Physician, Heal Thyself
"Computer malfunction," came the ominous words over the spacecraft speakers. McCoy swore.
"What's that?" The woman strapped to the seat beside him pointed to a flashing red light on the instrument panel.
"Engine overload!" the doctor gasped. "We have to get out of here, Vera." He reached over to unbuckle the unfamiliar harness that held the woman in, and then released his own.
"This way," he said. He left the cabin and headed aft. "I saw the escape pod entrance back here somewhere." Acrid smoke drifted through the passageway. They both coughed, and tears streamed down their eyes from the fumes.
"What's that noise?" Vera nervously brushed long auburn hair from her eyes.
"I think the engines are going to blow up," McCoy panted as he tugged at the handle to the escape pod access. It swung open.
"Jump in, and strap yourself down!" he ordered as he followed her into the cramped space. The big red button on the instrument panel blinked insistently. The instructions written on it were clear.
"I knew I shouldn't have bought an HF 99," McCoy viciously jabbed the button. The access hatch slammed closed, and they were instantly propelled into space.
Behind them, the spacecraft gave a visible shudder and exploded into small, white hot pieces. McCoy didn't see it the force of their escape had knocked him unconscious.
()
Excerpt from Captain's log:
In view of the stress experienced by the crew during the last mission, Doctor McCoy's recommended that the Enterprise take a long overdue shore leave. A former mining colony base offered reasonable opportunity, so the crew of Enterprise has been assigned shore leave.
()
"I vouldn't call it one of the best places we've ever landed on for shore leave," Chekov said to Sulu and Scotty as they strolled into a particularly seedy section of town.
"Ah, well, beggars can't be choosers, ye know," Scotty assured him cheerfully. He looked perfectly at ease. "We take it when and where we can get it, and we're thankful, as the saying goes."
"It does get us away from the same old routine for a while," Sulu said, trying to look on the bright side. He was definitely uneasy as he saw the hardened characters who loitered in the street, but he forced a smile. "As the captain says, a change is as good as a rest."
"Ah, I'm glad ye feel that way, lad," Scotty enthused. "Ye're sure to enjoy this it's a real change from what ye're used to." He stepped off the street and through the doors of an establishment whose garishly lit sign proclaimed it as the best booze in the galaxy. The two officers behind him hesitated for a split second.
"My mother warned me about places like this," Sulu muttered as he started for the door.
"Vhy did ve let him talk us into coming vith him?" was Chekov's piteous query, but he followed the Helmsman.
A smoke layer reached from the ceiling to waist level in a blue haze that showed a Scotty shaped figure making for an empty table. Sulu and Chekov hastened to join him, not willing to stand by the doorway and gawk, though they would have liked to.
To label the place a dive would rate it a little too high. It reeked of neglect, and Sulu doubted if there was one piece of furniture that wasn't damaged, probably in a brawl. He cautiously tested his chair before he put his whole weight on it.
"Well, what did I tell ye?" Scotty grinned, proud as a new father. "This place has got atmosphere."
"When you said you were going to show us atmosphere, I didn't think we'd have to breathe three quarters of it," Sulu said, and coughed lightly. Chekov looked at the beat up juke box in the corner. It was wheezing out some classical rock tune.
"Isn't that the Rayons?" he asked. Scotty snorted.
"Shows how much you know," he said. "That's the Orlons."
"From the sounds of it, it's an original recording disk," Sulu winced. The disk was scratched in several places.
"Is there something I can get you, boys?" came a sultry voice from the haze. The officers of the Enterprise turned to locate the owner of the voice. A barmaid stood by their table.
Three pairs of eyes travelled approvingly up the barmaid's figure until they reached her face. As one man they looked down at the table again.
"In a minute, lassie," Scotty managed to smile, and the girl departed. The Chief Engineer saw the look that the two others exchanged, and chortled.
"Ah, yes, it's always the same," he said. He gave a friendly nod to the knot of local toughs that muttered over their beers in one corner. "All the pretty ones get hired by the classier joints, ye know. I've never seen a pretty barmaid in one o' these places yet. Never seen a clean glass, either."
"If these places are so bad, why do you come here?" was Sulu's half teasing query. Scot leaned back in his chair.
"It reminds me o' home," he answered. "I used to frequent similar establishments back in Glasgow in my earlier days."
"I vas in a place in Moscow once that vas someting like dis," Chekov said. "Of course, the only reason I vent in vas because the sign said it had the best wodka in the world."
"You and your `wodka'," Scotty said disdainfully. "Why don't you try a man's drink for a change?"
"Wodka is a man's drink," Chekov said, stung. "How else do you think the Russians surwive the winters in Siberia?"
"Ah, but ye've never tasted a Glaswegian boilermaker before, have ye my lad? That's a real man's drink, that is."
"A Glasvegian what?" Chekov ridiculed. "What is it fermented oats?"
"Wait a minute, guys," Sulu tried to intervene, but Scotty had too much momentum to stop now.
"All right, Chekov," he challenged. "Let's have a contest. You drink my Glaswegian special, and I'll drink your `wodka'."
"Hold on," Sulu protested immediately, but the little Navigator drowned him out.
"You're on, Scotty," he said. Scotty got up from the table, a satisfied smile on his face, and walked to the bar. Sulu groaned as he slumped back in his chair.
"Chekov, you fell for it. Why didn't you just let things alone?" he asked.
"What? And let him mock the lifeblood of Russia?" Chekov protested. "Don't vorry, Sulu. It ees no problem." He brushed aside the doubts plainly evident on Sulu's face.
Scotty leaned conspiratorially over the bar to talk in a low tone to the bald and greasy bartender.
"D'ye have whiskey good strong Scotch whiskey?" he asked. The bartender used his lips to shift the stump of a cigar to the side of his mouth. His hands were otherwise occupied, using a filthy towel to smear dirt around on used glasses.
"Aye. Made it oot back m'self," he told the Enterprise engineer. Scotty's smile broadened at the words.
"And how about some real ale? Not any of this light stuff something nice and dark, and thick like." The bartender cocked a speculative eye at him.
"Soonds like the makin's of a Glaswegian boilermaker to me," he said, and Scotty nodded.
"I've got a bit o' a bet on," he confided to his fellow Scot. "I'll drink vodka if the wee dark one'll drink a boilermaker."
"Well, we canna hae ye drinking vodka, lad. Ah've got just the stuff ye want in the back." He put down the dirty rag and made as if to go into the back store room.
"Hey, I want a drink," demanded a newcomer. He swaggered through the smoke and thumped his elbows on the bar. The bartender looked his apologies at Scotty.
"Not till you pay your bill, Abe," the bartender insisted. He took his cigar out of his mouth and flicked the ash toward the customer. He spoke in the same Yankee accent that Abe used.
"But that's what I came to do," the man called Abe innocently reached into his pocket. "I finally sold the `Vera', that old clunker for cash, too." He counted out money in piles on the bar. The bartender replaced the cigar thoughtfully as the piles grew.
"Yes," the customer chortled, "he was in a hurry, and he didn't care if it was spaceworthy or not. I figure he must have jumped ship or something." He stopped to tidy up a pile of money and then continued his counting as his buddies gathered around.
"He took one look at the name on the nose, and started to talk-just as if someone was with him. Called her Vera, too. They talked it over," he shook his head over the memory, "then he handed over the cash and took off. That ugly old HF 99 never looked so beautiful as when she left my used spaceship lot."
"Good story, Abe," the bartender said. He swept most of the money off the bar and into his apron, and replaced the money with a beer. Then he marched into the back, returned with three dusty bottles, and plunked them in front of Scotty.
