A/N: drop me a line if this breaks idk about the stability of the file

"Every telepath onboard is going to be affected. It's just a matter of when." McCoy addressed the other officers at the table. "And before anyone gets any hairbrained ideas, stopping it entirely short of diverting all-" He shot a look at Scotty- "And I mean all power to the screens is out of the question. Spock ran the math before entering a deeper meditation. It seems like we're going to just have to deal with the consequences for the duration."

That cooled the conference room off considerably. Kirk was sitting back in his chair, arms crossed and glowering at the table. Scotty was leaning on his elbows and rubbing at his mustache in consternation. But, there were no outbursts. Until they got through the storm, it seemed, there was no good answer to this quandary.

Kirk spoke up at last. "Have we identified all of our telepathic guests? What's the protocol in place?"

McCoy leaned on his other elbow. "We've notified everyone we could get ahold of and rounded up everyone we couldn't. So far no casualties- in the traditional sense anyway. I think there's a Medical team rounding out the last of them. Everyone who's fit enough to avoid observation has been asked to kick back and take it easy. We're still not sure if it's gonna get worse as we proceed."

That didn't mollify Kirk in the slightest. "Do we know why this storm? Have there been any particular conditions that the Medical team can identify as the source?"

"No, Captain sir, or we would've done something about it." McCoy stopped and rubbed a hand down his face. "It's all hands on deck and none of our scans are forthcoming. Spock did a quick analysis and even pulled Chekov from Security to give it a once-over. At this time we have no leads, but the Science Labs are convinced we've got the storm's number at any rate."

He decided now was a good a time as any for show and tell. McCoy transferred the chart from his PADD to the conference room screen. "That big purple blotch is the storm. And this-" He switched to the next readout, "-is the storm in ten hours."

The officers gathered watched as the storm decreased dramatically in size. McCoy showed another projection for 24 hours, at which point the storm was nearly nonexistent. "We were right to ramp up our timetable, because this thing is projected to give off some nasty radiation once it's in major decline. We'll be well and clear of it by then, probably already at Canopis Station."

McCoy closed the program and the screen went dark. "In the meantime, our best course of action is to wait, treat, and recover."

The room became uneasy again, but nowhere near as tense as they had been in the beginning. Nobody was happy with the way things were playing out for a variety of reasons. McCoy, for instance, didn't like this whole debacle getting sprung on him like a particularly diabolical jack-in-the box. Jim, he knew, was mad they didn't have a solution yesterday. Scotty was probably irritated that miracle working was out of the question… for now.

"That's my piece, Jim." McCoy said, sitting down and turning to floor over to the Captain. They'd have to do what they'd always done: weather this thing and find a way to come out with the warp core intact.

Kirk stayed introspective for a moment before addressing the room. "I think I speak for all of us when I say I don't like this. But, we've got to get everyone to the trade conference. Not to sound callous, but the non-telepaths are still expecting to arrive sometime later this evening. And if all is as Spock and Doctor McCoy say, then it's just a matter of time." He stood and straightened his tunic.

"Well, we've got our work cut out for us. Let's try to make the best of a bad situation. The sooner we have this under control, the sooner we can put it all behind us. This meeting is adjourned so we can get back to damage control."

"Situation as normal, then." Scotty's louder-than-intended comment got a chuckle out of the officers as they stood. Running in this lighthearted vein, Kirk mock shooed them away. McCoy shot him his best supercilious look. That earned him some more animated hand gestures.

He had work to do anyhow. They all did. And at least he wouldn't have to worry about helicopter captaining anymore. Gone were the days where Jim would anxiously hover around Sickbay- and McCoy, too, spent less of his minutes on the Bridge- and with them the sense that everything needed monitoring. That had been a big problem back on their first five-year mission. It was a new Captain, new CMO, and a lot of new crewmembers unsure of how things were supposed to work.

