SIM:Skyfire Saving Ensign Cuthbert
|Crew of the USS Montreal|
|Lieutenant Commander Chythar Skyfire|
((Isolation Unit – Sickbay of USS Excalibur A))
:: Folds left Skyfire with the new data from Cuthbert's biobed and went to the nearest open workstation. As rapidly as he could, he called up the computer's database of toxins. Then he narrowed it by those known for use in murders or assassinations. Then -- in the midst of narrowing for known or suspected use by Romulan or associated agents, he remembered that it would be far faster to simply allow the computer to sort by similarity to the toxin he had just discovered in Cuthbert's bloodstream. He was far, far too tired. And now, with Cuthbert deteriorating nearby, was the worst possible moment for his weariness to begin showing symptoms. ::
FOLDS: There we go!
:: The computer beeped at the end of its search. Folds scanned the data, disappointed. No match. Only ... this toxin, unrelated but similar. It would have to be good enough to help, perhaps even guide, their search. At least its origins were, in these circumstances, heartening: the Federation didn't know of it from a direct Romulan connection, but it was suspected. It would have to be enough. ::
:: Folds returned to Skyfire's workstation, where the blonde medic was, as always, so hard at work on the task at hand that he hardly seemed to notice the other officer's approach. ::
FOLDS: :: handing him a PADD :: Not a match, but something similar. No early signs of cold or shivers reported, but similar circulatory symptoms and difficulty in blood clotting and wound healing. But ... if it *is* this similar, time is of the essence. From this point -- :: he lowered his voice; not that Cuthbert could have heard him from across the room in his state :: -- from this point, we'd typically have less than an hour.
SKYFIRE: Less than an hour? How long have you and Alden been back from the surface?
FOLDS: :: squeezing his eyes shut and reopening them :: I don’t remember. Who knows how long we’ve really got; we just need to be ready.
SKYFIRE: That doesn't bode well. I have a theory about how this poison works, due to its similar composition. There are some wintergreen teabags in my kit. Open them up, add water, and rub it over the wound site, as it'll stop the bleeding. It will buy him a few minutes, at most.
FOLDS: :: momentarily confused, but then forcing himself to focus :: Wintergreen tea? Sure. On it.
:: Chythar shook his head, still disbelieving in himself that he'd made a mistake. This wasn't the time for mistakes. He had to do something. And do it fast. He got up from his console and took out an old-school 20th century adrenal, somehow guessing he'd have to mix in some wintergreen with the adrenaline. OO Wintergreen isn't my first option, but it will stop the poison for at least a few minutes. That will be all I need. Oo he thought to himself as he opened up the adrenal and began his chemistry experiment. He didn't have time for a full-blown solution, just enough time to make something and pray it worked. He didn't want to lose a crewmate if he could help it. This would not happen. Not on his watch. ::
:: As Skyfire set to work trying to synthesize -- jerry-rig, might have been more like it -- an antidote to the toxin now coursing through Cuthbert's body, slowly creeping toward his heart, Folds set about gathering the tea from Skyfire’s medkit. Who knew keeping tea in a medkit could be so useful. Tea, water, scalpel—he was working quickly and couldn’t help but wish his left hand, into which he was throwing each item he plucked off the shelf, were ten times larger, so he could balance everything easily while running back to the workstation. ::
SKYFIRE: I'm nearly there.
:: The time passed too quickly as Folds, now empty-handed--sat adjacent to Skyfire and followed his instructions. Folds had mixed the contents of the teabags with a bit of water before peeling off the bandages and began to rub the paste over the wound site. The blood clotted, and the antidote began to work its magic. Not fast enough, however. ::
:: Within moments, the alarms began to blare from Cuthbert's biobed. Gesturing for Skyfire to stay where he was and keep working, Folds jumped up and began doing everything he could to keep his friend alive. ::
FOLDS: Damn, damn, damn -- not now, not yet!
