The No-Good, Awful, Miserable, Most Horrible Shore Leave EVER.
(Working title by Leonard McCoy)
It was a lovely planet, Xenatia. The civilization here had progressed past nuclear engines and oil dependency to achieve warp capability and Federation membership. Xenatia was full of gardens and skyscrapers. Rapid Urbanization and Environmental conscientiousness meshed here like it never quite did on Earth. It was here that Leonard McCoy- starship CMO by day, sports fan by night- found himself meandering towards a lit stadium.
The Zenats, as the native people were called, enjoyed sporting events and displays of athletic capability almost as much as those noisy Texans enjoyed football. Well, maybe that's still up for debate, McCoy considered as he strolled down the fairly quiet sidewalk. The stadium didn't appear to be bursting at the seams, nor was there an incredible volume of noise pouring from its center. Texas has that on 'em, so far. We'll see about manners and sportsmanship in time, I suppose.
The USS Enterprise was here on a diplomatic assignment, one McCoy had not been required to participate in. As a token of their goodwill, the Zenat Parliament had provided front row tickets to tonight's Canish match, a sport McCoy had understood to be a little like football. Kirk had declined. He and Spock were prepping for tomorrow's summit. Scotty opted out as well, instead reserving the evening for intensive engine examinations.
McCoy, therefore, was required to go. They didn't want to appear rude, after all, this early in the talks.
The good doctor had no problem with this arrangement. He didn't have to go to any stuffy debates in an uncomfortable dress uniform. He wouldn't have to paint on an expression of interest to appease anyone. Heck, he wouldn't have to exert himself at all. It was like a big ol' alien football game. Sit back and watch the young 'uns play.
As he approached the stadium, he noticed that there was a certain hum in the air. He breathed in deeply through his nose. Some things didn't change, no matter where you went. The thrill of the game, for one. McCoy saw two distinct groups of fans, rivals by his observations, cheering and whooping their way to the stadium. Tonight was the championship: Trin'tae Canish versus the underdog Kellar, or so the papers said.
Some Trin'tae supporters sporting their team colors turned onto the road in front of him. The group in navy and gold seemed to have gotten a jump on the festivities. A few were stumbling on the pavement, others almost falling into the deserted road. McCoy sighed knowingly.
"Drink after you win, kids, first rule." He mumbled to himself with a smile. It was just like home. Xenatia's autumn wind blew briskly through the city. McCoy savored the breeze on his face. There was only so much a starship could replicate. The stars were his constant, but the ship lacked other homey comforts you couldn't make out of metal and dilithium. Solid ground, real solid ground clicked back against his boots. He was dressed in civilian garb, a button-up shirt and jeans with a soft plaid jacket to keep out the chill. A chill you just don't feel on a starship, he mused, Not like the soul-sucking frozen expanse, no oxygen, no feelin'. This is real wind. It's got a life of it's own, almost. Perfectly imperfect, with grit and leaves and the smell of the environment. Do I smell home cooking? Could be. You can smell the trees from the park on the other block. It's like Sulu's setup in hydroponics times a thousand. Pure and natural. Something we haven't quite figured out how to synthesize.
As he arrived at the end of the straight street, he encountered the rest of the sports fans. They were clumped around kiosks and lampposts. Some were chatting, others were cheering, but all seemed excited for the upcoming game. McCoy approached a stand and grabbed a program. There was a two-page spread depicting the rival captains decked out what could only be Canish gear. 'Ca'Ral', the left side of the page declared, 'King of the Champions'. He was a gruff-looking character in leather shoulder pads. This 'Ca'Ral, Captain of the Trin'tae', had glowered at the camera. McCoy skimmed over the blurb in the corner, something about a 'career player' from a long line of 'pro nishers'. Nishers? Oh. 'Canishers'. Clear as mud.
The right side of the page was splashed with purple and grey. McCoy took a look at the young Zenat in a similar getup. 'Norrich: The Lightning'. This feller looked a little less liable to kill somebody. According to the program, the Kellars and their Captain had risen to fame quickly this season. The dark horse team had come out of nowhere for a so-far perfect season.
"Looks like an interesting matchup anyhow." He commented to no one in particular. The crowd was moving towards a set of archways. Time for the game. He caught up with the waddling masses. Everyone was crowding the gates. McCoy ambled along with the mob until he reached the entryway.
"Ticket." The man at the door held out a tattooed hand. Purple and grey rings spiraled up each of his fingers, coming to meet a vaguely cloud-shaped spot on his palm. McCoy passed over the slip of paper. "Kellar fan?"
The gatekeeper's lip twitched. "Officially, I don't have an opinion. I just take tickets." The man maintained a serious expression, but there was a smile in his eyes.
McCoy nodded, unable to keep the grin concealed. "How diplomatic. Good luck to y'all."
He proceeded through the gate, pushing the low metal bar out of his way. It creaked at him. "Hmph."
The stadium seemed more massive on the inside. And I haven't even seen the field yet… Ramps zigzagged upwards on all sides. McCoy took a look at his ticket again. To his relief, he found the details in both Zenat and Terran Standard. Section 10-30, Row 1, Seat 9.
"10-30… 10-30… Where are ya…?" He scanned the area for a map or a directory or something. The few signs in by the ramps were unhelpful, giving directions to '40-20A' and 'Deck 12-60' and the like. McCoy decided it was time to give up and ask for directions. He knew how easy it was to get lost in a big place with a lot of people and too many staircases. As was the case for many championship sporting events, there were extra security officials on hand. McCoy strode up to a woman in a bright yellow vest and put on his most winning smile.
"Excuse me, ma'am," He began, "Could you tell me how I'd go about getting to uh…" He looked down at his ticket again. "Section 10-30? I'm a bit lost, y'see and…" The woman held out her hand for the ticket and McCoy turned it over.
"Well. These are pretty decent seats, pal." She commented, flipping the ticket over once before handing it back to him. "You need to head around the corner and take the second staircase past the Third Tower ramp." McCoy bobbed his head along to the instructions. He noticed the woman's earrings, an array of piercings in gold and navy. Ain't an impartial person in the whole place.
"Thank you very much. You're a Trin'tae fan…?"
The security guard seemed to puff up a bit at the mention of her team. "Of course. Planet-wide Champions, three seasons running. If you're a betting man, you should put your money on Trin'tae to win. Kellar may have had a good season, but they have yet to face a hardened team of champions like Trin'tae!"
McCoy simply nodded. "Alright. Thank you again."
He took off down the indicated hallway, making the proper left after the Tower ramp. The staircase took him to a railed opening in the first deck of the stadium. From here, McCoy got his first good look at Xenatian sports culture.
The stadium was packed. There were people everywhere he looked, from the nosebleed seats in the third deck all the way to the good seats lining the field. Though quieter than any football fans he'd ever heard, the Canish enthusiasts seemed to have an even higher energy. The stadium was taut with excitement and anticipation. Not to say it was silent, by any stretch of the imagination. People chattered left and right about team stats, predictions, betting pools, and players. The place was abuzz with speculation.
