March/April Entry
"Music and Murder(?)"
The loud crash of thunder made Leonard jerk upwards in bed. What-huh?!He pressed the palms of both hands against the soft sheets, eyes screwed tightly shut. A bitter, minty taste filled his mouth. Did I brush my teeth last night, or is that what passes for an aftertaste? Ugh… He reached up to wipe beads of sweat off his face, only to feel tiny droplets coat the back of his hand, cooling in the early morning breeze. Where am I again? Right…Murajai. Clubbing with Jim. Where did he get off to, anyway?
McCoy slid over in the large bed until his legs dangled over the edge. As he did, the events of the evening before started to return to him. Phila Camunae I was the first planet in its system, but far enough away from the primary that it had the perfect climate; stable all year round with the occasional warmer than normal summer that attracted visitors from all over the Milky Way. Each continent specialized in offering some aspect of the tourist experience. Waciala, for instance, was known for its beautiful forests and hiking trails, while Salaquistro's blue ice caves attracted scientists and civilians alike. There was something for everyone.
McCoy, for his part, had planned to do some solo backpacking in the Jocido desert. Just me and a pocket tricorder, and a first aid kit. In case. Unfortunately, he had been overruled by the vast majority of the crew, who had opted for something a little more civilized. Can't believe Jim actually held a vote. The captain had explained by saying he didn't want everybody getting scattered all over the planet when they only had a three day stopover. Somehow, McCoy doubted that; he'd seen the way Kirk's eyes had lit up when he'd heard that She Alta was playing a live concert at Qualko's Theorem.
Five years ago, the Philaean singer had burst onto the pop music scene with a hauntingly beautiful voice and looks to match. Coal black hair, smoky hazel eyes and a china doll face that made her appear years younger than she was. To McCoy, she'd seemed like a fragile wisp that could blow away at any moment. He'd wondered if she was getting enough to eat. Somebody feed that poor girl a hamburger already…
He'd considered remaining on board the Enterprise instead, but one glare from Nurse Bartlett had changed his mind rather swiftly. That woman could make a Klingon cry. "I've checked the shift logs," she'd explained in her harsh Brooklyn accent, "and of the available off-duty time you've been allotted over the past month, you've only taken 13%."
He'd crossed his arms over his chest. "Come on, Diane. You know it's been busy around here. First, we had those interns from the University of Okur, New Toronto, visiting sickbay to learn about our triage methods, then that impromptu conference with the Thab Meera, and the radiation leak at the Beta Chi Processing Center - we needed all hands on deck." Idly, he'd begun to fiddle with an aural probe, switching it on and off until she snatched it from his hand and placed it in a bin with other items that needed sterilization or charging.
She set the bin atop a wheeled cart and beckoned an orderly to take it away, then leaned back against the biobed, leveling him with a gaze that made him feel as though he'd stolen from the cookie jar. "Leonard, you need the rest. I don't want you doing a faceplant into somebody's abdominal cavity or having a nervous breakdown at the next senior staff meeting." Her features softened briefly, only to be replaced by a firm stare. "So help me, I'll spike your morning coffee with sorimlithine myself if that's what it takes for you to cool it."
No thanks. He'd been given the potent drug once when recovering from severe phaser burns. For a week, he'd been in a daze, barely able to remember his own name. "Don't you dare," he warned her, wagging his finger in her face. "I guess I could go down there for a bit, see what's what."
"That's the spirit. You'll have a blast." Bartlett's mouth turned up at the corners ever so slightly. "I remember me and Neil went there for our honeymoon. Came back sunburned and pickled."
McCoy rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Neil…was he your first husband or your second? I can never keep track."
"Third, actually." The woman's dry laugh reminded McCoy of a cheese grater. "Lost him to a Deltan accountant."
"Wow. Sorry about that."
Bartlett winced. "Don't be. It's not what you're thinking. She caught him breaking into her floor vault and put a hole through his cranium." The nurse shook her head sadly. "What a way to go." The chime of a touchscreen nearby caught her attention, and she scanned it with her eyes, then tapped the screen once with one hot pink nail polish-covered finger. "Just promise me you won't come back until you've spent at least two days there. Capisce?"
