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Everything Happens To Me (repost)

I quite liked the most recent story - Disease. Especially that the newly contacted civilization did not appear to harbor any hidden agenda and that McCoy's and Marcus' illness was entirely coincidental.

Thanks!! rbs
 
Anger

You just can't win around here.

Leonard folded his arms over his chest and tried to appear asleep. It wouldn't have mattered; Jim was far too busy feigning interest in the pale yellow atmospheric clouds out the window to notice. His mouth was pressed shut in a tight line, and his left shoulder was digging into the window frame, trying to lean as far away from McCoy as possible. He was clearly uncomfortable, but made no move to occupy the half of his seat closest to Leonard.

McCoy gave up the pretense and leaned closer. He let out a quiet breath. "Jim."

"I don't want to talk about it now." The captain's tone left no room for argument. His frown etched deeper lines in his forehead. Keep doing that and you'll look like a raisin before you're forty. McCoy tapped the arm of his chair idly, glancing down at the burns on his left hand. He'd have to see to them later; he didn't have his medkit on him at the moment. He wasn't even sure where it was. When the shuttlecraft had lowered close to the ground, he'd just launched himself headfirst towards the door. He'd felt a vice grip squeeze his upper arm and yank him towards a seat near the front before shoving him downwards into it. Certain that Jim was going to stalk to the back and sulk alone, he'd been surprised when the captain stuffed himself into the windowside seat across from his. What do you think I'm going to do? Jump out the window the minute your back's turned?

He tried again, easing himself into the middle seat. Kirk flinched and tried to stand, but McCoy put an arm in front of his chest, blocking him. "No. You're not getting away with it this easily. If you've got something to say to me, you can say it here. No home court advantage."

Kirk's eyes widened briefly in surprise. Good. It didn't last long. The captain put his hands on his knees, readying himself for attack. He leaned forward. "Do you have any idea how much of a hypocrite you are?" His eyes flashed fire.

"What?" McCoy drew back. He hadn't expected this. "How do you figure, Jim?" he asked casually. Maybe it would be a better idea to let Kirk chew him out in his office; at least there, he'd have witnesses.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about! Whenever I put my life on the line for something that I believe is important, who's the first one to tell me I'm all kinds of idiot?" McCoy opened his mouth to respond, but Kirk cut him off. "You, Bones. Well, imagine my surprise when Nurse Martin told me you didn't show up for your shift this morning. I thought, maybe he slept in, maybe he's grabbing a coffee and lost track of time. Heaven knows you probably needed a whole pot after being up all last night with those toxin patients. And then," Kirk leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest, looking upwards at the ceiling, "just on a hunch, mind you, I checked the transporter logs. And what do you think I found?"

McCoy sighed. "I think I could hazard a guess."

"Somebody activated a fire alarm nearby, which of course resulted in the transporter crewman on duty leaving the room. Only for about a minute, but that was enough." Kirk drew in a ragged breath. "Just long enough for somebody to sneak into the room and activate the transporter for an unauthorized trip back down to the surface of Tynkusis."

Gee, I wonder who that could've been. He cocked his head to one side. "You know I hate transporters, Jim."

"Yes, we're all aware of your beamophobia. And yet for some reason you beamed down anyway. What I want to know is why?" Kirk stabbed McCoy's chest with his index finger.

"I had to." He closed his eyes and thought back to two days ago.

***

Tynkusis had seemed like a peaceful planet. The indigenous race, resembling green-striped shrimp with human faces, was friendly and intelligent, and had welcomed the science team with open arms. There was no shortage of flora to sample. Even Spock had seemed to have an extra spring in his step. Like a kid in a candy store. The Vulcan had barely examined a pink vine resplendent with pale green flowers when a blue moss growth on the bark of an upside down tree caught his attention.

McCoy hadn't stayed long himself; as of late, he'd slacked off some on his official reports. Some? He'd chuckled to himself. Got a stack as high as the leaning tower of Pisa, I reckon. He also had the material for at least 11 medical journal articles to review. Heck, I could write a book by now. So, begging off, he'd flown back in the shuttle with Sulu that day, looking forward to clearing his to do list.

He didn't even make it back to the shuttlebay before his comm began to chirp. The sound of Science Technician Murphy's hacking cough echoed into his ear in the background as a frantic Ensign Jalle struggled to be heard above the noise. "He just started choking on nothing, Doctor. I don't know what he's been expo-" Jalle sucked in a breath, making a gurgling noise in the back of her throat before falling to the ground with a loud thump.

"Jalle? Come in!" He'd pressed the button hard with his thumb, but there was no answer. He switched to another channel, only to hear heavy raspy breathing on the other end. Jumping up from his seat, he'd called the Enterprise. "McCoy to transporter room. I need emergency beam out of the away team now. Something's gotten to them. And you'd better send me directly to sickbay, too."

Instantly, he'd begun dematerializing where he stood, reappearing in his element. The away team members also appeared one by one on biobeds. Medical staff scrambled towards the patients, checking their vital signs and shouting orders for tests and medicine back and forth.

McCoy had approached the side of Jalle's bed. The last time he'd seen the raven-haired science officer, she'd been inquisitively observing a golden butterfly. Now, blue lips provided the only color on her otherwise pale features. She sucked in several shallow breaths in rapid succession. He placed a gentle hand on the young woman's arm as a nurse attempted to stabilize her. "Paula, can you tell me what happened?"

Jalle turned frightened eyes towards him. "It just-I couldn't breathe." She coughed several times, the sound harsh and dry. "Murphy – tried to help him. But-" Jalle's gaze flicked across the room, trying to make eye contact with the ill technician. Murphy was doubled over on his side, wheezing as two medical attendants tried to ease his breathing.

McCoy stepped in front of her line of vision as he scanned her torso with a medical probe. No internal bleeding...wonder what tox scan'll tell us? "Did you touch anything, or taste anything? Try to remember."

Her eyes softened. "He- he showed me a white flower he'd found. Picked it."

And put it in your hair. McCoy saw a white petal in her bangs and reached for a piece of gauze, grabbing the offending flower particle with it. He dropped it on the tray and reached for an oxygen mask, placing it over her nose and mouth. "You just relax now. We'll get everything straightened out." He turned to a tall man in a white tunic. "Nurse, get me some dresderatine, about 20 ccs." The man nodded and headed towards a glass cupboard across the room.

His gaze moved across the room, taking in the many ill. Even Spock was pale and shaking as he leaned forward on the edge of his bed, though he seemed stronger than the others. McCoy frowned. Definitely some kind of poison. We're looking at lung damage, maybe liver, too. The nurse returned and handed him a hypospray. Without missing a beat, he injected Jalle with it...

***

After the crewmen had been stabilized, he'd analyzed the flower petal in the laboratory. What he found had chilled him. Not only did the blossom contain a powerful toxin, but it was clearly not natural; several bio-enhancement markers were present. Somebody altered this thing...

He'd brought the evidence to Kirk, who had confronted the Tynkusians with their findings. The Tynkusian representative had tried to dodge his questions, but his tail was his tell; it twitched nervously as he denied the accusations. Finally, he had admitted that the flower was part of a program to develop a biological defensive weapon against invaders. It wasn't supposed to grow outside of the government laboratory unless deployed in the event of an emergency, but two weeks ago some samples had gone missing. They'd kept it all hush-hush, expecting that they would be found in some stasis cooler.

When McCoy had heard that, he'd wanted to pound something. Accident, my foot. More like a field test. No wonder they were so eager to let us touch the plant life. Better us than them. Kirk had obviously not been pleased with their answers, either, for he had signed off without the usual niceties and immediately announced that no further teams would be going planetside.

McCoy had frowned at him. "You didn't even ask if he had an antidote."

Kirk had sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Right now, I wouldn't trust anything those guys would have to say. Would you?"

"Of course not! But I've got 13 people up in sickbay who'd consider it worth a shot. I've never seen a toxin that sophisticated. You think it's out of your system and then it reorganizes its proteins and attacks you again. We're talking an army in a vial here. I've got everyone on dialysis, but it's only a matter of time before their organs begin to deteriorate."

Kirk leaned on his elbow. "You can't synthesize something?"

"Oh, sure. In a couple of weeks, maybe I could. Meanwhile, thirteen good people are gasping for breath, racked with pain. They're suffering, Jim, and if there's a chance that we could alleviate their condition, I think we should take it."

Kirk had looked him in the eye. "I trust you, Bones. You and your staff. We're not out here to start a war, much as the Tynkusians might try to start one. I expect you to obey my orders. Every minute you spend arguing with me is one less minute to find a solution on your own. Now go; I don't want to hear any more about this."

So McCoy had exited the captain's office, prepared to do just that. Much as it ate at him, he knew that Kirk wouldn't change his mind on this one. The Tynkusians were clearly capable of waging war on the Federation if they so chose, judging by this one weapon alone.

He'd stepped into the turbolift and sunk into the wall with a loud sigh. "Sickbay." So what am I supposed to do? I know they have it, I know they won't give it to us if we begged, and I know Jim wouldn't dare beg. Heck, he'd probably just take it. If he knew where it was.

McCoy could hazard a guess. Barely stayed down there long enough to get my passport stamped. There was only one building he had seen that even remotely resembled a military installation. It was on a slight incline overlooking the woods where the science team had encountered the toxic flowers. At least he thought it was military; maybe they decorated their mountain cabins in Early Maximum Security.

Yep, Jim would go in with guns blazing and snatch it out of the lab in no time.

Then McCoy had an odd thought; I could do that.

It nagged him all the way back to sickbay, but he managed to put it out of his mind. Until Ensign Jalle had seized right in front of him, almost throwing herself out of the bed with the violence of it. They'd managed to get her stabilized again, and McCoy had ordered a comprehensive battery of tests. All the scans had pointed to the same thing.

"It's attacking her brain now. No telling what she'll be like if she wakes." Medical Technician Lounak's grim voice played over and over in his head like a broken record for the next hour. McCoy had locked himself in his office, pacing back and forth, wearing out the carpet. His fists balled at his sides as he vacillated between positions. I can't. But I have to. But I can't. But I have to.

***

He waited until 0400 hours to make his move. An hour previous, he had finally headed to his quarters, claiming fatigue from the day's events. In reality, he had ordered himself a strong coffee from the replicator and mentally psyched himself for the upcoming mission. No backup, no second chances...it's all you, Leonard. This thought alone made his mind reel; were it not for his mental picture of a seizing Jalle, he might've lost his nerve altogether. After making sure he had plenty of ammo in his phaser rifle, he slipped out of his quarters, tricorder holstered..

The transporter officer had been easy to distract; McCoy was glad he didn't have to clunk him on the head this time. Adjusting the controls, he'd stepped onto the pad, the rifle strapped to his back. He prayed he wouldn't have to use it as the transporter energized.

Dressed all in black, he'd appeared on the planet's surface at the base of a craggy mountain. He'd made good use of his Starfleet stealth training then; sneaking behind rocks and trees and crouching low in the clearings to avoid visual identification. There was a high stone wall surrounding the building. He'd watched the guards patrol for two hours before approaching it and pulling himself up the side of the fortification, bit by bit.

He'd almost panicked when a loose stone had shifted under his feet halfway up, sending chips of rock and dust to the ground below; he was certain that the patrolmen could hear his heart thudding in his chest. He held his breath for ten agonizing minutes before continuing slowly and carefully up the side. His arms shook and his hands were tingling from squeezing the bricks so hard, but with a mighty heave he boosted himself over the edge, swinging first one leg and then the next across the top of the wall.

He nearly lost his nerve when he realized that it was at least a 10 foot drop to the bottom. Think Jim. Think Jim. He squinted his eyes shut and leapt, landing in the courtyard with a soft thump. Phew. Now to get inside. He waited until one of the patrolmen entered the building and slipped in silently after him, hiding behind a large twisted support pillar in the lobby.

Come on, don't you people ever go home? As if on cue, a Tynkusian scientist entered the lobby from the other direction, nodding at the guard as he made his way toward the entrance. McCoy had jumped out of the shadows and grabbed him in a chokehold, rendering the man unconscious. He'd searched the man's uniform for an ID badge. Once he found what he was looking for, he'd checked the building map and used the borrowed ID to access the bio labs.

Everything was labelled with pictograms, so when he came to a fridge marked with a cross, he'd crossed his fingers. Sure enough, a tiny vial of blue serum labelled with an image of the white flowers on it was nestled right next to a large bottle of clear liquid. A quick tricorder scan confirmed that its contents were consistent with an antitoxin. He'd grabbed it and closed the fridge, dashing for the exit.

And running smack into a Tynkusian guard.

The man barked something at him, his limp lips flapping, his tail stiff. He'd grabbed McCoy by the neck and squeezed hard, but McCoy was quicker. He'd thrust his foot into the man's sensitive stomach, cracking him over the head with his tricorder when he bent over. Another guard appeared behind him and raised his wide-barreled weapon. McCoy ducked just in time, pumping two phaser rifle stun shots into his chest. The man flopped over, but not before his webbed appendage set off the security alarm.

Crud. Gotta go. He barrelled down the hallway, legs pumping, the precious serum in his pocket. He could hear the thump of the security patrol chasing him, the whine of their weapon fire flying past his head. He hesitated once in the hallway, trying to remember which corridor led outside. A streak of green fire singed his hand. "Ahh!" No time to be wrong. Go, go, go!

He skidded past the scientist he'd felled earlier and out the door, not stopping to look back. The guards that had now taken up positions near the doorway joined the chase. McCoy shot the lock off the front gate and tore down the driveway at lightning speed. He'd reached for his comm out of habit, only to stiffen when he realized that it wasn't there. Though I packed it! And nobody knows where I am. I'll be dead before anybody realizes I'm missing. Oh no. Oh no...

A bright light descending from the dark night sky stopped him in his tracks. He shielded his eyes with his hand, dread making the pit of his stomach grow cold. Now they're coming on all sides! I'm sunk! It was only after the troop of Tynkusian guards burst through the clearing that he noticed the open door of the shuttlecraft lowering in front of him. You're kidding me...

***

McCoy pulled the vial in question out of his pocket and held it up in front of Kirk's face. "Some things are worth the risk, Jim. I thought you'd have realized that by now." He dropped it in the captain's palm and leaned back against his seat.

Kirk studied it for a second, relaxing with a sigh. "Breaking into a secure military facility, stealing a top-secret antidote? You realize you've probably started a war, Bones." He waggled the vial from side to side, arching an eyebrow at the doctor.

"I wouldn't be too sure about that, Jim." McCoy looked away, staring at his fingernails instead.

"How do you figure?"

McCoy smiled. "If one man was able to get past all that high security, outrun an entire guard troop, and seize a classified cure, do you really think they'd be itching to brag about it?" He paused as Kirk considered this. "Come on, you know I'm right."

A slow grin spread across Kirk's face. He began to laugh. "You might have a point, Doctor." The captain put a hand on McCoy's shoulder. "Besides, you don't exactly look like the black ops type, anyway."

McCoy sighed with relief. "I should be insulted by that, Jim. But in the interest of intergalactic peace, I'll just say we're even." He leaned in the direction of the cockpit and cupped his hands around his mouth. "Hurry it up, Sulu. I've got an antidote to administer."
 
Guilt

"Nurse, get me 15 ccs of evotalynine XT," McCoy muttered, his gaze still focused on the squirming toddler on the cot. He'd finally managed to calm the little boy down long enough to assess his condition. For someone who had been buried underneath the rubble of a crashed starship for at least seventy-two hours, he was remarkably healthy. Only a few scratches marred his tanned face. To be on the safe side, however, he'd administer antibiotics to the alert Cenutrian child. The toddler clapped his hands and gave McCoy a two-toothed grin, which the doctor returned with significantly more dentition. Hate to wipe the smile off your face, darlin', but you'll thank me someday.

Accepting the hypospray from the outstretched hand of Nurse Etienne, he pressed the injector end against the child's thigh and released the medication. To Leonard's surprise, the boy merely looked down at his leg, tapping the spot with the fingers of his right hand before putting them in his mouth. "Brave boy. You could teach my captain a thing or two," he laughed. "Now let's get those scratches seen to, okay?" He knew the child couldn't possibly understand him, but the way he stared at McCoy with wide, almost anime-like eyes that were so serious made him wonder.

