Cake or Casket?
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"Go on!" shouted Beckett when Rodney paused for dramatic effect. Honestly, you'd think the man took acting classes specifically designed to build tension!
"Well, the ancients were obviously developing this with the idea of introducing it into a wraith ship air supply and killing off the whole ship that way. But they ran into a snag—it spread wonderfully in Atlantis conditions. But it wouldn't spread in a hive!" Rodney paused and looked around.
"Chan eil! Chan eil!" Mairghread screamed again, and Rodney glared. How dare she break into his explanation.
"McKay…" Ronon growled dangerously. This was, after all, his little girl who was stiff as the proverbial board and burning with fever.
"Right. Anyway, turns out that the virus or whatever can't stand a high pressure, high oxygen, low ambient temperature atmosphere, but here's the important point—it dies even once it has infected something if it's exposed to these conditions. Which is probably—"
"Thank you Rodney!" Beckett cut in. He turned to the nurse. "Ali, set up the hyperbaric chamber, will ye luv? And make sure the air conditioner is working for it."
She scuttled off to make all the preparations while Ronon carefully lifted Mairghread out of the ice water at the bidding of the good doctor and lay her on a gurney. She was quickly dried and put into a too large hospital gown, and whisked to the stainless steel tank that offered her only hope of survival.
Set on the narrow bed inside the chamber, monitor leads hooked up to the ports in the walls that fed data to screens on the outside, new IV bags hooked up and covered with a thin blanket, Mairghread was sealed inside and the pressure slowly began to rise with added oxygen as the temperature dropped.
Mairghread's lips moved, but through the thick metal walls of the tank, Beckett and her family on the outside couldn't hear what she said. Beckett locked the intercom open.
"It's alright, luv," he told her.
"Fuachd," she moaned. "Càit' a bheil Dadaidh?"
"Ah know ye're cauld, luv," said Beckett as he slid the stool he was sitting on aside and beckoned Ronon over to the small observation window. "Here's Daddy. Talk to her, lad," he instructed Ronon. "Keep her grounded."
The Satedan nodded and crouched down in front of the pane of glass. "Hey baby."
"Daddy? A'seinn?"
"She wants ye tae sing," Beckett whispered his translation.
Ronon nodded, and began to rumble a Satedan lullaby, his deep bass voice clearly calming the child.
John pulled Beckett outside the room and asked quietly, "Doc, give it to me straight—what're her odds?"
Carson rubbed his eyes with one hand. He never liked giving odds, especially in the Pegasus galaxy, where most laws of statistics seemed not to apply.
"Ah dunnae know, lad," he replied. "If we cannae bring her fever down by…dawn…," he looked away, clearly unable or unwilling to say what was written on his face. "And e'en if we can, her body's done a pretty job on her joints…. Ah cannae say for sure if…" he trailed off again, but his body language conveyed his worries even better. For once, Sheppard wished that they hadn't developed such a very explicit body language.
"I'm just worried about," John jerked his head in the direction of Ronon. Ronon on a bad day, annoyed by marines or frustrated by an unreachable enemy was bad enough. A Ronon who was mourning his child? It didn't bear thinking about.
The night passed in a similar manner to the leftovers from cane sugar processing in subfreezing temperatures. Teyla relieved Ronon when his voice became hoarse, singing Athosians lullabies. When around 4 am Beckett ordered the two of them to eat the light meal he had brought, because they hadn't eaten since the morning before, John took a turn and sang Billy Joel's "Goodnight My Angel" and revealed himself to be an excellent singer in hiding.
At last, as Beckett's laptop chimed out 5:30 am, the machine monitoring her temperature beeped once. Twice. Beckett looked at it and a grin spread across his face that threatened to crack it in two.
"The fever's broken!" he told them ecstatically. "Rodney, ye did it!"
"Of course I did!" snorted the Canadian, looking mightily pleased with himself.
"When can she come out doc?" John asked the question on everyone's mind.
"Ah'd like tae keep her in there at least for today," Beckett said. "And then a few hours for the next couple days till it clears her system."
Sheppard pulled Carson aside again. "What about…?" he flexed his elbow meaningfully.
"Ah cannae say yet. She may be fine, she may…." He trailed off and his eyes involuntarily twitched over to a wheelchair.
"That's not gonna happen, doc," said Sheppard sternly. Beckett knew that look—it was the look that dared the sun to rise if Sheppard said it wouldn't for another hour.
"Ah hope tae God ye're right, lad," the Scotsman replied wearily. "And tha's about all we can do for now."
TBC
Next: Physical Therapy
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