McCoy stepped away from the surgical table with a deep breath, nodding to the surgical resident. "Go ahead and close."
"Yes, Doctor." Ben Lyke, still covered in the red blood of the patient, moved to comply. He was a second-year surgical resident, assigned to the outpost by a Federation medical alliance. He had only two more months on his tour and he was to return to Earth.
Poor bastard, McCoy thought as he headed for the changing room. Hell of a way to get experience. Tossing his soiled surgical coverings into the hazardous bin, he stood in only the loose-fitting scrubs.
"That's the last of them, Doctor."
He turned at the sound of the soft voice. The young nurse stood just outside the scrub room. She was tall with blond hair and soft blue eyes and couldn't have been more than twenty-five. "Thank you, Christine …."
"Chapel."
He nodded, studying her for a moment. "You've been here since the beginning of the outpost?"
"No. I only arrived a little over a year ago." She looked around the surgical room. "They're good people."
And most of them were dead. It hadn't been easy for the medical staff trying to keep the wounded alive with no supplies, waiting for help to arrive.
"Get some sleep. You earned it." He stepped forward and the doors opened automatically, allowing him entry into the small room where the scrub sink was set up. The sterile water was tepid, pushed through from the storage vats Scotty had set up. He scrubbed his hands with practiced efficiency.
Twelve patients in eighteen hours. Had to be some kind of a record. He hadn't done marathon surgery since Enterprise had battled the Narada, and even that had only been ten hours.
I'm getting too old for this shit.
He blamed Jim for this.
'Come on, Bones, it'll be fun!'
Fun? Six months into their five-year mission and they'd introduced two new planets into the Federation and had three First Contacts. They'd made their way into the outer frontier with only a brief altercation with a pirate ship. It had been a lot of science and diplomacy, cataloging and mapping. This was their first rescue mission.
Hell of a debut. Drying his hands, he walked out of the surgical tent to his first breath of fresh air in eighteen hours. He inhaled deeply – moist and earthy like a Georgia summer morning. God he missed home. Not even a breeze stirred. The sun was coming up on the horizon, reminding him of how long he'd been inside the mobile surgical unit. Craning his neck, he glanced behind at the white walls and pitched roof. It wasn't really a tent. The walls were little more than opaque film that stood out on the lush green landscape, an abomination to the organic environment around it. It was Starfleet's answer to mobile surgery. The entire facility had gone up in less than thirty minutes, like some kind of pop-up toy. Scotty had assured him that, despite the thinness of the walls, the structure was sound and could withstand high winds and the elements. He had to admit that it had served its purpose as an emergency surgical suite. But he was glad they hadn't tested the elements.
He rolled his neck, closing his eyes and feeling the stretch in his muscles and spine.
"Doctor McCoy."
He kept his eyes closed for a moment, his head tilted back, reluctant to surrender his peace. If he could go another thirty seconds without thinking, without making a life-saving decision—
"Doctor McCoy?"
He straightened, opening his eyes to find a Yeoman standing a few meters in front of him. She looked annoyingly refreshed.
"The Captain wants you back on Enterprise, sir."
He looked past her to the small clearing they had chosen as a base when they had beamed down. The planet's foliage was reminiscent of Georgia with thick forests and open meadows. It even smelled of home. They were close by the water, he was told, drawing in the uncomfortable humidity, but he hadn't seen much of the planet, only the small hospital camp they had erected to treat the wounded.
There were three tents in all – one for surgery and two for post op care. All had been filled to capacity. But now he noticed that two more tents had gone up while he'd been in surgery. He narrowed his eyes at the tents. More wounded? They'd told him triage was clear.
He settled his gaze on the Yeoman and walked toward her, motioning toward the new tents. "Are there more wounded?"
Looking toward the tents, she flipped open her communicator. "I'm not sure, sir. I was only told to escort you on board."
He didn't even feel the transporter effect. His body was bone-tired and numb. All he wanted to do was sleep.
"Welcome back, Dr. McCoy," the technician said, the last of his welcome trailing off as he eyed McCoy's clothes.