He took a moment to survey his surroundings. Patrulan Field Hospital 8 was still a work in progress; boxes of supplies and makeshift curtains divided the triage areas from waiting and surgical sections. If you wanted to find anything in particular, your tricorder was your best bet. Personally, McCoy didn't see how anyone could stand this kind of disorganization, but he supposed it was better than no hospital at all.

Three days ago, a ship full of Cenutrians escaping famine conditions on their homeworld had crashed into the colony planet Patrula IV. The passenger craft had been absolutely stuffed to the gills with desperate people longing for a second chance; many had sold all they owned just to buy passage, which wasn't much. While Cenutria did possess warp technology, most of the refugees were poor civilians with little access to such things, so to have a man show up and offer to take them somewhere new must have seemed like a miracle. McCoy didn't have a single nice word for the slimeball trader who'd actually taken their money, but he supposed it didn't really matter. The man was beyond caring, having been incinerated on impact. Good riddance.

As the colony planet was a good distance away from the Patrulan homeworld, Field Hospital 8 was ill-prepared for the sudden influx of patients resulting from the crash. That was where the Enterprise came in. Forty-six hours ago, they'd picked up the request for immediate medical assistance on the comms, much to McCoy's relief. He had been on the losing end of a three-dimensional chess game with Spock and was on the verge of having to admit defeat when he'd been summoned. Knowing him, the board's probably still just as I left it. It had been sheer chaos from the moment they arrived to about three hours ago, when a Patrulan vessel had arrived with reinforcements. Fortunately, Cenutrian anatomy wasn't that different from other races they'd encountered in the past, so McCoy and his staff were a little more confident.

Picking up a small tissue regenerator, he held it near the child's temple, effectively erasing a half-inch scratch above his left eyebrow. The child tried to reach for it with chubby hands, but McCoy moved the instrument slightly and continued to work. "Hey, that's not a toy; it's a highly sophisticated piece of medical equipment."

"Is what is?" A flutelike voice from behind McCoy made him pause and look to his right. A small girl child, about 8 or 9 in human years, leaned over the edge of the cot, her fingers splayed across its surface. How did she get in here? "Is what is, Doctor?" She shot a brief glance at McCoy's patient, but the toddler seemed more interested in his toes than the intruder.

McCoy tipped his head to one side, regenerator poised in midair. "Now who might you be, young lady?"

"Be I Malua." A mat of tight dark curls covered her small head. She looked up at him kind of shyly, but with intelligence. She tugged on his hand. "Help you? Water?" Her wide eyes pleaded with him to say yes.

McCoy licked his lips. "Well, now that you mention it, I am kind of thirsty..." Malua needed no further encouragement. Like a flash, she darted past the curtain and down the corridor, small white sandals tapping against the earth. He chuckled and returned his attention to the little boy, who was now tugging on one corner of the cot's clean sheet.

Just as he finished with the last scratch, a slight breeze tickled his spine. "That you again, Malua?" He picked up his patient in his arms and turned around, only to bump into a curly haired lieutenant carrying a PADD.

"No, doctor." Pavel Chekov tucked the tablet under one arm and poked the child's nose, eliciting a soft squeal. "Who is this?" he asked.

McCoy hefted the child higher up on his hip. "I don't know, to be honest. Poor little fella was trapped in a crawlspace when rescue teams found him. Really hoping he's not an orphan." He nodded at the PADD. "Got something for me?"

Chekov removed the PADD from under his arm and blushed as he looked down at the screen. "Sorry. I got distracted. The Cenutrian Civilian Authority finally granted us access to their wital statistics databases."

He didn't elaborate, but McCoy could well imagine that getting to "finally" had involved a good deal of red tape cutting on the captain's part. I owe you one, Jim. "It's about darn time," he sighed, taking the PADD from Chekov.

"I've tagged all individuals believed to be aboard the Haweel vhen it crashed. We've already managed to account for some of the living and...most of the dead." Chekov stared down at his feet. "Fingerprint and DNA data is on there, too."

"Now we're getting somewhere." McCoy tapped the screen twice, bringing up the reader. He turned to the toddler, who stuck out his tongue at McCoy. "Hey, that isn't very nice. See this device, kid? It's gonna tell me your name." He pressed the child's finger to the screen, and almost instantly, a record file popped up. "'Thukas Marol'," he read. "According to this, we've got his mother in ward 3. She'll be happy to see her little-"

The curtain parted again, and Malua entered, carrying a small cup of clear liquid. "Drink you have now."

McCoy set down the PADD and accepted the cup from her small hands. "Thank you, Malua." He drank, surprised by the light, fruity taste. "This isn't water. What is it?"

"Flower water." The young girl walked over to the bed and sat down on the edge, swinging her feet back and forth, eyes once again fixed on the regenerator.

"Is that who you thought I vas?" Chekov asked, pointing to Malua.

"Uh huh. I think she wants to be my little helper. Offered to get me water." He passed Thukas to Chekov, who took the child in his arms. "How'd you like to facilitate a family reunion, Pavel?"

Chekov nodded. "I'd love to. C'mon, Thukas. Your mommy will be so happy to see you!" As they left the room together, Thukas began to sing loudly.

McCoy let the curtain fall closed and stepped back towards the cot. Malua was studying the regenerator closely. "Is help this?" she asked, holding up a bloody finger. "Like boy?"

"Let me see that, sugar." McCoy took her thin wrist in his hand, feeling her pulse beat against his palm, and inspected her small wound. While the tiny pulled hangnail wound would be classified in the "suck it up, baby" category if an officer came into sickbay with one, little girls were another matter altogether. "Hmm...I think we can fix this up." He lifted her up onto the cot gently, clicked on the device and began to repair the damaged tissue. Malua watched with wonder as her wound closed underneath the beam. "See? All better," he assured her, switching off the regenerator.

She studied her finger from several different angles, then grabbed his sleeve. "You I show, let do."

"Let do what?" McCoy asked, frowning, but not unkindly.

Her hand reached for the regenerator again. "Please, let do. Help I one. Like you," she continued, sliding off the edge of the cot.

Realization dawned. "Oh. You want to help fix someone? Like I did?" He crouched down until he was eye level with her. "Good for you. I think you'd make a fine doctor someday."

Her gaze flicked away from his, darkening. "Not doctor. I Xami always." She crossed her arms over her chest. "Xami nothing." A tear ran down her face. "Forget."

There were three different subraces on Cenutria. Xami were the Dalits of their people, the untouchables; a majority of the injured refugees were Xami.

McCoy's heart ached for her. No wonder they left. No future even without the famine. "Tell you what, Malua," he whispered, brushing the tear from her cheek, "you go right ahead and forget, okay? This is your home now, Patrula IV. If you want to be a doctor, if that's your dream, don't you ever stop dreaming. 'Cause you're gonna make it. You are a very special little girl, Malua. You hear me?"

Malua nodded, sniffling. Suddenly, she threw her arms around McCoy's neck. "Like you much," she whispered back, her voice muffled by his sweater.

Leonard returned the hug, feeling warm all over. "Like you much too." He stood up slowly and took her hand in his. "Tell you what; why don't you come along on rounds with me?" Malua smiled up at him and nodded. As she followed him out of the room, he began preparing a list of Cenutrians who weren't too badly injured that they could visit together.

***

McCoy splashed his face with cold water, shivering. After four hours of visiting patients and showing Malua how to "help" them get better, he was dead on his feet. But not sorry. A smile crossed his lips as he remembered how his little protégée had measured vital signs and studied scans, a thoughtful expression on her young face. She was like a little sponge soaking up every word McCoy said, asking him about blood and numbers and medicine. Most of the Enterprise staff still remaining planetside were amused by the scene. Lieutenant Uhura had even kidded McCoy about his little shadow when she'd come to the field hospital delivering blankets and stuffed toys for the children. She'd offered Malua a teddy bear, but the child didn't seem to notice, too busy poring over an image of a broken bone on a PADD.

"Too busy with her studies to play?" Uhura asked McCoy

The doctor put an arm around the girl's shoulders. "Well, Malua here wants to be a doctor. I'm teaching her a little bit."

"Good for her." Uhura nodded. "And you, too, Leonard."

"I'm not the only bleeding heart around here." McCoy raised an eyebrow. "I have it on good authority that those little goodies you're giving out cost somebody a month's worth of replicator credits."

Uhura blushed. "So I'll skip dessert for a little while. It was worth it. Besides," she added, "even though it was my idea, everybody kind of chipped in."

"Still though..." He raked a hand over his face. "How's Jim doing with the negotiations? Making progress?"

The lieutenant smiled. "Moving right along. The Patrulan government has agreed to grant refugee status to the Cenutrians. Looks like they've got a new home."

McCoy looked down at Malua. "Hear that? You get to stay." She gave him a bright smile and returned to her studies.

After Uhura left, McCoy had picked up the PADD with identification records on it and held it out to the girl. "Malua, would you touch this screen for me?" He'd been meaning to figure out who she belonged to since he met her, but had held back, afraid of what he might find out.

The girl tapped the screen with her finger once. McCoy took the PADD and held it behind his back. "Thank you. You've been a very good helper. But I bet you're hungry. Why don't you go down to the eating room and get some dinner?"

"Yes go." Malua slid off her chair and headed out through the curtain, leaving the PADD with the bone picture behind.

McCoy crossed the room and lowered himself into the chair, looking down at the records. Malua Rsera was actually closer to eleven, though he supposed the famine had something to do with her younger appearance. He stilled as he'd seen that the familial cross-reference field remained blank. No family here...how did she wind up on the Haweel? A quick look revealed that the girl had no living close relatives, no home address, and no assets to speak of on Cenutria. Probably stowed away. It wouldn't be hard in a crowd that large.

He exchanged a nod with a Patrulan doctor as the man left the temporary washroom facility. Now, to find a bed somewhere...I don't care if it's cozy. Heck, I don't even care if it's clean. I'll sleep on the floor if I have to. He thought longingly of his bed on the Enterprise, sighing. He wouldn't see it for a couple more days; Jim had gone to rendezvous with a second Patrulan supply ship that had become disabled halfway to the colony. Time was, I used to be homesick for Earth...

McCoy shoved his hands in his pockets, surprised when he felt nothing there. I thought I put that regen- "Malua." He smiled and shook his head. "Little pickpocket." The device had held as much wonder to the child as a magic trick. Oh, well. I'll ask her for it back tomorrow. Now, to get some shuteye...

***

McCoy looked down at the sleeping infant nestled in his mother's arms. Lucky you. He'd only gotten three hours of sleep before he'd been roused by a nurse to deliver the little bundle, who'd finally arrived at the crack of dawn. It had been a difficult labour, but you wouldn't know it by the look of utter contentment on the new mother's face. He made some notes on her record, passing the PADD to a nurse. I wish Malua could see this... He wondered where the girl was; since last night, he hadn't seen hide nor hair of her, despite having visited several other patients that morning.

A low rumble shook the curtain rods, and everybody in the ward steadied themselves. McCoy leaned on a stack of crates. What was that? He thought of the rescue teams, which had switched to recovery at this point. Where there's wreckage, there's always danger. They'd already had to treat several crewmembers for wounds caused by falling debris from the Haweel. "Get ready for another influx, Ellis," he said. "New day, new problems."

The nurse finished washing her hands and snapped on a fresh pair of gloves. "You know it." She tipped her chin in the direction of the eating room. "You might want to fortify yourself while you have the chance."

"Good idea." Ducking down the hall, he joined the line for the only working replicator and made himself a buttered bagel, folding both slices in half and downing them in two bites, washing them down with a cup of coffee. To blazes with choking hazards... Just as he finished the last dregs, a loud cry caught his attention.

"HELP!"

McCoy dropped his cup on the ground, running for the front door. He shoved the flap open and looked out into the distance, shading his eyes. A lone figure was flying down the hillside, arms laden with a heap of...something...dripping. Wait...not something, someone...oh, God... "Over here!" he called, frantically waving the individual closer.

"Doctor McCoy!" Pavel Chekov ran up to him and skidded to a stop. His face was as pale as a sheet,, eyes wide open, his breathing heavy. Wet blood stained his gold uniform shirt. "I couldn't get there in time! I...couldn't..." A large gash ran down his right arm; several scratches covered his hands. Both sleeves were reduced to ribbons near the cuffs.

"Shhh..." McCoy placed a hand on his arm to steady him, then opened his arms to receive the limp body. It was feather-light. A child... His heart clenched. "I'll take it from here," he assured the young navigator. "What happened?" he asked as he headed quickly for the trauma section, beckoning to nearby nurses to follow him.

Chekov followed behind, wringing his hands. "I-I vas at the v-vreckage site, downloading information from the flight c-computer. There were some children, playing n-nearby. I shooed them avay several times. But there vas one...she said she heard something inside." He bit his lower lip. "I told her, 'stop, don't go in there, it's dangerous', but she didn't listen. Just said, 'Help I them'." A swallow and a shake of his head. "She vas in the cargo section, and s-suddenly there was a-a-an explosion-"His voice choked off.

"Thank you, Pavel," McCoy nodded. "Make sure you get someone to see to your own wounds." The officer nodded back, and stayed in the corridor. A nurse handed him a bottle of water on her way into the room and he thanked her.

McCoy rushed through the door of a trauma room, setting the bloody bundle on a cot. His mind whirled with the information Chekov had given him. Explosion...wreckage...so burns and shrapnel injuries... Reaching for a tricorder on a cart nearby, he turned it on, then turned his attention to the child on the cot.

Leonard gaped in horror. Angry red burns covered her face and arms. The fabric of her dress was melted in some spots, sticking to her skin; in other places, pieces of dark blue metal pinned it against her body. A nine-inch shard jutted out of her chest on the left side. Dear Lord in heaven... He scanned her life signs as medical staff filled the room. Nothing registered. "No vital signs...nurse, give me 10 ccs of-" Clink. A small object rolled out of the child's dress pocket and onto the floor.

McCoy stilled, his own heart stopping. The regenerator...Malua. He lifted one hand to his mouth, shocked. She's unrecognizable...The world seemed to tilt on its axis, and everything began to blur. He blinked, turning back to the girl's body, and watched for several minutes as the other medical officers and Patrulan staff ran diagnostics on her. After two minutes, their activity slowed. McCoy strained to hear the sound of life signs registering on the monitors. None came.

He grabbed the arm of Dr. Qawveko, the Patrulan surgeon who'd given him a rushed five-minute tour of the facility prior to his beginning to work there. "Did you try the rhyscempaline? Ketingaidium?!"

Qawveko frowned, trying to move past him. "Yes, Doc-"

McCoy shook the man's arm, eyes wide, face close to the other man's. "What about tweribium metacalcate-surely that-"

The doctor shook his head. "It wouldn't have worked, Doctor. She was too far gone." He put a hand on McCoy's shoulder, his single eyelid lowering. "I'm sorry. Really, I am. I know you cared about her." Qawveko pushed past McCoy and stepped out of the room. Behind them, medical staff worked to clean up the used tools and meds.

A nurse lifted a yellow sheet and pulled it over Malua's body. Tears slipped from McCoy's eyes. She can't be dead! She just can't be. The vital signs monitor cut as it was turned off. Staff filed out of the room, leaving only McCoy and the child who'd thought he could make everything better. He pictured her curious, intelligent face as he fixed her boo-boo, the way she had studied everything he had showed her...

He swallowed hard and staggered backwards into a chair. As he slumped down into it, the leg of the chair hit the edge of the regenerator. As he reached down for it, it seemed smaller in his hands than it had before. McCoy switched it on and off.

And then he remembered what Chekov had said.

"I told her, 'stop, don't go in there, it's dangerous', but she didn't listen. Just said, 'Help I them'."

'Help I them.' She went. Into the wreckage. To help.

Just like me.

A sick feeling roiled in his gut. I killed her. I KILLED her. Rage boiled up in his chest and he squeezed the regenerator hard until his knuckles turned white. "AGH!" He threw it, hard, against the floor, then reached for the curtain, ripped it down, and balled it up, chest heaving. She's dead because of me. Because I told her it was okay to dream. I told her. I killed her...
 
***

He didn't know how he wound up on the floor on his knees, crying, or how a mug of mint tea wound up in his hands, a blanket around his shoulders. He didn't know how long he slept after that, only that he woke up in a dark, quiet room, somewhere in the field hospital. Alone.

