II. In Extremis
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.
Late in the Year 2374
Alpha Quadrant, The Dominion War
The day had begun like any normal day on the front, really. The doctors, nurses, interns, and surgeons had worked their shifts. They had all eaten, bathed, and slept at odd hours. It had been quiet enough at 3:00 a.m. after her last shift had ended for Ann to sleep, if only for an hour. The eternal incubus of this living hell had begun the moment the resonating droning of Red alert had screamed through the early morning. The computer's monotone voice had come over the com system.
"Attention all medical personnel to the infirmary." The computer announced. "Repeat: all medical personnel to the infirmary."
Fatigued confusion and combat inertia were the reoccurring themes of every day. Blue and black medical uniforms rushed through the halls as the first stretchers and field medics were coming in with the first shipment of wounded, Dr. Mechant was one of these. The first fallen infantryman to be carried by two field medics into sickbay had a belly wound when they laid him on one of the multiple operating tables, but first priority quickly turned to second as four more were brought in, then five more, then seven more, then ten more and then fifty more.
Dr. Mechant got there just in time to perform a twenty minute surgery on the man with the stomach injury, a procedure which under normal circumstances back home on Earth would have take at least an hour, but not here. You took short cuts here, to save as many lives as possible. The minute the man had been sewn back up the gloves were switched and Dr. Amanda Mechant moved on to a new patient, this one with intense phaser burns. The Chief Medical Officer arrived just in time to amputate the hand of a sullenly passed out cadet. The Jem'Hadar who had attacked him had no doubt been good with a blade, but he was not merciful enough to give instantaneous death.
Two hours into treating the still incoming wounded, the steel floor of the infirmary was becoming slippery with the blood of the dead and dying. The not yet broken in Junior Doctor himself took a nasty spill and slip through it , soiling his blue and black Starfleet medical uniform with the sticky red ooze of fleeting life. In order to prevent another occurrence of this while a doctor was operating on a patient, an orderly came waddling by, hindered by both the ice rink that was the floor and the bag of sand in his hand and with the help of an intern he slashed the top of it open and began spreading a medium layer of sand on the floor to give traction.
Frequent explosions wracked the compound. One such shelling ruptured a hole in the side wall, causing little pieces of metal to spray out everywhere. Ann and two other doctors closest to the wall leaned over their patients to help shield them from further damage. Ann felt a slight infraction in her back and at the base of her neck, but as soon as the explosion subsided, she continued to operate again without feeling. A nurse and two interns came forward and lifted Dr. Maverick, who had been severely injured by the blast into the intensive care ward.
Everything after that was numb and soundless. No one heard the screams of the men as they were being anesthetized before operation could begin, or the whimpering of those going into the intensive care unit for an amputation or burn treatment. The first wave of horror had subsided somewhat as the doctors were beginning to catch up with the last remaining number of wounded coming in. The last of which, who was suffering from some minor burns and a simple hairline fracture was treated by Dr. Nathaniel Sheldon and sent back out to his regiment thirty minutes later. With all or most conditions stabilized in their respective wards, the worst of it was over. The digital clocks chimed. The first shift of the day was over. The exhausted hands of the first wave would retreat to their quarters as a new squadron of doctors and nurses took their places.
Ann pushed back the curtain that separated the infirmary from the Staff ward room, where the doctors and nurses going both on and off duty could wash their hands and don their aprons, masks, and gloves. She plopped down on one of the benches against the wall and removed her red stained apron from her front, tossing it into the trash recycler on the wall along with her gloves and mask. She leaned forward tiredly and pushed the green activation button. In one moment, the soiled clothing disintegrated in a flash of orange light. With that done, Ann slumped back against the wall.
She felt unclean. Her hands, despite being encased in surgical gloves for operations had blood on them from when she had rushed in to hold down the first violently hemorrhaging man. She closed her eyes, squeezing them shut to try and oust this terrifying nightmare. Her blue and black uniform too was caked in the dried red liquid while parts of her neck and jaw were sticky with it. She reeked of death and she hated it. She hated this place! What the traitor Ephialtes was to the Spartans at Thermopylae, this place was to her. Ann opened her eyes and reached for her right hand. It was happening again. It was shaking, more aggressively than the last time as if warning her that this was just another thorn in her side, once a slight irritation now an infliction potentially lethal to her life.
Aside from the aching in her quivering hand, her head also felt odd. It was numb in back, almost cold and it made her feel…sluggish.
Her lamenting isolation was cut short as the rest of the staff who had been relieved from their posts entered the ward room. Dr. Petol Manech, a Bajorian surgeon entered first, followed in toe by Dr. Frederic Calloway of Northampton, Dr. Jean Casque-bleu of Marseilles, and Dr. Amanda Mechant of Manchester and a drooping line of exhausted personnel. Frederick, a tall middle aged man with black hair always combed to teeter precariously on one side of his head, walked over to the recycler to remove his mask, apron, and gloves. Once done, he crossed the busy threshold to the sinks to rinse the repulsion of the day off of his hands.