"Good drinkin'," he said. Scotty shook his head as he returned to the table.
()
McCoy rolled his heavy head to look at the seat beside his in the escape pod. It was empty.
"Vera?" he croaked. His throat burned with fire as he unclasped his safety harness. Trembling, he pulled himself forward in his seat and rummaged in the overhead supply cabinet. There had to be water somewhere.
"Vera, where are you?"
There was no answer, which was typical. Vera always was a tease. But why did she hide at a time like this?
With a grunt, the doctor of the Enterprise found the flasks of distilled water, and liberated one from the straps which secured it to the side of the cabinet. Cradling it in his weak arms, he stood as straight as he could in the close confines of the pod.
The door to the pod was overhead, and it was closed tightly. Thankful that he didn't have to manhandle it open, he groped for the release button, and pressed. It popped its seal merrily, and flung itself out of the way.
The cool breeze of the planet ruffled the doctor's hair as he put his head through the opening. The sun shone in a clear blue sky, and tiny dust devils whirled across a barren, endless plain. Not far away, a stream burbled blue black liquid over its rocks.
"Yech," he murmured. He placed the water flask on the hull of the pod and struggled to heave his body through the hole. "Well, it's just like the travel agent said it was." He swivelled his head to scan the landscape. "Even looks like the brochure." He tried to chuckle at his own black humour, but it hurt his throat.
McCoy sat on the edge of the open door, twisted the lid of the flask open, and took a long drink. It sluiced down his parched throat, cool and thirst quenching despite the flat taste.
"Finally decided to get up, did you?" came a familiar voice. McCoy choked on his mouthful of water. He gasped and sputtered as he tried to breathe and swallow at once.
"Gramps? Is that you?" he called out, and tried to focus his eyes. He thought he made out a shape on the ground a short distance away.
"Who did you think it was Santa Claus?" came the peppery reply. "Come out of that shack and get the stink blown off you."
McCoy's vision cleared. An old man sat on a rock in the sunshine, his bright white hair blowing in the breeze. On the ground beside him was the hound that followed Gramps everywhere, sound asleep.
"Well? What're you staring at, boy?" At the question, McCoy recollected his senses, and stepped off the steps of the shack. Funny thing, though he could have sworn that it was something different just a minute ago.
"Have you seen Vera anywhere?" the starship doctor asked as he looked around the otherwise empty landscape. His grandfather snorted contemptuously.
"Her? I thought you were through with her, Leonard. I must admit I was worried there for a while that you two would get hitched, but you came to your senses and joined the Air Force."
"Starfleet," McCoy corrected automatically. He sat by the shack and leaned against its wall. The old man waved a hand of dismissal.
"Navy, then," he grudgingly amended. "My point is, you took my advice and got while the getting was good." McCoy winced as his mind went back over the years.
"She left me, I didn't leave her. You know that, Gramps," he felt the old ache again.
"Well, if that's the way you write your history book, that's fine with me-just as long as you didn't team up with her," Gramps pronounced.
"But I met her again today, Gramps," McCoy said. "And she said this time she would take care of me . . . " The old man on the stump snorted as he took out a thin cigar and lit it.
"Why do you need taking care of, Leonard? You've done pretty well so far."
"I'm sick, Gramps," McCoy told the old man. Gramps gave him a keen look with his faded blue eyes.
"Now that you mention it, you do look kind of peaked. But I suspect you don't get enough sun, flying around in that spaceship of yours all the time." He delicately breathed out concentric rings of smoke, and McCoy watched, just as fascinated as he was as a boy. He found himself telling about his illness, and how it came about.
()
The colony on Xi 4 was wiped out by an unknown disease. Bodies everywhere lay in pools of blood. The medical records were less than useless, for the sole doctor in the colony was one of the first to die. A nurse had tried to keep the records up, but they degenerated into aimless rambling about her past, and complaints of endless thirst.
"They literally coughed their lungs out. It's a horror scene, Jim," McCoy said to his communicator. "I have the medical tapes, and I'll collect some blood and tissue samples. Don't send anyone else down. If this is contagious, I don't want it spreading."
That's when it happened. He was careless while taking a tissue sample, and cut himself. Some of the dirt of the planet got into the cut, and the cut became infected.
()
"So many doctors work around sickness and don't get sick themselves, they think they're invulnerable," Gramps commented as McCoy stopped to drink. "I never made that mistake. Made lots of others, but not that one."
()
"You're beginning to lose a little weight, Bones," Kirk noticed a few days later.
"Just setting a good example for you, Captain," McCoy answered lightly as he pulled on Kirk's gold braided sleeve. "Your uniform is a bit tight, isn't it?" Kirk looked at him in alarm.
"You're not putting me on a salad diet again," he warned.
"No, I won't, Captain," McCoy laughed, and went back to his study of the tests run on the samples from Xi 4.
"Are you all right, doctor?" The voice of his nurse, Chapel, interrupted one of his headaches. She stood by his desk, and had obviously asked him a question about the report she held in her hand.
"Yes, I'm fine," he answered. He wondered why there were two of her for an instant. "Just spending too much time working and not enough resting, that's all." He took the papers and smiled his reassurance at her. Chapel went her way, and did not notice him rub the half healed scar on his hand.
()
"So suddenly you thought there was something wrong," Gramps said in his country doctor voice. He leaned forward as McCoy drank again. "What did you do then?"
"What you would have done in the same situation," McCoy answered tiredly. "I ran some tests on myself, and tried to find out if there was anything wrong with me."
"And was there?"
()
"Here are the results of those tests you ordered, doctor," Chapel said as she came in with yet another sheaf of papers. Her professional manner didn't hide her disturbed expression. "It doesn't look good for whoever it is," she allowed herself to comment. McCoy glanced up at her in surprise as he took the papers, and she flushed in embarrassment.
"Sorry, doctor," she apologized. McCoy fluttered through the papers to get the salient points. He wiped his hands on his pantleg they were suddenly very clammy.
"The lab must have made an error," he angrily denied the results before him. "Have them run the tests again."
"Do you want me to call the patient down for another examination?" the nurse asked, but McCoy shook his head.
"No," he said. "No, I'll do it myself, nurse. Thank you." Chapel retreated, her curiosity unsatisfied, while McCoy stared at the pale blue wall above his desk.
()
"Let me guess the lab hadn't made a mistake," McCoy's grandfather surmised, and received a nod of the doctor's head in answer. "I would have looked in my old medical books to find out what I had."
"You surely do drink a lot, Leonard," he added as he watched McCoy drink from the flask. When McCoy offered it to him, he shook his white haired head and shuddered slightly. He dug in a pocket and pulled out the battered mickey that McCoy remembered so well.
"Your problem was that you liked bourbon too much," McCoy accused. The old man merely winked as he took a swig, and coughed as the liquid burned its way down his throat.
"Good stuff," he choked out. He wiped his forehead with a red and white polka dotted handkerchief.
"You should try Saurian brandy," his grandson said fuzzily. "I keep some in my office." The old man raised one bushy eyebrow.
"Why, Leonard, I'm surprised at you," he admonished.
"Medicinal purposes only, Gramps," McCoy defended himself as his grandfather nodded disbelievingly. "Anyway, I told you about the lab results. I ran them through the computers three times, and nothing fit."
"Computers," Gramps scoffed. "The only things you can trust are books, my boy. Books, and your own experience." McCoy coughed once, then leaned his head back against the shack wall. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the warmth of the sunlight.
"I know, Gramps," he said to forestall the lecture that he had heard so many times before. "I know. That's where I went next. I went through my whole library and more besides, looking."
