Sunday
0105
McCoy left the poker game and started to his room. They played most Saturday nights. Attendance varied, tonight it had been just Sulu, Scotty, Kirk and himself. He had reminded Uhura at dinner but she had said something about working on some translations and then neither she nor Spock made it. Scotty left early, after a call from engineering, and then about midnight a Lieutenant Sorenson, from security, had joined them. Jim had given her a big smile and dealt her in.
Jim liked to host. They always let him. He had the biggest quarters, and it could be convenient when he had someone stay the night. He was the only one likely to have a guest.
They broke up a little earlier than usual. He could tell by the way Jim was looking at Sorenson that he was eager for some privacy. Sulu must have sensed it too, he left at the same time. They walked together to the lifts.
"Good game Doc," Sulu said.
McCoy snorted and said, "Good for you, you're the big winner tonight."
"Well, the captain was distracted and Chekov wasn't here to thwart me." They stepped into the lift and he asked, "How is my little sidekick anyway?"
"I don't honestly know. Patel and Treos are acting as attending, so I've hardly seen him. They tell me he's stable." He added, "Three days is a long time to have a high fever."
Sulu frowned, "He won't like that."
"Nobody likes having a fever."
"No. He won't like having another doctor. He trusts you. It's hard for Pav to ask for help. He likes that you kind of take charge and don't make him."
McCoy frowned and asked., "Did he tell you that?"
Sulu shook his head. "Not exactly, the only time I've ever heard much about his adventures in sick bay is when Captain Kirk retells the story of the great anti-anxiety med fiasco."
"I wish Jim didn't enjoy that story so much. Chekov would probably prefer to forget it. It could have happened to anyone and it wasn't funny."
"The captain thinks it was. You're right though, Pavel is not as enthusiastic. Once he told me that hearing the captain tell the story makes him so anxious he should probably be medicated."
McCoy laughed.
"That's Pav," Sulu said with a smile. "He says things and half the time I don't realize he's been funny until after I walk away. Anyway, I just assume he wouldn't want a new doctor, because he's so private. And I have heard him say," He paused and looked a little embarrassed.
"What?" McCoy asked.
"Nothing," Sulu said.
"What did he say?" McCoy asked.
"Like for instance if people say that you," Sulu looked embarrassed and started again. "If there is ever any discussion about sick bay he always sticks up for you. He says you are kind and the smartest one down there." He paused and then added, "Not that there are people running around saying bad things about sick bay, or you, or anything. Never mind. I shouldn't have started talking. I am never drinking again. Forget it."
They rode in silence for a few seconds then McCoy said, "He said I was kind? He must be confused more often than we know."
"And smart, that's his highest compliment, so, feel appreciated."
After a few more seconds of silence, Sulu added, "He says you have good taste in music."
"He does?'
"Yeah, he says you have amazing taste for an old guy."
"He considers that a compliment?"
"Don't worry about it. He thinks I'm old too. But then, compared to him, everyone is pretty old. Even the captain, although Pav pretty much thinks he's perfect. Anyway, be proud that he likes your music. His own taste is super sophisticated, because of going to school all over. Or so he assures me, usually right before he slams something I like."
"Well how about that?" McCoy said, thinking of Joanna. He knew it was ridiculous to feel proud to have her taste complimented, but he did.
The doors of the lift opened and Sulu said, "This one's mine. Tell him hi for me, will you Doc? I have been so busy I haven't been down to see him. I feel bad about that. He's always great about making time to see people when they're laid up."
"I won't see him till tomorrow."
"Aren't you going up to check on him now?"
"No, it's late, I am going home to bed."
Sulu leaned back in and pointed at the lit-up number on the controls by the door. "If you are going home why did you push for deck 7?"
McCoy grimaced. "Force of habit," he said.
Sulu grinned, jumped back out and let the doors close. McCoy frowned at the glowing 7 and pushed the number for his own floor.
But when he got to his quarters he felt too keyed up to sleep. He started a comm to Joanna, but couldn't think of anything to say. He tried to read but couldn't concentrate. He decided he needed one more drink to calm his nerves. In the interests of enforced self-control, he didn't keep liquor in his room, so he got up, went back to the turbolift and rode to deck 7. He slipped through the back entrance of the medical unit and into his office unobserved.
He poured himself a bourbon and leaned back in his chair. After a few minutes, he instructed the holo viewer to run through his collection of Joanna's pictures. He told one of the audios Chekov had sent him to play quietly. The piece was one of his favorites, but it was ironic Chekov thought it proved he had good taste. He would never have picked it, and originally he had not cared for it. No, he remembered, that wasn't true. When he had first heard it he had loved it. It was only later that he had hated it.
He had received a comm from Joanna in which she had raved about a concert. She had said she was obsessed with one of the performers. She said that she felt like they knew her soul. He had laughed at her dramatic little speech, but had enjoyed it. She seldom shared her opinions.
He had been curious, so he had gone on one of his Chekov hunts. He found the boy in the mess and asked if he knew the musicians. The ensign had looked surprised, sputtered unintelligibly and then messed with his PADD. He had said, "I have sent you my favorite of their work, I recommended finding a private place to listen to it."
He had laughed all the way to his office. Then he started the audio. From the first notes, it had affected him in a way he had never experienced before. The melody had been simple, played on instruments he hadn't recognized. But the singer's rough, untrained soprano had made him remember every mistake he'd ever made. He hadn't been able to understand the words, but he had felt like she was singing his life.
When the song had ended, he had played it again and had the same response. He had stared at the player and wondered how it was possible that he could enjoy it. The music reflective, melancholy, experienced. He had felt listening to the music was a little like a first big swallow of bourbon, painful, but good.
