Signs from Heaven

by Phaedra M. Weldon

  Blood spilled over her hands and onto the floor. She couldn’t identify the organs that shifted and moved forward.

  Corsi came up beside her and pressed her own bare hands into the mix. A glance at the security chief showed her lips were drawn into a thin line, her expression focused.

  Sarjenka grabbed the viscera before it fell forward and expertly held it back, gesturing for Corsi to take control of it.

  “Hold it all in,” she said to Corsi.

  “He’s still bleeding,” Konya said as he came to Corsi’s right and put his own hands into the bloody mess.

  Lense answered. “And he’ll keep bleeding until you find whatever’s bleeding and clamp it. Now get moving! This is as good as it’s gonna get.”

  Once the viscera and incision opening were pushed and held to the sides by Konya and Corsi, Sarjenka gave Lense the okay.

  “Now stop the bleeder.”

  Sarjenka squinted as she pushed her left hand in and moved the other organs out of the way. “It looks like it missed the stomach, the pancreas is history. It’s pretty much a bloody pulp. The pole missed the superior mesenteric artery.”

  “Uh-oh—is the pancreases auto-digesting? The thing’s just a bag of enzymes.”

  Sarkjena looked again at the bubbling, pulpy mass. “Yes.”

  “Well, if it’s gone, then the spleen’s history too. Remember, in humans the spleen is an emergency blood reservoir. That’s probably where you’re getting a lot of this blood.”

  The city shook again, vibrating the walls. A few pieces of art fell from their perches and crashed to the ground.

  Pushing the oozing pancreas out of the way, Sarjenka reached in under it and flopped the omen-tum onto Bart’s chest so she could see. This exposed the ruptured spleen, hugging the underside of the left diaphragm and protected by the left rib cage. The whole thing looked like bloody mush.

  Pushing her hand under and then up, unable to see with her eyes but concentrating with her fingers, Sarjenka felt a bulge of blood in a meaty sac. She felt the hump of the kidney, and then the aorta. It pulsed against her fingers. “I found a sac of blood.”

  “That’s okay. Find the tear.”

  She couldn’t see; she could only feel. Her heart raced against her chest and she closed her eyes as her long fingers felt the way.

  She felt the pole and followed it until she found where it pierced the retro peritoneum. She probed gingerly around the rip—it reminded her of fleshy lips. “I found the tear in the retro peritoneum.”

  “Okay, now listen carefully. You’re going to have to enlarge that rip in order to get to the aorta and clamp it off.”

  Sarjenka’s heart skipped a beat. “But what if I rip or tear the aorta and not the retro peritoneum?”

  “Girl, listen to me. You can do this. Just concentrate. Listen to me, and concentrate. There’s a big difference between a rubber hose and a membrane. Try this: visualize the aorta as a big pulsatile tube.”

  Squeezing her eyes shut, Sarjenka eased her fingers into the rip and then slowly, gentlay spread her index finger and second fingers apart like scissors. She felt a gentle rip and it wasn’t the aorta.

  She felt more blood move past her hand and it streamed down her arm onto her uniform and dripped from the elbow. “I found the cut—vertical.”

  “Pinch it off just above and below.”

  “Pinch it off with what?” Sarjenka looked at Corsi.

  “Your fingers. Corsi’s fingers. Konya’s. I don’t care. Just pinch it off. You’ve got to stop the bleeding.”

  Corsi was already sliding her hand in beside Sarjenka’s, following her long fingers and mimicking the pinch above. “Feels like al dente pasta,” she remarked.

  Konya blanched. “I’ll never eat spaghetti again.”

  “Now you know why I’m not fond of Italian,” Lense said over the badges.

  Corsi then placed her other hand inside and pinched the aorta below the cut. Sarjenka left her hand just below Corsi’s to make sure the blood flow there was stopped. When she no longer felt the pulse of blood move past her fingers, she pulled them out, wiped them on her already soaked uniform, and grabbed up the tricorder.

  “Is his pressure creeping up?”

