It was another one of those days when Doctor Fielding wondered why she had ever put in for starship duty. How long had it been now—three, four weeks aboard the Enterprise? Maybe she had joined the crew at a bad time, but more likely her trouble settling in was her own fault. She had never been very good at socializing, and she was no fun at all around the holidays. Instead of making her more glib and outgoing, all this Christmas business aboard ship just made her want to burrow deeper into her computer. Thank God for work…
"Hi, Laurie!"
At the friendly voice, Lauren looked up and found Janice Rand peeking into sickbay. She smiled. "Hi, Jan. Come on in."
She had met Chief Rand only last week and already they were on a first name basis. Amazing for Lauren-the-Loner, but from the very first there had been something about the older woman that appealed to her. A sympathetic current flowed between them, holding out a promise of real friendship. Maybe life aboard ship wouldn't be so lonely, after all.
Lauren took in Jan's sparkling eyes, the reddish hair carefully arranged above a fresh maroon uniform, and guessed, "On your way to the party?"
"Uh-huh. Can I bring you back anything? Fruitcake? Eggnog? A handsome someone looking for a blue-eyed, blonde California girl?"
Lauren laughed. "Just make sure he's single…and sober."
"Sober?" Janice pressed the back of a hand to her forehead and rolled her eyes. "You're asking too much!"
Lauren was still smiling to herself when Doctor McCoy paused by the door on his way out of sickbay and gave her a concerned look. "Fielding, are you sure you won't come to the party? I'm on my way to get Admiral Kirk—you've met him, haven't you? Why don't you come along? You never know," he winked, "you two just might hit it off."
Lauren's smile faded. Was everyone playing matchmaker tonight? And now for Admiral Kirk, of all people! Lauren had heard of his reputation as a womanizer, but also knew he was McCoy's friend. For one confused moment she was not sure how to answer the chief medical officer. Surely he was joking. Wasn't he? At last she said, "Uh…no thanks, sir. I'll just stay here and review some more of Doctor M'Benga's old bio-discs. I spent some time with him at Starfleet Medical Center before I shipped out."
McCoy left shaking his head. Lauren turned back to her computer wondering if he was a little worried about leaving her in charge. True, she was new here and had always been more into research than medical practice, but she felt plenty competent to handle a short shift on Christmas Eve. And this was, after all, only a training cruise.
Before long, another set of footsteps distracted her. Even without looking, she knew it was Doctor Chapel. Now here was a real mystery. As always, Lauren could feel the baffling undercurrent of hostility even before the woman spoke.
"Well, well." Christine Chapel peered over Lauren's shoulder at the computer screen. "I should have guessed—Vulcan diseases, again. Let me give you some friendly advice, Doctor Fielding. If you're looking to impress the captain with all your hard work and medical knowledge, forget it. He has a ship to run."
Somehow Lauren managed to hold onto her temper until Chapel was out the door. Then she muttered a few choice words under her breath. How could anyone possibly think she was out to impress Captain Spock? Alien diseases were her field of expertise. The fact that she was taking advantage of M'Benga's records had nothing to do with the captain's genetic makeup. She was a doctor, not a brass-chaser! Listen to yourself—not even a month and you're sounding like Doctor McCoy…
All quiet now, except for the muted sound of carols from the corridor intercom. No emergency calls to sick bay, not even a misrouted one. Lauren's eyes wandered from the computer screen and gazed off into space.
'Twas the night before Christmas
And all aboard ship,
Not a creature was ailing
From headache, hangnail, or postnasal drip…
The poem had a certain amount of potential, but yawning, Lauren brought her attention back to M'Benga's work on the Vulcan immune system. She was starting to get a little tired of Vulcans. Just get through this tape, she promised herself, and we'll switch to a really different species, like Andorians. Blue had always been one of her favorite—
"Engineering to sick bay."
The voice that burst over the intercom held an unmistakable Scottish burr. It had to be the ship's chief engineer. Lauren turned toward the speaker, her hand fumbling for the switch. "Doctor Fielding here. Is that you, Mister Scott?"
There was a marked hesitation, then a cautious "Aye. Is Doctor McCoy handy? I've a wee bit of a problem down here in Engineering."
"I'm sorry, sir. Doctor McCoy is still at the party." Rising from her chair, Lauren said, "I'll be right down and—"
"No need for that," Scott cut in, a nervous edge to his voice. "Tis nothing, really. Sorry I disturbed ye, Doctor."
The connection went silent before Lauren could object—not that it would have made any difference. Whatever the "wee bit of a problem" in Engineering, Scott clearly wanted McCoy's services instead of hers. Feeling a little rejected, she went back to her studies, but the mystery of Scott's call kept nagging at her. Something was definitely going on below decks. And if it was a medical matter, wasn't it her duty to investigate? Rising from the computer, she picked up a medical kit and routed any incoming calls to her com badge.