McCoy found himself glancing up at the section marker. 10-30, sure enough. Now, he just had to find his way to his seat. Row 1, Seat 9, the ticket read.
"Well," He declared, "Down I go." He took the nearest staircase going towards the field. Brushing past crowded rows and clumped bodies, McCoy found himself standing practically on the field. Row 1 was indeed the very first, separated from the grass only by a low wall of concrete and some metal railing. He reckoned he could see everything from down here, right up close and personal. The guard must've been jealous. He realized. Decent seats! Now these are the kinda seats you give visiting diplomats. I oughta tell Jim just how much he missed out!
The row was full, save for four empty slots on the bench. He supposed they must be his.
"Excuse me. Pardon me, sorry. Sorry. Excuse me. Thank you, sorry." McCoy managed to charm his way through the packed row to his seat. Seats. He was 9 out of 8 through 11. To his right, a group of men in suits were rearranging themselves after his tight squeeze down the row. They were giving him sideways glances, looking over his casual attire with scrutiny. McCoy looked away. He was here for a good time, despite what Jim and the stuffed-shirt diplomats had said. He was going to enjoy this game, by gum.
A shout drew his attention to the other side. A rowdy group of boys in navy and gold were whooping and jumping around on the row just above him and to the left. The war-painted hooligans were punching each other and making a general nuisance of themselves. Typical. McCoy groused inwardly. They were making the small group of girls next to them very uncomfortable. McCoy eyed the situation and made up his mind as to what he'd do.
"Excuse me, ladies!" He called over the din. "I happen to have three extra seats if you'd like to ah… get a better view of the field." The three girls looked at him first with disbelief, then confusion, and finally relief. The closest one nodded vigorously and gathered the others. McCoy felt a tug on his sleeve. He turned to find himself face-to-face with one of the grumpy suits.
"Sir." The man's nasal voice oozed condescension. "What exactly do you think you're doing?"
McCoy eyed the half-lidded leer and resisted the urge to slap that pretentious expression off this feller's face. Hackles fairly raised, McCoy fought his growing revulsion and put on the smile he reserved for stupid admiralty.
"Why, my good man, I'm doin' the polite and gentlemanly thing by offerin' my companions' unclaimed seats to these young ladies. If you've got a problem with that, I'm sure you can give Captain James T. Kirk of the vistin' starship Enterprise a call and ask him if he objects to the use of his seat. You know what? How about I give him a call. I'm sure he'd love to hear from his Chief Medical Officer in the middle of an important briefing. Bet he'd like nothing better. And, your name was…?"
McCoy fought off a smirk as the stuffed shirt backpedaled. He turned back around to find the three young Zenats hovering by the bench.
"Well, g'won, sit down. Take off your backpack and stay awhile. I won't bite."
Much more at ease, the girls started setting down their belongings in the empty slots. McCoy observed as one of the young ladies produced a thick blanket from her bag and tossed it to one of her companions. He was starting to wonder if he'd dressed too lightly for the event when he noticed the three girls staring at him.
"Uh… Ladies…?"
They held a whispered conference for a moment, before one stepped slightly forward, bowing. "T-thank you, sir. We are… are v-very grateful."
Aww. He couldn't help but grin. They were sort of adorable, in that awkward, youthful kind of way. He was glad he'd offered them the extra seats.
"It was no trouble at all. You're quite welcome." He held out his hand, smiling. "Doctor Leonard McCoy. It's a pleasure to meet y'all."
Each of the little Zenats shook his hand. The breeze picked up a bit and one of the girls scurried back to cocoon herself in the blanket. The other two stood by and zipped their coats up higher. McCoy checked his own jacket.
"Will it get very cold out tonight?"
"It will be freezing, sir." The blanketed girl called from the third seat. Her friend in the second rolled her eyes.
"Not so cold as that, sir." She countered, crossing her arms. "But it will be fairly windy in addition to the existing chill."
He found himself suppressing a shiver. "Alright. At least it's not raining…"
To his surprise, all three girls gasped and began stomping simultaneously. As abruptly as they had started, they stopped.
"Um…"
"Y-you must not s-say… say such things!" The girl closest to him hissed, eyes wide. "You are l-lucky this time that w-we performed the ward, or… or else it c-could have brought ill weather!"
Ah, McCoy realized, Superstition. Knock on wood, cross your fingers, and 'the ward', I guess. He supposed it wouldn't do too good for him, diplomatically, to offend any local custom. So, he simply nodded.
"Alright. I'll keep that in mind." Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted movement. At the far end of the field, a procession was beginning. Flag carriers in green and white took the field, hoisting the Xenatian Union's banner high. There was a ripple in the crowd. McCoy observed as the Zenats raised their left hands and placed two fingers on their forehead, just between their eyebrows. He supposed this must be akin to the American right-hand-on-the-heart when the flag showed up. Looking to his left and his right to be sure that, yes, this was the proper custom, McCoy followed suit. When he received approving glances from both the group of girls and the group of polished turkeys, he relaxed. Good call.
Everybody returned to normal once the flag reached the middle of the field. McCoy found himself watching the fans rather than the pre-game hullaballoo for the proper reactions. Most everyone seemed at ease just then, so he directed his attention back to the field. Two more flag bearers had come out to the center of the field, one carrying a blue and gold flag, the other lofting purple and silver. The quieted crowd observed the new arrivals with rapt attention. As the banners stopped on either side of the Xenatian flag, McCoy felt an overwhelming sense of suspense.
Suddenly, both banners dropped about 45 degrees. Everything was still for a moment, and then, in perfect unison, the flags began bobbing. Quick, little bounces rippled the fabric. There was another ripple, this one in the crowd. McCoy watched as the stadium synched up with the action on the field. Heads dipped and bounced in perfect time with the flags. He wondered just how they could all keep the beat when he heard it: a tiny drumbeat that was growing progressively louder.
There. Across the stadium, he found the source of the noise. Approaching from underneath the opposite tower was a full marching band decked out in green and white. The drums were really booming now. Flags and head still bobbing, the stadium waited for the whole band to appear. McCoy watched keenly as the procession of alien instruments took the field. He was very interested in seeing what sort of sound the oddly twisted pieces of metal would produce.
All at once, the drums ceased. McCoy found the stadium had become perfectly still, the tension even higher than before. Then, from the center of the band, a single musician lifted their instrument. The soloist began. Nobody moved at first, not until the drums came in. Slowly, lightly, the flags began their dance again. This time, they moved to the music in a perfect mirror of the other. The soloist reached the last notes of their piece, and the band came to life.
As interesting as the music was, McCoy found he couldn't take his eyes away from the banners. In an obviously well rehearsed routine, the two flag bearers dipped and weaved around the stationary Xenatian flag. As the music rose, so did they. He was impressed. This kind of opening ceremony was something he'd seen far too little on Earth, save for something like the International Super Bowl, the World Cup Finals, or the Olympics.
The song neared its end. In one final burst of energy, the banners spun with alarming speed. As the final note rang across the stadium, both performers shot their flags into the air. The twin banners reached their final height and, with a flourish, fell spinning into the hands of their bearers.
