SubAccount: Abas Th'vyrrol

[Holodeck - Ice Moon of Andoria]

Abas had continued to soak in the wind, sun, and snow of the ice moon for a few moments longer when his commbadge chirped annoyingly from a pocket underneath his jacket. At first, he was tempted to ignore it. Unfortunately, his sense of duty outweighed his comfort as he traced his hands up his jacket to the folds, delving his hand inside before snaring the small delta and extracting it into the cold. The simulated environment caused the commbadge's metals to become frosted almost instantly as he depressed the symbol and listened to the message.

First was an all-call from the Captain, going out to all crewmembers of the ship. It seemed a collection of lieutenants had been summoned, as well as one of the Challenger's medical staff. Odd, but not completely unusual. However, the sheer number of lieutenants gave Abas pause. Thankfully, he was not requested and therefore wouldn't have to take a test on all of them. Only moments later, the computer forwarded him a message about many new personnel changes. Abas made it a point to be aware of such things, as one never knew who they would be called upon to treat or any underlying medical conditions the crew may have. It seemed the Challenger's experienced crew was once again being looted and pillaged, even Doc Fellows. A shame, he quite liked the crew they'd established in Sickbay. Perhaps he should pay a visit to Sickbay and meet the new faces?

"Computer, end program," he stated, pushing himself to his feet as the icy cliffs disappeared, and the familiar pattern of holo-emitters reasserted reality. He strode toward the exit, a tiny amount of melted water dripping off his coat and frost slowly receding from where it'd managed to latch on.

[Sickbay]

A few moments later, Abas wandered into Sickbay, his uniform tidied up to the best of his ability, save for an unfortunate oversight. His rank insignia and stripes were backward, completely unbeknownst to Abas. It was an oversight he would not usually make, but today he just felt off, not totally on his A-game. Perhaps some time on shift would do him some good.

He meandered over to one of the duty stations, picking up a PADD and beginning to review the latest medical bulletins on the ship's crew for anything that might stand out, while keeping an ear out for any new arrivals or other details he'd need to attend to.

Computer, Please state the next five crewmembers overdue for their annual physical.

For some reason, so many of the crew insisted on dragging out their mandatory medical exams. It wasn't as if the probing would be invasive... but rumors and fears were so common among the crew.

[Holodeck - Ice Moon of Andoria]

The wind howled around Abas as he sat in quiet contemplation. The heat of his body neatly offset the chill blast of the wind as he dangled his legs over the cliff face. This was home to Andorians and Aenar alike. The windswept cliffs and subterranean mountains. He was somewhere near the equator during mid-summer, where the temperature was only around negative ten degrees centigrade. Perfect weather, perfect calm.

Like all natives to the ice moon, Abas was perfectly comfortable here in nothing more than his uniform and a light fur jacket. Most who called this moon home were just as comfortable here as in normal Federation rooms of around 20-22 degrees. Biology had its benefits... and it meant he was less likely to be disturbed.

It had been nine long months since Starfleet had been hobbled. Nine long months of piecing together what had been taken in a senseless, violent attack. Nine long months where he hadn't once been able to return home. Communication to the northern polar regions was rare, as very few Aenar ever left their home to explore. Messages traveled slowly, and visitors were few and far between outside of regular resupply runs. He hadn't been able to check on his family, nor tell them of his promotion. But, no matter. He'd do his duty as he always did. He wondered if his telepathic communication with them would be lessened if he ever got home. Aenar in the northern wastes rarely, if ever, spoke aloud, but here, everything was different. So many beings were not gifted with these abilities, and entering another's mind unwelcome was one of the cardinal sins. He was out of practice, and sometimes found him speaking his mind into the void, without a care in the world. Who knows if anyone would recognize the stray thoughts and sounds he loosed occasionally?

When Abas needed to clear his head, though, he found that the holodeck did a passable version of his home. At the very least, it was a good place to just get away from it all, save for the one or two Andorians on the ship who might be drawn to such a program. He'd been here for the better part of two hours, lost in his thoughts about nothing really in particular, feeling the heat of his hands melt the snow beneath his palms, and feeling the cut of the wind as his antennae were buffeted by the constant flow of air. He could almost feel the slow accumulation of snow on his boots before a gentle swing of his legs shed the powder into the currents of air below.

Mentally, he began to sing into the void, the nostalgic lines of an old Andorian ice cutter's shanty floating away from his mind as he flopped onto his back and spread his arms into the snow, feeling the textures and cold bite as he continued to dangle his legs off the edge, making what almost looked like half a snow angel with his upper body. Peaceful. Happy. Content. He'd have to go to work later, but he wasn't on shift for now. For now, he could be himself.