Unwrapping the blanket around him, he sat up on the cot and slid towards the edge. A pitcher and a cup lay on a pushcart nearby. Water...she brought me water. He poured himself some and drank, knowing dehydration wouldn't do him any favours. Blinking, he rubbed some of the crust out of his eyes and stretched. I can't stay here...I've got to do something...

McCoy headed down the hall, realizing it was late by the darkness of the rooms. He stopped a nurse briefly, and when she gave him the answer he was looking for, he thanked her and turned right, stopping at a small room at the end of the corridor. He shoved his hand into his pocket and felt the slim barrel of the regenerator. How did that...never mind.

He flipped up the curtain and stepped inside. It didn't take him long to find what he was looking for. Malua's small body lay on a small table on the left side of the room. She had been cleaned and dressed in a soft gray robe by two of the Cenutrian women who had been given the task. Normally, in Cenutrian culture, someone would sit all night with the body of the deceased, usually a close relative. But Malua had no one. Except me...

Leonard swallowed and pulled a small folding stool close to the girl's side, sitting down. He reached out a hand and stroked her head gently, feeling her curls, now clean and unmatted, against his fingers. "Hey, sugar. Don't be afraid. I'm not going to leave you alone tonight." He took her hand in his and kissed it, eyes closed, feeling the chill of death on his lips. "I may have failed you once, Malua, but not again." Tears leaked from his eyes. "Not again."

A soft breeze came from the entryway, and McCoy's heart thudded, half expecting the little girl to be standing there, alive and smiling. He lifted his head, only to see Chekov instead. "May I come in?"

McCoy nodded. "Sure." He pulled another chair up, and Chekov crossed the room, sitting down slowly. "How's your arm?"

"Is good, thank you, Doctor." Chekov leaned forward, looking at Malua's peaceful face. "I-I just had to be here tonight."

"I know how you feel." McCoy frowned as the Russian sniffled, trying to hide it with a cough. "Pavel?" He put a hand on his shoulder. "Are you crying?"

"Nyet. Vell, maybe..." He looked up at McCoy, his face still pale, his freckles standing out. He covered his face with his hands and muttered something unintelligible.

McCoy leaned forward. "What is it?"

"It's all my fault," Chekov said, inhaling shakily.

What?

"I should have run faster...maybe then I could have stopped her from going in there. She vould be alive now if I had only gotten there in time." He sighed. "I am so, so, sorry, Doctor."

McCoy stood up suddenly, knocking his stool over. "No. No, Pavel. Don't be. It's not your fault. If you had run faster, you'd be lying under a sheet, too!" He began to pace back and forth, making tight circles. "Don't blame yourself for her death. It's not your fault at all! It's mine!"

Pavel's mouth formed an O. "How? The doctor said they did every-"

"They did everything they could! What did I do? Couldn't even move when I saw who it was lying there!" He rubbed his forehead, eyes squeezed shut. "Not only that, it was because of me that she even got k-killed in the first place!" He bent over the navigator, punctuating his words with finger jabs at Chekov's chest. "She said to me that she couldn't be a doctor because where she comes from, she's nothing. And what did I do? I looked her in the eyes and told her to dream big, to believe it could happen someday." He let out a strangled cry. "She was going into the wreckage to help someone, Pavel." McCoy held up the regenerator in one hand. "Just like I showed her." He shook his head sadly. "I may as well have blown up the fool ship myself. I killed that precious little girl. I-"

"No." Chekov shook his head.

McCoy paused. "No, what?"

Chekov straightened up McCoy's stool and pulled him down onto it. His face took on a serious expression as he exhaled softly. "No, you did not do anything wrong." He leaned forward, arms resting on his thighs. "You gave her hope, Doct-"

"Yeah. False hope."

"Listen to me." The lieutenant grabbed him by the shoulders. "You may have been the first person in her entire life to tell her that she mattered. That she was special, waluable. Loved. Every child needs to hear that." He paused. "You did not kill Malua. Think, Doctor." Chekov placed a hand on top of McCoy's arm. "She vould have tried to help anyvay. That's who she vas."

She brought me water... McCoy closed his eyes, shuddering. "I-I want to believe that. But I can't help thinking, if I'd just-"

"There vas nothing else you could do. Nothing else anyvone could do." The lieutenant's features softened as he realized what he'd just said. "Anyvone..." He sighed. "Except this." He placed one warm hand over the little girl's cold one. "Keep wigil, I mean."

Leonard smiled sadly at the young man. "Yes. Yes, we can do that much." The soft sound of footsteps echoed away from their room, along with the rattling sound of a pushcart. He flipped up a small flap in the wall and looked out at the dark burgundy sky, peppered by twinkling stars. Soft, red moonlight shone on his face. It's going to be a long, sad night. He looked back at Pavel, who was muttering something softly in Russian, probably a prayer. But not a lonely one...goodnight, Malua.
 
Update to posted list

Biohazard
Logic
Incapacitated
Nuisance
Operation
Frozen
Evacuation
Disease
Anger
Guilt
Murder (in another thread)
Jailbreak (new)
 
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Jailbreak

"Nobody will tell me anything, Captain. I thought perhaps you might have better luck."

Leonard didn't miss the slight hitch in the Ranyar diplomat's voice as he spoke, nor the way he perched at the edge of his chair. Guy's antsier than...well, an anthill. Guess I would be, too, if it was my kid out there.

Kirk shared a knowing look with Spock. The silence on the bridge seemed thick. The captain returned his gaze to the view screen. "Ambassador," he began in a measured tone, "we, too, represent our people to everyone we meet, and as such we have an obligation to attempt the maintenance of peaceful relations with whomever we encounter out here. What you're asking-"

Ambassador Asplinn stroked his temple with a long, bony finger. "I realize that. I am prepared to offer compensation to your people – unofficially, of course – for the successful completion of your mission."

The captain's brows scrunched together. "You misunderstood me, sir. We're not holding out for payment. The safety of my people comes first, and before I send them out chasing after your son, I need to know what we're getting ourselves into." He leaned forward and steepled his fingers together. "Now is there anything you can tell me about the Teradul?"

Asplinn sighed. "As I said before, I know little. We have no diplomatic relations with them whatsoever. An attempt was made, years ago, but they declined all formal overtures. Their planet has no central government, only municipal ones; they seem to be more interested in trade than anything else." He frowned. "Yinn's message was very brief and staticky. All he said was that he was in serious trouble with the local authorities and I needed to come get him. Then there was some...shouting, a c-crash, and the communication cut out."

Usually not a good sign. McCoy rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Wonder what the fool kid did, anyway? He looked down at Jim again. An odd look passed over his eyes and disappeared quickly. Yup. He's going to go for it. Spock's expression was unreadable, as usual, but he regarded the viewscreen. Yet McCoy sensed that he was thinking of something else.

"Are you a father, Captain?" the Ranyaran asked.

"Uh, no." McCoy read the unspoken rest of that sentence in Jim's eyes. "At least, I don't think so."

"He's a good boy, really, he is. He's just...impulsive, adventurous. But I fear his ambitions may have outstripped his ability to handle himself this time."

Jim. Our mission is to retrieve a teenage runaway Jim. Peachy.

Kirk nodded. "I know. Youthful exuberance has a way of... blinding you to reality. You think that you're invincible. Until something happens to prove you wrong."

"Yes. Yes, that's it exactly," Asplinn agreed. "So you'll help then?"

Kirk hesitated. "All right. I'll send a team over there to sniff around, see what's what." He stood up, spreading his hands apart. "No promises."

Asplinn relaxed; he looked at least ten years younger, the weight of his burden lifted somewhat. "Thank you, Captain. One more thing; can I count on your discretion in this matter? My government knows nothing of the... incident, and I would prefer to keep it that way."

"I think we can do that." Kirk nodded to Sulu, who tapped the console, already changing the course wordlessly.

McCoy raised both eyebrows as Lt. Uhura ended the transmission. "Do unto others, Jim? I can think of a few things you'd like to keep a secret. I bet if it weren't for the hobgoblin here, your captain's log'd read like a propaganda paper."

Kirk frowned. "Well, that's an improvement over last week, when you called it a tabloid." He slung an arm over McCoy's shoulder. "And besides, it's not like you've never done anything you'd want to redact. We all have a few skeletons in our closets. Even Spock here," Kirk added, throwing his other arm over a startled Spock's shoulder, a grin splitting his face. "I seem to recall, ahem, a certain T'Vadii?"

Spock blinked. "Captain, I told you that in the strictest confidence," he muttered hoarsely.

"You don't say?" McCoy shifted so that he was facing the Vulcan. Unless he was mistaken, Spock's cheeks were flushed brighter green than usual. "Who's T'Vadii?"

"Just an old girlfriend of Spock's, that's all," Kirk blurted. "Until she dumped him."

"Jim, your explanation is far too simplistic," Spock almost plead, turning to McCoy. "I was a child of five. T'Vadii lived near our home on Vulcan. She was six years my elder. My mother sent me over to her family's house to deliver a shan-tyra rosebush she wished to give them. T'Vadii answered the door and took the plant from me. I noticed that her hair was the same color as the roses, and I told her so. She nodded and replied, 'Perhaps it is. Why did you mention it?', and I said I did not know. She told me it was illogical to make a statement that served no purpose and shut the door. I have not seen her since her family moved away a week later."

Spock looked up as Uhura appeared behind him. She smiled sadly. "You never told me that story."

"I had no reason to. It signified nothing." Taking her advice then, Spock? "The only reason I told the captain was because he got a shan-tyra thorn in his thumb three months ago in the botany lab. I assured him it was not poisonous."

"I remember that," McCoy poked Kirk in the side. "Squealed like a stuck pig." He flinched as Kirk poked him back. "Matter of fact, there's a – hey- pair of tweezers-oh- down in sickbay-ow- with Jim's name on them-ow! Stop that!"

Kirk shrugged and crossed his arms. McCoy followed his gaze towards the turbolift. Uhura was standing there with Spock, their heads bent close together as she put her hand on his arm. "Look at that, would you? Luckiest guy in the whole universe."

"Mmm. How do you figure?"

"He just told his girlfriend about another girl, and she thinks it's darling." Kirk shook his head and stuffed his hands into his pockets. "I wish I could get away with that sometime." He strode towards the helm, McCoy's eyes on his back, and once again became the mature captain as he discussed approaches and flight plans for Teradul with Sulu. Leonard scratched his head. How does he do that so fast?
 
"'An' she said to me, wha' hae ye done with me, I'll be nae more going o'er the green-hic!'" Scott slammed the chunky bottle onto the tabletop, sending a slosh of purple alcohol into McCoy's clear glass.

Ugh, McCoy thought, pushing away his drink with disgust. "If I were your bartender, I'd have cut you off three bottles ago." This was the third establishment they'd visited in as many hours, and judging by what he'd seen the man down, he suspected the engineer would be floating back to the Enterprise at the end of this mission. "Is that even a real song, or did you just make it up?" He reached for the offending container.

Scott was too fast for him, bringing the bottle to his lips once more. "It is, and ye're not," he mumbled, reversing the order of the questions. As he leaned over the table towards McCoy, his glassy-eyed stare cleared up. "I know what I'm doin', Doctor. If ye had half a brain, ye'd try tae blend in like I'm a doin'." He nodded at McCoy's discarded glass. "Dinna let a little drop of me stuff stop ye from enjoying yours."

McCoy huffed. "If it weren't for the fact that alcohol kills most known pathogens, I'd say no. Here goes nothing," he muttered as he reached for his drink. To his relief, it tasted no different. "Not bad." He licked his lips, flinching as a tiny frisson travelled down his spine. "Hey, is it just me or are we being watched?"

Scott had drained his bottle and was now busy tearing strips from his paper napkin and sticking them to its rim. "Watched? I think Jim has a lot more on his mind besides crew evaluations right now." He tipped his head towards a table in the corner of the room. The captain was pretending to have a rowdy argument in Andorian with Spock and his usual cadre of burly security officers, cleverly disguised as ruffians, ne'er-do-wells, and slimeballs. In reality, however, he was examining drone surveillance scans on Quijand City Prison and discussing ingress and egress points with his strike team. McCoy had to hand it to Jim; the kid was a master at blending in. Maybe a little too good, he thought as the captain reached over the table and grabbed Hendorff by the collar, his face coloring. "I don't mean by him. These guys..." He tensed up as a slender woman brushed by him, her intense gaze lingering on his face for a moment before moving towards the doorway. "These Teradul...you get the feeling that they know something about you."

Scott chuckled, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his loud shirt. "I wouldna mind a bit of that kind of attention." He wadded up the last of his napkin and tossed it into the bottle like a basketball. "Dinna worry yerself about it."

"'Dinna worry meself about it.'" McCoy leaned his chin on one hand, feeling the greasy fabric of his jacket beneath his elbow. "They're planning a prison infiltration and I'm supposed to sit back-"- he did so, resting his head on his folded hands – "-relax, and enjoy the music. If you can call that noise music." Even as he spoke, his ears thrummed with the vibrations of a large, discordant stringed instrument. "A cello it ain't." He tipped the chair back on its back legs.

A sharp crack echoed across the room, and both heads whipped around to see Kirk crumpling to the ground. And so it begins. Jim! McCoy's muscles tensed up, preparing to head over there, but the pressure of Scott's grip on his arm stopped him. He couldn't see the captain anymore, but across the table from his last location, Lieutenant junior grade Grossman was kissing her knuckles before planting her hands on her hips. McCoy peered through the crowd, trying to find Jim. A hand came up over the side of the table and gripped it, as Kirk pulled himself stiffly to his feet. I can see his eye blackening from here. Without warning, he leapt towards her and they became locked in physical combat. So that's his plan...get arrested, find a way in. Logical. He watched as the other officers became involved in the brawl, too; a fist here, a foot there. Even Spock tried to pull the captain off Grossman before Kirk snapped his head back into the Vulcan's face. He recognized some of the moves from combat training; others lacked the fluid efficiency of movement they had been instructed in at the Academy. I guess he didn't forget everything he learned on the mean streets...

He looked back at Scotty as the engineer pumped a fist in the air and whooped. "I thought we weren't supposed to join'em; just observe and report."

"Jus' tryin' tae blend in, as I said," Scotty mumbled, getting up and standing on his chair to see over the crowd. A crowd of Teradul and other alien visitors surrounded the fight, making similar noises of approval. "Come on, Doctor. Pick a side already if'n ye dinna want to attract attention."

"Fine." McCoy cupped his hands to his mouth. "C'mon, Rebekah! Knock his scurvy teeth down his throat!" At Scotty's sideways glance, he shrugged. "What? I'm a Southern gentleman. We always defend our women."

Scotty raised both arms in the air. "Give it tae the harpy, laddie!" He lowered his voice. "Somebody's gotta root fer Jim. I'll apologize tae the lass later." He looked towards the entrance. "Uh oh. We've got company. Ecurity-say at the oor-day."

McCoy pulled in his chair to allow the patrolmen by. Guys've got more muscles than a football team. You wanted trouble, Jim? You got it. To his surprise, they did not pass, giving the battle across the room only a brief glance. Instead, they surrounded his table. McCoy stiffened as he felt the butt of a rifle dig into his back.

"Gav Norsan, Quijand Patrol. You are being detained. Stand up," the officer growled. A similar weapon was aimed at the back of Scotty's head as he stepped down from the chair. "It is no use trying to run. There are guards at all the exits."

Run? Me? Now whatever gave you that idea? McCoy stood, turning slowly to face his captor. "Will you tell me what in the world we're being charged with?" He waved his arm towards the fight. "What about those guys?"

The officer sniffed. "What about them?" He pulled out a small device with a screen and pressed a few buttons. An image appeared, and he held the device up at eye level as another officer shoved Scotty towards him. "Do you recognize this?" Another button, another image. "Or these?" he spat.

Each image showed examples of Teradul dinnerware; a small forklike utensil with two prongs, a thick fluted cup with three rings on the side, a round dish with scalloped edges. He recognized them from the first bar, which had also served food, including a particularly sweet melon pudding dish. "Happens I do. What of it? Search me, if you want; I didn't swipe any."