()
"Have you taken up some sort of hobby, Bones?" Kirk asked, his eyebrows raised at the pile of books in McCoy's arms.
"Sort of," McCoy replied, readying himself to Transport up to the Enterprise from the starbase that they were visiting. "I find that while I gad about between the stars, medicine advances without me. I need to catch up."
Kirk didn't comment until they were safely aboard their ship. Then he reached out to touch one of the leather bound volumes that McCoy had found in the archive's back room.
"Isn't this fairly old?" he asked, his love of books displaying itself, as well as his curiosity about McCoy's `hobby'.
"Yes," McCoy responded, as he quickly stepped off the platform. "That's how far behind I am." He hurried off to closet himself in his quarters and research every reference.
()
He shook the flask experimentally. It was almost empty.
"I even read the exotic sections the ones dealing with non Human physiology. I was all prepared to believe that I was undergoing a Perian puberty phase, or maybe a victim of the Rhemian love heat."
"That's a good one, that is," Gramps wheezed, and slapped his thigh with a blue veined hand. "Did I ever tell you about the time I diagnosed a sick horse?" McCoy rolled his eyes and wondered why he had to listen to this old story again.
"I thought it was pregnant. Almost had that farmer convinced until he remembered that it was a gelding." In spite of himself, McCoy joined in the old man's laughter.
He drained the last dregs from the flask.
"Times haven't changed much, Gramps. I have to work on some pretty strange creatures, too, besides the human ones. Sometimes it can be confusing trying to recall if it's the Vulcans or the Horians with their hearts under their right armpits."
"Did you ever figure out what it was that you had?"
Doctor Leonard McCoy nodded.
"It's a parasite. A common, run of the mill parasite found in the dirt of Xi 4. It loves humans gets in the bloodstream and has a heyday. It spreads to the whole body, affecting every part. It can be transmitted at certain stages to other hosts, which is what probably happened to the colony."
The answer was in one of the old survey documents of the Xi solar system, tucked away in its original folds and forgotten when it came time to assess the suitability of the system for colonization. Two of the survey members had died. One apparently breathed the dust, picked up the parasite, and transmitted it to his partner.
The first man infected was lost for three weeks. He was in the grip of terrible thirst and hallucinating badly when his partner found him. Shortly after that the second man lost weight and complained of headaches and double vision. His medical chart looked like a duplicate of McCoy's. By that time both men were quarantined, and the first man died soon after, coughing up blood and screaming about invisible demons. The second died in the same way.
"Weight loss, headaches, and double vision could be any number of things," Gramps objected. His shadow stretched long behind him, and McCoy noticed that the breeze was cooler.
"It could," McCoy agreed. "But I took my blood sample and ran it personally through the analysis. They were there, all right just like the autopsies described them."
He incinerated the slide, went directly to his room, and locked the door.
"You're dying," he said aloud. He went to the mirror above his dresser drawers and stared at his reflection. His face was gaunt, his eyes were sunken. "You're a dead man, McCoy. A walking corpse." The macabre image triggered a hysterical burst of laughter that ended with him sobbing.
"I don't want to die yet," he said into the air. "I'm not ready there's still too much for me to do." He threw books into corners. "I'm too young to die." He tore up the report on the Xi system, and scattered the pieces over the room. Cursing Starfleet, the Xi system, and everything else that came to mind, he began to destroy his quarters.
Some time after the madness passed, he looked at the mess he had made, and his brain began to function again.
"You're a doctor, and a good one," he told himself. "There's no reason why you can't find a cure." He paced up and down, stepping over litter. "Think, McCoy," he ordered himself. "Think!"
"My work the rest of the night confirmed what I already knew there is no cure, and even the best doctors in the galaxy can't help me. By morning I was drinking jugfuls of water. Then Vera came in, smiled at me, and disappeared. That's when I figured I was contagious, and I had better get off the Enterprise as soon as I could."
He stopped talking abruptly as a violent coughing fit seized him. When it finished, he spat on the ground. The spittle was pink. As he leaned back again, he wondered how long it would be before Kirk knew he was gone.
()
Captain James T. Kirk sat in the dimly lit bar, alone. Usually he could have counted on McCoy for lively companionship and an eye for the girls during shore leave, but this morning the doctor had avoided him. He said something about going to the planet's library, and hurried off.
Kirk took a sip of his drink while he stared off into space. The movement as a tall figure in a blue tunic paused at the door of the room caught his eye, and he looked that way. It was Spock. The man came towards him.
"I expected you to spend your shore leave on board the Enterprise, Spock," Kirk said in surprise as the Vulcan slid into a chair opposite him. The Science Officer rested his arms on the table, and Kirk saw that he held a portable viewer in his hands.
"It was a matter of some urgency, Captain," he said in a businesslike tone, "and I was unwilling to communicate with you over channels that may be monitored and recorded." Kirk sat up straight, his interest aroused.
"What is it, Spock?" he asked. When Spock remained silent, he grew alarmed. The Vulcan glanced around him, then stood.
"I think you should see this in a more private location, sir," he said, and walked quickly to the door. Kirk followed, mystified.
()
"I left Jim a message tape. I said that I was deserting Starfleet, and not to look for me," McCoy explained as he came out of the door of the shack. He held another flask of water. There were two more left. "I couldn't bring myself to tell him the truth he'd only try to find me. I can't take the chance of infecting him or anyone else."
The old man slowly lit another cigar as the sun drew close to the distant, flat horizon.
"So you picked out a planet, and came here," he nodded. "Why this one?"
"First, it's in the same solar system that the Enterprise is in only a short interplanetary hop away. It has a breathable atmosphere, and no people." McCoy counted the reasons off on his fingers.
"If the environment is breathable, why are there no people?" his grandfather asked logically. McCoy drank more water before he answered.
"There's nothing here. The stuff that passes for water is poisonous, there are no valuable minerals, no vegetation, and the surface is subject to violent dust storms." He waved a hand over the bleak terrain. "Jim wouldn't think of coming here, so he wouldn't think that I would." The old man's mobile face reflected his acceptance of McCoy's reasons.
"I also thought that this particular planet was a very good place for a sick doctor to end his days," McCoy said, and smiled ironically. Gramps looked at him quizzically.
"It's called Gilead," McCoy explained, and after a brief moment of thought, the country doctor joined his star flying grandson in a burst of bitter laughter.
()
". . . it's not anything you or the crew have done. I'm just tired of fighting and dying, aliens, and places that don't look like home. Maybe I'll go and set up a quiet practice on some backward planet.
"Do me a big favour, and don't try and follow me, or find me. Your career is too important to jeopardize by taking risks chasing after a burnt out doctor. Tell the crew anything you want, but you'd better tell Spock the truth. You never could lie to him. Good luck, and goodbye, Jim."
The message tape ended abruptly.
Kirk slumped against the side of the building in the deserted alleyway, a stunned expression on his face. Spock took the portable viewer from his nerveless fingers and turned it off.
"I went into your quarters to use the computer, and it was in the slot already," the Vulcan explained.
"I don't believe it," Kirk whispered. "Bones deserting? It doesn't make sense." He was shocked by the very idea, shaken to the core.
"His behaviour has been unusual recently," Spock pointed out didactically. Kirk pushed himself away from the wall, and ran a hand through his blonde hair as he stood erect.
"I've noticed," he said. "Ever since that trip to Xi 4 he's been too quiet, too " He stopped, at a loss for words. He took a few steps down the alley, and then returned.
