Biohazard
Leonard McCoy popped the lid off the unlabelled vial and took a cursory sniff. The acrid scent of ammonia hit his nostrils, causing his eyes to squint shut. Ugh. Suspicion confirmed. The clear yellow liquid was definitely human urine. He shook his head in distaste. Which idiot medical tech misplaced this? For a brief second, he considered scanning the contents to determine exactly whose it was. Not now.
His hand hovered over a small crate filled with refuse before dropping the vial into a temperature-controlled cooler. It shared the container with a Petri dish filled with white mold spores, two round bottles of flammable liquid, and an assortment of various colored soil samples, all unlabelled as well. He’d forward these to the science labs and let them make heads or tails of them.
He shifted backwards on the hard floor, wincing as his lower back made contact with the edge of a shelving unit. There was little room to scooch around in the crowded compartment, but scooch Leonard did, easing himself towards a stack of PADDs in various states of repair. His hand rested upon the top one, causing its display to flicker and appear dimly. He lifted it off the stack.“The Rings of Qerlestes’.”He tapped the screen to scroll through the first few pages. Pausing on page 13, he read a couple of paragraphs. It was very...descriptive.
A deep red blush spread across his cheeks as he punched the off button, embarrassed. Those kinds of details belong only in an anatomy textbook. He set the PADD aside and briefly checked the others. Among them were a couple of misplaced personal logs and several drafts of the same scientific report, but most were non-functional. He loaded them into an empty crate and stood gingerly to his feet, stretching his arms towards the ceiling. His fingertips grazed the dim lighting panel, and he lowered them again, legs tingling as the blood flow returned to them. “One shelf done and..” He trailed off, staring in dismay at the jumbled mess of stuff everywhere. McCoy sighed. “...at least a dozen left to go.” He rubbed his forehead and spread his hands palms upward. “Looking for something? If it hasn’t been jettisoned, vaporised, or cannibalized, it’ll probably be here.”
“Here” was Storage Containment Compartment E7-A, or, as most crewmen referred to it, simply, “The Locker”. The Locker was a repository for all things lost and found aboard the Enterprise, a veritable black hole from which nothing that wound up in its fathomless depths ever turned up again. Crewmen of all stripes both feared and respected The Locker, approaching it carefully and jamming open the continuously sticky door just long enough to deposit their finds and leave. Even Scotty wouldn’t touch it, excusing his refusal with an updated version of some ridiculous seafaring superstition about things that ought not to be disturbed. Davy Jones, my foot...
A smile crossed his lips, remembering the way he’d always dismissed the rumors as nothing more than ignorant hogwash. There was nothing supernatural about The Locker; as far as he was concerned, its contents could stay a mystery forever.
That all changed two days ago.
***
Though volunteering for undesirable tasks was not generally McCoy’s department, Lieutenant Harley forced the issue. The slight Canadian communications officer had come into medbay just that morning slung over the shoulder of Hendorff. He’d motioned the security officer towards a biobed, and the man had complied by lowering his cargo down gently.
McCoy studied the ruddy face of the red-headed lieutenant before dropping his gaze to the man’s right knee. It was swollen to at least twice its size. He squatted by the bedside and rolled up the officer’s pant leg. Harley grimaced as the doctor probed the twisted joint with his fingers, then scanned it with a medical tool, studying the image that appeared on the screen. “We can do better than that. I’ll give you something for the pain and then I’ll take a closer look.” He motioned to a nurse, who nodded and reached for a tray. McCoy grabbed a PADD and brought up Harley’s record. “You really twisted it good, Lieutenant.” He turned to Hendorff just as the nurse returned with Harley’s pain meds, accepting them without missing a beat. “Did you see the accident?”
The officer rubbed the back of his neck. “No, Doctor. I was heading back to the brig when I heard a cry of pain. Found him lying on his back, one foot wedged in an SCC door. Must’ve tripped backing out.”
“Not...any door.” Harley sat up and grabbed McCoy’s sleeve. “The Locker. I-I’d left a bottle of Flakian da’leem in the rec room and I thought it might be there. My father gave it to me before we left on the five year mission.” He groaned and tensed his leg up again. “St-stupid. I caught my f-foot in the door track and tried to- to pull it out. Didn’t work. Cursed thing. And the bottle wasn’t there, either.”
