Triage Among the Stars
Episode Name: Triage Among the Stars Written By: Lace Cast: Clough, K'net-mauri, Lace, McNeill, Park, Sukhar, T'elsor and Zian. Produced By: Starfleet Directed By: Lace Aired On: Wed Aug 28 18:09:13 2002 Stardate: 52592.5
Time: Wed Aug 28 14:36:44 2002
Stardate: 52592.2
In the heat of the war with the Dominion, there have been many casualties on all sides. After heated battles in another sector, two Romulan vessels are limping home to the Empire loaded with such casualties. One vessel, the Phaeros-class Medical Cruiser Sola is fully staffed and equipped. The other, Kondor, a T'rasus class Starbird, is not so well equipped. Unfortunately it is this vessel, due to its size and capacity, that carries the heaviest load. As the vessels approached the Neutral Zone, a message was dipatched to Station 419 Upsilon to give medical aid to the Kondor's burden of injuries. The vessel itself has incurred heavy damage and is incapable of high warp or even the benefit of cloak, but in true tradition of the Romulan Empire, will not put into the station to effect repairs, preferring to do so on its own enroute. The cost? An overburdened medical staff that is losing patients at a rapid rate. The medical and first aid officers available from the station have answered the call for aid, along with the Romulan Ambassador and Romulan exchange officer, Sukhar, and are enroute.
Lt Anderson, the ops officer on watch on the bridge, has gotten the ship on its way.
Clough, upon arrival on the ship's bridge, has found a place out of the way of the other bridge crew to wait and watch. She looks around, then focuses on Lieutenant Anderson. "Mr. Anderson, do we have an estimate of the casualties? How many are we looking at, precisely - or nearly precisely?" She frowns a moment, then adds, "And do we know how much medical equipment is available on their ships?"
Sukhar, at the science console, keeps a wary eye on the long-range sensors, searching for any ships that might seek to make a damaged Romulan Starbird a target. In answer to Clough's question, he very simply, evenly, says, "Our Starbirds are what you would consider Explorers, Doctor. You might safely extrapolate the medical provisions from that simple statement without too much margin for error."
McNeill stands near the back of the bridge holding on firmly to the nearest hand-rail. She looks uncomfortable, her teeth are gritted and her face is pale.
. o O Clough's mental barrier has eased away somewhat, though she is still monitoring what goes out from her. Presently, there is gnawing concern and frustration, but little else.
. o O Clough's internal voice mutters to herself, "Naturally, it /would/ have to be another race I know next to nothing about - culturally or physiologically..." A sigh accompanies this thought.
Park sits back in a chair off to the side of the command deck, looking completely at his ease as he checks over the instruments in his medical kit.
Zian gnaws at her lip as she watches the viewscreen, her fingers tapping nervously against her leg. Briefly, her gaze flicks over to Clough, watching her for a moment before coming to some kind of decision. Abruptly, Zian turns about and moves to the auxiliary medical station. "I'm calling up what datafiles we have on Romulan physiology, if anyone else would care to review them with me before we arrive." she reports.
K'net-mauri has found some out-of-the-way place for himself and he stays there, standing with near absolute stillness and frowning. He is silent.
Anderson answers Clough after consulting his PADD. "Report says casualties over five hundred, Doctor." He nods to Sukhar, allowing that officer's report to answer the rest of the Doctor's question. It wasnt in the message, afterall.
Clough growns at the responses she receives, but nods and smooths her face over again quickly. "Thank you, Lieutenant, Sublieutenant." She turns and moves toward Zian and the display she is pulling up. "And you, Ensign," she adds as she approaches her cousin.
. o O Zian is a bit nervous... it's been quite a while since she saw action in a medical capacity. She's determined to do the best she can, though, and to make the most of the time she's got before arrival.
Sukhar returns his attention to the sensors on the cramped little bridge's science console. "I have the Sola and the Kondor on sensors. If Flight Control keeps steady course, we should be there in a little over one-quarter of one of your hours."
McNeill looks ill at ease and she rubs her eyes. She slowly makes her way to the nearest seat and gratefully sinks onto it.
. o O Zian thinks "Well. This is one way to resume my medical cross-training, I suppose..."
Park closes his kit and looks around the room. Spying McNeill, he stands and whispers something to her.
Park whispers to McNeill, "Are you OK?"