McCoy looked down at the sweat and blood-stained scrubs and stepped off the pad without a word. The crew had never seen him in scrubs. Surgery on Enterprise was contained, sterile, controlled. Nothing like field surgery – stop the bleeding, stabilize the patient, do what you can with what you have and move on to the next. It wasn't refined and it wasn't pretty.
He walked into the corridor and headed for his quarters. He needed a shower.
"What's the count?" Kirk asked, standing by Spock's station on the bridge. He'd changed into a fresh uniform after showering off the sweat and grime that he had accumulated on the planet while overseeing the rescue.
"One hundred and three deceased, ninety-five wounded. Medical reports twenty-one in critical condition."
He nodded, turning to the main view screen. It could be worse. They'd been in orbit around Outpost Six for a little more than twenty-four hours, but it already felt like days. "Any news from the ground team?"
"They are progressing, Captain, trying to locate the sixty-eight personnel that are still missing in the rubble, but the structure is unstable and unreliable."
He'd been on the surface for most of the past twenty-four hours and had only just returned to update Starfleet. They had answered a distress call from Outpost Six – a newly developed outpost in the outer frontier. The planet was uninhabited of sentient beings and the Federation had set up a scientific outpost. The team had been on the planet for a little over two years without incident when the main structures, which had housed just over three hundred Federation scientists, had collapsed in what they believed was a sudden rise in seismic pressure. "How's Scotty coming on the stabilizers?"
"The planet's surface is making stabilizing the structure difficult and scanners have been unreliable."
He released a breath. It wasn't anything that surprised him. "And the seismic activity? We haven't felt any tremors."
"The data indicates there is no seismic activity on the planet. The scientific team had been conducting extensive tests for over a year with no reported results."
"Something collapsed those buildings."
"Agreed."
The planet was newly discovered. After months of ensuring that the planet was devoid of sentient beings, the Federation gave permission to set up a scientific outpost to conduct, among other things, geological, flora and entomological studies.
"Captain," Uhura said from her station. "Transporter Room has safely beamed Dr. McCoy on board."
"Thank you, Lieutenant." He turned back to Spock and realized for the first time that he'd been squinting against a headache. "Assist Mr. Scott with the stabilizers, and have our geology department review all the material the scientific team has gathered in the two years they've been here."
Spock tilted his head. "Are they looking for anything in particular?"
"I'm not sure." The several permanent buildings the outpost team had erected had all been destroyed, sinking into the planet's surface and reducing the structures to rubble. It seemed a little too coincidental to him that on the entire planet the Federation buildings were the only things to be destroyed. All flora around them remained untouched.
Spock stood. "This is an unknown planet. It is possible the scientific team may have discovered something indigenous to the planet of which they are unaware."
"This planet is uninhabited." He reminded Spock.
"The inhabitants of Celius Five are undetectable to most of our scanners, and yet they exist."
He stared at the Vulcan, deadpan. "Invisible species, Spock?"
"Not invisible, Captain. Undetectable." The dark eyes were hooded, the facial features disciplined. The First Officer looked serious.
"That's a wild theory. Our mission is to rescue the scientists. Unless Starfleet says otherwise, we'll leave the investigation up to the Federation Council. My main concern is getting those sixty-eight beings free. Get a team down there to start interviewing the survivors. If they stumbled onto something, I want to know about it." He turned from the science station and headed toward the turbo lift.
"Where will you be, Captain?"
"Getting a medical report." The turbo lift doors slid shut behind him. He had several hours of reporting to do for Starfleet who was already demanding an update and he needed McCoy's report. The grim task of reporting the dead was second only to the medical team's responsibility of examining those deceased personnel for cause of death and identification verification. McCoy's team would ultimately be responsible for preparing the deceased for transport and reporting to Mortuary Affairs. "Computer, locate Dr. McCoy."
Dr. McCoy is located on Deck Six in his quarters.
The lift shifted directions under his command. He had argued with McCoy when the doctor had wanted mobile medical units on the ground. The area was unstable and Kirk had argued it was unsafe, but in the end he had conceded. Enterprise was not equipped to take on the amount of wounded they had anticipated. A ground unit was more practical and effective than transporting wounded Sickbay could not handle.