Surprise, surprise. If anyone had found the rare pink brandy-like beverage, chances were good that they would’ve taken it for themselves. It was quite potent; only a few drops was enough to knock a full-grown man into a drunken stupor; a shot glass could render him unconscious. Maybe it’s a good thing he lost it...“Curse it all you like, Lieutenant, if it makes you feel better.” He administered the painkiller to Harley. The man’s features eased as the drug began to work. “But I’ve had just about enough of this ‘Locker’ nonsense.” He turned to Hendorff. “That’s all, Mr.Hendorff. I’m sure you’ve got better things to do than observe an arthroscopic imaging scan and repair procedure.” The security officer had nodded and left, leaving McCoy with an injured man to tend and a growing determination to do something about it.
He and Jim had been enjoying an early lunch together when he’d first broached the subject . Citing “health and safety concerns”, he informed Kirk of his intentions to “clear out SCC E7-A once and for all.” The captain had promptly begun choking on his grape juice, snorting half the glass out his nose. After he’d stopped gasping, he had clapped McCoy on the shoulder and wished him the “best of luck, Bones. You’ll need it”.
He’d declared to all and sundry that he was boldly going where no crewman dared to stay longer than two minutes. This earned him the wide-eyed admiration of some and sober looks from others. Scotty had called him “bloody daft” and a host of other Scottish names McCoy couldn’t decipher, finally promising to play the bagpipes at his funeral. Dontcha think you’re being a little dramatic about this? He laughed quietly, but stopped as he saw the way the chief engineer had soberly saluted his retreating back.
***
McCoy was no fan of tight spaces, and this was no exception. The air was a musty mix of metals, dust, and chemicals. He let out a slow, deep breath and closed his eyes. I should’ve brought some air freshener along. Heck, there’s probably a can or two underneath all this detritus. He crouched towards the second last shelf and pushed aside a coiled electrical cord, rattling a jar of bolts. His fingers touched something sticky.
He pulled his hand out and saw a thick, gooey substance. Kinda like sap. He brought his fingers to his mouth and stopped short of sticking them in his mouth. Careful. It’s not your mama’s refrigerator, Leonard. Instead, he wiped his hand on his pants and resolved to give the place a good scrubbing after he cleared everything out. He moved to the next shelf. Odd; it’s all over this one, too. And the next. He frowned. Where is it coming from?
McCoy heard a rattling noise and caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned just in time to see a multicrystalline-lens defractor tumble to the floor, ejecting two of its crystals. What the... He leaned down and picked up the tool, studying it. It was easy to see how it had ended up here; besides the two loose crystal lenses, the casing was cracked, and it buzzed harshly when he pressed the switch on the side. He tapped it against the shelving unit, setting it down where it had been previously. He pulled his hand back with a start when the wall began to rattle again, knocking a box of technical components to the ground with a loud crash!
Sighing, he pounded on the door. “All right, Jim. You can quit haunting me already. Show’s over.” McCoy crossed his arms over his chest. It would be just like Jim Kirk to try and yank his chain a little. He bent over and gathered the loose parts into a pile. The door creaked. “I mean it, Jim. Cut it out.” Leonard straightened up and approached the door, listening for Kirk’s muffled laughter. Nothing. He peered through the gap, but saw only an empty room. He backed up towards the wall. “What’d you do? Put a camera in here to watch the-“Squish.
He paused, his foot pushing against a firm surface that gave with the pressure. What am I stepping on? McCoy moved his foot forward, pivoting until he was facing the wall shelving. There, in the shadows, a large, amorphous blob slowly oozed from behind a long carbon fibre rod. McCoy backed away slowly, one foot at a time, his mind ping-ponging between curiosity, confusion and dread.
As the creature moved into the light, he noticed several features of its physiology. Its yellow translucent skin allowed him a view of its internal anatomy; tiny particles passed through coiled tubules towards various small organs. A larger central organ was surrounded by a thin film. It was only after he registered the currents of the liquid inside that he realized he was looking at a single-celled organism. Some kind of giant amoeba...but how could it avoid detection for so long?...Dumb question, Leonard; this is “The Locker” we’re talking about, after all...