Not to say they didn't know their jobs. McCoy had theorized after a lot of introspection that his presence on the Bridge was a twofold security measure. On the one hand, he got to observe his Captain and get a feel for the man's temperament. He could see just how flexible Kirk found the rules, and how the man fared in conversations face-to-face versus over the comm.

Secondly, it was a safeguard against disaster. Catastrophe struck the Bridge often enough that McCoy actually felt things were better in hand when he was there to provide support. Christine was competent beyond anyone's wildest expectations. This new crew, this new Captain he'd almost immediately found respect for and kinship with, was safer with him there.

But they'd all grown. McCoy now had the confidence in Jim he'd lacked in the green Captain all those years ago. He felt secure enough in his place on the ship as well to not try and carve out another one. Of course, he'd still visit the Bridge for status updates and emergencies. The thing that had changed the most was the shift from crew to team to family.

Like a well-oiled machine, each part worked best in the spot they were made for. McCoy stepped back into the hustle and bustle of Sickbay and re-centered.

Chapel stuck her head out of her office and gave him a long-suffering look. "Difficult patient in your office, Doctor. Refuses to submit to the new telepath protocols until she speaks with you."

McCoy pursed his lips. "Alright, Doctor. I'll take care of it." It only figured there'd be some holdouts. There always were. Somebody didn't want their physical, or thought they were the exception to regulation. It never changed.

But, it always did find a way to surprise him. McCoy walked through the doors of his office and found not a pouting diplomat, but Rhaelam! He nearly stopped and forgot his purpose before recovering, barely a stutter in his steps on the way to his desk. Icheleus' daughter was sitting ramrod straight on the floor, her long nose in the air and her dark red tail curled up next to her feet. Paws. Both? Rhaelam looked to McCoy with an expectant air.

"Miss Rhaelam. Doctor Chapel tells me you've declined safety protocols for the duration of our voyage."

Rhaelam nodded. She didn't say anything, and McCoy was starting to wonder whether it was because the storm was already affecting her. Better it happen in Sickbay than anywhere else. Rhaelam's tail had begun to twitch when he'd walked in, and her ears were flat. He had observed that while similar to the body language of Earth canines, the Trievans' silent communication had another layer to it. Not all cues were the same, and not all signals meant what he suspected. Of course, when was anything exactly as he thought?

McCoy sank into the chair across from the Ambassador's daughter. That's how he needed to think of her now, while they were having difficulties. She could be his old pal's offspring later. Right now, he needed to get to understanding what she was thinking.

"While you have every right to do so…" he continued after a prolonged silence, "we advise at least staying here in Sickbay. Every telepath on the ship is coming down with the same symptoms and we've already submitted your father and Lieutenant Conna-"

Rhaelam snorted. The sound caught McCoy by surprise and he stopped mid-thought. She was listening alright, and she didn't like what she was hearing.

"I don't doubt your diagnosis , Doctor." The bitterness was plain even through the translator. Sound quality on her model was too good to be anything else. By his reckoning, it was a very fine-tuned, very accurate translation. "What I doubt is that you know enough about me to make any recommendations."

Aha. Teen angst. Now this he could deal with. "With all due respect Miss Rhaelam, even our ship's strongest telepaths- in fact, especially our strongest telepaths- are being admitted with symptoms. While I don't know just how strong your abilities are-"

Her eyes hardened. "You don't! Clearly you don't know anything, and you can't! How could you?" She paused, and McCoy noticed an uptick in her respiratory rate. "My father could tell you, Lieutenant Conna could tell you. But you couldn't possibly know. You're not telepathic either."

McCoy opened his mouth but the caustic comment died in his throat. You're not telepathic either. That changed things. Funny way of putting it, but he understood. He leaned his elbows on the desk and swept a hand through his hair, releasing the air he'd saved up for a tirade. Of course Rhaelam wouldn't want to hang about in Sickbay. Of course she'd be insulted that they'd asked. She wasn't telepathic either. Time to rethink things a bit.