  “Yes…but he’s lost a lot of blood, and he’s not getting any blood flow to the kidneys on the right.”

  Konya shifted his position. “The blood’s starting to clot.”

  Corsi nodded. “Fabian once said it looked like clotted grape jelly.” She looked down at her uniform. “I don’t think I’m going to be eating much grape jelly in my future.”

  “Just keep that aorta clamped. He’s got about half an hour maximum—I’ll let Captain Gold know.”

  “Doctor!” Sarjenka blurted out before she meant to.

  “What is it? He isn’t regaining consciousness is he?”

  “No—I hope he doesn’t.” Sarjenka finally looked up at Bart’s pasty white face. His eyes were sunken. Dark circles surrounded them. She checked again to make sure he was breathing fine. A long shock of salt-and-pepper hair hung over his eyes. “I just—Could you—” She swallowed. “Could you keep your channel open?”

  There was a long pause.

  “Yes, Sarjenka. I’ll be here.” Another pause and she thought she heard Dr. Lense sniff.

  The city shook violently beneath their feet as Sarjenka lost her footing on the blood-soaked floor.

  Chapter

  10

  “Captain—High Advisor Nelois is hailing us.”

  Oh, boy. Gold had been sitting in his chair, feeling useless as ever. His right foot bounced up and down in a nervous twitch even Rachael couldn’t endure. “Put him on screen.”

  Larin Nelois appeared. His expression was less than cordial and his lips were drawn in a thin line. “Captain Gold, I must apologize for the Yaffie’s actions—”

  “High Advisor,” Gold interrupted. “Tell those people to stop firing on Stratos or so help me I’ll fire on them.”

  Nelois looked as if Gold had just punched him in the stomach. “You wouldn’t dare!”

  “I will dare, and I will get my people out of there. Relay that message to Yaffie now. Gold out.” He slapped at the comm on his command chair’s left arm. He turned to Haznedl. “Any word from Stratos’s engine room?”

  “None sir.” She turned to him. “Dr. Lense is still online with Sarjenka, but neither Commander Gomez nor Captain Scott are answering our hails. I can’t tell if their signal’s being jammed or if they’re unable to answer.”

  “Keep trying. And if by any chance that shield goes down, I want Faulwell beamed immediately to sickbay.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He sat back in his chair, his hands balled into tight fists. What was happening down there? Why didn’t they answer?

  The reason no one answered from engineering was that at that moment Gomez, Tev, Scott, Stevens, Lauoc, Krotine, and Blue were being held at gunpoint—by Historian Vanov on one side, and the Ardanan engineering quartet on the other.

  Fabian didn’t know where the Ardanans had pulled the guns from, nor did he recognize their make. Knowing if they fired energy or slugs was of great importance to him. Energy burned or disintegrated flesh, and slugs tore and burrowed, as he remembered all too well from their mission to Teneb last year. And with the thoughts running about in his feverish head, that could be the deciding factor in what he was about to do.

  Vanov wanted Fabian to lower the shield—but not to save Bart. He wanted the shields lowered so his people—the ones firing at them—could get a good shot. In essence, he wanted Fabian to lower the shields so they could all get blown up.

  The engineers wanted Fabian to stay away from the podium because they wanted Stratos preserved. They didn’t care one smidgeon about the man dying in a vault somewhere.

  And Fabian knew he was dying. He could feel it inside—he felt something twisting and tightening in his head. He felt wrong. Distant.

  Fabian’s first instinct was to run to the podium and act
ivate it, tossing the tune in his head into the system so the shields could lower. He knew he’d get shot in the process, but at least Bart would be saved. He felt sure Captain Gold wasn’t going to waste any time getting him back to the ship.

  That was his plan—until Dreena pushed her gun into the left temple of Sonya Gomez.

  Then all bets were off.

  As the blasts ricocheted off the shields outside the city, the group stood by the podium, everyone staring at one another.

  Dreena held out her free hand—the one not threatening to kill Sonya. “Please, Mr. Stevens. I promise we will release the commander if you come with us. We must make sure the city lasts until the bombing ceases.”

