Chapter 5
They watched over their friend in shifts for the rest of that day and the day after that, caring for him as best they could, regularly recording his vital signs on a clipboard they hung on the end of his bed, until Paul came up with a much needed brainwave.
"It might be a long shot but Flacco may be able to help us. I don't know where he is, but if you're alright to look after Rich for a while I'll go and search for him."
Tim said nothing but nodded his permission, he was becoming more and more despondent and no longer held out nearly as much hope, but if there was any help to be had, however slight, he'd accept it.
Paul hurried through the ship ever conscious of time slipping away, every day that passed brought one of their small family one day closer to death, and out here they were a family. Something of a dysfunctional family perhaps; one which thrived on conflict and teasing, but a family nonetheless.
Much like Tim before him he eventually found Flacco by opening doors at random, it was almost as if the ship itself wanted them to succeed in their mission.
Flacco was doing a bit of stargazing when Paul burst in, his concentration focused on a large telescope set up in the middle of the room. He wore the get-up he imagined a great explorer from the age of enlightenment might have worn, his robe and cape drawn over in cartographical lines.
He looked up at the sudden interruption, but welcomed Paul with a friendly wave.
"Ah, hail fellow well met. Hey, you wouldn't happen to know anything about slowing this crate down would you? You see we're going far too fast for me to do this properly. As soon as I get a handle on the constellations I've got we've gone past and I've got a whole new starscape to deal with, it's most infuriating."
"Never mind that," said Paul irritably, "We've got a terrible problem we need your help with."
Flacco was intrigued, the three protagonists generally didn't bother him down here, it must be serious.
"Richard has been bitten by some kind of poisonous bug and we have no idea how to cure him."
"Are raised blisters one of the symptoms?"
"Yes."
"Have you lanced them to let the serum out?"
"No."
Flacco's expression was ambiguous: on the one hand they should have done that as soon as possible on the other the fact that they hadn't may be the only chance he had to ultimately save his life.
"Take me to him; I may yet be able to save him."
Buoyed by this Paul made his way as fast as he could through the corridors until he again came to Richard's room.
Even Flacco's optimism deflated slightly on seeing the extent to which Richard's condition had deteriorated but he rallied quickly. He removed the bandages and was alarmed to see that they hadn't done what was needed to control the bleeding although he could understand why they might be reluctant to do so.
"I'll need a blood sample. You'll then need to take a sterile knife or scalpel and make two incisions to drain the serum contained in the blisters into a receptacle like a test tube or a flask; I may then be able to synthesize some form of antidote. Heat is the quickest steriliser, holding a scalpel blade over a candle flame will have the desired effect."
Tim hurried to carry out his instructions, placing a hastily acquired candle on a saucer by the bed and a clamp meant to hold test tubes repurposed to hold a rather delicate looking scalpel over the flame. He stopped suddenly. "We need to administer an anaesthetic first, surely?" all too aware of the reaction they'd met last time.
Flacco looked at Richard's grey face and came to an ineluctable conclusion; the quicker he could get to work on an antidote the better, especially since it would take a few days at the very least, they unfortunately didn't have time for such luxuries.
"I'm sorry, there isn't time for that, we need to proceed as quickly as we can."
Tim once again tied the scarf tight around Richard's arm and inserted a needle into a vein, filling a small test tube with blood before he reluctantly held the heated blade steady over the blisters on Richard's right hand and made two incisions as small as he could get away with; causing a clear fluid to run down his hand into the other test tube Flacco held out for him. Rich let out a moan but astonishingly mostly stayed still.
Flacco hesitated, knowing just how hard the next request would be but ploughed on regardless as it really needed to be done. "I'm sorry to ask you to do this but you now need to burn the bite marks with the knife otherwise they will never close and the danger of infection will always be a threat to him, to say nothing of the weakness caused by the continued blood loss."
'Damn Bob' Tim thought, 'why did the only time he really knew what he was talking about have to be concerning all the suffering that would befall one of my closest friends?'
Nonetheless he once more held the scalpel blade against the flame until it burned a dull orange colour. He closed his eyes, 'I'm so sorry to have to do this to you Richard' he thought again as he pressed the edge of the blade to each puncture wound in turn and held it there. Although, rather than the extreme scenes they had seen before, Richard simply let out a brief, agonised scream before collapsing unconscious against the bed.
"Oh my God! I've killed him!" Tim cried in horror.
Paul put his palm to Rich's chest and detected a heartbeat fast against his hand.
"No, it's alright Tim! He's just fainted."
As Tim re-bound Richard's hand with fresh bandages Flacco held up and examined the test tubes, one of which contained the pink tinged serum that held the only hope they had to save their friend's life.
"I will do what I can but I can't give any guarantees…"
Paul just looked at him as if to say he understood and Flacco hurried away, his mind totally occupied by his new all important task.
Out of a need to feel useful Paul and Tim rearranged the bedclothes and took Richard's hands in their own. Now that his best hope for recovery was in someone else's hands they couldn't help but feel rather redundant.
In another part of the ship Flacco was examining the samples through a microscope; his best friend Ross the cockroach perched on his shoulder.
"I don't know what they're getting so over-excited about Ross, I really don't; don't they have any appreciation of narrative convention? It's obvious how this is going to play out; we'll come up with the solution only to administer it seemingly fractionally too late, and while Tim and Paul mourn the death of their friend he will almost miraculously be revived and either reprimand or encourage them in their eulogising and after quite a bit of bickering all will ultimately be well."
Ross chittered something in his ear.
"What do you mean you don't think the writer is sticking to it this time? They must do; it's a sitcom for goodness sakes. They can't just kill off major characters willy-nilly."
More chittering.
"Alright, so jokes have been a tad thin on the ground lately. But maybe they thought they'd take a leaf out of M.A.S.H's book you know; light on the humour, heavy on the drama, spice it up a bit. Just between you and me Ross the thing needed a lift..."
Ross still wasn't convinced and shuffled from foot to foot to foot disquietedly; something about the whole situation just felt terribly off. He couldn't put his mandibles on why or how he knew but it suddenly felt like the rules they usually relied upon didn't apply anymore and they were now completely subject to some all powerful being who may not have their best interests at heart.
Flacco picked up on Ross's intense feelings of unease and frowned. "If you're right Ross then whoever this writer is must be a real sick bastard, I mean Richard of all people! Who in their right mind would want to kill Richard off for real? And in such a horrifying manner too! He's the nice one! The one who keeps them all together. One of the other two just possibly, Psycho Bob definitely, but Richard?!"
He shook his head and turned his attention back to what he was doing with a new sense of urgency. He wasn't sure it was possible but he was going to do his damndest to prevent Richard's death and to hell with the narrative.