Chapter Four
Looking For Bandaids
While McCoy kept the captain under observation in the unit, Spock took the ship to MC688 then gave Sulu command and concentrated on research. Despite the recovery of several more devices, the scientists made little progress. Jim chafed while his crew worked. He began to call the division chiefs asking for updates. Early on the second day, after his third call asking about her team's efforts to decipher the writing samples, Uhura came up to sickbay and reported in person.
"Sir," Uhura said, chin up, and expression impassive, "interpreting completely unknown languages is not something that happens quickly."
This presentation sounds like something you and Spock worked up together, he thought, but said, "I understand, but ballpark, when do you think you will have something for me?"
"I can't guess, captain. My team is still organizing the samples. We aren't ready to decode anything yet."
It seemed impossible to Jim that they hadn't gotten farther. "What is there to organize? Pick one and get to work."
"I beg your pardon, sir, but you have no idea what that means," she protested. "The standard analysis programs found no matches. The language is a complete isolate; we're starting from scratch. We're linguists doing cryptoanalysis."
He interrupted, "Stop thinking about every possibility. Decide what's most likely and start."
Her eyes flashed. She opened her mouth, Jim assumed to argue, but she apparently thought better of it and went back to her script. "Sir," she said, "this is not a process that goes faster when you interrupt us."
"Uhura," he said, "get it done."
Jaw tight, she acknowledged it as an order. As she turned to leave, her hand brushed Jim's. He felt disdain and heard himself say, {Idiot.}
At first, Jim was too stunned to react. He called, "This isn't some research project, it's my life," but Uhura was already gone. Thinking made him less hurt and more angry. He jumped off the bed and paced the room. Yes, I'm eager, who wouldn't be in my position? Anyway, I'm the captain. It's my job to tell the crew when they needed to try harder. It's worked pretty well for everybody so far; maybe she should think about that before she starts commenting on her orders.
He got a drink of water and felt a little calmer. Uhura's doing her best, he told himself. She always does. I should let this go.
He went back to his bed, opened his PADD, and tried to read. After a few sentences, he dropped the machine on the bed. Idiot? Seriously? Does she believe that? Do other people?
Jim walked to the door and gazed out at the busy medical unit. He shook his head. Being down here with nothing to do is making me crazy.
He grabbed his communicator and flipped it open. "Bones," he said, "come talk to me."
"I'm working, remember?" the doctor replied.
Biting back what he wanted to say, Jim managed, "Could you please come and see me when it is convenient?"
The doctor appeared almost immediately. "What's wrong?" he asked.
"Nothing. I thought you were busy?" Jim said.
"Yeah, but you sounded weird," McCoy explained, "I thought I should check. Are you sure you're feeling alright?"
"I'm fine," Jim said, "I just wanted to let you know I'm ready to go back to work."
McCoy snorted. "No," he called as he stomped back to his office.
Jim muttered, "And now, my psychic powers tell me we will argue," and followed McCoy. "Look," he said, "You said my scans haven't changed since the first one."
The doctor scowled. "You've had an injury to your brain, captain. Do you have any concept of what that means? Telepaths consider any damage to inhibitory organs a medical crisis. You only feel alright because down here, we can control the environment. Up there, you'll have no protection when people leak their thoughts into your mind."
"I need to get back to work."
"The fact that you think that is reasonable proves you are in no shape for command. I said no, now get back to bed."
Jim continued, "I have to go back sometime. If this new brain thing is permanent, I have no intention of changing my life. I'll need to learn to ignore hearing others' thoughts. To do that, I need to practice. Captaining while parked at a deserted planet is an excellent way to start. Because eventually, I am going to have to do some real work, and I don't want to be distracted."
McCoy didn't reply. Sensing weakness, Jim decided to bring out the big guns. "I'd hoped to avoid alarming you," he said earnestly, "but, to be honest. My return is a matter of security."
McCoy shook his head. "Don't bother," he said.
"It is," Jim retorted. "The safety of the ship, our very lives depend upon the command officers making the right decisions in an emergency. How can they do that when they don't even know what the mission is? Spock declared the device top secret because of the potential for misuse. I agree, although my concern is it might compromise the crew's ability to work around me if they knew I could read their thoughts. Sulu has the conn, and he has no idea why we're back at MC688. He's steady. I could trust him with anything. But what happens when he goes off duty, and someone else takes over? It's not safe, Bones. I need to get up there."
