The USS Johnston’s sickbay had ceased to be just a room.

Dr Rob Maguire understood that before he reached the doors.

The corridor outside had become an extension of the medical department. Patients lay beneath emergency blankets against both bulkheads, separated by only a small amount for medical personnel to weave between them.

Some were sat upright, some were not.

A young operations officer held a compress against the side of another crewman’s neck while a med tech moved between them with a tricorder. Two biobeds had been moved into the corridor and connected to portable power units. One displayed a stable cardiac rhythm, the other sounded a warning every few seconds.

Smoke still lingered in the air despite the ships systems trying to clear it.

Maguire stopped beside one of the Johnston’s nurses, “This is overflow?”

She shook her head.

“This is triage.”

Maguire looked down the corridor, “What’s the overflow?”

She pointed as the doors to the sickbay opened.

Maguire stared. “oh.”

The main ward had been divided by a collapsed section of ceiling. Structural supports had been erected beneath the damaged overhead, forcing the medical staff to work around temporary braces and exposed conduits. Half the biobeds were occupied. Several more patients lay on portable diagnostic pallets between them.

A surgical bay at the far side had been sealed behind a forcefield where part of the bulkhead had ruptured.

Medical personnel moved constantly.

A doctor with blood on both sleeves moved from one patient to another without looking up. A corpsman was attaching a vascular regenerator to someone whose uniform had been cut away from the chest. Another nurse stood between three biobeds, monitoring all of them simultaneously.

Everyone knew what they were doing.

There were simply too many people who needed them to do it.

Maguire stepped into the room and opened his tricorder. “How long have you been operating like this?”

“Since the second attack,” the nurse replied.

“we need to get additional personnel,” he said tapping his commbadge. “Maguire to Horizon medical deck.”

The reply came immediately

“I’m here,” came the familiar voice of Chief Petty Officer Rebecca Thorne.”

“How many can you spare?”

“Define spare.”

Maguire almost smiled. The answer was exactly as she expected.

“I need another full field team. Two nurses, two medics, surgical kit and every portable diagnostic unit you can get over here.”

“That bad?”

Maguire looked across the room. An ensign was crying silently while a nurse repaired a burn down one side of her face. “Yes.”

Rebecca’s tone changed. “I’ll be there in four minutes.”

“Not you Chief, I need you to run the Hospital-deck”

The channel closed without another word. Maguire looked at his commbadge and the Johnston’s nurse beside him raised an eyebrow. “Your chief nurse?”

“Yes.”

“She sounds good.”

“She is.” Maguire said holstering his tricorder. “That’s often the problem.”

—–

On the Horizon, the Hospital deck had transformed itself.

The Excelsior II had been designated to provide extensive medical support during deep-space missions disaster relief and mass casualty situations. Most days, the capacity went unused.

Today every square metre mattered.

The primary ward was filling rapidly.

Additional biobeds had been activated along the auxiliary treatment area. Isolation rooms were being repurposed for surgery. Recovery compartments had become observation wards. Medical technicians moved equipment from storage while nurses received patients almost as quickly as the transporters could deliver them.

The transporter pattern flashed.

Two Johnston crewman appeared on receiving beds.

One immediately began convulsing.

A nurse caught him before he rolled from the bed.

“Neural trauma, get him to diagnostic two.”

Another bean activated beside them. A woman appeared already unconscious, her uniform cut open along one leg.

“Compound fracture and vascular damage.”

“Ward-three.”

Another transport.

Another patient.

Another decision.

Nobody announced that this may become overwhelming. They did not have the time.

A medical officer moved down the row of arriving patients with a PADD, assigning designations before the transporter effect had fully disappeared.

Green meant stable, Amber meant intervention soon, Red meant priority. Black was there too, nobody liked black.

The Horizon continued to receive them.

—–

Rebecca Thorne materialised inside the Johnston’s sickbay carrying a field pack. Two nurses and two medical techs appearing aside her. The first thing she heard was someone shouting form a plasma infusion. The second was an alarm. The third was Maguire. “You took an extra twenty seconds.”

