A Few Minutes
"Shepard. Are you sure about this?"
The Commander turned to the pilot, who still stared up at him, in half awe, half disbelief.
"Open up comms with the Alliance, Joker. We have wounded that can't wait."
Joker nodded slowly, and sent out a hail to the closest vessel before turning back to the man. He held out his hand. "Good to have you back…again."
Shepard smiled and shook his hand gently, noticing the rather large bump along his pinky. Seems he broke his little finger recently.
"Nice cast, by the way."
Glancing past the former Alliance officer, the pilot found Ashley Williams standing behind him, helmet tucked under her arm. Her white armor was covered in blood and sand, caking the woman in grime earned from battle. Shifting nervously from foot to foot, she glanced around the Normandy anxiously.
This isn't how I imagined a Cerberus ship… She looked up at Shepard and grimaced. …Former Cerberus ship.
Honestly, Ash didn't expect them to copy the old Normandy so well. She read the reports from Anderson, but this was just…unsettling.
"Thanks." He smiled back, scratching the skin just above the edge of the cast. "And Ashley?"
Her eyes found Joker's.
"Good to have you aboard again." The pilot gave a quick nod, and his trademark grin.
A bulbous orb of brilliant azure appeared on a pedestal next to the pilot. "Greetings, Chief Williams." The synthesized female voice kindly said. "My name is EDI, AI of the Normandy. Let me just say that Commander Shepard has spoken very highly of you."
"And it talks, Shepard!" Ashley stated with feigned excitement. "What else haven't told me about this new boat of yours?"
The radio cut off the Spectre's reply. "This is the SSV Las Vegas. Patching you through to the SSV Socrates."
Admiral Hackett's gruff voice filled the cockpit's speakers. "Commander Shepard? This is Hackett. How're you holding up, son?"
Shepard gave a tired chuckle and ran a hand through his scraggly hair, "Turns out, prison sucks, sir. But we have wounded onboard, and they need immediate medical attention."
"Understood. We already have the SSV Chicago heading to your position; you should get a docking request in a moment. Her medical teams are standing by and ready to provide assistance." He paused, as if wanting to add more, but settled for a quick goodbye. "Good to have you back, Shepard. Hackett out."
Staying silent for a brief moment, the Commander turned to Ashley, "Tell Chakwas to prep Zaael and your man for transport."
Ash did the first thing she thought of. Snapping off a crisp salute and nodding, "Aye aye, skipper."
Medical Bay, HAZMAT Ward. Aboard SSV Chicago, in deep space dock with Normandy SR-2.
"Will Major Jim Cummings report to surgery?"
Jim ignored the intercom as he looked over the quarian before him. His wounds were bad, not even counting the severe bacterial infection he had before knife wound. Straining in his hazmat suit, Jim trekked across the sterile room towards a waiting datapad, which had also been sterilized.
Deep stab wound in abdominal region.
Puncture of stomach lining likely, possible leakage of digestive acids to the rest of the body.
Two broken ribs from rapid descent at a high elevation.
Suit VI dispensed antibiotics to prevent further infection, but intervention is necessary for survival of quarian subject.
Frowning, Jim moved back to his patient. Despite the glass being cracked, the alien's mask was keeping him alive. Human breathing masks probably wouldn't be a solid fit for a quarian, so Jim was forced to keep it secured. Checking his vitals again, Jim noticed a slight raise in blood pressure and heart rate, which was a good thing.
The quarian, named Zaael, was nearly dead when he arrived. But Jim thankfully was forced to take a multi-species medical course, so he managed to pick out the types of drugs that would help the alien, without killing him.
Most of his enviro-suit had to be removed, the whole thing in serious disrepair. It was dirty, and kept up to snuff with makeshift parts and add-ons, but nothing to the exacting standards of other quarians. Of course, this guy was a prisoner, and it wasn't like you could go ask your warden for the best parts around.
His skin was pale, even paler than Jim's. No hair grew over his ghostly skin.
The intercom blared again, this time more forcefully, "Major Jim Cummings is needed in surgery, right now. Patient is on emergency life-support and is a Case Four, repeat. Case Four."
Sighing and checking the vitals for the quarian one final time, Jim handed the reigns to an assistant -also donning a hazmat suit- and headed for the sterilization chambers.
He entered the cold gray chamber with a short ceiling and stood on a slightly elevated pedestal, which depressed to floor-level when his weight fell upon it. A handful of bright yellow robotic arms appeared from the recesses in the ceilings and walls and mobbed the doctor, removing first his helmet, followed by the gloves and arm bracings.
The machines quickly stripped him from his protection till he was literally naked, just like he was when he put on the suit.
Briefly, he stepped off the pedestal and moved to the far corner, where a rubber cap was waiting for him. Stretching it wide, he wrapped the cap over his head and eyebrows, covering his fiery red hair with streaks of gray completely.
He was back on the pedestal.
"Make this quick, will ya?" He shouted to no one in particular as he shut his eyes tight.
