Title: The Right Thing (SGA)
Author: Heatherf
Disclaimers: Not mine, no money made
Warnings: Not really.
Poem challenge set by Tipper.
Read an SGA story by Sablecain, it was creepy and well done. It was a poem challenge. Read another story by Tipper centered on water it too was excellent and based on a poem.
Wrote this story based on a poem that was written by an unpublished amateur. It was centered around water and about doing the right thing even if it hurts. It was on my old, old computer hard drive that went up in smoke, ash, and a deluge of water. The author has not re-sent the poem yet, when she does, I'll post it to the story.
Spoilers: None
Thanks: Meg T. NT, Mitzi (her poem)
Characters: Beckett, Sheppard, McKay (the others as well).
Summary: The group is in a tight spot off world.
The mistakes are mine. I'm exceptionally good with those and am very protective of them.
Dec. 31st 2006
Part 1/3 (1 of 3 because I like that combination of numbers. Some of you know why.)
"Is he bleeding from the medial or lateral aspect of his thigh, Colonel?" Beckett's question rang through headsets around the subterranean ruins.
The crashing ocean waves thrummed far below seemed to dim in the background. Moisture hung from cragged water cut surfaces and stagnant pools dotted the uneven floors. The smell of salt water hung heavy in the air.
People paused. Their frantic activity ceased. Heavy moisture laden dust continued to settle over everything, greying people and stones alike. Blue shirts and black waited with bated breath, listening for the answer.
Puddlejumpers still shuttled supplies through the gate, hoping to rescue their trapped people before fatalities began to mount. The ships hovered a hundred yards above the dark foreign ocean surface. Their ramps were lowered so crews could disembark to enter the network of caves that honey combed the cliff dwellings.
The Ancients had set up an outpost in the cliffs. Apparently they were studying the movement of the planets large plates. They were remarkably unsteady. Something none of the Atlantians had realized until too late.
It was a race against time. The clock ticked mercilessly. The tectonic plates were unstable. The vast ocean floor was on the verge of upheaval. Tsunamis ringed the planet. Atmospheric storms raged overhead.
The ground tremors had ceased, walls had finished collapsing for now and people were isolated.
The teams in the central cavern ceased all movement as expedition members strained to hear the answer from their secluded and cut off people. Some didn't understand the importance of the question while a select few bit their lips and shared worried glances.
Important things tended to run medially. Important being major vessels and nerves.
Sheppard and McKay had fallen through a collapsing floor and tumbled down sloping paths that had not seen human life in over a millennium.
They were now stuck even further underground, just above sea level, injured and inaccessible.
Beckett, who had lagged behind the duo to fiddle with a strap on his pack, had been swallowed by a disintegrating floor and cascading dirt and rock.
He was trapped alone, in a cavern somewhere deep under the black cliff face. His exact location remained a mystery.
Their radios still worked. Someone had mumbled a thank you to St. Jude for small favors and for watching over lost causes.
"Medial," The colonel answered succinctly. "Close to the knee." The detached cool efficiency of the Colonel, hallmarked the dire circumstances in which he and McKay found themselves.
Sheppard worked alone under the illumination of his P-90 light. The heavy flow of McKay's dark blood gloved the Colonel's chilled hands.
"Get a tourniquet around it," Beckett sharply ordered. The steady drum of crashing waves vibrated the walls that surrounded him. He nervously turned in a circle trying to survey the black walls that were sure to loom over him. He couldn't see a thing. The blackness was absolute, almost tangible and suffocating in its completeness. The hole in which he had tumbled through was blocked and covered by heavy debris and thickened mud. He was lucky to be alive.
Going through the gate just wasn't good for him.
He ignored his predicament for the moment and turned his attention back to his radio and the others.
"Colonel, your belt should work just fine. Situate it just above the wound and cinch it tight. Use the barrel of a P-90 if you have to…just make sure it is unloaded."
The blood loss had been described as thick but sluggish, like milk from a spilled carton, not a spouting fire hose gone awry.
McKay stood a chance. If they could get the blood loss under control, if they could stave off shock, if they could just keep him quiet and get him help sooner rather than later.
There were a lot of 'ifs' involved. Carson didn't like 'if' very much. It ranked right up there with 'Oops.'
After a few short tense moments Sheppard's voice sounded across assorted headphones. "Okay, now what?"