Twenty minutes later, Lauren passed through the last of four nondescript sliding doors and found herself in a cavernous storage bay. It was no use pretending any longer. She was lost.
Gripping her medikit, she ventured among the stacked crates marked 'this side up' (a few of which were upside-down) looking for some sign of sentient life. "Anybody here?" she called out. An echo answered.
She took almost half an hour to find her way back to the turbolift. Since it had already reached bottom, she ordered it up one deck. After a brief ride, the doors opened onto a dim corridor with no crewmembers in sight. It was definitely not Engineering.
"Engineering," she ordered with growing frustration when the door slid shut again. This time the car moved sideways in its shaft before plunging downward. The turbolift opened onto a brightly lit area marked "Environmental Services". A promising sound of voices spilled from an open doorway across the corridor. Relieved, Lauren went over and peeked in.
A pink-skinned Caldian was gazing indulgently at a young, dark-haired girl in a party dress. Laughing—or rather, warbling in his throat, he said, "I'd love to, my dearie, but I'm afraid your papa would not be very amused. Christmas snow in a Vulcan's quarters? No, no. Sand would be far more appropriate, but even so—"
Lauren knocked lightly on the doorframe. "Excuse me."
The man looked up. The irises of his eyes were as pink as his skin, and very kindly. "Yes, Lieutenant?"
Swallowing her pride, Lauren admitted, "I'm trying to find Engineering. Can you please direct me?"
"I can," piped the child. Lauren recognized the captain's daughter. She was small for her eleven years, and those arched eyebrows and semi-Vulcanoid ears made her seem downright elfin.
"T'Beth does know the way," said the Caldian. "If that is acceptable to you, Lieutenant."
There was little choice but to follow the girl. Down the corridor they went and into a different lift, where Lauren studied her young guide with a mixture of curiosity and misgiving. T'Beth smiled back sweetly. Despite the show of emotion, there was no doubt that she was indeed Captain Spock's daughter. The resemblance between them was striking. One could only imagine what she was doing here aboard ship. Lauren wondered if some of the stories she had heard about her were true. With those intelligent golden-brown eyes and that courteous manner, T'Beth seemed more like a model child than the mischief-maker who had recently made up a bunch of lies about Admiral Kirk.
Lauren cast about for something to say. "I heard this is your last day on the Enterprise."
"Tomorrow I'm going to Vulcan," T'Beth volunteered. "You're Doctor Fielding, aren't you?"
"Yes." In the silence that followed, Lauren felt increasingly uncomfortable. Finally she asked, "Is your mother waiting for you on Vulcan?"
T'Beth turned to face the doors. "My mother's dead."
Lauren's heart sank. "Oh, I'm so sorry…I didn't know."
"It was a long time ago," T'Beth said levelly and changed the subject. "Is someone hurt in Engineering?"
They stepped out of the lift and turned left. It seemed to Lauren that they were heading in the wrong direction, but that was nothing new for someone who could get lost going to the bathroom. The labyrinth of starship passages made her head spin. "Hurt? Maybe," she said distractedly. "The message wasn't very specific."
"Not an emergency, then."
"No. I'm sure it's nothing like that."
The child led her around a corner and stopped beside yet another turbolift. With a proud smile she said, "There you go, Doctor. Just ride it all the way to the bottom, then turn right and keep walking. I have to get back to the party before they start opening the presents."
T'Beth disappeared around the corner before Lauren could thank her. What a nice girl, she thought as she boarded the lift. A few moments later the doors opened onto a spooky world of catwalks and geometric shadows, and she experienced some doubt as to the child's niceness. But having come this far, she was not about to give up without following T'Beth's instructions to the end. Wishing for a flashlight, she gamely turned right and began walking.
Eighteen minutes later, Lauren paused in her wanderings to kick a hull brace. Though it helped relieve her frustration, it would have been so much more satisfying to target a certain naughty young lady instead. Somewhere above decks those scheming eyes were laughing at her while Lauren fumbled around in the bowels of the ship, more lost than ever.
She briefly considered using her com badge to call for help, but the thought was just too humiliating. Thoroughly exasperated, she studied the eerie lacework of the interhull. She had never been in this part of the ship before, but she had heard about it. Hidden among the shadowy bracings were cubicles open to any member of the crew seeking privacy. She knew what most couples did down here. But never mind that. If she could only find one of those little retreats, an occupied cubicle, and hang around until somebody exited…
As if by fate Lauren caught sight of a small door on the other side of a catwalk, and worked her way over to it. She was waiting nearby, thinking that this might not be such a good idea, after all…when the hinged door swung open. Startled, she stepped back, gaping at the tall officer in the doorway. He was somewhat surprised, too—or so it seemed from the depths of her embarrassment.