He had understood why Chekov had struggled to discuss the music. It was for adults, impossible to appreciate until one had lived long enough to acquire some regrets. He had felt certain the cheerful little ensign had not suffered enough to understand it. And then he had remembered it was really his daughter's music.
In the absence of shared experiences, he had taken the little bits he picked up from her comms and rare visits, and created a detailed imaginary life for his daughter. In his mind she did only good things, thought of him fondly, and most importantly, was happy. The dark music hadn't fit his fantasy child at all.
He had tried hard to think what regrets the music could possibly call to mind for her. There had been the divorce, but he had always believed she had been too young to have suffered much when he left, and her home life since had been good. He had tried to think of any other sorrows she had experienced. He had been unable to come up with even one. As far as he knew, her last great disappointment had been not getting a pony for her eighth birthday. He hadn't been able to remember her mentioning anything, not an invitation that hadn't come, a slight she had received, a class she failed. She talked of nothing but good grades and good times.
Then it had occurred to him that of course she had her failures, and her fears, but she had never chosen to share them with him. He had never been around enough for her to consider him someone to turn to for comfort. Their conversations consisted of those things any polite child might mention to an adult on the periphery of their life.
He had been devastated.
He had told Nyota he had an emergency on Earth and asked for some help. She hadn't asked a single question, just used the medical channels to make the connection and stepped outside the room. He would always be grateful both for her assistance and her discretion, but it hadn't helped.
When he had finally gotten through, Joanna had sounded just like she always did, happy and busy. He had looked at her through the screen, dressed for tennis, and it had taken all his courage to ask her how she felt. She had laughed and said she felt surprised to hear from him on a Tuesday and then had launched into her usual recital of her activities. Everything she said had confirmed his fear. It had been impossible to say any of the things he wanted to, not while Joanna had been chattering about the school play. He had broken the comm more depressed than he had started it.
After that, he had wandered around in a very black mood. He had snapped at the patients, the crew, his coworkers. After a few days both Jim and Chapel had called him on his attitude. The discussions hadn't gone well, even he had known he was responding rudely. He should have been able to talk to them, they had both known about his family situation. But he hadn't been able to bring himself to explain that he had discovered he barely knew his only child.
He had been brooding at the desk when Scotty called to say an away team was requesting an emergency beam out for two injured crew members. Shortly thereafter Jim had arrived escorting a sobbing young man, and following a stretcher. He had explained that Lt. Lao had been walking with his phaser armed and out when some sort of creature had jumped on him. In a panic the lieutenant had spun around while squeezing the trigger on his weapon. He hadn't hit the animal, but he had managed to unload a heavy stun charge into the chest of Ensign Chekov, who had been standing less than two meters away. They had treated Lao with antiseptic for his scratches and reassurance for his guilt, and then let him go. They had put Chekov in a bio bed to sleep it off. When he had finally awoken, the headache that inevitably followed being stunned had left him so nauseated they had been forced to keep him for observation.
Fretting over his relationship with Joanna had made sleep impossible, so the next morning McCoy had gotten up very early. He had wandered the ship, and eventually ended up in the medical unit, looking for something to do or someone to fight with. After pacing the unit for a while he had told Chekov he was sick of listening to him retch and had ordered a hypo for nausea.
After he had gotten the shot, the boy looked around the room and asked where the dragons had come from. McCoy had drawn up a hypo to reverse the first. It had made Chekov sick almost immediately. Sascheja had been so furious McCoy had meekly offered to sit with the patient. Sascheja had fluttered off muttering about doctors, and left them alone.
Chekov had been poor company. McCoy had tried to make conversation, but it had quickly deteriorated into him solo complaining about how much he disliked the crew going on away missions. That led naturally to him mentioning a few other things he disliked. He hadn't said anything about why he was really unhappy. He had made it a practice never to talk about Joanna except with his closest friends. But she had been on his mind, and without thinking, he had included the disturbing music on his list of complaints.
Chekov had interrupted his rant to say, "I am sorry doctor, I thought you would enjoy it. Usually our tastes are similar, and I love that piece."
The kid had sounded so pathetic McCoy had felt a little guilty. He had said, "I am not saying it isn't technically good. What are they playing, some sort of guitar?"
"I can't pronounce what they are called. They are used in the Reffre religious ceremonies to help the members enter trances. The effect isn't as strong in other species, but it is still somewhat hypnotic I think."
He had grumbled, "I don't speak Russian, but the lyrics sound depressing."
"That is not Russian."
"Well what is it then?"
"It is nothing. The language is created. No one understands it. The singer picks the sounds while watching vids of brain waves from fetal mammals used in lab experiments. She believes they are universal signals of distress. I believe it has more to do with the tone of her voice and the minor chord the piece is performed in. But either way, the nonspecificity is part of the appeal. The musicians make a mood and the listeners fill in the meaning."
"It's different for everyone?"
"They are the same sounds, you interpret them based on your experiences."
"Are you saying that I hear regret because I have regrets?"
"That is the idea, yes."
"That is ridiculous Chekov, you know that right? And it could be dangerous, yes, it is dangerous. Do you realize a normal person, a perfectly happy person could hear that music and start creating all sorts of problems for themselves? They could forget, or maybe not even know that they have people that love them, that are willing, eager to help them. That is a tragedy Chekov. Depression destroys young lives you know."
Chekov, lying rigidly still and clutching a barf bag, had said, "I will take a psych eval if you insist, but could it wait please until I am not so sick?"
"You're fine." McCoy had said. Chekov had moaned in disagreement. McCoy had huffed and said, "let me clarify, physically, right now, you're not so great. But emotionally you're probably the sanest person on the bridge. That's faint praise though so don't let it go to your head."