"Do you have anything to elevate his feet with?"
"Um…"
They all could hear the Colonel's soft breaths as he dragged backpacks and into position. They could picture him lifting McKay's feet and elevating them slightly above his flattened shoulders.
"Okay, what else?" the colonel asked again.
The group of rescuers in the main cavern listened intently while they worked. Zelenka directed the teams with cool, seamless efficiency.
"Keep his shoulders flat to the ground, keep him warm," Beckett immediately answered.
"Got that done, Doc." Sheppard's impatience leached through into his voice, "What else?"
They all heard Beckett sigh, perhaps even swallow. In the face of a crisis, with a patient under his care, the CMO's cool demeanor was legendary. Without the responsibility of a patient, his skitterish nature tended to dominate. This stormy afternoon those new to the SGA off world teams were getting an auditory glimpse of the steadfast physician.
"There is nothing else to be done, Colonel," Beckett answered calmly. "Keep him warm and dry, keep his feet elevated. Every 30 minutes or so loosen the tourniquet. Check his foot for a pulse." Carson rattled off a list of directions as if reading a grocery list.
Thirty minutes was a long time. "Keep track of his pulse and breathing." There was a pause, "When he comes to again, keep him calm and keep him talking."
Beckett stopped talking and listened to the sounds around him. The ground under his feet shook at regular intervals as wave after unseen wave beat against the cliffs. The sound of spilling water suddenly distinguished itself. Carson reached out a dust and mud covered hand and blindly felt for a wall. It was cold and wet. Worse, a thick curtain of salty water cascaded down its face.
Ocean water seeped in through the fissures above his head and flowed down the walls slowly filling the chamber.
Oh crap.
"I don't plan on being here for another thirty minutes," Sheppard spat.
"We're working on it, Colonel," Radek's voice cut into the conversation. The Czech and his team of scientists just finished interfacing their laptops to the ancient technology consoles that occupied the biggest subterranean tavern.
The science teams increased their speed. People worked quickly and efficiently at their assigned jobs and areas of expertise.
Ronon paced like a caged lion in the deep shadows of the background. Teyla assisted scientists where she could. Her cold as well as Ronon's had kept them from accompanying the original SGA teams to this planet. However, with the ground tremors and report of collapsing ceilings and trapped people, she and Ronon could not be kept grounded.
"Radek, how close are you to getting me out of here?" Beckett asked. He nervously listened to water pour through the crevices near the ceiling that seemed ominously closer than it had before. His little cave vibrated with each crash of an ocean wave.
The Scot lifted a soaked foot from the rising ocean water. It seeped over the top of his boots chilling his feet as body heat was leeched through his soaked socks. He fumbled blindly with untying his boots. The water ached his fingers.
"We are working as quickly as we can, Dr. Beckett," Zelenka answered. He sounded distracted by the apparently superfluous question. "We have located Colonel Sheppard and Rodney. We suspect you will be in the same area."
"How long until you get them free?" Beckett inquired again. Frigid ocean water lapped at his lower shins. Moisture wicked up his pant legs. The cold water cramped his calf muscles.
"Soon," Zelenka answered. "Please, let us work."
Beckett nodded and folded his hands up tight under his arms.
The water was cold.
"His pulse is getting thready." Sheppard's tone, though level, hinted at trepidation. "His breathing's getting shallower and faster."
"It's expected," Beckett returned. Crap. Rodney was running out of time. "Have you loosened the tourniquet?" Beckett's teeth chattered and his voice quivered. His intercostal muscles ached as he remained hunched over his folded arms.
"Yeah. It's still bleeding but not like before," the colonel answered.
"That's good," Beckett stuttered. "What about his toes?"
"They're pink, and there is still a pulse in his foot. Not as strong, but it's there," Sheppard informed.
Carson swayed left and right, curled over his midsection, shivering. He bit back a groan. The water sloshed to waist high. The moisture wicked, crawling up his shirt and coat, preceding the rising waters. His saturated clothing clung to his clammy midsection, chilling him further. He had cold water in places that should never, ever experience such things.
"Good," Beckett answered. "That's good." Carson turned in a circle, trying to keep moving, keep warm. He couldn't remember if in water you kept still to maintain body heat or did it facilitate its lost. Remembering details were becoming increasingly more difficult to recall. "Radek how much longer until you reach them?" Rodney was getting critical.