"My apologies, Miss Rhaelam. You're right. We didn't know, nor do I think we could've. Icheleus certainly didn't mention it, but I reckon that's because it wasn't any of our business… at the time." He shifted back in his seat and noted the anger still lingering in her features. "I'm awful sorry we've upset you like this. You're free to go, of course, or stay here with your father and Conna. Whatever it is you'd like to do-"

Rhaelam didn't make a move for the door, but the indecisive flicker of her ears caught McCoy's eye. Her gaze was downcast and she looked like there were an awful lot of things tumbling about in her head. Anger, sure, but maybe something else. Something that made an awful lot of sense now that he had the facts before him.

"I don't want to, Doctor McCoy." Rhaelam said, the translator picking up the full extent of her pain. "I don't want to wait around with all the… the ship's telepaths and get asked so many questions by the nurses. It's hard enough back home! I want it to be different, I want the starship to be… different."

He could certainly understand that attitude. It happened in telepathic races as often as any anomalies usually did. Just like there were some humans with species-abnormal telepathic abilities, so too did folks with those extras built in end up without them. It wasn't common with the Vulcans or the Romulans from what little he knew of them. Betazed had a fair handful of non-empaths. Things happened. And with any differentiation- no matter how much they all lauded the IDIC- people noticed. Unkind things were said, or unintended messages broadcast. Pity, shame, otherness… Too bad it had to come to a head again on the Enterprise .

"It can be." McCoy said simply. He immediately reached for a PADD, tried to think of some activities appropriate for somebody her size and dimensions. Not an excessive amount of fun for a four-legged being but… "I'm drawing up a list of places you can go about your business, do whatever you like. The ship's on a bit of an alert since we're down a portion of our crew and a portion of our guests due to this storm- everything's gonna be right as rain as soon as we clear it. Don't you worry about that." He made his final recommendation in the form of the fancy upgraded holodeck and turned the PADD her way for review. "There's a lot to be done on the ship. Turns out only the psychic hibernation has a prerequisite."

Rhaelam paused for a moment. McCoy wondered whether or not she'd even listen to what he'd had to say. But, she took one more look at the PADD and leaned forward eagerly to scan the list.

"I have always wanted to try a holodeck." She said quietly. "Are they really as big as everyone says?"

"Bigger." McCoy responded. "They can create as much space as they need to without ever changing size. You could go on a 40-mile hike and never leave that little ol' room."

Rhaelam's eyes widened and she scanned the options with increased vigor. "And swimming? The water is not too cold?"

"Nope. Not typically. But, you've got a couple pools to choose from." This wasn't what he'd expected, but more than what he'd hoped. Much easier to entertain a teen than fight them tooth and nail on curfew and privileges.

He let her look over it a moment longer before setting the PADD down on the desk. "You can do any of these, or ask the computer about any specific activities or restrictions. Parts of the ship have been closed down or repurposed due to the passenger complement and the storm…" He waved the idea away. They'd make it to Canopis Station and Tonbos Terre before she ran out of things to do. "The ship is your oyster. Just ask anyone if you need help or an escort."

Rhaelam cocked her head in an impressive imitation of Conna. "My 'oyster'?"

McCoy chuckled. "Don't worry about it. Go have some fun. Let me and the Medical team handle this and we'll let you know if anything changes." He winked. "Just try and stay out of trouble."

And suddenly that big red tail was swishing on the floor. "Thank you, Doctor McCoy! I will! I'll stay out of trouble and stick to these activities. Please tell my father that everything is alright. He'll know I-... He will be worried."

"Will do, Miss Rhaelam. Now go on, quit crowdin' my office if you're feeling so well." Her translator warbled at his mock consternation, but she left the office in high spirits. McCoy caught Chapel's eye outside the opening door, and observed her questioning look.

He let the door close with a shrug in her direction. If she really wanted to call him on it, why, he had the prescription right there on his PADD.