At least for now, all was at peace in the world.

Congrats to all!

[Sickbay]

Abas forced himself to stop concerning himself with what was occurring in sickbay, and instead, simply focus on his patient. It seemed, once again, the world was set on tearing itself apart. Long gone were the days when a healer could simply heal. It seemed all too many doctors these days were more than happy to tear things apart again. But with the world set on tearing itself apart, was there any harm in trying to put a piece of it back together again?

He pushed those thoughts from his mind as he tended to Zala. The Ferengi was cooperative, but despite his best efforts, he was distracted again as Jess pumped her former captor with enough sedatives to last a lifetime. Moments later the captor was swarmed with doctors and security to ensure he wouldn't miss out on a moment in a Federation penal colony. His antennae flexed as - finally - the sickbay was returned to the control of Starfleet, with the last of the hostage takers finally under control. Hopefully, they could keep it this way for now.

He chuckled silently to himself as he sensed Zhuk and some of the other crew in the bay heaving the unconscious attacker into a bio-bed and began their work, though Zhuk himself rushed off to care for someone important to him. Interesting... It did not matter. He nearly bumped into ch'Verret as he cared for the Ferengi, who was returning the injured officer's rifle. Just what sickbay needed - more guns. "I think we can probably leave this for now," he said, but didn't try to physically separate the officer from their weapon. "I strongly urge that you return that to the armory, or have another officer do so. You'll need to stay here for observation at least overnight, but there doesn't appear to be any lasting damage."

[Later]

Of course, as was on par with the Challenger, things then got worse. Again. Abas visibly flinched as a telepathic onslaught of emotion suddenly blindsided him, coming from Neva appearing in the bay. He turned with a start before the EMH shimmered into existence. Who had turned this bloody thing on? Why had it not been repurposed cleaning plasma conduits? He suppressed his emotions as best he could - the unexpected psychic onslaught had caught him significantly off-guard, and had given him quite the headache. But that could be dealt with later. He usually didn't hate holograms this much. But when they got in his way of dealing with patients...

He resisted the urge to shove the unwelcome arrangement of photons out of the way while he joined the swarm of medical personnel once again tending to the seemingly suicidal antics the crew continually got themselves up to. Instead, working his way around, he found himself part of the gaggle providing blankets, oxygen, and dermal regeneration to the frostbitten and beleaguered souls. Only a minute or two later, the Captain himself strode into the bay. What was happening on this accursed ship?

His antennae curled in annoyance and discomfort as he continued his work, providing medical supplies to those who needed it and wishing for once that people would stop actively dying around him. The amount of paperwork and charting alone he'd have to do after this shift was enough to last for a month.

[Sickbay]

It appeared Abas's diversion had been well and truly taken advantage of. In moments, security poured through the door and the air of this medical ward once again shone and hissed with the sound of weapons fire.

The patient, it was found, had never been in critical condition. On cursory glance, it appeared that the system had suffered an inexplicable and sudden glitch in its programming, which had interrupted vital flow from the sensors to the display, triggering an alarm. Funnily enough, it couldn't be verified with the indepenent backup sensors which had accidentally been shorted out. What an unfortunate and amazing coincidence. And funnily enough, Abas knew just how to re-enable the monitoring, silencing the alarm now that the number of phaser rifles outnumbered the count of disruptors in the ward.

Unfortunately, it appeared at least one of the hostage takers had not been taken so easily. The Nausiccan had grabbed Doctor Fellows, and was holding her at disruptor point. While a few casualties had been taken, it appeared that Starfleet had the advantage. Abas, for his part, took one step and made sure to step between the only remaining hostile and the patient he'd used as a distraction. He couldn't help much with the current situation... but he could at least still protect the patient. She was, at least for her part, still fast asleep in a medically induced coma. At least someone had not had to go through this chaotic mess. For now, though, Abas was more than willing to stand by and wait for someone to make the next move.

That was, until his fellow comrade from the ice moon tried to grab his attention. His antennae tilted toward ch'Verret, as he carefully took a few paces over and checked on the injured Zala. Disruptor wound, not too severe, but would need to be taken care of. He took the hypospray in hand, feeling his way to the medication panel, before confirming the initial suggestion. "Aye, that'll do Chief," he said, offering the hypo back. "Should dull the pain," he muttered.

The Ferengi, for her part, was still very much a Ferengi. Though she put on a brave face, it was obvious she was not feeling very well. Zala had snatched the hypo and injected it, as Abas knelt down and offered to take the hypo and assist Zala to a bio-bed, or at least out from where she currently was to a place where he could grab a dermal regenerator. "Thirty-Five. Peace is good for business," he said in response. A fitting rule, from a pacifist.