The crowd erupted. It was a powerful roar unlike anything he'd heard in a long time. McCoy found himself clapping along with his fellow spectators. The applause turned into a beat as the band started another tune and marched with the banners off to the opposite corner of the stadium. There, in an empty section, the band took their places for the game.
"That was amazing." McCoy commented to his neighbors. The girl in the second seat nodded in agreement.
"It is a p-performance reserved for the- the Championship. No other like it is s-seen all season."
"Well then. I'd say it was a one-of-a-kind thing anyhow. When do the players take the field?"
"A-any moment now. They will come from either s-side and meet in the middle." She gestured to the appropriate ends of the field. "Then, they will toss the ceremonial spear for p-possession."
"Possession? Is this a ball game?"
The girl eyed him for a moment and then nudged her friend. The sitting girl switched her spot so the middle girl could be closer to McCoy.
"Have you never attended a Canish match?" This girl had what McCoy recognized as prescription glasses. She was observing him with casual interest, not slight suspicion, as the other girl had.
McCoy shook his head. "No, I'm just visitin'."
"Allow me to explain, before the game starts. Each team will have eight members on the field, four to run and four to defend. They will take the xalait down the field as far as they can before they are brought down. Each team will have three plants, or turns, before the other obtains possession. Whoever travels the most bavors will win."
"Alright. I think I've got the gist of it. About how far is a 'bavor'? I'm unfamiliar with that measurement."
"They are marked out on the field. See? Between those two lines is the distance. The carrier must travel an entire bavor for it to count."
McCoy nodded along with her explanation. The lines on the field looked to be about two meters apart. It would be a running game, like soccer, he supposed.
"Ok, then. Thanks for the crash course."
"You are most welcome." She glanced at him quickly then looked away. He raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything. After a moment, she turned back and addressed him again.
"I beg your pardon, but which team do you support? I wish not to offend you during the match, after you have been so generous to us."
McCoy cracked a half-smile. "Honestly, I don't have an opinion as of yet. I'd only just heard of Canish this morning when Jim gave me the tickets."
The girl smiled at him. "Jim? She is your wife?"
McCoy spluttered. "No, James T Kirk is my captain. He's Captain Kirk, captain of the Enterprise. I'm the Chief Medical Officer. Of the Enterprise."
The young Zenat flushed and stammered an apology. "Oh! Oh I am so sorry! I assumed you were here because you married a Zenat and immigrated… It isn't an uncommon practice… I thought you meant 'Jim' as a short name for 'Jimerti', a popular name for women in our province… I am so, so sorry!"
"That's uh… That's all right… Um… I didn't catch your name earlier, miss…?"
"I apologize again! I am Ric'Lhin. Here next to me is Briville," she gestured to the girl who had traded seats, "And in the blanket is Hal'Tomm." The other two girls murmured polite greetings.
"It's fine, Ric'Lhin. No hard feelings." McCoy tried to assuage the nervous girl's fears. She was entirely unaware that he had already begun plotting. Jim'll never hear the end of this. That's all I'll call 'im for the rest of the mission. He'll have Zenat heads spinnin' so fast, he won't know what to do with himself.
Somewhere on the field, a whistle blew. McCoy redirected his attention to the grassy expanse the teams were running out from either end: Trin'tae from the left, and Kellar from the right. The stadium broke out into frenzied cheering. McCoy noticed the other two girls had gotten to their feet and were now shouting encouragement in favor of the purple and grey team.
"Are y'all Kellar fans, then?" McCoy inquired.
"Oh y-yes!" Briville spoke up. "Hal is g-going steady with the… the Runner's Mate. That is why we h-had such good seats."
McCoy had no idea what a 'Runner's Mate' was. The opposing teams lined up to face each other on either side of the centerline. He observed that there were only twelve players on each team. From what Ric'Lhin had explained to him earlier, there would only be four people on the bench to fill in at any given time. Less, if there were any injuries. He decided to voice his question.
"So, what happens if somebody gets hurt? Is there a time-out? Does that kind of thing happen a lot?
Hal called to him over the noise of the crowd. "I have been to all of Lamart's matches. There are rarely injuries unless they are intentionally inflicted. The teams will continue to play until there are no players left, but this has never occurred, and will likely not. The Monitors eject players who harm others. To aid this, blocking of the legs is forbidden, and any player who attempts or does so will be penalized."
McCoy nodded, not even trying to shout over the roaring crowd. Both teams had arrived at the center of the field. A Monitor in green and red was conversing with the team captains. From up close, McCoy could recognize both Norrich and Ca'Ral. They saluted each other in the Xenatian manner and then the monitor spoke some more.
McCoy supposed this spear flipping was basically a Xenatian coin-toss. That seemed to be how it played out. Each captain chose an end, and then the spear was airborne. It plunged back to the grass and stood fixed. Half the stadium went wild at the outcome, but McCoy couldn't tell one way or another what had happened. The trimmed boars to his right seemed awfully pleased, while the girls to his left looked disappointed.
"Trin'tae got the toss?"
"Indeed."
"Well then."
The teams took off down to the navy end and lined up along the back line. A Monitor appeared bearing the xalait, a red stick with some sort of readout display in the center, and handed it to a Trin'tae positioned in front of Ca'Ral. McCoy watched as the teams lined up to begin the run. The crowd was still bubbling, but at a lower volume than before. The tension was high enough to quiet some of the less-intoxicated fans.
The Monitor stepped back from the huddles. He raised his arm, and brought a whistle to his lips.
The run was on.
Faster than he could think, McCoy watched the young Trin'taes scramble into a defensive position while Ca'Ral took the xalait. He spun around some Kellar defenders and made his way down several yards before he was tackled to the ground. McCoy checked the Monitor's body language for any indication of a foul, but found none. Must've been a clean hit. I guess the legs are the only things really off limits.
The next two plants came and went and Trin'tae racked up 19 bavors before surrendering the xalait to the Kellar team. McCoy's companions were settling back down after a semi-organized cheer. He watched Briville and Ric'Lhin fish through one of the backpacks for snacks. Hal's attention was fixed on the field. She was biting her lip, but otherwise sat stock-still.
"Something wrong?" McCoy leaned forward to ask around the young lady's friends.
Hal turned to him after a moment. "No, sir. Not really. I am just concerned for Lamart." She pointed down the field to Trin'tae's huddle. "They have put in Reegan, who plays the Hunter-Chaser, and she is notorious for injuring other players and not getting caught."
McCoy tried and failed to find the lady in question. Trin'tae and Kellar both had female team members, but not so few as to make this Reegan readily identifiable.
"Which one's she? The one with the dark hair, or the one off to the side talking to the Monitor?"
"The dark hair. The one talking to the Monitor is not in play." Ric'Lhin fielded this question. "You can tell because she is not wearing the white armband. Only active team members wear white bands. The ones waiting will wear green, as she is."
With the clarification, McCoy found his understanding of team dynamics had improved. He could see the bench, but between plays, the teams became confused. Not anymore.
"And which one's Lamart?"