"Aye, aye, sir," McCoy mock-saluted her, standing at attention.
She waved her hand dismissively. "Enough already. There's the door. No last-minute checking on Lieutenant Tunstall's rash, either. That's what she gets for playing 'touch the unknown flower'," the nurse tsked, turning to confer with Dr. Weiss, a fair-haired radiologist who'd just transferred from Starbase 3. Husband number four, perhaps? McCoy had mused before heading for the exit.
After a quick shower, he'd changed into a pair of denim slacks and a button-down olive green cotton shirt and headed to Shuttlebay with the rest of the crew taking shore leave. The shuttle flight itself had been short and uneventful, except for a bit of turbulence, and by the time they had landed, McCoy had actually begun to convince himself that maybe this wouldn't be such a bad idea. Drinks and a show, maybe a bit of dinner afterwards, then a nice, long sleep without the possibility of double shifts or distress calls interrupting my on Earth. Or, should I say, heaven on Phila Camunae I.
From the landing port, it was only a two minute walk to Murajai's downtown. Jim, looking decidedly uncaptain-like in a pair of canvas shorts, a red and brown striped polo shirt, and sandals, had talked of nothing else but the She Alta concert, which, ironically, he'd managed to snag two VIP tickets to by virtue of his status as a Starfleet captain. "…but I think her best song is definitely, 'Zero'. Most of her fans prefer 'Can I Come', and that's awesome, too, but 'Zero' has a better music video." He'd stepped in front of McCoy, positioning the fingers of both hands in a square shape, defining the borders of an imaginary display screen. "See, she's standing against this black background under a black light, and all of a sudden these white and orange glittery things begin to fall from the sky-"
McCoy had pushed down on Kirk's arm with one hand. "Come on, Jim, you're blocking traffic." As if to make his point, two Philaeans ducked around on their left side, their hips almost kissing the stucco wall of a café as they brushed by the two officers. "Yeah, I know, she's unreal. You've only mentioned that like, what, four hundred and twenty-two times already?" He moved down the sidewalk briskly, Kirk following close behind.
"Not even close. Try 47." The captain stopped to check his teeth in the window glass. "According to Curry."
Leonard smiled. "Still trying to drag Howard out of the stone age, musically speaking?"
Kirk rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. "Kicking and screaming. But he won't bite." He slung one arm over McCoy's shoulder. "Now, you, on the other hand…"
McCoy frowned. "Me what?" Before Jim could elaborate, he held up one finger to shush him. "Aw, Jim, now look, I'm as progressive as the next guy, but I draw the line at Philaean pop. Can't make heads or tails of all that noise." Besides, I have a sneaking suspicion you're interested in more than her music…
Kirk rolled his eyes. "That 'noise' won her the Jybeca Award for best female artist three years running. Not to mention that her music has been used in holoprogram soundtracks from here to Ree Major. She's legit, Bones." They stopped at a crosswalk, waiting for the signal to change. "The real deal. You'll never get another chance like this again."
Blue became orange, and they stepped off the curb, passing in front of several ground vehicles. "As I recall, that's exactly what I said when I invited you and Carol to that Kereb concert on Mazulis."
Kirk made a face. "And what was that? Three guys beating coconut shells ."
"It was tribal, Jim. Songs inspired by the dances of the Kerebi healers." McCoy smacked his forehead with one hand. "Oh, I forgot, you slept through xenoanthropology."
"I slept through xenopaleontology. Xenoanthro, I spent trying to figure out the drag coefficient that would enable me to land a paper plane in Cadet Selwyn's beehive." Kirk drew his hand back and forth twice before miming that very action.
McCoy rolled his eyes. "How mature of you."
They had continued on in much this same manner past the various shops and restaurants before boarding a light rail car for the entertainment district. It was only after they disembarked two doors down from Qualko's Theorem that McCoy realized, like it or not, he was going to be attending the She Alta concert after all.
Kirk pumped a fist up in the air. "You are not going to be sorry, Bones." He grinned. "Come on, wipe that nasty look off your face. I need a wingman, not the boogeyman," he added, stretching his arms out in front of him and walking stiffly, his face contorted like some creature that lurked under the bed.
