The Rest of the Mission

Chapter 11: A Really Bad Day

Mid March, 2270

Things just seemed to go from bad to worse.

First there was so much atmospheric interference that Uhura had great difficulties in keeping in communication with the landing party. And Scotty wasn't sure that the transporters were going to work correctly for the same reason.

And then there was the fact that Jim Kirk kept getting separated from the rest of the party - although that was not always entirely his fault. The terrain did not help.

Thirdly was the fact that some of the plant life seemed to be extremely acidic in nature. Brushing against it caused burns - on clothing and most unfortunately, on skin. Bones was kept very, very busy. The party took to using their phasers to clear a path through the stuff. Never mind that that went against every rule in the book.

And then there were the flying things that were not at all housebroken. Every single member of the party now wore very unsavory decorations. And they smelled. Showers would have been quite welcome.

Thankfully, they had not yet seen any of the predators the sensors had shown. But they were being wary, just the same. Spock kept herding them back into formation, and his tricorder continuously swung back and forth, checking. When he caught the first blip, he immediately warned the rest, and they circled together, facing outward, ready. They got the first one, but that so enraged its mate that even phaser fire did not stop it. Not until two of the landing party lay on the dirt, bleeding. Kirk whipped out his communicator and yelled into it for immediate transport, but he couldn't get through. Bones was on the ground, working as hard as he could, while the two security guards stood watch, at opposite sides of the group.

Kirk continued to work with the communicator, cursing, while Bones cursed even louder, trying to stanch too many wounds with only two hands. He finally demanded that Jim come and help him, unless he wanted Spock to bleed to death. Immediately Jim was on the ground, hands pressed into the largest wounds, while Bones continued to inject, slap pressure bandages on, and do whatever else he could under these conditions. Jim yelled at the security guards to continue to attempt to contact the ship while they kept watch, and after ten exceedingly long minutes, the shimmers of the transporter beam finally appeared.

The transporter bay was chaos, full of medical people with two gurneys, portable stasis units, and iv poles. Scotty beamed the whole mess directly to sick bay. By the time Nyota got there, Spock was already in surgery, and all she could do was wait. Jim stood there, covered in green blood, pale as a sheet, trembling. She went over to him, and clasped his hand, and they both slid down the wall to sit on the floor, unable to stand any longer.

Eventually, Chapel came out and said the botanist who had been injured was out of danger. She looked very tired. She said both McCoy and M'Benga were still working on Spock, and that they had used up all the blood stock that they had on hand. Thankfully, Spock had gotten in the habit of donating a pint of his own blood on a regular basis, for he had a very rare blood type. But they had now used all of that they had had in stasis. They were now reduced to using simple fluids, which were not nearly as effective. But all the major blood vessels had been repaired. She went back into the surgical unit, walking slowly.

Jim turned to Nyota, and saw tears coursing down her cheeks. He put his arm around her shoulders, and tugged her over to lean against him. He didn't know what to say. She wouldn't want him to offer false platitudes, he knew that for sure. Finally, he muttered, "If anyone can save him, it's those two men."

She nodded, trying to take hope from that statement. At least he was still alive, she could tell that much, although the sedatives and anesthesia gave him a very muddled feel. She focused on sending him calm, and strength, and love, as much love as she could fill him with. She felt a very slight lessening of tension. She took a deep breath, and continued, filling him with calm, sending him strength. There was a continual incremental lessening of tension, clearing of the chaos she had first felt. Somehow she knew when they finished, withdrawing their instruments from his body. There was such a feeling of relief, and then peace.

She was already on her feet, Jim looking at her in surprise, when Bones and M'Benga came staggering out to where they were. "He's alive. I think he's going to live." Bones looked like he might collapse at any minute. "They're putting him in a private room. But he's going to be unconscious for some time."

M'Benga nodded, agreeing. "When the anesthesia wears off enough, he will undoubtedly go into a healing trance. We will continue to provide fluids and antibiotics to support him, but it will almost certainly be several days before he completely regains consciousness."

When Chapel came out and said he was now in the private room, they followed her, standing in the doorway, looking at him. Jim went over, and stood there for several minutes, his hand hovering in the air, uncertain whether touching him would cause further pain. Finally, he slumped, and withdrew, passing by Nyota on his way out. He stopped, just for a moment. "Lieutenant, you are excused from duty until he's out of danger." And then he was gone, just like that.

Nyota slowly approached the biobed, sinking down into the chair at its side, reaching out to brush her fingers lightly over his face. He made a small noise, almost inaudible, when she did that, and she leaned closer, stroking his cheek again. He sighed then, and she could actually see the tension draining out of him. She turned back the cover, and found his hand, and linked hers through it, locking her fingers around his. She could feel him now, so much clearer. He was trying to go into the trance he needed, but the drugs were interfering. She bent closer, whispering in his ear. "You're still under the effects of the anesthetics that they gave you for the surgery. You won't be able to go into your healing trance until they wear off."

She felt his agitation then, and tried to soothe him, murmuring softly, squeezing his hand, sending him her love, and slowly it tapered off. The turbulence settled, slowly, and he sank down, into the calmness she recognized as the first level of his meditation cycle. At least he could do that much. She sat and held his hand until she felt him begin to slide away, sinking deeper. Ah, the drugs were wearing off. He descended into the soft deep until she could no longer reach him, only sense him. And then she lay her head down on the edge of the biobed and drifted off into an exhausted sleep herself, still clinging to his hand.