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Chapter 6
Some time later Jack found Stephen in the sick bay office, standing in the dark in front of a large computer screen. “There you are, Stephen,” he said. “Why are you standing in the dark?”
“I am evaluating my patient’s CT. He has an epidural hematoma, see the characteristic lens shape, limited by the coronal suture? I suspect a rupture of one of the branches of the middle meningeal artery, but I’d like to see it on the film.”
“The middle meningeal artery?” said Jack.
“Oh, no, one of its branches,” he scrolled to the next slice. “There,” he said, “just at the pterion. And a hairline fracture, too.”
“Oh, dear,” said Jack. “And how are your other patients,” he asked, determined to hear it through to the end in his responsibility as captain.
“The broken arm I have splinted and managed the pain. I’ll cast him after the operation. The rest are minor scrapes and contusions, which will do.”
“Oh, dear, oh, dear,” said Jack again. Only a few days into his first command and he had one hand dead of a head injury: no one could survive bleeding into the brain, that was certain. Not without the medical team of a shore establishment or a capital ship. And another man with a broken bone so severe it required surgery: weeks to recover, no doubt, and permanent disability. “Well,” he said, “I’ll leave you to it,” and he departed sick bay.
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