[Sickbay]

The situation in Sickbay was still incredibly tense. While Doctor Fellows had attempted to stand up to the hostage takers, she had been verbally rebuffed by the intruders. The disruptor blast had undoubtedly set off security alerts, and the crew would be taking appropriate action. Abas had not been able to make contact with anyone outside of Sickbay yet, but he was familiar with Starfleet operating procedures. They'd be planning an operation to liberate the ward, it was just a matter of providing an opening.

Thankfully, it seemed someone who was more brains than brawn had entered the picture on the side of the hostage takers. A Nausicaan woman had arrived and given the medical personnel permission to treat the wounded officer. It seemed they wanted to avoid additional bloodshed, which was a relief. The last thing anyone needed was Sickbay to become a shooting gallery. However... maybe there was something he could do.

The mood in the ward was somber, with the staff predominantly keeping their heads down and continuing their work. Even with the emergency, the patients still needed to be attended to. That didn't mean they would help their adversaries, though. They were likely waiting for an opportune moment to strike... and only needed an opening. A distraction of sorts could do the trick, and hopefully prevent anyone from taking further casualties. Abas would still much prefer the attackers to be taken alive... but he had an even greater duty to his shipmates.

He maintained his station by the wounded schoolteacher, monitoring her recovery and treatment. But perhaps... if her condition took a sudden and inexplicable turn for the worse...

Abas tapped quietly on a console next to him, pulling up one of the medical test programs used for training. A few short alterations, a little covert sabotage, and a knowledge of the medical system allowed him to trick the computer into thinking his patient had suffered a catastrophic cortical failure. Enough to set off every single alarm the bio-bed was capable of triggering. It should be quite noisy... as long as nobody looked too close. If anyone did notice, however, Abas only hoped he could pass it off as instrumentation failure.

Two minutes later, right on cue, as Abas had conveniently found himself a few strides away from the patient, the system indicated several simultaneous failures and triggered the patient alarms. A pitched beeping, followed by a low-toned whine indicated the patient's status, as Abas strode back over to the patient with speed. "Doctor?" he spoke, contorting his face into a look of concern as he busied himself with causing as much of a scene as he could while still appearing natural.

Hopefully, someone could use it. At the very least, it would keep the hostage-takers off-balance.

[[Lt. Commander Kyan Mackenzie | Sickbay, USS Challenger]]

[Lt. Commander Kyan Mackenzie | Sickbay, USS Challenger]
He was lost in these thoughts when the Aenar medic came over and began scanning the kindergarten teacher.

Kyan blinked out of his reverie and finally noticed Abas. "œHuh?" he asked before his brain had finished processing the question. Then when it finally caught up.."Oh. Right." He coughed. A power conduit blew in the classroom. Sure and I think she was next to it." He indicated his knife and the makeshift tourniquet. "œShe was bleeding a lot so I did the tourniquet." Looking around as he spoke, Kyan continued to take in the scene around him. His senses were still being assailed by the cacophony of sounds, sights, and smells that usually accompanied a mass casualty event. His ears rang with the sounds of Groaning casualties, raised voices demanding equipment or someone to grab something, the occasional outburst from a patient, and equipment being shuffled from here to there. His nose was filled with a lingering scent of acrid smoke, now mingling with the iron smell of blood and the odor of a mass of unwashed people all crammed into a small space.

His lungs still burned a little from the smoke, although he hadn't been there long enough to take in too much of it. His eyes watered too, but dragging his shirtsleeve across his face didn't help, and actually made things worse. "œI dinnae think any of the kids got hurt much." He added absently.

"œThank you." The girl answered, covering her mouth before coughing into her sleeve. Then she took the offered treat as she let herself be looked over. "œThat's my mommy over there." She whispered, looking over to where Abas was scanning the injured school teacher. "œShe got hurt and that boy helped her. And then"¦.." She paused to cough before continuing, "œAnd then Mo and Zinn came back and we went out of the room." She looked at the isol twist briefly but then her eyes went back to her injured mother before meeting Taja's. "œIs my mom gonna be ok?" she asked in a wavering voice.

[Sickbay]

Abas hadn't even waited for the officer to finish processing what was being said before he'd already moved into action. However, when the man spoke, he made sure to pay direct attention to the information. The story being told lined up with the available facts, down to the injuries and the damage it had wrought on the woman. "Help me move her," he stated as he hauled the teacher to a bio-bed. It wasn't even a request or a question. It was for all intents and purposes a directive. Trauma and shock made people act in different ways, but often times giving a direct, meaningful, physical task could at least be done even while the brain was processing everything else around.