Hal'Tomm extended her arm from the blanket again. "He is there, speaking with the Captain."
McCoy located the Captain, and then Lamart. Hal's young man was well built, tall, and fairly good-looking. Lamart was engaged in a serious conversation, which McCoy had no hope of hearing over the distance and crowd. The Monitor retook the field and raised his white flag, pointing it in the direction that the Kellars were about to run. He then brought the xalait to Norrich himself, who was positioned between Lamart and a young lady with bright green hair.
The whistle.
Captain Norrich immediately vaulted over the line of incoming Trin'taes. Lamart was right on his heels, dodging between Reegan and another navy defender. The green-haired girl seemed to be locked in a struggle between two different members of the Trin'tae team. Everything was chaos until he saw them- Norrich and Lamart were headed down the field towards them.
His companions were on their feet in an instant. The crowd was roaring. The two Kellars were out way ahead of any pursuit.
"Yes! Go! Go, go, go, go, GO!" In her excitement, Hal shed her blanket completely. McCoy found himself sucked in to the action. The two boys were running side by side, gunning it for all they were worth. Suddenly, a runner from the pursuit lurched forward. It wasn't Reegan or anyone McCoy recognized, but the Trin'tae was fast. The distance closed quickly and Lamart moved to block the tackle. This Trin'tae was light on his feet. He sidestepped Lamart and dove straight into Norrich's back.
The Trin'tae fans went ballistic. High fives and chest-bumps were exchanged all around. Hal collected her blanket while Ric'Lhin and Briville had a huddled conference.
"That's just the first 'plant' of three, right?"
"Y-Yes sir." Briville answered. "We s-still have two more p-plants before the exchange. The C-c-captain made it far before they got him."
"There's the ruling on the field!" Ric'Lhin pointed at the display board. McCoy hadn't really noticed the monstrosity since he was sitting so close to the action. The display board was placed in one corner of the stadium, showing a replay of the tackle as well as the current score.
"19 Trin'tae to… That one plant was 13 bavors?" McCoy was incredulous. He was still trying to come to terms with the rules of the game, but that seemed like an awful lot.
"That is why they call him 'The Lightning'." Ric'Lhin commented. "Norrich is arguably the fastest player in the game."
"Oh. I see. So he gets the xalait a lot?"
Ric'Lhin shook her head. "The xalait is distributed based on strategy. From the time the xalait is placed in a team's possession until the whistle, it can go to any player the team wishes, so long as it does not touch the ground or pass over the starting line. The Trin'tae team will be expecting the xalait to go to Norrich or our other Runner-Chaser… Jimerti."
"I see." McCoy kept his gaze directed at the field. The Kellars were lining up to run again. The Monitor passed over the xalait. Now that he understood what was happening, McCoy could identify the frantic passing of the rod. The Kellars made another good run, but not nearly so long as the last one. By the end of the turn, the score was Trin'tae: 19, Kellar: 24.
Things continued in this fashion for some time. The Trin'taes would have a good run; the Kellars would return with a strategic play, the score would remain very close. At one point, the Monitor raised a green flag to call for a pause. One of the Kellars, the girl with the green hair, was down on the field. McCoy stood at the railing, doctor's instincts kicking in. He wanted to get out there himself. It was only a few yards to the spot, so he could see exactly what was happening.
Once the medical staff took the field, he knew something was really wrong. The Kellar player was lying on the field, clutching her leg and trying to stay very still. Reegan of the Trin'tae was standing off to the side. Analyzing the situation was a cakewalk. He'd lived long enough and seen enough patients to know when a thing was legitimate. The girl lying on the field wasn't rolling around or making a scene- she was trying very hard to minimize painful movement. This is a real injury. Not one of those dives you'd see so often in Earth sports. Reegan was looking anywhere but toward the injured player. Her stance rang of forced disinterest. Now, I'm not one to make a snap judgment about a person's character, but if somebody'd been injured right in front of me, I'd at least go over to see if they were all right. If she didn't cause the injury, I'd bet dollars to donuts she saw who did.
The Medical Staff took stock of the player's injury and started to call for a stretcher. To McCoy's surprise, the Kellar waved them off.
"What's she doing? If she's hurt so bad, why doesn't she just go with them?"
His companions were all standing, faces very solemn. Not taking her eyes off the field, Ric'Lhin answered him. "She is going to exit the field of play boldly. It will be a gesture of strength as well as steadfastness. Jimerti knows what happened regardless of whether or not the Monitor makes a statement. She will show Reegan that she is not so easily crippled."
So. That's Jimerti. Another point stuck out about the statement. "You think Reegan caused her injury?"
Ric'Lhin nodded and Briville chimed in. "I saw the tackle. It was much too… it was…"
"It was the High Guard maneuver." Hal'Tomm clarified. "The hit was higher than a Dive Tackle, but 'too high' for a foul to be issued. Reegan made sure her legs would get in Jimerti's way. With her experience… a tackle is guaranteed. An injury is very likely as well."
McCoy found himself losing respect for this Reegan. Usually, he didn't like to take sides in a rivalry unless he had a good personal reason for doing so. Injuring other players is despicable, regardless of what sport or who you're playing.
With the help of the Medical Staff, Jimerti hobbled off the field. The crowd was on its feet, and most of the fans had a hand out in some sort of gesture of respect. Everyone's attention was on the field. To McCoy's surprise, the Monitor raised his green flag again, and singled out Reegan. He's called the foul. And here I thought she'd get away with it.
Several of the Trin'tae fans started shouting at the field, angry at the call. The greased snakes next to him were grumbling to each other as well. Whatever they thought, Reegan was still ejected from the game. The Monitor brought out the white flag again, and the Kellars took back the xalait for their last plant of the turn.
They finished their turn and the Trin'taes lined back up to play. During the second plant, a large group of Kellars moved to tackle the runner. The Monitor called for a pause and started pulling the teams apart, when McCoy noticed one of the Trin'taes was still on the ground. The young man hadn't moved since the play had ended, and one of his teammates was calling for something. Assistance? The Monitor stopped what he was doing and jogged over to the injured player. McCoy squinted to try and get a look at the scene. No one appeared to be calling for a foul, but it looked more serious than when the Kellar player had taken a bad hit earlier.
The medical team took the field again, this time with a stretcher. McCoy's heart sank. There was no illegal move, but this kid was hurt bad. It didn't look like he'd be finishing out the game. Not by any stretch of the imagination.
It was a long moment before the medics loaded the kid up and took him off the field. By now, most of the Trin'tae fans had their hands out, palm up, like they had done when Jimerti left the field. McCoy held his hand out the same way. Poor kid.
One of the men next to him nudged his shoulder. McCoy was surprised by any sort of attention from these fellers, so he turned.
"You are quick to change sides, sir. Have you come to your senses about the superior team?" The man had a snide grin on his face. Ever since he'd finagled his way through the row, McCoy had been getting strange looks from this group. Whether it was because of his seats, his state of dress, or his manners, something about him rubbed the group the wrong way. But, this was different. The Doctor knew mockery when he saw it.