"This is a lousy idea," McCoy said.
Jim raised his right hand. "If I mess up, you can relieve me. I won't argue."
"It's useless to argue," McCoy countered, "you never listen to anyone. You want discharged? Fine, suit yourself. But listen to me kid, this is going to be harder than you think. Promise me you'll be honest with yourself. There's no shame in coming back down here for some rest."
"Yes, yes. I promise," Jim said quickly.
"I want to see you after every shift. We'll rescan you, make sure there are no changes. And you have to agree to tell me immediately about headaches or vision problems."
"Be calm, Bones, I got this."
"I doubt it," McCoy said grimly. "Promise me you'll work with Spock to learn some techniques for blocking others' access to your mind."
"I promise," Jim agreed, mostly to get Bones to stop talking. He pointed to the doctor's PADD and made a "keep it rolling" gesture.
Bones sighed again and called up the discharge papers. Muttering unhappily to himself, he signed the documents.
Jim burst out of sickbay, grinning happily. First, he strolled around the ship. After three days in medical, even the standard paint of the passageways seemed colorful.
After having greeted several crew members without incident, he began to wonder if perhaps he had already taught himself to control the transferences. Then six huge, security guards tripped over each other while trying to salute as they scrambled out of his way, and he remembered protocol demanded the crew step back and give the captain space in the passageway. He had known it, but he hadn't ever really been conscious of it before.
Discouraged, he made his way to the bridge. Stepping out of the turbolift, he took just a few seconds to enjoy it, his favorite place in the universe. Chekov called, "Captain on the bridge." Every crew member not at a specific station stood at attention, and Sulu jumped up, vacating his chair. Jim paused just a moment longer, to enjoy the view, and then started toward his seat.
On the second stair, his joints fluttered worse than they ever had, and suddenly, he felt a wave of happy excitement, such as he hadn't experienced since he was a very young child. At the same time, he began to hear himself say, {He's here! He looks great, not like he was ill. He is back, and now things will be normal, I am so happy.}
The words were coming so quickly he could barely understand them. It was never this intense before, he thought. Looking around, he decided he was picking up the thoughts of more than one crewman. That's why the excitement is so intense; it's more than one person's.
"Good afternoon, Captain Kirk. Sir, you have the conn," Sulu said formally.
{He looks like he is in pain; is he still sick? I must focus and try not to disappoint him. Perhaps he should rest. Hikaru should tell him that we can do this for him.} "Thank you, Mr. Sulu, anything to report?" Jim asked, trying to focus over the whirling staccato in his brain.
"We are in standard orbit above MC688. All teams reported in on time, and none reported difficulties." Sulu said. As the relief helmsman stood to give Sulu report, the yattering in Jim's brain shut off.
Good, he thought, they've all got something to think about besides me. He settled into his seat and looked around. Even stuck in orbit around MC688 the bridge was exciting. There was urgency in every movement and blinking screen. Jim was so glad to be back that it took him a while to become aware of the alien happiness thrumming through his mind. It wasn't unpleasant. Jim always felt happy and a little excited when on the bridge. However, his own emotions paled next to the force he was experiencing. What would you call this, enthralled, euphoric? I'm not sure of the word, but it feels good. It's definitely too intense for just one or two people; half the crew must be thinking how happy they are I'm back.
Jim looked around, eager to share his appreciation with the crew. They're right; it's a great day on the Enterprise. At the weapons station Lt. Hendorff shifted from foot to foot without making eye contact. The lieutenant providing coverage for Uhura yawned as he stared glassy-eyed at his screens. Bowen, at science for Spock, smiled at Jim vaguely, then returned to the report on her viewer. Puzzled, Jim stood up and turned slowly, inspecting every station. He saw no one that appeared even remotely excited.
Not surprising, he told himself. We're in orbit around a dead planet, and it's dull. Who'd be happy about nothing? He stopped and winced. Oh no, he thought. Sighing, he gathered his courage and stepped around the front of the helm.
Sulu glanced up, Chekov did too. Immediately Kirk heard, {What does he want? So exciting; I'm ready for whatever it is. What will he want? What will he want me to do?} Words tripped over themselves in his head.
Oh no, he thought again. The happy feeling dissipated in crushing concern, not all his. It was overwhelming. {What is wrong? Is he in pain? Perhaps he came back too soon.} Jim put his hand up, "Chekov," he said warningly.