Pavel had shaken his head dismissively, then grabbed the bag more tightly. McCoy had said, "Don't believe me? Let's see, do you have an overwhelming compulsion to risk your life by turning every day into an impossible, dangerous adventure? No. Are you so emotionally stunted you aren't even comfortable with other people's feelings? No. Do you want to date that? No again. Do you spend most of your free time with plants and knives? You do not. Young man, from where I am sitting, you're looking pretty good."
Eyes closed, Chekov had frowned and said, "I was shot by my shipmate. He was walking in front of me at the time. We were not under attack."
McCoy had chuckled, "Good point, I guess you really do belong working up there."
McCoy had thought a while, considering what Chekov had said about the music. He had not been certain the younger man was still awake when he had asked, "Do they make a happy version?"
Chekov had answered him thoughtfully, "I do not think so, if they do I have never heard it. But, it would be no challenge. Lots of music is happy. Happiness is easy to share. Everyone wishes to be considered happy. It is the ultimate success, us as we wish we were."
"I think that might be a young person's game Chekov. One of the few benefits of age, you don't care what other people think."
"Something to look forward to. I pretend I am what I wish to be all the time. I fool no one, but I try."
"You aren't happy?"
"I am happy, usually. I was thinking more of average, you know, normal."
"For God's sake Chekov, everyone knows you aren't average."
"That is kind of my point doctor."
"Don't sell yourself short son, normal is not a goal. Now, get back to the music, are you are saying you like it because it makes you to feel like someone understands you?"
Chekov had nodded without opening his eyes.
"You should talk to your family Chekov. If you never tell people the things that are important to you they will never get a chance to understand." It was what he wanted to say to Joanna, and his voice had sounded more urgent than he had intended.
Chekov hadn't seemed to notice. He had muttered, "Right now I am sorry I ever spoke of it at all."
McCoy was sympathetic, but there was one more thing he needed to say. "Hey," he had asked, "do you understand what you are describing isn't real? It might feel cathartic, but it isn't. So it is kind of cheating. A real person would care what you say."
Chekov had said seriously, "Some might, but as bad as it is to feel alone it would be worse to discovered no one can cared. The music allows you to feel someone shares your pain. You say the singer sounds regretful, I think lonely, another person might think she is angry. That is why the music works. It allows you to feel understood without ever having to be vulnerable."
"Really? I didn't get that at all. It just sounded sad to me."
"You had to listen again though? And it seemed to be about emotions you remembered feeling? That is what it does for everyone."
McCoy had thought and then had said, "Chekov, you are a kid. You haven't been alive long enough to make any serious mistakes. What unhappiness could you possibly remember?"
"Right now my greatest regret is that I stood behind Lt. Lao."
McCoy had laughed, "Believe it or not son, this isn't nearly as painful as knowing you can't change the past." Chekov opened his eyes at last. If it had been anyone else, McCoy would have called the look he got disdainful.
After a few minutes McCoy had said, "Alright, I can admit I like the music, but I am not sure I approve of it."
He had been half joking but Chekov had answered him seriously. "Don't worry Dr. McCoy, liking the music means you are empathetic and self-aware, not depressed."
McCoy had nodded, impressed. "Wow," he said. "How old are you again?"
"I did not think of that, I read in a review."
Nothing had really changed, but just like that, the whole world had seemed brighter. He had liked the image of Joanna as empathetic, it fit into his hopes for her. He had wanted to thank the young man, but instead he had said, "And to think that in my day, we just liked something we could dance to,"
Chekov had started to laugh, which hadn't been a good idea, as he had ended up coiled around the bag again almost immediately. McCoy had been patting the boy's shoulder and murmuring encouragement when the morning nurse came in. She had looked surprised but hadn't asked any questions. He had apologized to Chapel a little later that morning. Then he had called the galley and had cupcakes sent to all three shifts with his compliments. He hadn't actually apologized to Jim, but they didn't really do that much, and things had been fine.
He had started asking Joanna how she felt about things. It had felt unnatural, and she had looked at him oddly, but he she sometimes answered. It made her comms more interesting. And he was trying to do it too. He wanted to be a good example.
Now that he thought of it as Joanna's, the music made him feel more wistful than melancholy. It played while he watched the series of holos several times, pictures of Joanna through the years. There were baby pictures, and school shots, and images from birthday parties. He liked to see her grinning and surrounded by friends. That was why he had left, so that her life would not be complicated by angry parents that hated each other. Looking at the pictures always made him feel like it might have been worth it. In the latest one she was dressed for a formal dance. Probably the one he had missed, but he didn't let himself think too long about that. She was a true southern girl, had her hair done up and her makeup on. She had stopped being a pretty child, and was becoming a lovely young woman. Only the wide smile looked the same. But that was not surprising, he thought with satisfaction, empathetic people were usually happy.
0445
He had fallen asleep in the recliner. He wasn't sure what awakened him. The audio and viewer had long since shut off and the lights had dimmed when he stopped moving. He lay still and listened. He didn't hear anything urgent, no yelling or running feet. But he couldn't shake the feeling that he had missed something important. McCoy got up, and went out on the floor.
The chrom said it was 0445, gamma shift. The unit lights were low. He could hear excited voices coming from the ward. It was noisier than it should have been. He started that direction.
He entered the patient care area. The isolation unit glowed and hummed in the corner. There were crew members all around it, gathered in groups of two or three. They were talking, and occasionally someone pointed. As he listened there was a collective gasp and several people clapped. McCoy called, "What's all this?" but the only response came from Xetic, one of the gamma shift nurses. He scuttled towards the doctor on his beetle like legs.
"Oh sir," clicked Xetic. "Who was it called you? I wanted to, but Dr. Treos said I should not. I am very glad to see you."
"What's going on here?" McCoy asked.