McCoy scowled. The stadium had quieted, and he lowered his own voice out of respect. "It's a terrible thing when a player gets injured, regardless of what team they play for. I don't think you have to be a fan of either side to recognize that."
He turned back to the field and elected to ignore that group for the duration of his visit. The medical team had taken the Trin'tae player off for treatment, and the game was getting back into swing.
After a while, the Monitor blew his whistle again. Both teams came away from the field and returned to their respective benches.
"I guess that's the half." McCoy commented. It seemed too quiet for it to be the end of the game anyhow. He still hadn't figured out how to read the scoreboard with any accuracy. Briville and Ric'Lhin had switched seats again and the slightly nervous young lady had been helping him along.
Everyone was settling back into their seats. Some members of the crowd had started off for snacks, but most people had decided to stay put. McCoy wondered what kind of half-time celebrations went on during a Canish match. Or the championship match for that matter. If it'll be anything like the opening ceremony, I'm surprised people are willing to miss it.
He decided to satisfy his curiosity. "Miss Briville," He addressed the girl next to him with a smile. She seemed like the shy sort, so he'd been very easy with conversation. "Does anything happen between halves? Any kind of event?"
Briville nodded. "Yes. Yes, there's a… a p-performance by the band ag-again. It should be spec-spectacular! Last year's was v-very good." She ducked her head and turned back to Ric'Lhin. The girls traded seats once more, and McCoy was beginning to wonder if he'd done something wrong.
Ric'Lhin saw his expression and looked back over her shoulder at her friends, who were now deep in conversation. "Don't mind Briv." She started. "She gets very anxious when meeting new people. I have a feeling she is just nervous you will think down on her for being so flustered."
McCoy felt his eyebrows shoot up. "Why, I think nothing of the kind! You're all very polite young ladies, nothing wrong with any of y'all. Honestly, I'm glad y'all came to sit with me. I'd be all on my own for the whole game, and worse, nobody'd be able to explain it to me!"
Ric'Lhin laughed and pulled up the collar of her jacket. It was getting chillier as the evening wore on. Xenatia's sun was going down and they were all starting to feel it.
"It is us who should be thanking you. Having to sit next to those drunkards…" She sighed. "Hal'Tomm would have started a fight. I don't know if we would have lasted the whole game."
"Hal'Tomm would? Really? I didn't think she was the type."
Two heads turned at his less-than-quiet observation. "I am not the type to what?"
Completely swaddled in her blanket, Hal'Tomm was staring at him. Her expression was blank. McCoy thought that was all well and good until he noticed the glare boring straight into him.
"Doctor McCoy did not think you the type to start fights, Hal." Ric'Lhin grinned.
Hal'Tomm's face didn't change, but the look in her eyes softened. "You are very wrong, Doctor McCoy. If one of those Trin'tae fans started speaking badly about Lamart, I would have a hard time not giving them my opinion."
He couldn't help but chuckle. These were sports fans through-and-through. "Well, I'd hate to see y'all getting in trouble. Let's try to keep the brawling to a minimum. It'd be a shame if somebody started a riot." The joking tone in his voice made the girls smile. Things are going well. I'm glad Jim gave me the tickets. As much as I'm going to tease him later for missing out, I'm happy to have had the opportunity.
A hush fell across the stadium. McCoy scanned the crowd, then turned back to the field. The band was coming out again. He leaned back in his seat. This was turning out to be an excellent evening.
"Run, kid! You're almost there! Don't give in yet!"
McCoy was screaming along with the rest of the stadium. In the last minutes of the match, Trin'tae was leading Kellar by only 5 bavors- the score being 237 to 232.
Every player on the field was giving it their all. Most seemed exhausted after a grueling 3-hour match, but every time the white flag went up and the whistle blew they were at it again. There had been three more injuries since the half: two from the Kellar team, one from the Trin'taes. The Monitor judged the most recent Kellar injury to be a foul, while the one before had honestly just been an accident. McCoy still felt bad for the kids- players , he reminded himself; they weren't children- but the field medics seemed to have everything in hand.
Right now, though, it was a mad race to victory. This was the last set of the game, and it went to Kellar since Trin'tae got to run first. One plant in, and the Kellar runner hadn't even made the whole bavor, which meant they were back to the line of scrimmage. No gain.
All three of McCoy's companions were on their feet, as was the rest of the stadium. The air buzzed with the excitement of tens of thousands of people. Everyone was locked in to the action. All eyes watched as the teams lined up for Kellar's second run. The white flag went up. The tension skyrocketed.
At the sound of the whistle, both teams collided. The crowd held its collective breath as the struggle on the field seemed matched- neither side gaining or losing an inch. The Monitor stepped forward, looking into the fray for a downed player or the xalait.
Somebody shot out of the mix.
The Kellar fans went wild as they recognized their man. Norrich made it three bavors before going down under three Trin'taes. The Hunter Chasers backed off quickly, and for a moment McCoy was nervous that the young captain had been injured. However, Norrich pushed himself up off the ground and began speaking with his team.
"This is the last plant." Ric'Lhin commented. It was on everybody's mind: The last play of the game. How would it all end? Kellar had 3 bavors to victory, because in Canish a win was a win. It wasn't like some sports where you had to win by two points or more. No, if Kellar made 3 bavors, they'd take it.
The huddle dispersed as the Monitor moved forward again. There was a buzz rippling through the audience. Everyone was trying to be quiet, to hear everything going on down there, but the excitement had them hard-pressed to be still.
Both teams lined back up. Everything hushed, and then the Monitor dropped the flag. The crowd lost control. In an instant, the air was filled with a hundred thousand voices. McCoy could see it well. Bodies slammed into each other and fought for ground, players pushed and shoved for every inch. He found Lamart, the Runner's Mate, in the mass.
And then, the stadium exploded. Norrich, followed closely by Ca'Ral himself, found an opening in the line and was running for it. The whole crowd was screaming. Everyone watched, eyes fixed on the field, as Ca'Ral closed in. Closer. Closer. The Trin'tae Captain lunged and brought down his rival with a hard tackle. The pair rolled a bit and stopped. McCoy could see the condition on the field. They'd stopped not too far from his spot. Legal tackle, maintained possession, nobody looked like they were hurt…
The Monitor took the field, and neither player moved. Not one of them moved an inch. McCoy was almost afraid to ask why everyone was so silent, and what possible reason the two captains could have for staying so stock-still.
Then, he saw the painted line. Oh. Contest of distance.
It didn't take much more deduction when some officials came onto the field with the Monitor. Neither captain had made to move, but they watched the officials' progress eagerly.
The Monitor had Ca'Ral get up, while the other two watched Norrich closely. Ca'Ral looked like he wanted to, well, McCoy wasn't sure what, but he'd bet dollars to donuts it was the same old thing- in a close contest you'd do anything to give your team the upper hand.
This Ca'Ral was pretty sharp, and McCoy respected him as a player. The Trin'tae Captain hadn't done anything dirty, hadn't gone for an illegal tackle. He may have a little bit of an ego from what McCoy could glean from the programs and the way Ca'Ral carried himself off the field, but he was no cheater.