"I thought that it was because of the things he saw down there that he'd get over it in time." He shook his head. "I guess it was just too much for him." He cursed his lack of perception.
"Spock, we have to find him before he does something he may regret," he said decisively, and led the way out of the alley.
()
"It's too cold out here for me," McCoy said. He spat out more pink mucous. "I'm going in." He rose, and dusted off his clothes. They had been dirty in the first place, since he bought them at a used clothes store. It wasn't smart to shop for a space going vehicle while in Starfleet uniform. He was forced to keep his boots because none of the shoes there fit, but he was in too much of a hurry to look anywhere else.
"Coming?" he asked his grandfather as he put one booted foot on the step of the shack. The old man shook his head.
"I think I'll just sit here a while and watch the sun set," he said calmly. McCoy shrugged.
"Suit yourself," he said. "You can come in anytime." He turned away, tired, weak, and depressed. He needed some sleep.
"Oh, Vera, I miss you," he said, and closed his eyes as he flopped into a chair. The window in front of him looked out over the vast plain, and the sunset's light filtered through a dust storm far away. It made the sun appear huge and red and menacing. He could see it even through his closed eyelids.
"Vera, why did you have to leave me again?" he whimpered softly, then poured more water into his parched mouth. "Oh, I know that blasted carpetbagger gave us a piece of junk, but we got here, didn't we?" Suddenly, a warm hand ran through his hair, and he opened his eyes. She had come back.
"Shh," she said. She put his head on her shoulder. "I told you I'd take care of you."
"Oh, Vera, I'm so tired." The words were a half sob as Leonard McCoy snuggled closer and fell asleep.
()
"It's a good thing the captain called us back before you two had any more," Sulu said as the trio made their unsteady way down the street. The street lamps glowed in the gathering dusk.
"Och, we were doin' jus' fine, weren't we, Shekov?" Scotty said. He leaned on Sulu's right shoulder and talked across the Helmsman to the glassy eyed Navigator, who leaned on Sulu's left. Chekov managed to nod slowly and emphatically, but couldn't coordinate his mouth enough to reply. Sulu thought that the Scotsman's concoction had burned out the Russian's larynx.
"Come on, then, we don't want to be late," Sulu urged his companions. He tried to quicken their pace without sending them too far off course down the road.
()
Kirk and Spock stood in the middle of Doctor McCoy's quarters.
"What in space possessed him to do this?" Kirk asked. He picked up a book with a broken binding. Bits of broken mirror covered it. Spock studied the debris thoughtfully, and reached down to pick up a scrap of paper.
"The doctor gives vent to his emotions quite freely," he said, "but this is unusual, even for him." The almost compulsively neat Vulcan began to tidy up the mess.
Kirk went to the intercom.
"I want everyone who saw Doctor McCoy today to report to the Briefing Room immediately," he ordered.
"Yes, sir," Uhura said. Kirk cut the connection and turned to Spock.
"You can do that later, Spock," he said impatiently, and headed for the door. Spock didn't stir. His attention was on a scrap of paper in his hand. Shrugging impatiently, Kirk left him there and hurried out into the corridor.
The door to the Briefing Room opened as he approached, and he entered to find only two people waiting. One was Scotty, who held his head and groaned, and the other was an unsympathetic Nurse Chapel. She pulled a hypospray from the Chief Engineer's arm.
"You should know better than to drink with Chekov," she said with a little smile. Scotty groaned again. "At least you can still sit up straight."
She smiled and shook her head at Kirk, who sat at the head of the table and waited patiently for the inevitable. The sobriety drug was rather hard on its users.
Sure enough, Scotty began to tremble. Sweat broke out on his forehead as he fought to maintain control of himself. His eyes rolled upwards in their sockets for a moment, but he recovered manfully and groaned as he shook. By the time Spock entered, the spasms had eased and the groans had ceased. Scotty looked sickly up at his captain through bleary, but more or less sober, eyes.
"Sorry, sir," he apologized. Kirk nodded, then turned to Spock. The Science Officer dropped a cascade of torn paper pieces on the table.
"What's this?" he demanded of the Vulcan. Spock handed him a jagged corner of a yellowed document. The words on the paper were "Xi 4". In surprise, Kirk looked up at Spock.
"I thought it might have some bearing on Doctor McCoy's disappearance," the Vulcan said tactfully. Kirk eyed the pile of papers, and sighed.
"Anyone any good at jigsaw puzzles?" he asked.
With the help of Chapel and Scott, the document was soon reconstructed. The pages stretched the length of the table. Kirk and Spock read it together, while Nurse Chapel followed behind more slowly. Scotty gingerly eased himself into a chair, and closed his aching eyes.
"Now why would he rip up this particular document, but only throw the others around? Is it significant?" Kirk asked as he paced the room. "We've got to try and think like him guess why he was doing things, and what he did after he left the Enterprise."
"I find the idea of even attempting to think like Doctor McCoy a little distasteful," Spock objected, but not as strenuously as he might have done if the doctor had been present.
"Oh," came Nurse Chapel's weak voice. "Oh, dear." The two men turned to see her grope for a chair, which she reached just as her legs gave way.
"Nurse Chapel?" Kirk asked, alarmed at the whiteness of her face. He hurried to her side as she closed her eyes and breathed hard to avoid fainting.
"I'm all right," she said after a moment. Her blue eyes looked seriously up at the man who stood over her. "I know why Doctor McCoy tore up that report. I think he has whatever it was that killed those men on Xi 4."
()
"It's gone," Chapel said, confused. "The lab report is gone." The group stood in McCoy's office in Sick Bay as Chapel searched the records.
"Are there duplicate copies anywhere?" Kirk asked. She nodded, left the room momentarily, and returned with a folder.
"Here it is," she said. She handed it to Spock, who reached for it. He leafed through it quickly.
"These results are identical to the results of the tests on the Xi 4 victims," he told Kirk.
The captain of the Enterprise sat at McCoy's desk. He fought the rush of emotion, and struggled to think what his tormented friend would have done next.
"You say you saw him today, Scotty?" Kirk asked. The engineer nodded briefly, then winced as his head told him not to do it again.
"Yes, sir," he said. "I operated the Transporter when he beamed down to the planet, just after you did."
"Did he do or say anything unusual?" Kirk was desperate for a clue. The man in the red tunic thought carefully.
"Well, sir, he was a lot quieter than he usually is, but he has been more dour these last few weeks, so I took no notice. One thing, though. Ye know how he likes tae stand around and make sure th' transporter's working before he goes on himself." Kirk nodded. "Today he didn't say anything, or wait just came in and went straight t' the platform. Then he looked around as if he was watching someone else get on."
"He acted strangely when I saw him, too, sir," Chapel reported. "I found him in here talking to himself. He looked straight at me, but didn't seem to see me at all. Then he said some woman's name, and left." From her expression, Kirk could tell that she could make no more sense out of it than he could.
"A woman's name?" he asked, following every lead, however slim. "Can you recall the name?" Chapel's brow furrowed in thought.
"I'm sure it started with a 'V'," she said. "Violet? Vicky? Verna?"
"Vera?" Scotty asked. A peculiar look was on his face.
"That's it," Chapel confirmed. "Vera. How did you know?" The engineer shifted uneasily, and tried to arrange his memories into a coherent pattern.
"I overheard someone mention that he had sold an HF 99 tae a queer chap who talked to an imaginary Vera said he thought the fellow was jumping ship."
"Did you say an HF 99?" Kirk asked, incredulous. "I thought they were all in junk heaps or museums."
