[JP] Ensign Jaran Jira & Lieutenant JG Roy Bancroft - Reincardionation
Carter Schimpff
(( Sickbay – Deck 3, USS Karnack ))
If the rest of the Karnack resembled a dying animal, Sickbay was one of its last surviving organs. And, in this particular case, the word ‘surviving’ was to be used as loosely as possible.
The room was dim and reluctant to function, like a house whose owner had already begun packing the furniture. Only half the overhead panels were lit. A diagnostic console blinked with the weary patience of equipment that had been powered down and revived too many times in too short a span. The biobed hummed faintly, negotiating with a power grid that had not been intended to support medical precision during the ship’s final days.
Medicine had been practiced in worse places – but not many.
Natasha Cole lay motionless on the bed, one arm resting where Jaran had placed it after loosening her sleeve. Her posture carried none of the tension that normally defined her. The hard lines of the security officer were gone, replaced by the strange neutrality of a body that consciousness had momentarily stepped away from.
Her breathing was slow, but regular – peaceful in a way that made Roy profoundly suspicious.
The tricorder in his hand emitted a soft diagnostic trill.
Roy studied the readout for a moment longer than most physicians would have needed. Not because he didn’t understand it, but precisely because he did.
Bancroft: Well.
He tilted the device slightly.
Bancroft: That’s not ideal. What do you see?
Jaran: Severe bradycardia. Well below expected norms.
Bancroft nodded. The two doctors were – so far – completely in sync. Jaran had proven themselves time and again to be a testament to the training Starfleet Medical Academy offered.
Bancroft: Precisely. Forty-eight beats per minute is too low to begin with, and it’s falling.
He tapped the console beside the bed. After a moment of persuasion, the monitor awakened enough to display a cardiograph.
A slow rhythm scrolled across the screen.
Forty-eight beats per minute. Down from the high fifties on the bridge.
Roy leaned back slightly.
Bancroft: You diagnosed vasovagal syncope on the bridge?
Jaran: Seemed like it at the time.
Roy gave a small nod.
Bancroft: A perfectly reasonable diagnosis. I concur.
He looked back down at Cole.
Bancroft: The only difficulty being–
He lifted the tricorder again.
Bancroft: –she should have woken up by now.
Silence settled briefly over the room.
The old ship hummed around them, distant systems struggling to maintain their quiet responsibilities.
Roy stepped aside from the biobed, careful not to crowd Jaran’s position.
Bancroft: What do you see, Doctor?
The tone was deliberate.
This wasn’t a test. It was an open invitation for collaboration.
Jaran: Ongoing cardiac concerns following neurally mediated syncope. Let’s take a look at the last few days. She’s undergone extreme stresses, both physically and mentally. Very little time to rest. High physical activity facilitated by stimulant. There are a lot of factors present.
Roy’s head tilted.
Bancroft: Stimulant?
Jaran: Yes, sir. I administered a low dose of animazine to Lts. K’Wara and Cole, and myself. We were flagging, and it was the correct call.
Animazine was a standard stimulant with few side effects. Someone could be prescribed a much higher dose than Jira had given to their team before experiencing anything negative. Even knowing that, Jira was troubled by the other doctor’s question.
Bancroft: ::nodding:: Animazine is about as polite as stimulants come. Under the circumstances, it was the correct call.
He lifted his gaze to meet Jaran’s directly.
Bancroft: Remember that. We practice medicine with imperfect information almost all of the time. The trick is simply making the best decision available to you in the moment. You did that.
His attention drifted back to Cole, then to the slow crawl of the cardiograph.
Bancroft: That said… with her autonomic system currently conducting its own one-woman rebellion, we should be cautious about our pharmacological choices moving forward. ::smoothing his mustache thoughtfully between thumb and forefinger:: If we take additional stimulants off the table, our options become… limited.
Jira stood quietly and turned their attention back to Cole. Jira had gotten so used to seeing everyone wound as tight as a spring that it was almost hard to see the quiet as something life-threatening. But Natasha had fallen through to the other side, and self-doubt wasn’t going to pluck her back.
