Although he was admittedly biased, Denys felt that the Galaxie’s medbay was far too limited for a ship of its size. The instruments at his disposal were unsophisticated, ancient, and were prone to malfunctions and false results. The heart rate monitors, for example, had a tendency to randomly flatline. A well-placed kick could fix the problem temporarily, but they never could find the glitch responsible.
As a result, Denys’s initial reaction to the blaring flatline alarm was none of annoyance. He set down the novel he was reading and walked over to the Captain, who was lying prone on one of the medbay’s three beds. He delivered the kick to the monitor necessary to start it back up again.
Strangely enough, the monitor continued to flatline after the kick. A quick glance at the captain confirmed it. Casillo had stopped breathing.
Denys snapped out of his annoyance and slid into what he dubbed ‘work mode’. Without shouting for the nurse, he covered the distance to the defibrillator in three quick strides. He never kept the briefcase-like instrument locked behind the glass like he was supposed to, and now he was grateful for his rebelliousness.
He snatched it off the wall and walked back to the captain, pulling off the pads as he did so. The reptilian medic noticed with a pang of apprehension that the captain already looked like a corpse, with his pasty skin and the chest tube sticking out of him like he was being dissected by first-year medical students.
With mechanical precision he placed the pads exactly where they needed to go. As a precaution, he held out his arm to ward off the nurse as the defibrillator wasted precious seconds deciding whether to give the shock. The nurse, for her part, took stock of the situation in an instant. From the corner of his eye, Denys watched as the midshipwoman’s amber-yellow eyes widened for a fraction of a second, before racing to the medical cabinet for the cardiacizine.
Although it felt like fifteen minutes, the AED delivered the required shock less than two seconds later. Grimacing as he realized that he’d forgotten to remove the chest tube, Denys watched as the captain’s chest stiffened, then bucked upward like a fish out of water.
As soon as the shock was done, Denys leapt back into action, beginning CPR while the nurse injected Casillo with the cardiacizine. The captain still wasn’t breathing.
“Get everyone here immediately,” Denys said in between rounds, feeling a bit fatigued but otherwise calm. “We have to get him stabilized.”
The nurse nodded and hurried off without another word, leaving Denys alone to guard the captain’s life. That’s how the sarvolyan liked to think of it; guarding the patient’s life against death in all its forms, for as long as he could.
Another two rounds of CPR and one more shock with the defibrillator brought a slight heartbeat back. However, the captain’s breathing was labored, weak, and if the gasping was any indication, painful.
“Chisari,” Denys called, beckoning the nurse over. “I want you to scan the captain’s entire respiratory system. Focus on vital systems.”
That had to be it, Denys told himself as he stared at the now-functioning heart rate monitor. Casillo’s condition must’ve been amplified by the radiation… at the time he’d said it to Asadi it was little more than a guess, but now he was almost certain.
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“Scan shows that his respiratory system is deteriorating rapidly,” the nurse reported. “The cells are dying… can’t yet identify the cause. I’ll run it through the analyzer, but it’ll-
“Take a few hours,” Denys finished, spitting the words out like they were poison. “Yes, I know. Do it anyway. Anyone else there?” he called without looking away.
When a small chorus of acknowledgements answered him, Denys turned around to see the entire medical staff. A small medbay made for a small medical team; there were six people, barely enough for three shifts. However, quality had a quantity of its own.
“Alright,” he began, smoothing back his mohawk of orange feathers. “Here’s what we know. His lung cells are dying, along with those of his upper trachea. I think it’s something either cancerous or genetic, but I have no idea how it started or how to treat him. Any ideas?”
“I say we put him on a respirator with a hyperoxic air mix,” one of the other doctors suggested, a severe-faced man who had the body of a soldier but the temperament of a poet. While Denys got along with all the medical staff, he and Abrams often thought on the same wavelength, making them perfect for crises like these.
“It’ll make sure the oxygen gets where it needs to go with his weakened lungs,” the doctor continued. “Although as far as treating the problem, I’m as stumped as you are.”
“We’ll need to prepare another chest tube,” one of the nurses piped up. “There’s a pretty good chance that the other lung will collapse too.”
“Both good ideas,” Denys agreed, nodding to them. “Let’s get that set up.”
It was good to think one step at a time, Denys realized as he helped the other doctor fit the respirator mask over the captain’s face. That way, you could focus on doing something productive, inching your way towards the goal instead of getting tied down thinking about the Big Picture. That was the leader’s job, to coordinate those steps.
Denys muttered a curse when he realized that he was the leader, at least in the medbay. He glanced at the small gold insignia on his scrubs, which displayed two snakes coiled around a winged staff. He’d never understood the significance of the symbol, but he could feel responsibility of it bearing down on him with all the weight of a freightliner.
After making sure that the respirator was working correctly and the second chest tube was ready, Denys sighed and rubbed his eyes. He glanced at the clock on the wall, the blinking numbers reminding him that his shift ended two hours ago.
He felt a hand on his shoulder and instinctively raised a hand to remove it, turning around as he did. It was nurse Chisari, her slit-shaped pupils widening in what looked like pity.
“Get some rest,” she said. Denys held back a hiss in response, instead gently removing her arm from his shoulder. The mammalian need for contact confused him, especially when it was accompanied by vague words of patronizing sympathy. This time, however, she had a point.
“Very well,” he said, rubbing his eyes again. “If the captain’s condition changes in any way, wake me immediately.”
Chisari gave a slow nod, making Denys realize that she didn’t intend to wake him for anything. He tried to muster up enough energy for another of his famous dead-eyed stares, but he couldn’t. Maybe he did need some rest after all.
Giving a low hiss, Denys left the now-cramped medbay, sneaking one last look at the captain before he did so. Warfare and medicine were surprisingly similar. While necessary, defense didn’t win battles. Likewise, treating the symptoms as they arose wouldn’t cure the captain’s disease. If they were going to win, they needed to go on the offensive.