  “And what if it doesn’t?” Vanov asked. He held his gun trained on Fabian. “What if my people don’t stop?”

  “Then I am certain if the High Advisor does not stop them, Captain Gold of the da Vinci will. The truth of the situation is that unless you stop your intent upon destruction, the shields cannot be lowered.”

  Fabian decided at that moment that he did not like Dreena. He focused on Sonya until her gaze locked with his. He smiled, glanced at the podium.

  She frowned, indicating what?

  He glanced at the podium again. Again she frowned.

  He glanced again.

  And again she frowned at him.

  “Are you dense, woman? Duck behind the podium!”

  The sudden outburst caught everyone off guard, especially Dreena. She wasn’t ready for Sonya to abruptly duck down and dive at the podium.

  Dreena fired in reaction. The slug moved through the air where Sonya had been and impacted into the arm of Historian Vanov. He reacted as well—his hand squeezing the trigger just as Fabian lunged for Sonya.

  The bullet exploded into the left podium. Sparks popped outward and the city dropped a few centimeters beneath their feet.

  Lauoc and Krotine moved into action, their own phasers out as they corralled the engineers into a huddle and relieved them of their guns.

  Fabian pulled himself as well as Sonya into a standing position in front of the podium. A claxon sounded from somewhere above them. “You okay?” He had both hands on her shoulders.

  She touched his hands. “Yes, I’m fine. He didn’t shoot you, did he?”

  “Nah.” He smiled at her. “I’m quicker than that. Even while possessed by evil kudzu.”

  She frowned.

  “Never mind.”

  Her hands touched his. “Fabian, your hands are so warm.”

  “Yeah.” He pulled his hands from hers and touched the podium without warning.

  Tev was at the podium also. “There is a twenty-one percent drop in stability. It would appear that these misguided zealots damaged the dampening system.”

  Fabian looked at the left podium, which remained dark. “Yeah. Looks like we’re going to go down whether we want to or not.”

  Scotty moved to the right podium and began touching the images. “Incoming!”

  The city shook again.

  Fabian glanced at Scotty. “I’ve been timing those little shakes. They’re about six minutes apart. I’m gonna lower the shields while they get Bart out of here. Then I’m going to try to raise them again.”

  “Can you do that?”

  Fabian shrugged. He wished he knew a way to turn that bell sound off. He had to shout to be heard. “I won’t know till I try. Either way, if I can’t get the dampeners back online, it won’t matter. Seems to be a safety feature—if they fail then the city comes down instead of flipping over.”

  Sonya put her hand on his right shoulder. “What about those paintings in the vault with Bart? Was there anything in there that might have helped?”

  He grinned at her. “Yes, there is. I need you to get down there and tell me what colors you see on the one Bart was pinned too. I have to know that final sequence. Scan it into your tricorder if you have to.”

  She nodded.

  “Hey, Sonya.” He lowered his voice.

  She turned back to him.

  “You’re not mad at me, are you?”

  Her dark eyes searched his own. “Mad at you? For the dense crack? No, but I’m going to have to demand a drink in payment later.”

  Even though his thoughts centered around there being no more laters for himself, he smiled. “Sure. But, mad at me because”—he looked down before he said what he’d been thinking out loud—“because I didn’t kiss you back.”

  Her eyes widened. They were huddled together, speaking in low voices. Sonya frowned. “Fabe, I wouldn’t expect you to return the kiss. I took you by surprise. I mean—if you kissed me back, I’d have to question your loyalty to Corsi. I know you care about her.”

  “Yes…I do.”

  “Then get this done so we can go home.” She moved away from him to the transmat pad on the lowest level. “I’ll go find the painting.”

  He nodded. It wasn’t the answer he wanted, but it was the truth. They were friends and she respected how he felt about Corsi. Though at that moment he finally realized what had been nagging at him ever since that night.

  Ever since it happened.

  The fact he couldn’t forget it.