"Nor I," Scott piped up. "If'n I wanted tae steal something, it'd be worth more than that. Like an officer's badge, mayhaps. Here ye go," he chuckled, tossing a small metal object to the man, who caught it with one hand, frowning at Scotty.

Norsan leaned forward until McCoy could smell his breath. Like a musty attic room. "I am not accusing you of thievery." He clasped his hands behind his back and paced back and forth. "Do you recall using the fork, and how?"

"Sure," McCoy nodded. "We ate a meat roll with it."

"How?"

"We picked up chunks and put them in our mouth." How do you think, genius? , he was tempted to add, but he didn't want to push the man's buttons.

"But first, you cut it with the side of the fork. There was a blade. Why didn't you use it?" Norsan pressed a thick finger into McCoy's collarbone, probing until Leonard began to choke.

"What difference does that make?" he sputtered.

"And you," Norsan continued, turning his glare on Scotty, who shrunk back, his earlier bravado diminishing. "The cup is to be drunk from the largest ring side, not the bare one. And okal is never to be eaten with one's hands," he snarled, grabbing Scott's collar with both hands until the man's feet lifted off the floor. "You have dishonoured our statutes and Gamo'an's name."

"Ga-who-an?" Scotty squeaked. Norsan let him go, and he dropped to the floor, taking several deep breaths.

The officer waved a hand towards the bar. A large statue of a woman with a sword in one hand and Teradul currency in the other stood in a prominent place against the wall. McCoy realized they'd seen similar images in the other bars they'd patronized, but this one was larger and more intricate than the others. So we've offended their warrior goddess then. "Gamo'an is shamed by your flagrant abuse of her utensils." What?! Are you serious?! We're getting arrested by the etiquette police? He grabbed McCoy's arm in a vice grip and brought him closer until they were nose to nose. "It is the highest violation. One worthy of severe measures." The gleam in his eye made it clear that he would enjoy carrying such measures out. "You shall be executed in due course. Both of you. But until then..." he trailed off, bringing his knee up into McCoy's abdomen hard, causing him to double over in pain, "I will see to it that you long for that occasion." He turned to his men. "Take them to the prison. I will join you shortly." They saluted and restrained McCoy and Scott, dragging them away.

McCoy glanced back, Kirk's name on the tip of his tongue. The fight was still going strong, and by the looks of things, several Teradul had joined the fray. He pressed his mouth closed. No good getting all of us locked up. I just hope he realizes we're missing or we're doomed. Movement in front of the bar caught his eye; Norsan dropped to the ground and lay prostrate on the floor before the Gamo'an idol, chanting softly. Several Teradul joined him. McCoy sighed, wincing as he was shoved out the door.
 
"You know what's really ironic? If I'd stabbed one of them with that stupid fork, they probably wouldn't even care. But use it to eat strawberries instead of carrots? Capital offence." McCoy threw his hands up in the air, wincing as his ribs burned from the beating they'd taken. He hadn't inventoried their injuries yet; the Teradul authorities had made good on their threats, working over both men for an hour before ushering them into a common dungeon area filled with miserable looking sorts. Although they had not been chained or restrained, there was no way to escape the large holding cell. Thick brick walls reached nearly a hundred feet up to small windows with metal bars on them. No handholds, of course. No rope ladder...no stairs...

He cocked his head to one side. "Hey. What do you get when you combine Klingons, Ferengis, and Emily Post? These guys."

"Keep it down, would ye? I've got a splitting headache," Scotty groaned, holding his head. A deep gash ran down the left side.

"Just trying to lighten the mood," McCoy apologized, instinctively reaching down at his side and finding nothing. My kingdom for my medkit. He watched as Scotty pulled a small packet from his pocket and unwrapped it, popping the gum inside into his mouth and chewing. "Where'd you get that?" McCoy asked.

"Second bar. They're complimentary," Scott muttered. "I'm trying tae remind meself that I've still got teeth left."

McCoy idly ran his tongue along his gums, doing a head count. All there...makes sense. Most of the blows they inflicted on us were torso hits. He sat up straighter on the floor, feeling the dampness of the tiles underneath his body. Pneumonia city. "What time is it, anyway? Jim should be here by now." And I shouldn't, he finished silently.

Scott paused mid-chew. "Now how in blazes should I know that? And by the way, I'm not exactly loving Teradul hospitality right now, either. What I wouldna give for a nice, hot shower and me own bed. Why'd ye have ta cut yer food with a fork, anyway?"

"Me?" McCoy jabbed his chest with one thumb, then pointed his index finger at the chief engineer. "If you hadn't stuffed your ham hands into a plate of food, then maybe they would've overlooked my minor oversight."

"Ham hands?" Scott spat, arms crossed over his chest. "I'm not the one who dinna know what a knife is fer..." His voice trailed off and he closed his eyes, sighing. "I'm sorry, Doctor. This isna getting us anyplace." He made a fist and smacked it into the open palm of his other hand. "Captain's gonna be mad at us. Now he's got to rescue three people instead of just one." He looked around the room, straining to see in the half-light. "Where do ye suppose that young scamp is, anyway?"

McCoy picked at a hangnail. "Probably cowering in a corner somewhere." His head began to itch, and he scratched it. Please don't be lice. "You know, I have half a mind to tell Jim to just leave Yinn here. It's really his fault we're stuck in this deathtrap."

"Come now," Scott pleaded, "ye cannae blame him, either." He stood to his feet slowly, placing one hand in the small of his back. "Poor lad probably just sneezed on one of those idols or summat."

"Close enough. I snagged the Sacred Cloth." Both men looked over to see a youthful version of Ambassador Asplinn hunched in the corner. Hardly more than a boy, his stubbled face was a mass of bruises. Blood crusted his nostrils and lips, and he held one arm close to his chest. Probably dislocated...and more trauma under that jumpsuit besides. In an instant, all animosity he'd previously directed towards Yinn was now squarely directed towards his Teradul abusers. What's wrong with these people, anyway?

"Sacred what?" Scott frowned.

"A table covering for Gamo'an's altar. S-somebody tripped me and I snagged it." Yinn straightened up, trying to appear more brave than he was, but fear still flickered in his eyes. "The sentence is death."

A tablecloth. They're going to kill him for shredding their holy linens. McCoy covered his mouth with a hand, trying to hide a snicker. It was all so stupid. He looked over the boy's head at Scott, who was pressing his lips together in a valiant attempt to keep from laughing.

"What?" Yinn asked, looking from one man to the other. "We're all going to die. Is that funny?"

McCoy reached up to wipe a tear from his eye. "N-no, of course not. It's just, I thought if I was ever sentenced to death, it'd be for something more serious than misusing a fork."

"Aye. Or not holding yer teacup the right way," Scott added, lifting an imaginary cup to his lips and waggling his pinky.

The corners of Yinn's mouth turned up. "Or perhaps putting a hole in a textile?"

"Exactly," McCoy snorted, setting Scott off, and finally Yinn. They shared a good laugh for the next minute until Scott began to choke on his gum, spurring McCoy into a frenzy of back-patting until he coughed up the offending wad onto the floor. All three retreated into the corner of the room, trying to catch their breath.

McCoy leaned one arm against the wall, wiping his forehead with the other. "Phew. I think we needed that. Laughter's a good tonic, or so they say." He placed one hand on the boy's uninjured shoulder. "Listen, about that execution; it's not gonna happen. We're Starfleet officers. Your father sent us to get you out of here."

"He did?" Yinn frowned. "But how are you going to do that? You're imprisoned, too."

"No, not us. We've got friends on the outside. We were supposed to be the lookouts, but my captain and the others got caught up in a fight. Probably figured it was the best way in. Boy, were they ever wrong."

"Take it from me, lad," Scott added, coming around on Yinn's opposite side. "Ye couldna wish for a better rescue team than our people. Have ye oot in two shakes of a lamb's tail. When they get here, that is," he continued, staring up at the window as if he expected Kirk to appear that very second.

"Eh, Jim's probably nursing a nosebleed or something," Leonard chuckled. His laughter trailed off as Yinn clutched at his arm, gritting his teeth. Enough yapping, Leonard. You've got a patient to treat. "Hey, hey, hey, easy does it. Let me see that; I'm a doctor." He gently examined the boy's shoulder, probing with well-trained hands. Definitely dislocated. Yep, I still got it. You can take away my medical tricorder, but you can't remove years of med school and field experience. "This is going to hurt like blazes for a second, and then it'll be a whole lot better. Ready?"

Yinn nodded. A quick adjustment and the end of the bone snapped into its socket. To his credit, Yinn didn't cry out, but it was clear by the way tears sprang to his eyes that it had hurt.

"You okay?"

"Better." A shaky breath.

"See, now, what'd I tell you? As soon as we get back to our ship, I'll see about those other injuries." He turned around, looking for Scott, but the man had disappeared. Now where did he get to? Leonard's eyes roved over a mass of dejected humanoidanity. If I had my way, every last one of these poor souls would see my sickbay. Unwrapping the dirt brown scarf from around his neck, he looped it over Yinn's shoulders and settled his sore arm into the makeshift sling. He spotted the chief engineer near the adjacent wall, pressing his ear to it and rapping softly with a closed fist. "Scotty?" he called even as the engineer made his way back to them, hands on his hips, head shaking side to side.

"It's nae good. Solid rock, at least 4 feet thick. Now ye might say, what aboot the window? Well," he muttered, stooping to retrieve a pebble from the floor, "even if ye could make it up that high, and even if ye happened to remove those bars..." He stepped back and drew back his hand, pitching the pebble at the high window. It sailed right between the bars, only to bounce off a shimmering force field and onto the floor again, rolling to a stop at their feet. "Ye wouldna get verra far."

Now would be a good time for you to pull one of those famous Scott miracles out of your hat, Scotty. "I suppose we could dig our way out with our bare hands." McCoy sighed, slumping onto the floor. "Wonder how long that'd take."

BANG!

All three men jumped at the loud sound, dropping to the ground as smoke filled the air; dust and pebbles flew into the air and rained down again. A shot. Where did it come from? Jim? Heart thudding, McCoy looked between his fingers, trying to find the source of the noise. To his surprise, nobody else seemed that interested. He paused for a moment, listening for further shots. Hearing nothing, he relaxed. "All clear," he coughed, waving his arms around to disperse the smoke. A small scorch mark on the floor caught his attention. Squatting down, he touched the hot object.

"Ah!" he gasped, shaking his fingers to cool them. He brought the burnt digits to his lips, frowning. I've smelled that before...what is it? He walked back over to Scott and stuck his finger under the engineer's nose. "Smell that and tell me what it is. And don't say 'a human finger', either."

"' Smell that and tell me what it is.'" Scott grimaced. "The words every Starfleet officer wants to hear." He scratched his head. "I've lost a few friends that way over the years."

"Just do it, Scotty."

"All right..." Scott leaned forward and sniffed. "Hmm. Oh, that; smells like me chewing gum, that does. Now, I've heard of blowing bubbles, but I guess I'm lucky it dinna blow me head off." He shuddered.

Just when I thought I'd heard it all...C4 chewing gum, no less.

Yinn rubbed the back of his neck where McCoy's scarf was knotted. "It's because you spat it out." He cleared his throat and swallowed. "I learned that the hard way," he smiled. "There's a chemical in it that, combined with spit and air, creates a slow-acting reaction. It's supposed to be a prank. Pretty dumb, huh?"

A thought began to tickle at the back of the doctor's mind. McCoy arched both eyebrows. "Actually, it's pretty clever."

"Pretty deadly, if ye ask me," Scott corrected. "I'm surprised at you, Doctor. Usually, you'd be shouting bloody murder about juvenile behaviour."

Guilty as charged. But not this time. "I was thinking that this just might be our ticket outta here. Capisce?"

"Ahh..." Scott smiled. "I think I ken what ye're onto, Doctor."

"You got any more in your pockets?" Yinn's left hand strayed towards his cloak hem. Probably filched it and then forgot all about it afterwards. "C'mon, give it over." Scott was busy turning out his own pockets; an assortment of multicoloured packets of various kinds littered the ground around his feet. "Mr. Scott, you're a regular packrat. If that's what your pockets look like, I'd hate to see your quarters." Downright unsanitary. Says the man who just touched another man's chewing gum. McCoy dropped to a knee and began sorting the pile, discarding everything but the unopened gum. Yinn tossed a couple of handfuls onto the stash.

Before long, they had amassed a substantial amount. Splitting the pile up into three, they began unwrapping and chewing the gum. Scott "lethargically" paced up and down the wall, stopping every so often to inconspicuously rap sections of brick. McCoy had managed to find a couple of dice in Scotty's loot pile, and he and Yinn sat cross-legged by the high window playing for pebbles. The whole time, all three surreptitiously observed the crowd, but nobody seemed the slightest bit interested in their activities. Apparently the stench of the unwashed and condemned was too much for the guards, who remained outside.

"How much longer?" Yinn asked. "My jaw's getting tired." He rubbed his chin with one hand.

"Not long. I'm running out of saliva." McCoy shook the dice in two cupped hands and let it go. "Double sixes. As soon as Scotty identifies-"

"An' I have. Get on with it. We've only got a few minutes before the wall blows outward." Scott dropped down to their eye level. "I've marked the locations you'll need to affix it on the stones," he added, twirling a felt tip marker in one hand. "Mind ye, I'm only going by me best guess, not having me tricorder and all."

"Good enough. I'll go next. You keep playing until I come back." McCoy stood up, feeling stiffness in his back and legs. A nice, long, hot soak. For a month, if I can manage it. He stuck the gum to the wall on one of Scotty's marks, being careful to spread it out, before trudging slowly back to the game. "You're on, kid." As Yinn made his way to the blast site, McCoy grabbed the dice from the ground by Scotty's feet. "My turn." He shook and threw them. "Six and a three."

"Blast it, anyway," Scott muttered, a sour look on his face. "I haven't won a throw yet."

McCoy raised an eyebrow, then laughed. "You can curse me later. When we're free men."

Yinn looked in all directions before appearing at their side once again. "Done. Think it's going to be enough?"

"It'll have to be. We're fresh out." The faint odour of tangy smoke hung in the air even before the words left his mouth. This is it. He coughed twice and cupped his hands around his mouth. "Everybody get back! NOW!" A few heads slowly turned to look at him. "AWAY FROM THE WALL!" He waved his hands towards the prisoners, and they seemed to get the message, quickening their pace in the opposite direction. A loud hissing sound filled the air, and McCoy dropped to the ground, covering his head with both arms. Several others did the same. "Hit the dirt!"

This is either the stupidest decision I've ever made and we all die, or-

BOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMM! A thunderous explosion rocked the prison, blowing out a large section of the rigged wall. Smoke and dust filled the air. McCoy pulled his collar up over his mouth and nose instinctively, even as it dawned on him that the ceiling was not caving in. Who needs a tricorder, Scotty? You just batted 1.000 without one.

Pushing himself up from the ground, he searched for Yinn and Scotty in the haze. The younger of the two was doubled over coughing while Scott was having a sneezing fit. Ears ringing, he peered beyond them to the other prisoners. Unlike their earlier apathy, and after recovering from the initial shock of the explosion, they seemed to have realized that nothing stood between them and liberty, because they were running for the brand new door in a streaming mass of humanoidanity. I don't blame them one iota... He jumped out of the way to avoid colliding with a lanky bearded man who looked as though he hadn't had a decent meal in six months. Others clambered over the toppled stones, desperately trying to escape in all directions. He could hear shouting and pounding coming from behind the door; evidently, the prison guards had finally figured out something was amiss. He smiled as he studied the portal; somebody had apparently taken the time to push a large, heavy stone in front of it. Ha. Took you long enough. That'll teach you to leave us unguarded. "Scotty! Yinn! Let's get out of here before they figure out how to-" He smacked into a hard object, falling back on his backside. "Ow! Watch where you're going. Smoke isn't that thick."

"Ouch yourself." A gloved hand reached out towards him. Leonard hesitated, then took it when he realized whose it was. The soot-streaked face of Jim Kirk frowned as he studied McCoy's equally dirty face. "Next time you're planning to bring down the house, you might want to warn me first. We were just about to breach on that side." He shook his head. McCoy peered around him to see the security team ushering folks out of the prison while shielding them with their bodies, including Scotty and Yinn, who helped an older woman up over the pile of smoking stones.