He heard the man cough next to him and could tell plainly from the rasping of his lungs and slightly labored breathing the man had gotten at the very least secondhand smoke inhalation injuries. "Tourniquet. Good move. We'll take it from here - get yourself checked out, Sir," he said, continuing his work. The woman had lost quite a bit of blood, but it should be recoverable. The Challenger's stocks of ready blood, however, was fast becoming depleted. Perhaps he'd discuss the possibility of setting up a donation drive later, provided the chaos ever decided to slow down.

The woman's status was critical. The trauma she'd suffered was severe, and even with the stocked blood now flowing into her body and the vascular regenerator, it was a 50/50 gamble if she'd have to be put into a medical coma. At least her heart hadn't given out yet - the last thing Abas wanted her children to see was emergency CPR or the woman being pumped full of drugs. With the assistance of some of the other medical staff, things appeared to be going better. She'd have a long recovery, but as the minutes passed, so did her prognosis.

Unfortunately, however, because this was the Challenger, things suddenly got worse. It had been nearly an hour of working on the woman before the karmic gods decided they hadn't suffered enough for one day.

In the Main Sickbay

Sickbay continued to be a raucous hub of activity. With all the activity going on, barely anyone noticed the Orion woman and her dapper Ferengi companion walk through the doors. When the Miradorn twins and a trio of Nausicaans entered behind them with disruptor rifles at the ready, they didn't go un-noticed.

"œWhat the hell's going on!?" Chloe Davies demanded as she stalked toward the group. This is a sickbay not a damned"¦."

A disruptor whined and Davies dropped unmoving to the deck. The Nausicaan who'd fired regarded the unconscious woman with a grunt. If anyone in the room hadn't noticed the new arrivals before, they certainly did now.

"œLadies and Gentlemen." The Orion woman spoke up, "œMy name is Larosh and you are all my hostages.  If you do as you're told, you will not be harmed." She gave a thin smile. "œNow then"¦" she continued, looking around the room. "œWho is in charge here?"

[Sickbay]

Weapons fire. There was only one thing in the universe that sounded like the whine of a disruptor going off - and that would be a disruptor going off. Abas's antennae shot skyward, snapping to attention only a half moment before the beam found its mark - and impacted Nurse Davies square in the body, dropping her to the floor. Abas couldn't tell her condition - if the weapon had been sent to stun or kill. However, instinctually, Abas dropped to a low crouch, covering himself behind the bio-bed. Adrenaline once again coursed through his system - a medical marvel he had any left - as a hush fell over the newly-acquired hostages.

Some days, Abas wished he had never left the Imperial Guard. This sort of thing never happened there. He didn't really know what to do at this point other than await rescue or await an opportunity. He didn't want to take a life. He didn't want to see anyone die, not even the hostage takers, whoever they were. Perhaps there was still a way to save this situation. But importantly... he needed to keep himself, his patients, and his co-workers alive. He didn't even have a Ushaan-tor with him to use... not that he would have, even if he had one. Pacifism, while not passivity, was sacrosanct to him. He couldn't betray his principles.

No. He'd have to bide his time. He collected his thoughts for a moment and reached out with his mind. Perhaps someone out there could hear him? He couldn't risk the comms right now, but maybe, just maybe...

[Sickbay]

The long hours were starting to wear on the medical staff. The doctors had implemented three sets of 30-minute rotations to help stave off fatigue - but split the on-duty personnel into four groups. Thirty minutes on duty, Thirty minutes of decompression time, Thirty minutes of rest. It wasn't sustainable, but it would do for now. All across sickbay, in cubbyholes and curtained-off corners, slumped-over or napping nurses, doctors, or attendants could be seen. Some scarfing down a few bites of food, others gathering new changes of uniforms or making a mad dash to the nearest sonic showers or refreshers. It seemed the casualties never stopped coming - scavengers, refugees, victims, and the like. It couldn't last.

Beta and Gamma shifts had been a much-needed surge of personnel during the crisis. While half of Gamma shift had been held in reserve, still asleep or resting, many of the second and third shifts had filtered their way in. Second shift was going strong, where it was mostly Alpha shift that had begun lagging severely.

Abas's commbadge chirped at him, informing him his last 30 minutes of rest were over. He hauled himself to his feet with a groan, accepting a prescribed shot of Animazine to keep him alert. In moments, it had taken effect as he could feel his body becoming more responsive and coming back into focus. Just a few more hours and he could come off duty - unless they all blew up first. And judging by the lurching of the room and wailing of alarms, that might come to be.

At least Gamma shift probably wasn't sleeping anymore.

