I. Analgesic
Disclaimer: I do not own DS9 or any of its character, although I sometimes wish I did! Please take note, this is a fan fiction. Though the characters I have created here are my own, I used a besieged Federation outpost during the Dominion war as the setting, and that does belong to Star Trek and Paramount productions.
Year 2374
Alpha Quadrant, The Dominion War
It was cold and metallic. A sterile atmosphere, kept as clean and spotless as possible for the care of injured patients. Bright ceiling lights reflected off from the sanitary surfaces from the metal wall and floor to the sliding glass doors leading into the unrestricted unit of the infirmary. From there another set of automatic steel doors led to the intensive care unit and from that almost isolated section another set of doors, guarded by a special identification system led to the isolation ward. A ward kept solely for the use of the terminally ill, amnesia patients, or specialty cases.
Back in the main infirmary, Ann Kessler sat at her desk where her office was situated in the corner of the room, separated from central sickbay by only a wall and one sliding door made of clear Tabalian glass. In one hand she held a data PADD, scrolling through the information with her thumb as she read. In the other hand she nursed a cup of Bolian tonic water, which seemed to be the only thing keeping her nerves from splitting in two during this hellish conflict. The hand that held the cup was still shaking from tending to the onslaught of wounded who had flooded the infirmary this morning . After all of the tourniquets tied off, the emergency operations which had been undertaken, the tortured flesh of phaser burns treated, and after all of the blood which had made the normally pristine steel floor like a surface of slippery ice; it was a wonder that all her hand did now was shake.
This was a mistake. She was a Starfleet medical doctor, not a field surgeon. Never in a million years would she have believed that her first assignment of consequence would be in this God forsaken place of death and rot. The motion detector in the main corridor beeped overhead, letting the Chief Medical Officer know that someone was on their way to the infirmary. Ann set the cup of liquid down and tossed the PADD on the desk. She sat back languidly in her chair, hoping that it was nothing too serious. The Ann was currently off duty and so Nurse Cromwell, who was the reigning nurse in sickbay, would meet who ever it was when they entered the main ward. She would only be disturbed if there was a serious problem, but still, Ann hated the feeling of sitting and waiting for something to happen.
With a sigh, she pushed away from her desk and stood. Leaving her office she spotted the head nurse and the untimely visitor on the other side of the ward. Luckily, it was not another wounded combatant from the front, only Dr. Mechant and what looked like a new intern trailing timidly at her heels. Nurse Cromwell was holding a clipboard in her hand and gesturing to the other doctor. They were most likely discussing the condition of one of the recovering patients, but Ann couldn't be sure from this distance.
"How's that shipment of ether coming?" the doctor asked taking the offered clipboard from the nurse.
"As far as we have been told, it was scheduled to arrive this afternoon, but no one from Central Supply has confirmed whether it did indeed arrive on time or not." The Nurse replied.
"What about on that shipment of Morphine we ordered in last week?" Mechant asked looking up interestedly from the clipboard.
"Negative." The other shook her head. "Supplies are not getting through, no one at Central Supply has confirmed the reason why yet."
"That's odd." The doctor in Mechant frowned. "Well, we will just have to compensate for it. Increase the dosage of Cordrazine to twenty milligrams. Monitor him throughout the night, give him another eight hours. If vitals do not improve, let me know."
"Yes ma'am." Nurse Cromwell made a note of it and began the trek back through the labyrinth towards the isolation ward. "I'll get to it right away."
"It has been a while since I've seen you down in the infirmary last." Ann spoke up as she approached Dr. Mechant and her follower.
"A whole Six hours since the flood of horrors this morning, give or take a few minutes." Mechant greeted with a laughing smile. "Dr. Kessler, I would like you to meet our new Junior Doctor, William Tallis. Mr. Tallis this is Dr. Kessler, our Chief Medical Officer."
Ann stepped forward and offered a hand to the young man as Dr. Mechant stepped out of the way for her to pass. "A pleasure to meet you, Doctor. Tell me, have you seen any active medical service?"
