Decisions and Overrides

Posted on Sat Sep 26th, 2020 @ 5:44am by Petty Officer 2nd Class Corvus Hannah

2,218 words; about a 11 minute read

Mission: Exodus
Location: Medical - Spock

Hannah jerked from the restless doze into full wakefulness. That he had neither slipped into deep sleep or had been asleep for very long he was still left groggy and slightly disoriented. He found himself on the floor, curled into a corner with his pack as a makeshift pillow. It wasn't soft or comfortable but it prevented a crick in his neck. Worse was him trying to figure out what the godawful noise was that seemed to wrap around him.

Uncoordinated as he tried to stand, it suddenly hit him. It was an alarm. Of the three patients currently in sickbay, only one had alarms attached to him.

Abrams!

He shot to his feet, kicking aside the pack that threatened to tangle between his feet as he made his way to the single bio bed. His eyes finding the monitor and, blinking several times to clear the fuzz from his vision, he scanned the information there.

"Damnit!" he swore as he positioned himself closer to the bed and the controls closed over Abrams. "Cardio stimulator," he spoke to the room's computer interface. But, the dim lights and many dark panels reminded him of their predicament. Adrift, under repairs, minimal power. But that wasn't the whole of it. He had three critical patients. Two, on the cots pressed against either side of the door leading to the hall and the third, Abrams, lying on the biobed. Not just that, but his supply of medications were running low and the medical replicator required much more power to create more than he currently had. What he had on supply at the beginning of the event and what he was able to get out of a transporter module was it. And that was...

"...hurts..." the man on the bed said, the left side of his face, the side that was hit by the plasma explosion, barely moved but still the blisters broke open. Weak yellowish fluid seeped down his face. Blue eyes turned toward Hannah, the left side made much more vibrant as it peered out of the enflamed, reddened skin surrounding it.

"I know," Hannah said, cursing inwardly. The bio readouts reflected the amount of pain Abrams must be feeling. Brain wave patterns were all over the chart, blood pressure, cortisol response, white blood cell count...every biological marker was redlining and...there was nothing Hannah could do about it.

He had a limited supply of anesthetic left. A limited supply of medication to put Abrams back into the coma. Deep enough that the pain his body still felt wouldn't reach his mind. He'd been cutting the doses, stretching their injections out so that there was less of an overlap. It didn't bring Abrams fully conscious as the medications wore off, but it kept him down enough that his body's response to the pain wasn't fully realized.

But he was so tired. Exhausted and he must have fallen asleep and the injections came due. Because of attempting to stretch out his increasingly dwindling supply, Abrams was allowed to become fully conscious before the alarms Hannah set woke him. He did the calculations again. He had enough to keep Abrams down another four hours. At the most. Maybe.

Which...Abrams needed surgery and medical intervention. The medical coma only kept him from feeling his body dying. He needed medical intervention. Hannah could do the work to stabilize him so that he had time to get to a starbase medical facility. But to do that he needed access to the proper equipment. Equipment that didn't work because there wasn't power.

There wasn't enough damned power!

He hoped putting Abrams under, giving him those four hours - at most four hours - might help keep him alive for that long. The damage ravaging his body was too severe for Hannah to hope he had much longer than that.

He turned to grab the hypospray, the last of the medications to keep Abrams in a sedated coma already loaded and ready to go. A strong hand, though wet and slimy, grabbed his wrist and pulled. Hannah turned back. Those blue eyes - the much more vibrantly appearing left one - stared at Hannah.

"Tell my family..." he started then had to stop and gasp for breath.

Hannah shook his head, "I'll tell them nothing!" he hissed. "I won't have to tell them anything!" He tried to pull himself free, but Abrams had a desperate strength and kept a firm grip. Despite the fluid seeping from his burned skin. Despite his flesh slipping from the bones. Hannah refused to do what was necessary to break free. For fear of hurting Abrams. For fear of ripping the flesh completely free from the bone. As it was, Abrams was already degloving himself.

"...tell them..." he gasped again, coughing up blackish red clotted blood. "...I love them..."

"No!" Hannah said, suddenly free as Abrams released his grip. The lines on the monitor condensed to just a few. The few critical lines necessary to know that Abrams was going. Heartrate - plunging. Blood pressure - plunging. Oxygen levels - plunging. Brain waves...flattening. The EKG lines were flattening.

"Not yet, damnit! Not yet!" Hannah said, forgetting about the hypospray and focusing instead on the biobed controls. Warnings flashed across the display and the configuration changed to those necessary to stop what was happening. Blood pressure would have to wait until Hannah can find some way to perform a scan to find the new bleed. He needed to keep Abram's heart beating and his lungs breathing. If he managed those two things then...

He was only prolonging the inevitable. Abrams needed a fully functional sickbay, to include full medical staff. Not a glorified corpsman in conditions that early primitive cavemen would find deplorable! What good was all their medical technology when none of it could be used!

Hannah tried not to think about the medication supplies he was wasting on a man who was hours away from dead if their fortunes didn't change. He tried not to think about what it meant as the crunch of bone indicated manual cardio stimulation was started. Hannah moved to insert a tube into Abram's throat, allowing oxygen to enter and carbon dioxide to come out. Corticoid stimulators were activated, providing direct brain stimulation. Abrams was sinking faster than Hannah felt he could fix but he kept trying. Hell, he wished he had the power to spare to activate the EMH just so he had another pair of hands at his immediate disposal. He could call for the others, but by the time they got here he was either successful or they would no longer be necessary.

