Spirit Walk_ Old Wounds (Book 1) - Christie Golden [32]
He chuckled to himself, wondering if that was really Jarem’s thinking or Gradak’s, or maybe even the poet Radara’s. He was all of these, and yet he was his own man. Jarem very much enjoyed being a joined Trill, and not for the first time thought how fortunate he had been.
The whistling died in his throat as he recalled the circumstances under which that joining had come about. Most joined Trill who were about to receive a symbiont transplant lay beside the dying former host, so he knew his experience was not unique. But this had been no peaceful passing. Gradak hadn’t wanted to die, hadn’t needed to die.
Shouldn’t have died….
“Medical emergency,” came the voice of Captain Lanham. The ship was already on red alert. “Sickbay, prepare to receive injured.”
“Understood,” snapped Jarem, running his hands under the sanitizing light. “How many?” His team began preparing even as he spoke, readying tricorders, assembling medications, prepping the biobeds, opening overflow cots.
“Sixteen,” came the reply.
Kaz didn’t ask who the injured were, where they had come from, how they came to be wounded. He didn’t care. There would be time for that later. Right now, he was a doctor, and all that mattered was healing them if he could.
He heard the hum of the transporter. The wounded filled all the beds and some materialized on the floor. Quickly he and the nurses helped these to the cots. Some of the injured were conscious, with only minor injuries that Jarem’s experienced eye recognized as being caused by phaser fire. Others were in much worse shape.
The transporter hummed again and more patients materialized. Jarem went cold inside as they shimmered into existence.
“Oh no,” he breathed, sickened by the sight. Lying on the floor, burned and bloody, were several children. What had happened to them? What kind of depraved being would direct phaser fire on children?
He barked orders for a triage setup. His team assessed the injuries and immediately got to work on the worst of the injured. Even as he concentrated on setting up a blood infusion for a Bolian, he took a quick mental inventory of the races: mostly human, a few Bolians, and some Bajorans.
And then he understood. These were Maquis. But Maquis who had their families with them….
“Doctor, you’d better see this,” came a strained voice from one of his nurses.
“What?” he snapped as he monitored the Bolian. Good, he was stabilizing now that Jarem had hooked him up to the plasma infusion unit and closed his wounds with an autosuture. When the nurse didn’t reply, Jarem turned around irritably—and went pale.
Clad in the odd, mismatched clothing typical of the Maquis and lying unconscious on one of the cots was a Trill.
Jarem’s mouth went dry. He motioned to one of the nurses to finish up with the Bolian. Quickly, Jarem scanned the Trill. His injuries were extensive; he would not survive. Worse, he was joined. Both the host and the symbiont were in danger of death now.
Kaz licked his lips. “Computer, activate the Emergency Medical Hologram.”
The balding, slightly annoyed-looking hologram appeared. “Please state the nature of the medical emergency.”
“We have a joined Trill who’s not going to make it,” Kaz said. “You have to remove the symbiont and prepare it for transport to Trill.” Briefly, Jarem pressed the dying Trill’s hand, then turned his attention back to the other patients.
Sighing as if he were being dreadfully put upon, the EMH scanned the Trill.
“The symbiont has been traumatized,” he said in a crisp, impersonal voice. “It will not survive the trip. You are correct in your assessment that the host also will not survive.” Perfunctorily, he pulled a sheet over the still-breathing Trill and eyed the room full of injured. “Perhaps