Chapter Thirty-Seven

U.S.S. Dracone, in stable orbit over Aeternus
Stardate 3957.2

The monitor chirped briefly above Holmes's head as he came to for a moment, groggy but aware of one thing at least.

"Calm down, you," McCoy drawled with forced cheerfulness, preparing another sedative. "Everything's under control and you're not gettin' up, so don't even ask."

"Where…ugh. Watson? Where is he?" the Englishman mumbled, rubbing a limp hand over eyes that refused to stay open.

How much I wish I knew. "Helping Mr. Spock and the Captain. You've got to stay under until I can take care of that fracture, Holmes, so lie back now."

"Is he…"

Well, at least one thing he did better than that supercilious Vulcan was to lie through his teeth. "He's fine. Now go back to sleep."

The physician did not relish the idea of deceiving the man, but he couldn't let Holmes stress his mind either, worrying over something he knew nothing about and couldn't fix even if he knew. Just as well, he reflected with gratitude later that night, that the detective had slipped under again before the communications unit chirped frantically.

His first thought was pride that his Victorian counterpart had kept his head enough to remember which button was the emergency one; ship-wide alert.

His second was Jim is going to kill somebody….

"Computer, release all systems control to Bridge stations. Voice authorization Kirk, James T., Captain, U.S.S. Enterprise. Uhura, send a preliminary report to Starfleet –"

Two Engineers and six Security men had just stepped onto the Dracone's Bridge when the ship's communications system whistled its interruption. Expecting McCoy, he was unpleasantly surprised when the voice that issued was an uncertain, British-accented baritone.

"Sickbay…McCoy, can you…can you hear me?"

Something was wrong, he knew it immediately, and not just from the slightly stumbling words.

McCoy's voice instantly, before he could even recover from the nausea that gripped him. "Watson, where are you?"

"I'm…in the brig, still…"

The lift doors swooshed open.

"Scotty, thank God!" Kirk sprang at the surprised Scott as the older man entered the Bridge. "Take command." He tossed the Chief Engineer a pleading look and then bolted for the turbolift without waiting for an answer.

The comm-unit was still going on emergency ship-wide. "I'm coming, just stay there," McCoy was snapping, that familiar edge in his voice that signified more worry than anger. "What happened? Is Spock all right?"

"Bones, what –"

"Just a minute, Jim – the man's not even coherent!" the physician snapped through the unit as he attempted to cut in on the conversation.

Kirk bit his lip and fell silent. The lift seemed to be crawling rather than passing decks at a rapid speed; had it been damaged possibly?

The CMO's voice lowered into a more gentle tone. "Watson, answer me. What about Moriarty?"

"He…I shot him, McCoy…"

"Good. Filthy –"

"Is he dead, Doctor?" Kirk interrupted sharply.

"No," the Englishman answered faintly. "I…don't think so."

"What d'you mean, you don't think so?"

"Jim, that's enough!" McCoy's bellow rattled the directional handle. "You'll get there soon enough. I've already told Scotty to send Chapel and two gurneys down there as soon as they can get 'em here."

Biting down hard on his lower lip, Kirk nodded mechanically, forgetting the physician could not see the motion. "Doctor Watson, is Spock…is he alive?"

Silence. Then, "…I…can't tell, Captain." The man's voice was fainter, sounding as if he were about to either be ill or faint. "I – I am sorry."

McCoy had never thought a ride could last so long, though in reality it was only a minute or so. Coming down the corridor, he was nearly bowled over by the figure of the Captain all-out running from the opposite end of the corridor and the other lift.

He only shook his head tolerantly when no response save an apologetic look was forthcoming; Kirk disappeared ahead of him down the corridor, as his paced slowed while he double-checked his medikit.

He certainly wasn't hesitating just because he didn't want to see how bad the damage was, surely…

"BONES! Get in here!"