Jaran: I would agree with that, I think. We at least need to explore that. But we need to stabilise her first. ::looks at cardiograph:: 44 beats per minute and still dropping. If stimulants are a cause for concern, I recommend against using cordrazine. Thoughts?
Bancroft: Your concern is well placed. Cordrazine would push sympathetic activity harder than I’m comfortable with under the circumstances.
His thumb traced the edge of the biobed thoughtfully.
Bancroft: Fortunately… we don’t actually need her nervous system’s permission for the heart to beat.
He glanced up at Jaran, half a grin shining white through his grizzled beard.
Bancroft: Let’s pace it.
Jira snapped to look at Dr. Bancroft with wide eyes. That was the last suggestion they expected in this case, but it was solid and accepted medical procedure, when necessary. Jira turned and righted a medical cart that had fallen during the crash, then withdrew the vial from the drawer. It clicked into place in the hypospray, which Jira then held out across the biobed.
Jaran: If she’s angry later, I’m telling her you did it.
Roy accepted the hypospray with a faint, lopsided smile.
Bancroft: Perfectly fair. Though in my defense, my dear friend Nat does have a long and distinguished history of attempting to explode herself all on her own. A pacemaker shouldn’t even reach the top twenty on her list.
He glanced up through lowered lids at Jaran, the hypospray resting lightly against the soft skin of Nat’s neck.
Bancroft: Just… in the unlikely event she does take this personally… do you suppose you could convince the Prophets to reincarnate me?
Jaran: You know, reincarnation is only a belief in a few heterodox… I mean, sure. You got it.
Roy turned back to the patient.
The hypospray delivered a short-acting neuromuscular dampener – standard protocol before initiating external pacing, preventing the body from reacting violently to the electrical stimulus.
A quiet hiss.
Cole’s arm twitched once… then settled.
Roy reached for the compact pacing interface mounted beside the biobed. At his touch the unit unfolded, extending two emitter pads. He positioned them carefully along Cole’s sternum and lower ribcage.
Bancroft: Alright. Let’s remind the heart how this works.
The cardiograph continued its stubborn crawl.
42 beats per minute.
Bancroft: Starting low. No need to bully it.
He adjusted the emitter controls and the unit hummed softly. For a moment nothing happened.
Then the cardiograph spiked.
A sharp pacing impulse flashed across the display, followed immediately by a synchronized contraction.
Bancroft: There we go.
Jaran: Looks like we’re in sync. No natural rhythm mismatch.
Bancroft: Good. Let’s bring her up slowly.
Roy increased the pacing frequency, and the cardiograph responded: 46 beats per minute. Then 50.
Jaran: ::eyes fixed on the display:: At the risk of overconfidence, it looks like we may be in the clear.
Bancroft: I’d like her north of sixty before we break for coffee.
Another adjustment. The pacing unit emitted a faint, steady tone. 58 beats per minute. Cole’s fingers twitched weakly against the biobed.
Jaran: We have fasciculation.
Roy allowed himself the faintest exhale.
Bancroft: Lieutenant Cole does possess a remarkable talent for stubborn survival. Is the sinus rhythm stable?
He nudged the control one final increment. The cardiograph settled.
64 beats per minute.
Jaran: It’s low but it’s regular. Healthy adult heart rate.
Roy watched the display for another second before finally leaning back.
Bancroft: There we are.
He folded his arms loosely.
Bancroft: Another successful collaboration between modern medicine and mild electrocution. I do so enjoy when the patient survives.
Jira rested against the cart and felt the tension of days drain out of their body.
Jaran: Today we won the argument. But I’m tired of arguing for today. I’ll be in that chair over there until she wakes up. You get back to whatever you were doing.
End Scene for Bancroft and Jaran
===
Ensign Jaran Jira
Medical Officer
USS Artemis-A
A240209JJ4
And
Lieutenant JG Roy Bancroft
Medical Officer
USS Artemis-A
A240205RB1