His protest didn't matter though, as a hot spray slowly began to descend upon him. And it burned, not because the liquid was already hot to being with, but the chemicals within it. It set his skin on fire and opened up his sinuses, and evaporated away any hair that wasn't on his head. Every. Single. Hair.
The doors in front of him opened, and in came four men in hazmat suits that were similar to the doctor's. Each carried a scrubber and a backpack-like container on their backs, filled with more crap meant to kill germs.
They began to scrub down his naked form roughly, making sure to get every nook and cranny along his trim body as his skin turned red from the abuse.
One forcibly tore the cap from his head and then ran the hard bristles of the scrubber over his face and through his hair, before taking a step back.
"Keep your eyes shut…your mouth too."
Jim felt more hot liquid, this time sprayed directly into his face and hair.
This was more than what was usually required for a standard sterilization and decontamination procedure, but with so many wounded, and his recent contact with the quarian, it called for him to receive extra cleaning before he could treat humans again. Even though the likelihood was very small, the odds one in one hundred billion at most, they still treated him like he was a threat. But many still feared for alien germs to spread to humans. If it happened, the body might not be able to fight off the foreign contaminant quickly enough.
Once they were finished attacking him with the scrubbers, he was hosed down with cold water, then hot water, then cold again. After that, he was given a clean towel and dried himself off quickly.
He smelled like chlorine and ammonia.
…He always smelled like chlorine and ammonia.
A wall panel then retreated, showing several medical outfits wrapped in plastic. Jim looked over each one and shook his head.
"Sturgis?"
A voice, with a slight British drawl replied, "Yes, Major Cummings?"
"None of these outfits are the ones I ordered. I don't like this skin-tight, ball-squeezing crap. Where are the scrubs I ordered?" Jim growled. He didn't know what was wrong with people these days, with the Alliance. This was the year 2185, not 3000. Who made the decision to make this form-fitting crap standard-issue? He understood for soldiers, but not for doctors.
No man performed well when his nuts were in a vice.
"Look at the bottom rack, Major." The VI kindly replied, his accented voice gave no hint of offense or annoyance.
"Oh…" His eyes found the dark green scrubs and matching pair of pants and shoes waiting for him. "Thank you, Sturgis. Forgive my tone."
"No offense taken, Major."
Slipping into the scrubs, the doctor quickly turned for the door and down the occupied halls of the Chicago's med-bay. Jarheads and other doctors marched back and forth, place to place. Most of the wounded were transferred to the medical frigate Somme, but several were still aboard this cruiser.
A large, three fingered hand wrapped around Jim's arm. "Sir, is Zaael going to die?"
Turning, the Major found a gigantic quarian standing before him, arms as thick as Jim's thighs. Sighing, Jim explained slowly, "Stab wound was cleaned up and closed, but that's not what I'm worried about." Sighing, the doctor rubbed a hand through his hair, "Infection is my concern. This isn't a quarian vessel, so my treatments can only do so much for him."
The alien's narrowed as he took in the information. He then nodded slowly and kindly said, "Thank you, doctor."
Turning away from the alien, Jim started back down the hall.
At the end of the corridor, Medical Lieutenant Issac DeMure waited nervously. Isaac hailed from a mostly French-occupied colony on the planet Gallant, where he spent most of his life before joining the Alliance. Due to poor physical testing, but with impressive IQ evaluations and previous knowledge of medical science, Isaac was relegated to the Medical Corps where he became a surgical assistant.
Now Isaac as a person was slightly aggravating. The kid was shy and quiet, only speaks when spoken to. Voicing your own opinion in the medical field was crucial, since you could pick up something about a wounded marine that no one else would've noticed, and Isaac didn't do that…
Well needless to say, the kid didn't always come up in crucial moments.
"How's the patient?" Jim asked bluntly as he walked past Isaac, signaling him to walk with him.
"Oh…uh." He began, as if startled by the man's words. His omni-tool lit up as he stared at the incoming data, "Shotgun wound to the chest. Several ribs broken, massive blood loss. Damage of the heart has taken place, damage to both the aorta and pulmonary artery present."
"Has he been stabilized?"
Isaac nodded quickly, licking his lips, "Yes sir, but barely. Irreparable damage to the heart has taken place."
"Has the organ been cloned yet?"
Nodding his head again, Isaac sputtered quickly, "Yes, sir. DNA has been taken from the subject and the heart was reproduced not fifteen minutes ago." The subordinate followed Jim to the surgical observation platform, where the patient was being prepped for emergency surgery below.
A large black man rested on the table. His bare chest, or what was left of it, was covered by a holographic barrier, to prevent onlookers on the observation platforms from staring at the severity of the damage. His eyes were shut tight; dried blood had dripped from the corner of his mouth, indicating blood had entered his lungs at some point.
His face was covered with an oxygen mask to assist breathing, while several doctors kept close watch on the faint vitals. Cords and wires ran up and down his arms, two thicker ones were lodged at the base of his neck, pumping in a clear liquid.