Finally the Monitors came to an agreement. The head man wired the field with the measurements, as he'd been doing before. Every head in the stadium swiveled toward the scoreboard.
Trin'tae 237. Kellar 238!
McCoy found himself caught up in the excitement once again. He whooped and hollered along with the rest of them. Ric'Lhin offered him a high five, along with Hal'Tomm and even Briville. Double high-fives seemed to be big with the Zenats. McCoy could see people all over the stadium celebrating with this and other gestures. Well, the Kellar fans were. Most of the Trin'tae supporters in navy and gold seemed dejected. It was reasonable, having come so close and losing by such a narrow margin. McCoy felt sorry for them. But, regardless of who won, that had to be one of the most exciting sporting events he'd ever been to.
On the field, the celebration was even bigger. The band had taken to their feet, and the peppy anthem from earlier was going full blast. Players high-fived and hugged each other. Some were engaging in complex victory dances. After a little while of this, most had gone to congratulate the other team. Hand shakes were given all around. McCoy felt proud to see that most of the players seemed genuine. There looked to be no real ill will between the rivals. They'd all played a good game. Somebody had to lose.
"Here come the officials with the chalice!" Hal'Tomm pointed toward the closer end of the field, where a procession was making its way toward the celebrating team. The group was skirting the edge of the field, parading a large gold cup with quite a bit of fanfare. McCoy craned his neck to watch the approach. A pair of officials carried the chalice, which was nearly full with some purple liquid. Behind them, there was a parade of what McCoy assumed must be superintendents, managers, and the like.
The cupbearers looked to be having a hard time staying in step. One of them stumbled, and some of the purple stuff splashed out. McCoy found himself following the liquid's progress instead of the cup's. The dribble landed on the ground and the procession continued.
He'd almost looked away before the spot started fizzling. There was only a whiff of smoke, but it was there for a moment before the rest of the procession passed over the spot. That was a bad sign.
"Say, what's in that there chalice anyhow? Wine?"
It was Ric'Lhin that answered. "No alcohol, sir, only distilled mineral water from the Purple Lakes of Tesceaue."
"Mineral water… Just mineral water? Mineral water doesn't smoke when it comes into contact with organic matter!" Something was up here, and McCoy didn't like it.
"Doctor?" Hal'Tomm and Briville were looking at him now. The procession was approaching their section.
"Do the cup bearers usually wear gloves?" He noticed the very non-ceremonial gloves the two gentlemen were wearing. They looked too heavy-duty for an occasion like this.
Hal'Tomm squinted at the procession. "Not those kind. They have never worn that sort of glove. Usually, the cupbearers wear white gloves for handling the chalice. This is highly unusual."
The cup was passing directly in front of their seats. "Tell me, quickly, what do they do with it- with the mineral water?"
"Why, the w-winning team drinks it. Beg-beginning with the captain, they-" Briville gasped.
McCoy had heard enough. Call it paranoia from working in space for so long, or the effect of Jim Kirk's bad influence.
He looked around, trying frantically to find some solution. The procession turned. They were headed straight for the players.
He had to act quickly. McCoy searched his pockets, finding only his communicator and his ticket. He looked back toward the field. There was no time.
Praying that his muscles hadn't forgotten the formula for a good pitch, McCoy took the communicator in his hand, wound up, and threw it. He watched the box arc into the air, before dropping swiftly. Instead of hitting the chalice like he'd planned, the communicator smacked into one of the cupbearer's arms. It hit hard enough for the man to lose his hold.
Before the cup hit the ground, McCoy was grabbed by the collar and spun around. It was on of those stuffed shirts. He looked awfully mad.
"Do you have any idea what you've just done?" He snarled, looking for the entire world like he was going to kill the doctor on the spot. McCoy could hear the crowd getting restless. This was an outrage. If this weasel didn't kill him, he'd have about a hundred thousand other candidates for homicide.
Suddenly, his attacker disappeared under a shroud. Hal'Tomm had tossed her blanket over his head. Two smaller pairs of hands grabbed at his arms and pushed him forward.
"Run!"
They didn't have to tell him twice.
By now, the stadium was roaring. People were demanding to know what had happened. It seemed like a breach of tradition or an insult more than any physical damage, but McCoy didn't want to stick around to see how Zenats handled wounded pride.
It was a miracle that they made it to the end of the row. The crowd hadn't exactly put two and two together, and none of the main aisles were crowded. No one was leaving the game in the last few minutes.
The little group made it all the way to the doorway before there was a shout from the first row.
"Someone stop that man!"
"Time to go, ladies!" McCoy didn't bother to look back as he and the girls took off down the stairs and out into the stadium foyer. A couple security personnel gave them odd looks, but no one spared them a second glance until the first members of the pursuit came barreling out of the door.
They hit the turnstiles running. Hal'Tomm led the way. Ric'Lhin and Briville flanked McCoy on either side. It wasn't long before they'd cleared the stadium entirely and started moving toward the main streets. Of course, they weren't in the clear yet.
Whatever the crowd believed had happened, they believed it was important enough to warrant some action. As they ran, McCoy looked over his shoulder to find a rapidly approaching crowd on their heels.
"Ladies, I don't mean to alarm you, but they're coming in hot!"
Hal looked back. "Keep running! We'll lose them downtown!"
A large section of the stadium had started pouring out one of the exits, but the atmosphere on the field was mainly confused. The ceremonial trophy had been knocked over, but it was more rude than actually harmful.
The Kellar team had finished up their handshakes with the Trin'taes and they were congratulating each other while some security personnel tried to figure out just what had motivated the disturbance.
"He had no reason."
"An agitator, perhaps?"
"He's no Zenat, that's for sure."
The huddle of officials examined a PADD, playing back the footage several times for analysis.
"Who are those girls with him?"
"I don't recognize them. Perhaps they're strangers."
"Well, we've detained the gentlemen for questioning, and they seem more than willing to comply. They say he was unruly throughout the game."
"He didn't act up anytime before then. Bectal has been looking over the footage."
The jury was interrupted by a shout from one of the players. One of the Trin'taes was yelling and pointing at the fallen trophy. The security huddle turned.
A large patch of the grass around the trophy had withered completely.
"The mineral water…?"
"Mineral water doesn't kill grass."
"Then the chalice has been tampered with."
The huddle turned to the Kellar team. Norrich had gone deathly pale.
"He wasn't an agitator… This man just prevented a murder."
Hal had punched out one of the faster sports fans when he managed to catch up and grab McCoy. They didn't have time to stop, not with an angry mob out on their heels.
It was an interesting study in mob mentality. How long before the truth got out? How would it effect the attitude of the crowd, and how quickly? They weren't going to pause and ponder, though. It was a flat-out sprint the whole way, but it looked like they were going to be overtaken any minute. "Any ideas, Ladies? Looks like we're runnin' outta road here!"
McCoy had stopped checking over his shoulder, lest he waste any more precious energy. Odds were, the crowd pouring out of the stadium would head them off sooner or later. Hopefully not sooner.