The lift doors opened and he moved quickly to McCoy's door. After a single buzz, the doors slid open. Stepping inside, he saw McCoy at the small desk, dressed in black shorts and a tight tee, fresh out of the shower.
"Continue the drip and monitor his BP." McCoy acknowledged him with a slight uplift of his chin. "And relieve the post-op staff on the planet."
"Yes, Doctor."
"Wake me in two hours." McCoy cut the comm and focused on Kirk. "I've got a hundred patients, Jim, and two hours to get some sleep. Make this quick."
His friend looked and sounded tired. "I need a report."
McCoy stopped on his way to the sleeping area and turned to him. "I've been in surgery for eighteen hours up to my wrists in blood. I haven't had time to file a report."
Kirk winced at the caustic emphasis on McCoy's last word. The scientific team had lost most of their medical staff in the collapse – along with all their medical supplies – leaving a doctor and two nurses to treat the survivors until Enterprise had arrived. They still had two medical personnel that were missing. The crisis had pressed the ship's medical team.
"How's your staff holding up?"
"Tired. Supplies are getting tight." He made his way to the bed, rubbing his eyes.
"Get me a list and I'll send a request to Starbase 11." He watched as McCoy stretched out on the bed with a satisfied groan. "Can we transfer any of the wounded?"
"The request is on your desk … so to speak."
He nodded. He didn't like the mobile units being the primary set up. Though they were reliable structures, the planet was not. They needed to transport the wounded to Enterprise before anything else happened on the planet.
"I saw another unit going up? What's that about?" McCoy asked, closing his eyes.
"Morbidity processing." The Personal Casualty Report process was lengthy and necessary. As the deceased were processed, they too would be transported to Enterprise for their voyage home.
The room was silent for a long moment.
"How many more we got down there?" McCoy asked quietly
"Sixty-eight still missing."
Pause.
"Alive?"
"I'm not sure." He watched his friend for a long moment. There was more he wanted to talk about, questions he needed answers to and advice he sought. But it would have to wait. "Get some sleep. We'll talk later." He left McCoy's quarters and headed toward the bridge. He had to update Starfleet.
Three hours, and a very intense conversation with Starfleet, later, and Kirk wished he had taken some time to sleep or at least eat before making his report. Since stepping from the away room, he had found himself in a non-stop stream of one crisis after another beginning with the transportation of the wounded.
"We can't use the transporter with some of these patients, Captain," M'Benga had told him. "We're going to have to transport the more critically wounded by shuttle."
That made the transportation lengthy and required more medical personnel than the transporter. He signed his approval before forwarding the list of needed medical supplies to Starbase 11. There was the matter of the proper amount of space to house the wounded, the additional medical personnel needed to care for them and balancing the needs of Enterprise with the growing demands of the rescue.
"Lt. Uhura," he said, coming up to the communication station. "Send a message to the Bradbury. Tell them we need assistance in transporting the wounded to Starbase 11."
"Yes, Captain."
"Is Scotty still on the planet?"
"Yes, sir. He and Spock are still trying to stabilize the structure."
He didn't like it. The longer it took to retrieve the personnel from the fallen structure, the less likely it was that they would be found alive. "Let them know I'm beaming down, and start coordinating the transportation efforts with medical." He straightened. "Mr. Sulu, you have the conn."
Spock wasn't there to greet him in the designated landing site. The first thing he saw was McCoy directing the transportation of the wounded. He walked up to the doctor. "How many more wounded do we have to transport?"
McCoy turned at the sound of his voice, annoyed at the interruption. "Forty-three, but fifteen have to go by shuttle."
There were only two medical shuttles on the ship and both were in use. He looked around the mobile medical units, buzzing with activity. "You have an ETA?"
McCoy raised his eyebrows. "We're not transporting produce, Jim. Some of these people have just had surgery, others are unstable. I don't want to make them worse by expediting transport. Why the rush?"
