All Things Inherit – Two – DizzyDrea

~0~

Len stood before the control panel for what everyone referred to as “The Machine”, inputting all the data they had about their patient. The machine was known as the Radiation Extraction Matrix, though there was a more technical, complicated moniker that the manufacturer had given it that she could never remember.

She bit her lip as she started the calculations that would tell the machine what needed to be done. Back when she was an intern at Emory University Hospital, there had been a manufacturing accident at a local plant that had badly burned several employees. Emory had treated two of the victims, one of whom had died from his injuries. The incident had been the reason she’d come online as a Guide and had therefore stuck with her throughout her training and subsequent residency. She’d spent hours researching Delta radiation and the currently available treatments, which were primitive compared to treatments for other radiation exposures, for the simple fact that none of them made a damn bit of difference if the victim were exposed to Delta rays.

The outcome of that obsessive research had been The Machine, and a Nobel Prize in Medicine that still sat in the back of her closet, because she hadn’t done it for the accolades. She’d done it because she couldn’t bear losing another patient to radiation poisoning again. Modern medicine had to be good for something, and she’d found a way to bring treatment for Delta radiation into the 23rd century.

The whole thing had netted her offers from every major hospital and medical research facility in the country, and a fair few around the globe. The one that had surprised her the most was the offer from Starfleet. They’d offered her the chance to continue to refine her research while treating some of the most unusual and rare conditions in the galaxy. The pull to an organization had surprised her, because she loathed the idea of serving aboard a ship in the vacuum of space, but the need to be on the front lines of medical innovation had ultimately been her reason for accepting.

She glanced at the bio bed that held Captain Pike. Maybe the draw to Starfleet wasn’t all about medical frontiers. Maybe whatever intelligence existed on the Psionic Plane had guided her to Starfleet for this exact moment. She huffed at herself for such fanciful thinking.

“You okay?”

Len looked at Christine, who’d continued to monitor the captain as they transferred him upstairs to Nuclear Medicine, where The Machine was located.

“I’m fine,” Len said. “Just… ruminating. What are the odds that I’d win a Nobel for inventing the very machine that will hopefully save my own Sentinel?”

Christine’s eyes bugged out. “I hadn’t even thought of that. Pretty crazy, right?”

“Downright insane,” Len agreed. “And yet, I can’t help but think that this is where my life was always headed.”

“Like you were being guided?” Christine asked. “For lack of a better word.”

“Something like that,” Len said, chuckling at her friend’s word choice. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just tired, and that’s making me look for connections where there are none.”

“Has anyone ever reported anything like this before?” Christine asked. “I mean, if it’s a thing, surely you aren’t the first person to experience it.”

“I don’t know,” Len said. “I haven’t really involved myself much in the S&G community in years. I read the medical research because it’s relevant to my job, but the… woowoo stuff? I leave that to the Shamans.”

“Shamans, huh?” Christine said, wagging her eyebrows. “Sounds pretty out there.”

“Being a Guide has a lot more to do with spirituality than I’m strictly comfortable with,” Len said. She waved her hand. “But I’ve done the work and am in touch with my inner whatever. It keeps me balanced and in control of my gifts, which is a must in this job.”

The machine beeped behind her, so Len turned around and scanned the treatment plan the software had designed. She whistled long and low.

“Says here it’s going to take more than six hours to fully treat his burns,” Len said. “I’ve never seen a treatment course that long before.”

“Well, to be fair, you’ve probably never seen a patient with such severe burns before,” Christine said. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah, let’s get him inside,” Len said. “The sooner we start, the sooner we can stop the advance of the radiation so the healing can begin.”

She pressed a few buttons on the control panel, and the bio bed that held Captain Pike began to roll into the machine on the rails embedded in the floor. The doors slid shut with a quiet hiss. The bio bed readings were transferred from the bed console to the machine’s control panel, but just as she was about to initiate the start-up sequence, the room door opened, and her supervisor walked in.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked in that haughty tone that always grated on Len’s last nerve.

“I’m about to start the initial treatment cycle for Captain Pike’s burns,” she said, as if that should have been obvious.

“You can’t use that machine on him,” Robards said. “It’s not been properly calibrated, and you don’t have permission from any legal next of kin to begin any treatment. You’ll likely kill him without proper calibration, and I won’t have his family suing Starfleet for medical malpractice on my watch.”

“Starfleet regulations stipulate that in extreme situations, no prior consent is required if inaction will cause death or permanent harm to the patient,” Len said, grateful she’d studied the rulebook before she’d accepted the contract. “He doesn’t have time for us to wait to find whoever has his proxy. His burns have already advanced to full thickness over a third of his body. If we wait any longer, the damage will be irreparable, and we’ll lose him.”