Zian studies the displays carefully, her lips moving silently as she reads over the more important bits, doing her best to commit as much of it to memory as possible in the next fifteen minutes. After a few minutes, she glances back over her shoulder and asks, "Do we have any idea as to what specific sorts of injuries we'll be seeing, or the severity of them?"
"They are dying," observes K'net-mauri rather coldly. He stays still, privately crackling under his rather monolithic exterior.
. o O McNeill feels nauseous.
. o O McNeill thinks "God I hate spaceflight - I had forgotten how much"
After a two-hour trip at maximum warp, the Paine finally reaches the two burdened starships. Anderson initiates visual contact with the Kondor. "USS Thomas Paine has arrived with a medical team to assist you," he says to the Romulan Commander on the screen. "We stand ready to transport them aboard." The Commander's stony face surveys the gathering visible to him, nodding a respectful greeting to Ambassador K'net-mauri. "We will transport your people to our medical bay. Have your doctor coordinate with Doctor T'elsor."
Clough has spent much of the trip - all of it, in fact - reviewing Romulan physiology and praying to the Fates she manages /not/ to insult their culture. At the announcement of their arrival, she nods shortly and straightens, walking away from the console to face the viewscreen and the Romulan displayed on it. To herself, she mutters, "Right, then." Louder, she shifts her gaze between the Ambassador and the Romulan Commander on the Kondor. "Understood."
Sukhar, for his own part, moves away from the science console, adjusting his tunic, preparing to depart.
. o O Clough's soft mental sigh is equal parts prayer and resignation, "Fates, just /once/ let me get through a... crisis... without ending in an argument." Then, with more attention to detail, she adds to herself, "Mental note: Administer phenergan to Ciara for the return trip. I /have/ to remember her space sickness."
. o O Park feels Unusually detached from the situation.
McNeill swallows and holding both arms of her chair forces herself to stand. Now that the ship has ceased its motion, she looks a bit less uncomfortable.
Park whispers to McNeill, "You'll be OK."
Park whispers something in McNeill's ear and gives her a smile and an encouraging pat on the shoulder before he picks up his Medkit and prepares to depart.
. o O McNeill thinks "Thanks, I just hope I don't vomit, please don't let me vomit - how embarrassing that would be......"
Zian turns away from the medical console and straightens up, moving toward the other medics to take her place, in preparation for the transport. "Well, here goes nothing..." she murmurs under her breath, giving Clough what is meant to be a reassuring smile. Her gaze falls next on McNeill as she steps up beside her, giving the human woman's shoulder a squeeze. "Don't worry, doc, you're surrounded by medics. It's going to be okay."
K'net-mauri returns the commander's nod, silent. He catches Clough's glance and casts her a brief look that is a little stretch away from reassuring. Probably it would be just that if not for his eaglish-cruel Romulan features.
. o O McNeill laughs to herself at Zian's comment "Reassuring someone still has faith in the medical profession"
Anderson waits for the assembled team, including the Ambassador, to gather for transport, and then nods to the Romulan Commander. "Initiate transport when ready, Commander." A few moments later, the team dematerializes in the transporter beam, to arrive aboard the Romulan Starbird, Kondor.
Two full decks of the Starbird are loaded with injured. Spreading outward from the ship's infirmary, gourneys and pallets line the corridor and fill adjoining rooms, all in order of seriousness of injury. On the crew deck above, quarters have been filled with the less serious of the injuries, yet even those await medical treatment. Notably absent are uniforms of high ranking officers or officials, even among the sparse medical team that grimly sees to the injured minions. Five hundred Romulan soldiers in all cramp the Kondor's corridors, and unfortunately, not all are still breathing.
Standing beside a Romulan whom is likely a medic, T'elsor makes a series of terse directions and then turns away, catching sight of the Federation arrivals and after a moment of aloof appriasal, making his way to greet them. "Starfleet," he says a a greeting in a cool tone.
. o O Zian thinks "Ohmigod. I hope I'm up to this... please /gods/ let me be up to this."
Clough steps forward, chin raising a notch. She glances around at the situation, assessing it rapidly before giving her all to the approaching Romulan. "Doctor T'elsor? I am Lieutenant Clough, Chief Medical Officer for Station 419. Please, tell us where we can be of greatest assistance."