As the organism inched forward, it pressed against the spilled technical components, sucking a bolt up into its body. McCoy watched in fascination as the little object travelled through the protoplasm towards one of the microtubules, re-emerging in tiny fragments that disseminated throughout its body. Well, that explains a lot. It would account for its size, for one thing, not to mention all the items that go missing here. Probably one of those samples that got loose. No telling how long it’s been shut up inside this compartment.
Several rope-like cilia radiated out from its body, pressing against the floor as it continued to move closer, vacuuming up bits of tech silently. One of the feelers brushed against McCoy’s pants hem idly. The contact seemed to stop it in its tracks for a moment. All the hairs on his right ankle stood up at attention as the cilium probed his skin. Almost like it’s...tasting me. He shivered but remained otherwise frozen. A second cilium reached up to his left knee and coiled around it. As the organism’s underside lifted, he noticed for the first time a round gaping opening that grew wider slowly. A mouth.A big, ugly mouth. Oh, no! I’m a doctor, not your next meal!
He tried to back away, but the creature maintained its grip. McCoy pressed one hand against the shelf to keep from losing his balance. His breathing came rapid and shallow as he shoved his hand towards his utility belt. The slot normally reserved for his comm was vacant. He shot the creature a glare. Did you eat that, too? Then he remembered; he’d taken out his comm so nobody would bother him during his lunch break. He slapped his forehead. Idiot. But really, how could you have predicted this? He surprised himself with a soft chuckle, which quickly ceased when he felt moist goo soak through his thigh.
The creature had somehow managed to crawl halfway up his body without him noticing it. “Agh!” Any hopes of reaching the door were gone; there was no getting around the amoeba. He balled his right hand into a fist and pounded on the wall of the compartment several times. “Help! Anyone! Get me out of here!” After waiting for what seemed like an eternity, he heard no one coming to his rescue. For the second time in three days, he cursed the stories surrounding The Locker. This is how I will die. I’ll just be another part of the legend. Won’t even find my bones...
He raised his right fist to try again, but cilia curled up his torso, trapping his shoulders and lower left arm. McCoy lost his balance, falling backwards against the shelf hard, his spine pressing against jutting boxes and exposed bolts. The back of his head throbbed where he had bopped it on the shelf’s edge. His free hand twisted behind his back, fingers splayed in an open box, desperately trying to find...what? A hypospray of curare? A fully-charged hand phaser that some careless security officer “misplaced”? Heck, maybe a log recorder so I can make out my will...
His fingers closed on a slender metal tool, sliding along its length until he came to a small switch. He pressed it, and a loud buzzing noise sounded behind him as the object churned up bits of metal. The defractor.He adjusted its settings blindly and the sound grew louder and faster. Heat radiated from the device into his hand.
The amoeba opened its gaping maw once again, ready to absorb McCoy into its body. For a fleeting moment, he imagined himself being consumed, slowly but surely, until his last view of the sickly yellow colored world before him was drowned out by the searing pain of cellular enzymes breaking him down into usable nutrients. Not today, you disgusting blob of hungry goo! Here goes nothing... Moving his arm from behind his back, he jammed the defractor into the creature’s underside. The churning crystals acted like a diamond drill, boring through its tough cellular membrane like a hot knife through melted butter. Protoplasm oozed out of the open wound, but McCoy wasn’t through. He twisted it a couple of times, and the cilia grew limper, allowing him to free his arms. He released the defractor and rubbed his limbs to bring back the circulation; as he did, the creature sucked the broken tool into its body. McCoy barely had time to register the red warning light that blinked on its readout display.
He covered his face with both hands and braced himself, curling up into a ball. The overheating tool exploded inside the creature, blowing it apart in all directions and covering everything in the compartment, including McCoy, with protoplasm and seared pieces of organelles. Shards of the tool itself were embedded in the door, including several crystals that twinkled like tiny stars in the dim light.
Leonard let out the breath he’d been holding for ages and stood up slowly. Everything hurt, but it was a good kind of pain. The kind that let you know you were still alive. He raked his hands through his hair and removed a stringy cord, tossing it to the floor carelessly.
He whipped his head around when the doors creaked. Oh, no...there’s more? Instead, he saw the broad, flat end of a crowbar jamming between them, pushing them apart. “In here!” he shouted to be heard above the noise. “I’m all right. Just get me out!”