Spock jogged towards them. "We do not have much time, sir," he shouted, trying to be heard over the warning alarms that had now begun to sound. "We must leave immediately."

Gee, you think? "Let's go. If I never see this place again, it'll be too soon." All three men brought up the rear, climbing over the wall with considerable ease.

"Beam out coordinates 900 feet ahead," Kirk called. As Spock ran ahead, he lagged behind with the slower McCoy. "You know..." he huffed, jogging next to the doctor, "I just have one question for you; where the heck did you get high-powered explosives in a prison?"

McCoy chuckled. He threw his arm around Kirk's shoulders. "Score one for sloppy police procedure and practical jokes." Seeing Kirk's confused look, he added, "I'll explain later, over a drink. Which you're buying."
 
Kidnapped

"Look, Bones..." A limp hand waved across McCoy's field of vision before dropping like a stone at the side of the biobed. "Whole room's made of...cotton candy. Whee."

"Shut up and breathe," Leonard ordered, not unkindly. He adjusted the settings on Jim's monitor screen, studying the anaesthetic flow rate. Excellent. "If he starts to sing, increase the dose," he instructed the anaesthesiologist, who smiled slightly at him.

In a few short minutes, Kirk would be completely unconscious and oblivious to the surgery that was about to take place. A five inch long jagged chunk of metal that (thankfully) had missed his vital organs remained stuck in the left side of his abdomen; it was the only thing keeping him from bleeding any more than he had already. And the worst part is, it wasn't even Jim's fault this time. He'd been admiring a new artisanal metal sculpture in the recreation room when the ship jolted slightly, causing him to lose his balance and impale himself on it. Even thinking about it made McCoy wince. Sorry for nagging you all those times, Jim...

"Mmm...Bonesy? Somethin's the matter w'the air." Jim's fingers grazed the clear mask that covered his face, squinting. "And the lights, too. Y'might wanna fix..." He smacked his lips a few times.

McCoy placed a hand on Kirk's shoulder. "Don't worry about it. Just let me fix you." He turned as a medical technician approached the surgical bed, bringing up the captain's scans on a screen nearby. "This is the latest one?"

"Yes, Doctor. No new haemorrhaging." The man tapped the screen with a finger, rotating the three-dimensional image until they had a clear view of the foreign object. "Think Lt. Brock'll ever forgive us for destroying his artwork?"

"He'd better. If we hadn't cut through it, we'd have been stuck lugging that monstrosity down here." Leonard zoomed in on the sharp end, studying its position carefully. "And if you ask me, there are far better uses for salvaged scrap metal than dangerous sculptures." He scribbled a few notes on his PADD with a silver stylus. "I want Martin assisting on this one, if she's not doing anything else right now. I'm concerned about corthinium toxicity setting in. He's allergic to the counteragent-" he muttered, pulling up a graph on the screen, "-so I don't want to risk even a small amount."

The technician nodded. "I think she's reviewing haematology scans, sir. I'll let her know." He exited, leaving McCoy, Dr. Dask and Kirk alone in the room together.

"Computer, increase lighting by 3% on surgical field indicated." McCoy pressed his lips together in approval as the captain's pierced abdomen came into view, prepped for surgical intervention. A glance at Jim's placid sleeping face revealed none of the agony he'd experienced less than an hour ago. He's off to dreamland. No, that's not right...what do you call the world of unconsciousness? Void land? Whatever... "We'll begin when Nurse Martin gets here, Joyura. He's stable for now."

"I'm not going anywhere," Dask replied, her large gray eyes blinking rapidly. To anyone who didn't know the studious Mydian doctor, the effect might have seemed as though she was flirting. In reality, it was a reflex action brought on by the relatively dry air in the surgical suite. The Mydian homeworld was very humid and warm all year round.

"Are you still using those drops daily?" McCoy asked. He had Mr. Scott working on a set of lightweight lenses for her that would emit the needed moisture. The engineer didn't seem to mind a side project when it enabled a crew member to adjust to life on the Enterprise. Sure, he'd muttered a little under his breath about deadlines and engine specs, but it lacked his usual annoyance. He's all heart. Then again, Joyura's not exactly a plain Jane...

"Mmm hmm. You'd better get that while you still can."

"Get what?" Even as he said that, he saw the blinking icon on the wall screen next to the head of the surgical bed. Now who could that be? He rounded the sedated captain and tapped the screen. Spock's face appeared in a little box in the center, the bridge in the background. Through the viewscreen, he could see that they were currently travelling at warp speed.

"My apologies for not enquiring earlier, Doctor. I was only just informed. How is he?"

McCoy cocked his head to one side. "Stable. Removing the corthinium fragment should be fairly routine." He stared over the Vulcan's shoulder. "As long as we don't experience any more turbulence, that is. Where are we going, anyway?"

"The Latu Cathay system. Stellar cartography will be making a detailed sensor scan of the area." Spock paused. "It was the captain's last order prior to his accident. I trust he would not want us to change course."

"He didn't give any counter orders to me. Just babbled a bunch of nonsense about cotton candy. Meds, you know," McCoy clarified, sending Spock's raised left brow back down. "Don't worry about it. It'd take a lot more than a close encounter with a statue to slow Jim down." Leonard smiled as Nurse Martin came in with a tray of sterilized tools. "Love to chat, but we've got to get a move-" He narrowed his eyes as Spock moved closer to the screen, studying McCoy like a specimen. "Can I help you?" The Vulcan's attention was already directed across the room as he called something unintelligible across the bridge. I should test him for ADD. What's so urgent, anyway? I don't see a red alert.

He turned as Nurse Martin set the instrument tray she was carrying down quickly with a clatter and pointed at him with a shaky hand. "D-doctor. Y-your legs..."

Nice of you to notice, but this isn't really the ti- McCoy's gaze dropped to his lower body. Bright red twinkling swirls of vapour and energy encircled him. What the-some kind of transporter beam? He watched as the energy continued to engulf him. "Engineering!" he shouted into the pick-up. "Unauthorized beam-out in progress! Can you reverse?! Hello!" Even as he spoke, he could feel himself particulating. Help me. He reached out one hand towards his surprised staff, drawing it back slightly before either of the women could reach him. Wherever I'm going, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't wish it on anyone. As he dematerialized, the last thing that registered was a flashing indicator on Kirk's monitor screen. Blood pressure's dropping! He's bleeding again. Crud. Jim! Leonard reached out in vain towards the captain's still form...
 
He reappeared inside a frosted glass box that was hardly wider than his body. Pale blue light shimmered around him, winking out as the transport sequence disengaged. One hand pressed against the cool pane in several places, looking for the catch. Air's going to run out soon...come on... He twisted sideways, the front panel impenetrable, and was startled to see another man trapped in a similar enclosure. Wide orange eyes wild with panic stared out of a face covered in hanging black flesh. I don't blame you one bit. "Hang on. I'll help you," he called, locking gazes with the man. Right, because everybody understands English out here.

A loud rapping caught his attention. Behind the first man, a third enclosure held a stocky warrior clad in several brightly colored tribal robes. He was beating on the door with his double-headed club, but having no better luck than McCoy's nimble fingers. He frowned. How many of us are there, anyway? Just as he was about to count the pods, a hissing sound drew his eyes upwards. A white gaseous substance streamed from a small hole in the ceiling. That's not good... He covered his mouth with the collar of his medical tunic, squeezing watery eyes shut. What is this, an execution chamber? Coughing loudly, he lowered his head and sucked in a breath of clean air from below the vapour cloud, holding it in his lungs for as long as possible. Even as he did, the futility of it struck him. I'm buying seconds and selling years... He slid down the glass slowly as far as he could, bending his legs against the opposite pane, his consciousness fading. When he did open his eyes briefly, black spots danced in front of them. Oohhh... As he drifted into the darkness, he felt a rush of air cooling his back, and then...nothing.

The sound of soft music roused him from his drug-induced slumber. McCoy blinked several times in the darkness of the room. Huh. I'm alive...or in the afterlife. He sniffed the air. No smoke or sulphur...that's a good sign. Instead, a flowery fragrance filled his nostrils. Shifting slightly, he felt the rustle of soft pillows beneath his body. So it wasn't poison...probably some kind of anaesthesia. The irony was not lost on him. He shoved his hands into the mound of cushions beneath him and tried to stand, but they gave way under his pressure and slid off the pile, taking him with it.

He rolled onto the floor, coming to a stop near a polished tiled wall. His head swam as he struggled to his feet, reaching for a large wooden handle to pull himself upward. What is this place? A shaft of light winked off the wall. As his vision cleared, he recognized it for a mirror. Bet I look like something the cat dragged in. Moving his face closer to the glass, he jumped back, startled at the sight that greeted him.

Instead of his usual neat, professional hairstyle, his dark brown locks had been teased into an elaborate arch on the top of his head. Several curls coiled up the sides, dabbed in glimmering gold streaks. His eyebrows were similarly adorned. Tiny silver earrings looped through formerly unpierced lobes. He lifted one hand to his right ear, turning his head sideways. Hmm, they did a nice job. Wait a minute... McCoy's head dropped downwards. Instead of his medical tunic, he wore a bright green robe trimmed with silver edging. A similar set of pants stopped just above dark brown leather sandals. He made a face. Of all the things I was expecting, a makeover didn't even make the top ten. Ewww. Whoever did this to me, all their taste is in their mouths.

The swish of a door opening interrupted his thoughts. Two muscular men entered his room, their stern features appearing to be set in stone. McCoy's jaw clenched. I don't care what kind of a bad day you're having. I want answers! One of them reached out for his arm, and McCoy yanked it away. "No. I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what the heck this is all about! I'm a Starfleet officer, and that may not mean anything to you, but I-" The rest of the sentence died in his throat as the other guard levelled the barrel of a powerful energy rifle at his chest. Okay...time to rethink this... He cleared his throat. "Uh, heh heh...where to?" The armed guard lowered his gun and both men flanked him, tightening their vice grips around his upper arms as they lead him out of the room and down a dark, windowless corridor.

Two flights of steps and three hallways later, he was unceremoniously shoved through a set of double doors into a brightly lit crowded room. Rubbing his arms vigorously to return the circulation to them, he looked around the chamber. Several individuals dressed in a similar fashion to his new duds stood against the far wall, shifting side to side. There was definitely an undercurrent of tension permeating the place; every occupant looked ill at ease. Well, if they were all yanked from the safety of their ships like I was, no wonder they're freaked out. He recognized some of the races, having seen them on various stations and planets the Enterprise had stopped at in their travels; others were completely unknown to him. So what exactly are we here for, anyway?

Before he could think any further on the subject, the guards who had brought him here came back through the doors with several others, weapons drawn. One of them barked something unintelligible, shoving his gun in McCoy's direction. "All right, all right! I'm going!" he snapped, backing up against the wall as quickly as he could. What? No last meal?

He watched as four men lined up facing each other, large golden trumpets raised to the ceiling. Fanfare followed. Great. Next thing you know, Robin Hood's going to come in and joust with the Sheriff of Nottingham. As the music wound down, a shadow appeared in the doorway and a quiet voice dismissed the musicians. They laid their instruments on the ground and bowed low as their superior entered the room. After a second, McCoy's fellow captives did likewise, closing their eyes; he did not.

He was not prepared for what he saw. A woman clothed in yards of a silky peach fabric proceeded past the onlookers, with a regal bearing despite her young age. McCoy guessed she was only about 21 or so in Earth years. All right, Maid Marian then. As I recall, she could shoot, too. Soft russet hair curled up and underneath in a loose knot at her neck. She was wearing a jewelled necklace and crystal earrings. Come to watch us die, milady? Her expression was more curious than bloodthirsty.

She walked down the line of captives, stopping every now and then to study their faces, asking questions about them of the guards, who, judging by their one-word responses, knew little other than the fact that they were present. McCoy was so busy trying to make out what they were saying that when she finally stopped in front of him, they startled each other. "Goodness. My apologies, ma'am." He placed one hand over his heart. "I didn't realize you-" He stopped as she reached out her hand to touch his gently.

McCoy swallowed hard. "Uh...well." Her eyes shone like a galaxy of stars. She lingered there for a moment longer, then turned to the guards and gave them a command. McCoy watched in surprise as the guards ushered all the other captives from the room, leaving them alone together.

Leonard scratched his head. So I'm the chosen one? Chosen for what? Suddenly, realization hit him like a kick in the gut as he recalled how the woman had regarded him. She likes me. Even as the thought hit him, he felt her hand on his arm, pulling him along into a small room adjacent to the larger one. Streamers hung from the ceiling and brightly colored flowers decorated the walls. A cut glass jug and two small drinking glasses sat on a small altar at the front. A wedding chapel? She really likes me.

Instead of proceeding to the altar, however, she sat down and patted a section of the tiled floor next to her. Shrugging, he lowered himself to the ground, trying to wrap his mind around what was happening. I guess this is the part where we get to know each other first. "So..." he began, leaning back against a stone pillar, "I'm Leonard, just in case you were wondering." She crossed her legs, regarding him as though he'd just said something terribly amusing, yet unable to hide a faint glimmer of confusion. All stately pretense was gone; an almost childlike wonder took its place. "You don't understand a word I'm saying, do you?"

He looked around the room. Though decorated, there was little natural adornment. No sign of any communications devices to be found. How do you like that? I'm about to be married, and Jim'll miss out on being my best man. No. Stop. This is crazy. I don't want to get married. I don't even know her. What I want is to get out of here and check on my patients. For all I know, Jim's- He didn't let himself finish the thought, but an image of Kirk's abdominal wound filled his mind. I have to find a way out.

He stood up and crossed the room, taking his "fiancée" by the shoulders. "Listen, you're a very nice girl and all, but I don't belong here. I have friends who are worried about me. I need to go back to them. How do I do that?" She stared at him mutely. "You have to understand me. I can't talk to anyone else. I don't think you brought me here. Please, help me." A wisp of smoke irritated his nose, and he turned his head, sneezing. "Please."

A sad look filled her eyes, and she turned away from him, as though she realized he was rejecting her. "I'm sorry," he whispered, heading for the doorway. There was no doorway. Must've gotten turned around. But I'm sure she brought me in this way. He spun in the opposite direction, but still no door greeted him. Where is it? Heading in the direction he'd come again, he slapped his hands against the brick wall. It didn't give an inch. He coughed again as smoke filled his nose and eyes. I didn't see any lit candles in here. He reached for another section of the wall and discovered to his surprise that it was warm. In fact, the entire room was heating up. "Is it just me, or is it getting hotter in here?" He fanned his face, cringing inwardly. Maybe it's a good thing she can't speak my language; I sound like I'm giving her a cheap line.

Sweat ran down his face, streaking glittery hair gel and smoke residue down his forehead. Just as he looked up, one of the streamers caught fire and sailed downward towards her. "Look out!" he yelled, pushing her out of the way, feeling sparks rain down on his back. Ahhh! And I thought I wasn't going to blazes. The whole building's on fire! Judging by the fear on her face, she knew it, too.

Both bolted across the room and began to pound on the wall desperately. "Let us out! Help! Fire!" Several moments passed, but nobody came to their aid. Finally, weak and tired, they slumped against the wall, her body pressed against his for comfort. As he put one arm around her shoulders, an icon on the wall caught his eye. What appeared to be a roaring flame and two stick figures joining hands. Wait a second...we're sacrifices?! No wonder there's no way out. No way out... A small flue above their heads vented the smoke out of the room. He grabbed her hand and pulled. "Come on!"

Getting down on his hands and knees, he lowered himself to the ground beneath the flue. "You first. Be safe." She hesitated for a moment, then stepped up onto his back and pulled herself up through the opening. He waited for a moment or two, covering his face with his sleeve, then reached up towards the ceiling and climbed upward, feeling his ribs squeeze in the narrow shunt. Why do they always make these things so small, anyway? He let out his breath, deflating his chest in an effort to decrease his width. His hands burned as they pressed against the heated metal walls.