. o O Clough makes a mental checklist of how /she/ would do things. "The dead should be moved to a cargo bay or other storage area. Leaving them here will do nothing but decrease morale and increase the possibility of spreading infections. Are the patients arranged in /any/ sort of order? Most critical to least? If we have to assess them all, we'll need half the station, not just a handful of us." She stops herself and gives a mental headshake. "We're here to help, Callie, not take over. Let the man do his job his way. We aren't going to save them all. We'll be lucky to get half."
Sukhar eyes around, not quite waiting for the response. He lets his gaze pass over the various wounded, perhaps ... seaching for someone, or something.
McNeill ignores the interchanges going on and immediately pulls out her medical tricorder and begins to assess the nearest patients, "My God, this is carnage. Most of these people are not going to survive whatever we do, there will have to be an extreme triage: will live without assistance, will live with assistance and will die no matter what." She slowly shakes her head sadly as she reviews the scan of the severely injured Romulan male before her. She moves on to the next patient.
Park waits for Clough's instructions while tending to the wounded Romulan at his feet.
Zian strives to maintain a cool, professional demeanor, despite the pall of death and destruction surrounding her. She swallows visibly, her dark eyes wide in her pale face as she turns toward Clough and T'elsor for instructions.
K'net-mauri frowns, McNeill's comment making a bitter expression taint his features. "I am sure they are well aware of that, Ciara McNeil," he says, "and they do not need to be reminded." He moves aside, out of the way, and observes with sharp intensity. He's only here to make sure no new ugliness arises between these two peoples, and if things go as he hopes he'll remain almost absolutely useless.
"Doctor Clough." He narrows his eyes for a moment as if trying to place the name, then continues. "Yes. /your/ reputation proceeds you. Please direct your most qualified personal to treatment room 7, then in descending order of compentence, treatment room 8, 9, 10, 11, and so on. Instruct your personnel to clear any Federation manufactured medicines with the attending medic to ensure there is no... accidents. Romulan pharmacuticals will be provided on a case by case basis. Do you have any further questions, Doctor Clough? Good, you may begin." He starts to turn away then stops and looks back and says, "Ah yes, The Romulan Star Empire thanks you for your -- assistance."
. o O Park thinks "What an asshole."
. o O Clough's anger flares briefly, "Pity the toxin only... No. Do the job. Just do the job." She grabs at calm wherever she can find it from inside.
Clough nods and smiles thinly toward the Romulan Doctor. "Certainly, Doctor." She turns from him to the station's crew. "I'll be in seven, it seems. Ciara, to eight. Aaron, nine." She looks toward Sukhar and her smile is a bit more genuine. "I'm not certain how much medical skill you have, but you no doubt know your own physiology better than I do. If you would take ten, Sublieutenant, I would be grateful." Moving on, she asks, "Eliara, would you take eleven? Follow Doctor T'elsor's instructions and clear all medications with the Romulan medics before administering any. If there are any problems, communicate by commbadge. It should save time."
Sukhar looks up, sharply, at McNeill's comments, but K'net-mauri's reply is just a moment faster than his. He keeps his own predatory gaze on the woman for a moment longer, then turns towards Doctor Clough. "My medical training, Doctor, is by way of pathology. But, yes, you are correct, my knowledge of Romulan physiology is .... fairly more extensive than most's."
McNeill casts an irritated glance at the Romulan Ambassador, "My comments were not for the benefit of the Romulan trained personnel but for our own team, I do not know how much field experience of combat trauma surgery they have," she then mutters sotto voce, "....or how much you have." She continues, "We are here to save the lives of those who can be saved, if we don't remember that and accept it we will not be of much use....." She breaks off however as her attention is drawn to the young Romulan female before her who has blood pumping from her abdomen, "Lacerated superomedial mesenteric artery....." she pulls a laser scalpel from her kit and opens the wound further in order to plunge a gloved hand into the patient's abdomen.
. o O McNeill thinks "The familiar stench of charred flesh and blood......damn....I never wanted to smell this again."
Park stands from where he just finished with the man next to him, grabs his medkit and moves toward the aforementioned Medbay without a word.
Zian nods shortly at Clough. "Treatment room eleven. Aye doctor." She looks around, ready to head to where she needs to be, then pauses, looking to the Romulan doctor and asking, somewhat sheepishly, "Er, where /is/ Treatmet room 11, sir? I'm... not good with deciphering Romulan script."