With a loud grating noise, the door popped open, and a hand pushed it against the wall.Jim appeared in the doorway, his face switching from dread to relief when he saw his CMO standing in the middle of the debris, shoulders slumped, but clearly alive. “Bones!” Kirk stepped inside the compartment and placed a hand on McCoy’s shoulder. “You okay?”
“Sorta.”McCoy nodded slowly, wincing when the pain at the back of his head resumed. He reached up to touch it, and pulled his fingers away; they were covered with red blood.
“‘Sorta’?” Kirk grinned. “C’mon, you’d never let me get away with that. You need somebody else to see to that head wound. Unless you’ve got eyes in the back of your head, that is.” He stepped back, noticing the stains all over the walls and floor for the first time. Kirk tapped an embedded crystal with one finger. “Oooh...what happened here?”
Over the captain’s shoulder, McCoy spied a couple of curious security officers hovering around the area. They were staring and pointing at the now-open door of The Locker, shaking their heads in disbelief. He sighed and put his hands on his hips. “I just killed a giant amoeba, that’s what.”
Kirk frowned. “Good one, Bones. No, seriously, what did happen here?”
“I just told you. Scan it if you don’t believe me.”
Kirk held his hands out in front of him. “No, no, I believe you. I mean, we are talking about The Locker, after all. I’m just surprised you didn’t find a Gorn hiding out in here.” He shifted his feet back and forth. “You didn’t, did you?” He wiped a sticky hand on his pants, grimacing as he headed for the door, motioning McCoy to come with him. “Eww...does this stuff even come off?”
Suddenly, McCoy’s medical training kicked in full force. “Halt, Jim.”
Kirk stopped in his tracks and turned around. “Huh? I thought you’d want to get out of here as soon as possible.”
“Don’t leave. And give me your comm.” He beckoned to Kirk, who pulled it out, frowning, but didn’t extend his hand to McCoy yet. “We’ve got to lock this thing down. No telling what other protozoans it’d been munching on all this time.” He grabbed the comm from Kirk and flipped it open.
Kirk’s eyebrows popped up towards his hairline. “Aww, Bones...a quarantine? Really?”
McCoy didn’t answer him; he was already in conversation with medbay, calling in a biohazard team and medical staff to see to his injuries, leaving Kirk with the task of instructing the security officers (from a distance) to guard the door.
***
The next three hours were a blur as a team of science officers took samples and thoroughly cleaned up The Locker, doing a much better job than McCoy could have done on his own. He and Kirk were both given a onceover and dosed with prophylactic meds, much to the captain’s dismay; a brief shower followed. Various crew members found excuses to come around, motivated by an odd mixture of fear and curiosity. Even Scotty poked his head in once. When McCoy repeated his story through a speaker attached to the protective force field surrounding the doorway, the engineer had listened intently, finally replying with a low whistle. “That’s quite the story, Doctor. Enough to give a banshee the shivers.” He punctuated the last word with a shudder.
When he’d exited the room, McCoy slumped back against the open door of the compartment and watched the science officers discuss their findings in low tones. Kirk was sitting on the floor, legs crossed, reading to himself from a PADD. By the look on his face, McCoy was fairly sure that what had caught his interest wasn’t scientific in nature.
One of the figures stood up from his kneeling position on the floor and reattached his tricorder to his belt. His serious Vulcan face regarded McCoy with a look that resembled disappointment.
“Why the long face, Spock?” he ventured, crossing his arms over his chest. “I wasn’t that badly injured.”
Spock’s gaze darted over his shoulder briefly. “I am pleased to hear that. My concern is of another nature entirely.” He met McCoy’s gaze square on.
And then he knew. McCoy threw his hands up in the air. “Spock, are you trying to tell me you’d rather I become amoeba munchies than lose the chance to study a new species?”
One eyebrow raised. “Hardly, Doctor. I already expressed my relief at your wellbeing. It is, however, a shame that you could not preserve its life and your own.”
McCoy cocked his head sideways. “Fair enough. Mind coming back and telling me that again the next time you get locked in a closet with a monster?”
The other eyebrow. “I do not plan to in the foreseeable future.”