Staring ahead through the stinging smoke, he couldn't make out the young woman's form in the tall shaft. Wow, she's fast. Her apparent speed spurred him onward and upward, grabbing narrow indentations in the wall desperately. Finally, he caught a glimpse of daylight through the smoky air and hauled himself up and out, abrading his abdomen on the edge of the chimney. "Ahhhh..." As he flopped backwards onto the gravel roof, he examined himself for injuries. The palms of both hands were singed and sooty. His formerly pristine clothes were a complete write-off; they was almost black with ashes and shredded where he'd snagged it on the chimney grate. I'm a doctor, not a chimney sweep. He coughed several times as he stood to his feet, scanning the roof for his companion. Now, where did she go?

A terrified female scream answered his silent question, and he sped towards the source of the sound, heart pounding. Over three ridges on the left side he leapt, finally skidding to a stop at the base of a tall spire. There, his gaze was drawn to his "fiancée" as she clung helplessly to a wrought iron beam, just out of reach of a burly guard who was standing there, hands on hips, laughing at her. I thought they worked for her. Heartless scumbag. Why don't you help her?! McCoy watched in horror as he stooped down and reached for a fist-sized rock, then pitched it at her. She cried out in fear and ducked her head down as the stone sailed overhead before rattling to the ground far below. A sick grin twisted the guard's face. He chuckled as he reached for another rock, this one almost twice as large.

Before he knew what he was doing, Leonard launched himself at the man, grabbing his arm and yanking it backwards, twisting. The guard howled in surprise, dropping his rock on Leonard's right foot. Aghh...no time to feel it. Whipping around, he shoved McCoy backwards and grabbed him by the collar, bending him back over the edge. A cool breeze rustled through McCoy's hair as time seemed to stop for a moment. Bringing both legs upward, he thrust his feet into the man's belly, flipping back into a standing position. The guard staggered backwards, tripping over a ridge on the roof and cracking the back of his skull on a jutting stone, going limp. McCoy let out a loud sigh. I'd lay you 10 to 1 he's dead, but I'm not going to stick around to find out. The woman...

His eyes shot to the spire. Impossibly, the metal pole that topped it now hung at an awkward angle over the edge of the building. Two hands held on for dear life, fingers straining to maintain her grip. No. Not after all that! He climbed up the sides of the tower and wrapped his legs around it. "Up here! Reach for me!" She lifted her soot-streaked face to look at his, her eyes welling up with tears. "It's okay, darlin'. Just let go and take my hand. It's going to be all right," he soothed, even as he shivered inside. I don't blame you for being scared. It's at least a hundred foot drop. "Trust me," he added, putting every ounce of sincerity he could into his voice, willing her to believe him.

After what seemed like hours, she nodded and released one hand, her fingertips grazing his. "That's it, just a little closer," he encouraged, inching away from his secure position to extend his arm towards her. As he did, he felt his legs slide down the sides of the tower and clenched them closer. Again she tried, but her other hand's grip loosened, which frightened her into regaining her grasp on the fragile spire with the reaching hand.

McCoy sucked in a breath, watching as her body swayed back and forth over the ground below. No way she's going to try that again. I've got to reach her some other way. Lifting one foot to a step on the tower, then the other, he slowly ascended until he was straddling the still-attached edge of the spire. Extending his arm around her slim waist, he drew her gently towards himself and the roof. "It's all right. Come on." The spire groaned beneath their combined weights; a sharp crack startled both. Sensing urgency, McCoy grabbed her tightly and shoved her backwards towards the roof. The sudden movement sent him sliding off the end of the spire, breaking his already fragile hold. Before he knew what was happening, he was falling through the air, arms flailing in vain.

Over and over he tumbled violently in midair. On one of his rotations, he thought he saw her face as she leaned over the edge, watching his descent. Oddly, she seemed...peaceful. Not the least bit traumatized at the impending death of the man who had given his life to save hers. Shock? Sociopath? I'll never know, will I? As the ground rushed up to meet him, his last thought was that he'd died saving a life. A fitting epitaph for a doctor. Pity nobody will know.

As the ground rushed up to meet him, he closed his eyes, waiting for nothingness.

It never came.

McCoy blinked several times, trying to clear his vision. He was lying on a cushioned sofa. Soft lighting filled the "chapel" he'd almost been burned alive inside, revealing no hint of the conflagration. Only the barest hint of smoke issued from the many candles, and that was scented. What happened? How did I land here again?

"You did well," a female voice spoke.

He sat up and turned to his right. An elegant woman was lighting more candles with a long match on a narrow stand nearby. As she turned, he sat up straighter in surprise. "You!" It was the woman he'd tried to save; like the room, she bore no hint that she'd been in peril earlier. Her expression bore the serene peace he'd seen as he fell, and she wore the same dress he'd seen her in earlier, restored to its former glory. He looked down at his own body. Instead of his fancy dress garb, he was once again wearing his Starfleet issue medical scrubs. Turning his hands over, he saw clean, healing burns. "I-I don't understand. Why did you kidnap me? And the others?" he whispered. Feeling the room begin to spin, he brought one hand to his forehead.

In an instant, she had dropped to the floor by his side, offering him some kind of drink in one of the glasses he'd seen on the altar earlier. He took slow sips, then pushed it away.

Setting the glass on the candle stand, she smiled at him. "You did well, brave one. Such compassion and courage. Such selflessness. We do not see it very often around here."

McCoy smiled thinly. "You'll pardon me for asking, but just where is here?"

She touched his face with the back of her hand. "Far, far away from anything you know. Your people will likely never reach it in your lifetime. But someday, they shall." She smiled sadly. "The years have taught us that those who surround us cannot be trusted. So we sought to take the measure of other races, to know what manner of man they were before they found us. So we could be ready."

This room must be some kind of holodeck, then. "So the fire? Your attacker? The spire? All a test of man?" McCoy asked, his initial confusion being replaced by a mixture of frustration and understanding. I wouldn't have minded it myself if the Federation had a heads-up on some of our enemies. Save a lot more lives that way.

"Yes. And if your people are anything like you, Leonard, I am sorry I will not see the day myself." Rising to her feet, she stood gracefully. "You may leave whenever you wish. I shall send you back in the same manner as I took you."

"You can do that?" Leonard slid off the couch and stood. "'Cause I was starting to wonder." As he followed her out of the room, he added, "You know, you have terrible timing. I was just about to perform surgery on my captain when you snatched me away." His jaw clenched as an image of Kirk's unconscious body lying on the surgical bed flashed before his eyes.

Her eyes lowered. "For that I am sorry. I did not realize." She placed one hand on the doorframe. "You are close?"

"As brothers." McCoy rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. Maybe next time you'll think about that before you go people-snatching, he finished silently. Aloud, he continued, "It's been...interesting, to say the least."

They walked down the corridor past several closed doors before entering the transporter room he'd materialized in earlier. As he stepped up onto the platform, a thought stopped him in his tracks. He snapped his fingers. "Say, I told you my name, but you didn't tell me yours." He smiled mischievously. "I think you owe me that much, don't you?"

She looked up from the glowing control screen. "It is Galythe." Her lips curved upward. "May the best of life be yours, Leonard."

McCoy nodded. Galythe. A pretty name for a pretty girl. Stepping into the transporter chamber, he closed the door behind him, watching her initialize transport. He lifted his hand to wave just as his legs disappeared. Here I go...

He reappeared next to a mobile cabinet in the corner of the surgical suite, much to the surprise of the medical assistant who was cleaning the room. "Doctor!" she gasped, dropping a pile of used linens. "Where have you been?"

"Away," McCoy responded, bending down to retrieve the sheets. He dropped them in a heap on the operating table. "Where's Jim?"

"The captain? Resting." She unfurled a sheet and stuffed the others inside one by one. "Everybody's been looking for you since you disappeared six hours ago."

Six hours? McCoy's head spun. "Well, I'm here now. Guess I'd better let everybody know." He looked down at his hands. Probably ought to be checked out, as well. Between unidentified knockout gas and hologram burns, it's a wonder I can even stand.

He reached over to press an icon on the computer monitor, but before he could touch it, the video viewer came on. Spock appeared on the screen. "Doctor. I am pleased to see you have returned." The Vulcan's features relaxed.

"How did you-"

"When we traced the unidentified transporter signal, we found its origin point to be outside of explored space, though we could not pin down a definite location. As it would take considerable time to locate your exact whereabouts and travel there, I elected to remain in this area until a plan of action could be determined. In the meantime, should the signal re-occur – as it just did – we would have a better chance of tracing it." Naturally. "Are you well?"

McCoy pursed his lips. "Pretty good. I've got a rip-roaring story for you."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "'Rip roaring', doctor?"

"Never mind. Carry on." McCoy turned off the screen and strode out of the room, greeting various medical staff members as he made his way to Jim's hospital room. It sure is good to be back, he thought, picking up a medical tricorder from a table. Stopping in the doorway, he rapped softly on the frame. "Jim? You awake?"

The captain opened one groggy eye, saw McCoy, instrument in hand, and closed it again. "Nope."

McCoy shook his head and stepped inside, sitting down on a small chair near Kirk's bed. "I'll give you points for trying. How are you feeling?" he asked, running the scanner over the captain's wound.

"Like I've been run through with a bat'leth." Kirk groaned, trying to sit up. "Hey, did I say anything weird while I was out of it? Some of the nurses were giving me funny looks a few minutes ago."

Good cohesion, toxicity minimal...they did a nice job. "Mmm. Was that before or after you asked about sponge baths?" Leonard leaned forward, studying the numbers on the monitor. Well within normal range...

"Very funny, Bones." Kirk ran a hand through his mussed hair, yawning. "Ow. Remind me to put Brock on sanitation duty." He shifted against the pillows. "So when do I get out of here, anyway?" Kirk frowned as McCoy tapped the screen, bringing up the latest scan images. As he did, Galythe's face flitted across his vision. He smiled. Prettiest captor I've ever had...

"Hello. Earth to McCoy," Kirk called, poking the doctor in the side.

Leonard flinched. "Oh, sorry." He sat back in his chair. "Did you say something?"

"Never mind. I think I already know what the answer is." Kirk crossed his arms over his chest, rubbing one eye with his finger. "You looked like you were a million light-years away just now."

McCoy chuckled. You don't know the half of it, kiddo.
 
Chapters I've posted (in ABC order, not the order on the thread):

Anger
Biohazard
Command
Disease
Evacuation
Frozen
Guilt
Heights
Incapacitated
Jailbreak
Kidnapped
Logic
Murder (see "Laura's fiction contest entries, that was March/April)
Nuisance
Operation
Paranoia (Psychosis)
 
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Command

He never wanted the chair.

It was difficult enough trying to coordinate the functions of medbay. Not only was he responsible for the health and well-being of over 400 people engaged in one of the most dangerous careers you could ask for, he also frequently found himself having to take a crash course in a brand new set of anatomic parameters. And not one of those online courses you could finish at leisure, or not. Oh, no.

Only two weeks ago, he and his staff were swamped by the passengers and crew of the Sca-chul, a Ludari colonist vessel. He'd spent 37 hours operating on the incorrect assumption that the highly contagious bacteria they carried had done a number on their respiratory systems. The organs he had classified as lungs were in fact swollen tumours that had grown into their chest cavities, unchecked by a growth control enzyme that was no longer being produced by the symbiotic bacteria. How was I supposed to know they absorbed air through their feet directly into their bloodstream? It was only after Spock melded with one of their doctors, a rather short woman who looked much too young to have gone to medical school, that they were able to treat the tumours and culture more bacteria to treat them.

As much as McCoy found it difficult to tolerate some of Spock's comments and behaviour, no one was more grateful for the first officer's particular Vulcan skills at that moment than he was. If Spock hadn't made the offer, who knows how many we could have lost? For someone who didn't understand their language, the conclusions he drew from the Ludari doctor's impressions were bang-on.

Following the rapid recovery of enough crew members to safely man the ship and treat the remaining ill, the Sca-chul headed back on its trajectory to a planet they referred to as "Unti'sala" with plenty of supplies and a positive opinion of the Federation in general and Starfleet in particular. It was first contacts like these that convinced McCoy that not every race was out to get you, or take what you had. Refreshing.

He had barely cleared away the last of the samples the Ludari had been kind enough to leave them when a pressurized gas leak in Engineering had resulted in 10 straight hours of burn treatment, respiratory therapy, and neurological scans for one woman who had fallen off a platform when the pipe had burst. If they put up one of those signs on the ship, "_ days since last accident", we'd never get past one. Thankfully, all of the injured crewmen were expected to make a full recovery. By the time McCoy had gotten to bed that night, he could barely see straight. Pajamas be hanged was his last thought before he sank into bed, still clad in his bluish-white medical top.

He only managed to sleep for two hours before Nurse Thesin's gravelly voice disturbed his slumber. He'd flailed around for his comm like a drowning fish for two minutes, only to find that she had a concern that one of the boxes of gargrepeline had been mislabelled as gengeline instead. He'd almost dismissed her concern with a "Snarf...go 'way," when sudden realization made him sit bolt upright in bed.

He had given Ensign Martin Slater, the most severe burn victim, 10 ccs of gengiline to ward off infection from the pressurized burns he'd sustained to his right arm and abdomen. Or so he'd thought. But if it had been gargrepeline instead...

Lightning whipped out the doctor's quarters door and through the halls of the Enterprise, all the way to medbay. Gargrepeline was typically used in 1cc doses to treat neurochemical imbalances in humans, particularly those responsible for depression. In neurologically sound individuals, and with 10 times the concentration, it made a good night's sleep downright impossible. Precisely what I prescribed for him...

Sure enough, he'd entered Slater's hospital room to find the man manically pacing around in circles, more than aware even though it was 0134 hours. After coaxing him back to bed, which took half an hour, McCoy administered the correct dosage of a drug which would counteract the effects of the mistake, scanning it first to be sure. He'd then checked all the gargrepeline and gengiline, relabeling where necessary. By this time, it was 0418, and McCoy felt as though he'd downed enough coffee to keep an entire ward awake, even though his last cup had been cold bitter dregs at 2347.

So he'd showered, changed his clothes and come back on shift, expecting to spend most of the morning updating medical records between bites of donuts that somebody had replicated and spread out in one of the empty medical laboratories. He also looked forward to testing the Ludari bacterial enzyme on human cancer cell samples. We can use all the cures we can get...

Just as McCoy studied the ominous cells on a magnification screen, his hand poised to add a single drop of enzyme to the dish, his comm chirped. Sighing, he deposited the eyedropper in a beaker and removed his gloves, placing them in a medical waste receptacle. He grabbed his comm and flipped it open, thankful for its germ-resistant coating. "McCoy here."

"Doctor, you are needed on the bridge." Spock's voice held no trace of alarm, nor could McCoy hear any of the alert sirens in the background, or for that matter, cries of pain. With one last look at his interrupted experiment, he pushed the door open and began to head towards the hallway. "Doctor?"

"Sorry, Spock, I got distracted. What's going on?" He passed two security officers heading in the opposite direction.

"Two minutes ago, we received a distress call from the Ludari ship we encountered recently. Though we still cannot decipher much of their language yet, Lieutenant Uhura is certain that their crisis is medical in nature. Therefore-"

"Coming." He ended the call at the same time the Vulcan did, certain that Spock would logically prefer his presence to his voice. His thoughts shifted to the Ludari. Must've been a relapse...well, we'll find out soon enough.

The turbolift carried him to the bridge in short order. Upon stepping out, he could tell by the way Kirk had vacated his chair and now hovered stiffly near the helm that something else was going on. The yellow lights kinda give it away, too. Spock and Uhura were hunched over her console, listening to the Ludari communications, running parsing programs with increased urgency. Other bridge officers studied diagrams and star charts, frowning.

McCoy was about to ask Uhura if she had made any headway with the translations when Pavel Chekov's Russian accent seemed to drown out the low murmur of the crew. "They are wenting plasma at a steady rate, sir. Damage to their primary and secondary engines." Lines briefly crossed his youthful face. "They limped as close to us as they could before momentum vore out." He tapped a couple of buttons.

McCoy studied the scans as they appeared on the viewscreen. He was no engineer, but even he could see that the Ludari ship was circling the drain. Hot spots throughout indicated where energy-based weapons had damaged the ship's hull.

"How soon can we reach them?" Kirk asked, his hand splayed on the console.

Sulu bit his lip, thinking. "Seven minutes if we hurry."