"Yes, sir," the navigator answered politely, and the worry grew.
In Jim's head, fast, like a rabbit's heartbeat, he heard, {What does he want? Look at that face, is he angry? He's angry. Why? Did I make him angry? Can he possibly still be mad about the communicator? Hikaru said he was joking, but that face does not look joking. Damn, damn, damn, damn,}
Jim had to focus hard to think over the chorus of swearing. He said, "Uhura's down in the linguistic labs."
"Yes, sir," Chekov agreed, and the concern washed away in relief.
{That's all? That was easy} As fast as it came, the relief evaporated into apprehension. {Wait, how could he not know, he ordered it. Did I miss rhetorical again? I always do that to him, what is wrong with me?}
Jim swallowed the urge to tell Chekov to shut up, and instead said, "I want you to go to linguistics."
The anxiety dissipated. Chekov looked around the bridge. Jim heard, {I know how it feels to receive that order from him. Why does he insist on doing that, it never works out well. I wonder to whom he is talking?}
Just as he began to wonder if he should repeat himself, a wave of dread wallopped Jim like a two by four.
Chekov bleated, "You are speaking to me?" and added, "Sir?" while in his head Jim heard, {No, no, sir, please, no.}
Jim flinched. "Yeah," he said. In his head a train-going-down-a-track cacophony of {whys,} exploded. He managed to get out, "They need your special talents down there."
"Aye, sir," Chekov said. Sulu glanced at him sympathetically and signaled for a relief navigator. A frantic chorus of whys continued until Ensign Trev arrived. While Chekov focused on his report, it was mercifully quiet in Jim's head. He returned to his chair. As Chekov started to the turbolift, head down and avoiding eye contact, Jim felt resentment and heard, {Why can't he punish me without embarrassing me in front of the whole bridge crew? Look at L'hask already on her comm; he made her day. Thanks, captain, by shift change everyone in the division will know.}
Stung, Jim said, "Chekov."
The young man turned, "Yes, sir?"
Jim was surprised because Chekov looked like his usual self. There was no outward sign of the bitterness Jim knew the navigator was feeling. "It's temporary," he said. "This mission is important, and I think you'll be of help."
"Yes sir," Chekov said, nodding. Jim heard, {The captain is thinking of the ship and the mission; I am thinking of me. No matter how I try, I will never be like him,} and a blossoming of sad shame.
Once the turbo lift closed, Chekov's emotions disappeared. Jim tried to enjoy the quiet in his head, but a sort of nagging restlessness prevented him. Now what? He checked the crew, trying to decide who's emotion he was feeling. All around the bridge, his officers seemed still lost in their thoughts. He studied the sentiment a little more and was surprised to realize it was his own guilt. I don't get it. I never feel guilty. I decide what's right and I do it, and I don't waste time considering it later. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. It might have been better if Chekov had stayed angry. Rage, I can handle.
Suddenly, his communicator vibrated. He reached for it stealthily. He kept it set to nonverbal so that he could have the occasional personal conversation without entertaining the entire bridge crew. They weren't supposed to use private lines while on duty, but it was one of those regulations he preferred to overlook. He was always on duty; sometimes, he needed to talk to people. Very few of the crew had his connection information; he assumed it would be Blanca. However, the screen showed an angry-looking Uhura. That she hadn't just used the ship's channels to speak to him meant that whatever she wanted to say, it wasn't official. He opened the message. It read:
?WTH?
He replied: Are you thanking me for the help I sent you?
This is not a thank you.
Keep him busy down there. I needed a break.
No. I don't have time to teach him what to do. What is wrong with you? You said you wanted us to work faster, and then you send me a distraction.
He was bleeding all over me.
You're making no sense.
Ask your boyfriend what it means.
Mentioning Spock is not going to distract me. I don't have time for this.
Come on, be a sport.
He says you just stood up and ordered him off the bridge.
I had to. I could hear him thinking from across the room.
There was a pause before his screen lit up.
Don't you dare whine to me that our progress isn't fast enough.
The screen went dead.
He closed the comm, started to put it away, and then had an idea. He wrote a little note for Blanca and touched the proper icon.
I'm out of Sick Bay. We should get together tonight. My place?
He waited a few seconds for the response, which was:
I'll bring steaks.
Concerns forgotten, he leaned back in his chair and decided to enjoy the rest of the afternoon.