Lieutenant Nichelle Trova, Chief Medical Officer of the Cupertino and the Prophet-like entity that ruled sickbay, was scared, stressed and angry. And she leaned into her anger because that was a lot better than being scared, and somewhat preferable over being stressed. She thanked the prophets that at least the turbolifts were functional, even if the internal transporters had fallen victim to the several power surges that had ripped through the vessel. Nichelle still didn’t know what had happened, and how it could have happened, but that wasn’t relevant right now. 

She glanced down at the mangled body of Ricarda Keller, her friend. Someone she had spent years serving alongside, and who she shared a cup of tea with to complain about life whenever the opportunity arose. That was what she was focusing on. Everything else could wait. 

“Get out of the way”, she hissed at a crewmen standing in the way, and unceremoniously pushed him towards the nearest wall as the stretcher with Keller came through. They were used to it. She got away with being a jerk because she was a brilliant medical officer, meaning she didn’t have to be particularly nice to anyone. 

Sickbay was exactly like Nichelle had envisioned it. Crowded. The suddenness of whatever had happened had caught people off-guard (mostly because their new Captain had failed to alert the rest of the ship of any form of potential incoming danger) and had sent them crashing into walls, bulkheads, consoles and each other. From what she could glean, there were a several broken bones, cuts, bruises, and a few more severe cases that had been given priority. 

“Two of the biobeds and the surgical suite are offline”, called her ACMO, a very unhappy bit of news in an already unhappy situation. “Got it”, Nichelle called back, moving Keller to whatever bed was both available and functional. 

Several nurses attended to the Lieutenants moment immediate needs, giving Nichelle a moment to boss around her staff. “I want emergency protocols implement, and get me help from whoever has some sort of medical training and isn’t needed elsewhere. Get me the biobeds and surgical suite online, prio on the surgical suite, I don’t care how you do it. Get me an overview over casualties and fatalities, triage as usual, minor injuries into the recreational area.”

“Got it.”, was the response she got. The tone in sickbay was often a little rougher and no one minded, or at least the people who did mind decided that their feelings weren’t the most pressing matter to address right now. Which was also a typical sickbay-thing. 

Nichelle turned back to Keller, asking for a first assessment of the woman’s condition.  The monitor showed and elevated heart rate, irregular bleeding, and a high pulse combined with a worryingly low blood pressure. 

“The Lieutenant has sustained second-degree burns on her right arm and torso, multiple lacerations across her upper body, and a significant concussion from the impact. Her vitals are unstable, blood pressure critically low. There is extensive internal bleeding in the abdominal cavity, and there are several fractured ribs and a possible spinal contusion.”

Nichelle inhaled. None of this sounded great and was already difficult to sort out when everything else was working and everyone else was uninjured and available. 

She glanced at the display, where a detailed holographic image of Keller’s internal anatomy indicated the various traumas her body had sustained. Nichelle’s eyes zeroed in on the abdomen, where a bright red pulsing signal indicated the source of the internal bleeding.

“Right. What’s the bleeder in the abdominal cavity?”, she demanded, her voice sharp and authoritative.

“inferior mesenteric artery.”

“Can I have some sort of good news?”, Nichelle groaned. She would absolutely yell at Keller for that, which meant she’d have to make sure she survived, or there was no one to yell at. 

“We’re trying to get the surgical suite back online.”

“Try harder.”

Yeah, she wasn’t going to win the price for “most likeable department head” any time soon. 

“Focus the scan on the abdominal cavity,” Nichelle ordered. “I need a clear view of the damage”

The holographic image zoomed in, showing the torn and bleeding vessel that spurted blood into Keller’s abdomen with every beat of her heart, and with that deprived vital organs of their oxygen supply.

“There it is,” Nichelle muttered. “Prep the vascular regenerator.”

She held out her hand, and a moment later a sleek, silver device was deposited in it. Nichelle took it with steady hands, positioning it above the rupture.

“Initiating vascular regeneration,” she announced, sounding calm while feeling the exact opposite of calm. The regenerator emitted a soft hum as a thin beam of energy extended from its tip, precisely targeting the torn artery and sealing the damaged wall of the vessel. Nichelle’s eyes flicked between the holographic display and the actual wound, ensuring the repair was proceeding correctly.

“Blood pressure is rising, but still low.” 

The final section of the arterial wall knit together under the beam’s influence, and Nichelle sighed, her shoulders relaxing slightly.

“Bleeder is sealed,” she declared, handing the regenerator back to whom it had come from. “I need to flush the abdominal cavity, what’s the status on the surgical suite?” 

“Still offline.”

“Dammit! Okay, administer an anticoagulant!”, Nichelle hissed, knowing very well that it was a bandaid rather than an actual solution. The immediate danger to Keller’s life out of the way was a victory, but a very small one in the midst of the ongoing chaos.

They needed that surgical capacities back. Now. The other option was… 

“Is the stasis unit functioning?”, she asked, her frustration with the situation beyond evident. 

“Affirmative.”, responded one of her colleagues, and Nichelle gave a nod. “Prep it for Keller. Nothing we can do until my sickbay is working again.” 

She hated this. She knew that it reduced Keller’s chances for a full recovery – stasis was something she considered a last resort, and with the reduced capacities of a California-class ship’s sickbay, it had to be preserved for someone absolutely needing it. But now that she had made the decision, she would have to deal with the consequences when they arose – and for the moment, Keller would be safe. 

Okay, not safe. But at least not actively dying, which was an improvement. 

Turning away, she took a deep breath, pushing down the remnants of fear and stress. 

“Someone get me an update on the rest of the casualties.”

As her team moved to carry out her instructions, Nichelle spared one last glance at Keller. “You better pull through, Ricarda,” she whispered. “I still owe you a cup of tea and a lot of yelling.”