Leonard McCoy popped the lid off the unlabelled vial and took a cursory sniff. The acrid scent of ammonia hit his nostrils, causing his eyes to squint shut. Ugh. Suspicion confirmed. The clear yellow liquid was definitely human urine. He shook his head in distaste. Which idiot medical tech misplaced this? For a brief second, he considered scanning the contents to determine exactly whose it was. Not now.
His hand hovered over a small crate filled with refuse before dropping the vial into a temperature-controlled cooler. It shared the container with a Petri dish filled with white mold spores, two round bottles of flammable liquid, and an assortment of various colored soil samples, all unlabelled as well. He’d forward these to the science labs and let them make heads or tails of them.
He shifted backwards on the hard floor, wincing as his lower back made contact with the edge of a shelving unit. There was little room to scooch around in the crowded compartment, but scooch Leonard did, easing himself towards a stack of PADDs in various states of repair. His hand rested upon the top one, causing its display to flicker and appear dimly. He lifted it off the stack.“The Rings of Qerlestes’.”He tapped the screen to scroll through the first few pages. Pausing on page 13, he read a couple of paragraphs. It was very...descriptive.
A deep red blush spread across his cheeks as he punched the off button, embarrassed. Those kinds of details belong only in an anatomy textbook. He set the PADD aside and briefly checked the others. Among them were a couple of misplaced personal logs and several drafts of the same scientific report, but most were non-functional. He loaded them into an empty crate and stood gingerly to his feet, stretching his arms towards the ceiling. His fingertips grazed the dim lighting panel, and he lowered them again, legs tingling as the blood flow returned to them. “One shelf done and..” He trailed off, staring in dismay at the jumbled mess of stuff everywhere. McCoy sighed. “...at least a dozen left to go.” He rubbed his forehead and spread his hands palms upward. “Looking for something? If it hasn’t been jettisoned, vaporised, or cannibalized, it’ll probably be here.”
“Here” was Storage Containment Compartment E7-A, or, as most crewmen referred to it, simply, “The Locker”. The Locker was a repository for all things lost and found aboard the Enterprise, a veritable black hole from which nothing that wound up in its fathomless depths ever turned up again. Crewmen of all stripes both feared and respected The Locker, approaching it carefully and jamming open the continuously sticky door just long enough to deposit their finds and leave. Even Scotty wouldn’t touch it, excusing his refusal with an updated version of some ridiculous seafaring superstition about things that ought not to be disturbed. Davy Jones, my foot...
A smile crossed his lips, remembering the way he’d always dismissed the rumors as nothing more than ignorant hogwash. There was nothing supernatural about The Locker; as far as he was concerned, its contents could stay a mystery forever.
That all changed two days ago.
***
Though volunteering for undesirable tasks was not generally McCoy’s department, Lieutenant Harley forced the issue. The slight Canadian communications officer had come into medbay just that morning slung over the shoulder of Hendorff. He’d motioned the security officer towards a biobed, and the man had complied by lowering his cargo down gently.
McCoy studied the ruddy face of the red-headed lieutenant before dropping his gaze to the man’s right knee. It was swollen to at least twice its size. He squatted by the bedside and rolled up the officer’s pant leg. Harley grimaced as the doctor probed the twisted joint with his fingers, then scanned it with a medical tool, studying the image that appeared on the screen. “We can do better than that. I’ll give you something for the pain and then I’ll take a closer look.” He motioned to a nurse, who nodded and reached for a tray. McCoy grabbed a PADD and brought up Harley’s record. “You really twisted it good, Lieutenant.” He turned to Hendorff just as the nurse returned with Harley’s pain meds, accepting them without missing a beat. “Did you see the accident?”
The officer rubbed the back of his neck. “No, Doctor. I was heading back to the brig when I heard a cry of pain. Found him lying on his back, one foot wedged in an SCC door. Must’ve tripped backing out.”
“Not...any door.” Harley sat up and grabbed McCoy’s sleeve. “The Locker. I-I’d left a bottle of Flakian da’leem in the rec room and I thought it might be there. My father gave it to me before we left on the five year mission.” He groaned and tensed his leg up again. “St-stupid. I caught my f-foot in the door track and tried to- to pull it out. Didn’t work. Cursed thing. And the bottle wasn’t there, either.”
