Frigid Duty

Posted on Wed Jan 22nd, 2025 @ 7:54pm by Lieutenant Ame Solis M.D.

Mission: Pandora's Box
Location: USS Athena: Sickbay
Timeline: MD6
1238 words - 2.5 OF Standard Post Measure

OOC Trigger Warnings: Emotional Distress, Death, Graphic Medical Descriptions

The outside of sickbay was deceptively quiet, its privacy glass charged to obscure the view within, accompanied by the steady glow of a warning light. To an unsuspecting passer-by, it offered no hint of the gravity behind the barrier, no glimpse of the tasks unfolding in solemnity. Inside, life moved in subdued ripples, NVeid oversaw Zade’s recovery following the strain of her questioning, the rhythmic hum of monitors a faint backdrop. With her colleague in capable hands, Ame knew it was the moment she had been dreading. The perfect time to face the task she wished she could avoid.

Ame stood frozen before the door to refrigerated storage, her hand hovering beside the control panel. The confirmation to open it was just a touch away, but her fingers refused to move. The tightness in her chest climbed into her throat, making each breath shallow. Inside lay the young Bajoran she'd sent drinks to just days ago. A vibrant presence who had filled the air with laughter as he fumbled through simulated Jefferies tubes, his smile bright despite the ridiculousness of chicken-optic enhancements. Now, he was here. Silent. Still.

This wasn’t the first time she'd conducted a cause-of-death review for someone she knew. It wouldn’t be the last. But this time, it was different. It was a friend. Her fingers hovered again, trembling slightly before making contact with the panel. The door unsealed with a soft mechanical hiss, releasing a faint mist of cold air. Ame curled her fingers around the edge and pulled it open, the door gliding easily.

He was barely recognisable. Soft sandy curls framed his face, eyes closed in finality, the familiar nose ridges like her own. The sight of his pallid skin sent a pang through her. His cheeks, once flushed with embarrassment or laughter, were now pale and mottled with bruises. Her lips pressed tightly together as though trapping her emotions could stop them from spilling out.

Frustration stirred, a bitter edge to her grief. His father’s demands, the unnecessary risk. It all felt so avoidable. Or would it have just been someone else? Either way, Iska had chosen to protect Didrea, giving his life for hers. That selflessness, that bravery. It made him a hero. She exhaled slowly, grounding herself as she focused on the task at hand. There was no room for hesitation now. Compared to this, dealing with Jackson felt like a leisurely walk on the holodeck.

With steady hands, she extended the drawer fully and retrieved her medical tricorder. The quiet hum of the device became her anchor as she began her work. Her voice, calm but laced with quiet reverence, recorded the details.

“Cranial fractures and subdural haematoma suggest traumatic brain injury caused by the explosion’s shockwave. Contusions on the left side of the face and minor lacerations likely resulted from debris or secondary impacts.” She paused, her scanning node sweeping methodically over the injuries. These alone would have rendered him unconscious, possibly before the pain could register. Adrenaline and shock often blurred the boundaries of suffering, and for that, she was quietly thankful.

Her breath hitched as the scanner moved lower, revealing the charred, waxy texture of full-thickness burns across his neck and shoulders. The skin had fused with the remnants of his uniform despite the care taken to remove it. “Ensign Iska sustained approximately 35% third-degree burns across his back, shoulders, and flank, with an additional 10% second-degree burns in adjacent areas.” She steadied her voice, though her chest tightened again, and cleared her throat.

The external wounds were only part of the story. The deeper trauma told of a violent end. Internal punctures and crushing injuries revealed the brutal force he’d endured. “Multiple rib fractures have caused organ perforations, with evidence of pneumothorax and haemothorax.”

She paused, lowering the scanner as her gaze rested on the mottled bruises along his cheek and the burns scarring his sides. In her mind, the same refrain repeated: he hadn’t felt this. He had been unconscious. Protected, in some small way, from the full horror of his injuries.

Ame dipped her head, closing her eyes briefly as if to gather strength, willing the weight of her emotions to remain contained. The task wasn’t finished, and he deserved her professionalism now, even as her heart ached. With a slow, steadying exhale, she brought herself back to the present, resuming the seemingly endless scan.

The tricorder’s readout illuminated more injuries, each one a testament to the violence he had endured. “Intrathoracic foreign bodies detected, likely debris or shrapnel from the explosion site.” Her voice was calm, but the weight of her words seemed to hang heavy in the cold air.

The damage wasn’t confined to his torso. His arms and legs bore their own tragic story, the marks of his final, selfless actions. “Bilateral fractures are present: the right humerus and the left radius and ulna. These appear to be protective injuries, consistent with an effort to shield or push Lieutenant Zade clear. This is supported by matching contusions noted during her initial treatment.”

Her attention shifted lower, to his legs. The right showed extensive trauma, a grim reminder of the chaos he faced. “The right leg displays multiple fractures along the femur, tibia, and fibula. Heavy contusions cover the thigh and calf, indicative of sustained pressure from a significant weight. Fracture patterns suggest a crush injury rather than an isolated impact, with sharp bone fragments creating puncture wounds through the surrounding muscle and skin. Given the extent and distribution of these injuries, it is likely the leg was pinned beneath debris during the explosion.”

She continued with the scan, whilst there were more injuries that would be noted by the act there was nothing more that needed to be highlighted. “Shrapnel samples will be collected for analysis. Based on the catalogue of injuries Ensign Iska received, I believe the cause of death to be a combination of traumatic brain injury and acute haemorrhagic shock. The cranial fractures and subdural haematoma indicate fatal damage likely inflicted during the initial explosion. This, combined with extensive internal bleeding from rib fractures and organ perforations, would have led to rapid circulatory collapse. The severity of the burns and crush injuries contributed to the systemic trauma but were secondary to the catastrophic internal damage. Death would have been swift, and unconsciousness preceding it spared him from prolonged suffering. Computer, end recording.”

Ame exhaled softly, the scanner lowering as her gaze lingered on him. She set the device aside and hesitated, her hand hovering before gently brushing against his cheek. The coolness of his skin beneath her fingers contrasted sharply with the warmth of his memory. The laughter, the life he had brought to her in the short time she had known him. He was more than the injuries catalogued in her report, more than the lifeless form before her.

“You deserved more than this,” she murmured, her voice soft and heavy with sorrow. Her fingers lingered a moment longer, as though the gesture could convey the respect and care he deserved. Ame let her hand slip to rest briefly on his, a silent farewell before she stepped back to close the storage drawer. The quiet hiss of its seal marked the end of her duty, but not the end of her grief.