Tapiola moves slowly out of the region of the former Stygmalian Rift. For once, we are not just moving slowly by comparison with our consorts. We are moving slowly, because we are towing King Estmere and Falcon behind us, while their engineering teams try desperately to restore them to functionality.
Falcon's problem is the extirpation of the stubborn remnants of the Borg computer virus; I have every confidence that Commander Saval and his teams will be successful. I am less sanguine about the King Estmere, which suffered multiple systems failures during the annihilation of the Rift entity. It was already something of a miracle that the carrier had survived the Warhammer's warp cannon, and the further damage incurred makes her situation extremely problematical.
The appearance on sensors of the medical support vessel USS Edward Jenner is a welcome one, if not entirely a surprise. The Jenner is one of a number of support vessels routed near the Rift in case their services might be needed. Given the number of casualties aboard the King Estmere, our medical facilities are taxed to their limits, and further assistance is most welcome.
Besides which, the specialist equipment on the medical ship may be of great use to the two casualties who most significantly concern me.
"The first is an Andorian alpha-female - a shen, I believe is the correct terminology," I say to the Jenner's chief medical officer, as their shuttle is unloaded. "Serious impact injuries, concentrated on the upper body, broken ribs and associated trauma to the lungs."
"Takes a lot to break Andorian ribs." The CMO looks down at Tylha's pallid face, motions to orderlies to take the AG stretcher away. "Prep for thoracic surgery in Theatre Two, cross-match for Andorian blood - all we have available, by the looks of it. And the other one?"
"Human female with extensive Borg implants. I am on less certain ground when it comes to the nature of her injuries. Massive, distributed neurogenic shock, certainly, coupled with malfunctions and damage to those implants... beyond that, there are complicating factors I can only guess at."
"Hmm." The doctor peers at Ronnie Grau's waxen features. She is barely breathing. "We'll take her to specialist assessment, first. But we'll certainly have to pull some of those implants. Make a note to begin cloned-tissue replacements.... All right. Let's make sure the paperwork's in order, anyway. Vice Admiral Tylha Shohl... Vice Admiral Veronika Grau...."
For a moment, Ronnie's one eye opens, and she says, in a small but quite clear voice, "Oh, call me Ronnie, everyone does." Then the eye closes again.
I can only hope it is a good sign.
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