"I thought, so, too, sir, which is why I took note o' it. They weren't exactly the most popular model of personal spacegoing craft ever made-or the most safe." The Chief Engineer showed the anxiety that Kirk began to feel.
()
On the Bridge, Kirk requested a copy of all departures from the planet, and their booked flight plans. The list that flashed on the screen was a short one, it not being a particularly busy outpost. The entry that they looked for glared out at Kirk and Spock.
Spock busied himself at the instruments at the Science Station. The face that he finally turned to his captain was devoid of emotion and Kirk knew the Vulcan well enough to understand what that meant.
"There are no habitable planets on his flight path for 3.48 light years, sir," he reported flatly. "Our long range sensors indicate there are no ships in that area."
()
On the planet below, Scotty found the single dealer in used personal space craft. Strings of tattered bunting roped forlornly between the rusted hulks of space shuttles and interplanetary jumpers. Overhead, a sign done in the best of bad taste proclaimed the junk heap as "Honest Abe's We finance anyone!". A few lights blinked bravely in the otherwise burned out arrow that pointed to a small hut perched in the far corner.
"Looks like the place," Scotty said to himself, and walked onto the lot. He stared about him in unconcealed amazement that someone would have the audacity to try and sell the antiques that cluttered up the property.
"Well, now, is there anything I can do for you, sir?" came the voice that Scotty had heard in the bar. He turned to face the man who called himself Honest Abe. The man now wore his working clothes a suit whose loud colour matched his personality. When he saw Scotty's face, he broke into a smile.
"You were in the bar this afternoon," he swelled with friendliness. "Boy, you can really put those drinks away. I'm surprised to see you on your feet." Scotty scowled at him, and the salesman shut up. His eyes dropped to Scotty's chest. Honest Abe's face altered considerably when he saw the emblem on Scotty's red tunic.
"Whatever it was, I didn't do it," he laughed uneasily as he mistook Scotty for someone from Security. Scotty didn't bother to enlighten him, and put on his fiercest expression.
"I'm verra much afraid that ye did," Scotty said solemnly. "While I was in the bar I heard ye tellin' your cronies about how ye sold an HF 99 to a man, and that ye thought he was jumping ship. Couldn't ye recognize a Starfleet officer when ye saw one, or did ye turn blind when he flashed his cash under your nose?" The Scot stepped closer, and frowned as menacingly as he knew how.
"But he wasn't in uniform," Abe protested, and retreated a step or two. "I swear. He was in old rags, and he talked kinda crazy, too. The only thing that made me think of the Service was that he had on some military style boots, that's all."
"And the piece of junk ye sold him was it as bad as these?" The engineer waved a hand at the shadowy hulks behind him. Abe hesitated. He was obviously trying to decide whether to brazen it out, or tell the truth.
"Come on," Scotty growled. "What kind of shape was it in, ye theivin' rascal? Would it hold up under the stress of a long space flight or not?"
"Well, I'm not sure," Honest Abe began. He found his brightly checked suit jacket lapels crushed in Scotty's insistent grip.
"I told him it should only be used inside this solar system," the salesman chattered. "It needed a bit of work before it would be up to any long trips. He said it didn't matter about that."
"Is that what he said?" Scotty asked. He tightened his hold until the hapless salesman nodded repeatedly.
"I think ye just killed a man," Scotty spat out. He let go of the salesman as if he were something disgusting. "A fine doctor, and as good an officer as I've ever seen. Think aboot that when ye're drinking his money away." He turned on his heel and strode into the darkness. Honest Abe stared after him, and smoothed his rumpled suit.
()
McCoy woke up with a stiff neck, and shivering with cold. The tiny overhead light cast weird shadows as he groped in various cubbyholes. One produced an old fashioned heat reflecting blanket, in which he wrapped himself before he took a drink of water.
He turned out the light and stared out the window at the bright white banner of stars streaming across the black sky.
"Almost looks like home, doesn't it?" came his grandfather's sleepy voice from the other seat. McCoy nodded into the dark.
"Gramps, is dying bad?" he asked. It was a question he asked one bedtime many years ago.
"I haven't done it yet, son, so I don't know for sure," came the same answer, "but in my days as a doctor I've been at more deathbeds than I care to count. Some slip off so peaceful you'd say they welcomed it, and others fight tooth and nail to hang on to every precious moment they could get. It just depends if folks are prepared, I guess." The old man's voice lulled McCoy back to sleep.
"Gramps, I don't want to die yet," he said. He felt the wizened hand pat him on the head.
"Don't you fret about it, Leonard," Gramps told him. "You just rest now. I'll stay up and keep watch for a little longer."
()
"The HF 99 was a lemon to begin with, sir," Scotty said. "And an old one, in the shape that I think it was, would have had trouble getting off the ground, never mind reaching a planet." He shook his head in discouragement. Kirk rested his elbows on his desk, and cupped his face in his hands as he tried to think. Pictures of McCoy intruded into his mind.
How often had McCoy saved his life? He had lost count. There were other times when he rescued the entire ship's crew. It would be like him to sacrifice himself so that Kirk and the rest of the people on the Enterprise wouldn't be infected with the disease.
"I'm not giving up the search until I'm convinced that he's . . . dead." Kirk choked on the word as he averted his face from Spock and Scotty.
"It is possible that the doctor did not follow his flight plan," Spock said. Kirk seized on the idea, then unwillingly discarded it.
"You know how much he hates operating complex controls," he said. "He would have taken the data fed to him by the computer in Ground Control, and left it at that." Kirk relapsed into dark and gloomy brooding.
"There's something niggling at the back of my mind, sir," Scotty spoke up hesitantly. "It's about the HF 99. Do you think the computer has anything about it in its memory banks?"
"Computer," Kirk said, and the computer hummed into life. "Search memory banks for data on personal space craft model HF 99."
"Computer operating," the machine intoned, then clattered for a few seconds. The screen lit up, and the three men crowded in for a closer look.
"Aye, I thought so," Scotty said. He pointed to the list of the vehicle's specifications and equipment. "She was equipped with habitat seeking escape pods. They were the latest in technology at the time caused a lot of trouble when ships were attempting a rescue, and the pods headed for restricted or quarantine planets."
"Habitat seeking? You mean the pod's sensors would look for the nearest habitable planet, and head for it?" Kirk asked.
"They were programmed to look for a breathable atmosphere mainly," Scotty answered. "If there was water, so much the better it would land beside the water."
"There is one other planet in this system with a breathable atmosphere," Spock recalled the data he had seen earlier. Kirk quickly summoned up the information covering the planets orbiting this sun, and scanned it rapidly.
"This one, you mean?" he pointed at an entry on the screen. The Vulcan nodded, and Kirk singled it out for more detailed data. The computer put it up on the screen. After a quick look at it, Kirk sighed in frustration.
"Another blind alley," he said. "The water there is poisonous."
"I remember a story about those pods," Scotty persisted. "One time they put a whole family down on a planet where the only water was salty, and they had to survive on the water rations in the pod. I think the pods only recognize water, and don't differentiate between good and bad water."
"It's worth a try," Kirk allowed a glimmer of hope to rise inside him. He got up from his chair, glad to have some measure of purpose and direction again. "We'll orbit the planet Gilead," he checked the screen again for the name, "and do bio sensor scanning."
"On a planet bare of any life at all, he should show up like a black spot on a white piece of paper," Scotty perked up.
"Bridge to Captain Kirk," Uhura's voice stopped everyone short. Kirk reached down to press the button that opened the line to the Bridge.
"Kirk here. What is it, Uhura?"
