Unnamed Doctor

Prologue

There are 430 crewmembers on the USS Enterprise and only a handful of medical staff – not enough, if you ask me. As a junior medical officer, I see to sore throats, coughs, cuts and scratches, broken bones, general aches and pains, et cetera, as well as certain psychological problems associated with being cooped up in a big tin can - and pregnancies. Yes, you heard me right, pregnancies. Understandable really; bored out of our skulls out here in the middle of nowhere. It's not like we come across a new planet every week, is it? Sure, we have TV, movies, game rooms, gyms and so on… That only goes so far. Someone with a little foresight would have assigned an obstetrician and a pediatrician to this ship. Whenever we stop at a star-base, we lose half the crew. What? Of course we have rules. When did that ever stop anybody?

While a certain senior medical officer is out gallivanting with the Captain and First Officer, I pick up the slack. It happens every time we come across a new planet or whatever. Don't get me wrong. I'm not complaining. There's no way I could be so cavalier about beaming down to strange planets and encountering new life forms. I'll stay on the ship and take care of the boo-boos, thank you very much.

Now that we're on the subject, I have a question. It's been bothering me for quite some time. Why do we beam down to these strange planets anyhow? We could gather most of the data while in orbit, couldn't we? Soil, atmosphere, blah, blah, blah - send down probes, at least. What does all this beaming around do to our bodies? Well? What does it do? Studies have been done, I know; read them all. Call me old fashioned, but I can't help wondering about all this new technology. Disassembling and reassembling molecules? Something about that doesn't sit right with me. No, nobody asked - not likely to either.

Star Date: 3333.3

Several units returned to the Enterprise after what was reported to be a fierce battle on one of those strange planets. What planet? I don't know. Your guess is as good as mine. From what I gathered, the enemy were some sort of shape-shifters. Shape-shifters? Now I've heard everything. Leaving sick bay is out of the question. All beds occupied - patients monitored closely. Some of the wounds were horrifying, even for a seasoned veteran such as myself. Just what were they doing down there?

Star Date: 3333.5

All is quiet. I'm at my desk dictating a report. While stifling a yawn, I feel a hand on my shoulder - practically jump out of my skin! A patient is standing behind me with a smile on his face. "What are you doing out of bed?" I say. "You should be resting." He doesn't answer. He just smiles.

Rising from my chair, I take him by the arm. "Come on," I say. "Back to bed with you." In a flash, he has his hands around my throat, squeezing tighter and tighter. I regret not having taken better precautions. The room fades away.

A dim light appears in the darkness. My eyes open a crack. A man is peering at me up close. He's wearing the uniform of an officer. When I turn my head, I scream and scurry backwards until my back slams against a wall. A slimy octopus-like creature with tentacles is spread out on the floor. "What is that?!"

"One of the creatures from the planet," says the officer.

"Is it dead?"

"Yes." The officer flips open his communicator. "Transporter room, lock onto the alien in sick bay." In an instant, the creature disappears.

"That, that creature," I say. "Is it the only one?"

"No," says the officer. "There are more."

I look around the room and notice two empty beds. "They were right here in the room with me? I treated them?"

"Don't worry, doctor. We have weapons and they don't."

"Are you sure?"

The door slides open. A mob rushes in. Some are injured and some are transporting the injured. In and out, in and out they go. The room fills up. We hardly have room to walk. I summon my staff. They stumble in sleepy-eyed, some still dressing. We get to work patching up the wounded – no time to think about anything else.

Star Date: 3333.7

The door slides open. First Officer Spock enters sick bay; doesn't say a word - merely observes.

"First Officer Spock," I say, "these are phaser burns, serious phaser burns."

"All of them, doctor?"

"All of them? No, not all of them. Some have bites and scratches and gouges and gashes, blah, blah, blah - minor things really. The major injuries are from phasers."

"Thank you for clarifying, doctor."

His tone is disturbing - don't know why.

"First Officer Spock," I say, "what in the world is going on out there?"