McCoy puffed out a breath of air. "No, what you need is a chaperone. I can't believe you talked me into this. My ears will be bleeding for hours." They bypassed the line and headed for the back door, which was guarded by a shrimp of a guy who looked more like a librarian than a bouncer. Kirk whipped out their passes and the guard scanned them with a stylus-like device, then disabled the door's force field and allowed them to pass. "So just where is the VIP section, anyway?"
"Up front." Sure enough, a partitioned area sat directly before a raised platform. A quiet murmur ran through the small crowd that had already gathered inside the club's main room while the musicians and sound and lighting technicians set up onstage. Kirk waved their passes under a reader and a waist-high gate let them through. "Just sit anywhere."
Anywhere? How about the chair in my office? But he'd remained silent as they'd settled into their seats and waited for the show to begin, turning in his chair to gaze out at the crowd. A few faces he recognized from the Enterprise, including an in the last stages of Huthonian flu Pavel Chekov, who was trying not to cough on his companion, Engineering Technician Lethib, a pretty Andorian female who dwarfed the navigator by a good five inches. I oughta give him hell for leaving his sickbed early, but a) he's not contagious, and b), the chances of me being able to take him to task in this crowd are slim to none.
A well-placed jab in his right shoulder from Kirk turned his attention back to the stage just as the opening strains of music began to play. She Alta sat on a high, round stool in the center of the musicians, eyes ringed with kohl. To McCoy's surprise, the first song of her set, 'Maybe', wasn't half-bad. From what he could make out, it spoke of the possibility of love arising between two very different people. Okay, not the most original of themes, but still… Kirk sat spellbound as she dropped to one knee and waved her hand over the audience, daring them to believe that "maybe tomorrow we'll find a way". Her fingers brushed the top of McCoy's head, mussing his hair slightly. As she pulled her hand away, a soft tinkling sound drew his eye towards a small charm bracelet. Unique among the silver charms was a teardrop-shaped jade crystal.
Kirk gaped at him, mouth hanging open. "Oh. Wow. She. Just. ."
"Big. ." Even as he said it, however, Leonard felt a tingling in his scalp. What the deuce?
"Can I?…" The captain lifted his hand, lowering it towards McCoy's head, who swatted it away. "Hey."
"Concert. Shh." But McCoy barely noticed the rest of the music; his gaze remained fixed upon the lithe singer as she perched once more upon her seat. She really is unreal…
Head in his hands, Leonard realized for the first time that his skull was pounding in rhythm with the thunder. He rubbed his eyes and blinked several times. You're on break, Leonard. No duty shift. Back to bed with you. Sliding back under the sheets, he grabbed the edge and pulled it up to his chest. Never mind the windows or the rain. I could use some cool air. Punching his pillow with one hand, he rolled over.
And stared straight into the blank, unseeing eyes of a newly familiar face.
What the hell?!
She Alta lay supine, head lolling against the pillow. Her face, scrubbed of the thick makeup she'd worn at the concert, was deathly pale, a flush of blue coloring her waxy cheeks. In the dim light of early morning, she looked more childlike than ever, perhaps aided by the single braid that dangled down her left side like an ebony rope. McCoy scrambled across the mattress and pressed two fingers to her slender throat. No pulse. Looking closer, he realized it was bent at a slight angle. Broken.Damn. Wait…how the heck did she get here?
A chime from the door made his head snap up as it slid open with a swish. Five security officers burst through the hotel room door, weapons drawn, barking at the doctor in Philaean.
Leonard's hands shot up in the air. His heart raced with fear. This is not good."I-no. I just found her. I didn't-" He backed up quickly, his knees sliding across the bed until he slid off the edge and onto the floor, barking one shin against the bed frame. "I didn't kill her!" I can top that; I don't even know why she's here!