No sooner had he come back into the main sickbay room than the whine of a transporter beam could be heard, as a crowd of children suddenly filled the room. A large group of children, and one adult human. No... that wasn't quite right... a large group of children, yes, but one was different. Ah, the shoe-less Mr. Mackenzie. Of course.

Promptly, like a swarm of locusts, the medical staff descended on the new arrivals. Some had minor injuries, like smoke inhalation, minor burns, bruised egos, and soiled pants. Others had more severe issues. Abas quickly grabbed a medical kit and joined the fray, kneeling by Kyan and snapping open a medical tricorder as he began to scan the injured woman. With a bit of raw irony, Abas noted that - once again - Kyan was missing uniform pieces. Shoes, jackets, was there anything this man wouldn't lose?

"What do we have, Sir?" he asked, already moving to do what he could. But, Kyan was here and might know more of what happened so they could improve their treatment.

[Corridor outside Sickbay - USS Challenger]

Abas noted how efficiently Doctor Fellows worked in the worst of circumstances. Many doctors would balk at the makeshift conditions and even refuse to do surgery in such a way. However, Fellows simply ignored the complications and buckled down to get a critical task done. She eventually ran the dermal mender over the incision she'd made and once finished, stepped back with a sigh before addressing everyone.

"Good work everybody. That got touch and go for a moment. I especially wish to acknowledge your work Crewman Th'vyrrol. After this mess is over, you can expect a promotion and commendation letter for your skill at a most trying time. You are a credit to your calling."

Jess then had a moment to look around and saw that while they were still being overwhelmed by casualties, it looked like the volume of injured was starting to slow marginally.

"No rest for the weary. Next batch is here, let's get to those red tags!"

[Sickbay]

From all accounts, the surgery had gone about as well as could be expected. That is, provided one expected antiquated technology, sub-par working conditions, and a style of medicine that could generously be compared to leeches and bloodletting. However, say what you might about the old methods, they sometimes worked just as well. Abas was simply happy they hadn't had to sew their poor victim back together with bailing wire and twine. Archaic as the methods sometimes were, it was important to know how to stabilize a victim at least when everything with an internal power pack decided to buzz off""battlefield medicine at its finest.

Abas, Doctor Fellows, and the rest of the crew managed their duties with distinction. Their hands bloody, the corridor still smelling of death, it was at least a welcome event when they had managed to staunch the bleeding and repair what damage they could. The patient wasn't out of the woods yet, but at least their condition had stabilized. They were going to feel incredibly sore in the morning...

He nodded gratefully to the doctor as she sang his praises. "Thank you, Doctor," he nodded, before pushing himself up from the position he'd found himself in and sensing the next arrival of wounded and injured. Duty called. He grabbed his medkit, stopping only briefly to sanitize and sterilize his hands before looking for the next patient in need. Plasma burns, radiation exposure, and a severe puncture wound to the left arm... another wonderful day in the wild and whacky world of medicine.

[Later]

Abas had been on shift for hours at this point. Usually, he'd have been off shift and back in his rack, but nobody wanted to take time off now. The ship was still on alert footing, and the Captain had just mentioned something about a Doomsday Machine. What even was a Doomsday Machine? Who named these things? One would think that they could at least get a little creative in the naming of planetkillers.

Despite his exhaustion, Abas had no intention of leaving his post. He would see this through side-by-side with his comrades, not lounging in his bunk in the bowels of the ship. He could always recover later. The whole ship could. The last week had caused enough stress that the whole crew would require weeks to sort it out, not to mention the degradation in ability that would come after these high-stakes events. The counseling crew would have their work cut out for them if they wanted to get the ship back up to peak efficiency. Or maybe some mandatory shore leave on a pleasure planet would do the crew some good.

The flood of injured had slowed to a flow, then a trickle, and finally, the tides had been staunched and order prevailed. Sickbay had weathered the storm, and now the tense and alert staff were resupplying and restocking their reserves, fighting exhaustion, and preparing for what came next.

Maybe Abas should find some coffee...

[Sickbay - USS Challenger]

To a casual observer, there really wasn't a single word that could capture the frenetic energy and action that was sickbay. Medical personnel were almost automatons as they reacted to the events in front of them. Medications, equipment, and procedures, were in constant flux as the casualties mounted. The sheer number of injured civilians soon swamped the available biobeds to the point that first gurneys, tables, and eventually, any flat surface large enough had to do.

Some of the civilians became irate as they had to wait for treatment, this forced the security officers pressed into litter bearing duty to shift to crowd control. The Challenger had an emergency evacuation capacity of 6,250, the Guppy, which was clearly operating without proper licensing and certification had crammed some 8,649 terrified refugees into her dilapidated hull. Given the panic that rippled through her passengers, it wasn't fully clear if the security department could manage the crowd along, this forced Commander Catalan to draft a large portion of Ops and even Engineering to help maintain order which was how Lahr found himself dragooned back into the role of security officer. The influx of Starfleet presence was working, but only just.