“We are currently attempting to locate next of kin,” Robards said firmly. “You’ll wait until we have fully informed consent, or you’ll be suspended pending an ethics review that will likely end with your termination from employment. Am I clear?”

“Oh, you’re crystal clear,” Len said. She let a predatory smile slip over her face. “The problem is that I don’t care. I have a patient at risk of dying no matter what I do. If I can treat him and save his life, it won’t matter what you do to me. So, you go right ahead and do your worst. Meanwhile, I’ll be right here, calibrating the machine as I go, making sure that a good man doesn’t die on the table because my supervisor is an officious prick who values process over a man’s life.”

Robards puffed up like an outraged pygmy goat and was about to explode with what Len could only assume were more ridiculous arguments against treating a potentially terminal patient when the doors to the room slid open once more.

“Christ, when did this become Grand Central Station?” she muttered when two people walked in, one of whom was Doctor Phillip Boyce, head of ‘Fleet Medical.

“Doctor McCoy,” the taller man said. He turned to her supervisor with a narrow-eyed glare. “Doctor Robards, I presume? I understand you’ve been trying to reach Captain Pike’s next of kin.”

“I have,” Robards said, relief writ large over his face. He seemed to be under the impression that someone was coming to his rescue, but a wink from Phil made her realize this wasn’t going to go the way Robards wanted. “I’ve instructed Doctor McCoy to halt any further treatment until we have informed consent from the captain’s medical proxy. And she’s not to use this machine, regardless of Captain Pike’s medical proxy’s consent. It’s not been properly calibrated for use yet.”

“I’ll take it from here,” the other man said, effectively dismissing Robards from the conversation.

Robards nodded, tossing one more haughty glare at Len before he left the room.

Len, who had no self-preservation genes at all, turned to the new man and raised an eyebrow. “Are you here to tell me not to save Captain Pike? Because I’m going to disobey that order, too. Just so you know.”

He laughed—actually laughed—and Len felt something unclench inside her. She glanced at Christine, who was looking at her with wide-eyed disbelief. Len just shrugged.

“Do you even know who I am?” he asked her.

Len thought he looked familiar. Tall, dark-skinned, with close-cropped hair and a delightful smile. She felt like she’d seen him somewhere before, but right now she had no spoons left to figure out where. “No. Should I?”

“My name is Admiral Robert April, and I’m the head of ‘Fleet Ops,” he said, still amused.

“My apologies, Admiral,” Len said. “If I’d known who you were—”

“You’d have still defied any order you didn’t agree with,” Phil said, shaking his head. “I told you that smart mouth of yours was going to get you into trouble one day.”

“My Momma’s been trying to get me to shut up for decades,” Len said. “If she failed, you don’t have a chance. No offense.”

“None taken, my dear,” Phil said. He glanced at Pike, where he was still ensconced within the machine. “How is he?”

“Not to sound ridiculously contrarian, but should I be discussing this in front of the Admiral?” Len asked.

“As it happens, I have a comm from Captain Pike’s current medical proxy,” April said, offering her the PADD she hadn’t noticed he was holding.

She took it from him and scanned the contents. Christine moved to read over her shoulder. “This is from Captain Una Chin-Riley. We all used to serve together on the Enterprise. I’m surprised it’s still her.”

“I’ve been telling him for years that he needs to update his records, but he’s ignored me on this issue,” April said.

Phil snorted. “How long did it take you to update your records when Pike was promoted to the chair after you made Admiral?”

“Point taken,” April said, rubbing the back of his neck as a chagrined look crossed his face. “So, do you have what you need to commence treating Chris?”

“Is Captain Chin-Riley aware that the treatment might kill him just as much as the radiation exposure?” Len asked as she handed the tablet back.

“When we spoke, she gave me permission to make any necessary decisions that came up as treatment progressed,” April said. “She is currently on a sensitive mission, so communication will be intermittent at best.”

“Right,” Len said with a sigh. “Look, Robards was right, as much as it pains me to admit. This machine is brand new. It’s never been used to treat a patient before. We had remarkable success with the trials on the test machine at Emory, but that one had been calibrated and tested down to the last bolt. I’m going to have to calibrate on the fly to make this work, and there’s still no guarantee he’ll survive.”

“But he won’t survive his burns if you don’t at least make the attempt,” Phil said. “Right?”

“That’s correct,” Len said. “And even if I can get it to work, there’s no guarantee it’ll be able to restore full function. The captain may always have a disability. I just don’t know. I’ve never treated anyone with the kind of burns he has. It might completely heal his whole body, or it might only heal him enough to make life livable.”

