By Hartcort and Adams
81202.20
…continued from part one
-=Meanwhile, aboard the USS Alchemy=-
81202.20
…continued from part one
-=Meanwhile, aboard the USS Alchemy=-
Fleur tried her best to comfort Tress, who kept humming softly to herself as if trying to hear something, anything, that would break the silence of the world she now seemed to be trapped in.
*She is far too young to understand. She is far too young to be suffering like this,* Fleur thought sadly.
She rocked the baby to and fro on the edge of the biobed, too exhausted, by this point, to cry anymore. Jariel, who had continued running back and forth between the ship and the orphanage, appeared from behind the curtain separating Tress' bed from that of the comatose Vedek Timal. His eyes were bloodshot, and he made no attempt to conceal the fact that he'd once again been reduced to tears at the sight of Timal’s weakened form.
"Fleur," he approached her and held his arms open. "Give her to me. You have to rest."
"Non. I cannot. Not until her fever is completely gone and her hearing returns."
Jariel didn't have the heart to tell her what she already knew but had not yet accepted; most likely if Tress did escape the fever, there would be little that could be done to help restore her lost hearing.
The doctors had already explained that the connection between the brain and the auditory nerves was where the damage had occurred; and because of that, implants and regeneration processes would likely be unsuccessful.
"Yes." Jariel insisted firmly, wresting Tress from her arms. "Crew quarters." He instructed. "Now."
She had no strength left to argue, and she fought to rise to her feet after he'd taken the baby. She blinked several times as the room around her seemed to swirl; the walls actually appeared to be melting into the floor, and then everything simply went black.
-=Back at The Medical Tent=-
[Well this data is quite disturbing.] The voice Admiral Lassiter said. Her face showed lines of concern as she read over the material that Lance and Azalea had provided.
Hartcort and Adams exchanged glances.
"We need more help." Lance said flatly. "I'm requested a Starfleet medical ship to be dispatched here with a biological contagion team. We need to contain this here before it can spread to a major population center. We do not have the staff to do it ourselves."
[Acknowledged, Commander. May I commend you on the work that you've done. I will be in touch with you as soon as help is on the way. In the meantime, your orders stand.]
"To try to find a cure and keep people from dying." Lance replied flatly.
[Exactly. Lassiter out.]
-=Later=-
Azalea came into the room with a cup of herbal tea in hands. She held it out toward the exhausted Hartcort. "As your personal physician, I am recommending that you lie down for an hour after you drink this."
She had just returned from a quick trip over to the Alchemy to check on Timal and Tress, and had news of the French woman, Le Marc to share as well.
"How is everyone faring?" Lance asked, sniffing at the cup and finally trying a taste.
"I wish I had better news to report. Timal is still critical. The baby's hearing is severely damaged. Le Marc is burning up and I can't bring her fever down through any conventional means."
Adams wrung her hands. "I've been over the data backward and forward, and I just have to think that there's something I've missed, something that we haven't considered yet that can at least give us a fighting chance of saving these people from their own malfunctioning immune systems."
Lance nodded as he took another sip. “I think that we are close to putting together a working vaccine to fight this new virus from taking hold of any new victims. Unfortunately it does nothing to help those already infected.”
She growled softly with frustration. "I know that you're so close. There's just something we've missed, when we find it it's going to be so obvious, I just know it. This is the part I hate."
Lance shook his head. “I know your right, we are missing a link somewhere. Something has to tie all of these strains together.”
Azalea stood and walked to the tent’s exit and looked out at the setting sun. “We have to find it otherwise people are going to start dying of diseases that we should be able to cure in a day.” She shook her head. “I just can't understand how or why this is happening to these people. Is it a mistake or was it inflicted upon them on purpose? Either thought is frightening.”
She sighed. “If you really think we are close to a vaccine then I have to think we are on the right track.” She turned back towards him. “How soon do you..”
She saw that Lance was fast asleep in the chair his head slumped forward and the teacup still in his hand balanced precariously on his lap. She sighed softly, thinking that had to be the most uncomfortable position she had ever seen in her life.
Gently she moved back toward him and extricated the cup from his faltering grasp. She took it with her as she headed back to make rounds among their patients, and then to visit the Alchemy's sickbay again to see if anything was needed there.
She paused in the doorway, glancing back at Hartcort as he exhaled a slow, soft sigh in his sleep.
"I don't know where the hell you came from, Lance Hartcort," she whispered, "But I know this much, you're one of a kind."
Lance snorted and shifted position slightly while quietly mumbling to himself.
As Azalea left the tent she could have sworn she heard Lance murmur the word “Blackjack,” and then laugh triumphantly before he began to snore quietly.
Commander Lance Hartcort
CMO USS Revolution
Currently on Bajor
and
Commander Azalea Adams
Starfleet Medical
Currently on Bajor
CMO USS Revolution
Currently on Bajor
and
Commander Azalea Adams
Starfleet Medical
Currently on Bajor