When the Captain wished it, which thankfully for his crew was not very often, his normally mild-mannered voice could shatter windows and even back Spock down in the worst of times. The physician almost dropped the kit at the shout, which was infused with more fear than he'd heard from the normally levelheaded Captain in many months.

He skidded to a halt inside the cell door and stopped short, stomach lurching up into his throat. His first instinct was to give Moriarty enough neural inhibitors to keep a normal man in stasis for a week. That immediate danger cared for temporarily, the next instant he was running a scanner briefly over the swaying figure of the Englishman, who was leaning against the wall beside the communications unit, arm upon the wall and his face hidden in it.

Kirk was kneeling on the floor beside his unconscious First Officer, vainly feeling for a pulse. Apparently the Englishman had succeeded in figuring out how to release the stasis cuffs, for they and the instrument used to operate them were lying discarded on the floor beside the Vulcan. Any other indications of what had gone on were invisible, to McCoy's eyes, at least.

And he really didn't want to think about it.

"Spock? Spock!" When Kirk finally looked up, his tone shook with high-pitched tension, and clear panic on the rise. "Bones, I can't find –"

McCoy spun round, aimed the scanner at the Vulcan, and promptly exhaled for the first time. "He's alive, Jim." The Captain's face twisted in an expression of sheer limp relief. "Though there's no way anyone would know it without medical equipment – it's not Watson's fault he couldn't find respiration or blood pressure. Blasted Vulcan readings," he muttered, returning his attention to the wavering Englishman in front of him. "Elevate his feet, Jim, and get that blanket on him. I don't want to do anything until we know what happened."

Kirk nodded and scrambled to obey.

"What did happen?" McCoy continued gently, as the other physician lifted his head.

The dull, uncomprehending blankness in the man's eyes was more frightening than the fact that he seemed to be having difficulty stringing a coherent sentence together. "I…I don't know, exactly," came the confused murmur. The scanner whirred alarmingly. "He…he has some kind of...power, McCoy…"

"Yes, I know," the man soothed, taking hold of the other's arms in an effort to steady both of them. "He used it on you?"

"Yes…yes, I…"

"Bones, catch him!" The command snapped reflexively from the Captain was unnecessary, as the CMO was already staggering under the nearly-dead weight as the Englishman's legs collapsed under him. The physician's strained swearing was cut short as Kirk jumped to help him; together they managed to get Watson over to the small cot, careful not to step on the prone Vulcan.

"Bones, what happened here?" Kirk whispered as they set the half-conscious man down.

"All I know, Jim, is that the man's brain-trauma readings are off the scale," McCoy replied soberly, eyes never leaving the other doctor's face. "Whatever that…animal did to him, it was a hundred times worse than the mild dosage Holmes got. By any indication, this man should be dead – I dunno how he isn't."

"Mr. Spock," Watson managed to mumble clearly, clutching at McCoy's sleeve.

"Spock? What about him?" Kirk asked, leaning down close to the other's face to catch the words.

"He…protected my mind," the Englishman explained faintly. "Long enough…for me to shoot Moriarty…something about shock…making him…vulnerable…" Watson's voice trailed off as his eyes fluttered closed.

"But – Doctor, I need to know –"

"Jim," McCoy warned softly. "He's unconscious, and he needs to stay that way. At least he won't be in any pain for now; and I've got two other patients to see to first. Leave him."

Kirk's face was ashen. "But…if he's hurt that badly, and he was protected…then…"

The CMO had moved with the Captain back to where Kirk had carefully tucked the thin blanket around the motionless figure of his First Officer. The scanner whirred over the dark, tousled hair, the Vulcan's head now elevated once more on the Captain's legs.

"Move your hand, Jim, you're distorting the scan. There we go." His face set grimly in stone, McCoy glanced up from the scanner readings to meet the pleading eyes of his commanding officer. "Captain, you'd better get in touch with those ships coming, and see if either of them can pick up a Vulcan healer. We may need one."