“What you’re saying is, he might not walk out of the hospital, either way,” April said.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” Len took a breath. “I can’t not try. That’s not who I am, but—”

“Tell them the rest,” Christine said, interrupting Len’s train of thought. She frowned at the nurse, but Christine just shrugged. “They need to know, for his sake as well as your own.”

“Tell us what?” Phil asked.

Len sighed. “I realized while I was assessing his injuries that he’s come online as a Sentinel. And…”

“And what?” April asked.

“And I’m his Guide,” Len said. “I feel compelled to treat him. To do everything I can to make him whole again. It’s my duty as his Guide, even though we’re not bonded.”

“And might never be, if the treatment doesn’t go well,” April said. He rubbed a hand over his face. “He’ll go trauma dormant if you can’t restore full function, right?”

“Yes,” Len said. “How did you know?”

“Chris wouldn’t be the only online Sentinel in the ‘Fleet,” April said. “Hell, he wouldn’t even be the only captain who’s a Sentinel.”

“We’re seeing more and more Sentinels and Guides coming online within the fleet as time goes on,” Phil said. “And more join up by the day. Makes you wonder what’s out there. What’s coming.”

“I had no idea,” Len said.

“Not a surprise,” Phil said with a smile. “If it’s not medical research, you don’t read it.”

“Not true,” Len said, pointing a finger at her boss. “I have a couple of novels on my desk right now.”

“They’re so dusty they make me sneeze every time I go into your office,” Christine said.

“You’re not helping,” Len said. She shook her head. “And we’re getting off topic. The bottom line is, this might work or it might not. He’s got a better chance than most, given that he’s a Sentinel. They have hyper-reactive immune systems, so he’ll heal faster than a mundane. But the damage is so extensive that it might just overwhelm his immune system, making the treatment less effective. Knowing that, are you still willing for me to try?”

“Do whatever you have to,” April said. “Just save his life. If I have to, I’ll put his ass in a wheelchair and roll him onto the bridge of Enterprise. I’m not losing the best captain in the fleet.”

“Understood, sir,” Len said. “Now, get out of my treatment room. I have work to do.”

“You’ll keep us informed?” Phil asked. His glance drifted back to Pike, reminding Len that the two men were friends and long-time colleagues.

“I’ll let you know how the treatment goes,” Len said.

“If you need anything, just let me know,” April said.

“You could get me a new supervisor,” Len shot back. “Robards is—”

“Not your cup of tea,” Phil said before Len could use any colorful metaphors that might get her into trouble. “I’ve been keeping an eye on that situation. I think Robards would do better in a less stressful environment. Frankly, he’s not cut out for emergency medicine.”

“Oh, thank god,” Len said, practically wilting at his words.

“We’ll leave you to it,” Phil said as he herded the Admiral out the door. He turned and gave her a nod. “Good luck. We’re counting on you.”

“So, no pressure,” Len muttered as the door slid shut.

“You got this,” Christine said.

“I certainly hope so,” Len said.

She took a deep breath and initiated the sequence that would hopefully heal Captain Pike and return him to service.

~0~

The whole procedure took six hours.

Len never left the treatment room. As she’d told April and Boyce, she’d stayed the whole time, making fine adjustments to the machine to make the treatment as effective as possible.

Early in her research, Len had discovered that the very thing that made Delta rays so dangerous—that they were a by-product of the normal operation of a warp core—was the very thing that could help contain the Delta rays in a radiation exposure patient. She’d designed what amounted to a small warp core in a centrifuge. Well, she hadn’t designed it, but her input and her research had informed the design and function of the machine.

Finding a manufacturer willing to take the risk of designing and building a machine for such a niche medical condition had been difficult, but as it turned out, there was one company willing to try. The CEO had lost his son in the accident that had forced Len online in college. He’d been willing to bet his entire career and reputation on her hare-brained idea. She’d been grateful, truly, because up to that point, it had felt a lot like she was the only one who cared that there was no treatment for Delta radiation exposure.

They’d designed a machine the size of a walk-in closet. The inner chamber contained a bio bed that could slide into and out of the machine on rails. Once inside, the patient was surrounded by a centrifuge powered by a small warp core. The warp field generated Theta rays that attracted the Delta rays and funneled them to a containment cell for later disposal.

The Theta rays, as it turned out, were the key, not just because they helped draw off and contain the Delta radiation, but also because they helped regenerate tissue damaged by radiation burns. It was elegant and far simpler than most of the medical community had expected.