:: The alarms were roaring their death howl because everything was off the charts -- but not, as expected, because they were crashing. Alden, realizing that he wasn’t cured as he thought, was lying back down, trying desperately to control his breathing, though his body and lungs seemed to refuse to obey him. He felt his heart rate increase, pumping the over watery blood throughout his body at such a pace that new blood seemed to barely be reaching his heart in time to be pumped away. ::
:: He felt light-headed from lack of blood flow to his brain, and the high heart rate, as if from some form of Olympic race that refused to ever end, continued to climb, marked by the blips that were now blurring together on the monitor. Sweat began to roll off him in buckets, beginning to soak through the bandages at the wound site as effectively as the blood was staining them. ::
:: Alden tried to breathe deeply and calmly, but his heart rate demanded more and more oxygen to match the rapid pace of the blood that sprinted through his system, forcing him to speed up, until he was nearly hyperventilating in order to compensate. It was clear to the two doctors—or any observer, really—that this terrible loop would soon beat Alden’s body apart, regardless of if it ever slowed down. No body could handle the beating Alden’s was currently taking. ::
FOLDS: :: shouting to Skyfire across the room :: What do you have?
:: Skyfire held up the jury-rigged adrenaline syringe in his hand, jumping up from the console and over to where Cuthbert was clinging to dear life and Folds was trying to do everything he could to stop it. ::
SKYFIRE: Just finished it!
FOLDS: It'll have to be good enough! I don't think Cuthbert can wait much longer.
SKYFIRE: I agree. :: and with that, he raised his hand high before plunging the chemical compound into Alden's heart just before the line went completely flat on the heart monitor. :: You can do it, buddy. Just keep breathing.
:: He wasn't sure why, but he began to feel some sort of connection forming between him and the man whose life he may've saved. He was definitely scatterbrained; the answer to the Romulan conundrum was sitting on his console, the antidote to the poison was a guess that was based on theory and should theoretically work. He didn't know what he had to do as he waited for the monitors to normalize. It took several minutes for them to do so. Chythar was holding his breath, muscles tensed. He didn't move until he saw the monitors stablize, at which point he finally released the breath he'd been holding for the past several minutes. His body didn't relax at all, sweat coating his own forehead from nervousness and pressure. ::
:: Alden’s body continued to heave in an attempt to get oxygen to the heart. But the warning blips on the heart rate monitor had begun to slow down to a more reasonable pace, and slowly, slowly, Alden opened his eyes. He was tired. Very, very tired. But not the same weak, sick tired that had induced his short rest before. This was a purified, “I-almost-just-died,” strength-recovering sort of tired. ::
CUTHBERT: :: drowsily :: Thanks.
:: At this point, Chythar began to relax just a little before smiling at both Folds and their patient. With that, he looked up at Folds ::
SKYFIRE: I need to get back to work on the Romulan thing. Will you keep an eye on him and redress that wound?
FOLDS: Sure thing. :: his heart still pounding and eyes still nervously wide:: Good work.The doctors’ words registered in Alden’s mind, but a response refused to form. And before the doctors had finished absorbing all that had happened, Alden was asleep again.
:: Time had seemed to stop for Folds in that instant between Skyfire injecting the adrenal compound into Cuthbert’s heart and when the solution took effect. The room had seemed to freeze and—forever, it felt—nothing happened. His own mind was still returning, slowly, to normal. His weariness, combined now with his own adrenaline rush, was making him slightly woozy now that the crisis seemed averted. ::
:: As Anscom replied, Chythar realized he just made another friend or two. He needed the friends. He needed to go drinking with them once this was all over. He needed to take a break. But there was no time for that. Alden was safe, so he didn't need to hasten his efforts and he could take just a few moments to breathe. Only a few. Once calm, he once more set about his task of picking up the Romulan's antiserum and continued fabricating his answer. ::
TAG/TBC Joint Post by:
Ensign Alden Cuthbert
Ensign Anscom Folds
Ensign Chythar Skyfire
Cannot Be Separated Part 2
|Ensign Chythar Skyfire
USS Excalibur-A NCC 41903-A