"Which world, doctor?"

Which world? Good grief! "What is happening on the Enterprise?"

"They are shooting each other."

"Who?"

"The crew."

"The crew?"

"Yes, the crew."

"Why?"

"Panic, doctor. Pure Panic."

"What does that mean?"

"Panic: a sudden, unreasoning fear, often…"

"I know what panic means! Why is there panic?"

"Hasn't anyone told you? Creatures from the planet below…"

"Like the one that attacked me - thought they caught 'em all."

"Doctor, perhaps you should get some rest."

"Rest? How can I? Where is Dr. McCoy? Can't seem to raise him."

"Dr. McCoy is busy."

"Busy?"

"He is, as you say, swamped." First Officer Spock makes a sweeping gesture with his hand. "This room contains only a small percentage of our casualties. I haven't calculated the exact…"

"That many?"

"And more are coming. I will let the doctor know of your situation."

The door slides open. First Officer Spock turns to go. As he is leaving, more injured crewmembers are brought in. There is no place to put them. We set up make-shift cots along the hallway. It's going to be a long night.

Star Date: 3334.1

I collapse in my chair exhausted. My staff have returned to their quarters for much needed rest. I should do the same. The door slides open. I look up. An officer steps into the room. A phaser is in his hand.

Epilogue

Captain Kirk is in his chair on the bridge. His expression is grim. Dr. McCoy is standing next to him, listening intently. The rest of the bridge officers are at their posts. The captain presses a button on the arm of his chair when the doctor's final log entry comes to a close.

Dr. McCoy pounds his fist. "Losing a good man like that really gets my goat. Tell me, Jim, is it worth it?"

"Mr. Sulu," says Captain Kirk, "set a course for the nearest star-base."

"Aye, Captain," says Mr. Sulu.

"You didn't answer my question," says Dr. McCoy.

"Yes, Bones," says Captain Kirk. "The answer is yes. Every ship which sails this quadrant will benefit from our experience. Put a big X on that planet."

"Captain," says First Officer Spock, "may I interject?"

"Certainly, Mr. Spock. Feel free."

First Officer Spock rises from his chair and takes up a position next to the captain. His hands are clasped behind his back. "Captain, we were only able to explore 4.527 acres on a planet which is 20.1003% smaller than Earth."

"What's your point?" growls Dr. McCoy. "Why bring this up now?"

"If you'll let me finish."

The doctor throws up his hands. "Oh, all right!"

"Let us use the earth as an example," continues First Officer Spock. "If we were to visit 4.527 acres in, say, the Bronx, as opposed to 4.527 acres in the upper peninsula of Michigan, we would have vastly different experiences."

"The Bronx' reputation has been embellished," says Captain Kirk, "and I understand the moose in the UP can be vicious."

First Officer Spock raises an eyebrow.

"So you're saying there might be friendly creatures on the planet?"

"I was only putting forth a theory, Captain."

"We'll have to return."

"We?" screams Dr. McCoy. "Are you mad?"

"Our job is to explore, doctor. Did Lewis and Clark turn back when they encountered a little trouble?"

"This is hardly comparable."

"In size and scope, perhaps."

"Jim, I expect this kind of heartless behavior from Spock - not you. Don't you have any feelings?"

"Yes, Bones, I do have feelings. I also have a job to do." He lifts up a hand to silence the doctor. "I know what you're going to say. Yes, I'm responsible for the crew. Yes, the buck stops here. Believe me, if this catastrophe happened due to my negligence or incompetence, I will accept the consequences."

"Captain," says First Officer Spock, "I have analyzed the situation dispassionately."

"Do you know any other way?" mumbles Dr. McCoy."

"What is your conclusion, Mr. Spock?" asks the Captain.

"This, as you say, catastrophe did not occur due to negligence or incompetence. We were simply outwitted."

"Outwitted?" The captain jumps to his feet, clenching his fists. "Why don't you just stick a dagger in my heart?" He grabs his head and staggers - eyes wild. "I'll never live this down."