"By all means, do." Sulu nodded and put the ship into warp. Kirk switched on his chairside comm. "Scotty, put together a repair team to board the Sca-chul ."

"Aye, sir. We'll be ready in two minutes."

Kirk turned to his left and noticed McCoy standing just behind him. "Looks like I called you up here for nothing. You'd better go down and get ready to receive injured."

McCoy didn't move; instead, his eyes were glued to the screen. "Do we know what happened yet, Jim?"

The captain shook his head. "Just that they're in serious trouble."

McCoy rubbed his face with one hand. "Somebody didn't want them to reach their promised land."

***

Nine hours later, McCoy finally slumped into a chair. His feet felt as though he'd been running barefoot through gravel, which had migrated into his eyes. Oh, for something stronger than a latte...

The crew and passengers of the Sca-chul were surprisingly not that worse for wear. Probably feel better than I do right now... Most of the injuries were minor by human standards; only a few had sustained serious burns and fractures. He'd initially pitied the pilot, who had lost an eye when shrapnel had struck him, only to be surprised two hours later that another eye had grown in. Apparently, Ludari eyes were like shark teeth. What in tarnation favoured that genetic trait? I'll bet they're a hoot at parties.

The ship, on the other hand, was a total write-off. After toiling away tirelessly in the engine section of the Sca-chul, putting out fires and attempting to separate twisted metal parts into something vaguely resembling an engine, Montgomery Scott had thrown up his hands. "It's nae good...like trying to make boots into broth." Upon hearing this, Captain Kirk had offered to ferry the 77 Ludari safely to Unti'sala.

By this time, Lieutenant Uhura had finally found a translation program that seemed to produce rough translations of the Ludari language. Their captain, a tall man who looked more like a redwood tree than a commanding officer, explained that the colony planet lay beyond a region of space that belonged to another race, the Swav. Originally, their flight plan had called for them to bypass Swav space using a roundabout route through an asteroid belt. However, due to an ionic storm that blew up out of nowhere, the Sca-chul's sensors became confused to the point where they drifted into Swav space.

The Swav were known for being fiercely protective of their territory, so naturally when they detected the colony ship, a refitted older model of armed scout ship, they perceived it as a threat and attacked, driving the Sca-chul out of their space. To send a message or were they just lucky? McCoy imagined it was the latter.

Kirk called a meeting of the senior staff. With the help of her Ludari counterpart, Uhura had translated several Swav transmissions. The news was not good; the Swav had set up an indefinite blockade at the border of their space. Nobody was allowed in or out. Spock and Chekov had worse news; all models of the ionic storm projected that it wouldn't dissipate for another three weeks at least.

Kirk spread his hands apart on the table. "Isn't there another way around Swav space?"

Spock shook his head. "Unfortunately, no. The Swav control a large sector of the Yee-Ko system, and patrols often venture as far as nine day's journey at warp seven. I am surprised we have not encountered them ourselves yet." He folded his hands. "I, for one, hope we do not. The best alternative we have is waiting out the storm."

Sulu raised his hand. "That's a long time to remain idle. Don't we stand a much greater chance of running into them if we do?"

Carol Marcus nodded. "Sounds to me like the only way is back." She tapped one fingernail on the table. "They get more supplies, another ship, and we can see Ludari. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't curious about their velidium springs."

"That's 17 days away and back. We might as well stay here and wait for the storm to pass." Kirk frowned. "If a dinky little ex-scout like the Sca-chul can't cross Swav space without getting blasted, what do you think they'd do to the Enterprise? 'Chill out, guys, these aren't phasers, they're'-I don't know-'Christmas lights.'" He laughed humourlessly. "Right. Boom!" He threw his hands apart, mimicking an explosion. "Our options are take 'em home, brave the storm, or sit on our hands."

McCoy's stomach churned. None of those options sounded palatable. He studied Jim's furrowed brow and thoughtful eyes. My 'little brother' has grown up a lot. What's that, Jim? You're not going to suggest we just ring their doorbell, bold as brass, and ask if they'll let us cross? Leonard smiled at the thought. Yeah, that'll work...His laughter died. That could work. If...

Before he realized what he was doing, he'd said it. "Why don't we just ask nicely?" Everybody stopped talking and looked at him. "What?"

Kirk tugged at his earlobe. "I'm sorry, did I just hear what I thought I did?"

"It was rather devoid of his usual sarcasm." Spock added. "Surely you are not serious."

"Dead serious. We go in, no weapons. Completely offline." His voice was strong and confident.

Kirk put one hand on his shoulder. "Isn't this the part where you usually say, 'just kidding'?" When McCoy didn't answer, Kirk leaned forward and looked him in the eye. "C'mon, if I'd said it, you'd have relieved me from duty quicker than I could say 'boo'. What're you thinking?"

McCoy smiled. "Do you trust me?"

***

"Quit pulling at your tunic, Jim."

"But it itches." Kirk grabbed at his collar for the third time in as many minutes. He had traded his usual command yellow for a white medical technician's uniform, and was now seated at a propulsion system's readout screen. The other bridge crew members were similarly attired.

McCoy leaned back in the unfamiliar captain's chair and sighed. "It's psychological. That shirt is made from the same stuff your sweater is, and I didn't see you yanking on that."

Kirk shifted. "I think I put it on backwards." He looked over his shoulder, then down at his midsection. "Or upside down."

"If it was upside down, you'd have cut off the circulation to your legs by now." McCoy straightened up. "Lt. Uhura –"

Kirk held up a hand. "Hold it, Bones. I'm still captain until we get to the border. Lieutenant, have the Swav spotted us yet?"

She shook her head. "If they have, nobody's talking about it."

"Let me know when they do. Scotty?"

"I've buried the weapons systems as deep as I can in the shielding. It wasn't easy, mind you. Like trying to hide an elephant behind a lamp post."

A smile broke Kirk's otherwise hard look. "Good job."

The engineer laughed nervously. "Wait to say that until after they don't kill us, sir."

Ten minutes later, Sulu turned around. "Approaching the Swav border, sir." His gaze flicked between Kirk and McCoy. "Uh, sirs."

Uhura's head perked up. "Swav transmission. They want us to identify ourselves."

Kirk nodded, waving a hand at McCoy. "Floor's yours, Captain."

McCoy straightened his collar and swallowed. "All right. Here goes nothing." He nodded at Uhura. "Go ahead." She switched on the channel and nodded back.

A man with a face that reminded McCoy of an angry frog appeared on the screen. "This is Bari Chopala of the Swav patrol ship Veer. You have approached our border. Please state your intentions."

McCoy cleared his throat. "This is Captain Leonard McCoy of the medical ship Enterprise. We are requesting permission to pass through your space. We have no interest in acquiring any of your territory; we just want to continue on our way."

Chopala paused. "Medical ship? A clever ruse." He peered at Leonard as though he was a bug he wanted to eat.

McCoy met his stare with one of his own. "Scan our ship and see for yourself. Our weapons are limited, (thank you Scotty) and we have many injured onboard." That last part was true. I take back everything I said about being too busy lately...

The Veer's captain turned to one of his men, who shouted something back and studied a screen in the back of the ship's bridge area. Sweat ran down McCoy's forehead. He crossed his fingers behind his back. Everything rides on you. One little tic and he won't care what the scans indicate. He maintained his firm stance, shooting a glance at Kirk as Chopala looked away. His captain stuck one thumb up under the table. You can do it, Bones, he mouthed.

Chopala returned his gaze to McCoy, his expression unreadable. "It is as you have said." He crossed his arms. "We will let you pass through." McCoy opened his mouth to say something, but the man interrupted. "With two conditions. One, we escort you through to the other side."

"And the other?" McCoy asked.

Chopala's mouth softened. "There is a...research station on the far outreaches of our space. It is under quarantine due to a fever epidemic. Our scientists have never encountered this illness before. We would ask for your assistance in eradicating it."

Well, I'll be...guess medicine is a universal currency around here. He regarded Chopala, putting on his best stern doctor look, and lingered for a few moments. He turned his back on the viewscreen and paced around the bridge. Finally, he looked up, nodding, allowing a small smile to form. "That'd be acceptable to us."

Chopala's features relaxed. "Thank you, Captain."

The next few days flew by. McCoy retained command for the duration of their escorted pass through Swav space. The infection that had struck down their research station turned out to be fairly straightforward; the bug was one that McCoy had encountered on numerous occasions. When they named it "traveller's diarrhea", I'll bet they never dreamed it would travel this far.

When they had safely left the Swav behind, McCoy let out the breath he'd been holding. He leaned forward. "Mr. Sulu, take-" He stopped as a shadow loomed over the captain's chair. McCoy looked up into the disapproving face of Jim Kirk. "What?"

Kirk crossed his arms over his white clad chest. "Don't you think you're overstaying your welcome, Bones?" He pouted. "I don't see any Swav around, do you?"

McCoy gave him a sheepish grin. "Just keeping it warm, Nurse Kirk." He sat back and rested his head on his arms.

Kirk frowned down at the unfamiliar uniform, then grinned. "Hard to leave, isn't it?"

McCoy held up his hands in the air, standing. "Fine, you win. Can I at least give the order before I go back to work?"

Kirk shrugged. "Okay by me."

McCoy got up and crossed his arms behind him in his best captain's stance. "Take us out, Mr. Sulu."

"Aye, aye...Captain." Sulu grinned and steered the ship towards the direction of Unti'sala.

McCoy watched the ship go into warp as Kirk reclaimed his chair. As the turbolift doors shut behind the tired doctor, he closed his eyes and smiled. Give me the chaos of sickbay any day...
 
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Paranoia (Psychosis)

Leonard leaned forward in his chair, rubbing his bleary eyes. He swallowed hard, blinking, and glanced at the captain's unoccupied desk. Several tablets sat in a neat stack next to a stylus. Kirk's nameplate was shoved off the one side, along with a glass whose bottom was ringed with a pale yellow liquid. Glancing over his shoulder, he reached for the glass and allowed the few drops of beverage to trickle past his lips. Lemonade…with a touch of…grapefruit? He closed his eyes, felt the grit that had collected in the lids and the lines around them.

Swish. The familiar gold of a command uniform appeared in the doorway. Leonard set the glass down and raised himself to stand at attention as Kirk entered the office. "Ahem. Sir." He folded his hands behind his back, even as a bead of sweat dribbled down his forehead.

"At ease, Doctor," Kirk replied, waving one hand towards the chair in a 'be seated' gesture, and did likewise. Leaning forward onto the desk, he tented his fingers together and studied McCoy for several moments, his gaze probing.

Another rivulet of sweat rolled down behind McCoy's ear. Confound it, Jim, say something! I know I would… He slumped forward in his chair, letting out a puff of air, and ran his fingers through his damp hair. Winced as some of the strands became caught in his ring.

Kirk spun his chair around in a slow circle and reached for the top tablet in the stack. It lit up when he touched it, and he gave the screen a cursory glance, his expression inscrutable. Used to be able to read you like a book…what're you thinking?

Rolling the stylus between his fingers a couple of times, Kirk pointed it at McCoy's face. He looked back down at the tablet. "'Unfit for duty by reason of mental instability…'" He looked McCoy in the eye. "You're positive about your conclusions?"

McCoy nodded. "100%. Erratic behavior, irritability…"

Kirk gave him a half smile as he scrawled something on the edge of the page. "Funny, I thought that was baseline for the 'subject.'"

McCoy snorted. Hilarious. "Let me finish...hallucinations, inability to adequately perform duties…in short, a liability, Jim." He leaned forward. "My recommendation is suspension from duty pending a full medical and psychiatric evaluation."

"Is that so?" Kirk set the stylus down and pushed the tablet to one side. "I noticed the only signature on the evaluation form is yours, Bones." He drummed his fingers on the edge of the tablet. "Are you sure you're qualified to make such a recommendation? Being the patient in question, and all?"

McCoy jumped up from his chair, sending it skating backwards. "You have the last word, Jim! C'mon! Look at me!I haven't gotten a decent night's sleep in a week, I look like hell-" He threw his arms wide and gestured down his right side, indicating the wrinkled furrows of his medical uniform.

Kirk edged his seat backwards. "I was going to say-"

"-everything I touch disappears, I'm treating people twice or not at all-" McCoy sucked in a lungful of air, snapping his mouth shut. He glanced over at Kirk. The captain was standing in the corner of his office, back turned, tapping the screen of the replicator mounted in the corner. His empty glass was now resting next to a model of the ship.

Striding over to the glass wall of the office, McCoy leaned his head against the cool surface until his pulse began to slow. That enough proof for you? He rotated slowly, one hand still resting on the wall.

Kirk tipped his head sideways. "You okay? I thought you might need a moment." He set a second glass full of blue liquid on the desktop. "And this." He pushed it in McCoy's direction..

"Thanks." Leonard shuffled over to his seat and eased down, reaching for the drink. He drained half of the beverage in the time it took for Kirk to push his rolling chair around the desk until it was facing the doctor's. "Ah. Needed that."

"Well, now that you've taken Dr. Jim's prescription…" Kirk leaned forward, resting his chin on one hand, elbow propped on his knees. "Care to tell me why I should stick you in a Federation rest home for the foreseeable future?"

Leonard eased back, eyes closed. "It all started about a week ago…"

***

"Hold still…this is gonna pinch a little." McCoy squinted through the magnifying viewer at Ensign Weaver's bloody palm, tethered to a brace to prevent the patient from moving. Lowering the tweezers, he grasped the barbed end of the embedded stinger, careful to avoid putting pressure on its venom sac. "In one, two, three…"

With a quick jerk, McCoy removed the offending object and deposited it on a nearby tray. Exchanging the tweezers for a medical probe, he scanned the woman's hand. "Minimal toxicity, puncture is uncomplicated…a simple closure and some fluids are all that will be required." He set down the probe and reached for a tissue repairer, flicking it on.

McCoy ran the device over the geologist's palm. Bathed in blue light, the torn flesh re-sealed itself, leaving behind a faint pink mark. She smiled sheepishly at him. "That's what I get for swatting at strange flies sight unseen."

"Mmm hmm." McCoy snapped the repairer off and traded it for a hypo. He pressed it to Weaver's neck, then began to make notes on a tablet mounted next to the biobed. "All right, we're done here. If it starts to turn red again or swell up, don't hesitate to see me, okay?"

The ensign nodded, but made no move to leave.

After a few moments, McCoy glanced up from his note taking, stylus raised. "Something else on your mind, Estelle?"

"No…on my hand." At his look of confusion, Weaver wiggled the fingers of her injured hand and angled her head toward the restraint. "'Cause I'm kinda cuffed here…"

What… "Oh!" McCoy shook his head. Idiot. He pushed the tablet aside and unlocked the examination brace. "Sorry about that."

"Mmm." Weaver rubbed her wrist, then slid off the bed. Adjusting her blue skirt, she headed out of the examination room with a graceful stride, stopping briefly to greet a passing yeoman.

McCoy scrawled his signature on the bottom of the page and cleared Weaver's record from the screen. He reached for the tray of used tools, pausing as a feminine shadow loomed over him. "Nurse? Would you take this and dispo-" He turned. Nobody was there. What? Then whose shadow… He set the tray on the bed and exited the room, looking from side to side.

Sickbay wasn't especially busy at the moment; of the multiple medical stations available in the common treatment area, only two biobeds were currently in use. Dr. Hearn was administering a routine vaccination to Crewman Ulster on the nearest one, while Nurse Tuala was running a digestive scan on Lieutenant Vrasniek two rows down on the opposite side of thr room. The lieutenant looked positively green. One hand clutched his stomach, while the other was clamped over his mouth.

Another nurse darted past him, the soles of her shoes slapping against the floor. He grabbed her arm, bringing her to a halt. "Tanya, were you just in room 4 a moment ago?"

The blonde shook her head. "No, I was in the supply cupboard, getting a pan." McCoy followed her gaze towards Vrasniek. The lieutenant's cheeks were puffed out, his eyes ever widening. "For Andrej-"

"Go." McCoy released her arm. She made it to Vrasniek's side just as the lieutenant began to spew orange and yellow chunks everywhere. As Ulster exited the bay, tool kit swinging from one hand, Dr. Hearn set down his hypo and ran to the other bed, calling out instructions to the nurses, who hurried to do his bidding. Tanya remained by Vrasniek's side, one comforting hand resting on his back, the other one holding the pan steady beneath his open mouth.

