Chapter Twenty-Five
U.S.S. Enterprise, in battle over Aeternus
Stardate 3956.9
I am no stranger to war zones, nor the detached efficiency that comes of being in what is commonly referred to as 'battle mode'. However, those days and that atmosphere for me were relics of a bygone age, centuries prior to the timeline in which I was currently stranded, and as such I could only hope that I would perform as capably now as I did then, despite an obvious handicap in lack of knowledge.
McCoy abruptly blew past me from surgery, barking orders at two blue-dressed nurses across the room, and tossed me a strange-looking contraption shaped somewhat like the odd tricorder device Mr. Spock had shown Holmes and me in Baker Street. "Come with me, I need you," he snapped crisply, and I obeyed a superior officer without question. "Hold it, you!" This last to a young man in what seemed to be the modern equivalent to a hospital gown – more like loose trousers and shirt of corresponding blue. "Get your backside back in that bed, d'you hear me? Or I'll pump you so full of painkillers you'll have to be dying to feel anything!"
The poor young fellow, obviously trying to sneak out from the physician's watchful eye, slunk limply back to his bed and all but collapsed under the withering glare.
"Come," McCoy continued without breaking stride, then hollered at the top of his lungs for someone named 'M'Benga' to see to the next emergency surgery waiting in the surgical ward. A dark-skinned man came skidding out from the CMO's office, nodded once, and disappeared through the other doors. "Hold this right here."
He paused beside an unconscious young man who was breathing heavily, and positioned my hands on the instrument he had handed me, holding them and it over the young fellow's ribcage.
"What is this?" I inquired, hoping the question would not be too unnecessary or annoying under the tense circumstances.
"'S called a bone-knitter," was the short, but not unkind, reply. "All you have to do is hold it, and it'll knit his broken ribs back together now that Chapel's set them. I know you're not supposed to learn new tech while you're here, but I need a pair of steady hands for this sort of work. Just hold it 'til I tell you that's enough. NURSE CHAPEL!"
I started, but kept my hands steady, as the man bellowed with the most formidable set of lungs I have encountered in many a year.
The blonde, tall young lady I had met earlier poked her head in the door, glaring disapprovingly. "Yes, Doctor?"
"How many minutes until the power is restored?"
"Six and ten seconds, Doctor."
A faint grin quirked the man's features. "Not taking internal time sense lessons from Mr. Spock, are you, Nurse?"
The young lady blushed most attractively, and it certainly did not take a consulting detective to see exactly how the young woman felt toward the mysterious First Officer. "No, sir. Mr. Scott just informed us of the time twenty seconds ago."
"Good – oh, shoot…" The expletive that fell (a mild modern one, I assumed from the lack of reaction by the lady in front of whom it was dropped) seemed remarkably apt, as a sudden shrill whining sounded in the corridors outside, followed by shouting and what sounded like an explosion.
"I take it that is what your peculiar weapon a phaser sounds like?" I deduced ruefully, refusing to allow my hands to waver where they rested holding the instrument safely over the unconscious patient.
Another explosion sounded, closer this time. McCoy swore, this time in a blue streak, and garnered no more than a tolerant sigh from the nurse as she darted after an alarm sounding over one of the nearby beds. "Five minutes, forty-five seconds until we can initiate lockdown, Doctor," she called, pushing a few buttons and administering an injection of something to the restless woman lying there.
"That may not be sufficient," I warned unnecessarily, as the whine of weapons fire drew steadily nearer.
"Djesre!" McCoy shouted, and a male nurse came running. The physician pointed at me. "Take over here, and tell M'Benga what's going on when he comes out of surgery. If we aren't back by the time Scotty gets the power back up, lock this place down tighter than a Romulan interrogation facility."
"Aye, sir," the young man replied crisply, snatching the bone-knitter from me and immediately applying it. Something thudded into the fore end of the outer wall, and I looked at the other physician, a question in my eyes and the feeling that I would not like the answer in my heart.
"So, Doctor Watson," the man drawled, heading for his private office with me in tow. "How're you with aiming a hand weapon?"
"I have nearly perfect aim, at least with weapons from my own century," I replied, entirely honestly.
I received an incredulous glance, and then McCoy chuckled lightly as he opened a drawer, withdrawing two of the same oddly-shaped weapons we had seen before a couple of times since our arrival – was it only five hours ago? "Humble, eh?"
"Accurate," I retorted calmly.
"This setting is for medium stun – it won't kill anyone, just knock 'em out for an hour," the man instructed, showing me how to set the weapon. "And you don't have to cock it or anything, just aim and pull the trigger. Don't hold it down too long unless you really want to do damage to somebody. I don't like the way that fighting's still going on down the hall - Security must be hung up in the turboshafts or something, because they should've taken care of a boarding party by now."