"Message from Starfleet, sir. There's an incipient supernova near Science Station 18. We're to go and aid in the evacuation." Kirk slammed his palm down on the desk in anger.
()
The noise was unbelievable. The pod rocked like a hatching egg as the winds buffeted it.
"Quite the hurricane!" Gramps shouted over the howling of the storm. The noise of dust particles pitting the viewing window sounded like a torrent of rain.
McCoy lolled his head to look out the window. It was a dark confusion of windblown sand and dust. The movement of his head triggered yet another coughing fit. There was more blood in his spittle now, he noticed clinically, but found he didn't care. He was too weak to care.
"This shack's holding out pretty well," yelled Gramps, and patted the hull that trembled and vibrated under his hand.
"Maybe we'll make it to morning," McCoy croaked despondently. To talk felt like someone was sticking knives down his throat. He took another drink of water. He was halfway through his third flask, and it wasn't even halfway through the night.
()
"When do we have to be there, Lieutenant?" Kirk asked.
"We have three days, sir," came the answer after a short pause.
"Thank you, Lieutenant," said Kirk. He turned off the intercom with a click, and stared at the statistics of the planet Gilead that glowed on his computer screen. He couldn't just abandon the search. McCoy McCoy was his friend. He wouldn't turn his back on him.
"Mr. Spock, at our top speed, how long will it take us to reach Science Station 18?" he asked. The Science Officer thought for what seemed to be an eternity, but in reality was only a matter of seconds.
"If we were to achieve top warp speed, the Enterprise could be there in 1.75 days, sir." The Vulcan spoke in his most scientific voice, empty of everything except the bare facts.
"Can we do it, Scotty?" Kirk asked his Chief Engineer. The Scot smiled as he worked out Kirk's plan for himself.
"My engines are ready when you are, sir," he assured his captain.
"Well, gentlemen," Kirk said, "that gives us 1.25 days to find Doctor McCoy. Let's get to work."
()
The howl of the wind was more muted now. McCoy hoped it wasn't because he was going deaf. His thirst seemed unquenchable as he drained the third flask dry.
"Bones, you shouldn't have gone."
Kirk sat in the other chair, and looked at him sadly.
"You don't understand, Jim," McCoy tried to explain. "I couldn't let you and the rest of the crew get infected, too. I had to go. It wasn't that I wanted to. You realize that, don't you?" Kirk nodded sympathetically.
"I understand, Bones," he said. McCoy raised his head, and looked up at the locker that held the last precious flask of water.
"Would you do me a favour, Jim?" he requested. "Would you reach up there and get that water for me?" Incredibly, his friend shook his head, and a tear rolled down his cheek.
"I can't do that, Bones," he said. His face twisted with emotion. "I'm only a product of your imagination. I can't do it, but you know I would if I were really here." McCoy couldn't believe his ears.
"What do you mean, you're not really here?" he demanded. "You're as real as I am." To prove his point, he reached out to grasp Kirk's gold braided sleeve.
His hand went right through Kirk's arm. As he stared incredulously, the figure of his friend dissolved and disappeared. It was then that Leonard McCoy began to cry.
()
"Can't we go any faster with the scanning?" Kirk fretted. He looked over Spock's shoulder impatiently.
"Captain, we cannot accelerate the scanning process without leaving huge areas unscanned," the Science Officer said calmly, and continued his work at the Science Station.
"We need more time," said the frustrated captain of the Enterprise. "Exactly how much more time will it take to finish the scan, Spock?"
"Another eight hours, forty five minutes," the precise Vulcan replied. "Providing we do not locate Doctor McCoy before then." Kirk paced the upper deck and thought furiously. He was not aware of the covert glances sent his way by the Bridge personnel. By now everyone knew of McCoy's disappearance, and that their time to find him was limited.
Spock took an instant to look at Kirk, and then across the Bridge to where Scotty stood. The Chief Engineer caught Spock's eye, and shook his head with a concerned frown. They were losing the race against the clock.
"Get me Starfleet," Kirk ordered Uhura. "Put it through to my chair viewer." He stepped down to the lower deck of the Bridge, and slid into the command chair. He pressed the button to elevate the tiny screen that was at other times flush with the arm of the chair.
"Starfleet coming in, sir," said Uhura, and the screen scrambled a moment with static before the picture cleared. Kirk recognised Commodore John Linsay. The Commodore's expression was not one of pleasure.
"I expected you to be warping over to that evacuation, like you were ordered to." Commodore Linsay had never been one for small talk.
"One of my officers is missing. We are conducting a scan of the planet in question," Kirk explained. "We can arrive at the evacuation site at the time ordered, but I request an extension of the arrival time to allow a thorough search to be completed." His words were formal. He was as brief as he knew how to be.
"An officer missing?" The Commodore's tone implied negligence on Kirk's part. Kirk kept his facial muscles motionless to hide the sudden flash of anger that he felt. "How can an officer go missing on that little planet that you chose for shore leave? As I remember it, it was so small it was difficult to find room for privacy, and impossible to get lost on."
"The officer in question is not on that planet," Kirk said. "We believe he is on another planet in this system, one known as Gilead." Kirk was not aware of Spock's sudden movement. His attention was on Commodore Linsay's face. which had turned a rather peculiar shade.
"How in the name of " Linsay began, then stopped himself. "What's he doing there?" Kirk thought fast.
"He was performing a test flight," he improvised. "Of a recently repaired shuttle. He had to crash land there because of an equipment malfunction. We're trying to locate him before his emergency supplies run out."
()
There was a trail of blood across the plastic mat. McCoy saw it through a haze of pain and incredible thirst, but it didn't occur to him to question whose blood it was. He was intent on only one thing: the flask of water in the cupboard overhead.
Driven by his all consuming need for water, he gathered his strength and pulled himself to his knees. A seizure of racking coughs bent him double, and blood sprayed over the inside of the pod at every spasm.
"Keep going," he whispered when the coughing stopped, and lifted a heavy arm to fumble with leaden fingers at the latch of the cupboard.
()
Uhura slipped, unnoticed by Kirk, into Spock's chair. The Vulcan stood on the upper deck behind Kirk and used his sensitive hearing. Kirk's rigidity of expression alerted him to trouble, and now he knew why Kirk was so disturbed.
"I tell you, Captain Kirk, that Gilead is off limits," Commodore Linsay sputtered. Kirk couldn't understand.
"Why? There's absolutely nothing there," Kirk objected.
"Why?" repeated Linsay. "I don't know why. The reason is so classified that they won't even tell the admirals. But the orders are there in the computer: access is to be denied, exploration severely discouraged, and that includes scanning. The whole planet is to be given out as a waste of time and worthless. No exceptions."
"We are talking about a man's life down there, sir," was Kirk's plea.
"We are talking about hundreds of lives at risk in that supernova, Captain Kirk." Commodore Linsay remained steadfast.
Spock motioned to Scotty, who hurried to stand beside him.
"I may need your help, Mr. Scott," the Vulcan whispered.
"You are ordered to stand clear of the planet, Captain Kirk, and to proceed in execution of your duties," Linsay said adamantly. As Kirk again tried to argue with the stubborn officer, Spock's replacement stepped onto the Bridge from the turbo lift. Spock and Scotty moved noiselessly through the open turbo lift doors, and were gone before Kirk finished his sentence.
()
To be free of pain would be such a relief. Oh, for just one hour without this terrible fever, the burning in his lungs, the craving for water. He had never really appreciated the absence of pain before. In this modern age of miracles, he had never considered the possibility of anyone having to endure this.