Initially, Carson had been afraid of losing Rodney, but that fear lessened with the cessation of the heavy hemorrhage. His concern had been re-directed at possibly saving McKay's leg. Now, the fear of losing Rodney manifested again, and saving the leg was not something on the forefront of his mind.
They were racing the clock. There wasn't any more time to waste.
"Colonel, we are only a few more moments away from you," Radek informed. The sound of heavy equipment, combustion engines and moving bodies filled the background.
"Have a medical team standing by," Beckett ordered. "Make sure Morrison knows to expect a severe vascular injury…."
"It has been taken care of, Dr. Beckett," Teyla answered, hoping to ease the physician's concern. She paused and then asked, "Are you alright, Carson?"
Carson merely nodded to himself. Water rolled against his lowest ribs. His abdominal muscles tightened even further. Oh God this hurt.
"Dr. Beckett?" Teyla turned a concerned eye to Radek who oversaw the extraction of the trapped teams. Zelenka cocked his head to the side, furrowing his brow. Ronon pushed himself off a set of crates and stepped forward.
"Dr. Beckett?" Zelenka echoed. "Are you there?"
There was a pause and then the chattering response, "Just cold, very cold." There was another pause. "Any way you could get someone to work on getting me free?"
"I would have to pull people from working on Colonel Sheppard and Dr. McKay," Radek answered. "Does Rodney have that kind of time?"
Carson tightened his arms to his body as water lapped at his bent elbows.
"Doc?" Sheppard's voice sounded suspicious and concerned.
Ocean water rolled against Beckett's chest, stealing his breath for a moment. "No. No, he doesn't." His heart hammered in panic. The sound of crashing waves didn't feel as pervasive. The vibrations, however, seemed to rattle his internal organs.
"We will get you out as soon as we free Rodney and Colonel Sheppard," Radek reassured.
"Carson? Carson, what's going on?" Sheppard interrupted. Something was more wrong than just a planet falling apart around them and Rodney trying to bleed out.
"Just hurry. Rodney doesn't have much time left." Carson tried standing on his tiptoes and shifting his weight, but his legs seized and cramped. He slipped and fell, submerging himself. The shock of ice cold water closing over his head electrified him. He thrashed blindly as razor sharp freezing water crushed his breath from him. Carson broke the surface, wide eyed and heaving in great draughts of stale air.
His communication piece quietly sunk unseen to the cave floor.
"We are moving as fast as we can. We will get to you shortly, Carson." Teyla's assurance went unheard.
"Okay, okay, easy, easy, watch his leg," Colonel Sheppard directed as a crowd of people reached down and loaded McKay onto a canvas collapsible stretcher. "You're going to be okay, McKay, just hang on." The scientist's eyes opened only briefly before fluttering closed. Dark eyelashes contrasted sharply with the greyish pallor of his skin. His lips were discolored and a blue hue ringed his mouth.
"We got him, colonel," Major Lorne assured as he and two of his team members eased McKay off the floor of the cave and headed for the freshly carved entrance that eventually led to the main cavern that housed Zelenka and his scientific teams.
Morrison and his group waited in a hovering Jumper just at the mouth of the caves dozens of feet above them. A surgery suite sat prepped and ready on Atlantis.
The Colonel followed the stretcher stiffly. The wet and cold had cramped his muscles and ached his bones. He moved with the unsteadiness of the greatly aged, feeling brittle and fragile. Everything hurt.
He followed the others up a steep incline of crumbling wet rock and pebbles. Eventually the narrow dark path broke into a wide spacious room that was filled wall to wall with bank lighting, equipment and people. Heaters hummed in the corners as fans filtered in fresh air from above.
McKay's stretcher was whisked across the room, through a second tunnel that climbed upward and out to an entrance and into a waiting jumper.
Sheppard didn't follow. He stopped at Zelenka's makeshift console.
"Good work, Doc." He patted the Czech on the shoulder with stiffened and cold fingers and smiled reassuringly. "Where's Carson?"
"We've lost contact with him," Radek spoke softly his eyes never leaving his laptop screen as he typed furiously.
"What?" Sheppard's relief at rescue suddenly evaporated.
"Please, let me work."