Death of Commander D'Sai
Posted on Tue May 27th, 2025 @ 5:15pm by Captain Rylan Gray & Lieutenant Patrick Ryan M.D. & Lieutenant Ayryn Trynn M.D. & Lieutenant JG Elara Vasquez
1,582 words; about a 8 minute read
Mission:
A Silence of Friends
Location: Sickbay | Deck 4 | USS Thunderbird
The soft chime of a bio-monitor turned shrill—Commander D’Sai’s vitals were dropping fast.
Patrick, slumped in a nearby chair with a hypo still in hand, stirred at the sound, his eyes snapping open despite the weight of exhaustion pressing down on him.
“What is it?” he asked, voice hoarse as he forced himself upright, using the biobed for leverage. His vision wavered, then steadied just enough to see D’Sai seizing—subtle at first, then more violently. Her heart rate was spiking, oxygen saturation crashing.
Dr Elara Vasquez was already scanning. “Severe neural cascade. Her system’s destabilizing—fast.”
Patrick staggered over, gripping the edge of the station, refusing to let himself fall. “Try neural inhibitors—eighty milligrams. Increase cortical stimulation. Adjust the isozyme dampeners, they’re not regulating at her level.”
Elara hesitated for half a breath. “Doctor—”
“Do it,” he snapped, coughing into the crook of his elbow, leaving a faint red smear on his sleeve. His knees buckled, and he caught himself before collapsing completely.
Elara reached out instinctively. “Patrick, stop. You’re not stable. You can’t keep pushing like this.”
His breathing was shallow now, and for a moment he didn’t respond. Then his eyes locked onto hers—fevered but focused.
“D’Sai’s crashing,” he said, the words barely above a whisper. “She doesn’t have an hour. Maybe not even ten minutes. You’ve seen the scans. She’s the next Rush.” He leaned heavily against the console. “Get Trynn. She has to take over. Right now.”
“I’m here,” Trynn told him as she appeared at his side, her eyes on the alarming readings over D’Sai’s unconscious form as approached. Of all the patients, D’Sai had for a while been the one causing more concern. And with no cure, all they could do was fight fires with … nothing. They were exhausting every option in the book and yet they were still losing the battle.
Putting an arm around Dr Ryan to support his weight, she took advantage of his weakened state and her strength to ease him back towards the adjacent biobed. “You need to rest,” she chided before looking over at Dr Vasquez. “Status?”
Dr. Vasquez didn’t look up immediately. Her hands were buried in the interface, adjusting cortical stim levels and initiating a second round of neuro-suppression. When she finally spoke, her voice was low and tight, weary but focused.
“Neural degradation’s accelerating—microlesions are forming across her frontal and temporal lobes now. It’s following the same trajectory as Rush.” She shook her head. “She’s not there yet, but we’re close. If we don’t find a way to stop this cascade soon...”
She finally turned, glancing at Trynn and then at Patrick, who was slumped against the biobed, pale and fevered.
“We’ve stabilized what we can, but it’s temporary. Everything we’re doing—it’s just delaying the inevitable.”
Vasquez gestured toward the console where Stormy’s gene sequences and infection models scrolled like a ticking clock.
“Unless that analysis gives us a breakthrough, D’Sai isn’t going to make it.”
Her tone wasn’t sharp—just honest. The room was heavy with it.
“You’ve got minutes, maybe an hour. After that, we lose her.”
“Not gonna lie, I really do not miss this,” Arynn breathed, more to herself than the room. Taking a deep breath she nodded to Vasquez, “you are doing great. Let’s buy the Commander as much time as we can, keep giving her a fighting chance.”
Because ultimately what else could they do? Work continued on a cure but it took time. She had considered stasis but her condition had deteriorated too far already. Which left old fashioned medicine. Making sure Dr Ryan was staying in one place for now, she joined Vasquez. “I can take lead, you’ve been on your feet forever without a break,” she told the other woman. “Besides, I’ve got a great supervisor since we both know he isn’t going to stay put.”
Dr. Vasquez didn’t smile at Ayryn’s words, but she gave a small nod—an acknowledgment, not of encouragement, but of shared burden. Her eyes remained locked on the data streaming above D’Sai’s biobed, the rhythms faltering, degrading in slow motion.
