Chapter 22. Treating those seeking help
But Celia's professional ethics once again took over, and her fears were gradually dispelled. Her professionalism allows her to stop seeing misery and only see patients in need. Celia picked up a triangle scanner and walked to the operating table. One of her assistants, pale-faced, bravely stood on the other side of the operating table, waiting for the doctor's instructions.
Dr. Celia looked at the display on the scanner, then looked at the assistant. "If I knew the creature's normal values, I'd know what he's missing," she said ruefully.
"He looks almost human, with only a few small details different," her colleague replied, trying to remain optimistic.
"Yes, it's more than meets the eye," Celia nodded, gathering her courage. "His internal organs are also similar to ours. I can only treat him according to our standards for now," she decided. She had no choice but to do this in the hope it would help. As she continued to look at the delta recorder data, she felt a glimmer of hope. "From the data, he has no significant internal damage. To start giving him fluids, we first need to stabilize him. In the meantime, please give me a skin regenerator," she requested.
Her assistant hands her the equipment she needs. Celia took it and began the treatment. She patiently treated each wound and tried her best to ease his pain. The fear still flashed in her eyes. There were so many wounds on his body, the origins of which Celia could not explain. Or maybe she doesn't want to think about it. No sane being would do such a thing to another being. This man must have suffered horribly. Or maybe he has become so used to it that he no longer notices the pain.
She examined his left hand carefully. Two fingers were missing, where there should have been six. But what is certain is that these mutilations did not receive medical treatment. It looks more like it was casually healed under not so good conditions. One of the stumps did not heal completely. This must have been infected for a long time but is now rotting away. The other fingers are not in good condition either. The fingertips were completely missing, as if he had tried to dig a hole in the stone floor with his bare hands.
Whoever did this to him clearly had no conscience. Celia could only hope that the man would be punished as he deserved. She hopes to heal her patients, or alleviate their suffering, wherever possible.
...
Daisy emerged from one of the two buildings where teams of scientists and technicians spent their stay. These are simple dwellings, with each room only a few square meters in size. Just enough for a bed, a small cupboard to store essentials, and that's it. There wasn't even enough room for them to turn around. Still, considering their stay was only a few days, it was more than enough. Showers and toilets are in another building. There is no other way to do this under the conditions of rapid construction. In particular, all the water they use must be collected for later use, to prevent contamination, and eventually recycled aboard the Republic.
They never want to contaminate the planet's ecosystem without knowing the consequences. They must try to avoid causing any damage to the planet. However, for those spoiled Starfleet officers, the idea of shared shower facilities was clearly not a pleasant one. However, Daisy was very excited about it all. To her, it was like camping. At least that's what she thought, since she'd never been to camp. Her mother was never interested and therefore never experienced such a holiday with her. She didn't get a chance to try it later. She didn't expect she would have a similar experience.
The sun was just setting behind the trees of the huge forest that stretched to the horizon. However, the sun still shines brightly in the sky, creating longer twilight hours. But in the opposite direction, the darkness of night has fallen, a moonless night. Not because of the new moon, but because the planet has no moon.
"Daisy, come and sit down," Joseph Ive's voice came from behind. Between the buildings, tables and benches are placed to provide a place for dinner for those who stay here. It all seemed rather temporary, since it was their first night in this extended family. By morning, the Republic had left orbit and now they were on their own. But no one seemed particularly worried. Two shuttles were parked near the building, with enough energy to last them several days. The food reserves are sufficient, so there is no reason to worry.
Daisy walked over to the tables. Not far away, a bonfire was being lit, providing some light and warmth. Although the nights here weren't particularly cold, the atmosphere of the fire should keep them warmer. However, it did take some effort to convince the scientists to light the fire, and ultimately they assured that, with careful care, it would not cause damage to the ecosystem.
"Hello everyone," Daisy greeted everyone. Only a few, like Joseph Ive, were already seated at the table. Most people are still busy carrying and distributing cutlery and food. But hydrogeologists don't seem to think this is necessary. This could also be due to his plump figure. In addition, there was a bottle in front of him that looked very much like red wine. Daisy had no idea how he had managed to bring it in on the Republic and bring it back to the surface. But for Joseph Ive, nothing seems impossible.
"This bottle of wine will enhance our dinner," he said, catching her gaze and winking at her. "And I brought more." He looked as happy as a kid about it.
"Did you bring anything else?" Daisy asked immediately. And she already had a premonition of the answer.
"A bottle of Roma," he whispered mysteriously. After all, not only is this drink the most alcoholic, it's also illegal. Despite this, it seems to be found in every corner of the Commonwealth.
Daisy just shook her head but didn't say anything more. But in her heart she had to admit that he was right. All this will definitely contribute to the atmosphere among scientists and engineers. And indeed it is. After a delicious and hearty dinner, alcohol allowed everyone to talk and laugh freely. The campfire crackled nearby and radiated incredible warmth. Maybe that's the effect of the alcohol? And overhead, the stars twinkled, as if someone had scattered diamonds on the sky.
When Daisy finally crawled into bed with a heavy head, she was already regretting that the Republic would only be gone for two nights. If it were up to her, the trip would last at least a week. Even though there was definitely more alcohol in her bloodstream.