"Ex…excuse," she managed to say, blushing furiously. "Captain, I…I didn't know you were…were—" Were what? So maybe he wasn't married, but did he actually have someone in there with him? No, it couldn't be. After all, he was Vulcan.
Stiffly Captain Spock said, "I am finished with the cubicle. You may have it, Doctor."
He brushed past, leaving an empty cubicle with a porthole view of hyperspace. So he had been alone. But what was he been doing in there—hiding from his sweet little daughter?
Lauren turned just in time to see him disappearing among the hull bracings. Finding her voice again, she called out, "Sir! Captain, please wait!"
He had not really wanted to wait. It showed in his rigid stance when she caught up to him, slightly out of breath from running. She would have liked to tell him that getting lost was his daughter's fault, that children did not belong aboard starships, especially that sort of child. But placing all the blame on T'Beth would not be entirely fair. Lauren had suffered from a poor sense of direction all her life. She should have taken the time to learn the ship better. Feeling totally incompetent she said, "I seem to have lost my way, sir. Can you please tell me how to get to Engineering?"
Captain Spock explained the intricacies of the turbolift system and personally escorted her to the appropriate "line", where he gave further, excruciatingly detailed instructions before leaving. Lauren's head fairly spun. But just when she was suspecting that pranks ran in the captain's family, she descended a final ladder and found that she had arrived in Mister Scott's gleaming domain. And it had only taken a bit over an hour—what an accomplishment!
Now, to find Mister Scott. Aside from the steady thrum of warp power, everything was quiet. The engineering section seemed deserted, but of course that was impossible. Determined not to lose her way again, Lauren headed for a wall of control panels and walked alongside until it came to an end. She thought she heard someone, and moved toward the sound. A few cautious steps brought her into an alcove dominated by the largest Jeffries tube she had ever seen. One maroon pant leg dangled out of its mouth like a lolling tongue. As she watched, the leg shifted and made way for another. Then a stout torso emerged, closely followed by a graying head.
"Mister Scott," Lauren said.
The chief engineer jumped and turned around, a hand pressed to his heart. "Oh! Doctor…Fielding, isn't it? I told ye there was no need—"
A strange grunting reverberated in the tube behind him. Scott's cheeks, already quite pink, turned crimson beside his moustache.
"What's that?" Lauren asked.
"Uh…that funny noise, ye mean?"
"Yes. That." There were more grunts and a scuffling like boot leather scraping metal. "Is someone up there, Mister Scott?"
"Maintenance." Poker-faced, Scott took her by the arm and tried to guide her away from the intriguing sounds. Lauren caught a whiff of something on his clothes that aroused her suspicions even more. It definitely was not lubricating oil.
A moan of pain made her stop and stare at the Jeffries tube again. "Is someone hurt in there?" Scott tugged at her arm, but it was a half-hearted tug and she broke away easily to confront him. "Sir, if someone is injured, I need to do my job."
"Aye." Scott sagged. "I suppose there's no help for it. Come on, then."
With Scott beside her, she peered up the tube and saw a pair of white-clad legs jutting from a high, narrow side shaft.
"It's MacConnell," Scott sighed. "The poor woman's wrenched her back. She canna hardly move."
"Then why—" Lauren shut her mouth. No doubt she would find, soon enough, exactly what the chief engineering was covering up. Securing her medikit to her waist, she began climbing the rungs. The closed-in walls of the Jeffries tube reeked with the same odor she had noticed on Scott. It seemed to be coming from a colorless liquid dripping down the sides of the shaft. By the time she reached MacConnell, the strong-smelling fluid was all over her, too. Only MacConnell's rear end was visible, with the front half buried in a jumble of shaft equipment. But clearly MacConnell was female.
"Is this stuff what I think it is?" Lauren asked, wedging her boots firmly into the rungs to keep from slipping in the mess.
MacConnell gasped. "Did I hear right? You're Doctor Fielding? I don't need a doctor, I told Scotty that. Just strained my back, that's all."
Lauren got out her medscanner and passed it over MacConnell's lumbar region. Fortunately the instrument revealed no serous injury. "You're right, a strained muscle. I'll have you out of here in two shakes of a lamb's tail." She called down the tube, "Mister Scott! We'll be coming down shortly! Can you get a grav stretcher?"
"Aye. A stretcher." Scott's sorrowful face disappeared from the mouth of the tube.
Lauren injected MacConnell's posterior with a muscle relaxant and endorphine stimulator. In a matter of seconds the young woman was breathing deeply in relief. "Now to get you out," Lauren said, studying the situation. "Try easing out onto these rungs. I'll be right below you and we'll go down slow."