Miss Sascheja, the shift's head nurse, saw them talking and marched over purposefully. "Doctor McCoy," she said, "You must speak to Dr. Treos. He has established a carnival atmosphere. I have shared my disapproval, he is ignoring my concerns."
Xetic gestured ineffectually and then said, "Dr. Treos is very angry sir. There has been an altercation between Ensign Chekov and the robots."
"Chekov? Are you sure?" McCoy asked.
"And the robots sir." Xetic said.
"Ah Leonard," M'Benga said, coming over to join them, "I am sorry you were disturbed, but I must confess I am glad you are here. Things are getting out of hand, and I think we may need to present a united front to John."
"Xetic says there was an altercation? What's going on Geof?"
"When I rounded I found the ensign to be much worse, despite antipyretics and antibiotics his temperature was 40 degrees. He was short of breath and I had difficulty rousing him. I thought he seemed confused. I called John. I suggested we transfer him to the floor, so that if he needed a stasis unit or other support it would be readily available."
"A stasis unit, what the hell! He was stable when I left today! He has the flu, what in the world is happening down here?" McCoy sputtered.
"John felt that the ensign was simply sleepy from medication ordered by Dr. Patel. He promised to sit up with him. He said he would discuss it with Patel and promised to call me if there was any change. I did not see what happened next, I had gone to bed in the call room, but Mr. Xetic did," M'Benga looked at the nurse.
"Dr. Treos prepared a respiratory stimulant for the ensign, who did not agree that he needed it. He wrapped himself in his blanket and refused to come out. The robots cannot administer hypos through fabric." Xetic said. "Dr. Treos ordered Mr. Chekov to cooperate several times without effect, and then ordered the robots to restrain him if necessary, but to get the shot into him." Xetic paused and then added, "It was not easily accomplished. One of the robots finally held Mr. Chekov down while the other cut through the blanket and his clothing. Mr. Chekov appeared to resent it a great deal."
"Oh, I bet." McCoy said.
"Sometime after Ensign Chekov received the medication Dr. Treos ordered the robots to draw some blood. The ensign not only refused, he used the remnants of the blanket to restrain one of the robots. The two men argued. That is to say Dr. Treos attempted to argue, Ensign Chekov did not respond. Eventually Dr. Treos was able to use one robot to free the other, but the noise had drawn the entire staff. Now they will not leave and the presence of such a swarm is escalating the emotions of those involved. Doctor Treos is very angry and Ensign Chekov has not yet even agreed to have his blood drawn." Xetic looked over at the unit, his exoskeleton did not allow him to have facial expressions, but he waved his claws around in the way McCoy knew meant he was distressed.
M'Benga said, "I have been trying to calm Chekov down Leonard, but I haven't had much success. He's pretty out of it. I assume it's the medications, between sleeping aids, pain meds and stimulants he's got a lot of stuff running around in him right now. And that fever is high. Frankly, I can't believe he is still on his feet. I am concerned when he collapses he will need more help than we can give him in that bubble. The nurses say the two of you have a good relationship, perhaps you should try?"
McCoy nodded and started towards the isolation unit. He had to push through what seemed like the entire staff. A few looked worried, but most looked excited. The mood was indeed carnival like. As he passed Miss Ba and her roommates, his foot slipped, he glanced down and saw he had walked on the no visitor sign.
John Treos was sitting at the controls issuing orders through the comm. He looked tired and very angry. Through the wall of the unit McCoy could see the robots floating on one side of the bed. Chekov, breathing hard, stood on the other. He was facing the desk, but watching the robots. There was blood smeared across fresh bruises on his bare back and chest. The IV was out, and the bag was leaking on the floor.
Treos ordered the robots to return Chekov to bed. They started forward obediently. Chekov waited until they had crossed the center of the bed, then dove underneath it and came up on the other side. There were cheers and several people clapped, Treos looked around angrily.
He snapped, "Either shut up or leave."
"You invited us Dr. Treos," said one of the nurses. "You said we should come and watch a demonstration of the future of medicine."
"Turns out the future of medicine is more entertaining than I thought," laughed another.
"Go Pav," chanted one of the custodians. Someone whooped.
Miss Sascheja called angrily, "That is quite enough!"
As soon as the robots moved Chekov did too, he slid across the floor or under furniture, and never let them get closer than several meters. There wasn't much cover in the room but he used it all. The robots were designed to care for patients in a bed, not to yank them out from under furniture. They weren't programmed to coordinate their movements and Chekov kept making them run into each other. The gamma shift staff laughed and clapped and occasionally called encouragement.
"Knock it off Chekov," McCoy ordered.
Chekov didn't acknowledge him. He kept his eyes on the robots and struggled to catch his breath. He was shaking and occasionally coughing so hard McCoy was surprised he could keep moving.
"I told you not to over medicate him. How much pain medicine did he get?" McCoy asked, slipping into the seat next to Treos.
"I don't know, that was Patel's job. Not enough obviously." Treos said.
"Where is Patel?"
"She signed off to M'Benga. Don't worry I am still in compliance with your restrictions Leonard. I called her, we've agreed on a plan. Everything was fine until your ensign decided it would be hilarious to embarrass me."
"He didn't decide anything Treos. Look at him, he doesn't have any idea what he's doing. We need to calm him down before the robots' automatic programming kicks in and they sedate him."
Treos turned to McCoy and frowning said, "That's actually the idea Leonard. I want them to. As soon as he holds still they are going to put him to sleep for a long time. He is ruining any chance I have of there being positive data on my ease of care delivery section."
McCoy poked at the wall of the unit. "Look Treos," he said. "Do you see that being three meters in front of you? That is not some computer program you can correct, that is a scrawny teenager. You give him any more meds and he might lose his respiratory drive. Even you have to realize that would be bad."