Hal and Ric'Lhin were acting as the rearguard while he followed Briville down the winding alleyway.
"Only o-one! It is… You w-will not l-like it!" Briville, still hurrying along, pointed out a large billboard a couple blocks ahead. It was well lit, and advertising some sort of energy drink. Most of the text was indecipherable, but McCoy got the gist. More importantly, he saw the ladder.
Ric'Lhin took the lead. "Good thinking, Briv! I'll operate the controls. The rest of you, climb!"
She didn't need to tell any of them twice. As soon as they were close enough, Briville started ascending. The ladder appeared to be somewhat flexible everywhere except for the rungs. McCoy, not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, got on next. He could hear Hal and Ric'Lhin arguing about something before the ladder shuddered violently and started swinging back and forth. He spared a glance down just in time to see Hal kicking an angry sports fan off the ladder, which was now ascending on its own power. McCoy looked up. The billboard platform was getting closer through no actions of his own.
"Ladies?"
Briville was up and onto the shelf in another moment, and McCoy found himself forced to follow. Hal and Ric'Lhin were right behind him. Soon, the four of them were huddled up on the platform, ladder curled and stowed nearby. The spectators that had chosen to follow had caught up with them. McCoy chanced a look down at the ground.
"Yep. It's an angry mob."
A bottle of dubious origin came sailing up towards them, only to lose momentum and go crashing back toward the ground. It was close enough to elicit a yelp from Briville. She latched herself onto McCoy's side.
"It's alright, Briv, they can't throw stuff this high." Ric'Lhin seemed to be pretty sure about this, even though that fact wasn't stopping the crowd from trying.
"Just how do you know about all this? Don't tell me mechanical ladders are so commonplace on Xenatia?" McCoy supposed it'd hardly be worth risking a direct hit, so he made a tactical retreat to the sign front with Briville.
"No." Ric'Lhin and Hal followed them. Better safe than sorry. "My mother does maintenance on most of the signs in the city. She is the best there is."
"What a comfort." The crowd seemed irritated that they couldn't do anything from the ground, so they resorted to hurling insults. McCoy didn't quite catch what was being said, but at one point, Ric'Lhin had to hold Hal'Tomm back from the ledge. It seemed like the young lady was ready to dive into the fray and give the hecklers a piece of her mind, regardless of the height involved.
After a few more minutes of this, what looked like a police car appeared at the edge of the crowd, and began to work its way to the base of the billboard support. McCoy could see the officers exit the vehicle from between the little slits in the grate they were sitting on. The pair of them on the ground examined the ladder controls- smashed by Hal more likely than not- before returning to their vehicle for some reason or another.
It became clear rather quickly.
"Citizens, please step back from the support pole. We have this in hand."
The voice on the megaphone was contradicted at once. The noise was almost deafening. McCoy was starting to worry for the officers' safety, and Briville had his jacket in an unwavering grip. The crowd was so riled up, it was starting to give Ric'Lhin pause as well. She huddled up against McCoy's other side. He'd accept cold as an excuse, but this was downright terrifying to boot. This mob was out for blood.
Hal joined them by the sign front, but did not participate in the huddle. Ric'Lhin gave her a look.
"What?" Hal's face remained expressionless, but there was something in her eyes… "My righteous fury is sufficient to keep me warm."
McCoy didn't quite know what to do with that one. Hal's face betrayed no humor, and yet- well, he couldn't be sure.
Briville snorted, and soon dissolved in a fit of giggles. Ric'Lhin followed close behind, and McCoy couldn't help himself either. Soon, they were all laughing it up.
"Oh… don't be…" Ric'Lhin struggled through her breathing, "… so high and mighty about it!"
That sent another wave of guffaws through the huddle. Briville was hiccupping by this point, but she had a quip of her own. "Y-yes… It would be a shame if – if it got the better of you!"
That one went over McCoy's head, but it seemed to crack the girls up even more. Must be some Xenatian joke. Still, their laughter was contagious, and he couldn't help but join in.
The hilarity was so great, that they hardly noticed the crowd had quieted down until the amplified voice addressed them directly.
"Citizens! Citizens, can you hear me? Are there any of you injured?"
The laughter died down. "Was that directed at us?" McCoy glanced around. It didn't look like the crowd was so bloodthirsty. The flying bottles had stopped.
Hal scooted forward and took a look at the scene below.
"Citizens?" The call was definitely addressed to them. No one in the crowd was poised to respond. In fact, everyone's attention was focused on the billboard.
"Uh… It is for us…" Hal glanced back at the group. For once, it looked like she was all out of ideas.
Gently, McCoy extricated himself from Briville's grip. "I'll handle this. It'll be my head on the chopping block, in the end…
He made his way forward in a sort of crouch. This billboard was sturdy, but a strong enough gust of wind could throw him off balance. McCoy was no chicken about heights, but he wasn't about to take any fool chances with his life.
"Hello?" He cupped a hand to his mouth and addressed the officers. "How's the weather down there?"
A ripple of laughter spread through the closest members of the mob. Time to catch some flies. "It's pretty darn cold and windy up here."
"You are the offworlder, yes?" The officer spoke through what passed for a megaphone again. "And the citizens?"
"They're all up here, and fine. No injuries. I'm a doctor, y'see."
There was some commotion on the ground, and the two officers conferred. "I see." McCoy was being addressed again. "Doctor, I must ask where you hail from."
McCoy nodded. "Earth, or more recently, the USS Enterprise." That got the crowd's attention. "There's somethin' we oughta discuss about all this."
The officer cut him off. "That is the heart of the matter, yes? I have received the reports. We owe you a debt of gratitude, Doctor of the USS Enterprise."
When the crowd didn't react, McCoy knew for sure he missed something. "How's that? I missed a bit in there."
"We just received the call." The megaphone crackled, but the message came through clear enough. "The situation has been explained." Well, that solved the mystery of the docile crowd. Must've caught 'em while we were bustin' our guts.
"Oh. Well, uh, thank you."
"No, Doctor, we should be thanking you."
McCoy felt himself go a little warm under the collar. The girls had ventured a little closer to the ledge. "Gee, it's nothing. Just doin' my duty, uh, officer." McCoy glanced around.
"Say… Would you gentlemen mind doing me a favor?"
Captain James T Kirk was pacing back and forth in the transporter room. He'd just been made aware of a developing crisis down on the planet. A crisis that revolved around his CMO and dear friend.
"Bones' got himself into some hot water again."
Spock watched patiently as his Captain made a commendable effort to wear a track in the floor. Jim had been in this agitated state ever since they'd received the communication from the Xenatian High Council. It seemed like nothing went on without their knowledge. That, or Bones had started some sort of international incident.
Jim hoped and prayed it wasn't the latter, but standing evidence…
The console beeped. They had coordinates.
"Mister Kyle, get us down there, pronto!" Jim practically leapt onto the pad. He was followed by a less enthusiastic Spock.
"Yes sir, Captain." Kyle got to work on the controls. A second later, Jim felt the beam lock in and envelop him. After a moment more, he was staring up at the Xenatian night sky.