At first MacConnell was afraid to move, but once she realized that she could shift around without agonizing pain, she followed Lauren's directions and they descended the shaft together. When they climbed out, MacConnell eased herself onto the waiting stretcher without further argument. Satisfied that her patient was comfortable, Lauren straightened and looked Scott in the eye. "Sir, I think something is leaking up there. You might want to check into it."
Scott looked so embarrassed that Lauren felt sorry for him. She was about to guide the floating stretcher away when she remembered. She had reached this level of Engineering on a ladder, but now she would need a turbolift for MacConnell. That meant—yes, it seemed that once again she was lost.
Trying hard not to blush, she turned to Scott and said, "Can you…tell me how to get back to sick bay?"
MacConnell was settled into a bed, sound asleep. After another kailoscopic treatment in the morning, she should be fit enough to leave sickbay.
Lauren went into the lab where MacConnell's sodden work clothes lay in a bag next to a biocomp. According to analysis, they were soaked with ethanol—just as she'd suspected. The surprising thing was that MacConnell's system held no trace of liquor. Whatever had been going on in that Jeffries tube, it was not drinking. But something definitely had been going on, something Lauren was not meant to see, something illicit. Like a…still? The very idea was incredible.
Remembering Scott's discomfiture, she wavered with indecision. Few humans shared her aversion to alcohol—she realized that and always tried to be tolerant. But there were strict regulations about liquor aboard Starfleet vessels, and for good reason. She would be expected to give a full, honest report of the incident. Yet the thought of Mister Scott continued to eat at her. He was legendary among starship engineers and seemed like such a nice man. Would he be involved in anything that might endanger his beloved Enterprise? And she was a doctor, not a security officer…
Her mind made up, Lauren dumped the incriminating clothes into the sickbay fresher and sat down to record a bare-bones report of the incident. Called to sickbay and treated a strained back….
Another hour quietly crept by. Lauren was poring over M'Benga's discs when the words started running together, and her head nodded.
…She found herself back on Earth, at her girlhood home in Southern California. It was evening. She and her brother Larry were playing a card game in her bedroom, trying to be extra good and quiet, hoping and praying that the level in Dad's bottle would not dip too low on this of all nights…
"Merry Christmas!" The loud voice from the corridor roused Lauren a little, but she sank back into the dream.
…A sleepy image of evergreen filled her mind. Presents under a decorated tree, Mama's menorah bravely glowing in the window…and in the girl's heart, a creeping
fear …
"Doctor."
With an effort Lauren opened her eyes and lifted her head from her arms. The young male nurse coming on duty stared at her. Was it such a crime to nod off, then? No, it's the uniform, she suddenly realized. You must smell like a distillery! Her cheeks burning, she said, "I'm afraid the night got too quiet for me. Only one case, and she's resting now."
After discussing MacConnell, Lauren headed for her cabin, anxious to shed her smelly uniform and take a shower. Thankfully, the corridor outside sickbay was empty and she rode the turbolift alone. Getting off at deck five, she started down the command crew corridor to the junior officers' section beyond—and came to an abrupt halt. Though the lights were dimmed to simulate evening, there was no mistaking the identity of the two figures embracing by Commander Uhura's door. Or the sound of a child crying.
Lauren drew back a step and flattened herself against the bulkhead, but even at a distance she suspected that the captain knew she was there. Unable to control her curiosity, she peeked and saw him gently extricate himself from his daughter's arms. A few quiet words were exchanged. This seemed to calm the child, who then slipped into Uhura's cabin.
Heart pounding, Lauren stood absolutely still as Captain Spock came up the corridor and strode by without acknowledging her presence. She knew enough about superior officers to keep her mouth shut. No use inviting trouble. Relieved, she continued over to the junior officers' section. Good going, Laurie girl. Intruded on his privacy twice in one night…and I suppose he smelled the liquor on you, too. Heaven help you—and Mister Scott—if he'd decided to stop and ask questions.
Opening the door of her stark little cabin, she waved up the lights.
"Cut that out!" growled a less-than-sober voice. The disgruntled form of her roommate stirred in the first bunk.
"Sorry." Lauren obligingly lowered the lights to gloom level and began unfastening her soiled jacket. Christmas tomorrow. Maybe she would attend the morning service, then try to contact Larry on Gamma Vertas. The ship was in range. It would do her good to see her brother's smile and laugh at one of his wisecracks. Maybe, when this hitch was up, she would join him out there at the mission. Larry said they could always use a good doctor.
But what would that mean for her research? Lauren went still and tried to visualize the future, but it was no use. Not a flicker of the intuition she sometimes experienced. Like everyone else, she would just have to take one day at a time and make the best of it.
With a sigh, she headed for the shower…