Treos slammed his hands down on the desk. "Would it be Leonard? Then the patient care units could intubate him without him fighting them, literally fighting them, with his fists. I have never seen anything like him. How do you program for uncooperative? He makes me look incompetent. I am sick of him and I am sick of his attitude. If he was unconscious at least he couldn't humiliate me in public." He stood up and added, "I am done with the whole lot of you. Maybe one of you Luddites could call me when he passes out." and stomped off.
McCoy moved to the main seat and peered into the isolation unit. He couldn't see Chekov. He turned to M'Benga. "Is he still there?' he asked.
"He's under the docking station. He's awake, he's just sitting there watching the bots." M'Benga replied.
McCoy leaned into the comm. "Chekov," he said, "that's enough. You're going to make yourself worse. Go back to bed."
"He's not moving," M'Benga said. "Are you sure that thing is working?"
"Come on Pav," the custodian said encouragingly, "listen to Dr. McCoy. Everybody wants you to get better."
M'Benga said. "He blinked, maybe he heard that, he's still not moving."
McCoy made a decision. "Xetic, could you send in a basin of tepid water and a sponge or cloth? Use the replicator, that would probably be easiest." He stood up and turned to M'Benga. "I'm going in there."
"If you go in there you have to stay in there." M'Benga said.
"Don't be absurd."
"Leonard, you can't bring that virus out of there." M'Benga said firmly.
"It isn't even particularly contagious. And I am immunized."
"We have protocols for a reason Leonard."
"For God's sake Geof, look at him, he's miserable. I am not in the habit of leaving the patients to suffer on the floor."
M'Benga shook his head and said, "Believe it or not, none of us are Leonard, but you know the rules, and they exist for a reason."
McCoy thought for a minute, sighed and said, "Fine. I will get in a bio suit."
"That would be a reasonable compromise." M'Benga said.
McCoy looked at the staff, still visiting around the sides of the isolation unit. He picked one of them at random and said, "Rosen, come help me get suited up. The rest of you get back to work. This show is over."
Swathed in virus filtering cloth, he stepped inside the first door of the mobile hospital facility unit. It was warm, and noisier than he would have thought. The unit wheezed as air was forced over filters. The door in front of him unsealed and he stepped forward. It was even hotter and noisier inside the actual bubble. The robots hummed and their joints clicked irregularly. He could still hear the staff's voices from outside, but they echoed oddly and sounded artificial and far away.
He had grabbed a blanket off a bed before he came in. He set it on the table and arranged the basin of water next to it. He picked up strips of what used to be pajamas off the floor and set them by the basin. He scooted the whole thing back, away from the bed and then began to look for Chekov.
He had picked one of the older model suits because they had larger face masks, and he wanted to be recognizable, but it was clunky and made movement difficult. He spotted Chekov huddled under the charging dock and started that direction. It seemed to take a long time to cross the unit.
He leaned over, hoping his face showed. "Hey buddy, it's time for bed," McCoy said, careful to keep some distance, he didn't want to frighten the boy and start him running again. Chekov continued to stare at the robots.
"Pavel," McCoy began but he was interrupted by the mechanical voice of the robot saying, "Bed One, do you require assistance?" Chekov flinched, covered his ears and pushed himself more tightly against the wall. It moved and the unit alarmed, a piercing wail. Chekov jumped forward and the noise stopped. Then the robot then gave three of the beeps it had used earlier in the week. They were very loud, hurting McCoy's ears even through the suit.
"Geof, get into that thing's programing and turn it down. Turn it off if you can. It is unbelievably loud in here."
M'Benga began to page through the controls. "I think it is signaling for assistance. They have both been doing it since Treos left, about every five minutes."
The other robot intoned, "Bed One, do you require assistance?" waited several seconds for a reply and then issued three very loud beeps.
"Oh, and guess what, they aren't synced," said M'Benga.
"Turn them both off. It's damn annoying." He took a step toward Chekov and said gently, "What is it I need to say to get these things to go to the dock, can you tell me?"
"Try saying, Bed One does not require assistance." M'Benga said.
"I was actually hoping to get Ensign Chekov to talk to me.
"Oh, sure, sorry Leonard. Um, there, I was able to turn the volume down."
"Thanks doctor. Did you hear that Pavel? Now they will be quiet. Let's put the robots away. Can you help me?" He took another couple steps toward the ensign, who without taking his eyes from the robots, slid along the floor so that McCoy couldn't reach him.
"Okay, then we'll do this the hard way," McCoy sighed. He stepped in front of the ensign and said, "Bed One does not require assistance, Patient Care Units, return to docking station."
The robots began to float obediently to the station. Chekov staggered up out of their way. McCoy, who had been watching closely, jumped in front of him and wrapped both arms around him. Chekov wiggled desperately for a few seconds, but started coughing and lost his footing and sagged into McCoy's arms. McCoy half dragged, half carried him to the bed.
"You," he snorted, struggling to lift the smaller man into the bed, "are lucky you are not any bigger or I would have to leave you on the floor." He managed to lift him but Chekov refused to lie down. He perched on the edge of the bed and struggled to get away, coughing and wheezing. McCoy kept one arm around the younger man and with the other pulled the table over. As he worked he crooned softly, "It's the drugs, Pavel. You feel this way because of the drugs. You've got to calm down and wait them out. Just sit up and breathe slow. You'll be better soon."
He grabbed the blanket with his free hand and held it out, "Look, look what I brought for you. I know you like to have a blanket over you."
Chekov grabbed the blanket and clutched it against his chest. He stopped squirming but McCoy could feel him shaking through the gloves of his suit. He picked up the mask and asked, "You would feel better if you had a treatment." Chekov slapped it away. "Okay, okay, okay, no treatment. I'm guessing we aren't restarting that IV for a while either. You know what Pavel? You hide them, but got angry depths. I've always liked that about you. Alright son, if you don't want a treatment, then you need to breathe slower." He gave some examples and thought Chekov might have joined in. He kept one hand on the ensign and with the other grabbed at the pile of rags that had once been his clothing.
