Just a little something I wrote for the monthly challenge at Ad Astra...
Sometime in 2385
Federation Camp Hope
North Torr District, Torr Sector, Cardassia City, Cardassia Prime
I, Kalen Varayk…
Lieutenant JG Varayk blinked quickly, sweat burning his eyes as it dripped profusely from his forehead, spilling over his eyeridges. Focus. All around him was a cacophony of alerts: explosion warnings, patient status indicators, triage nurses shouting out priorities.
...swear to fulfill, to the best of my ability and judgment, this covenant:
He reached up with his left arm, swiping futilely away at the sweat with one sleeve of his Starfleet uniform. The action transferred thick swaths of dust to his face, muddying his brow.
I will respect the hard-won scientific gains of those physicians in whose steps I walk...
On the biobed before him, his patient was blessedly unconscious. Varayk’s quick mind surveyed the readouts, noting that they patient was in hypovolemic shock. Given the grievous nature of his wounds, that was expected.
...and gladly share such knowledge as is mine with those who are to follow.
“Doctor, should I prep for surgery?” the medic beside him asked. Around the trio, the medical facility shook. There would be more patients soon enough. Some would be like the one in the bed in front of Varayk. Others would wear the same uniform Varayk did. As if summoned, another explosion came, this one closer.
I will apply, for the benefit of the sick, all measures which are required...
“Yes,” Varayk answered, having already donned his surgical garb, and walked through the sanitizing field. A quick check of the ORs had found them all full. His hands moved quickly over the console, erecting a containment field that would maintain privacy and sanitation.
...avoiding those twin traps of overtreatment and therapeutic nihilism.
When the medic returned, the vascular regenerator was already in Varayk’s hands. Until the flow of blood from the femoral artery was staunched, little else mattered. “Check the stores, see if we have a matching synthetic substitute,” he directed.
I will remember that there is art to medicine as well as science, and that warmth, sympathy, and understanding may outweigh the surgeon's knife or the chemist's drug.
It was harder than usual to focus. His patient had a uniform that marked him as an enemy, but a face that mirrored Varayk’s. He wasn’t sure if his hands were shaking, or if Cardassia herself shook. Just hold together a little longer, he thought, and even Varayk was uncertain whether he referred to himself, his patient, or the planet.
I will not be ashamed to say "I know not…”
By the time the medic returned, the primary source of blood loss had been addressed, and Varayk had moved on to the lesser wounds. “We’re nearly out,” the medic said, her eyes wide as saucers as she began the transfusion.
...nor will I fail to call in my colleagues when the skills of another are needed for a patient's recovery.
The patient’s leg was being held on by threads, and the knee joint had been destroyed. Varayk’s experience was in trauma, but this was too much. He was used to having more resources.
I will respect the privacy of my patients, for their problems are not disclosed to me that the world may know.
“I can’t do this,” he muttered, his eyes darting around the clinic. Where were the other doctors? You’re wasting time. Even with the most severe wound tended to, his patient was still bleeding out faster than the transfusion could replenish.
Most especially must I tread with care in matters of life and death.
“Where was he found?” Varayk asked, his voice possessing a calm that was entirely fake. Certain racial advantages were beneficial regardless of the situation.
The medic paused before answering. “Near the first bomb. He’d ducked behind a corner.” He’d known it was coming. Probably placed it there himself. Meanwhile, the blood pressure and heart rate alerts continued their disquieting whine.
If it is given me to save a life, all thanks.
Impulsively, his hand went for an osteoregenerator, but he caught himself, and continued his work with the vascular regenerator. Life, or limb, he thought. Could he save the limb without losing the life in the process?
But it may also be within my power to take a life; this awesome responsibility must be faced with great humbleness and awareness of my own frailty.
No one would fault him if the patient perished. Varayk would have made a judgement call; something doctors did every day. All he needed was to work on the limb…
While his mind battled, the explosions continued outside, and his hands continued their work on his patient. How many of my friends and colleagues has he killed? “Medic, tourniquet.” If only he had more supplies… but the clinic had been under attack for weeks, and everything was in precious short supply.
Above all, I must not play at God.
While the medic tied a tourniquet about the patient’s upper leg, Varayk reached for his exoscalpel. First do no harm, he thought, as he began to cut away at the flesh that still attached the tattered remains of the lower limb.