<CONTEST> McNeill contests her Medical Sciences (Surgical) skill vs a difficulty of Difficult and Fails!
K'net-mauri ignores McNeill's irritated glance and her comment, so completely he seems not to have noticed it at all. He finds a place where he can keep out of the way and yet still observe the activity in most of the medbays, at least nominally. Once there, he starts to speak in Romulan, ostensibly to the wounded around him. His voice is soft, but by virtue of its bass, it carries. His speech is without preamble and has a strange and somehow hypnotic cadance, eerie poetry. He points out treatment room eleven to Zian without breaking the rhythm of it.
T'elsor Witnessing McNeill's action, he raises an eyebrow in a gesture reminiscent of his Vulcan forebears and then looks to Clough saying, "Was there some confusion in my directive as to priority of treatment? The casulties in the corridor are on a lower priority of triage than those in the treatment rooms, as they themselves are aware. Closest is not always the most critical, at least in Romulan Triage practices."
Of course the absolute worst of the injuries are in room eight. Some twenty officers are crammed into the room, all of them critical. The rest of the rooms are similarly jammed with injured, in cascading levels of type of injury.
Clough moves over to McNeill's side, kneeling to assist. She speaks to her fellow doctor as she pulls on a pair of gloves as well. "Allow me, Ciara. Thank you for the quick assessment. Please, see what you can do in room eight. I'll be in seven in a moment if I am needed." While opening her own kit, she glances up at T'elsor, pulling equipment out unerringly by feel. "There was no confusion, Doctor. We will listen to your directions and follow as closely as possible. I appreciate the clarification in your practices and will be in seven momentarily. Please excuse me." That said, she turns to the patient McNeill has begun on already.
GAME: Clough spends a courage point.
<CONTEST> Clough (claiming advantage) contests her Medical Sciences (Surgical) skill vs a difficulty of Difficult and Succeeds!
Sukhar makes his way to the treatment room indicated, giving more-than-cursory attention to the faces he passes in the corridors. It is clear to the more-than-casual observer that this is not a simple mission of mercy for him -- he is Romulan, after all, and these *are* his people, his peers, and perhaps it may be friends and comrades he's looking for. He dives in, tending to one fellow in his assigned room with a severely carbonized plasma burn to the arms.
McNeill gives a quick smile to Clough, "Thanks chief." She moves business-like to her assigned room and begins to assess the patients.
. o O McNeill thinks "So much for the triage, that patient Callie saved was either designated as non-critical or doomed to die."
Park enters the room, take about 2 seconds to size up the situation and begins treatment. First up, is a young Romulan warrior who is bleeding profusely from multiple wounds. He opens his Medkit without a word and begins to work. Not really looking at his patient, he says, "I'm Doctor Park. I'm going to try to get you taken care of today and close these up. What's your name?" He continues on much in the same manner with each patient, telling them what he's doing and carrying in a conversation as best they can.
GAME: Park spends a courage point.
GAME: Sukhar spends a courage point.
<CONTEST> Sukhar (claiming advantage) contests his Medical Sciences skill vs a difficulty of Difficult and Succeeds!
<CONTEST> Park (claiming advantage) contests his Medical Sciences (Surgical) skill vs a difficulty of Difficult and Fails!
<CONTEST> Clough (claiming advantage) contests her Medical Sciences skill vs a difficulty of Difficult and Dramatically Succeeds!
<CONTEST> Clough (claiming advantage) contests her Medical Sciences skill vs a difficulty of Moderate and Succeeds!
Zian shoulders her medkit, nodding and flashing a smile of thanks at K'net-mauri. "Thanks Ambassador." she says as she makes her way toward room 11, striving to overcome her impulse to stop at each patient along the way. "Talk about your on-the-job training..." she mutters to herself, pulling out a tricorder as she enters the room and assessing who is most in need of her help. Stopping beside a Romulan with severe plasma burns, she smiles reassuringly at the man, murmuring to him in soothing tones as she begins work.
GAME: Zian spends a courage point.
<CONTEST> Zian (claiming advantage) contests her Medical Sciences skill vs a difficulty of Difficult and Fails!
<CONTEST> Zian (claiming advantage) contests her Medical Sciences skill vs a difficulty of Moderate and Fails!
GAME: McNeill spends a courage point.