"Hurts bad, doesn't it?" Gramps looked at him in the light of a false dawn. McCoy tried to nod, but the attempt at movement threatened to bring on another coughing session. The fourth and final flask rested on his lap. It was already half gone. Gramps pointed a finger at the flask.
"That's the last one, isn't it?" he asked rhetorically. "What will you do when it runs out?" McCoy had put off thinking about that until now. He was silent for a moment as he faced the truth.
"Die," he whispered hoarsely, and began to cough.
()
". . . Kirk out." When the image of Commodore Linsay disappeared, the captain of the Enterprise allowed his emotions to show on his face. As he struggled with his anger, frustration, and grief, the crew politely studied their instrument panels.
His friend and fellow officer was lost and dying. But many more lives would be lost if Kirk and his ship didn't evacuate them. The captain knew his duty-knew that McCoy himself would tell him to go. It was then that Kirk made one of the most difficult decisions of his career. He clenched his fists, set his jaw, and fought back his tears.
"Mr. Sulu, prepare to take us out of orbit," Kirk finally said in a strangled voice. "Mr. Spock, continue scan as long as " He looked to the Science Station, and Spock's replacement looked back.
"Where's Mr. Spock?" Kirk demanded, looking around. He met blank looks wherever he turned. Sulu moved extremely slowly to comply with his captain's orders, and everyone else matched the Helmsman's pace. Kirk stared about him in stupefied amazement. Finally he crossed the lower deck to stand below the Science Station.
"Where is Mr. Spock?" he asked, his words slow and deliberate as his anger mounted. Spock's replacement met his captain's eyes, his face the picture of innocence.
"He called me to relieve him, sir, and then he left," he reported. Kirk banged his fist down on the red rail that separated the two decks, and turned to the view screen to see if they had left orbit yet. A bright speck showed on the screen. It was headed for the planet's surface.
"Mr. Chekov, what is that?" Kirk asked quickly. A laconic Chekov slowly touched buttons. Angrily, Kirk strode to the Navigator's post.
"It appears to be some sort of shuttle craft, sir," was the lazily spoken report. Kirk stopped in the act of drawing a breath, and halted the explosion of wrath that he planned.
"A shuttle craft?" he asked, confused. The swish of the turbo lift doors made him turn, and he saw Scotty return to the Bridge. The Scot looked at the view screen with satisfaction before he moved towards the Engineering stations on the upper deck.
"Scotty, what is going on?" Kirk asked in a stage whisper when he reached the rail separating them. His Chief Engineer looked at him apologetically.
"I'm afraid that something's wrong with our warp engines, sir," he said. "It will be several hours before they can be repaired." Kirk stared at Scotty and wondered if his whole crew had lost their wits.
"I don't suppose you know where Mr. Spock is, either," he surmised. The Engineer's eyes flickered briefly to the view screen, then back to Kirk.
"No, sir, I couldn't tell ye," he answered with a perfectly straight face.
()
The Galileo sped towards its target on the edge of the huge dust storm that blanketed an enormous area of Gilead. Spock sat at the controls. His eyes never ceased their constant monitoring of sensors and indicators.
The Enterprise scanners had located one small source of water, apparently a stream that meandered over a tiny area of the planet. It disappeared into the dust storm, where the starship's sensors proved ineffective.
If, Spock reasoned, the pod had detected this water, it would have touched down somewhere along its length. He also knew that Kirk would not disobey the direct order to stand away from the planet. That would put anyone on the surface out of transporter range, and stop the Enterprise's scan of the surface. That left only one logical alternative.
The dust storm whirled violently, an angry red eye looking up at him as he approached. He would try to land as close as he could to its edge, beside the stream, and walk along the stream. If McCoy was indeed on Gilead, he would be somewhere along the poisonous water supply.
The shuttle became harder to control as he neared the storm. The turbulence threw the Galileo into erratic climbs and sideways dives. The Vulcan gripped the controls tightly as he fought to keep the shuttle on course.
The surface came up too fast, and Spock struggled to gain altitude. Just as he thought he may have succeeded, he ran out of room. The little craft shuddered and bounced her way over the ground, lost speed quickly, and finally buried her nose in a small sand dune.
()
McCoy raised the flask to his cracked lips, and tilted it high to let the last few drops trickle tantalizingly down his throat. When it became clear there was no more in the container, he dropped his arm limply, and let the flask roll onto the floor of the pod.
His eyes were dry as he forced them open. They itched and burned, but the pain was easy to ignore. The agony of every breath he took made everything else pale in comparison.
He looked down at his shaking hands. They were stained brown with dried blood. Everywhere he looked was spattered with his blood. A wetness at his mouth started to trickle down his chin, and he wiped it off. His hand came away red.
"I must look like a real mess," he thought inconsequentially, and took shallow breaths to ease the pain. Suddenly, he opened his mouth in a silent scream. An alien sat beside him, its sharp toothed jaws agape.
()
"We're picking up an automatic finder signal from the Galileo, sir," Chekov reported.
"A finder signal?" Kirk asked. He came to stand in front of his command chair. "That means it crashed." He looked at the view screen. The image of Gilead looked small and lonely.
Kirk obeyed the order to stand off from the planet, but he continued to keep the Enterprise as close as he dared. He was using the starship's short range sensors in an attempt to locate any life on Gilead. It was the proverbial needle in a haystack kind of search-and it frustrated the worried captain.
"Uhura, contact the Galileo," he ordered. The Communications Officer's fingers flew over the buttons of her console.
"There is no response, sir," she said. Kirk turned to look at Scotty, who shrugged.
()
"Remarkably like Vulcan, barring one or two exceptions," the Science Officer said as he scanned the dry planet's surface. When his tricorder showed no life forms outside the storm area, Spock faced the dark dust cloud and resolutely began to walk. He hung the now useless tricorder over his shoulder.
Spock stepped carefully beside the blue black stream, and turned his face to avoid the stinging particles of dust driven by the wind. Though he headed into the storm, its edge retreated from him faster than he could advance. He noticed an abatement of the force of the gusts already. Behind him, the shape of the Galileo grew smaller as he pressed on, and was finally lost to sight as the whirling dust obscured his view.
()
McCoy didn't know how he did it, but his body found the strength to scramble from the pod. He rolled onto the ground, too frightened to breathe. His only thought was to escape the slavering jaws of the alien creature.
The wind blew around him, stinging his skin. It made him weave unsteadily as he tried to keep on his feet. He lifted his hand to protect his eyes, and looked up at the pod's hatch. There was a movement, and the alien's slimy head appeared.
A sound behind him startled the doctor, and he turned. Yet another hideous creature emerged from the sandstorm. This one was more ferocious looking than the one climbing from the pod.
With a sob that tore at his parched throat, McCoy tried to run. He stumbled over stones, and coughed blood as he moved. He didn't dare look back, but he could hear the outraged roars of pursuing aliens could almost feel their slimy tentacles around his neck.
He didn't see the blue black ribbon across his path until it was too late. He slipped on a wet rock, and fell face first into the stream.
The delicious wetness washed over his fevered skin, and he numbly realized where he was. His thirst warred with his fear of the aliens, and his thirst won. He put his face into the cool, dark liquid and drank.
()
The Enterprise moved closer to Gilead and beamed down technicians to inspect the Galileo and recover her.
"There's no one aboard her, sir," came the technician's report to Kirk. The captain turned a shade whiter, if that were possible, and sat quietly down in his command chair.
First McCoy, and now Spock. Somewhere down on that planet were his two friends and fellow officers. He looked at the chronometer beside Sulu. If he didn't locate them or hear from them soon, he would be forced to abandon them.