"I am going to try to cool you off, but I need you not to run. Are you ready? I am not going to hurt you. I want you to feel better. Breathe slow now, in and out." He kept one arm firmly around Chekov and his voice low and soothing. He reached to the basin and dipped a cloth in the water. He rung it out and ran it slowly along the ensign's shoulder. The kid shuddered, but didn't pull away. McCoy pulled the cloth down his arm to the wrist, and started again, crooning as he worked.
It was difficult. Shifting his stance panicked the patient. First his legs got stiff and then his arms cramped from the repetitive motions. The suit was stuffy. He could feel sweat running down his face and back but he couldn't wipe it away. The heat and the constant drone of the unit's power sources gave him a headache. He started talking just to distract himself.
He started with things he thought might interest the ensign. Chekov didn't answer any questions, so he just kept talking. He didn't even really hear himself. He talked about his first meeting with Jim, on the shuttle to the academy. Then he started in on his thoughts on space on general. Eventually he started talking about his childhood on Earth. He talked about fishing with his brother and dad.
He was describing his father's fly pole when suddenly his sleep fogged brain called up an image of the last time he had given someone a sponge bath. It had been in the bathroom of his childhood home. He remembered leaning over the tub, saw his father's back, with the withered muscles and the skin hanging from the bones of his shoulders. He heard the pain filled voice say, "I wouldn't let a dog live like this Len, how can you do me so? If I thought I could lift a gun I'd do it myself son."
He stood with his hand in the basin and looked at the water, remembering. After several seconds, he felt something on his arm. He blinked his eyes and looked down. Chekov was clutching his wrist, he could feel it through the suit.
"What is it son?" he asked.
Chekov whispered in Russian. The translator in the suit supplied, "Don't leave me."
McCoy blinked, swallowed hard, and said, "I will stay until you're better, I promise." He rung out the cloth, and went back to work, speaking slowly about classes he took at the academy.
It was another hour before the ensign finally lay down. He curled up on the bed. He looked up at McCoy and said in Standard, "I'm sorry."
McCoy dropped the rag in the nearly depleted basin and said, "It's not your fault." He pulled the blanket out of Chekov's hands, spread it lightly over him and added, "I think the bed might be a little wet."
"It doesn't matter," Chekov said, "so am I." He closed his eyes and was asleep almost immediately.
McCoy quietly dumped the rags and basin into the recycling. He stood in the entryway while the suit was decontaminated, then slipped out of it and sealed it carefully in the storage sack that would be used to transport it to laundry for a more thorough cleaning.
He checked the monitor. Chekov's temperature was 37.8. He stretched his muscles while he watched the sleeping boy and felt really good. It had been a long time since he had felt so good. He felt so great he didn't even mind when he realized he had forgotten to leave a change of clothes at the door, which meant he would be walking across sick bay in his underwear at shift change.
0655
Christine stood with Treos at the entrance to the isolation unit and waiting for Leonard. Treos had come in just as Sascheja was telling her the story of the night's adventures. He had insisted on retelling the story from his point of view, which was that Leonard had needlessly interfered and undermined his robots. Sascheja had been so scandalized she could barely speak. She had managed, "we can agree that Ensign Chekov got worse under the care of Dr. Treos, and better under the care of Dr. McCoy. That is all." Christine had been inclined to agree. She had sent Sascheja home to bed and told Treos they needed to see Leonard.
Treos stood with his arms crossed muttering angrily to himself. She tried to appear a dispassionate professional, but couldn't help smiling when he stamped his foot like a child. Inside the unit Leonard disrobed and wrestled the hazard suit into its cleaning kit. He saw them watching, grinned like a cat drowning in cream, and pushed eagerly at the still sealed exit.
Leonard was talking before he got out the door. He gestured behind him and said, "Did you see what happened in there? The kid is sick for four days. Keeps getting sicker; I spend a few hours with him and then he turns the corner. I told you Treos, for humans, touch is essential."
"Apparently even when the hand is wrapped in virus filtering polymers," she said archly. But only to keep herself from congratulating Leonard. She suspected the satisfaction it had given him to best the most advanced robotic medical care available with a sponge bath was even greater than the pleasure he took from correcting Treos. She couldn't help smiling because he looked so triumphant.
"Leonard," Treos said, "I know you think you've proved something important but all you've really done is earn yourself half an hour in a virus filtering shower. You stayed up all night, exposed yourself to a serious illness, and this is still a bad case of the flu. You didn't treat the virus."
Leonard opened his mouth to reply, but as he did the chrom turned to 0700, the start of alpha shift. Both patient care units left their dock to begin the morning assessment of their patient. Chekov's eyes flew open and he moaned, then pulled the blanket over his head.
Leonard pushed past Treos to the comm unit. He grabbed it and said, "Bed One does not require assistance, Patient Care Units, return to docking station. Right now, damn it."
He watched the robots return to base then turned to the staff gathering for report. He pointed at Chekov and yelled, "Anyone, or anything, that wakes him up before noon answers to me. Got it?" From the desk faces looked at him in surprise. Various heads nodded automatically. "Good," he said.
He turned back to Treos and lowered his voice. "I mean it. And do you know why Treos? Because that isn't a bad case of the flu in there, it is a boy. He hurts and is scared and every time he wakes up he's surrounded by machines that shoot him full of drugs. He feels abandoned, and for good reason. But he is no longer your concern. As of right now I am accepting responsibility for his care. I am accepting responsibility for all of their care. You go on back to your studies, I will take care of the crew. I don't treat illnesses, I treat patients. That is how we have done it, and that is how we are going to do it here forever."