The lanky, apprehensive young man stepped forward. "No, actually, that is, I have only just been assigned here…what I mean is…this is my first assignment."
"Mr. Tallis is freshly graduated from the academy." Dr. Mechant elaborated bitterly, the undertone used was one carefully guarded and precociously exercised, put into practice only by those who knew how efficiently.
"Ah, well, I do welcome you here and make no mistake, your services will be well appreciated. There can never be too many doctors in a place like this. You have been given accommodation, I trust?" Ann asked civilly as though she really were interested.
"Yes." Dr. Tallis answered restlessly as though the sheer coolness of the empty ward coupled with the standoffish atmosphere created by the two other doctors upset him. "Though I am off duty at the moment."
"Well, in that case I will dismiss you to get your rest. You will need it for your first shift tonight." Ann offered raising her eyebrows encouragingly towards him.
"Yes ma'am." Taillis answered and scuttled off towards the doors.
"By the way," Ann asked casually, "what shift does he have tonight?"
Dr. Amanda Mechant smiled dryly. "The graveyard shift."
Ann shook her head and sighed. "The poor boy. I had thought we were getting a new intern after the accident with Stephen Shelby, not a new Junior doctor."
Ann began walking easily back towards her office and the other followed closely beside her.
"Yes, well, while what happened with intern Shelby was unfortunate, what happened to Jr. Dr. Greenbrush was worse." Amanda argued.
"True." Ann conceded as they entered her office. She took a seat at her desk while her dark haired friend took a seat across from her. "A piece of shrapnel to the base of the neck, embedded in the spinal column."
"A one in a million chance of death within this infirmary and it was Junior Doctor Greebrush who was killed." Amanda reclined back in her seat, resting her feet on the edge of the desk comfortably.
"He was a fine physician too. If he had continued to apply himself like he had been, I could see him taking my place within the next five years." Ann said as she cradled her shaking right hand to her chest with the other.
"Makes you think, doesn't it?" Dr. Mechant quipped.
"This whole bloody conflict makes me think, I should never have come here in the first place." Ann stated dryly as she flexed her right hand stiffly on the desk. It hurt. Her hand was sore. After a day of surgeries and amputations, her hands would always shake and even though she was a doctor, Ann had a hard time admitting that there was anything wrong with them. "Though it's not as though we had a choice either way." Ann sighed resignedly and watched Amanda as she studied her. "What are you thinking?"
"I think, perhaps, you should consider taking something for that." Dr. Mechant nodded to the hand she had been favoring. She had noticed Ann's hand beginning to shake after a long day of work first when they were at the academy, but had never mentioned it to her explicitly over the years.
"I do." Ann replied letting the injured hand fall the desk, finding the pain a bothersome burden and the reprimand an inconvenient truth. "I drink Balso Tonic for it when it becomes unbearable."
Amanda Mechant ran through the medical index of her mind for the name of that particular tonic before coming upon the standard book definition she had memorized. "A placid drink with limited medicinal and palliative properties." The doctor in Amanda briefly wondered at the effectiveness of such an easygoing treatment, Interesting. "Does it help?"
"Sometimes." Ann replied casually as she picked up the information PADD and continued with her reading.
"What do you do when the tonic doesn't help you?" Amanda asked curiously.
"I deal with it." Ann answered nonchalantly, scrolling down to the next page of yellow script on the screen. "Like all field doctors do, I'm sure."
Amanda relaxed and ran through possible reasons in her head for the pain in Ann's hands. She was like a walking medical encyclopedia, chocked full of any and all possible knowledge and the insatiable curiosity to want to diagnose every malady. To some extent, it was natural for a surgeon to feel frequent pain in their hands and fingers after a long shift of surgeries, but not this frequently. This had been happening to Ann since her junior year at the academy, well before any of this heavy work had begun. Amanda bit her lip in thought, her posture tensing instinctually up.
Ann narrowed her eyes as she looked up from over her reading. She had a sinking feeling in her stomach which seemed to only come over her when she felt she was being scrutinized by someone else or while in surgery, but there was no patient lying with his chest split open on her desk, only the other doctor's musings.
