CHAPTER 4:

"No, God damn it!" Dr. McCoy barked at one of the nurses. "Does it look like Sick Bay is on fire?! We don't need to evacuate. In case you haven't noticed, the computers have lost their damn minds! I've always said it was a bad idea to rely on machines so long as we still have two eyeballs to see with…"

He gave the computer a hard smack. Personally, he was kind of glad to see the crew break away from their dependence on the computer system, even if it was under such wild circumstances. Every ten minutes, the ship was told to brace for impact. And every time, McCoy was probably the only one to do it. In the off chance that something did hit the ship, he had no desire to bounce around the room like a bean in a tin can.

His nurses became more and more scattered throughout the ship as calls came in of injuries caused by carelessness and panic. There were only a couple of them left in the med bay where the doctor continued to battle his delusional computer.

"Doctor!" A frantic voice drew his attention to a young red-headed ensign rushing towards him breathlessly. "Doctor, I need your help!"

"What happened?" He had to grip her shoulder, firmly but gently, to keep her from toppling over. "Just breathe, ensign…"

"The cargo bay…" she heaved. "… An officer, he's seriously hurt… I think something fell, I don't know… there's blood, he's hardly moving, but he's alive… You have to come, doctor!"

"Take me to him."

There was no hesitation from McCoy. In all the craziness going on in the past hour or so, he wouldn't have put it past someone to get themselves good and mortally wounded. Snatching up his med kit, he was running as fast as his legs could carry him to follow the redhead through the winding corridors of the ship. The turbo lifts were obviously out of order by the way they seemed to spit out a red shirt here and a blue shirt there.

When they reached the cargo bay, it was lit up by the yellow alert, casting cross-hatched shadows of the crates and cryo-tubes in all directions. It was a little dizzying, but McCoy swallowed down his complaints as he searched for the wounded officer. He was just about to inquire where the patient was when he saw a young security man sprawled on the floor. The doctor dropped beside him, immediately taking tricorder readings with one hand while he looked him over.

"I thought you said he was bleeding? I don't see anything…" he trailed off as he looked over the readings. "What the hell… This man's been drugged! Ensign—"

When he turned in his stoop, he found himself staring into the blasting end of a phaser. The blue tip told him it was on stun, but that didn't keep his heart from stopping cold. On the other end of the weapon was the redhead.

"Stand up, please." The words might have been polite, but her tone wasn't.

As much as McCoy wanted to help the fallen man, he wasn't injured, he was only sleeping and would be just fine without immediate medical help. So, carefully, the doctor rose to his feet, showing her his hands. With a gesture of the phaser, she directed him towards the sea of cryo-tubes.

"Keep walking…" she commanded curtly.

He did as he was told and marched.

"Stop there."

It was with some reluctance that McCoy looked to the cryo-tube beside where he was told to stop. Sure enough, sleeping more peacefully than he had a right to, was Khan himself. He didn't like where this was going. McCoy wished that for once he had listened to that small voice in his head that told him to stay on the starbase and off the Enterprise. The redhead took a stance on the opposite side of the cryo-tube, the phaser still directly aimed.

"Revive him."

"Are you outta your mind?!"

"Revive him, doctor." She repeated sternly. "I'm not asking."

"I can't," he said truthfully. "Without special equipment or the proper sequencing, it'll kill him if I try. Don't get me wrong, I think it would be doing the universe a favor if I did, but I don't want to be anyone's executioner."

Keeping the phaser on him, she bent to the side to pull something from the top of her knee-high boot. It was a disc, which she held for him to see. "It's a good thing I have the sequencing then."

"And how do you know it'll work?" He was just stalling now.

"Because I downloaded it directly from the twentieth century ship that they were found on two years ago."

Damn. That would do it.

"Look," he said gently, "whoever's putting you up to this doesn't know what they're asking. You wake this guy up and all hell breaks loose—"

"I'm acting alone," she snapped. "Which means it's up to me whether or not I shoot you for not cooperating. Revive him."

"You know who this guy is, don't you?" he pointed to the ghostly face in the window of the cryo-tube. "He's responsible for the deaths of thousands of people—and that's just in this century! This isn't just some man taking a nap, ensign, this is a sleeping dragon and he'll kill us all just because you gave him the chance!"

As he spoke, her eyes had drifted away from him to fix on Khan's pale and frosted face. Her expression was hard, but McCoy was sure he could see the flicker of doubt in her eye; the flicker that told him his words were striking some chord of humanity within her.

"Whatever your reasons," he continued more gently, "you don't want to do this."

"No… I don't…" she replied quietly. "But I have to. Please, doctor. Wake him up."

She was resolved beyond all reason. There was nothing McCoy was likely to say at this point that would alter her choice and he knew it. If he refused, she would just threaten another medical officer to do the job, and there were plenty—albeit probably less qualified—to do it.

"Fine," he said under his breath and held out his hand. "I'll need the sequencing then."

Due to the ridiculous flood of alerts from the ship's system, Kirk had no choice but to order the Enterprise to drop out of warp. The bridge went through waves of activity. There were moments where it became so quiet that things seemed normal again, other times it was too quiet and a pin could be heard dropping—an uncomfortable scenario on any space vessel.

"One hundred twenty three… and a half… objects on a collision course, sir," Sulu sighed heavily. "This time in a V-formation…"

"We've already gone through the rest of the alphabet," Kirk rubbed his brow, a headache growing worse and worse. He was standing behind his chair, leaning heavily on the back of it. With any luck it would stop at Z and wouldn't start the Klingon alphabet or something. "Spock. Anything?"

"Whatever is affecting our computer systems is internal, captain," the Vulcan replied calmly. "The tampering has infiltrated so deep into the systems that it would be impossible to have been done from just any computer on the ship. If it is to be fixed, it must be done through one of the main terminals."

Kirk was still for a moment, his brow furrowing as his stature straightened from his lean on the chair to look more fully towards his first officer. "You mean someone on the ship is responsible for this?"

"At least one individual," Spock specified. "There could be more."

Malfunctioning machines was one thing, sabotage another. "You're sure?"

"If by 'sure' you mean 'certain'—yes, I am certain the computer has been deliberately interfered with. No, I am not certain how many or whom."

"First order of business is to fix the computers before we fly into a moon." Kirk's voice was strained, the anger bubbling up towards whoever the traitor was. "Get maintenance on it, Mr. Spock…"

"Yes, captain."

Sauntering back to the chair, he patched through to the med bay. "Dr. McCoy, how're things going down there?"

No response.

"Doctor!" No response. He groaned with annoyance. "Lieutenant Uhura, are the coms working?"

"They are, captain, there's just no response…" her own voice was flustered with the overwhelming error lights that filled her station.

"Bones, respond!"

"Captain!" a woman's voice responded. "This is Nurse Yulins. Doctor McCoy isn't in Sick Bay at the moment."

"Thank you, nurse…" he switched from a direct channel to ship-wide intercom. "Dr. McCoy, report to the bridge immediately."