Jess scanned the casualty with her tricorder and scowled.

"Dammit, internal injuries. He needs immediate surgeries. I don't have any other surgeons at the moment or nurses. Mister Abas, you're going to have to assist me and we're going to have to operate right here in the hallway. Fasten your seatbelt, it's going to be a bumpy night."

[Sickbay]

Abas nodded as the doctor spoke. It seemed whatever situation the Challenger had come across was much worse than he'd originally guessed. The sheer weight of person was proving to be quite the drag on resources, and leading to what could be reasonably deemed field triage in lieu of proper treatment. "With you, Doctor," he said, before moving the patient out of the flow of traffic to an unoccupied part of the corridor.

Moments later, their makeshift surgical ward was as good as it was going to get. With the assistance of two additional med-techs, a portable sterile field had been erected, with ready supplies of plasma, blood, and surgical tools like laser scalpels and autosutures prepped and on a tray, a tricorder happily whirring away, chirping and feeding the medical staff useful information as to just how close the patient was to meeting the great koala in the sky.

"Ready," Abas spoke, hoping that none of the passersby in the corridor would be too perturbed by the emergency surgery taking place right where folks might be walking by. Abas prepared to assist in any way needed - but with such rudimentary supplies on hand, it was anyone's guess as to what form of assistance he might be called upon to provide. They'd have to adapt and overcome on the fly to save the patient.

[[USS Challenger-A - Deck 12 - Upper Engineering Support]]

CPO ShranLahr ch'Verret
[USS Challenger-A - Deck 12 - Upper Engineering Support]

The suggestion that his brains might leak out his antennae was of course ridiculous but that the Aenar medic would even say it was just too amusing not to react to.  "It can do that?! Woah..."  There was a slight hiss as the hypospray injected the whatever meds the medic had suggested... Lahr had already forgotten what Th'vyrrol had said the first was..  oh yeah pain killers for his headache.

Maybe it was a placebo effect but Lahr felt better already!

At the Aenar's offer to help monitor the engineering consoles, Lahr considered a moment.  If he could set the distinctive alarms to each consoles alert modes then maybe the blind aenar could assist.  But before he could suggest it, an alert sounded across the ship.

"I think you're gonna be busy with casualties.   I'll be fine.  Go.... and thanks."

Moments later, lights were flashing all over the room, as multiple transporter beams were initiated all at once and nearly overloaded the patched EPS lines.

Lahr called up to the bridge.  "Engineering Support to Ops.  Any chance you can have your transporter personnel, who are beaming out survivors, time their beams outs in a series - one after the other -  as we are close to overloading the lines when they all activate at the same time.  I know time is of the essence by even a two second pause between beam start ups will keep the flow steady and avoid a worse catastrophe.  Think about it... ch'Verret out."

[Upper Engineering]

It seemed the medication was quickly having its desired effect. The man was becoming more responsive, more logical, and if Abas wasn't mistaken, slightly less groggy. However, his observations were cut short when the alarm klaxon sounded once more across the ship. Abas wondered how often the red lights burnt out with how often they were used it seemed. Regardless, it was his duty to respond.

"Alright, Chief. Happy to help. When this is over, swing by Sickbay so we can finish up your treatment," he said, as the two went their separate ways. They were both supporting the same mission - even if they didn't know it. Lives needed saving. That was all that mattered. He turned and strode

[Minutes Later - Sickbay]

Abas walked into Sickbay and was immediately almost overwhelmed with the strong emotions coming from the high number of casualties. It seemed that the alert was well and truly called for - this qualified as a mass-casualty event. The dull whine of the transporter was heard as another load of casualties was deposited directly in the medical bay. Abas sensed one of them about to collapse, and quickly moved in to grab the ailing victim, supporting them and trying to determine where an open bio-bed was.

Abas noted the presence of the CMO, directing traffic and organizing the finely tuned machine that was the medical staff. Many of them had extensive training in combat medicine or quick triage - and it was coming in handy now. "Doctor," he said, trying to gain the attention of any of the medical officers in the area. "Where to with this one?"

[[USS Challenger-A - Deck 12 - Upper Engineering Support]]

CPO ShranLahr ch'Verret
[USS Challenger-A - Deck 12 - Upper Engineering Support]

When the Aenar, suggested for Lahr to 'lead the way' that's what he immediately turned to do, but then got a conflicting message from the medic saying that first he needed to be treated cause he wasn't 'okay'.  Lahr  paused and looked back toward Th'vyrrol in annoyance at the mixed signals.  "Am I coming or going, Doc? Make up your mind!"