"The planet's unstable. I want the wounded off as quickly as possible."
McCoy scowled. "What do you mean by unstable?"
He caught Scotty in the corner of his eye. "Just get the wounded transported as soon as possible, Bones." He turned away and walked across the clearing to Scotty, who was approaching him. "Give me some good news, Scotty."
"I wish I could, sir." Scotty looked grim. "Our scanners cannot locate any life signs, but there's interference from the geological surface. It could be blocking the scanners."
"Can we get in, yet?"
"Not with phasers or mobilizers. The minerals in the first layers are bending the beams. We could end up killing anybody who is alive."
He looked up at the pale sky. The sun was high and heating the surface resulting in a dense, heavy humidity that seemed to cling to their every breath. A trickle of sweat rolled down his neck. "We're just going to have to do this the old fashioned way. Find the most stable area and get a crew to start removing the rubble. Maybe if we clear some of the debris our scanners will have better luck."
"Aye, sir. That could work. We'll need more crew."
He nodded. "Get them." His communicator beeped and he flipped it open. "Yes, Sulu."
"Sir, we've received a priority one call from Starfleet. We are being ordered to assist the Aurora in the Patheon System. Their life support and power are failing."
The Aurora was a civilian transport vessel with over five-hundred souls on board. Spock joined him, listening carefully.
"There's no other ship in the area?"
"No, sir. The Bradbury is closer to us than them. The Aurora estimates less than three days of life support. They're drifting to conserve power."
He looked at Spock.
"If the Aurora estimates are correct, Enterprise must leave now."
He looked around the base camp. The wounded were still being transported and there were still sixty-eight beings trapped in the rubble. "Take her, Spock. I'll stay down here and continue the rescue efforts."
"Captain, I don't think that is wise. We are still uncertain as to what caused the destruction of the outpost." Spock's eyes were intense.
"We don't have much choice, Spock. We can't leave the wounded and we can't leave those sixty-eight souls buried."
"Then I will remain behind and coordinate rescue efforts."
He pulled back slightly. Spock had barely paused for a breath. "Why you? You don't think I'm capable of conducting a rescue?"
"That is not what—Of course you are capable, Captain, but your expertise is better put to use on Enterprise."
"So is yours," he shot back, then he softened. "Don't worry, Spock. Bradbury is right behind you. We won't be alone for long."
"What do you mean 'they're leaving'? The whole damn ship?" McCoy stared at Kirk with a mixture of anger and disbelief.
"Priority distress call, Bones. We have to answer it."
"What the hell do you call this?" McCoy asked, spreading his arms out to indicate the mobile medical units, still partially full. They stood in the small open area outside the surgical unit with the sun beating down on them. "Jim, there are still wounded."
"We're not leaving them behind, Bones," he said reassuringly. "I'm staying here with Scotty and the rescue team. Assign a medical staff and doctor to oversee the remaining wounded and to continue processing the deceased. We can't get them back to Enterprise, so we'll have to make do with what we have."
"Make do— Jesus, Jim, this isn't Academy maneuvers. There are over a hundred dead and in this heat that's not going to be pretty. We can't leave them down here."
"We don't have time to transport them. All the critical patients have been transferred to Enterprise. The medical staff will be able to handle their needs. How many patients are still here?"
"Just two." McCoy wiped away the drops of sweat that had gathered on his forehead. "They've got some kind of a bacterial infection. I don't want to transfer them right now."
He scowled. "Is it contagious?"
"Not likely, but I'm not taking any chances. I'll keep six nurses, four techs and Lyke down here." McCoy pulled at the collar of his tunic. "That should be enough."
He cringed slightly. "Are you comfortable leaving Lyke in charge? He's a second year resident, isn't he?"
"He's not going to be in charge. If you're staying, so am I."
He raised his eyebrows. "You're volunteering for a landing party?"
"Don't let it go to your head. If I die down here you'll have a month of paperwork to do."
"You're not going to die," he said quickly, wiping the sweat from his neck. "The Bradbury is two days out. You can stay alive that long, can't you?"