"This is outrageous, your orders specifically say," sputtered Treos.
"No, don't talk to me about orders. I know what my responsibilities are. I should never have allowed this. You can put those things on manual control or you can shut them off. Either way they are finished gathering data on this ship. You do it my way or I will take a knife to this thing and have security shove your robots out an airlock.
"Christine, call the lab. Ask them if Chekov's cough is contagious. Make it clear I am not interested in the theoretical. I want an actual, we can live with it answer. As soon as they say he isn't, I am moving him to the floor." He paused, then added, "Now if you excuse me, I will be in my office looking for a uniform."
Leonard went one way, Treos went the other, to the main desk. Worried, Christine followed him. He flung himself into a seat and began to type, muttering angrily to himself. Uncertain what to do, Christine finally patted his shoulder sympathetically and said, "I know you're disappointed, I'm sorry."
"McCoy's the one who's going to be sorry. I have wasted enough time. I am done arguing with that man." Treos said. "I am preparing a communique right now. Starfleet will hear every detail. He can't do this."
Over Treos's head Christine could see Leonard, a slight figure in white, stamping his way to his office as the staff scattered before him. She said, "Oh, I think he did."
1515
At shift change, Ruth, Maddie and Piers, who were scheduled to work beta, sat with Trina, Lika, and Jonas, who had just finished alpha shift. They were waiting for Miss Chapel so that they could give report. As far as they could tell, she had shut herself away with the Doctors McCoy, Treos, Patel, and M'Benga. They were all in the CMO's office with the door closed.
"Do you think we should wait anymore?" Lika asked. She was eager to get on her way.
"Miss Chapel likes to be here for report, and we need an administrator." Maddie said. She was hoping to convince the manager to give her the shift off, as she was still angry with Piers.
Maybe someone should go knock on the door?" Lika wondered.
"No," everyone else said at once.
Jonas said, "You know that's McCoy's office don't you? You don't interrupt him. I can only imagine what he'd do. They would be able to hear him yelling up on the bridge."
"You have not been here as long as me," said Piers. "I am going to give you some advice. Never interrupt their discussions unless there is a significant problem. Like a very significant problem, your own death, pirates over running the ship maybe, or if somebody's spleen fell out on the floor, something like that. You don't go tell them they are keeping us waiting. They don't care."
They watched the CMO's door. It was windowless, and the door sealed tightly, like all the doors on the Enterprise. It was impossible to tell what was going on inside.
"They are fighting." Trina said.
"What makes you think so?" asked Piers happily. He was considered a gossip.
"When we got report this morning Miss Sascheja was a complete Tellarite. She wouldn't let anyone else talk and gave us the bare minimum. She basically said Miss Ba was stable, and that Ensign Chekov was recovering from some drug interaction issues."
"Oh, not again. Poor kid." Ruth said.
"He better be over it. I am not spending another shift keeping him off the ceiling." Maddie sounded definite.
"He is, but never mind. She said to check him regularly but not to wake him up. I asked why the robots weren't taking care of him and she totally freaked out. She was like, 'Don't second guess me, you have all the necessary information, do as I say,' blah, blah, blah, even worse than usual."
"She was like an authority crazed squirrel." Jonas agreed.
"So," continued Trina. "I followed Xetic out and got the whole story from him. Dr. Patel gave Chekov too much medicine, and then Dr. Treos gave him more, and then Chekov went ape shit and had it out with the robot mano a machino."
"Did he seriously?" Piers said, "Why do I never get to see anything good?"
"Apparently yes, he did. And Xetic panicked and called Dr. M'Benga, the universe's nicest doctor. He came down, gave big smiles all around and patted everyone on the back. He told Dr. Treos to practice empathy and then went back to bed. Which left Dr. Treos free to do whatever he wanted, which was not to practice empathy. Pav refused some request, Dr. Treos lost it, and then Dr. Treos and Pav basically played live action Rock 'em Sock 'em Robots in front of the whole gamma shift. Somebody, and I think we can all agree it was Miss Sascheja, called Dr. McCoy, never the world's nicest doctor, but smart enough to know Dr. Treos is scary. He came in at like 0300 and spent the whole rest of the night talking Pav down. Then McCoy and Treos had it out. Dr. McCoy was in his underwear while they yelled at each other."
"Okay, are you sure? That sounds surreal," said Piers.
"I actually saw that." Jonas said. "I was a little late and was trying to sneak in the back way. I saw him going into his office wearing nothing but his skyboys."
"He wears regulation underwear? Gross no one wears regulation underwear," Ruth said.
"Bet Miss Sascheja does," Piers said. "Do you think Miss Chapel does?"
Jonas said, "No way, she's not like them. She hasn't given up. She bings."
There were groans of protest around the table.
"She is your boss," said Ruth.
"She is like thirty," added Maddie.
"I am not saying I have a chance, I said she bings," Jonas said with a shrug.
"Anyway," Trina said. "Doctor McCoy has been hanging around here all day in like the best mood ever, so you know he's just been killing time, rubbing his hands, waiting to get the medical staff all together so he could scream at everyone at once."
"For crying out loud, I'm a doctor, not all you people's mother, now sit down so I can yell at you and take away your dinner break!" laughed Jonas.
"I'm a doctor, not an idiot, you guys on the other hand I'm not so sure about." said Piers.
"I'm a doctor, not the custodian for the whole unit's screw ups." suggested Ruth.
"I'm a doctor, not the crankiest boss in the universe. Oh wait, no, I'm both." Maddie said. Piers laughed and she felt a little better.
They waited a few more minutes. Ruth sighed and said, "This is ridiculous. Just tell us what we need to know and we will get to work. I will fill her in if they ever coming out."