"Stop it." Ann warned calmly.
"Stop what?" Amanda asked thrown off keel by the sudden question as she put her mental cataloging on hold for the moment.
"Mentally diagnosing. You used to do it all of the time at the academy, nothing has changed." Ann supplied with a small smile.
The two doctors spent so much time working that it was rare to find moments to talk to each other like this in the atypical hours they were off duty, but today was different. For some reason today, their schedules had been alike enough to afford for time spent together.
Amanda shrugged. "Old habits die hard."
"When is your next shift?" Ann asked.
"I'm back on duty at 2200 hours, why?" Amanda asked.
"I've been meaning to discuss some problems in supply shipments with you, when you had a minute, I was going to brief you on what to expect from now on." Ann began, setting her reading aside for the second time. "I have filed a report with Starfleet Command and Starfleet Medical concerning the missed shipments of materials we have been suffering and I was informed that our medical provisions will be rationed out to us from now on."
Amanda sat up abruptly. "Cuts? By how much?"
"By the transport." Ann supplied and when the confusion on her friend's face did not lift she explained. "Every transport bringing in new reinforcements will be supplied with the minimum amount of medical supplies allotted to every medical facility in combat zones. In short, we are to receive half of the supplies we have previously."
"Oh, well, that's nice." Amanda piped up sarcastically. "How do they expect us to save lives with only half the supplies we need? We're already scrapping the bottom of the barrel when it comes to anticoagulants and soon to be on analgesics when our one week overdue shipment of morphine never arrives! Or better yet, why don't they just ship all of our supplies, that we're never going to receive anyway, out to the Bermuda Triangle? " Amanda sighed exasperatedly and slumped back in her seat. "If you ask me someone at Starfleet Command has one horribly twisted sense of humor."
Ann laughed lightly. "Now, I'll have to put that on record in my next report. It's just too good not to."
"This isn't funny, Ann." Amanda chided as she sobered and became serious. "We're barely up to code now, what do you think will happen when all of our supplies stop arriving? Every time we engage the enemy, at least half of those brought in will need emergency surgery. I mean, what do we do when the anesthetic run out? Say, 'I'm sorry, but we ran out of drugs, please choose a shoe to bite on'? What can we possibly do?"
"What we are now and more." Ann replied with the certain kind of fluidity akin to determination. "We will make due with what we have. If Starfleet Medical is rationing out supplies so must we also."
"How?" Amanda asked incredulously. She had sat up, holding the arm rests of her chair in a death grip.
She seemed now like she was more than prepared to leap across the desk, grab the com link, and show those arrogant asses at high command what she thought of them and their restrictions; but Ann was outwardly holding onto her composure, as any head of a department would be expected to do under pressure. Superficially, at least, CMO Kessler was fine.
"However it becomes necessary for us to continue to save lives, Dr. Mechant." Ann replied leaning forward on her desk, resting her head in her hands tiredly. She couldn't take it anymore…she couldn't. Living every day, hour to hour, trying to piece together those brought in from the shelling fields. It wasn't a noble occupation like those sitting in their warm homes back in their peaceful communities would argue. It wasn't anything, but hell. "By however much…is deemed necessary, Amanda."
Author's Note: Analgesic is a term which refers to the type of medical drugs used as painkillers, a.k.a. morphine is one. This story will be a serial and one of my little quarks, as is often common with novels in series, is that I will not reveal too much about the characters in one piece, but do it gradually in each addition while at the same time adding new characters to the pot. As you may have noticed, back story and a lot of information about the two main characters was not given in this first addition, but never fear, it will appear! The next planned addition of this storyline will be In Extremis. Now, for the question and answer session. Yay! What was your opinion of the two main characters? What did you feel while reading this piece? What was tone of this piece, do you think? Did you enjoy it? Dislike it? Whys? Concerns? Opinions? Drop me a review and tell me what you think! Regardless of what you write me, I hoped you enjoyed it? "Me, myself, and I want to know"!