"Can you?" McCoy shot back then looked around the base camp. "Where the hell are we going to sleep? And please don't tell me under the stars."
"I'm having Yeoman Nelson set up living quarters for the crew and medical staff. That should make things more bearable."
"Bearable? These units aren't environmentally controlled." Only the surgical unit had environment controls and those were minimal at best. "I'm going to be treating dehydration and heatstroke for the next two days." McCoy studied him with a critical eye. "When was the last time you ate?"
"I'm fine, Bones. Worry about your patients."
"Just don't become one of my patients." McCoy took a deep breath and looked around. "We can convert one of the post op units into a triage for minor injuries and treatment. I'll inventory supplies, but, Jim … if we retrieve dozens of seriously injured from the structure, I'm not sure we have enough supplies or medical personnel to treat them."
He'd thought of that himself. "We'll just have to hope those beings are alive and not critical."
McCoy looked dubious. "They've already been down there for two days. How close are we to getting them out?"
"Scotty's working on it."
"Do we even know they're alive?"
He looked past the opening to the mass of trees beyond. They were too far away to see the original settlement. "That's what I'm going to find out. Get the supplies you need before Enterprise moves out."
"Jim," McCoy called after him. "Be careful. And eat something."
He met Scotty at the fallen structures. There were four buildings, all of which had sunk into the surface, leaving pieces of broken construction materials sticking out like engineered hills. The crew were carefully removing large pieces of rubble, and from the look of things, they were making slow progress. Scotty had an array of equipment spread out a short distance from the structures. It looked like a miniature control center.
"How's it coming, Scotty?"
The sophisticated equipment was light, designed to be mobile. It rested on narrow poles with wide monitors that blinked and beeped with activity.
"We're focusing on this main structure. According to the scientists we interviewed, most of the personnel were here when the collapse happened. As soon as we clear enough, I'll send down a probe." He looked up from his equipment. "Enterprise leave?"
"They should have by now." He felt a strange anxiety within him that his ship was away from him, but he pushed the feeling aside and nodded at Scotty. "Thanks for staying."
"Ach. Ivy can handle the ship until I get back. He'll be good with the Aurora. He grew up on one of those things." Scotty looked to the fallen structure. "I hope we're digging in the right spot."
So do I. He looked around the structure. "It's damn odd that this is the only thing that got hit."
"Aye. I thought as much myself. Maybe the surface couldn't handle the structure. San Francisco had that problem in the mid twenty-first century. Most of the architecture sank into the damn bay."
"Mm." San Francisco sank because the civilian population had built on landfill with the bay eroding it every day. The bedrock was a hundred meters down. But this…. They were too far from any water to have erosion cause the collapse. Around the structure were open fields that pressed against the edges of a heavy forest. Beyond the tree tops the peaks of green and blue mountains rose.
"Hard to believe it's uninhabited," Scotty said.
Not exactly uninhabited. There were plenty of insects and reptiles. "Keep at it. I'm going to take a look around."
Scotty nodded and returned his focus to the equipment.
He walked to the south side of the structure, studying the ground. Something didn't feel right. He stopped frequently to study the layout and listen. A high-pitched whine sounded from the fields, like a swarm of cicadas that filled the hot Iowa nights. The structure had sunk deep into the surface, leaving most of the surrounding area untouched. It wasn't unheard of to have sink holes appear on a planet, but it was usually caused by man-made structures below or the depletion of water tables, neither of which applied here. This planet had never had inhabitants. He stood a good sixty meters from the rubble and crouched on his heels. The smell of the long grass filled his nose and he was instantly reminded of Iowa – running through the neighbor's wheat fields and playing hide-n-seek with Sam by the trees along the river.
He dug his fingers into the soil. It was surprisingly moist and rich, like something found in a greenhouse. He brought the handful of soil to his nose and inhaled, closing his eyes. His grandfather had been a fourth generation farmer. He had only known the man for a few years, but he'd taught Jim how to respect the land, how to feel it.
"It's living and breathing, just like us," his grandfather said, holding a handful of earth. "It'll always be there for you, Jimmy. The way it's been here for thousands of years."