Either not versed in Federation standard or not particularly caring, the guards darted around the bed and hauled McCoy up onto his feet roughly. He considered struggling, but one look at their weapons knocked all the fight out of him. Try anything funny and there'll be a crater where my head used to be…
He let them escort him out of the room, never once looking back at the disarray, even though it might have given him clues to the events of the evening. As they headed down the hall, several sleepy hotel customers peered out their doors, giving him looks that ranged from mild interest in what was going on to annoyance with having been woken up by the clamor of his arrest. Yeah, go ahead, stare at me. Like this is the first time police have ever been here…
An elevator took them to the tastefully furnished lobby, which was guarded by more officers, some of whom were setting up a force field perimeter to prevent onlookers from crowding the scene. What looked to be several members of the planet's media were clustered outside, shouting questions to the officers at the door. One of them leaned forward and aimed a small image capture device towards McCoy. Instinctively, he ducked his head to avoid being photographed. He pressed his lips together as bile rose in his throat. No. Not here. Not now.
The officers exchanged words briefly and led him through two rooms to a small back door that opened out into an alley. A small flight-capable police vehicle waited there, and McCoy was pressed against the car's window and cuffed, then pushed into the back seat, which smelled vaguely of stale baked goods. I will not barf…
Throughout the ride, his thoughts once more turned to his fellow crew mates. He bumped his hip against the side of the cruiser, but heard only the sound of flesh striking metal. No communicator. I must've lost it. Why can I never find that thing when I need it?
After being booked and processed at a small law enforcement station, McCoy was placed in a holding cell pending a hearing. At least, he was fairly certain that was what awaited him; nobody had given him a translator. His clothes had been confiscated (mercifully, they had allowed him to change in a washroom stall); he now wore a pale gray one-piece jumpsuit that closed with something akin to Velcro. In lieu of socks, the prison garb had feet coverings. If I wasn't facing a murder rap, I'd laugh. I haven't worn footies since I was six…
He had paced the length and breadth of the cell about eleven times, his covered feet scuffing along the floor. The air was cold, yet oddly humid and smelled metallic. Like blood…no, don't think about that. Despite the cell's apparent relative cleanliness, he was loath to touch anything. God only knows how the last occupant treated this place…
Tired of pacing, he slumped down onto a recessed bench in the wall and began to make plans for when he returned to the Enterprise. First, a nice hot bath; second, a cocktail of prophylactic antibiotics; third, something to eat. Fourth, kill Jim for talking me into the whole thing.
"Bones!"
McCoy looked up from his musings and saw Jim and Nyota approaching his cell, flanked by a disinterested guard. Kirk, looking rather tired, still wore his casual clothes from the night before, along with a grey uniform jacket, the insignia clearly visible. A shadow of grief marred his was wearing her duty uniform and carried a PADD tucked under her arm. Lines of concern creased her forehead.
Leonard crossed the floor until he was standing in front of them. "Well, it's about time somebody wondered where I got to. I've been collecting mold and cobwebs while you-"
Kirk held up a hand to silence him. "While I've been searching all over the entertainment district for you until your face appeared on a TV screen in the seventeenth bar I hit, then trying to simultaneously find your exact location, determine the facts of the case against you, and contact Starfleet Command and JAG for assistance. That's what I've been doing, Bones. So don't give me that," he growled, punctuating each word with a finger jab.
McCoy held both hands up, palms facing forward. "Okay, okay. You had a rough night, too. Keep in mind I'm the one in the hoosegow."
Kirk's firm look changed to one of confusion and mild amusement. "'Hoosegow'?" They shared a weak chuckle, and even Uhura smiled. The captain turned to the guard and spoke to him briefly in Philaean. The man nodded and pressed a button on the side of the wall, causing the cell's field to develop an amber glow, and the two officers stepped inside. Seemingly satisfied that McCoy wasn't going to attack his friends, the guard ambled down the hallway back in the direction he had come.
McCoy offered them the use of the bench seat, taking up a position against the near wall. "Look, guys, whatever they told you, I didn't do it. Hell, I don't even remember leaving the venue with her, or anyone, for that matter…but look, I'm sorry, Jim. She deserved better. Justice"
"Yeah, I know." Kirk rubbed his eyes. "One in a billion."
"Which is why it's important that the real killer is found." Nyota crossed one leg over the other. "What's the last thing you do remember?"