K'net-mauri nods to Zian and observes the exchange between T'elsor and McNeill with narrow-eyed interest. Again he nods, this time approval when they handle it with some grace. He carries on with his speech, telling the dying soldiers around him this strange and gorey Romulan fairy-tale epic about a female warrior called Vendra who engages in terrible battles with both people and some sort of monster that appearantly came out of a bag. By human standards it is nightmarish and far from comforting, but to the Romulans around him it likely is, by virtue of its familiar content as well as what he is doing with his voice.
<CONTEST> Sukhar (claiming advantage) contests his Medical Sciences skill vs a difficulty of Moderate and Succeeds!
<CONTEST> Park (claiming advantage) contests his Medical Sciences (Surgical) skill vs a difficulty of Challenging and Fails!
<CONTEST> Park (claiming advantage) contests his Medical Sciences (Surgical) skill vs a difficulty of Moderate and Dramatically Succeeds!
<CONTEST> Park (claiming advantage) contests his Medical Sciences (Surgical) skill vs a difficulty of Routine and Succeeds!
GAME: Park spends a courage point.
GAME: Park spends a courage point.
GAME: Park spends a courage point.
<CONTEST> McNeill contests her Medical Sciences (Surgical) skill vs a difficulty of Difficult and Succeeds!
<CONTEST> McNeill contests her Medical Sciences (Surgical) skill vs a difficulty of Moderate and Succeeds!
Giving a piercing look to the Ambassador, T'elsor then turns and navigates down the casulty strewn corridor to meet up with one of his staff. He passes along more instructions, crouches to whisper some reassurances to a dying young crewman, then moves again to give some instructions to two security members who pick up a stretcher nearby and move a patient from where she lays and takes her to a place further down the corridor queue.
<CONTEST> Zian (claiming advantage) contests her First Aid (Combat Medic) skill vs a difficulty of Difficult and Fails!
<CONTEST> Zian (claiming advantage) contests her First Aid (Combat Medic) skill vs a difficulty of Moderate and Fails!
Sukhar hastily stabilizes the first Romulan he encounters in that room. "Easy, soldier. I've survived a console explosion or two, myself. You won't love using your arms for awhile, but they should heal, as strong as ever." He moves on to the next one, and the next one, and the next one. A few, those who were too far gone to be saved, are given a moment or two of attention, a few whispered words of solace or prayer. But the Romulan scowl deepens despite his successes, as if the failures will be remembered.
Clough works with the patient she has begun on, rapidly closing the ruptured artery. Suction is provided by a medic moving to her aid, and she checks briefly for other serious injuries before closing the abdominal incision and wound. Disposing of one pair of gloves and grabbing up her kit, she is pulling on another pair by the time she starts walking toward room Seven. Never is a word spoken by her until she reaches the room, asking the medic present there for the condition of the patients. She moves toward the most critical - by her assessment - a young Romulan male with an aortic artery rupture. She speaks rarely, but asks the medic to administer a general anesthetic and barely waits for it to take effect before opening the patient and working to resolve the rupture before too much blood is lost. She is successful, and closes the wound as quickly as she opened it, ordering four units of Romulan blood to be transfused over the following eight hours, then moves on to the next.
McNeill assesses a Romulan officer and hesitates for a moment, she sighs but shakes her head slowly moving on giving a kindly smile. The next patient, again a ranking officer has severe respiratory difficulties, she scans with her tricorder and suddenly sets it down. She looks around and grabs some tubing from a nearby trolley and taking her scalpel makes an incision in the Romulan's chest wall. She plunges her finger in widening the incision and works it in deeper and deeper. She then feeds the plastic tubing down alongside her finger. Blood and serous fluid pumps out of the tubing. She connects it to a drain, adminsters analgesia and pats the Romulan male on the hand and smiles. The laboured breathing begins to ease. She goes to the next patient, scans her, again an officer and her brow wrinkles, she murmurs, "You'll be just fine, minor injuries......" She looks puzzled and continues on.
. o O McNeill thinks "What the hell is that patient doing in the critical room??"
In Counselor Park's treatment room, much is the same as the others. The injuries are ranged from critical open wounds and missing limbs, to burns and lacerations. The surgeon turned counselor saves as many of the critical as he can. As in the rest of the rooms, patients are rotated as they either die or are treated. In the corridors, medics wander through the injured and administer treatment as they can. Some of these officers, learning of permanent paralysis or worse, refuse any treatment at all.