“You were counting,” Rebecca replied looking around the room.

The humour disappeared. She had seen crowded medical wards before. She had seen battle casualties. She had worked aboard Starships where every available bed had been occupied and where corridors became treatment areas.

Rebecca dropped ger field kit onto an empty treatment trolly.

“Who’s senior?”

A weary woman in teal with Lieutenant’s pips looked up from a patient. “Dr Halden.”

“Where?” Rebecca replied.

“Surgical two.”

Maguire joined Rebecca. “She’s been operating since the attack.” He said.

Rebecca nodded, “How are they triaging?”

“Corridor, first pass. Critical in here. Immediate surgery to the observation lounge.”

“The observation lounge?”

“It apparently had the space.”

Maguire pointed towards the two nurses that arrived with Rebecca, “Have them reinformed the corridor triage.”

Rebecca looked at the technicians. “You two start identifying anyone stable enough to transfer immediately. Don’t repeat diagnostics unless something doesn’t match.”

One technician nodded, “What system are they using?”

Rebecca picked up a discarded patient marker from the edge of a biobed. “Theirs.”

They could have arrived and impost the Horizon’s protocols. Each ship was slightly different and the Horizon had newer equipment. Their personnel were fresh. Their sickbay had power, intact walls and more resources.

It would also have wasted ten minutes while every patient was reassessed and relabelled according to an unfamiliar process.

Rebecca stepped out into the corridor.

“Chief?”

The nurse who’d met Maguire looked toward her.

“Rebecca Thorne, Horizon, what do you need?”

The woman looked confused for a second, “Sorry?”

“Not what the patients need, you?”

The nurse stared at her.

Then looked around, “people.”

Rebecca nodded. “They, we can do.”

She pointed towards the junction down the corridor. “What’s through there?”

“Crew lounge, briefing rooms.”

“Power?”

“Yes”

Rebecca looked at one of the nurses. “Congratulations, you’ve got a new ward.”

The nurse smiled.

Rebecca turned back to the Johnston’s nurse. “Stable patients go into the lounge for transporter staging. Amber cases into the first briefing room. Anything likely to deteriorate stays within sight of medical staff.”

The woman blinked, then nodded. Then they all started moving.

—–

The first twenty patients left the Johnston in six minutes. The twenty first did not.

Rebecca was kneeling beside a young security officer when Maguire called her name. Not loudly. That caught her attention faster if anything. She looked up.

Maguire stood beside one of the portable biobeds being pushed through Sickbay.

A Klingon lay on it.

He was older, with heavy ridges and greying hair swept back from his face. His ceremonial clothing had been cut open across the abdomen. A medical stabilisation field shimmered over a wound beneath his ribs.

Councillor Torvak.

Rebecca recognised him from the passenger manifest.

One of the doctors walked alongside the bed. “Internal haemorrhage,” she said. “Multiple organ damage. We stabilised the lover but there’s extensive vascular trauma.”

Maguire scanned him.

“His pressure’s falling.”

“He needs surgery.”

“So, transport him.”

The doctor nodded towards the corridor.

“Transporter staging is backed up.”

Rebecca stood.

“I’ll clear it.”

A voice behind her stopped her.

“You will treat him here.”

Rebecca turned.

Ambassador K’Vagh stood near the doors.

He was taller than she expected. His diplomatic robes had been replaced by a Starfleet emergency blanket wrapped over his damaged tunic. Dried blook marked one side of his face.

Two Klingon officers stood behind him.

One was injured badly enough to be leaning against the wall.

Rebecca looked back at Torvak.

“He needs facilities we have aboard the Horizon.”

K’Vagh stepped closer.

“Then your doctors will attend him before the other.”

“No.”

The word came without force. That seemed to surprise him more than anger would have. His expression hardened. “Do you have any idea who lies there?”