"Captain," says First Officer Spock, "you are overreacting."

"Am I?"

"Most assuredly."

"What do I tell the bereaved?" The captain writes in the air with a finger. "Your fill in the blank died because I was outwitted by a handful of octopi."

"Captain, it is not necessary to furnish the bereaved with details."

"Sarcasm - Mr. Spock."

First Officer Spock raises an eyebrow.

"Take the helm. I'll be in my quarters."

Captain Kirk hurries to the turbolift. The door opens. He enters. The door closes behind him. First Officer Spock takes his place in the captain's chair.

"He's taking this hard," says Dr. McCoy.

"Doctor," says First Officer Spock, "77.4418605% of the crew are either dead, injured or missing."

A smirk creases the doctor's face. "Was that sarcasm, Spock?"

"I was merely stating the facts. I can break it down for you if you…"

"Must you be so literal?"

"Yes, doctor. I must."

"Is there no place for euphemism, metaphor or figures of speech in your lexicon?"

"None."

"There's just no talking to you, is there?"

"If you mean, I must agree with you in order to have a conversation; you're right, there is no talking to me."

"Why you…" The doctor shakes a finger in the first officer's face. "I've had enough of your cold-blooded logic and blasted emotionless…"

"Doctor, where is this headed?"

"Nowhere, obviously." The doctor turns on his heel and stalks toward the turbolift. "Got work to do."

"Doctor, I suggest you get some rest."

Doctor McCoy stops in his tracks. A grin appears on his face. "So you do care."

"For the wellbeing of this ship and her crew, a healthy and well-rested medical staff is essential. Don't you agree?"

"As if I could sleep."

"I suggest you find a way."

"Your suggestion is duly noted."

The turbolift door opens. Dr. McCoy enters. The door closes behind him.

"Mr. Sulu," says First Officer Spock, "warp factor six."

"Aye, sir."

Meanwhile…

In an opulent underground palace, a slimy octopus-like creature slithers along a marble floor. He is wearing a dark blue robe. In English, we might call him Prime Minister. In the middle of the room, the King of the octopus-like creatures is sprawled out in a large tub filled with hot bubbly water. His bulbous head is resting casually on a tentacle. His frog-like eyes are closed. Royal attendants are stationed nearby.

"Your highness," says the Prime Minister, "the creatures have fled."

The King sighs, "Too bad. It was just getting interesting."

"They will return for the prisoners."

"Oh, I do hope so."

"Your highness, if you don't mind my saying, they carry enough firepower to annihilate us."

"The fools! To have such power and not use it. Did you secure the devises?"

"Our wise men are studying those devises now."

"Good. I wish to conquer that vile kingdom across the water."

"What if our wise men…?"

"The prisoners will assist."

"What if they refuse?"

"Find a way to persuade them - females, perhaps?"

"Females? What a brilliant plan."

"Don't be obsequious."

"Forgive me, Sire."

The King signals with a tentacle. An attendant slithers forward with a purple gold-edged towel. The King rises and slithers out of the tub. The attendant dries him. Another attendant slithers forward with a purple gold-edged robe. While donning the robe, the King says, "Tomorrow morning, take one of the prisoners out to the westernmost forest for a little game of hide and seek."

"As you wish," says the Prime Minister. "Will you require a guard?"

"A guard? Don't be ridiculous! I want him to think he has a chance."

The King and Prime Minister slither across the marble floor side by side, tentacles clasped behind their backs.

"Speaking of prisoners," says the King, "do we have proper nourishment for those hideous creatures?"

"We have assigned a team of nutritionists to the job," says the Prime Minister.

"Good. Keep them in tiptop shape. Tormenting them will be that much more amusing."

The King and Prime Minister enter a grand ornate ballroom. An orchestra is playing music, though we humans would not recognized it as such. The ballroom is full of revelers celebrating a victory. The Queen is waiting in her best robe. Intertwining tentacles, the King leads his Queen to the middle of the ballroom floor.

THE END