Surprise, surprise. If anyone had found the rare pink brandy-like beverage, chances were good that they would’ve taken it for themselves. It was quite potent; only a few drops was enough to knock a full-grown man into a drunken stupor; a shot glass could render him unconscious. Maybe it’s a good thing he lost it...“Curse it all you like, Lieutenant, if it makes you feel better.” He administered the painkiller to Harley. The man’s features eased as the drug began to work. “But I’ve had just about enough of this ‘Locker’ nonsense.” He turned to Hendorff. “That’s all, Mr.Hendorff. I’m sure you’ve got better things to do than observe an arthroscopic imaging scan and repair procedure.” The security officer had nodded and left, leaving McCoy with an injured man to tend and a growing determination to do something about it.
He and Jim had been enjoying an early lunch together when he’d first broached the subject . Citing “health and safety concerns”, he informed Kirk of his intentions to “clear out SCC E7-A once and for all.” The captain had promptly begun choking on his grape juice, snorting half the glass out his nose. After he’d stopped gasping, he had clapped McCoy on the shoulder and wished him the “best of luck, Bones. You’ll need it”.
He’d declared to all and sundry that he was boldly going where no crewman dared to stay longer than two minutes. This earned him the wide-eyed admiration of some and sober looks from others. Scotty had called him “bloody daft” and a host of other Scottish names McCoy couldn’t decipher, finally promising to play the bagpipes at his funeral. Dontcha think you’re being a little dramatic about this? He laughed quietly, but stopped as he saw the way the chief engineer had soberly saluted his retreating back.
***
McCoy was no fan of tight spaces, and this was no exception. The air was a musty mix of metals, dust, and chemicals. He let out a slow, deep breath and closed his eyes. I should’ve brought some air freshener along. Heck, there’s probably a can or two underneath all this detritus. He crouched towards the second last shelf and pushed aside a coiled electrical cord, rattling a jar of bolts. His fingers touched something sticky.
He pulled his hand out and saw a thick, gooey substance. Kinda like sap. He brought his fingers to his mouth and stopped short of sticking them in his mouth. Careful. It’s not your mama’s refrigerator, Leonard. Instead, he wiped his hand on his pants and resolved to give the place a good scrubbing after he cleared everything out. He moved to the next shelf. Odd; it’s all over this one, too. And the next. He frowned. Where is it coming from?
McCoy heard a rattling noise and caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned just in time to see a multicrystalline-lens defractor tumble to the floor, ejecting two of its crystals. What the... He leaned down and picked up the tool, studying it. It was easy to see how it had ended up here; besides the two loose crystal lenses, the casing was cracked, and it buzzed harshly when he pressed the switch on the side. He tapped it against the shelving unit, setting it down where it had been previously. He pulled his hand back with a start when the wall began to rattle again, knocking a box of technical components to the ground with a loud crash!
Sighing, he pounded on the door. “All right, Jim. You can quit haunting me already. Show’s over.” McCoy crossed his arms over his chest. It would be just like Jim Kirk to try and yank his chain a little. He bent over and gathered the loose parts into a pile. The door creaked. “I mean it, Jim. Cut it out.” Leonard straightened up and approached the door, listening for Kirk’s muffled laughter. Nothing. He peered through the gap, but saw only an empty room. He backed up towards the wall. “What’d you do? Put a camera in here to watch the-“Squish.
He paused, his foot pushing against a firm surface that gave with the pressure. What am I stepping on? McCoy moved his foot forward, pivoting until he was facing the wall shelving. There, in the shadows, a large, amorphous blob slowly oozed from behind a long carbon fibre rod. McCoy backed away slowly, one foot at a time, his mind ping-ponging between curiosity, confusion and dread.
As the creature moved into the light, he noticed several features of its physiology. Its yellow translucent skin allowed him a view of its internal anatomy; tiny particles passed through coiled tubules towards various small organs. A larger central organ was surrounded by a thin film. It was only after he registered the currents of the liquid inside that he realized he was looking at a single-celled organism. Some kind of giant amoeba...but how could it avoid detection for so long?...Dumb question, Leonard; this is “The Locker” we’re talking about, after all...