He chewed on his lower lip, trying to recall. "She Alta was finishing the last song of her set, something about daydreams-"
"'-Is This Happening." Kirk interjected, though his gaze was directed towards a spot on the wall instead of McCoy.
"Yeah, that was it. You were asking me what I wanted to drink and I told you, a Rhuvan's Rings with a twist of lime. You went off to get it, and…" McCoy kneaded his forehead with one hand, scrunching his eyes shut briefly. "Funny, really. You weren't gone that long. I remember thinking you'd be waiting in line for ages when suddenly somebody pressed a drink into my hand." He pointed at Kirk. "Figured it was you."
Kirk shook his head. "Couldn't have been. It took me twenty minutes to reach the bar, five more to get our orders." He looked up. "What next?"
McCoy closed his eyes again. "I took a sip of the drink, and it wasn't at all what I wanted. Kind of sour, like grapefruit. I figured you'd given me your order instead and I turned to find you and switch, but when I called your name, my mouth was all dry. So I took another mouthful and tried again, but…" He swallowed hard, remembering the uncomfortable feeling. "…suddenly, I felt weak, fatigued. I called, but nothing came out. My knees buckled…and then there was a hand under my arm, supporting me. I looked back towards the person, and then…" He blinked. "Everything went black. That's it. That's all I recall."
"Somebody drugged you?" Nyota leaned forward.
"Yeah. Yeah, that makes sense." McCoy pushed away from the wall. "Look, Jim, they took blood and urine samples as part of my intake processing. See if you can get them to give you any for sickbay to analyze."
"Will do." Kirk agreed. Suddenly, his features darkened. "Uh, Bones…was that the extent of their sample gathering?"
McCoy frowned. "What are you getting at? If the drug was still in my system, it'd show up-"
Kirk's gaze dropped and his cheeks flushed. "I mean, did they take anything else?"
Oh. McCoy realized instantly what Jim was asking. "They can get my DNA from my blood and match it to 'anything else'. But to my knowledge, we did not get to know each other well before her death."
"You don't know-"
"To my knowledge." McCoy snapped. "I just met the girl, Jim. She's a celebrity, she touched my hair, I felt a zing, and, so, what? Let's play house for a night?"
Kirk shrugged. "It happens, Leonard. Look, we don't know how the drug affected you. Sure, you blacked out, but isn't it true that some people can act lucid under the influence when they're actually not?"
"Yes. It's possible, Jim. Maybe I exhibited some questionable judgment, but I. Did. Not. Kill. Her."
The captain nodded. "I know, Bones. I know."
Leonard's shoulders slumped. "Did they at least tell you when my hearing is?"
Uhura reached for his hand and squeezed it. "Yes. After the young woman's autopsy. The bad news is, this being a holiday weekend, it won't be performed for two more days." She set the tablet down on the bench and looked him in the eyes. "You'll get through this, Doctor. But this might help." She tapped the PADD with one finger and it began to glow. "As you don't speak Philaean, I brought you a translator so you can communicate with the guards and the court." She handed him the tablet.
McCoy studied the screen for a moment, flicking through the various programs in the icon menu. "Menu's a little crowded for justa translator, isn't it?"
Kirk and Uhura exchanged a look, then grinned at McCoy. "I figured you had a right to know what was being said about the case," she explained. "I've managed to tie in Phila Camunae's main media feeds, as well as a direct line between here and the Enterprise."
"Thanks." A small icon caught his eye. "And the Tetris?"
Kirk raised his hand. "Guilty." He tapped his right temple, then Bones's . "Gotta keep that mind sharp, you know."
McCoy set the PADD down on the floor. "Thanks. For everything, guys, I mean it." Already, he felt better. We're going to beat this. But most importantly, somebody's going to get what they deserve. Nyota drew him into a hug, leaving her other arm open to include Kirk, who reluctantly joined their small huddle.
A moment later, she withdrew, allowing Kirk to place both hands on McCoy's shoulders and look him square in the eye. "We're going to get you out of here, Bones."
"I know." You're one heck of a friend, Jim, he finished as Kirk walked Nyota towards the cell door and pressed a button on the wall to summon the guard. All of you are.
I enjoyed reading this although I admit, like Spock, I wanted the Blob to survive.
