The Space Between Heartbeats

Posted on Fri Apr 25th, 2025 @ 12:26pm by Lieutenant JG Sylorik MD & Ensign Iozhara
Edited on on Fri Apr 25th, 2025 @ 12:26pm

Mission: Season 6 - 5.5 - Day to Day
Location: USS Elysium, Deck 12, Surgical Suite #2
Timeline: MD7
1634 words - 3.3 OF Standard Post Measure

The cardiac monitor blared, its shrill tone cutting through the peace like an explosion and echoing off the sterile walls of the surgical suite.

The Vulcan surgeon eyed the cardiopulmonary bypass unit with an expression of displeasure before setting his gaze back on the monitor displaying his patient's vitals. The lines around his ninety-nine year-old eyes tightened, betraying just the faintest ray of frustration behind his normally impassive features. The warm light from the monitor danced across the dark skin of his face.

The surgical suite had been tranquil for over three hours. Suddenly, alarms had sounded and the surgical team now directed all of their energy toward the resuscitation of the patient. The transition couldn't have been more immediate. Beads of perspiration formed beneath the brows of the everyone, and the room's formerly meditative pace had quickly dissolved into clipped words and a flurry of activity.

"Blood pressure is at sixty-seven over forty-two," called the scrub nurse, looking up from the surgical tray in front of her.

"Oxygen saturation below seventy," said the young perfusionist with a wavering voice.

A short Ferengi in surgical scrubs pushed past the nurse, swiftly inserting a gloved hand into the patient's sternum. He seemed to fish around for a long moment before shaking his large head. "No leaks that I can feel," he said with an irritated sigh.

Sylorik shot a look to the perfusionist. "You indicated blood flow to be satisfactory," he said in a faint accusatory tone. He folded his arms slowly and deliberately, taking a step back from the prone patient with a stillness that appeared out of place for the current situation.

"Doctor?" asked the scrub nurse, unsure why the surgeon was seemingly giving up on the patient. She looked from the Vulcan surgeon to the perplexed Ferengi surgeon as if willing one of them to take control.

As if speaking with his eyes, the Ferengi doctor turned his gaze toward Sylorik. "Field is filling with fluid. I need suction!" he called urgently. His fingers were still inside the patient's chest cavity in a blind and desperate search for a cause while blood continued to pool in and around the opened chest.

Sylorik shook his head. "Three aortas," he said softly but with eerie clarity. He was mentally calculating every moment of the bypass, eyes darting left to right like code running through a diagnostic loop.

The three individuals standing in the surgical suite all turned to look at the Vulcan with curious expressions showing through their masks and caps.

"Three aortas," repeated Sylorik without hint of urgency or alarm. His tone was full of certainty as if stating a cold hard fact and his expression that of mild annoyance.

"Doctor," scolded the Ferengi angrily. "The patient is dying!"

Sylorik shook his head slowly and gestured toward the bypass unit. "This machine," said Sylorik in an even tone. "Does not support advanced cardiac systems such the one our patient was born with." He moved to the console and tapped the display, revealing a three-dimensional model of the patient's circulatory system. A complex series of blood vessels snaked their way around a a series of valves all interconnected with a beating heart.

The young scrub nurse seemed incredulous at the sight of the surgeon completely neglecting his patient in the middle of a complex surgery that has just turned to disaster.

Sylorik removed his mask and cap in one fluid stroke as if he'd done so thousands of times before. "The problem was not graft material nor anastomotic leak." He looked toward the confused perfusionist with the calm of someone who already knew the ending to a story still being told.

The perfusionist shrugged. "Blood flow was near perfect according to the bypass unit," he offered, searching for reassurance with a glance to the Ferengi surgeon.

"Yes," said Sylorik removing his surgical gloves. "However, this unit"--he pointed to the cardiopulmonary bypass machine--"is not capable of restoring blood flow through three aortas simultaneously."

The Ferengi doctor shook his head and began barking orders to the remaining members of the surgical team. "Three CCs cordrazine and prepare cardiac stimulation!"

Sylorik rubbed his tired eyes and said, "Computer, note result of procedure and end program." He felt the fatigue in every joint of his near century-old body.

As if magically, the patient, surgical personnel and all instruments disappeared. All that was left was Sylorik in his surgical scrubs in an empty surgical suite with a holo grid bathing him in silence.