As the organism inched forward, it pressed against the spilled technical components, sucking a bolt up into its body. McCoy watched in fascination as the little object travelled through the protoplasm towards one of the microtubules, re-emerging in tiny fragments that disseminated throughout its body. Well, that explains a lot. It would account for its size, for one thing, not to mention all the items that go missing here. Probably one of those samples that got loose. No telling how long it’s been shut up inside this compartment.
Several rope-like cilia radiated out from its body, pressing against the floor as it continued to move closer, vacuuming up bits of tech silently. One of the feelers brushed against McCoy’s pants hem idly. The contact seemed to stop it in its tracks for a moment. All the hairs on his right ankle stood up at attention as the cilium probed his skin. Almost like it’s...tasting me. He shivered but remained otherwise frozen. A second cilium reached up to his left knee and coiled around it. As the organism’s underside lifted, he noticed for the first time a round gaping opening that grew wider slowly. A mouth.A big, ugly mouth. Oh, no! I’m a doctor, not your next meal!
He tried to back away, but the creature maintained its grip. McCoy pressed one hand against the shelf to keep from losing his balance. His breathing came rapid and shallow as he shoved his hand towards his utility belt. The slot normally reserved for his comm was vacant. He shot the creature a glare. Did you eat that, too? Then he remembered; he’d taken out his comm so nobody would bother him during his lunch break. He slapped his forehead. Idiot. But really, how could you have predicted this? He surprised himself with a soft chuckle, which quickly ceased when he felt moist goo soak through his thigh.
The creature had somehow managed to crawl halfway up his body without him noticing it. “Agh!” Any hopes of reaching the door were gone; there was no getting around the amoeba. He balled his right hand into a fist and pounded on the wall of the compartment several times. “Help! Anyone! Get me out of here!” After waiting for what seemed like an eternity, he heard no one coming to his rescue. For the second time in three days, he cursed the stories surrounding The Locker. This is how I will die. I’ll just be another part of the legend. Won’t even find my bones...
He raised his right fist to try again, but cilia curled up his torso, trapping his shoulders and lower left arm. McCoy lost his balance, falling backwards against the shelf hard, his spine pressing against jutting boxes and exposed bolts. The back of his head throbbed where he had bopped it on the shelf’s edge. His free hand twisted behind his back, fingers splayed in an open box, desperately trying to find...what? A hypospray of curare? A fully-charged hand phaser that some careless security officer “misplaced”? Heck, maybe a log recorder so I can make out my will...
His fingers closed on a slender metal tool, sliding along its length until he came to a small switch. He pressed it, and a loud buzzing noise sounded behind him as the object churned up bits of metal. The defractor.He adjusted its settings blindly and the sound grew louder and faster. Heat radiated from the device into his hand.
The amoeba opened its gaping maw once again, ready to absorb McCoy into its body. For a fleeting moment, he imagined himself being consumed, slowly but surely, until his last view of the sickly yellow colored world before him was drowned out by the searing pain of cellular enzymes breaking him down into usable nutrients. Not today, you disgusting blob of hungry goo! Here goes nothing... Moving his arm from behind his back, he jammed the defractor into the creature’s underside. The churning crystals acted like a diamond drill, boring through its tough cellular membrane like a hot knife through melted butter. Protoplasm oozed out of the open wound, but McCoy wasn’t through. He twisted it a couple of times, and the cilia grew limper, allowing him to free his arms. He released the defractor and rubbed his limbs to bring back the circulation; as he did, the creature sucked the broken tool into its body. McCoy barely had time to register the red warning light that blinked on its readout display.
He covered his face with both hands and braced himself, curling up into a ball. The overheating tool exploded inside the creature, blowing it apart in all directions and covering everything in the compartment, including McCoy, with protoplasm and seared pieces of organelles. Shards of the tool itself were embedded in the door, including several crystals that twinkled like tiny stars in the dim light.
Leonard let out the breath he’d been holding for ages and stood up slowly. Everything hurt, but it was a good kind of pain. The kind that let you know you were still alive. He raked his hands through his hair and removed a stringy cord, tossing it to the floor carelessly.
He whipped his head around when the doors creaked. Oh, no...there’s more? Instead, he saw the broad, flat end of a crowbar jamming between them, pushing them apart. “In here!” he shouted to be heard above the noise. “I’m all right. Just get me out!”
