“Jesus, Dolci, do something!” Churchill screamed.
Bewildered, Dolci said, “We’re in uncharted territory, Andrew.”
Doctor Stewart acted as the calm center of the storm that swirled in the test lab. He applied defibrillator paddles to Ethan’s chest, said, “Clear,” and pressed the button that gave Ethan three hundred sixty joules of electricity. The heart monitor began beeping again, though not with precise regularity. “We can control this in the short term, but he’s never been out this long.” Stewart glanced at the wall clock. “Four hours. I’m worried about this erratic heartbeat. We need a different approach if he stays out much longer.”
“What do you suggest,” said Dolci.
Stewart said, “We should consider a defibrillator implant. He would get smaller, more controlled doses of electricity rather than these huge jolts every time we call a code. Less damage to his nervous system.”
“Can you do it?”
“I’m not board-certified in cardiology. I think we should have him transported to Johns Hopkins right away.”
Churchill grabbed Stewart’s biceps. “Can you do it?”
“Technically, yes. Ethically, no.”
Churchill pulled Stewart away from Ethan’s bed and into the hall. “How much will your ethics cost me?”
“Just give me a number.”