In Your Hands
Sometimes, it takes the efforts of many to save the few.
Dar'mok cradled the broken human in his arms, his eyes roaming over her numerous injuries. An Atokirina, a sacred seed from the Tree of Souls, guarded her as he remounted his Pa'li swiftly, being careful not to jostle his burden.
"I will return you to your people, brave machine-flier," he said quickly in his own tongue, hoping to bring her comfort, though he doubted she could understand Na'vi. "You will be healed there, and you will see light again."
Dar'mok made it back to Hell's Gate just before sunrise, his riding slow and smooth as he tried not to injure the human further. Jahlad, barely a teenager in even the best respects, was set to guard the base from intruders while the rest of the Na'vi who had returned from searching were in the fenced-in back gardens of the base, using the space as a makeshift hospital to treat the wounded. When he saw Dar'mok and his passenger, Jahlad was instantly at his side, helping lift the smaller being from the Dar'mok's arms.
"The machine-flier?" Jahlad questioned, recognising the pilot's face as a friend of their new Toruk Makto.
"Yes," Dar'mok agreed. "Careful! She is very delicate."
The unconscious pilot was carried into the airlock by the two Na'vi, and was placed on a waiting gurney. As soon as she was settled and the Na'vi had exited, the atmosphere within the airlock was converted to oxygen-based air so that two waiting doctors could enter. They rushed to attend to her, automatically seeing the severity of her injuries.
Dar'mok and Jahlad watched from outside the Plexiglas doors as their charge was hurried away into the facility to receive the medical treatment she required. Their honey-coloured eyes followed the gurney until it was out of sight.
"Farewell, brave machine-flier," Dar'mok murmured in Na'vi, bowing his head slightly, "May Eywa bless your soul." Jahlad silently agreed, sending the fragile human his own prayer before returning to his post.
"Third and second degree burns—"
"At least forty per cent of her body—"
"Broken ankle... set that before she loses it, Stevens!"
A mask of pure oxygen had replaced Trudy's re-breather and an IV dripped saline into her arm as the doctors surrounding her worked feverishly to repair the damage the crash had done to her.
"Prep an ultrasound to check for internal bleeding," Dr. Stevens demanded as he worked to splint her broken ankle, wincing as the exposed bone was popped back into its place. Trudy made a noise of pain and shifted, coming to the brink of consciousness and flinging her arms around in confusion and terror, trying desperately to protect herself from the onslaught of pain.
"Sedate her!" Dr. Cornelson yelled, gripping one of her thrashing arms tightly, "Before she injures herself further!"
A near-by nurse quickly added a sedative to Trudy's IV, and her violent, jerky movements ceased. Dr. Stevens sighed in relief, wiping his brow before taking the offered ultrasound wand from the nurse and pressing it gingerly against his patient's stomach. With each heartbeat, the screen showed a moving picture of her insides.
"I don't see any internal bleeding," he said, pushing the wand a little harder when he spotted something unusual. "Jesus Christ."
Dr. Cornelson looked up from where he was carefully extracting small pieces of glass from one of her shins, frowning worriedly. "What is it?"
"She's pregnant," he determined, freezing the picture on the screen so that the miniscule blip in her abdomen was clearly visible on it. "Maybe a month along." He shook his head. "God only knows how she didn't lose it from the trauma."
Dr. Cornelson let out a low whistle. "Think she knew and still went out into that hell-hole?" he asked, pulling a jagged piece of metal from her thigh and dropping it into the bowl in his lap. Dr. Stevens shrugged, examining her nearly untouched stomach.
"It's a miracle she hasn't miscarried," he said, shaking his head again. "What with all those burns on her back—" He paused, grabbing a pair of tweezers to assist his colleague in removing the tiny fragments of glass and metal imbedded in her fragile skin. "We're going to have to start growing her some new skin to replace the burned areas, so grab a DNA sample after you clean out those cuts."
The doctors had several scares through the morning, having to stop their cleaning of her wounds to stabilize her breathing and heartbeat. Her lungs were weak, having been exposed to the Pandora'n air for more than a minute or two, which to most would have been nearly instantly fatal. Trudy, however, was a fighter. She wasn't going to let a lack of oxygen bring her down.
"We have to get her information from her," Dr. Stevens said once she was once again stable, just before noon. "And we have to... give her the options regarding her pregnancy."
Dr. Cornelson sighed, slowly reducing the amount of sedative she was receiving. "She's going to be in a hell of a lot of pain when she wakes up," he said, swallowing hard. "She might not even be lucid. We don't have any data on the prolonged exposure to the elements— she could be brain-damaged, for all we know."
"I am aware of those possibilities."
"And giving her morphine could be detrimental to the baby's health, correct?"
"Correct."
"So we can't give her any drugs without her permission and consent." Cornelson sighed, looking back on the tiny-looking woman curled up on the make-shift hospital bed, her bruises standing out against the paleness of her skin and the whiteness of her sheets. "She's going to feel it all, isn't she?"
"Afraid so." Stevens frowned, studying his patient carefully. "Poor girl."
A/N - Major props to anyone who can spot my Star Trek TNG reference.
