Turning my attention back to Elunara, I ask, “Can you start warming your hands? Press them against your own skin, preferably under your shirt, against your chest or belly or wherever you have a greater degree of body heat. Once they’re suitably warm, I want you to place them on Phee’s torso, under her clothes if possible, to help try to warm her core. Getting her warm is essential. While you’re doing that, I’m going to press my ear against Phee’s chest and try to listen to her heartbeat to the best of my ability.”
Elunara follows my instructions, and those who have crowded around us go silent. They all disappear from my vision as I focus all my attention on Phee, placing my ear over where I believe her heart is, if her organ placement is like a human’s, and cupping my hand around it. She seems far too young to have had a stroke or heart attack, but if she’s experiencing circulatory problems, it could mean some other kind of undiagnosed heart problem.
I’ve always had impeccable hearing, but I have to strain to listen. My method isn’t great, but I manage to hear enough to come up with a possible answer to what’s happening, but I need more info. Pulling back, I focus on Elunara.
“What’s considered normal for your species’ heart rate, as in beats per minute. Or even rhythm?”
After all, it could be different from humans.
She gives me a quick rundown, and I realize my initial assessment is probably right—or really damn close.
“Like I said, I don’t have appropriate equipment to officially diagnose. However, it sounds to me like your granddaughter may have a heart arrhythmia that could very likely be congenital.”
Her eyes widen. “Phee’s had no symptoms of such a problem until now, and her scans when she started school were normal.”
“Again, I don’t know all the details of Zidali biology, but it’s quite possible that the arrhythmia has been lying dormant until now. I can’t say for sure how or what triggered it to suddenly start acting up, but time is of the essence. I would like your permission to perform CPR until the park’s medical staff arrive.”
“What is CPR, and would it help?”
“CPR is a form of manual chest compressions accompanied by mouth-to-mouth breathing that is used to help keep the heart pumping blood in cases of a heart attack or other cardiovascular problems. It’s recommended for an arrhythmia episode until other interventions can be implemented.”
Elunara studies me for a tense moment and then nods her head. “Do it.”
I don’t think, I simply act. At this point, I’m half convinced that I could perform CPR in my sleep. It’s almost automatic for me as I push hard and fast on Phee’s chest to the beat of the Bee Gees’ “Staying Alive” in my head—it was one of Nana’s favorites. After I’ve reached roughly one hundred, I tilt her head back and give her mouth-to-mouth. Once I see her chest has fully risen, I begin the compressions again, then repeat the process with a dogged determination.
I only come out of my zone when Elunara gently clasps my arm. “They’re here.”
Blinking, I finally notice two uniformed medical responders. One carries a portable case, and a mechanized stretcher hovers in the air between them. I move away from Phee while one of them pulls out what appears to be a portable version of the biometric scanner we have on the ship to examine her. I hurriedly explain the examination I performed and what I suspect is the underlying cause of Phee’s symptoms to the other responder, an orange-hued individual with a bird-like head, complete with feathers and a full-on beak.
The first responder finishes his scan, then glances at me with an obvious look of professional respect. “Your diagnosis was spot on. It appears to be a heart arrhythmia that has gone undiagnosed but has most likely been there since birth.”
I nod. “It’s one of many probable causes for these symptoms, but listening to her heartbeat confirmed it.”
My new bird-like friend pulls out what appears to be a much more advanced version of a portable defibrillator. “Whatever move you were performing on her seems to have helped a bit, but we still need to get her heart rhythm stabilized.”
In total agreement, I step back as they attach an unusual-looking pad with an electrode to her chest. In short order, the defibrillator shocks Phee’s body, and the bird-like responder uses the biometric scanner to assess how the girl is doing.
“Her heart rhythm has stabilized.” He gets to his feet and reaches out a feathery hand, which I shake. “Good work. She’s going to be fine now. We’ll take it from here.”
The crowd around us starts cheering and clapping while the two responders, wasting no time, swiftly load Phee onto their hover stretcher—so damn cool—and prepare to take her back to their medical bay.
Even as I watch, I notice that Phee’s skin starts to glow brighter and healthier, and I heave a sigh of relief. Her grandmother hurries to me and clasps my hand in hers.
“Thank you so much for your help. If you hadn’t been here, I don’t know what might have happened. You saved Phee’s life.”
“I helped a little. Thankfully, the park’s medical responders arrived quickly and now it looks like your granddaughter will be okay.”
Elunara reaches into what appears to be some type of handbag and takes out a small, brooch-like object, placing it in my hand. “Please keep this transmitter token so I can properly thank you at another time.”
“Oh, that’s not nece—,” I start to say, but she ignores me and hurries to follow the responders booking it back to the park’s medical bay.
Dazed and a bit confused after all that’s happened, I’m not terribly aware of my surroundings, so I’m nearly knocked over when Luna slams into me, wrapping her arms and all eight of her tentacles around me.
“Whoa!” I squeak out, barely managing to keep the token safe.
“Holy fucking galactic gods, you were so awesome! I can’t believe I got to watch you in action. It was epic and ridiculously hot.”
I flush with embarrassment. “I didn’t do all that much.”
