A Broken Leg Makes a Good Doorstop

Posted on Tue 9th Jul, 2019 @ 2:06pm by Lieutenant Commander Lanis Dhuro MD
Edited on on Tue 27th Apr, 2021 @ 5:55am

1,205 words; about a 6 minute read

Mission: A Diplomatic Affair
Location: Observation Walkway, Deck 160
Timeline: MD 6, 1030

Previously in the attack on Lieutenant Briggs ... Dallas could barely move, but he could see the inner door closing and he knew that, once it did, the outer door would open and suck him out into space, killing him. He reached down for his prosthetic leg and gave it a quarter turn. Then when it came loose, he tossed it as hard as he could toward the opening that continued to get smaller.

The leg landed in a position that stopped the door from closing all the way, thus stopping the decompression cycle. =^=Warning, decompression cycle incomplete,=^= the computer voice said.

And now to get help ....

The scuffle between Briggs and his attacker hadn't been as silent as the man would have liked, and he had already taken too much time. He was sure the lieutenant would soon bleed to death, though he'd have liked having no doubt about the outcome. He turned and hurried away, knowing no one had seen him, and he could always try again if Briggs proved as hard to kill as his employer had told him.

Victoria let him go. He wasn't important now, though she had gotten a good glimpse of his face at one point and was sure she would know him again ... if she could figure out how to let someone know. For now, Dallas was more important. It never occurred to her to think about what would happen if she died. She was only concerned that he lived.

She hurriedly slipped into the airlock and dropped to her knees beside her husband. "Hang on, Dal. I'm not sure how, but I'm going to help you!" There was no response, and she looked frantically around the airlock for anything she could use to summon help. "The proper term for this is a sucking chest wound, Dallas," she instructed him, more to keep herself calm and walk through her memories of basic medic training. "I need to seal it somehow, so your lung doesn't collapse."

Now fear intensified and drove her. Dallas was dying, and she was suddenly aware that if he did, he wouldn't be coming to her. Without knowing how, she knew he couldn't come where she was. Her heart pounded ... but how could it when she didn't have one? She was more frightened than she'd ever been, and more confused. She looked at the small hole in the chest, blood still leaking out, and she smacked her palm down over it, acting on instinct, ... and it didn't go through his body. It held. It sealed the knife wound.

After a few minutes, she heard footsteps outside the door, and saw a man look through the gap. His eyes widened, and he hurried to the console to open the door. "Oh, look, Dallas," Victoria said with happy relief. "Someone came!" She looked down at him with a smile which quickly changed to a frown. His eyes were closed, and there was a lot of blood on his chest, still, and on the floor. Randomly, she noted there was none on her. Corporeal things didn't stick to non-corporeal.

"You'd better not die on me," she warned him. "You'd just better not."

"Sickbay, this is PO Telge in Observation Walkway 10-E, deck 160, requesting site-to-site transport. I have an officer stabbed in the airlock, front upper-right chest."

"Acknowledged, Petty Officer. Place signal for beam-out, and secure the area."

"Yes, Ma'am." Telge placed a transponder button on Briggs' chest. "Done. He's ready to go."

The annular containment field took shape around Lt. Briggs' body and whisked him away.

The containment field didn't take Victoria with Dallas. There was nothing for it to take. She watched the shimmer that lasted only nanoseconds and then something in her relaxed. If she'd had a body, it would have been shaking uncontrollably. Since she didn't, she sighed and let herself sink through the flooring.

With the wounded man gone, PO Telge let out an audible sigh of relief and called for Security before he cordoned off the area.

* * *
After drifting through many decks, the ghost arrived in Sickbay. It was quite busy, and it was evident that Dallas wasn't the only emergency the huge department had today. Nevertheless, looking carefully, Victoria soon spotted her husband and the team of medical experts surrounding him. She moved to hover over them and watch as they worked on him.

Dallas's body was covered with blue drapes, except for his right upper chest and side, which had clearly been treated with an antiseptic solution.

"BP is dropping, 80/70," the anesthesiologist said. "Pulse is 140."

Dhuro nodded. It was a scarily fast pulse but normal for someone who was wounded and bleeding. "Computer, insert a 14-gauge needle through the second intercostal space and into the pleural cavity, right side, at the midclavicular line, through an over-the needle catheter."

The computer did so, causing a rush of air and droplets of blood to flow from Briggs' chest and down the clear, plastic tubing, into the syringe, once the needle was withdrawn.

Is that good? Is that bad? Victoria didn't know. Other than basic medic training, she knew nothing of wound treatment. It occurred to her that she might phase into Dallas and help to keep him stable. But ... she didn't have any basis for doing that or knowing how it would affect him ... or her ... No, wait. Give the doctors time. Moving to the top of the med bed where Dallas lay, she curled up against the ceiling to observe. She had a feeling this would be a long watch.

"Looks good," Dhuro said. "Computer, image the patient's pleural anatomy, right side, front and lateral views." He studied the image and traced a line with a stylus on the portion of the image showing the right side of Briggs' chest. "Computer, make a 1.2-centimeter incision as indicated." He dres another line, this one inside the holographic body. "Insert a 32-French thoracostomy tube with drainage system at standard settings through the incision, following this path, and close."

Dhuro peered at the holographic image and let out a breath as Briggs' lung moved back into its normal position and slowly began to reinflate--except for the gaping slice that someone's knife had made through it. "All right, let's get this wound repaired," Dhuro said as he gave orders for suction and for placement of sites where surgical instruments should be inserted.

"How's he doing now?" Dhuro asked the anesthesiologist.

"Stabilizing. BP is improving; so is pulse. Down to 136 BPM."

"Amazing how much a tension pneumo can ruin your day," Dhuro said as he circled the entrance of the stab wound on the holodisplay. "More suction, please. Computer, image the penetrating wound to the lung, with width and depth measurements, and forward it to Security, Forensics Department." With that done, he and the rest of the team began to repair the lung wound.

If a ghost can be said to breathe a sigh of relief, Victoria did. Dallas was going to be alright, and that left her with only one task, other than watching over him. Someone had to find the man who had attacked her husband, before he found out he hadn't been successful and tried again.

 

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