Zian looks close to panic as she feverishly works over the most severely injured of her patients, who, despite her heroic efforts, is fading fast. She slaps at her combadge, hailing Clough, completely disregarding the smear of green goo she just slathered all over her communicator and uniform. "Callie! I think there's been a mistake..." she tells her cousin, desperation in her voice. "There's a man in here who should've been in /your/ ward! He needs surgery, and he needs it /now/! I'm... I'm not qualified for this, Callie... This man is /dying/ and I can't do anything to stop it!"
K'net-mauri's gaze snaps to Zian's medbay when he hears her distressed speech. He does nothing, though, and returns his attention to the dying in the corridor, not pausing his eerie intonations. The story only gets more disturbing. Fortunately he doesn't dramatize it, and thus allows the content to be ignorable. Its hypnotic pattern is easy enough to let fade into background when one has work to do, where it whispers strangely calming.
T'elsor approaches the Ambassador and says,"Centurian, one of the wounded down the corridor claims to be a friend of your family... he's on his Serona and is not going to make it. I was about to administer him his Pill so he would not be a burden on the Empire or his family, but he seems to want to... use you as a vessel to return a personal message for his family before he leaves. Would you like to speak with him or should I give him his Pill?
K'net-mauri falls silent and nods to T'elsor. He says quietly, "I will see him."
Clough, up to her own elbows in Romulan parts as she works - thankfully with the benefit of anesthesia (for the patient) - to repair a flail chest wound, again makes one of her rare requests of the medic present to aid her. "My combadge, would you tap it for me, please?" When he does, she nods and offers a brief, "Thank you," which likely is heard over the communication. Then, to Eliara, she speaks up, "They are all critical, Eliara, and there are around five hundred of them. We aren't going to save them all. We can't. The Fates could, perhaps, but not us. Do your best and ask the Romulan medics with you to assist. I'll be there as soon as I can. I still have a few more here to work on, and I have a chest open at the moment. Use your best judgment, Eliara. I trust you. If /anyone/ might save him, call for Ciara or Aaron if it's surgery he needs. If not, give him a high dose of analgesics and let him rest peacefully." She stops speaking, but the communication remains open since she has no hand free to close it. She returns to her chest wound and works at it with determination. The patient stabilizes, and after being hooked to a respirator, is left alone. A few more patients, yeah - a few dozen. She sighs softly, then begins on the next. Her uniform may never recover, and her hair looks - to be kind - like hell, but she keeps working without pause. No patient she touches dies, improving her record over recent months considerably. Finally, there is a lull in the influx.
McNeill continues to assess and treat. Some patients only require mild analgesics and her obvious puzzlement continues. Then she comes to a patient who appears comfortable but after scanning them she jumps into action. She adminsters a sedative, connects the patient to a portable ventilator and opens the abdomen. She gives a low whistle and murmurs, "Dear Lord, is there any viable intestinal tissue here......" She pauses as if almost going to move on but then nods decisively and taking her scalpel in her hand begins to resect ischemic necrotic bowel. She carefully identifies the main mesenteric arteries and ligates them as she goes. Sweat beads on her brow but she continues to resect and diathermy each new bleeding point.
Zian hangs her head in defeat as the monitor on her patient begins emitting an eerie monotone instead of the soft bleeping of registered heartbeats. Her green-bloodied hands curl into fists as she curses softly in Betazoid, then responds to Clough, "No need, Doctor..." she sighs heavily. "He doesn't need surgery anymore. Zian out." She taps her communicator off, then gestures to nearby Romulan orderlies to remove the dead body as she wearily moves on to the next patient, stripping off her gory gloves and pulling on fresh ones.
With austere dignity, Doctor T'elsor guides the Ambassador to the dying young Romulan and stands by while the brave youngster passes on a message of honor and duty and pride in service between gasps of sour breath and hiccups of green blood that stain the lips and curl down the cheeks. After the Ambassador has been able to give the youth some reassurance before taking his last journey into the unknown, Dr. T'elsor reaches down and closes the death opened eyes and thanks the ambassador for his help. Then, he moves to the next dying young man who's future has been squandered by the aggression of the gamma quadrent.
