From:		Jorith
Date:		25 November 1995 01:21
To:		U.S.S. Lafayette (BBS)
Subject:		RE: Sickbay

<Ensign Gallagher - Sickbay>

No matter how you looked at it, there was nobody who would call the ship's councillor's position good. The undermanned medical team had scrambled furiously to return Lt. Tarak to some semblance of stability after Ensign Gallagher had returned with him from the Klingon ship.

She now sat alone next to his inert form and watched the biobed sensors. She had been unable to sleep. After tossing and turning for several hours, she got up and came back to sickbay where all her thoughts were. She had moved a chair near the primary biobed with it's surgical support frame (SSF) and just sat and thought about the man who lay under the clamshell frame.

Ensign Gallagher hadn't even met this person before, and knew nothing about him other than what she had read in his personel records. "If he's lucky, we might be able to reach Starbase 336 and transfer him to a better medical facility - but it's still doubtful he will survive." She reached up with a small towel and mopped the small amout of perspiration from Tarak's hairless brow. "Maybe if that pilot wouldn't have flown so wildly, I might have been able to do a better job." Deep down, however, she knew there was nothing more she could have done. She was just looking for an excuse for her first patient's condition, not to mention the humiliation of having gotten sick aboard the shuttle.

As she lowered the towel, she ran her finger over the outline of his pointed ear. "His file said he's telepathic. I wonder if he can hear me right now . . ." At the thought, she jerked her hand away and took a step back. She wasn't xenophobic. In fact, the anatomy of other races facinated her - which is why she joined StarFleet to begin with. It was just the idea of someone reading her private thoughts that disturbed her so greatly. 

A glance at the medical sensor display showed her there was absolutly no change in Tarak's brainwaves - or any other part of his body. Not that it was likely, anyway. The SSF was running most of his bodily functions now: cardiovascular support and air flow into his lungs, not to mention the variety of intravenous medication being automatically administered. No, if there was still any trace of consciousness left, it was probably all focused on just surviving.

Again reaching out her hand, Ensign Gallagher unconsciously placed it on Tarak's own hand. "Just don't die on me, Sir."