"Old Nick had his way with the battle today." Aaron Smith, a young doctor from Boston complained as he lathered his hands with a strong smelling bar of green soap used to disinfect.
"Yes." Frederic agreed grudgingly, wrestling the bar of soap from the other. He couldn't fathom how the younger doctor could be so energetic after such a morning of surgeries. "A Pyrrhic victory for the logs."
A nurse, just recently put on call, popped her head through the dividing curtain. "Dr. Petrol, status reports for you, sir."
The Bajoran removed his apron and stepped forward to meet the nurse, taking the offered clipboard as she disappeared into the other room. He read aloud: "Sergeant Tailor has pyaemia, Ensign Shuler has an inflammation of the pylorus, and Lt. Commander Peterson has a rather putrescent inflammation of the pancreas."
Aaron put his olive toned hands beneath the noiseless hand dryer. "He will have to have that removed sometime in the near future."
"We'll arrange for it." Manech nodded his agreement and continued with his reading. "Cadet Puri's burns are in their last stages of recovery. He will be ready to be returned to the field again soon."
"Oh, joy." Dr. Mechant piped up sarcastically, finishing up with drying her hands. "We fix them up and they send them back out. Such a lovely arrangement."
"Careful Children." Aaron scolded lightly as Amanda delivered him a rather steely glare. "We do not stand on policy."
"No, Dr. Smith, but someone in Starfleet Command is undoubtedly standing out for it." Ann spoke up, earning a short ripple of laughter as it reverberated through the group over the standing joke. She suddenly felt a twinge of discomfort at the base of her neck, but she ignored it to revel in the remaining conversation.
"I should have taken Armond's advice and become a stay-at-home practitioner in Paris." Dr. Jean Casque-bleu complained as he finished rinsing his hands.
"Oh, Jean no one wants to be here right now dealing with the current status quo." Amanda argued plopping down next to Ann on the bench as she ran a hand over her disheveled ebony ponytail. "And not one of us signed up to be sent here so you can't really blame yourself for a choice you didn't make."
"Ha! Shows what you know about me." Jean shot back. "I was not regretting my decision to be sent here because there was no decision to be made. I was regretting my decision to join Starfleet!"
"Oh, no!" Aaron complained as he retreated to the curtain as fast as he could. "I do not want to hear your sad story!"
As if to patronize him, Jean followed him and continuing relating to him how he was offered a position at one the finest medical institutes in all of Paris until their voices faded from hearing range.
"I was planning on going to the Mess Hall, would you like to accompany me?" Frederick asked, stopping just before her reached the curtain.
"Sure." Manech returned, preparing to leave the ward room.
"Excellent." Frederick beamed. "Ladies would you do us the honor of dining with us?"
Ann smiled. "When will you ever learn, Frederick, no one likes to be second choice."
"Second choice, second place." Amanda backed up, curious pale blue eyes shining mischievously up at him.
"Well, since you're both so otherwise engaged." Frederick bowed sarcastically. "I am afraid we shall have to just do without you."
"Oh, we are cursed, Frederick." Manech interceded in a mocking tone, furthering the melodrama into a two act play.
"Yes, Like Prometheus and his hawk on the a rock." Frederick supplied.
"Would you look at that." Amanda quipped to Ann. "He can rhyme and in a white coat too."
"Just what the Queen's mother country needs more of: "A cock in a frock on a rock"." Ann pitched in, a line from one of her favorite old time comedy films.
"I'll just take what little solace I can find in replicated Steak and Kidney pie down in the Mess hall." Frederick finished, inclining his head with a tight lipped smile. "Come, Manech."
"What's steak and kidney pie?" Manech asked once they were behind the curtain, but either Frederick chose to remain silent or they were out of ear shout by the time he answered. Amanda smiled. She would have loved to hear the Bajoran's reaction to that particular dish, just his reaction to the name was comical enough.
"So, what are your plans for your time spent off duty?" Amanda asked leaning back comfortably against the wall.
"Well, I figured I would at least wash up, if nothing else. Get a change of uniform and probably head down to the Mess hall for lunch." Anna replied.
Amanda smiled wryly. "You mean you put them through all of that and you were headed down to the Mess hall eventually anyway?"
"Oh, I was hardly the only guilty party." Ann turned her head to glare at Amanda as he smile of self pride grew. "Besides, you can barely argue that they did not deserve after asking us out as an after thought."
"True." Amanda conceded. She looked over at Ann. She was pale, too pale though she didn't act as though anything was wrong with her, she did not look well.