"There's a large dust storm near the crash site of the shuttle, sir," the Science Station operator said. "It's interfering with our sensors."
With a sudden intuition, Kirk knew where they were.
"Mr. Sulu, bring us within transporter range of that dust storm," he ordered. Kirk would deal with the Commodore later. Right now, the lives of two of the best officers in the Fleet, and his best friends, depended on him.
()
The Vulcan listened. The wind died to a soft moan instead of a shriek, and the dust was settling. For a moment, over the sound of the wind, he thought he heard a voice. But now only the wind's moan came to his ears.
He pulled out the tricorder again and hoped the storm's interference had diminished enough for it to operate. He stared at the instrument, then peered ahead of him as he walked slowly up a low sand dune.
When he reached the top, he strained his eyes to see into the swirling dust. His keen Vulcan vision discerned the dim outline of a space vessel beside the stream. Even as he slid down the side of the dune, a humanoid shape emerged from the stream, and collapsed on its bank.
()
Kirk paced the lower deck of the Bridge and nervously eyed the relentless movement of the chronometer.
"We're picking up something, sir." Spock's replacement barely controlled his excitement to make the report. Kirk was at his shoulder before he finished speaking.
"The dust storm is moving," the technician explained. "The readings are from an area we couldn't scan before because of the storm's interference." He tapped more buttons as an impatient Kirk fidgeted.
"Life forms, sir," the man said, and turned wide eyes to Kirk. "One Vulcan, and one Human."
"Take over here, Lieutenant," Kirk said to Sulu as he and Scotty ran for the turbo lift.
()
Something had happened to McCoy's body. The thirst was gone, the urge to cough was gone, the pain and fever had disappeared. He felt much better in fact, he hadn't felt this good for years. The thought crossed his mind that he was dead.
To prove himself wrong, he opened his eyes. He was still on Gilead. The pod was there, its nose half buried in the ground and the hatch wide open. His memory tantalized him with vague snatches of conversations that seemed real at the time, but now were as misty and unsubstantial as a dream.
He looked at his hands, and felt his face. The skin was unlined, the flesh firm. The half healed scar on his hand was gone. In stupefaction, he looked at the blue black waters that bubbled over the tips of his boots.
"It's the Fountain of Youth!" he breathed, and cupped his hands to take another drink.
"Doctor McCoy!" a familiar voice echoed over the breeze. With a groan, McCoy dropped his head. His hallucinations weren't over after all.
"Don't drink that, doctor," the Vulcan ordered as he came to stand beside McCoy. "This water is poisonous."
"Who told you that?" McCoy asked skeptically. "Anyway, I've already had some, and I've never felt better." The doctor again bent to the dark waters.
"If you insist on committing suicide, I cannot stop you," the Vulcan said. An edge of frustration made his voice cutting. The human eyed him, and laughed.
"You couldn't stop me even if you tried," he said. "You're just a hallucination a figment of my imagination." He lifted a handful of liquid, and gasped as his wrist was caught in the Vulcan's viselike grip.
"I assure you, doctor, that I am not product of your rather finite imagination," came the inflectionless voice. McCoy looked into the flat brown eyes, then at the fingers ringing his wrist.
"You're right," he shook off the Vulcan's hand. "I would never have dreamed you up on my own." He scrambled to his feet, and dusted himself off. There were still bloodstains on his clothes. The Science Officer saw them, but offered no comment.
"If you're not a dream," McCoy began, then amended it. "I mean, if this isn't just another nightmare, what are you doing here? How did you find me?"
"Captain Kirk could not accept the reasoning that you gave on your message tape. It was not consistent with your personality," Spock said. He kept pace with the doctor as they made their way back to the pod. "Logically, then, it followed that you had some other reason for your behaviour. It was a matter of investigation and deduction that led us here."
McCoy stopped and scrutinized Spock with a keen blue eyed glance.
"And that's all there is to it," he said slowly. "Just a matter of logic and deduction, Mr. Spock? I don't suppose you have any logical way to explain to me how not ten minutes ago I was dying, choking on my own blood, and now I'm fitter than I've ever been in my life?"
"The explanation is not immediately evident, but I'm sure that there is one," Spock said, unperturbed.
"There is, and I'll give it to you," McCoy said. "I drank that stuff over there." He waved a hand towards the stream. "That stuff you call poisonous is actually a revitalizer, a Fountain of Youth."
"Doctor, the myth of the Fountain of Youth is one that is present in the lore of many primitive races," was Spock's response. "I would need more evidence before I passed judgement on your claim that this water is that coveted elixir."
"You overgrown, green skinned elf," McCoy sputtered. "You won't admit I'm right, just as a matter of principle." As the argument grew more involved, neither of the officers took notice of the golden whirling outline that took shape just beyond them. It solidified into the form of Captain Kirk.
Kirk saw his Science Officer with his hands behind his back and bent forward slightly as he countered an argument from an obviously healthy McCoy.
"And furthermore, I never asked you to come Sherlocking around trying to find me," McCoy continued. "You could have left me to die in peace."
"Believe me, doctor," the longsuffering Vulcan looked upwards, "if it had been left entirely up to me, I just might have given serious consideration to the idea."
Kirk couldn't contain his relief at seeing his two friends back in fighting form, and he laughed. At the sound of his voice, the two stopped their verbal duelling and swivelled to face him. Their expressions sent him into another spate of laughter, so that he could hardly speak into his communicator.
"Three to beam up," he chortled, "Mr. Scott."
()
"I told you," McCoy triumphantly jumped off the examining table. "Never been in better shape in my life."
"It certainly is an improvement over the test results taken when you had the disease," Spock compared the two charts.
"And it's because of that so called poisonous water," McCoy reaffirmed, and donned his short sleeved blue tunic.
"Now, doctor," Spock said, but Kirk interrupted him.
"There might be something in that after all, Spock," he said. "There's no other reason that I can think of that would make Commodore Linsay insist we leave the planet."
"He did?" McCoy asked in surprise. Kirk nodded as he leaned against an examining table.
"He refused to tell me why said it was classified but he ordered me to stop scanning the planet, and to stand off."
"So it just might be the Fountain of Youth," McCoy mused. "No wonder they call it Gilead." Then he looked sharply at Spock as another thought struck him.
"So you deliberately disobeyed orders when you came to find me," he accused. Spock tried not to look uncomfortable. "And since I know Jim here wouldn't have let you go alone if he knew you were going, you didn't act on his orders, either."
"I merely did what the captain would have done under the same circumstances," the Vulcan said stiffly. McCoy laughed, and pointed an accusing finger.
"One of these days I'll disprove the widely held notion that Vulcans don't lie," he said.
"I believe the saying is, `Don't hold your breath', Doctor," Spock said, his hands clasped behind his back.
"Well, I won't," McCoy responded. "Nor will I stop eating. What about a little food?" The group moved toward the door of Sick Bay. "I swear the rations aboard that used space craft were the original issue."
"That reminds me," Kirk said. "Who was Vera?" McCoy stopped in mid stride, then quickly resumed his pace to hide his pain over the memory.
"Oh, just an old friend," he said lightly. "I talked to a lot of people that I haven't seen in a long time. I even had a chat with my grandfather, the doctor." The door opened.
"I didn't know your grandfather was a doctor," Kirk said as he stepped into the hall.
"You didn't?" McCoy said, and followed him. "He was telling me about the time a farmer called him to check on a sick horse . . . "
The door to Sick Bay closed as the three officers moved down the corridor.
THE END
Other Star Trek original stories by this author on this site are: "Foundling's Keepers", "Skin Deep", and "Side Effects".