“Yes.”

“Councillor Torvak represents one of the most influential Houses of the Empire.”

Rebecca glanced toward the security officer lying three meters away with a chest wound. “and that man?”

K’Vagh followed her gaze and then his eyes returned to her. “This mission has consequences beyond that of this ship and its crew.”

“I’m sure it does.”

“If Torvak dies…..”

“The I will be very sorry.” She said.

“You would allow a councillor of the Klingon Empire die while treating junior officers?”

Rebecca looked directed at him. “I will treat the patient most likely to die without immediate intervention.”

The corridor went quiet around them. Rebecca continued.

“If that is Councillor Torvak, he goes first. If it is a junior officer, then they go first. This is triage, Ambassador.”

“You speak boldly.”

“No.” Rebecca adjusted Torvak’s biobed. “I’m speaking medically.”

For several seconds, K’Vagh stared at her then looked to the security officer.

“What…. Is his chance?”

“On this ship?” Rebecca looked at Maguire.

“Not good.” Maguire answered.

“On the Horizon,” Rebecca continued. “Not good.”

K’vagh nodded and stepped aside. “Then why are we still talking.”

Rebecca smiled once. “Excellent question.”

She then pointed to the waiting medical techs, “Move him.”

—–

The transporter team got the next group ready. Torvak was amongst them. They disappeared from the chaos of the Johnston and a few seconds later they Horizon reported successful arrival.

Rebecca was already looking at the next patient. Maguire appeared at her side.

“You enjoyed that.”

Rebecca did not look up. “No.” she said with a smile.

The patient Rebecca was examining was breathing too quickly. Rebecca ran the scanner over his chest.

“Pulmonary damage.”

“Transport?” Maguire asked.

“Not yet, he’ll destabilise during transport.”

Maguire checked the readings. Rebecca was right. He sighed, “I hate it when you do that.”

“Be correct?”

“Yes.”

“Occupational hazard.”

Together they began treatment.

—–

The Johnston’s warp core made a sound that warp cores were not supposed to make. Not a loud noise and that worried Lt Cdr Rynka Korren even more. The low harmonic rolled through main engineering.

Lieutenant Hesh watched the diagnostic display change. “Magnetic constrictor three is drifting again.”

“I can see that.”

The Johnston’s chief engineer Lt Cdr Tomas, stood on Korren’s opposite side. “Can we isolate the injector?”

“No,” Korren replied.

Tomas looked irritated. “We’ve already isolated two.”

“Yes.”

“The why not three.”

“Because the core will collapse.”

Tomas stared as Korren brought up the schematic on the display. The Ambassador class system was older than the Horizon’s, but the principles had not changed.

Matter.

Antimatter.

Control.

Precision.

The machinery did not care whether the ship carrying it had been launched yesterday or forty years ago.

“When your port EPS trunk failed.” Korren said, “The regulation system compensated through the starboard network.

Tomas nodded.

“Then the attack severed your secondary coolant feeds. So your injectors are compensating too.”

Hesh looked at the schematic, “That is an accurate description.”

Korren pointed at him. “Do not sound too impressed Lieutenant.”

“I meant…..”

“I know what you meant.”

Another vibration moved through the deck. Hesh’s expression changed as he watched the readout on the display. “Commander.”

Korren saw it. Containment had dipped for a second before recovering again.

“There is the ejection option.”

Tomas looked at him. “What?”

Hesh shook his head, “never mind, the ejection rail is misaligned.”

Korren moved to his console.

“How much?”

Hesh enlarged the structural scan. The answer appeared.

Korren swore.

Tomas leaned towards the display. “That can’t be right.”

“It is.”

“The hull would have to….”

“yes.”

The attack had distorted the structural frame surrounding Main Engineering. Not enough to collapse it but enough to matter. Korren traced the damage with one finger. “If we eject the core, it won’t release cleanly.”

Tomas went still.

Hesh finished the thought. “It would strike the hull and likely detonate.”