The Nobel Prize had been a surprise, but she’d agreed to accept it because she felt that ignoring it would devalue the victims who had propelled her to devote so much time to designing an effective treatment for Delta radiation. She’d called out each one in her speech, and in every interview she’d given both before and after accepting the prize, as a way to make sure everyone knew that she’d designed the machine so no one would have to suffer the loss of a loved one the way those victims’ families had.

It had propelled her career in a direction she hadn’t expected and made her far more famous that she was strictly comfortable with, but the other benefit of joining Starfleet—beyond the handsome salary and the opportunity to work on the frontiers of medicine—was that she could just… disappear into the organization and use it to shield her from the notoriety that she hadn’t wanted and couldn’t escape.

“How’s he doing?” Christine asked from her station across the room, monitoring the captain’s vitals.

“The cycle’s almost complete,” Len said by way of an answer. “It looks like we may have to do one more cycle, but I’d rather give him a break and see what his body can do to heal itself before we shove him back into the machine again. The treatment might be miraculous, but it’s also hard on the body.”

“I hear ya,” Christine said. “His vitals are holding steady. I think his body finally figured out that we were trying to help. He calmed down about an hour in, and his vitals haven’t changed much since then.”

“Not a surprise,” Len said. “Sentinels are hyper-aware of their surroundings, including their own bodies. It’s good that his own immune system is starting to rally and use the Theta rays to repair his tissues. He has a better chance of making a full recovery if his body takes over the healing process.”

“Too much risk that his immune system will retreat and stop working entirely,” Christine said. “I get it. I read the research paper you wrote on the treatment. Pretty dense, but interesting.”

“Right,” Len said. She turned to Christine. “I’m surprised you read the whole thing. Most people don’t get past the summary page.”

Christine shrugged. “I had a slow shift in the ER one night, a couple of months after you joined. I found it on the server; it sounded interesting, and I needed something to keep me awake.”

“Most people use research papers to lull them to sleep,” Len said. “You must be made of sterner stuff.”

“I’m just really interested in unique medical research,” Christine said, shrugging. “I’ve thought about going back to school, getting my MD, or maybe becoming an NP.”

“You should definitely do that,” Len said, pointing at her. “You’re good with patients and intuitive when it comes to diagnosing and designing innovative treatments. If I get a vote, I’d say go for the full MD. NPs have too many restrictions on their ability to treat patients. If you ever want to serve on a ship again, you’d need the MD. They don’t let NPs serve aboard ship.”

“I know,” Christine said. “It’s just a thought. I’m not sure I’ll do it. Medical school is expensive, you know.”

“‘Fleet would probably pay for it,” Len said. “You’ve proven yourself in some hairy situations, if what you’ve told me is true. They won’t want to lose you and might be willing to give you whatever you ask for to keep you.”

Christine frowned. “I hadn’t thought of that. I’ll have to think about it. Maybe do some research. I’m a civilian contractor right now, but there has to be a policy for this.”

“There’s a policy for every damn thing under the sun, kid,” Len said. “Organizations like Starfleet thrive on the thoroughness of their regulations and policies. It promotes order, or something like that.”

Christine laughed just as the machine beeped, letting Len know the final sequence had ended. She went over the results, pleased with how much damage the machine had repaired.

“How’s he looking?” Christine asked as she peeked over Len’s shoulder.

“Not terrible,” Len said. “I can’t promise he’ll walk again, but it’s looking good. He’ll have a long road ahead of him rehabbing from his injuries, but he’ll have a better quality of life than he had a right to expect when he ran into that Engine Room.”

“Well, thank fuck for that,” Christine said. She grimaced. “Ma’am.”

Len laughed. “You know I don’t care about rank. They put the Commander’s pips on my uniform because they like to promote on a schedule, but in this hospital, we’re all equals in my mind. We all have one goal: treating our patients so they can walk out the front door.”

“Just don’t tell Starfleet that,” Christine said. “They do like their rank structure.”

“Okay, let’s withdraw him from the machine and transfer him to Recovery,” Len said as she shut down the machine and pressed the eject button. “I’d like to keep him in Recovery for the next twelve hours, but by the looks of these readings, I think he’ll be okay to move to a private room inside of six.”

The bio bed slid out of the machine, giving Len her first up-close look at Captain Pike since he’d landed in her ER. When he’d first arrived, his skin had looked like it was melting off his body, and his features were tight with pain. Now, his skin was smooth, and he looked like he was having a nice nap. The improvement was remarkable, and she was grateful all over again that she’d been the one to catch his case.

