the stretching. He’s tried various diets, and apart from the ones that deal with bone density he still towers a little bit.
A professional with daddy issues come’s to mind when distilling the history of Jake Sjet. He chose to head into the medical service as opposed to the branch his father took, just so he could avoid being told how much better he was (or worse) than the hero who died fighting the Borg.
It was either develop a hero complex and probably die of stupidity. Or work with people instead of machines for a living. Jake doesn’t get along with tech to well unless of course, it’s a dermal regenerator.
And even then it’s Vegas Odd’s if it’ll work or not.
Jake is a good doctor. He’s not great, he’s no McCoy by any measure. But he’s seen enough in training and in active service to be a Jack of All Trades. Can he do a brain transplant? Hell no.
But a phaser burn, or compound fracture? Well, then he’s your guy to do it with a witty rejoinder.
As for weaknesses, he’s a Martian: agoraphobia comes with the package. A life time under sealed pressure domes and dura steel corridors have given the entire planet a case of the fear of open spaces. He can handle it for a short amount of time, but he prefer’s a ceiling over his head. Preferably one with a life support system not reliant on plant growth.
To be out from the shadow of a dead man.
Slight of hand tricks: coins, cards, small nicknacks. It passes the time’s and keeps his fingers nimble.
Jake was born into a Starfleet family, but then again on Mars who isn’t? With the Fleet Yard orbiting above, the Mark Whitney Botanical Research Group taking up most of the agri domes, and Starfleet Marine Training Facility Tartarus, you’re either a member of the Fleet or you live in one of the underground cities.
And given Jake has no criminal record to speak of, we can rule out an under city upbringing.
Jake was eying up the Academy entry tests when his father’s ship was destroyed at the Battle of Wolf 359: big whoop. A lot of ships took their final stands there, a lot of people never went home. But suddenly a weight of expectation was put upon Jake. Suddenly tests became measuring bars, goals that had been optional became milestones in need of achievement. Words like ‘Legacy’ got bandied around…
In his second years at the academy, he punched an instructor who commented on the similarity in his scores with his fathers.
He passed from the Academy and entered into the Medical arm, seeking a path away from the Engineering track his father had taken. Here he found a calling, with a quick wit and steady hand making light work of tragedy. This led to him being assigned to vessel’s that would venture into dangerous circumstances, as a doctor unlikely to panic saved more lives than not.
On one such mission, he caught the eye of an attached Starfleet Intelligence officer, and an offer of employment was made. Jake took it, and whilst misinterpreting the truth to his mother in letters might sting, he at least knows in the shadows there are only the limits he sets for himself.