They'd landed in a courtyard in the city, on the outskirts of what looked like a concert mob. So thick were the people packed in the square, that Jim feared they'd never get to the middle of this. Then, he saw what all the fuss was about.
"Come on, Spock! Start rubbing shoulders."
"Captain-" Spock's protest fell on deaf ears. Jim was already pushing his way through the mob. He got several complaints, but some people moved right out of his way.
The closer they got to the center of this madness, the odder the people around them became. Most seemed in a very good mood. Some were even laughing.
"-And she said to me, 'I'll have this dance, sonny, whether you want it or not'. So I looked her back in the eye and said 'My Captain will surely oblige you'."
Another ripple of laughter. Jim craned his neck far enough to see the tousled brown head jutting out over the edge of the platform.
"Bones!"
"Jim!"
The noise died down, and he got quite a few strange looks. Total strangers were giving him knowing glances, or even odder looks he wasn't prepared to comprehend just then. Jim pushed his way through the last of them, with Spock right on his heels. There were two police officers in the center of the chaos. They seemed to be in control of the situation. Well, they were in the middle of it, at least.
"What's going on here?"
"So you're his Jim, eh? I was expecting someone prettier…" The statement caused the other officer to snort. Whatever the joke was, Jim wasn't laughing.
"Jim! Jim, how's the weather down there?"
Bones seemed to have quite the effect on the crowd. Whatever he'd been telling them, they were eating it up.
"Just fine, Bones. If you're having such a good time, we could always leave you to it…"
He couldn't see Bones' face fall, but the tone of voice said it all. "Aw, Jim…" His own expression changed when he saw three smaller heads pop into view.
"You wouldn't let these poor girls suffer for a little somethin' like that?"
Jim sighed. "Quite a mess you've gotten yourself into, Bones."
"You're tellin' me, Jim."
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Jim addressed the officers again. "Is the… fire department on the way? Someone who could get them down?"
The second officer nodded. "We've called for backup. The emergency truck will be here momentarily."
"Thank you." Jim turned his attention back to the billboard. "How'd you get up there anyway, Bones? I thought you were a doctor, not a pigeon!"
This got a laugh from the crowd. Jim thought he could hear Bones chuckling right along with them.
"I'll tell you when I've got two feet on the ground. But, I've gotta know, are they gonna flay me before I get there?"
The resounding negative that rose up from the crowd startled Jim into turning. Whatever the mob was here for, it seemed to center around McCoy in more ways than one.
"You'll get the full story sooner or later, Jim-boy. I'll tell you when I'm not at risk of losin' my voice."
"Oh, heaven forbid, Bones! The rest of us might finally catch a break!"
Their rapport was high comedy to the Zenats. If they kept this up, they'd have the whole population in stitches before morning. It seemed to Jim that these were truly easy-going people, and whatever had happened had to be some sort of wild misunderstanding. That, or a mass hallucination.
It wasn't much longer before the emergency vehicle arrived. The monstrosity looked like an old-Earth cherry picker, but infinitely more stable. Jim watched as McCoy helped each girl into the cab, before waiting his turn. The truck moved at an almost unbearable rate, but Jim had learned nothing if not patience from his time in Starfleet. Especially where the Admiralty was concerned. But, the glorified cherry-picker wasn't nearly as bad as a bureaucrat. In a matter of minutes, the Doctor was back on the ground.
A cheer erupted from the mob, and those close enough started clapping Bones on the shoulders. Jim grabbed his CMO and steered him towards the police car. Relative safety.
"This is like the eye of the storm, Jim." McCoy croaked, already a little hoarse from shouting.
"Could be worse. From what I've heard, they were out for your blood initially."
McCoy grimaced. "About that…" He cleared his throat lightly, which devolved into a light coughing fit. Jim kept a steady hand on his friend's shoulder, but Bones waved him off.
"I'm just winded, 's all. We had to tear outta there somethin' awful to beat the crowd. If we hadn't'a had that headstart…" McCoy pulled a face. It seemed to Jim like the Doctor had put most of the ordeal behind him, but that look told him that the danger had been very real.
Before he could inquire further into the matter, McCoy was being mobbed in an altogether different manner. The three girls from on top of the platform were all yelling at once. Whatever they were trying to say had McCoy's attention alright. One of them broke off from the huddle and disappeared into the mob, only to return moments later with… Hang on. Why would half a sports team need a police escort?
"Bones…"
The Doctor patted Jim's shoulder lightly. "You're about to get that explanation, Jim-boy."
The frontrunner in the pack wasn't McCoy's acquaintance or any of the officers. One of the young people- an athlete- hurried forward first. Jim scarcely noticed the crowd's reaction. The relative volume in the area had increased.
"Sir!" The young man addressed McCoy and held out his hand. "I would like to thank you most sincerely. I would have died had you not intervened."
Jim was in a fog, but he held his tongue while Bones took the young man's hand.
"I'm a Starfleet officer, son." McCoy croaked. "Just doin' my job."
"Not at all, sir!" The young athlete was adamant. "I have been informed of the whole situation! You not only saved my life, but you also helped aid the capture of a notorious ring of gamblers! How you, a newcomer to Xenatia, managed to work out the ringleaders' intentions…" His face lit up with a mix of confusion and awe. "My fellow competitors and I owe you a debt we cannot repay."
"Well, I-"
Spock chose this moment to pry himself from the crowd. They hadn't taken to him like they had to Jim, for whatever reason. That, or the Vulcan had gotten himself lost.
"Spock!" Jim called. Several heads turned. "Over here!"
Cool as a cucumber, the First Officer strode forward as if he had not just finished extricating his torso from between a pair of tightly packed shoulders. The crowd regarded him with new interest. "Captain." He responded. "Doctor. Are you well?"
"Oh, just fine, Spock." McCoy rubbed his throat. "Just a little hoarse from entertainin' this here crowd." He turned back to the young athlete. Jim wanted to see how this was going to work out.
"I'm glad you and the others are alright. You played a good game out there, Captain."
Jim half-expected this to be directed at him, but the young man took it with a shake of his head.
"We all played our best. I'm sure if Ca'Ral was here and not giving his statement to the police, he would say the same."
McCoy smiled. He saw that the other athletes- Kellar and Trin'tae alike- were in agreement. Everyone who could come came, including Hal'Tomm and one very happy looking Runner's Mate. Ah well. It was getting late. McCoy decided he'd leave the kids to their fun.
"Jim, let's go. I'm beat." McCoy coughed again. His throat hurt something awful and he was desperate for a good night's sleep.
"Ok, Bones. Whatever you say." Now the athletes were looking at him funny. As they wandered back through the crowd, Jim thought he'd pose the question. "What's so funny about me? Something I said? My hair?"
That got a real laugh out of the Doctor. "Ooh, boy, I'll tell you later Jim. You won't want to be on Xenatia for that one."
Jim sighed. Hot water indeed.
A/N: I'm cleaning out some old material from my folder.
Based on several times I've been to a Fightin' Texas Aggie Sporting event. One time, we went and held up 'D' 'Fence' signs at a swim meet. Good times.