It was then that the Doc produced a hypospray and approached him.  Lahr stepped back warily, until Abas pointed out that it was medication and would help clear his headache.

The offer of being able to check his own readings while well-intentioned, didn't help Lahr one whit.    He had not clue what the medical readings meant much less what to do if there was a deficiency or error in one.  Chloe had been handy that way.  Explaining things to him in ways he understood.

"So that's a painkiller?  Fine." Lahr stopped moving away and instead just let the Aenar come to him.  "You did remember to bring the anti-phermone shot as well, right?"

[Upper Engineering Support]

"You'll be free to return to your work, once I'm done making sure your brain isn't going to slosh out of your antennae. Which, in your current state, would be a pain for me to have to cleanup," Abas quipped back. If the man wanted to be a pain to deal with, he'd return the favor in kind. Perhaps Abas could work on his bedside manner, but sometimes honesty was indeed the best policy.

While the man's brains weren't actually at risk of becoming goop, perhaps the image and metaphor would achieve its intended purpose of getting the man to think. As the first hypo injected cleanly, he deftly ejected the first canister and produced a second, loading it in with a click. "Got it right here, if you would just look to your left...", he asked, as he moved to inject the second. Two birds, one stone, and all that.

Shortly, the worst effects of the man's headache and concussion should begin to alleviate. While they wouldn't clear up fully for a few days of bedrest after this most recent chaos was done with, hopefully it would at least get the man back on his feet and in at least what could pass for the right headspace. "Now. How can I be of further service, Chief? While I monitor your condition, the least I can do is provide an extra set of hands."

[[USS Challenger-A - Deck 12 - Upper Engineering Support]]

CPO ShranLahr ch'Verret
[USS Challenger-A - Deck 12 - Upper Engineering Support]

With the alert status rescinded, and other damage control teams already dealing with what repairs still remained, Lahr was told to return to Upper Engineering Support and watch the entire board until others finished up their emergency repairs and returned to their regular duties.

Being a backup watch area, it was unlikely anything would come up but it was times like this that the backups were important -just in case.

Lahr rubbed the exhaustion from eyes. He found that now that he was back on the ship rather than the trader vessel that his focus was waning.

Lahr was doing his rounds of the Upper Support area, checking each display regularly when the Aenar medic arrived and motioned him over.

"Took you long enough." He groused sourly.  "You're gonna have to come with me. I've been assigned to keep watch; and I ain't got a replacement to take over if I take a break.  Things are just too crazy-busy."  He was, of course, being facetious about how busy things were, but not about not having a replacement.

When asked about his symptoms, Lahr gave a slight shrug.

"No, just the headache, I think - and it's not that bad, as long as the intercom ain't blaring." he answered rubbing at eyes again.  Not having access to a mirror, the Andorian had no clue that his pupils were not dilating.

[Upper Engineering Support]

Although it had been only minutes since he had left Sickbay, he frowned at the hostile demeanor he was receiving from the Andorian. The man's behavior was rude, erratic, and he was complaining of headaches. Something was off, for sure. He snapped open his tricorder and began to take scans, comparing the baseline to the chief's last reported physical. He also took a moment to pocket the hypospray before snapping the medical case shut, hefting it up, and preparing to follow Lahr.

"Sure Chief, lead the way," he said, his glower deepening as the man's baselines came back as deeply off of what they should be. "But first, I need to treat you. Busy or not, you are not okay," he said, with a bedside manner about as subtle as a brick crashing through a window. "Headaches, attitude, and what seems to be quite the concussion," he said, before approaching the man and attempting to inject him with the hypo he'd prepared earlier. "If you'll allow me, this will help with the headache,"

Ultimately, he knew the man would want to continue working. More than that, he'd want to keep going full tilt and not take any time off. "If you don't believe me, look at these readings yourself."

Abas couldn't see the man's eyes, but he could sense just how out of whack the man was. It was only a matter of how the man reacted to treatment to see if he'd have to forcibly take him off the line. If the man resisted his treatment, he'd find himself out of a job and putting his department even more short-handed than they already were.

[[USS Challenger-A - Transporter room]]

[USS Challenger-A - Transporter room]

Lahr's arrival back on the Challenger was noted by no one, other than the transporter tech who had beamed him over just a short while ago.   He still somewhat pined to see... um... oh dammit! what was her name?  He was so besotted... that he'd forgotten to ask he name!  Roozh! He was a such an idiot!   The Andorian's antennae sunk as he trudged down off the transporter pad and gave the tech a wave as he exited the room.  In the corridor, he was about to call in to Chief Tharn to let the Tellerite know he was back when his commbadge chimed with a call from Sickbay.   Oh?... someone had noticed he'd left. Oops.