Satisfied all was being taken care of, McCoy returned to his examining room. Yawning, he reached for the edge of the tool tray…and touched empty air. He frowned. Didn't I just- He spun around. Nobody.. Maybe I put it somewhere else. He opened all the cabinet drawers, pushing various items aside, then bent down and looked under the bed. Standing back up, he lifted one hand to his forehead. Where did that darn thing go?

McCoy strode back out the door, stopping, his hands on his hips. Letting out a puff of air, he shook his head. I bet somebody just cleaned it up when I was busy. Best staff in the 'fleet. He walked over to one of the personnel sanitizer units and slid his hands inside, humming along with the sound of the machine. I don't deserve these folks…

***

"Okay…" Kirk shrugged. "So you lost a tray, saw a phantom female…stuff that could happen to anyone." He chuckled. "Did I ever tell you about the time I mistook a pillar of blythenirite crystal for Commander Spock?"

"That was different, Jim. Everybody was having issues, and all because some code-happy technician at Command fouled up the tricorder software update." McCoy tapped one foot against the floor. "All you had to do was take one look at that thing, and you'd know-"

"C'mon, it even had the ears…"

McCoy waved his hand in front of Kirk's face, cutting him off. "Even so-"

"The resemblance was fleeting, at best." Both men looked up as the Vulcan in question strode into the office, coming to a stop at Kirk's side. "And hardly deserving of the scrutiny Dr. McCoy's recent experiences warrant." He glanced over at the captain. "My apologies, sir. I was recording a video correspondence when you requested my presence at this meeting, or I would have arrived sooner."

"Well, you didn't miss much. And as for your timing…" McCoy chuckled. "Does the phrase 'speak of the devil and he shall appear' mean anything to you?"

The Vulcan raised an eyebrow. "To the issue at hand; am I correct in surmising that these unsettling occurrences have since escalated?"

"How am I looney? Let me count the ways?" McCoy paraphrased. He tapped his left index finger with his right. "Let's start with coffee cups that I emptied, only to find them filled again. Making notes on the wrong patient files. Misplacing at least a dozen hyposprays. Removing the same mole from Yeoman Lobel's thigh twice in the span of 3 hours - I'll swear to it." He rubbed his forehead. "Under oath, if necessary."

Kirk shook his head. "No, that's fine. I believe you."

"As do I. You have no logical reason to lie about such matters." Spock nodded. "Please, continue."

The doctor took another sip from his glass, wiping his mouth with one sleeve. "Well, hold on to your hats. It only went downhill from there…"
 
The doors of the biological sample containment room slid shut behind a hazard-suited McCoy as he stepped inside. He reached towards the wall and pressed the light switch, waiting for the red glow of the biolamps to activate.

In his gloved hands, he carried a cryo-transit case, ready to receive several tissue samples he had extracted from the deceased crewmembers of the L'Anse-aux-Meadows, a derelict personnel transport the Enterprise had intercepted on a collision course with the primary star of the Othmeda system.

Preliminary examination of the remains had indicated their deaths were caused by exposure to a highly toxic form of radiation. Now that the Enterprise was docked at Starbase D-3, the transport's home base, for the next couple of days, the commodore had requested all samples be transferred there for further analysis. It'll do 'em good to have some closure about what happened…

He shuddered, recalling how he and the away team had found the crewmembers, still hunched over their workstations or lying on bunks in various states of liquification. Hard and fast…hell of a way to die.

Moving down to the end of the row, he turned a corner and stopped. Instead of the refrigerated containment units he expected to see, a thick wall of shimmering yellow fog loomed in front of him. A coolant leak…why didn't it trip the alarm systems?

Setting aside the case, McCoy waved his arms in front of him in an attempt to dispel the vapor, coughing instinctively despite the contained respirator unit he wore. He took a couple of slow steps forward, only to bump into something gelatinous and warm. Backing up again, he reached out a hand until it pressed against the surface, which gave slightly beneath the pressure. A shrill whistling sound pulsated through the room, making his ears ring, and he squeezed his eyes shut from the pain.

As he turned to leave, the substance wrapped itself around him, locking the doctor in its rubbery embrace. McCoy thrust out a foot as it lifted him off the ground, trying to free himself, but only pushing his body deeper into the cocoon. He thrashed and kicked, his repeated blows rippling the surface of the jelly. "Let me go, you blasted-"

With a sudden flash of light and a soft sucking sound, the substance vanished, spitting McCoy onto the floor. Dazed, he sat there for several moments, chest heaving, then stood slowly on shaky legs. Before him, a bank of sample refrigerators emitted a low thrumming noise as their temperature regulators cycled, a far cry from the previous ear-splitting whine.

McCoy rested one hand against the wall of the room, blinking slowly, mind whirling. Where the heck did I just go? And how did I get back?

***

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Fascinating."

"Ditto." Kirk studied the tablet. "Did you check your rad suit for leakage? Just saying…"

"Thoroughly. And I had the containment room swept with a fine-toothed tricorder. Nothing out of the ordinary." McCoy crossed his arms over his chest. "You'll find the associated documentation attached to my request. I've been through decontamination, a micro-cellular examination, neurological evaluation, the whole shebang." He shook his head. "Nothing that explains what in blue blazes is happening!"

"Could it have been a psychological episode?" Spock peered into McCoy's eyes intently. "You were recalling a disturbing incident you had recently experienced. Perhaps a delayed reaction to the away mission?"

McCoy looked away. "Well, I might've believed that if it hadn't been for everything else that happened before I revisited those events."

Kirk scrolled through the paperwork, pausing to study various readouts. He passed the tablet to Spock, who did likewise, occasionally making whispered comments in the captain's ear.

Setting the device to one side, Spock glanced over at the screen. "In your report, you also refer to an incident that occurred on the turbolift yesterday?"

McCoy rubbed his cheek, feeling the rasp of stubble there. "You'll love this one…"

***

"Bridge." McCoy shifted the bowl of granola to one side, dribbling chocolate milk down the sleeve of his tunic. Man's gotta eat a balanced breakfast, staff meeting or no staff meeting. He leaned against the wall of the turbolift as it began to ascend through the shaft, and scooped up a spoonful of cereal, shoving it into his mouth.

The flavour of oats, nuts, and various dried fruits blended with the creamy milk as it crunched between his teeth. After a night of enough tossing and turning to turn his brains into butter, it was a wonder he was even upright. Well, if medical school taught me one thing, it's how to function on fumes.

He, along with the rest of the department heads, had received a summons to assemble that morning for a review of preparations for the quarterly staff evaluations. And I'll bet a month's supply of vitamin supplements Jim's forgotten all about it. Can't expect a man who's managing some 500 people to remember every little detail. Not to mention all the higher-ups he's got to answer to. Heck, he may not have even called the meeting, authorization or no. McCoy scooped up a second spoonful of cereal. I just hope he's not in the middle of a conference call when I-

The turbolift doors swished open. Stuffing the granola into his mouth, McCoy swallowed hard and strode forward.

Into open air.

Cereal flew everywhere. McCoy windmilled his arms frantically, but it was no use. The ground dropped out beneath him. With a scream, he pitched forward, falling further and further down through a series of decks. As he flew past, he observed various crewmembers going about their business, completely oblivious to his plight. Wake up! Wake up! Mayday!

After what seemed like an eternity, he landed with a thud on his feet, sending vibrations up through his body. McCoy blinked several times, reaching backwards until his hands touched a rough wall. Bracing himself, he looked around, trying to get his bearings. Where am I?

He clutched his chest, heart pounding. All around him, stars twinkled and glittered. Out in space? He dragged in a few quick breaths, willing himself to calm down. So how am I not freezing, or exploding into bits? Why can I breathe? He took a few halting steps forward, then sideways, testing the ground he walked on. Glanced down. More stars. What is this, some sort of space terrarium?

McCoy wandered the perimeter of the enclosure for several moments, his mind spinning. I'm alive. I know that. What I don't know is, where I am, how I got here, or how to get back. If I can. Does anyone even know I'm gone? The granola he had managed to eat churned in his gut. Feeling dizzy, he lowered himself to the ground, leaning back against the wall.

Which was no longer there.

"Ahh!" McCoy flopped backwards, skull making contact with the floor. Groaning, he reached for the back of his head, eyes closed.

"Leonard?" The sound of a chair spinning. A figure darted towards the turbolift and jumped up, kneeling at his side, then grabbed his arms and propped him into a seated position.

McCoy opened his eyes. Though his vision was blurry, he could make out the shapes of several crewmembers at their stations and the wide viewscreen stretching across the front of the room. The bridge…how? He glanced up at his "rescuer", who studied him with a concerned expression on her face. "Nyota…"

"Got a little lift sick, huh, Leonard?" Her lips curved into a smile.

"Let's just say my space legs went AWOL for a moment." He winced as she helped him slowly stand up. Some of the other bridge staff paused in their tasks to see what was happening. "As y'all were," he assured them, waving them back to their duties. "Jim here?" he asked, tugging his uniform back into place.

"No, he's in conference room four for the department head meeting," Uhura replied, glancing at a nearby screen, "which you and I are about to be late for." She reached for her tablet and ushered him out the bridge door, pausing as it slid shut behind them. "I can tell him you need a moment, if you want."

McCoy shook his head. "No, what I need is a steaming cup of java." He put his hand on her shoulder. "Really, I'll be right as rain once I get something hot and caffeinated in me. Shall we go?"

Uhura covered a smile. "You might want to do something about that cranberry first." She pinched the dried fruit between her fingers and removed it from his chin, then handed it to him.

"Tsk. Forgot to look in the mirror this mornin'." McCoy followed her down the hallway towards the conference rooms. Glancing sideways, he rubbed the sore spot on his head. One more meeting. Just get me through one more meeting without…whatever this is…

***

"Wow. That's….that's pretty weird, all right." Kirk leaned back in his chair, shivering. "You did seem pretty distracted that day. But, you know, I never expected it was something like this. I just thought you were thinking about work stuff…staff conflicts, scheduling physicals, patients, new comebacks to use on Spock-"

"-which do not fall under the category of 'work stuff'." Spock frowned. "That was the final occurrence?"

McCoy yawned. "Aside from a raging case of insomnia, and misplacing my toothbrush somewhere between the sink and the holder this mornin', yeah." He twisted his ring from side to side, then indicated the tablet. "You'll see I've sentenced myself to a couple week's leave and an appointment with some specialists once we hit the Ambrose system. In the meantime, Collier'll be takin' over my duties in sickbay, and I'll be warmin' a bed all day."

Kirk glanced down at the bottom of the page. "Well, if you're sure about this…" He reached for the stylus, hesitating. "You're not just trying to get a free trip to Joyland on Ambrose VII-"

"Oh, for the love of - Jim, just sign it!" McCoy stabbed a finger at the signature box, As he did so, the blue gem from his ring popped out onto the desk. He bit back a curse. "Cheap jeweller…just had it resized a month ago, and now…" He picked up the jewel and sighed. A vein of red ran through the center. "Wait…this isn't…" His brow furrowed. "This is the wrong stone. Right ring, wrong…" McCoy shook his head. "Used to have a sapphire, now I've got…this. You know what it is?" He held it out to the others, who studied it carefully.

Kirk shrugged. "Never seen one of those before. Spock?"

The Vulcan removed his tricorder from his belt and scanned the gem. After a few seconds, he set down the probe and studied the readout. "Ah. What we have here is an artificial composite mineral shell-"

"A fake, then." McCoy puffed out a breath of air. He fisted his hands at his sides. "Why, that swindling little-"

"-housing a sophisticated bioelectrical matrix," Spock continued, "capable of producing distortions in cognitive and spatial perception." He turned the tricorder around so McCoy and Kirk could see the display. "Rather sophisticated in construction and design. If you'll recall, we employed similar devices at the Academy during planetary environment-"

"-simulations. Of course." Kirk finished. He looked up at McCoy. "Remember, Bones? The lava fields on D'Antreb Prime? Dust storms of Saunseka III? Remember how they always used to glitch?"

"Oh, brother," McCoy replied, nodding. "Don't forget Gien II and those infernal underground tunnels. Afraid I was going to be buried alive every time a rock so much as crumbled. I just kept thanking the Lord above it was nothing…but a…simulation…" His jaw dropped. "Wait a minute…" He snatched the gem from Spock's hand and held it up to the light, glaring at it. "Everything I been going through this week…it's all just some blasted video game?!"

***

"I tell you, he looked at me like I could reach through the screen and wring his neck…" McCoy cut a piece of his steak and lifted it to his mouth, chewing. "Now tell me; am I really that scary?"

"With or without a hypo in your hand?" Kirk reached for the salad bowl and served himself, then poured a dollop of dressing on the greens.

"I don't know about usually, but if you were eating during the video call…ew." Uhura took a sip of iced tea. "Close your mouth when you chew."

"Yes, mother." McCoy set his fork to the side. "Anyway, after I reassured the man I didn't have homicide on my mind, he told me what must have happened." He folded his hands on the table. "Turns out some guy brought in his VR gaming system to get the malfunctioning crystals replaced around the same time as I dropped off my ring, and, well, he got the two things mixed up. Can you believe it?" He shook his head, smiling. "All this time I think I'm losing my marbles, when it's just a glitch in the animation. I feel kind of stupid now."

"One can hardly blame you for questioning your sanity, all things considered." Spock tore a roll and spread butter on it. "Particularly as the device augmented your perception of reality and no one else's." He took a bite of the roll, chewed and swallowed.

"That's true." McCoy wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "He's sending me the sapphire via courier. I told him where we were headed. Hope that's all right."

Kirk nodded. "Not like we're on a top secret mission or anything. Just routine diplomatic ya-de-ya, the usual. You know."

"You're looking much better now, Leonard" Uhura took another sip of iced tea. "Doesn't he look better?"

"Yeah," Kirk agreed, twirling a leaf of spinach on his fork. He pointed it at McCoy. "A little less rough around the edges. And your eyes…the whites're white again."

"I feel better." McCoy smiled. "A good night's sleep, a shower, and a shave'll do wonders for ya. Not to mention a reasonable explanation for the last freaky week…" He shuddered. "Phew. What a nightmare."

"Go ahead and cancel your doctor's appointment," Kirk said, reaching for his cola, "but I'm not rescinding your request for shore leave. As of now, you're officially on break. Captain's orders." He took a drink.

"Eh, I could probably do with a little vacation anyway. Something nice and soothing…no black holes or phantom people." McCoy rested his hand on his chin.

"How about Joyland?" Kirk shrugged. "I know a girl there who can get us free tickets to the mud fights…Zabalena, remember? The redhead with the yellow eyes and-" He tucked his fists under his arms and flapped them up and down "-white wings? C'mon, you met her…when we stopped on Terrovius. Spring break, our sophomore year?"

McCoy frowned. "Was that the same girl who tried to get you to incubate her eggs over the weekend while she and that Tellarite trader went moon-skiing?"

"Yeah, that's the one. Great girl. Wonderful sense of humor."

McCoy re-filled his glass from the iced tea pitcher. "Hilarious. Especially the part where she forgot to mention the eggs were due to hatch in a day. Now that was a fun time. Five little beaks nipping at your nonexistent feeding ducts, and I had to patch you up afterwards."

Kirk rubbed his right armpit, then his breastbone, then the back of his neck. "Yeah, well I had to endure seven whole hours of tests and transfusions. Not to mention all the bedside giggles." He glared at McCoy.

Uhura snickered. When Kirk turned his frown towards her, she shrugged. "I'm sorry." She danced her fork across the plate. "Just having a hard time picturing you as a mommy."

"I confess, despite your affinity for leadership, I too am finding it difficult to imagine you in a…maternal role." Spock dabbed at the corners of his mouth with a napkin.

"Hey, I could've done all right…if she'd given me a little warning first." Kirk speared a pearl onion with his fork. "That, and some baby bottles…" he added, closing his mouth around the vegetable. "After all that, I'd say she owes me one, wouldn't you?"

"I pass." McCoy held up a hand. "The only thing I aim to do planetside is find a nice, cozy little nook, and crawl inside it for a few days." McCoy leaned back in his chair. "I think the universe owes me that much, don't you?"
 
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