They all knew what happened after that.

Korren tapped her commbadge, “Korren to Horizon.”

Captain Tahlari Vahl was still watching the Johnston when the call arrived.”

“Vahl here.”

“we have a problem.”

Vahl glanced toward Ty’ler. “Only one?”

Korren ignored that. “Their core is stable in the technical sense that it’s not exploded.”

Vahl remained expressionless, “I assume there’s another sense?”

“Yes. The useful one.”

Korren’s voice became more serious. “W cannot shit the core down cleanly. Antimatter regulation is damaged, coolant flow is unstable and their containment system is compensating across too many failed networks. We have forty seven minutes”

The bridge stilled. Vahl looked at the chronometer.

“Until?”

“Until containment degradation become irreversible.”

Ty’ler turned in her seat. “Can you eject the core.”

“No.”

“Why not,”

“The damaged to the Johnston is too extensive. If we attempt it, it may likely destroy the ship.” Korren explained.

Rio looked back from the helm. “That would…”

“Yes,” Korren said. “It would.”

Vahl stood, “what do you need.”

“People, and forty-eight minutes.”

“You said we had forty-seven.”

“I know.”

The channel closed.

Vahl looked towards the damaged ship. One minute short. Somehow that felt very much like Korren.

—–

Cdr Rupert Cavendish stood at the rear of the Johnston’s bridge with three deck plans open across the auxiliary console.

“Damage control team four has reached deck ten,” he said.

Cdr Erica Keating stood beside him. “Casualties?”

“Seven alive. Two require transport immediately.”

Keating happed her combadge. “Bridge to transporter control. Deck ten, section seventeen. To emergency medical transports.”

The response came back beneath static. “Stand by.”

Keating looked towards Cavendish’s display. “Deck eleven”?

“Still inaccessible from the forward section,” he replied.

“There’s a Jefferies route?”

“Collapsed.”

“Other side?”

“Atmosphere vented.”

Keating swore softly. Cavendish shifted the schematic.

“Damage-control six can approach from twelve and cut upward.”

“That puts them beside this plasma fire.”

Captain Sand turned in her command chair to face the pair. “How many are still trapped?”

Cavendish checked. “Thirty-one confirmed, but there may be more.”

Sand pushed herself upright. She had finally allowed a medic to seal the cut at her temple. She had not allowed them to do anything else though.

“Get them out.” She ordered.

Keating nodded. Cavendish was already opening the channel. Then another voice but in across the bridge.

“USS Horizon to Cdr Cavendish.”

Cavendish stopped. Keating looked at him and Captain Sand looked amused despite everything. “Well,” she said. “I suspect that one is for you.”

Cavendish opened the channel, “Cavendish here.”

Captain Vahl’s voice answered. “Commander, Engineering has revised the Johnston’s condition. We have forty-seven minutes before the warp core reaches irreversible containment failure.”

Across the bridge, several officers heard.

Nobody stopped working.

Cavendish looked towards Sand, her expression remained composed.

“Understood,” he said. “there are still thirty-one crew unaccounted for in damaged sections.”

On the Horizon, Vahl looked at the empty chair beside her. She had expected her first officer to occupy it sometime today. Instead, he was standing on another bridge assisting in the rescue of another ships crew. At that moment she knew something about him not in his service record.

“Understood Commander, “she said. “carry on.”

“Aye captain.”

The channel closed.

Cavendish turned to Keating. “Team six has reached deck twelve.”

Keating looked at him for another second then she nodded. “Tell them to cut upward.”

Outside, the Horizon held position beside the wounded Johnston. Transporters working continuously between them. Patients disappeared from crowded corridors and reappeared beneath the bright lights of the Horizon’s Hospital Deck. Engineers worked beneath an unstable warp core. Damage-control teams crawled through broken sections of a damaged starship.

And on both ships, officers watched clocks moving towards forty-seven minutes.

The living came first. Everything else would have to wait.