They sat there, fatigued, blood soaked, and grimy; enjoying the much needed rest. Finally, Amanda spared a glance up at the digital clock which hung on the wall across from them. 1200 hrs exactly. Splendid.
"Well, would you look at the time!" Amanda exclaimed.
Ann opened her green eyes and peaked up at the clock. She felt numb again, as if the entire feeling of inertia had flooded her, starting with her moist neck. "It's 1200 hrs, exactly two minutes since we looked at the clock last."
"Since you looked last." Amanda clarified. "The last time I looked at the clock it was early morning."
Ann raised a hand and ran it over her golden-brown ponytail, which had been make filthy by a slight spray of blood. Regardless if it was dry or not, the back of her head felt oddly…warm. She reached lower behind her neck and at its base, just below the edge of the Starfleet uniform's high color, Ann's left hand met warm liquid. She pulled it back to meet her eyes. The middle of the first four fingers and the palm were generously coated in the warm liquid blanket of her own blood. The numbness was back full force and for some reason, she felt…cold, lethargic.
"Amanda." Ann called as she leaned back against the wall. The full brunt of exhaustion was hitting her now, and it took her remaining strength to fight off the urge to sleep.
"Hmm?" Amanda asked turning her head tiredly to the side. She gasped in genuine surprise when she caught sight of her friend's offered hand. "Ann, what happened?!"
Ann tried to talk, but her mouth was suddenly very dry. She brought the same hand to the back of her neck where it fell limply on the back of her collar.
Amanda took her friend's shoulder and pushed her to lean forward slightly so she could see behind her back, but when she went to pull the bloodied hand from its resting place it gripped at the collar as though it were her only life line. Now Ann was feeling pain, as it replaced the numbness and spread through her lower back and neck.
"Ann, let me see." Amanda soothed as the Chief Medical Officer's breathing began to quicken. "Please, let me see."
Amanda intertwined her fingers with the other hand as it relaxed from the collar and pushed it away. She started at what she saw. The whole neck and blue upper back of Ann's uniform was stained burgundy with fresh, sticky blood! What's worse was that near the middle black, the blood was blackened, even though it was fresh. That was a bad sign, a very bad sign. She didn't know what to do. Her mental encyclopedia was in shock as well as her brain. Amanda rubbed the uninjured part of Ann's back as her breathing began to shallow. She had to do something, quick, but what.
"Shh, Ann it's alright." Amanda soothed as calmly as she could.
"What…what…happened?" Ann managed as she swallowed hard. The pain was dizzying now.
"I'll be right back. Just stay here, don't move!" Amanda all but bolted through the curtain and out into the infirmary.
Ann remained where she was, laying on her knees letting her hands dangle almost to the floor. It was cold. She noticed, watching as her right hand dangled, it was pale and motionless. It wasn't shaking anymore, nor did it ache. It was just there. Her mind succumbed to a haze of noise and blurry vision. She heard the orderly's broom scratching across the floor out in the infirmary, back and forth, back and forth. She heard Amanda's voice as she ordered people here and there and the frantic rush as someone outside hurriedly gathered bandages and supplies.
The floor was blurry, and trying to see straight was a dizzying effort on its own. She coughed violently, a short stream of metallic liquid issuing from her mouth, letting her know that she was bleeding internally. It was hard to weather and for the first time in her life, Dr. Ann Kessler gave up. She relinquished the fight. She stopped trying to fend off sleep, stopped trying to disinherit the quiet comfort it would give. The mist was comforting, as she felt it envelope her mind. She heard the foot steps and the swoosh and the curtain was pulled back and Amanda and a few nurses entered the staff ward room. Breathing was shallow and becoming non-consistent.
She felt as the two nurses lifted her up by her arms and laid her on a stretcher on her stomach. She listened as Amanda explained to Dr. Smith, whom she had brought back with her, what had happened. But she did not comprehend the words. Did not feel the I.V. as it was stuck into her arm. Did not hear the sound of the wheels as she was moved from the ward room out into the infirmary and then down the corridor into the isolation ward. Did not understand what Amanda was trying to tell her. She was nothing.
She breathed and it hurt. She saw and heard, but none of it made sense. She felt, though none of it mattered. She was almost free of the hellish asylum, that she had been forced to call home these last few months. Her head was turned to the side, but her eyes did not register Amanda by her side nor Dr. Smith running next to her barking orders to the nurses. The once vibrant green eyes closed easily shut.
One last breath…and a doctor of hell would she be, no more.
Author's Note: In Extremis is a term which means, "at, or as if at, the point of death or ultimate failure." In Latin it is translated as, 'in the last things'. I like one words titles (henceAnalgesic which by the way means the type of drug that is used as a painkiller, such as morphine). Hey, talk to me. Write me! Tell me what you think! I want to know what you like about the characters, what you dislike about them of what could be improved upon? Drop me a line and I hoped that you enjoyed it!