A small white case rested nearby on a gurney, an orange biohazard symbol was painted on all sides, showing that the organ was already nearby.
Jim's eyes looked up from the window, to find people occupying the other observation platform across from them. Three humans and a quarian female.
The alien was nervously fiddling with her three, slender fingers. Every time she approached the glass, the tall white marine in his black combat armor growled at her, and she retreated.
A woman with her hair in a tight bun stood next to this man, staying quiet even as he berated the quarian. She kept watching the man on the operating table.
And the third…
Commander Shepard. Even behind his ramshackle appearance, there was no mistaking who that man was.
He was the goddamned poster boy for the Alliance, well after the man's death.
Posters? He was on them. Movies? People played him. Some even pretended to be Shepard, having expensive surgeries to alter their facial structure and voice. Those who stormed into seedy places like Omega claiming to be the savior of the universe were quickly shot in the kneecaps and skinned alive.
Others on the Citadel were arrested or attacked by pissed-off Alliance soldiers, not wanting Shepard's reputation tarnished by obsessed fans.
Forcing his eyes down to the patient, Jim found one of the assistants staring back at him.
"On your go, sir."
Right. Time for the show.
Lifting both arms straight out, he clenched both fists tightly, activating the glowing blue omni-tools around each hand. The transparent window in front of him darkened, covering the room in blackness…
Only to be lit up again by a bright screen, which displayed a view directly above the patient.
"Point-of-view display linked up." Isaac announced, his subtle accent playing in his voice. "Surgical arms in synch with your tools."
Bringing his blue-enveloped hands in front of his face, Jim watched as the motion was repeated on screen by a pair of robotic limbs.
They went still as Jim ceased his major movement, didn't move an inch.
These limbs eliminated the minute twitching created by human hands, allowing for work in delicate areas such as the brain and heart without the risk of an accident.
This did not, however, eliminate the need for humans at all. Robots weren't perfect either, and at least two human surgeons would assist at all times.
A strong voice beckoned in Jim's ear, the voice of one Captain Droy Tulann. "We're all set on this end, Major. Disabling holo-barrier."
Good god…
This kid was messed up. The doctor then gave a morbid chuckle and shrugged. "Well, at least we won't have to make a huge incision."
Isaac gaped at the man, "Sir! You broadcasted that. To everyone. Even in the other observation room."
Chuckling again, Jim casually lowered the leading arms towards the partially opened-up chest cavity of the marine, getting ready to remove the dying heart from his torso. Then he paused. The patient…he moved.
Jim went to the intercom, "Nurse Brennik?"
"Yes, Major?"
"This man was properly anesthetized before he came in here, correct?"
The woman nervously replied, her eyes remained locked on the patients vitals, which had began to spike ever so slightly. "Uhh, yes we did. I properly accounted for his current condition and everything." The man visibly jerked, and then a guttural moanemanated from his throat. "…Oh my God."
"Talk to me. What's going on down there?"
This wasn't good. People on the table were never supposed to wake up during an operation.
Ever.
Tulann came back on, "Shit! He's fighting the anesthesia. Quickly, give him another dose!"
Reacting, Jim brought up the man's life signs on his screen. Heart rate was falling into the red zone, too much strain. Warning sirens blared. This kid was in pain. He could feel the fact his chest was punched in by a shotgun.
And then he began to scream.
Nurse Brennik stepped back in shock, knocking over a table covered in medical equipment.
The patient's hands flew up to his arms, ripping cord after cord out of his body. Blood sprayed from the holes he created, covering the white sheets he laid upon. His eyes found the largest cords in his neck, and his hands followed.
Suddenly he froze, his screams of agony ceased as his hands fell to his sides.
A familiar sound accompanied him. It was one of panic, one of sadness, one that reminded a doctor that they have failed.
The flat line tone.
"NOOOOO!"
Jim activated the adjacent observation platform's security cameras, to reveal the white marine from before pounding on the glass wall as he watched his friend die. He then turned to the quarian raised his pistol, forcing her to step back in fear. "You killed him, you fucking freak!"
She yelled she was sorry, that she didn't mean to harm the soldier apparently named 'Tank.'
"Fuck you." He spat, his finger slipping inside the trigger guard. "Fuck you and all you damn alien freaks."
The woman and Shepard tackled the soldier, the latter ripping the pistol from his grip and driving an elbow into the man's forehead.
"Isaac!" Jim yelled as he deactivated the camera and focused back on his flat-lined patient. "Get security teams to that room now!" Then he brought his radio to life, "Tullan?"
"Yes, sir?"
He lifted his arms, bringing the robotic arms closer to man's chest, selecting the scalpel and cutting open the remaining flesh.
"Is the cloned organ damaged?"
A moment's hesitation. "No, Major. The heart's untouched."
"Good, get ready." He ordered, feeling sweat starting to accumulate along his brow.
"We have only a few minutes to save this man's life."
Peace.