Trina nodded and said, "We had several short stays, there files are up if anyone bounces back, but I doubt it, two headaches and a bad stomach. Currently, you've only got the one patient. Ba went home early this morning, she said she needed some sleep and she couldn't get any here, which was true, Dr. McCoy was particularly enthusiastic today. Miss Chapel told her to come back tomorrow for a check. Chekov's in the unit, now you have to tell the robots to do everything for him. He's still febrile and coughing. Pretty stable though. Dr. McCoy is waiting on the lab for some cultures, he wants to be notified when they come in, no matter what time."
"Seriously," asked Maddie. "Is Chekov still flying, because I am not taking care of him if he is."
"No, he is not," Trina said. Jonas nodded, backing her up. "He's pretty much just slept or sat there all day. He's hardly talked. I think he's embarrassed."
"Well, he should be. He finally decides to stand up for himself, and it's to a robot. That's embarrassing." Maddie said.
Jonas added, "And he was naked."
Trina said quickly, "We don't know that, Xetic didn't say so, I just said it because I assumed it, or maybe I just," she paused and smiled at her friends.
"Wished it?" asked Piers. "Like to imagine it?"
"Hoped, hoped, hoped, hoped?" asked Ruth.
"Spend all your free time thinking about that anyway?" asked Jonas.
Trina shrugged, "I was going to say, thought it made the story better."
"I like my version, and I notice you don't deny it." Jonas said. Trina giggled guiltily.
"Naked, really?" Piers said. "I never get to see any of the good stuff."
"It's not that good." Maddie said, and picking up her PADD, went to work.
"She is never any fun." Ruth sniffed.
"Just once, I would like to know what she does think is good." Trina said.
2302
"So," Jim said, "he was stripped down to his skivvies in front of an audience, there was lots of yelling, lots of hypos. Really, all it needed was fish for dinner to have been everything he hates in one bad evening."
"His pajama bottoms, but pretty much." McCoy agreed, pouring himself another glass and topping off the captain's. He knew it should probably be his last, it was fast approaching midnight and he was working in the morning, but he felt like celebrating. "It's like I told the medical staff today at our meeting. Did I tell you we had a great meeting today? We did. Anyway, I told them that people aren't meant to be cared for by machines. I said it at the very first meeting after Treos got on board. I said it at every meeting we had with him, and I said it today. Hopefully people are finally beginning to hear me. Treos is still mad, but I think everyone else is beginning to agree. Patel said she thought it might be better for me to take over the case since I had spent so much time on it. She didn't even seem resentful."
"She's smart Bones, she's not you, but she's okay." Jim said.
McCoy nodded. "At this point, my only regret is that I didn't pull rank on him at the very first mention of the robots. I knew they would be a problem. And I was right. You know kid, I am usually right."
"I appreciate that about you Bones. But I still can't believe you didn't call me. What is the use of me issuing direct orders if you disregard them?"
McCoy started to laugh, but then looked serious and said, "this wasn't like last time Jim, it was more pathetic than funny. He wasn't nearly as hyped up. He was scared, he looked, I don't know, haunted. Seeing it would have just made you mad. You would have probably have punched Treos, and given that I fired him despite my direct orders to cooperate, I am probably already going to be in enough trouble without that."
"Still nothing from headquarters?" asked the captain.
"Not a thing."
"Are you worried? Because I totally have your back on this Bones, I am ready to go to the mats."
"Not really. I don't care. No, that's not true, I do care. It just seems so obvious to me that I did the right thing. I have faith in the brass."
Jim looked a little skeptical. McCoy continued. "And I sent off another report, it ought to bolster my case. I sent all of Jamen's records, with before and after vids, and included Jamen's evaluation of the project. Jamen had some choice comments, I tell you what. I sent pictures of Chekov too, he looks like the bots used him for a punching bag. I talked him into letting the robots take scans of the damage they did and send them to me. He didn't want to, but the irony appealed to him. To be fair, the easy bruising is a side effect of his illness, but Jim, some of them are pretty bad. And no matter what, it is against regulations to hold down members of starfleet and shoot them full of medications they don't want without first getting the permission of the CMO."
"You do that all the time Bones. You do that to me."
"I am the CMO. I always have my permission. Plus, you're a special case, you've got a death wish and it's my responsibility to counteract it. Anyway, I sent copies of the nursing records and I got Sascheja to write out an account of the interactions between Treos and Chekov. You better believe it's detailed."
"Sascheja wrote it? It's detailed."
"It's scathing. I was surprised. Apparently somewhere deep down in her efficient administrator's heart she has been hiding a fondness for that kid. Who would have thought? They seem like polar opposites. Or maybe it's just Treos she dislikes. That I could understand. Anyway, I think what she wrote is pretty damning. I am not too worried. But if it does go bad for me, I still have no regrets. That guy doesn't belong even pretending to practice medicine."
Jim raised his glass in a toast. "To the CMO, who wants to be the only one giving hypos to the unwilling."
"To me," McCoy agreed. The drained their glasses.
McCoy said, "I am waiting for the results of Chekov's sputum specimen, and if it's clear I am moving him to the floor."
"That's a good idea Bones. It sounds gross, but I'm sure it is probably good."
"I was in there for what, two hours. I don't see how he stood it for four days. It's hot, and the light is weird, and you can't really see what is going on outside because of the curve of the walls. And it's never quiet. And those patient care units, the robots? You should hear their voices. The whole thing is like something the Andorians would have come up with to torture political prisoners. I told Treos, I said, as soon as Chekov's cleared I am taking him out of that hell hole and then I am going to let him punch a hole in it."
Remembering Treos' expression made McCoy chuckle. Jim grinned too, then poured another round. He raised his glass once more and said, "Sometimes isn't it was great to be the boss?"