I will remember that I do not treat a fever chart, a cancerous growth…
He cast the dismembered limb aside, lacking a better way to be rid of it at the moment, and went to work closing the wound. He was all duty; duty to Starfleet, duty to the Oaths he’d taken...
...but a sick sentient being, whose illness may affect the person's family and economic stability.
...duty to his own kind, however misguided they might be.
My responsibility includes these related problems, if I am to care adequately for the sick
“I think that’s all the critical wounds,” Varayk said after a moment, looking again at the blood pressure readouts. They weren’t great, but they’d stopped declining.
I will prevent disease whenever I can, for prevention is preferable to cure.
“We’re going to need more blood,” the medic commented. “On minimal power we can’t replicate the synthetics, and I doubt we’ll find willing donors from the surrounding area.” It was something Varayk knew all too well. Civilians didn’t aid terrorists if they didn’t need to.
I will remember that I remain a member of society, with special obligations to all my fellow sentient beings..
“I’m a match,” Varayk said calmly, looking around the infirmary. For the moment, it seemed as though things had calmed down. It must be noon, Varayk thought. With the heat wave that had been effecting Cardassia, everyone took cover for the hottest part of the day. “Go get a transfusion kit.” The medic seemed concerned, but complied.
...those sound of mind and body as well as the infirm.
The doors to the clinic were forced open, and Varayk reached for the phaser he loathed to carry at his side. He relaxed when Starfleet personnel accompanied by Cardassian military officers appeared. A small cheer broke out amongst those healthy enough to do so. Finally.
If I do not violate this oath, may I enjoy life and art, respected while I live and remembered with affection thereafter.
As the Starfleet personnel worked to assist the facility’s medical staff, the Cardassian military took defensive positions near the door. The medic began drawing blood from Varayk, as the leader of the Starfleet group approached Varayk. “Are you alright, doctor?” the Commander asked, then put together what was transpiring based on the device the medic carried, and the status of the nearest patient.
“But… he’s True Way?”
May I always act so as to preserve the finest traditions of my calling and may I long experience the joy of healing those who seek my help.
“He is. But if he dies here, he dies a terrorist. I can only hope my kindness and sense of duty will inspire him to a better fate.”
Sometime in 2385
Federation Camp Hope
North Torr District, Torr Sector, Cardassia City, Cardassia Prime
I, Kalen Varayk…
Lieutenant JG Varayk blinked quickly, sweat burning his eyes as it dripped profusely from his forehead, spilling over his eyeridges. Focus. All around him was a cacophony of alerts: explosion warnings, patient status indicators, triage nurses shouting out priorities.
...swear to fulfill, to the best of my ability and judgment, this covenant:
He reached up with his left arm, swiping futilely away at the sweat with one sleeve of his Starfleet uniform. The action transferred thick swaths of dust to his face, muddying his brow.
I will respect the hard-won scientific gains of those physicians in whose steps I walk...
On the biobed before him, his patient was blessedly unconscious. Varayk’s quick mind surveyed the readouts, noting that they patient was in hypovolemic shock. Given the grievous nature of his wounds, that was expected.
...and gladly share such knowledge as is mine with those who are to follow.
“Doctor, should I prep for surgery?” the medic beside him asked. Around the trio, the medical facility shook. There would be more patients soon enough. Some would be like the one in the bed in front of Varayk. Others would wear the same uniform Varayk did. As if summoned, another explosion came, this one closer.
I will apply, for the benefit of the sick, all measures which are required...
“Yes,” Varayk answered, having already donned his surgical garb, and walked through the sanitizing field. A quick check of the ORs had found them all full. His hands moved quickly over the console, erecting a containment field that would maintain privacy and sanitation.
...avoiding those twin traps of overtreatment and therapeutic nihilism.
When the medic returned, the vascular regenerator was already in Varayk’s hands. Until the flow of blood from the femoral artery was staunched, little else mattered. “Check the stores, see if we have a matching synthetic substitute,” he directed.
I will remember that there is art to medicine as well as science, and that warmth, sympathy, and understanding may outweigh the surgeon's knife or the chemist's drug.
It was harder than usual to focus. His patient had a uniform that marked him as an enemy, but a face that mirrored Varayk’s. He wasn’t sure if his hands were shaking, or if Cardassia herself shook. Just hold together a little longer, he thought, and even Varayk was uncertain whether he referred to himself, his patient, or the planet.