Seconds slipped by as hours as he fought to keep the man alive. To give him another chance. To give them just a little more time to get the help they desperately needed. At least to get back to full power. If he had full power he wouldn't have to worry about Abrams as much. He'd have options. He could...

Hannah heard the sudden silence from the alarms. His efforts succeeded once more. But for how long? How long did he have until he'd have to try this all over again?

If he had full power he could...

"Computer," he said, stepping back from the bed. "Analyze power needs for suspended animation."

"Based on current power levels, suspended animation of the patient is not advised." A panel came to life, the readout showing the analysis behind the result. If Hannah tried to put Abrams, in his condition, in suspended animation with their current power levels, it had as much chance of killing the man as it did giving him time until they were under full power again. "Can...can we..." Hannah shook his head, not sure what he wanted to ask. Not sure what he could ask. But something had to be done. He couldn't let Abrams give up hope. He couldn't let Abrams give up.

The eyes turned to him. He felt Abrams trying to speak but unable to do so with the airway tube in place. Which was okay, Hannah thought, he didn't want to hear what he had to say at the moment. The look in the man's eyes was enough to know what he thought. What he wanted at the moment.

But, Hannah rationalized, that was a want born out of desperation and unimaginable pain. But...there were rules and ethics involved. He moved to the bed and reached for the tube. Then stopped. First things first.

"I'm trying to do my best to save you," Hannah said. "You're burnt over seventy percent of your body. Badly burned. Heat and chemicals from the plasma fire burned your lungs. I can only keep the pain at bay for another four hours then I'm out of medications to stop it. You're still under now, it will get worse. Much..." Hannah stopped and swallowed. He shook his head. "Much worse."

Abrams stared at him. He knew. He might not have all the details but he knew.

"We're still adrift. We're still running on minimal power. Without full power there's not much I can do," Hannah continued. He hated himself for wat he was saying, for what he was telling a dying man. That there was nothing than can stop the dying. "Except..." here was the problem. Here it came down to. Abrams was alive. He was conscious and Hannah had nothing except for the extreme pain to state he wasn't fully aware and rational. Abrams had the right to choose his medical care. Slowly, and just to stall for time, he removed the tube from the airway, restoring Abrams's ability to speak.

"Except-"

"...tell my..." Abrams started.

"I can put you in suspended animation!" Hannah continued quickly, wanting to stop Abrams from speaking. "It has a little better than fifty percent chance of working right now."

"...no, I don't-"

"But without reliable power supply it can," Hannah continued again, quickly. "It may fail. If we don't restore you properly, if the equipment suddenly quits it...I'd not be able to recover you."

"...no..." Abrams spit out, defiant and blood specked.

"Stop! Just give me a moment! Give yourself a moment to think about this! You're not so seriously wounded that we can't fix you! With proper equipment you'll be good as new in a few months! You'll never know!"

"...we don't have..." Abrams started, couging again. The spetum that came out was brighter, fresher blood. But there were still thick, globular dark clots in it. "...one man...not worth..."

"One man is worth it!" Hannah shouted. "The rest of us? We might be uncomfortable! We might have to live off rations and replicated water packs for a bit but...I can order more power, that'll bump up the chance to sixty-seven percent! It's viable!"

"...defense?" Abrams asked, glaring at Hannah.

"There hasn't been another attack since the first," Hannah said, glaring right back. "This is about you, not all of us!We're not dying!"

"...tell my family..." Abrams started again, shifting his gaze to the ceiling. "...I...love...them..."

"Abrams-" Hannah started but the man grabbed him again. The flesh of his hand spongy. Heat from it transferred to Hannah's skin.

"TELL THEM!" Abrams said, once again glaring at Hannah.

Hannah shook his head, his breath weezing from his lungs as he realized the futility of attempting to change the man's mind. Perhaps he was wrong before. Perhaps the pain was causing him to be irrational. If that were the case then-

Hannah stopped himself. He nodded. Abrams had a wife, a young child. Hannah saw that as he was perusing the man's medical records previously, looking for possible interactions and complications. A young son that Abrams was willing to let grow up without a father. If that wasn't the height of irrationality then-

His thoughts stopped as the hand squeezed again. "Okay," Hannah muttered. "Okay." This time he did slip the hand free of his wrist, recoiling from the boneless feel of two of the fingers.

He turned to the side and picked up the hypospray. "Anesthetic, antibiotics and painkillers only," he said to Abrams. "You don't have to die yet," he said. Without waiting for an answer, he pressed the tip against Abram's charred neck and depressed the plunger. Abrams watched him for the time it took for the medication to take effect. Once he was under again, Hannah stumbled back, leaning against the counter.

"Computer," he said, staring at the floor. "Prepare for suspended animation." Hannah closed his eyes, squeezed them hard.

"Warning. Suspended animation not advised at this time."

"Understood," Hannah said. Override pressed against his lips and vocal cords. Pressed there hard and tight. All he had to do was utter the word. Utter it and go against Abram's wishes. Then hope for a miracle. For something to come and change their fortunes. All it would cost him was a complete betrayal of every oath he took.

Hannah slipped down the cabinet until he sat on the floor. Pressing his head into his knees he prayed for guidance, for wisdom to know he was doing the right thing. Guidance to know what the right thing was. And for absolution for the choice either way.

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