* * *

Location: Deck 10, The Bean Coffee Lounge and Bar
Time: 2244 hours

Sylorik sat at a corner table of The Bean, surrounded only by empty tables and chairs. Only the sound of a lone barista sterilizing an espresso machine could be heard throughout the space. A pair of data PADDs lay in front of the Vulcan doctor, displaying detailed results from recent surgical simulations deemed to be failures. His eyes, sharp and tired, flicked over the data scanning for answers that simply were not there.

Outside on the promenade, through the entrance to the lounge, Iozhara was walking past the cafe, he climbing gear damp with sweat, her face flushed from the exertion of a zero-gravity training session. She spotted Sylorik immediately and, as always, her curiosity drew her toward him.

Sliding through the door, she made her way to his table pausing only momentarily to catch her breath. Her amber eyes glinted with detached amusement as she took in the sight of the middle-aged Vulcan hunched over his PADDs, and his usually calm features drawn tight with what could only be termed 'Vulcan frustration'.

"Doctor," she said, her voice cool but vaguely playful. "Another round of simulations?"

Sylorik did not look up right away. "Failures," he said, his tone flat as he scanned the data again. "Several anomalies in the revascularization techniques employed and a bypass unit that is also responsible."

Iozhara sat down across from him, her climbing gloves still on, a few strands of auburn hair escaping from her taut braids as she slid into the seat. She leaned back slightly, giving him a moment to settle into his thoughts before she spoke again.

"You know," she said casually. "Sometimes the right answer isn't in the data at all."

Sylorik's gaze flicked up to her, a flicker skepticism in his eyes. "The data is always correct," he said, gesturing to the data PADDs.

Her amber eyes softened and she tilted her head slightly. "You know," she began. "Sometimes it's not about finding the one thing that went wrong, but rather understanding that not everything fits into a single solution."

Sylorik studied her a moment, weighing her words. He knew that Iozhara was not someone given to idle talk--her observations were always sharp, often uncovering truths overlooked.

"I disagree," he said at last, his voice measured. "There must be a clear cause and effect."

"I didn't say there isn't a cause," Iozhara said, her voice unhurried. "But some things--some people--are too complex to be fixed by logic alone." She reached for her own PADD, idly scrolling through it before meeting his gaze again. "Maybe there’s something in the way you're approaching it. What if the answer lies in what’s not immediately visible?"

Sylorik leveled his gaze at her, lifting his chin slightly as if weighing her words. She gently pushed away a stray strand of auburn hair that had been threatening to tangle itself in her breathing apparatus.

"Sometimes," she continued the thought. "The most glaring detail is the one you don't notice because you're too focused on the rest of the picture." She give him a faint, knowing smile. "Even the most skilled surgeon can miss a subtle sign when he's too caught-up in the technicalities."

For a moment, Sylorik said nothing, his gaze returning to the PADDs. There was a palpable shift in the atmosphere, something softer in the way Iozhara observed him--akin to understanding though not pity.

"I will revisit the data," Sylorik said, his voice even. "You may be correct."

Iozhara nodded but didn't press further. She knew the Vulcan doctor's relentless pursuit of perfection when it came to medicine could not be interrupted. Conversely, Sylorik couldn't help but wonder whether there was wisdom in her approach that had eluded him until now.

She flashed a lighthearted grin. "It's a little late for coffee, Doctor."

Sylorik glanced from his coffee cup to the Barzan nurse, as if having been pulled from the depths of his data once more. "Caffeine has very little effect on me," he said as he brought the hot beverage to his mouth.

Iozhara slid out of the seat slowly, unfolding her long limbs with ease. She smiled again and with a forced collegial tone, said, "Good night, Doctor."

He said nothing, barely noting her exit as his eyes ran over the same data for the twentieth time. When Sylorik looked up from the PADD, she was gone. He placed the PADD back on the table and turned his thoughts to the young Barzan nurse. Since beginning his assignment aboard Elysium, he found her to be one of the more talented nurses in the department--always quick on her feet and offering a perspective Sylorik had not considered.

Sylorik stared into the depths of his coffee cup as though it might yield some unrevealed truth. In his mind, the empty chair across from him still held some trace of her. For all her youth and instinct, she reminded him of a stillness he'd once possessed before decades of precision dulled its edges with rigidity.

He reached for the data PADD again, but this time his fingers hovered just above the surface. Logic would always guide his hand, but if he had learned anything this night, it was that wisdom required more than logic alone.