I will not be ashamed to say "I know not…”
By the time the medic returned, the primary source of blood loss had been addressed, and Varayk had moved on to the lesser wounds. “We’re nearly out,” the medic said, her eyes wide as saucers as she began the transfusion.
...nor will I fail to call in my colleagues when the skills of another are needed for a patient's recovery.
The patient’s leg was being held on by threads, and the knee joint had been destroyed. Varayk’s experience was in trauma, but this was too much. He was used to having more resources.
I will respect the privacy of my patients, for their problems are not disclosed to me that the world may know.
“I can’t do this,” he muttered, his eyes darting around the clinic. Where were the other doctors? You’re wasting time. Even with the most severe wound tended to, his patient was still bleeding out faster than the transfusion could replenish.
Most especially must I tread with care in matters of life and death.
“Where was he found?” Varayk asked, his voice possessing a calm that was entirely fake. Certain racial advantages were beneficial regardless of the situation.
The medic paused before answering. “Near the first bomb. He’d ducked behind a corner.” He’d known it was coming. Probably placed it there himself. Meanwhile, the blood pressure and heart rate alerts continued their disquieting whine.
If it is given me to save a life, all thanks.
Impulsively, his hand went for an osteoregenerator, but he caught himself, and continued his work with the vascular regenerator. Life, or limb, he thought. Could he save the limb without losing the life in the process?
But it may also be within my power to take a life; this awesome responsibility must be faced with great humbleness and awareness of my own frailty.
No one would fault him if the patient perished. Varayk would have made a judgement call; something doctors did every day. All he needed was to work on the limb…
While his mind battled, the explosions continued outside, and his hands continued their work on his patient. How many of my friends and colleagues has he killed? “Medic, tourniquet.” If only he had more supplies… but the clinic had been under attack for weeks, and everything was in precious short supply.
Above all, I must not play at God.
While the medic tied a tourniquet about the patient’s upper leg, Varayk reached for his exoscalpel. First do no harm, he thought, as he began to cut away at the flesh that still attached the tattered remains of the lower limb.
I will remember that I do not treat a fever chart, a cancerous growth…
He cast the dismembered limb aside, lacking a better way to be rid of it at the moment, and went to work closing the wound. He was all duty; duty to Starfleet, duty to the Oaths he’d taken...
...but a sick sentient being, whose illness may affect the person's family and economic stability.
...duty to his own kind, however misguided they might be.
My responsibility includes these related problems, if I am to care adequately for the sick
“I think that’s all the critical wounds,” Varayk said after a moment, looking again at the blood pressure readouts. They weren’t great, but they’d stopped declining.
I will prevent disease whenever I can, for prevention is preferable to cure.
“We’re going to need more blood,” the medic commented. “On minimal power we can’t replicate the synthetics, and I doubt we’ll find willing donors from the surrounding area.” It was something Varayk knew all too well. Civilians didn’t aid terrorists if they didn’t need to.
I will remember that I remain a member of society, with special obligations to all my fellow sentient beings..
“I’m a match,” Varayk said calmly, looking around the infirmary. For the moment, it seemed as though things had calmed down. It must be noon, Varayk thought. With the heat wave that had been effecting Cardassia, everyone took cover for the hottest part of the day. “Go get a transfusion kit.” The medic seemed concerned, but complied.
...those sound of mind and body as well as the infirm.
The doors to the clinic were forced open, and Varayk reached for the phaser he loathed to carry at his side. He relaxed when Starfleet personnel accompanied by Cardassian military officers appeared. A small cheer broke out amongst those healthy enough to do so. Finally.
If I do not violate this oath, may I enjoy life and art, respected while I live and remembered with affection thereafter.
As the Starfleet personnel worked to assist the facility’s medical staff, the Cardassian military took defensive positions near the door. The medic began drawing blood from Varayk, as the leader of the Starfleet group approached Varayk. “Are you alright, doctor?” the Commander asked, then put together what was transpiring based on the device the medic carried, and the status of the nearest patient.
“But… he’s True Way?”
May I always act so as to preserve the finest traditions of my calling and may I long experience the joy of healing those who seek my help.
“He is. But if he dies here, he dies a terrorist. I can only hope my kindness and sense of duty will inspire him to a better fate.”