Before he could reply, the overhead intercom sounded calling the Department Heads to the briefing room.  Lahr frowned.  The intercom was far too loud for his liking causing his headache to return.

Once the message ended, Lahr tapped his commbadge to acknowledge Th'vyrrol's call.

"ch'Verret, here.  Nice timing.  I just got back.  As for follow up... slight headache.. though it felt better when I was aboard the Pride O'Rigel." Lahr commented, then remembering Captain O'Flaherty's advice added  "Oh and I think I need a top up on my anti-pheromone shot."

[Sickbay]

Abas was continuing to wait in Sickbay when the response to his query came through. It seemed the Chief was indeed suffering further ill effects from his incomplete treatment. It also seemed the Doctors were irked by his self-discharge, but Abas couldn't help but agree with the man's actions. A guardsman's duty was at his post, regardless of what else was occurring. If he could still fight, he could still serve. To lounge in the medical bay being pampered served no purpose if it just meant others picking up the slack. But, he wasn't an officer. Those types of decisions were made far above his head.

Abas was vaguely aware of the conversation happening between the CMO and one of the new doctors but didn't pay it much mind. He did, however, note the specialties the officer espoused their knowledge of, in case it came up later. It was always good to know which fields different officers were subject matter experts in - you wouldn't go to an optometrist for a digestive issue, nor assign a trauma surgeon to handle a dental surgery. The right tool for the right job, and all that.

Understood, Chief. I'll bring the updated meds. he said in response, before taking a few sharp strides over to the medical cabinet and signing out a hypospray and the required dosage, cross-checking it with ch'Verret's medical records to get the dosage right. Placing the medication in a hard-sided medkit's extra storage capacity and sealing the case with a click, he turned to walk toward the door and exit.

[A short time later]

Only a few moments later, he emerged in the doorway of the room, walking over to a table and setting down the medkit as he cracked it open. He pulled out a hypospray of vertazine, and inserted the canister into the dispenser as he prepared the medication. "Chief, if you'll just come over here please?" he asked, gesturing vaguely to the area around where he was. "Any other symptoms? Anything else bothering you right now?"

[[Deck One, Bridge]]

[Deck One, Bridge]

Taja simply offered a polite nod in reply, having no idea who this person was. Come to think of it, the only person she knew on this whole bridge by name was Nira. She felt comforted by the commander's presence.

Taja stood to one side of the bridge not wanting to get in anyone's way. The Risan tapped her commbadge and spoke softly in response.

"Acknowledged. How is CPO ch'Verret doing? The last bio-scans I looked at showed some cause for concern. He should definitely be monitored for any intracerebral haemorrhaging. That was a nasty concussion he took..."

Whilst awaiting the update, Taja listened with growing concern to the events unfolding out in space. The giant ice cream cone looking ship was apparently something called a 'Doomsday Machine'. 'How dramatic', she thought. 'Whoever gave it that name was obviously male'. As for input, Taja had none at present. Her and sickbay would be at the ready should this cream-cone decide to hurt people, plus she didn't' feel confident yet voicing an opinion or conjecture without any prior knowledge of this thing.

[Sickbay]

Abas frowned as the question came back, before tapping a console near him quickly to pull up the information requested. Running his hands over the information displayed, he returned the message. The Chief isn't in sickbay anymore, it appears he left when the alert was triggered to return to his duty post. I'll follow up with him if you wish, but his last bio-scans came back clear enough for the moment.

While the Chief may not have been in ideal health, he was at least well-off enough to return to post until the crisis scenario was passed. After all, even operating at only 80% the Chief was far more valuable on the line than taking up space in the medical ward. There were after all only so many bio-beds to go around. Abas tapped the console a few more times, entering a note to have the Chief report back to the medical bay for a follow-up in a few days, if not sooner.

[Briefly Later]

It seemed the Chief's departure from Sickbay had been the right move - not that Abas or anyone else in Sickbay would have known that. The Chief had been able to repair the ailing ship in record time. A testament to the man's skill and professionalism. But, now that they had a few moments, Abas wanted to check in on his crewmate from the ice moon.

Crewman Th'vyrrol to Chief ch'Verret, apologies for the interruption Chief, what's your current location? Want to follow up on your treatment from earlier, he said, staging by the door. An outpatient call was much more likely to be met with less consternation, especially with as hard as Starfleet crew often pushed themselves. He heard the chime of the main circuit as the Captain summoned department heads to the bridge, but that wasn't a concern of his. Hopefully, they'd get answers soon as to what was happening.