Several hours of the same routine continue, as the ships approach the Neutral Zone boundary. In all, roughly a third of the injured die enroute. However, without the assistance of the Station 419 medical team, that number would have been heavily multiplied. Finally all that can be done has been done, and the Commander transmits via intercom to the medical deck that it is time for the Federation officers to depart.
Clough works without breaks, without pauses, without stops, until she finds that there are no new patients being brought back into her treatment room. Finally, taking a moment to catch her breath, she assesses the current situation - still grim, but less so than before. She bows her thanks to her Romulan assistants and strips off yet another pair of gloves. Taking her medkit, she heads out and down to Room Eleven where Eliara is, another pair of gloves already on by the time she enters the doorway. Once there, she does what she can for those present until the call comes to depart. Her lips turn up slightly and her eyes seek Eliara's. "You've done remarkably well, Eliara, but we have done all that we can. Now, let's go home."
. o O Clough sends waves of sympathy toward her cousin - and really, any other receptive in the general vicinity. Clearly, she feels Eliara's upset, and tries to offer what reassurances she can from her own busy cubicle.
. o O Projecting, Clough's soft voice can be heard in Eliara's head, if she chooses to listen. "I am sorry, cousin. We do what we can. We are healers, but death can be the greatest healer of all. Not everyone is meant to be saved. We can only try. I will be with you in a moment. Until then, I am with you in spirit. I do love you, cousin, and I am proud."
McNeill eventually finishes the abdominal surgery and closes the wound, she adminsters antibiotics, more analgesia and sedation and pulls off her gloves. She sighs and treats the last few minor injuries before wandering out of her room to see what is going on elsewhere.
. o O McNeill feels weary and drained.
Zian continues to work on healing her patients as best she can... unfortunately, her streak of bad luck continues, as she continues to choose her patients based on how severe their injuries are--which means the ones she tries to save are all far, far beyond her skills, and one by one, she loses each of them. By the time she gets to the ones who were, when she arrived, less critical, their conditions have worsened to the point where she can no longer do anything to save them, either. As the call to leave is issued, she closes the eyes of her latest victim and strips off a last pair of gloves, tears streaming down her face, her eyes red rimmed with tears and sunken with fatigue. "I'm sorry..." she whispers hoarsely as she allows herself to be led away. "I'm so, so sorry..."
K'net-mauri hangs about those hours, finding few occasions to intercede or enforce the cooperation here with his words. He speaks to and listens to a few others as he did to the now-dead youth, with a kind of compassion that is hard and gentle at the same time. And when it is over he rubs his hands together in a quick gesture that causes a little dried green blood to flake off them. As he moves to join the Starfleet party in leaving he nods to T'elsor, giving him a look of resigned grief. He spares no glance to Zian's whisper.
Following on the Ambassador's heels, T'elsor returns the expression and the nod -- a mutual understanding on this matter. He arrives before the Starfleet party and considers their conditions as compared to before they arrived. "The Thanks of the Romulan Star Empire to you and your team, Doctor Clough. We respect your skill and appreciate that service you have rendered our injured. Many Romulans will be able to swiftly return to thier duties thanks to your efforts, and this benefits us all. My Centurian has directed me to present you all with a small token of our appreciation for your help, I realize it is nothing compared to what your brought us, that being your hands and training, but we do hope it in some small way demonstrates our gratitude." He gestures to some operations crewmen trailing behind down the blood stained corridor and they pass to him that which he passes to each of them, a small "basket" with Romulan fruits and other food products all settled in around a bottle of fine grade Romulan Ale.
Clough gathers with her crew, preparing for transport, but remains near the front when the Romulan Doctor arrives. She bows her head respectfully to him and speaks in a subdued tone. "I regret that we had so little time to assist you, Doctor, but we all gave you the best we had. Your thanks and gift are appreciated." She smiles softly, fatigue showing on her face now. Quietly, she speaks the one phrase she asked the Romulan who aided her in her treatment room how to say. Mimicking his accent as closely as she can, she says, "Thank you," in Romulan, then repeats the phrase in Betazoid before returning to the more familiar (to all) lilt of Federation Standard. "I have no doubt you would do us the same service if our situations were reversed. Good fortune to you for the rest of your journey home."
McNeill looks tired, her hair straggly. She rests a gentle hand on Zian's shoulder and gives a friendly squeeze, her eyes sharing the pain of what they have all been through. Upon receiving her basket and seeing the Romunlan Ale within, she casts a brief glance over to the Romulan Ambassador, one of her eyebrows raised.