Voices, whispers, and multitudes of voices came from all directions. There is no peace. A constant, constant whisper. It was too loud to ignore. The voice was too soft and the words could not be heard clearly. So unfamiliar. Mixed in with the hum of electrical equipment. where is he? Does this sound like heaven? Or is he in hell? His thoughts slowly returned to order in his mind. He felt like every thought he had was forgotten, gone before he could finish it. So he slowly realized that he was still thinking. He is thinking. His sanity was still intact. Apparently there is some truth in the stories about life after death. And the sounds he heard proved he wasn't alone. It's just that the voices sounded so unfamiliar that it confused him. No one ever hinted that perhaps in the afterlife he would need to learn a new language. And while he was still confused about this, his brain processed another pleasant sensation. He felt his body. He still owns his body. This discovery sparked a strange joy in him. At least something felt familiar to him now. He would not be able to imagine eternal life if it existed only as pure energy, without a body. This current state is more in line with his taste.
He slowly opened his eyes and squinted into the light. It was a beam of light shining directly on him. The light is bright. It was a little too bright and he had to immediately close his eyes again because he was completely consumed by the glare. Squinting, he tried to see something clearly. But at least the light matches the description in the legend. Just like what happens after death.
He thought, so who is speaking? Is it a divine being? Is it an angel?
Slowly, he tried to sit up. However, he couldn't get the muscles to contract. His body refused to obey. Apparently, he was still too weak. Will you become weak after death? He had never heard of this happening before. However, his attempts to move drew attention. Because the sound suddenly became quiet. Instead there were footsteps. Then a face appeared before him, looking down at him. A woman's face. Her golden hair was radiant. A smile graced her red lips. Her eyes glowed kindly towards him, and he had never seen eyes glow so brightly. There was no doubt that she had to be an angel.
Then she opened her mouth, made a strange sound, and came towards him. He couldn't understand a word. What kind of strange language is this? Is this a sacred language?
"I'm sorry, I don't understand you," he said, realizing that talking was making him unusually tired. It seemed like he hadn't spoken in a long time. How long has he been dead? However, the female angel just looked at him sadly and shrugged. Apparently, she couldn't understand him either. If the language of the living cannot be understood in heaven, then it is not surprising that God has never spoken to humans, a thought flashed through his mind, and suddenly everything became a complete picture. The angel turned his head and spoke to someone out of sight. Who is that? A prominent male voice answered. Father?
The female angel started talking to him again, but he still couldn't understand a word. Then she helped him sit up. Her touch was gentle and caring. He could feel it even through the clothes he wore. This makes him feel comfortable. He could hardly resist the urge to sink into her arms. In the arms of an angel, you will definitely feel safe and secure. It was a feeling he desperately needed after his death.
As his attention returned to the room, he saw more details. He was sitting on a comfortable recliner, but in heaven, he expected to wake up on a heavenly bed, right? He raised his head and looked around. The place looked nothing like the paradise he imagined. This is more like a medical facility. There are three other recliners in the room, all of which are currently empty. In addition, there are some computer consoles and screens showing some unknown data. There appeared to be a closet on the opposite wall. He couldn't be sure, because the doors, lids, and drawers were covered with the same structure as the rest of the walls, making the difference almost indiscernible. "Where am I?" he was confused. Then he realized the woman wouldn't understand him. He began to feel increasingly uneasy. Something is clearly wrong here.
The woman was wearing a red uniform with some golden badges on it. So she's clearly not an angel, because angels don't wear uniforms. And, with this realization, she no longer looked as fascinating as an angel. Although she was undoubtedly a beautiful woman. Standing behind her was a man also wearing a uniform. He had shoulder-length gray hair tied into a braid, and brown skin. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned on a recliner, looking at him curiously. Behind him, near a door, were two other uniformed men. A tall black man and a white woman.
"Who are you?" he asked. Now he was really scared. He felt panic rising. To him, it was a familiar feeling. What are they playing? Was this an experiment to test his reaction? But why do they do this? Since when did these demons care about their victims?
However, they did not understand him. "Who are you?" he repeated urgently and fearfully, hoping his trembling voice wouldn't attract their attention. He tried to emphasize his words with appropriate gestures. Maybe they can understand sign language. "Where am I? What is this place?"
The woman turned around again and looked at the man behind her. He nodded slightly, but otherwise made no other reaction. What does it mean? Was the man content to watch him spiral into panic?
What happened to him? But he didn't ask, so what's the point? After all, no one would understand him, let alone give him an understandable answer. Instead, he tried to remember what had happened at the end. He had been in the rescue capsule. There is not much oxygen left. No, it's exhausted. He has experienced the effects of oxygen deprivation on the brain. And then...then came this ship, this big spaceship. Is this just his fantasy? Or is he really on this ship now?
"Am I on a spaceship?" he pondered. Why not, these strangers didn't seem to understand him at all. "You found me. Are you here to rescue me, or are you just passing by? Are they trying to get information from him through interrogation or torture?" But they won't get any useful information. The abuse became part of his daily routine.
He glanced at his hand and his eyes widened in surprise. The wounds that had been there were gone, and the scars were gone. Everything looks so intact except for two missing fingers. Even his deeply cut arms had flawless skin again.
He raised his head in shock, looking at the unfamiliar faces in turn. They still looked at him curiously, as if they wanted to ask some questions, but couldn't express them due to language barriers. To them, treating his wounds seemed perfectly normal. "You healed me," he finally said slowly, raising his hand to admire it again. "Why? You don't know me. Maybe I'm your enemy. Why are you helping someone you don't know? It's a waste of medicine." Where he comes from, this kind of thing would never happen. No one has that much to give freely to others without expecting anything in return.
“But that’s not the case here,” the woman responded. Her voice was gentle and pleasant. And he could actually understand what she said.
He stared at her, dumbfounded. If everything seemed strange before, now he was completely at a loss. "Why...can I suddenly understand you? Is this just a dream?" he stammered. But that may be the case. Only this can explain it all. He was still in the rescue capsule, and the increasingly severe lack of oxygen caused him to hallucinate.