"Er…Doctor," I asked hesitantly, as he propelled me toward the door.
"Yeah?"
"Three minutes, forty-five seconds, Doctor," the nurse called as we passed through the outer ward.
Outside, something whined and I heard a scream cut short enough to turn my stomach. My companion checked his weapon, gesturing impatiently with it in my direction. "Spit it out, man!"
"McCoy, your uniforms all look alike to me, and I am entirely unacquainted with the majority of your crew complement!" I finally exclaimed as he motioned me toward the corridor. "How am I to know who is ally or enemy?"
The man stopped, stared at me, and groaned theatrically.
"I'm sorry!"
"Can you at least guard my back?"
"That I can do, gladly."
McCoy grinned. "Then let's move, my archaic medical friend. Chapel, lockdown on schedule, whether we're back or not. Understood?"
"Understood, Doctor. Please be careful."
By the time they were scrambling into the main Transporter Room to meet a very harried-looking Montgomery Scott, Kirk noticed that the Englishman had turned a slightly sick shade of green, and was weaving on his feet when he thought no one was looking. Once glance at his First Officer, who nodded in silent corroboration, was more than enough to alarm him as to the man's condition. However, the stubborn detective insisted vigorously that he would manage perfectly well, and they frankly didn't have the time to see to him, as Scott was counting down the seconds until his brilliant Engineering staff initiated a full restart on all systems.
Kirk made a note to commend them all in his account to Starfleet – if they survived this renegade mission and Starfleet still existed along with an intact timeline – and took his position on the Transporter pad, Spock beside him and Holmes just behind and to his left. He took the trio of phasers from Scott, instructed Holmes briefly how to use his, warned him to be careful with it, and then they held them at readiness.
"Puttin' ye down as close as I can get to Auxiliary Control, Captain," Scott informed, adjusting a knob on the panel. "But I canna set ye as close as I'd like, because of the risk."
"Risk?" Holmes asked warily.
"Any closer an' ye could materialize inside a bulkhead or something," Scott replied cheerfully, pushing a button until it blinked steadily yellow, adding the color to the reddish emergency lighting and bathing the room in orange.
"That actually happens?"
"Only four times in the history of mid-ship transportation experiments. The chances of that eventuality now, with the security measures of distance Mr. Scott has implemented and with my calculations, are less than point-oh-oh-two percent," Spock ventured in what was probably supposed to be reassurance.
The detective made a small grmf sound, grimacing but not complaining.
"Thirty seconds, Captain, and counting."
"Scotty, take care of my ship," Kirk warned lightly as the man began to time the transport to coincide with the power return.
A highly miffed snort. "As if I wouldn', Captain!"
Kirk smiled tightly, checked his weapon one last time. He glanced over at his First, who stood as calmly as if they were about to beam down to shore leave, and then quickly jerked his head back as his ship began humming, purring beautifully under his feet again, life and light restored in a wave of warming brilliance.
Thirty seconds later, they materialized in the Dracone's Engineering section. The momentary disorientation from the transport through shielding wore off almost instantly for the two officers, but Kirk lowered his phaser in a quick dive to catch the sagging form of the Englishman as he gave a slight moan of surprise and promptly pitched forward on his face.
"Great," Kirk grunted, grasping the limp arms firmly as the man fell and then leaning the thin figure against the nearest wall. "This's all we need right now!"
Spock ignored the grumbling from his Captain, knowing the human was only worried and not truly so annoyed at Holmes for what he could not help, and simply moved into position to cover the two men with his weapon.
Fortunately, the corridor was deserted due to the skeleton crew of the vessel, though it was unlikely that it would remain so for long.
"Holmes, snap out it," Kirk muttered, gently slapping the Englishman's cheek. "Come on, we don't have time – there we go, that's it." He relaxed the vise-like grip on the man's arms as grey eyes flickered open – considerably dilated, he could see now, but coming alert enough. "You all right for another half-hour?"
Blinking for a moment, Holmes nodded, rubbing the side of his head gingerly. Then, realizing what had happened, a dark flush crept up the pale neck and into his face. "My apologies," he muttered, and staggered to his feet before a surprised Kirk could offer to help.
"Here, easy now."
"It was a difficult transport, through the shields, even lowered as they were" Spock added calmly, catching the man's arm as he wavered unsteadily, "which can disorient even experienced individuals; much less one who has not had a head injury seen to by a qualified physician. Will you be functional for a little longer?"
Holmes nodded, face returning to a more natural shade, and retrieved his fallen phaser, eyeing its discomfiting unfamiliarity with some understandable distaste.
"Come on," the Captain interrupted worriedly as footsteps approached from a main corridor. "Phasers on heavy stun. If we're going to have any sort of advantage over this ship, we've got to disable the shields first, then weapons if we can. Let's move."