A Mirror Shattered #105 "Angel"

[Federation medical barracks, Badlands]


Sulan stood quietly in the middle of her ward, reflecting, in the semi-darkness before the start of her shift. Her life had been quite turbulent in her brief thirty-one years. Surviving the fall of Vulcan, the death of her parents, aiding in the escape of the remains federation to the badlands, and resisting the attempts of the logic less and vicious remaining vulcans to recruit her as one of their berserkers. She could still see the looks of hatred on their faces when she quietly informed them that she refused to take part in their murderous assaults. "I am a healer, not a killer." She had told them. "I have never taken a life, nor do I plan to as long as I have a life of my own." They had stormed out, enraged. She had fully expected to be slain, but they had spared her. Perhaps there was hope for them yet…

She opened her eyes, looking around the overcrowded ward. Most of the people in the beds were young or elderly humans, with a few other species mixed in here and there. They were the latest batch of refugees. Most of them suffered from illness or wounds from combat. They had been caught in the cross fire between the Dominion, and whatever forlorn world managed to fall under it's boot. They were safe here, for now. At least, they were as safe as she could make it for them…

The logical part of her mind knew it was only a matter of time before the medical facilities grew too crowded, and she had to begin choosing who received medical treatment, and who did not. Already, all of the beds were full, and she had to resort to using the hallways and office space as impromptu bed space. The reeking stench of unwashed and festering wounds, vomit, blood, excrement, and urine had grown too strong for most of her volunteer medical staff, and only a few –the most dedicated- remained.

Miller, Rodriguez, Smith, Goings… They had stayed, and had continued to work, without complaint. Working till the point of collapse on more than one occasion. She was thankful for them, in ways she could not express in words.

She looked over to where child Johansen had stirred, moaning in her sleep. Sulan moved silently over to her and put a gentle hand on the girl's forehead. It was hot and dry. Feverish. The girl's skin had a waxy pallor to it. The infection had returned.

A girl awoke looking up at Sulan with glazed blue eyes. "Will you show me your wings today?" the girl asked quietly. "No, not today. I have far too much to do." Said Sulan in a whisper. Ever since the girl arrived a few days ago, the child was convinced that Sulan was some manner of religious deity. No matter how much she tried to convince her otherwise. "You're a sad angel." The girl whispered. "You never ever smile. Why are you sad?" Sulan tilted her head slightly. "I will smile for you when you get well. So, you must work hard, so I can show it to you." She pulled a battered hypospray from the pocket of her robes, and touched it to the girl's frail neck. It was filled with the crude morphine she'd managed to extract from the poppies she grew in the garden. It was an ancient earth drug, which she held no fondness for, but it was all there was. The girl's eyelids grew heavy she began to drift off almost instantly.

Sulan carefully lifted the blanket that covered the ragged stump where the child's left leg had been. The bandages were bright red, indicating that the blood and begun to seep through again, despite her efforts to stop the bleeding. Maggots, crawled on the surface of the bandages.

Sulan nearly frowned as she put the blanket back in place. No matter how she tried to keep the girl's wound clean, the parasites kept getting in. What the girl needed as clean, sanitary facilities with a staff of fully trained doctors and nurses. But that was not going to happen…

She caressed the girl's cheek softly. The girl had about three days, before the infection got the better of her. Three days… Such a short interval, for a young life… <If only she were on a medical frigate… > Sulan thought with bitterness.

The nearest medical vessel was a burning wreck in space. Its crew of doctors and specialists, were either carbonized, or floating as frozen meat in the vacuum of space. All of that talent and intellect, wasted by the Jem `Hadar…

She pushed the thought aside, moving on to the next patient. She would do all she could for the child. If she could not cure the infection, she had enough morphine to keep the girl relatively comfortable till the end.

But she dreaded the task she knew she would have to do in a few days time. She would have to take the girl's body to the incinerator, as she had done with countless others…

<No.> She thought. < I will not plan her fate before it is decided. Perhaps a miracle…> She cut the thought off before she could finish thinking it. There were no miracles here. No miracles, nor angles. Only overworked healers, and too many sick and injured to care for.

Sulan put a hand to her face, trying to ease the tension she felt. She was surprised, when she pulled her hand away, to find her palms wet. Tears had gathered in her eyes without her knowing…


A post by:

Healer Telek Sulan Federation Colonies, Badlands "How many angels can dance on the head of a pin? It depends on the tune."