. o O Zian is absolutely drained of energy. She is very nearly overwhelmed with a feeling of grief, followed closely by guilt.
Zian bows slightly to the doctor as she accepts the fruit basket, her hands shaking with strain and fatigue. "I-- thank you, Doctor. I wish I could have done more to help." she tells him quietly. The expression in her dark eyes as she looks up at the Romulan could only be described as... haunted. She'll be remembering this day for a long, long time to come.
K'net-mauri would ordinarily give T'elsor a wry sort of look for this gift that he knows is not exactly appropriate for Federation citizens, but all he manages is a weary, sad one. He nods approvingly, though. It was a try. And now just doesn't strike him as the moment to explain how the courteous gift has missed the mark.
"With a click of his heels, he nods to them one last time then turns on those same heels striding away from them down the corridor without another word or backwards glance; his hands clasped behind his back, Doctor T'elsor is soon lost from sight down the path of his broken garden of bodies and ichor stained corridors.
In a shimmer of transporter energy, the Ambassador and the medical team transport back to the USS Thomas Paine, where Lieutenant Anderson and the small bridge crew await. Anderson's look of shock at the disheveled appearance of the team is mirrored among the rest of the crew. "Doctor..is everyone alright?"
Clough's gentle smile has held throughout the transport, and she wears it still when the question is addressed to her. "We are all weary, Lieutenant, and dirty, and regretful that we could not do more. But physically, aside from fatigue, we are all well. The same, however, cannot be said of the Romulans. Many of theirs died, and many more will still die, but we've done our duty. Take us home, please. We will rest until we arrive at the station."
McNeill slumps into a seat and already begins to grit her teeth.
Zian sways for a moment, then staggers tiredly over to McNeill, crouching down beside her and opening her medkit. "Finally. A patient I can help. Lemme give you something for that nausea, Ciara."
Anderson just nods silently, realizing the gravity and probable mood of the team, and gives the order to the helm to set course for the shorter distance back to the station. Inside of an hour, the Thomas Paine returns to Station 419 and proceeds to its docking berth.
K'net-mauri finds a seat as well, out of the way, and takes it heavily. He runs both hands back over his face with a heavy touch, mussing his hair. He too grits his teeth a little. He is silent for the ride home.
McNeill gives Zian a wan smile and pats her hand in thanks, too weary to speak. She rubs her dark-rimmed eyes and sags into her seat resting her head back.
. o O McNeill thinks "The anti-emetic probably won't work - it never does. But thanks anyway."
Zian loads up a hypospray with medications to assuage even the worst case of space-sickness, and injects it carefully into McNeill's neck. "There. That'll take care of the physical symptoms. As for the rest... it's all in your head, doc, and I'll thank you not to think about it so much. I've got quite enough on my mind, thank you." She offers a wan smile as she puts away her hypo and drops into a chair, herself.
K'net-mauri eventually lifts his head and resumes his ordinary ramrod posture. He looks at the medical team, one face after another as the Thomas Paine makes its way in towards the Station. He has one comment: "I must thank you as well. You have acted nobly." He doesn't seem keen to hear response to that, though, his mind too far away or too near for it.
Clough smiles at each of the station residents in turn, settling on Zian and McNeill and nodding her approval at Zian's administration. She walks over to Zian's side and lays a hand on her arm. "Thank you. I had forgotten... as usual. You have acted above and beyond the call today, Eliara. The best of Starfleet could not match you. Now, sit down. It's my turn to play doctor one last time for the day. I'll see that you rest peacefully until we reach the station. If you are still weary - and I suspect you will be - then go to sleep. Stay with me, or stay with Prythra, but do not stay alone tonight. Promise me. Tomorrow, we will talk, but it will wait until then." Before she allows Eliara to sit, she gives her cousin a brief, grimy hug and then escorts her to a seat. She steps aside to gather her own hypospray, loading in it a mild dose of midazolam. She returns to Eliara's side, saying quietly, "Sleep now, Elly," before pressing the hypospray gently to her neck. Afterwards, she returns to her earlier place on the bridge, watching the stars as they move by. She makes no attempt to speak with the Romulan Ambassador, or anyone else on the ship, standing silent watch over her companions.