  The city shook. He looked over at Scott as a keyboard appeared in front of him. With a determined expression, he picked out the notes of the song in his mind.

  “Shabalala, target the southern region, lock on to the initiation point for the bombs hurled at my people.” Gold didn’t realize he’d stood up from his chair, his fists clenched, his jaw set hard.

  Yaffie looked as if someone had taken away his favorite pony. He shook his head. “Captain, there must be something you can do—”

  “I am doing it. I’m stopping this insanity. Shabalala—”

  “Captain!” Haznedl called out. “The shield’s down!”

  “Good.” He had an open channel to the transporter room. “Poynter, send everyone in that vault to sickbay—including the pole, ten centimeters front and back. Energize!”

  “Energizing.”

  Gold sat back down, put Yaffie on mute, and opened a channel to sickbay. “Lense, he’s on his way!”

  “Faulwell’s on board the da Vinci,” Scotty said to his right. “Pattie, engage the tactical you found earlier.”

  A large, holographic, wire-framed schematic appeared in the air in front of the cylinder. Fabian stared at it, amazed at the different patterns, the eddies and flows of the colors as they moved around the city like lights.

  He’d been unable to raise Plasus’s shield again. The only way he knew how was to cut power again, but Conlon had already said the da Vinci wasn’t up for that right at that moment. Another hour maybe.

  They didn’t have another hour. The city was slowly starting to fall straight down.

  “We’re going to take another hit in about three minutes,” Pattie said. “Without shields.”

  He concentrated on the dampeners, but nothing was working. The graviton engines were losing RPMs and the city was listing to one side.

  “I need to move it,” Fabian said out loud. A fire raged behind his eyes and in his skin. He was shaking but never moved from the podium. “The city’s coming down—that much I know. But we have to move it.”

  “Gomez to Stevens.”

  “Stevens here. What do you see?”

  “Blood. Lots of it. And I’m afraid there isn’t much left of the painting, Fabe. Looks like they beamed up most of it with Bart.”

  Lots of blood.

  No end note.

  “Incoming!” Pattie warned them.

  Fabian braced for the impact—this one would be bad without shields.

  Just as he feared the impact was a thousand times greater than what had hit them before. The city shuddered around them and he could hear pieces of architecture cracking throughout the city. He didn’t know if that was because of his link with the network or because it was just darned loud.

  “Sonya, are you all right?”

  “Yes—nearly got flattened by a st
atue. I’m on my way back to you.”

  Scott picked himself off the ground and brushed his jacket off with his hands. “I don’t think the city is going to survive too many more like that.”

  “No, it won’t.”

  Sonya rematerialized on the transmat platform and immediately asked, “Fabian, you have any more hare-brained ideas?”

  “I think so.”

  “Okay, then. Gomez to Poynter. Laura, beam the security detail and any Ardanans left down here back to the da Vinci.” Looking at Lauoc, she said, “Put them all in the brig; we’ll sort it out later.”

  The diminutive Bajoran nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

  While Lauoc, Krotine, Vanov, and the engineers all transported away, Fabian imagined a color chart and one appeared in front of him. He recalled the pictures in order around the room as they’d been placed. Each color rang out a tone in his head.

  The images changed and shifted and he nearly fell back with the speed he traveled to the very center of the cylinder in front of them.

  The cylinder.

  That’s it! He blinked several times and turned to the others. “The cylinder. It’s the navigational control.”

  Even as he spoke the huge silo on the lower floor began to spin.

  “Are you sure?” Tev asked.

  Fabian’s legs became unstable beneath him. “I know that it’s going to match the RPMs of the graviton generators.” He pursed his lips. “Only I don’t know how to make it go.”

  “Say again?” Scott asked.

  “I don’t have the last color or tone. I can’t finish the command. I don’t know how we can move forward. If we can just move this damned city away from the one below it we can just land—”

  Pattie said, “You don’t need the city’s engines to make the city move.”

  “Tractor beam,” Sonya said, and tapped her combadge. “Gomez to Conlon.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “We need a nudge.”