With a loud grating noise, the door popped open, and a hand pushed it against the wall.Jim appeared in the doorway, his face switching from dread to relief when he saw his CMO standing in the middle of the debris, shoulders slumped, but clearly alive. “Bones!” Kirk stepped inside the compartment and placed a hand on McCoy’s shoulder. “You okay?”
“Sorta.”McCoy nodded slowly, wincing when the pain at the back of his head resumed. He reached up to touch it, and pulled his fingers away; they were covered with red blood.
“‘Sorta’?” Kirk grinned. “C’mon, you’d never let me get away with that. You need somebody else to see to that head wound. Unless you’ve got eyes in the back of your head, that is.” He stepped back, noticing the stains all over the walls and floor for the first time. Kirk tapped an embedded crystal with one finger. “Oooh...what happened here?”
Over the captain’s shoulder, McCoy spied a couple of curious security officers hovering around the area. They were staring and pointing at the now-open door of The Locker, shaking their heads in disbelief. He sighed and put his hands on his hips. “I just killed a giant amoeba, that’s what.”
Kirk frowned. “Good one, Bones. No, seriously, what did happen here?”
“I just told you. Scan it if you don’t believe me.”
Kirk held his hands out in front of him. “No, no, I believe you. I mean, we are talking about The Locker, after all. I’m just surprised you didn’t find a Gorn hiding out in here.” He shifted his feet back and forth. “You didn’t, did you?” He wiped a sticky hand on his pants, grimacing as he headed for the door, motioning McCoy to come with him. “Eww...does this stuff even come off?”
Suddenly, McCoy’s medical training kicked in full force. “Halt, Jim.”
Kirk stopped in his tracks and turned around. “Huh? I thought you’d want to get out of here as soon as possible.”
“Don’t leave. And give me your comm.” He beckoned to Kirk, who pulled it out, frowning, but didn’t extend his hand to McCoy yet. “We’ve got to lock this thing down. No telling what other protozoans it’d been munching on all this time.” He grabbed the comm from Kirk and flipped it open.
Kirk’s eyebrows popped up towards his hairline. “Aww, Bones...a quarantine? Really?”
McCoy didn’t answer him; he was already in conversation with medbay, calling in a biohazard team and medical staff to see to his injuries, leaving Kirk with the task of instructing the security officers (from a distance) to guard the door.
***
The next three hours were a blur as a team of science officers took samples and thoroughly cleaned up The Locker, doing a much better job than McCoy could have done on his own. He and Kirk were both given a onceover and dosed with prophylactic meds, much to the captain’s dismay; a brief shower followed. Various crew members found excuses to come around, motivated by an odd mixture of fear and curiosity. Even Scotty poked his head in once. When McCoy repeated his story through a speaker attached to the protective force field surrounding the doorway, the engineer had listened intently, finally replying with a low whistle. “That’s quite the story, Doctor. Enough to give a banshee the shivers.” He punctuated the last word with a shudder.
When he’d exited the room, McCoy slumped back against the open door of the compartment and watched the science officers discuss their findings in low tones. Kirk was sitting on the floor, legs crossed, reading to himself from a PADD. By the look on his face, McCoy was fairly sure that what had caught his interest wasn’t scientific in nature.
One of the figures stood up from his kneeling position on the floor and reattached his tricorder to his belt. His serious Vulcan face regarded McCoy with a look that resembled disappointment.
“Why the long face, Spock?” he ventured, crossing his arms over his chest. “I wasn’t that badly injured.”
Spock’s gaze darted over his shoulder briefly. “I am pleased to hear that. My concern is of another nature entirely.” He met McCoy’s gaze square on.
And then he knew. McCoy threw his hands up in the air. “Spock, are you trying to tell me you’d rather I become amoeba munchies than lose the chance to study a new species?”
One eyebrow raised. “Hardly, Doctor. I already expressed my relief at your wellbeing. It is, however, a shame that you could not preserve its life and your own.”
McCoy cocked his head sideways. “Fair enough. Mind coming back and telling me that again the next time you get locked in a closet with a monster?”
The other eyebrow. “I do not plan to in the foreseeable future.”
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