Breath Control

Scene 7

"It does work under laboratory conditions, Doctor, but it has not, as yet, been tested on a living being."

"There are several hundred infected people on this world, Lieutenant, me being one of them. We have to move out of laboratory sometime, don't we?"

Tashar nodded. "That is logical, however–"

"I'm forced to go on record as saying I think this is a bad idea, Doctor." The admiral's stiff, almost Vulcan voice reached out of the open communicator on the desk. "You are the expert on this bacterium. If this doesn't work–"

"With respect, admiral, if this doesn't work, we won't be any worse off than we were before testing. If it doesn't work, nothing will happen, I'll still be infected, and I'll still need to work hard to find a real solution." She looked at her still uninfected Vulcan nurse. "Is that correct, Lieutenant?"

"Available data indicates that you are correct, Doctor, but I am forced to concede it is laboratory data and there may be factors in a living patient we have failed to consider. However, I anticipate you ignoring my objection and so must insist on being the one to administer the treatment."

"Admiral?"

A long pause. A long, long pause. "Very well, you may proceed. Switch to a view screen, however. I would like to monitor the treatment as it occurs." Not unreasonable, Chapel supposed, considering the amount of time it would actually take. She nodded to Hennely. A small view screen on the long medical center war came to life, and the admiral's pale face filled it, dark-haired, shot through with just a few bits of white, tied back and under control. "Proceed."

Chapel lay down on the recently vacated diagnostic bed, her first patient moved to Murphy's cot. She heard the systems pick up her own readings and tried hard not to crane her neck to look at the display. Tashar leaned over, slanted eyebrows pushing towards each other over the bridge of her nose. "You understand this is a multistep treatment, Doctor."

"I do."

"The first injection will serve to intensify your heart rate. As soon as you feel it take hold, as we are seeking maximum efficacy, you must exhale as fully as possible and not inhale again until I tell you, under the assumption that the pathogen is airborne. When your lungs are empty, I will give you the second injection, the hormonal release trigger. This will require ten to fifteen heartbeats to be fully distributed through your blood supply before it can begin to soak into your tissues. I will wait for thirty. Please continue to hold your breath during this time. Finally, the counter-agent will be applied to the weakened microflora. Continue your efforts to hold your breath until I can gauge the effectiveness of the treatment."

Having the review laid out for her just how long she was going to have to starve her body of breath, and Chapel didn't ask how they were going manage the process with the patients who were still unconscious, only being kept alive by the tri-ox. They would cross that bridge as required. No, when required. "Understood. Whenever you're ready." Letting her head sink into the pillow, and close your eyes. The first hypospray hissed against her neck. Almost immediately, Chapel felt her heart rate increase from a normally unnoticed gentle beat to one pounding in her ears with every stroke. Stopping in the middle of an inhale, she pressed every bit of air out of her lungs she could. The organism had to be starved, driving the oxygen content of her blood down, hopefully convincing it the synthetic hormone was close enough and that its hosted needed the oxygen. At the end of the exhale, she felt another hypo press against her neck.

"Thank you, doctor. Please don't inhale if you can avoid doing so."

She shook her head. Wouldn't dream of it. The hypo hissed against her skin, and she began trying to count heartbeats. It should have been easy with the feeling of each one of them pressing against the entire inside of her skull, but Chapel very quickly lost count, focusing instead on not allowing herself to inhale.

A few seconds, hours, eternities later, Tashar spoke again. "Patience, Doctor. 28, 29, 30." The third hypo, barely felt pressed against her neck, hissed, and she started counting again. How long would it take to wipe out the oxygen starved parasite? She realized that Tashar hadn't told her how long she would have to keep holding her breath, and she suddenly couldn't remember what they'd laid out. She didn't ask, couldn't ask now, how long she would need, in seconds or in heartbeats, before she could breathe again. Her lungs were burning now, making need to draw breath, empty for far too long. She knew there was plenty of stored oxygen in her blood, courtesy of her recent passengers, but that knowledge didn't help her just now.

"28, 29, 30. Commencing scan. You may breathe again, Doctor."

Chapel sucked in the deepest, sweetest breath she'd ever taken. She wanted to hold onto the sweet oxygen in case her assistant suddenly change her mind and wanted to repeat the procedure. A silly impulse, and she knew it, so she exhaled and inhaled again, slowly, the first step in trying to re-establish a normal breathing pattern.

Chapel felt something pressed against her wrist, realized that Tashar was taking a blood sample, and fought the urge to get up, or at least sit up far enough to turn and see the diagnostic readings. But she needed to relax and hold still, so closed her eyes and focused on breathing. The readings were critical and she didn't want to influence them by moving around. They needed to know exactly how her body reacted, and what they might need to look at for in other patients.

"How do you feel, doctor?"

Christine smiled, and opened her eyes again to find she could just see the admiral's face still on the viewscreen. "Honestly, ma'am? About the same. Still tired, and still a little short of breath, but I don't expect miracles."

"That is wise, Doctor." Tashar stepped into view. "For we have not produced one." Chapel felt her heart began to sink. "What we have produced is merely another verification of the efficacy of the scientific method and persistence of expertise. The treatment was effective. You are not currently free of infection, but the organisms are being quickly terminated. Data indicates the likelihood of reinfection, however, and quite probably in a matter of only hours while remaining on the planetary surface. While some local species have moved beyond the adaptation, or, more likely, never had it to begin with, it is found in the vast majority of the mammal equivalents sampled so far on Ruby Red. The human version is likely to already be persistent in the colony."

"Can I sit up now?"

"There is no reason why you should not. My analysis is complete."

She did so, finding that she'd told the truth. She didn't feel any better, and probably wouldn't until she had a good night's sleep. "So we have a cure, but not a vaccine. Sounds like our next step."

On the viewscreen, the admiral nodded. "Get some rest, please, doctor. But keep us updated on your progress. The Yorktown will stand down from a class one medical emergency, but we are still going to be fairly diligent with isolation and decontamination procedures."

"Of course, Admiral. I wouldn't recommend otherwise."

The viewscreen went blank, and Chapel swung her legs off the bed, sliding forward to put her feet on the floor, trying to mimic a lightness she really didn't feel. "Well, you heard the admiral. Let's get to work."

"In fact, doctor, I heard the admiral said you were to get some rest."

"I did hear that, but it isn't nighttime yet, and while I am still tired, I'm not really sleepy. Plus, we have several hundred colonists to get this treatment to. Every pair hands you can get right now will help things along. Cure first, then vaccine."

"As you say, doctor."

And that made her feel a lot better.