A Fighting Chance
Posted on 19 Mar 2026 @ 3:05am by Lieutenant Commander Claire Dunross MD
1,030 words; about a 5 minute read
Mission: Silent Inheritance
// Sickbay :: USS Arawyn //
The lighting in Sickbay was steady. Controlled. It always was.
Claire stood at the biobed, her attention fixed on the child before her as the scan resolved in layered bands of data. Neural response latency. Electrochemical drift. Immune activation curves that should have been rising and instead hovered in a stagnant, insufficient plateau.
“Euan Hale,” she said quietly, anchoring the moment.
Three years old.
He lay against the biobed’s gentle incline, small fingers curled tightly around a worn blue octopus. His skin was warm to the touch, a low-grade fever persisting despite supportive care. A faint rash traced across his torso, partially faded but not resolved.
His eyes tracked movement.
Slowly.
A tremor passed through his hand. Subtle. Intermittent. Unmistakable.
Claire adjusted the scan resolution, isolating the neurological markers. The delay in response was no longer fractional. It had deepened. Signal transmission lag across motor pathways. Early-stage disruption.
Progression.
Her jaw set slightly.
“Tha sin ceàrr…” she murmured under her breath.
The chart updated again. Gastrointestinal markers still unstable. Nutritional intake insufficient. The slow systemic decline noted planetside was present here as well.
And beneath it all, the same problem.
The vaccine markers were present. Intact. Structurally sound.
And completely ineffective.
Polymer particulates bound tightly to the carrier proteins, forming dense clusters that blocked receptor activation entirely. The immune system was not failing.
It had never been properly engaged.
Claire exhaled once, steady and controlled.
They were nearing the threshold where decline would accelerate.
That was not happening on her watch.
She straightened.
“Computer, prepare liposomal scavenger suspension. Adjust for pediatric mass, three years, twelve point six kilograms. Begin at controlled infusion rate.”
Acknowledgment chimed softly.
Euan’s gaze shifted from the scanner to her face. He studied her with quiet focus, then lifted the small octopus slightly.
“Bright room,” he said.
Claire’s expression softened, just a fraction.
“Aye,” she replied gently. “It is that.”
She moved the scanner slightly lower, letting him watch it.
“Helps me see what your body’s up to,” she added.
He seemed to consider that very seriously.
Good.
Claire moved to the console, reviewing the parameters one final time. The science behind this was sound. It needed to be. There was no margin left for hesitation.
She tapped her combadge.
“Dunross to Science. Initiating treatment on a severe pediatric case using the scavenger model. I’m forwarding continuous telemetry. Focus on binding efficiency and clearance rates. We’ll need to accelerate this.”
She closed the channel and returned to the biobed.
“Alright, Euan,” she said softly. “Let’s give your body a fighting chance, hm?”
The hypospray hissed as the first dose was administered.
For a moment, nothing.
The tremor persisted. His breathing remained shallow, slightly uneven.
Then the display shifted.
Claire leaned in, eyes sharpening as the molecular overlay began to change. The dense polymer clusters wavered, destabilizing as the liposomal particles attached. One by one, the bonds began to break, fragments pulling free from the carrier proteins.
“Guid…” she murmured. “That’s it…”
The process moved in gradients. Slower where concentrations were higher. Resistant, but not immovable.
Euan blinked.
And this time, when the scanner moved, his gaze followed it immediately.
Claire stilled.
The tremor in his hand lessened. Still present, but reduced.
“There we are…” she said quietly. “Stay with me…”
Immune markers flickered.
Then rose.
Not enough.
But real.
Euan shifted slightly and extended the octopus toward her.
Claire took it without hesitation.
“Thank you,” she said, setting it gently back within his reach.
She straightened and turned to the console, compiling the data with efficient precision.
“Computer, transmit full treatment log to Science and Medical. Priority. Note partial success, delayed clearance in high-load concentrations.”
“Doctor?”
Claire turned.
Nurse Amy Carter stood just inside the bay, posture attentive and composed.
“The boy’s mother is in the waiting room,” Carter said quietly. “She’s been asking for updates. His father is still planetside with the engineering teams.”
Tomas Hale.
Claire gave a small nod.
“Thank you, Nurse Carter. Keep monitoring his vitals. If there’s any regression, I want to know immediately.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
Claire cast one more look at Euan. The child was watching the scanner again, more alert now. More present.
Good.
She turned and stepped out into the corridor.
—
The waiting area was quieter than Sickbay. Not silent, but softened. The kind of quiet that carried worry instead of urgency.
A woman sat forward in her chair, hands clasped tightly together. She looked up the moment Claire entered.
“Doctor?”
Claire approached at an unhurried pace.
“Mrs Hale,” she said gently. “I’m Doctor Dunross.”
Lena Hale stood quickly, searching Claire’s face before the words even came.
“Is he…” she stopped, breath catching. “Is he getting worse?”
Claire held her gaze, steady and direct.
“No,” she said. “He is not getting worse.”
The tension in the woman’s shoulders shifted, but did not fully release.
Claire continued.
“We’ve initiated a treatment to remove the contaminant interfering with his immune response. It is working.”
A small pause.
“Working,” Lena repeated, as if testing the word.
“Aye,” Claire said softly. “It is. Slowly, but definitively. His neurological response has already improved.”
Lena’s eyes filled before she could stop it.
“Can I see him?”
“Of course.”
Claire turned slightly, gesturing back toward Sickbay.
As they walked, she added more quietly,
“His father is doing important work down there. What he’s helping fix is part of why we can treat this at all.”
Lena nodded.
“He wouldn’t leave if it wasn’t necessary.”
“I know,” Claire said.
They stepped back into the controlled light of Sickbay.
Euan looked up as they approached.
Faster this time.
“Mama,” he said.
Lena let out a breath that sounded like it had been held for days as she moved to his side.
Claire remained just behind them, hands loosely clasped, watching the monitors rather than the moment.
Professional. Measured.
But there was the faintest easing in her posture.
A beginning.
She turned back toward the console.
“Alright,” she murmured under her breath. “Now we make it faster.”
LtCmdr Claire Dunross, MD
Asst Chief Medical Officer
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