Christine moved a gurney up beside the bio bed, and they made quick work of transferring him over. Len attached a couple of monitors to his forehead, arms, and legs, and they wheeled him out of the treatment bay, down the hall, and into Recovery. Once there, they transferred him to a bio bed.

Len checked the monitors she’d attached, satisfied that they were functioning as they should. They were each about the size of an old-school quarter and were designed to monitor a patient’s biometrics, including immune response, in much greater detail than the bio bed could manage on its own.

Phil Boyce came around the corner into Pike’s recovery bay just as she was finishing tucking him in. They’d removed all his clothes, since they were saturated with Delta rays and ripped, torn, and burned through in some places. Given that he had what amounted to brand-new skin, they’d chosen not to try to dress him and risk irritating or damaging his skin.

“How’s he doing?” Phil asked quietly, in deference to the other patients in Recovery.

“Better than I expected,” Len said. She turned and leaned a hip against Pike’s bed, running a hand through her hair and huffing at how exhausted she felt. “The treatment took better than six hours, but he’s nearly fully healed. We’ll see how he does over the next few days. Depending on how his body responds, we may need to do one more cycle in the machine. I’m hoping he won’t need that, because that thing’s a brute-force option at best and he’s already so fragile.”

“I don’t disagree with your logic,” Phil said as he looked at his old friend. “He’ll pull through, largely because of your work. I’m just grateful you chose Starfleet all those years ago. He’d have died or been maimed for life if you hadn’t been here.”

“Permanently disabled would be my guess,” Len said by way of agreement, completely skipping over the gratitude. She hadn’t done it for the thanks; she’d done it because she couldn’t just leave it alone. “He still may face some challenges. Rehab’s gonna be a bitch, frankly, and he may not thank me for that. We had to basically regenerate most of his skin and musculature.”

“So, he’ll have to learn to walk again, is what you’re saying,” Phil said.

“Pretty much,” Len said, nodding. “The nerves will have to learn the new pathways to his muscles, and that’ll take time.”

“What are we talking here?” Phil asked. “Weeks? Months?”

“Months, at a minimum,” Len said. She let go a jaw-cracking yawn. “He’s young and fit, so he has that working for him, and his Sentinel genes will also help speed the healing process along, but it’ll still take time.”

“When’s the last time you had any rest?” Phil asked.

Len frowned, glancing at a chronometer. She couldn’t make sense of the readout, which was telling. “Hell, I don’t know. I was nearing the end of my shift in the ER when Pike came in.”

“Then you’re due a rest period,” Phil said. He grabbed her arm and practically frog-marched her out of Recovery. “You’re going down for at least six hours. More if you can manage it, but you need at least six.” Len opened her mouth to deliver a blistering retort, but Phil just held up a hand. “I will sedate you if I have to.”

“Right,” she said. She let Phil walk her into the room containing the rest pods that the doctors and nurses on this floor used for mandatory rest periods during long shifts. She hated them, but right about then she could have taken a nap on the main concourse of Starbase 1. “Where’s Christine?”

Phil waved at a pod just two down from the one he was opening for her. “She came out looking for some coffee. I sent her for some rest instead. The Recovery team will look after Chris and comm you if anything changes. I’ve agreed that they can funnel his readings to the screen in your pod, but only if you agree to get some rest.”

“Fine,” Len said, shedding her lab coat and boots. She was just going to sleep in her uniform and replicate a new one when she got up. “Just make sure you have some coffee on hand for me when I wake up. I’m going to need it, no matter how much rest I get.”

“Done,” Phil said. He looked at her as she slid into the bed. It was on the bottom, so at least she hadn’t had to climb a ladder like a kid at camp. Phil crouched down as she settled herself under the thin blanket in the pod. “Thank you. For the record, what you did today was incredible. I’m more grateful than I can say for everything you did for Chris.”

Len smiled. “I’d say I was just doing my job, but we both know that’s a lie. I may never have expected to find a Sentinel I’d want to bond with, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t want one. I just didn’t expect him to come in a Starfleet uniform ripped and burned to shreds.”

“He’ll be fine,” Phil said as he squeezed her arm. “What you don’t know about Chris is that he rarely accepts failure. He won’t take this lying down. You’ll probably have to rein him in at times, but he’ll work his ass off to get back into the fleet.”

“Well, that’s something, at least,” Len said.

She lay back and closed her eyes as Phil closed the pod, fully expecting to struggle to let go enough to fall asleep. Within seconds of her head hitting the pillow, she was out.

~0~

Cast (from top left):
Anson Mount, David Strathairn, Adrian Holmes, Jess Bush, Zachary Quinto, Sam Neill, Sela Ward, Jean Reno, Damian Lewis, Stana Katic