He leaned in and sniffed the soil with curiosity, scowling as he did so.
Grandfather laughed. "You were born in space, Jimmy, but your roots are in the earth."
After his grandfather had died, he'd stopped paying attention. Then Frank came along and everything changed. But now, smelling the rich soil, it all came back to him – those carefree days of childhood he'd somehow buried deep. It was easy to forget that he'd once been happy on the farm.
"Captain?"
The voice drew his attention from his memories. He opened his eyes and tilted his head to see the young man standing awkwardly a few meters from him. "Yes, Ensign Lo."
"Mr. Scott thought you might need some assistance, sir."
Eager ensigns. He sighed and looked down at the handful of dirt, suddenly reluctant to let it go. Slowly, he let the soil sift through his fingers and return to the surface. Pushing up from his legs, an unexpected pain dug into his back causing him to stagger slightly. Shit. It was sharp, demanding and only too familiar. He grit his teeth and straightened more slowly, allowing his back muscles a chance to adjust. It had been this way for a few months now. The injury from being thrown against the core's wall had been giving him problems. He noticed it more when he was pushing himself and hadn't gotten enough rest, as if his body was reminding him of his mortality. Each time it happened, he promised himself he would tell Bones, but he never did.
The pain died down and he dusted off his hands and searched the area. There was nothing here. Whatever mystery was behind the sinking of the structure, it was not going to be solved by reminiscing. The sun had dipped a little lower, but the temperature hadn't decreased a degree. "Thank you, Ensign, but I don't think I'm going to find anyth—"
The surface shifted beneath his feet, abruptly halting his words. It was a slight movement. So slight he wasn't certain he had felt it. He shifted his weight, focused on the ground.
"Sir?" Ensign Lo stood frowning at him.
Nothing moved. The ground was solid and still. Yet his muscles were tense and the hairs on the back of his neck were up.
"Is something wrong, sir?"
Sweat trickled off his forehead and neck. What had Bones said about treating heatstroke? He'd been in the sun too long. He raised his gaze to the anxious Ensign and smiled. "No, Ensign Lo. Everything's fine."
He took a step toward the Ensign. And the ground disappeared. One moment he was standing on solid land, the next the ground was gone. He felt himself falling in a cloud of dust, hitting the surface hard with the flat of his back, sending another explosion of pain into his middle and causing him to see a white starburst against his tightly closed eyes. Around him was an avalanche of dirt, raining down on him as he lay still, coughing from the dust in his lungs. Everything stopped as the dust hung thickly. Blinking to clear his eyes, he coughed harshly in an attempt to expel the dirt he'd managed to inhale. Above him was the pale sky. It took him a moment to realize he'd landed on his back and that he hadn't fallen far.
Fuck. His ears were ringing and his back hurt. The wind was knocked out of him, but nothing seemed broken, though he wasn't in a hurry to move and test that theory. Suddenly Lo's head appeared from the top of the small pit.
"Sir, are you all right?" Lo's face was full of alarm.
The dust was settling quickly. Kirk coughed again, his ribs and back protesting. He took a few measured breaths. "I'm fine, Ensign." His voice was scratchy and not in the least bit commanding.
Lo suddenly looked stricken. "Oh my God, sir. Don't move. Don't move! I'll get help."
"Ensign—"
He was about to tell the young man not to panic, that he was all right, but Lo had disappeared. Kirk closed his eyes. Great. The worst case scenario is for the rescuer to need to be rescued. It was the first rule in retrieval: take care of yourself. He made a move to sit up, but cried out as agony ripped through his right knee, sending him back to the dirt. The pain ripped upwards into his groin. For a moment, everything went black. By the time the veil lifted, his throbbing knee consumed his attention. He lifted his head, trying not to move his body, and angled his head to see his right leg. It was twisted at an odd angle and covered in a thick layer of dust.
And then he saw it.
"Shit," he said and let his head fall back with a thud. Bones wasn't going to be happy about this. A piece of broken branch protruded from his knee, tearing through his pant leg. He wasn't going anywhere.