NPC Ensign Tzim-Shah: The Screwed Up/Scare Scale (Part I)
Alieth
((Science Lab 20, Deck 8, USS Gorkon))
Everything was dark, ice-cold. A painless, chill dark soup like a morning in the harbour, just when the ships had sailed and the steerersmen had gone back to tip their elbows in one of their foul holes, just as the sun only began to peep over the horizon, before the birds had even begun to take flight, spoiling the perfect stillness of dawn with their screeching cries.
All was perfectly still and quiet and .....
And then, a crack and a light in his face brought him back to reality and to the certainty that there was always, always, someone there ready to ruin your day.
ch'Ranni: =/\= Ensign Tzim-Shah. Security. He, Serren, and I played on a parrises squares team last week. Is there anything you can do for him? =/\=
When Shah at last blinked back into existence, he found several things. First, a lot of pain. About a 9.5 out of 10 on the Tellarite's Screwed Up/Scare Scale. Which was not the worst he had ever experienced (better not to talk about THAT day) nor was it the worst he had ever imagined, but it was close enough.
The second thing was how bloody painful and cold it was to be conscious. On the one hand, well mate, coolness dulled everything a bit which wasn't bad at all, but if one put it into perspective with the pain of it all, it meant that if he ever got anywhere safe, far away from there, it was going to be much, much, much worse... like chewing his own gonads off.
The only halfway good part of it all is that at least he wasn't alone any more, which meant he didn't have everything against him. Swinish eyes squinted open, lids fluttering over pupils unable to focus on the blurred figures around him: A valiant rescue team! The new kid, the science cub, a Ferengi and Commander Wrecking Bat. Not his ideal lifesaving crew, but hey, he didn't have much of a choice. At least that overly-sweetened optimist of Serren wasn't there. He probably wouldn't survive being impaled, bleeding to death on the deck and, on the top of it, listening to the cheerful Trill and his blue buddy brag about the beating he'd taken last week on the court. Possibly he'd burst an artery, just remembering it. He was going to need a rematch. If he made it.
The medic knelt beside him, tricorder over his broken body beep beeping as the rest of the officers scattered around the room. The device began to flash little red lights that lit up the doctor's helmet in an ominous manner. The Screwed Up/Scare Scale rose 0.1 degrees in Shah's mind.
Tagren-Quinn: =/\= He seems to have a fair amount of injuries. He was impaled and… suffered a head injury. =/\=
Tzim-Shah: Add to the list that I’m less than thrilled to become a shish kebab, sawbones.
ch’Ranni: =/\= Response =/\=
The commander's phrase caused the Tellarite to let out a gruff grunt, one of those that implied many an expletive, only softened by the pain and the gap in rank between him and the towering man with the tiny antennae. And, perhaps, a very veiled appreciation for the man. And the team. Even for the medic.
Tagren-Quinn: =/\= His best bet is getting him to sickbay. =/\=
A proudly bushy eyebrow rose on the porcine features, a silent " no kidding, I hadn't noticed".
Lephi: =/\= I'd suggest you get to hauling him then. We've been over this, we don't have the power to spare. =/\=
And so, the Screwed Up/Scare Scale went up two points at once. Let's see, first of all, he had an extra piece of duranium in his body that he wanted to get rid of as soon as possible, secondly, the sickbay was far, far away, this was about emergency transport and technology and all that, not about being dragged by a feeble brat while he sacrificed his blood and guts and who knows if half of the grey matter he had left on the way.
Shah could tell he wasn't going to survive getting there. And he wasn't a doctor. The actual doctor in the room seemed even more irritated by that suggestion, which only made the scale go up a notch. Time to panic? Confirmed.
Tzim-Shah: You all realise I'm still here, don't you? And I'm still alive ::A sudden cough interrupted the Tellarite's speech, one that left him out of breath, tiny black dots on the back of his retina and, perhaps, his lips and beard stained with saliva... or perhaps blood?:: if possible, I'd rather to live long enough to kick your sorry butts and get the hell out of here.
ch’Ranni: =/\= Response =/\=
Tagren-Quinn: =/\= My apologies. I… know that we have power issues, but there’s a real possibility of field surgery in the brig here. I’m a bit afraid to move him, so we’ll likely need to cut this… =/\=
He gestured to the duranium skewering Shah. oO Kid, the Screwed Up/Scare Scale is already broken, cut anything but get me out of here in mostly one piece.Oo That was what the security ensign wanted to yell but, instead, he just frowned a great deal and let out a pained grunt as he tried to sit up a little.
Tagren-Quinn: =/\= …with a phaser, or risk him bleeding out if we remove it. We’ll also need to fashion something to carry him, or rather drag him, to the triage unit in the brig. =/\=
Get him out of that freezing hellhole? Great, all his support on that one. With the help of a phaser? Oh boy no, hell no, a lot of no's. Shah had no idea about medicine, but he certainly knew what a phaser could do and that seemed like a pretty bad idea. Crappy one. Terrible in fact. Almost as much as bleeding to death.
Lephi: =/\= We'll save time, and more of this man's limb, if we use the plasma torch instead. =/\=
OK, this was going from bad to worse. Shah's gaze shifted from the officers to the gap in space, to the force field flickering nearby, ever fainter, to the blackness of space beyond. To the petite Bajoran woman who turned away from him, perhaps looking for the two eggheads he'd been tracking down in the lab, perhaps giving him up for dead. Finally, his eyes went down to the wreckage that covered him, to the piece of duranium that had broken his arm and was sticking between his ribs to come out, as he had painfully found out a few seconds before, to stick him in the floorplates. Of course, piercing the soft, hairy skin of his potbelly on the way. He bloody hated his job that day.
Tzim-Shah: I should have stayed in bed today.
ch’Ranni: =/\= Response =/\=
Tagren-Quinn: =/\= Might you be able to help me? =/\=
Lephi: =/\= You keep the patient calm, I'll cut down the rod, so we can move him. =/\=
Tzim-Shah: I'm calm, I'm calm, I'm goddamn calm.
ch’Ranni: =/\= Response =/\=
Another grunt and Shah closed his eyes as the medic and engineer set to work, not wanting to see exactly what they were doing, he'd had more than enough.
For a moment, there was only silence and the sounds of two people preparing for something that was sure to hurt him badly. The image of his father, uncle and aunts battling to save that dumb beached mudwhale using industrial equipment came back to his mind. By his grandmother's beard, now he understood that idiotic critter, if he was going to die he was going to do it howling and cursing too.
And then, a voice rang out, seemingly three billion kilometres away.
Tahna: =/\= I found the others. One’s still alive– help me move the table? =/\=
ch’Ranni: =/\= Response =/\=
TBC
(OOC: For ease and to speed up the scene I'm going to split it here for a bit, we'll get it together shortly!)
Ensign Tzim-Shah
Security Officer
USS Gorkon NCC-82293
simmed by
Lt. Alieth
Chief Science Officer
USS Gorkon NCC-82293
E239702A10
Image Collective Facilitator /Art Director