“We’ll give her everything we’ve got,” she said quietly. “But we all know how this ends. We’re just… buying her the time she deserves.”
She reached for another hypo, administering it with practiced efficiency. “Neuro-inhibitor’s barely holding. The damage is accelerating. But I’m not walking away. Not while she’s still here.”
From the nearby biobed, Patrick stirred, trying to push himself upright. His hand trembled with the effort, and he barely managed to lift his torso before he collapsed back, breath catching in his throat.
“I should be there,” he rasped, eyes fixed on D’Sai. “I should be doing something.”
Vasquez turned to him. “You’ve done everything you could, Patrick. You gave her a chance when no one else could.”
He shook his head weakly. “She’s still alive. I can’t just lie here and watch her slip away.”
Vasquez didn’t argue. She just looked at him for a moment, then back to Ayryn.
“It’s on us now,” she said to her quietly. “She trusted us. So we give her what we can, even if we can’t save her.”
Patrick’s voice was quieter now, filled with defeat and frustration. “Take lead, Ayryn. Finish this. Don’t let her go alone.”
She hadn't been wanted on this ship. The snarky former XO had made that clear and he would find a letter in her quarters once his ego and ambition got him back in there. Tasks lined up in her mind. Things D'Sai needed to be doing. But the edges were fuzzy and she couldn't find the strength to get up. To move. Someone would take her place. Snarky XO was probably salivating over it. Did that made it easier to go? No. She wanted to live. To fight. But there was so much pain and a dark fog rolling across her brain. Snippets of memory, of people, trying to make themselves heard but her awareness of the room kept sliding in and out, and she wanted, oh how she wanted, to live. To thrive. It was just so hard to hold on, to keep fighting, when the lassitude curled about her bones, her muscles, her heart, urging her to rest, to stop. To go. "Never wanted," she whispered.
About to assure the good doctor that she has no intention of leaving the commander to fight this alone, Ayryn stopped at the faint sound which reached her ears, muffled slightly by the containment suit. Never wanted? She shot a questioning look towards Vasquez and it was clear the other woman had heard something too.
“Commander?” Trynn asked, trying to coax more signs of life from their first officer. With one gloved hand she took D’Sai’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, while her free hand made continuous adjustments to the neural stabilizers which were almost completely overwhelmed. “Keep fighting,” she urged, “I very much want you back with us and picking out a lollipop or three. Any colour you like.”
Could the commander even hear her? At this point it was unlikely but that didn’t mean impossible. And if there was any chance, then she had to try and offer comfort in any way. Had it not been for her suit she would have tried something more old school, risked a mind meld, something to make a real connection.
The commander had welcomed her aboard and dealt with stepping into Commander Knox’s shoes. And for this to happen was tragic and senseless.
Words drifted like butterflies above her. Out of reach. She felt weighted down. Dropping. Tumbling. She fought against it. Tried to find her way back to .... the words ... to life. She fought until the last moment and then, she couldn't. While on the monitors above her bed, the readings indicated her losing struggle and then they stilled.
There was a tiny glimmer of hope, the tiniest uptick in vitals which had suggested perhaps something they were doing - which in fairness was just about every trick the medical staff crowded around Commander D’Sai knew. Yet it was false hope. Shattered as the vital signs flatlined in confirmation of - perhaps - the inevitable.
Even so, the battle raged on. Attempts to revive the commander continuing until logic, cold and unyielding, At odds with the care and emotion driving the medical staff to fight that very same inevitability.
Placing a hand on Vasquez’s arm, Ayryn gave a subtle shake of her head. “She’s gone… I’m making the call. You did everything possible, all of you,” she said quietly. Which was true.
Offering words in her mother’s native tongue to the commander’s still form, the counsellor turned acting CMO cleared her throat before speaking up, “computer, please add entry to ships log with date and time of death for Commander Zhaan D’Sai.”
Commander Zhaan D'Sai (Deceased)
First Officer
USS Thunderbird
Lieutenant Ayryn Trynn M.D.
Counselor
USS Thunderbird
Doctor Patrick Ryan M.D.
Chief Medical Officer
USS Thunderbird
Doctor Elara Vasquez M.D.
Medical Officer
USS Thunderbird
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