"I dunno, Jim. Pretty bad damage. One more kick and his ribs. . . well, I'd
hate to think what condition his lungs would be in."
"Thanks, Bones. D'you know who did it?"
"We think it was Lieutenant Green. . . trouble was, no one saw it, so we can't exactly accuse anyone without evidence. . .I mean, if Chekov could tell us maybe we could at least give him a warning.but the quarters we found him I, the surveillance cameras had been out for ages. I don't even know if they worked in the first place. . ."
Pang. Pang. Pang.
Agony throbbed through the young body on the Bio-Bed, a groan escaping his lips, for there were no words that could describe the pain that was echoing around his figure like a swarm of bees around a hive.
"Chekov?"
No. No. No.
No noise, thought the figure, please, just no noise.my head, my ears, my arms, my legs.someone, please, put me out of this misery.
"Chekov? Chekov?" The voices became less slurred, and the wounded young man tried to open his hazel eyes. The light that shone in stung, and he closed them again, sucking air in between his teeth.
"Chekov, please, try and stay awake."
Until then, he hadn't needed to try. But as soon as his tired brain registered the word 'sleep', it immediately tried to do so.
A jolt ran through his neck as a flow of ice-cold liquid passed from the needlepoint of a hypospray into the warm veins, making him cry out and try and bat the hand that was holding the instrument away.
Suddenly, his body filled with energy, and he was able to open his eyes fully, the light tolerable, and sit up slightly.
But as soon as he did, his chest constricted and forced him to gag, a warm, metallic rush of thick liquid shooting up his throat.
He coughed it out onto the sheets, startled to see that it was in fact blood, then looked down at himself dozily. There were linen bandages wrapped around his chest, a stiff cast on his arm and, from what he could feel, a lump at the left side of his jaw line. He ran his fingers along it, discovering that it felt like a long thin rod of metal, then looked up at the blurred figures around him. He blinked several times, clearing his mind and eyes of unconsciousness, then looked again.
Captain Kirk, Spock, DeSalle and McCoy were to his left, Rand, Chapel and Riley were to his right.
"I thought you said you'd sorted his lungs out?" Kirk asked, staring at the blood Chekov had just coughed up on the sheets.
"The best we could. There'll be some blood left in there, but he'll cough it up."
"Isn't that dangerous?" Rand asked, blinking at McCoy, "couldn't he choke?"
"Rand, you could choke on water and therefore conclude that all drinkable liquids are dangerous. It's all we could do, alright?"
"Yeah, whatever." Rand muttered. She glanced at the digital clock on the wall and sighed, "I gotta go. Duty and all that."
"How did. . .how did I get here?" Chekov winced at how sore his jaw felt when he spoke. He blinked a few times, then looked up unsurely at the people around him.
The last he could remember. . .
"Lieutenant DeSalle heard a commotion from your quarters. He ran to the nearest Comm. Terminal and called Security. By the time they reached you, your attacker was gone." Kirk explained, "Chekov. . .who-"
"For God's Sake," McCoy snapped, his usual over-protective bedside manner kicking in, "Jim, he doesn't need this as soon as he-"
"Bones," Kirk turned away from Chekov and glared at his friend, "if there's an illegal alien on this vessel, then I have to know."
"Negative." Spock butted in, "I am the only non-human life onboard."
Kirk looked at Chekov meaningfully, "Mr. Chekov, who?"
"I ken't tell you." This took everyone by surprise. Every Star Fleet officer swore blind that they would always give their Captain the required information. Not doing so was considered a breach of Security.
"Chekov, I order you-"
"Sair, you can court martial me for all I care. I ken't tell you. And I newer vill."
There was a short pause, then Kirk, tightly, said, "fine. Alright. I'll give you a few days to change your mind."
He walked out, a few bemused glances being stolen at his back.
No one ever said no to Captain James T. Kirk.
"Thanks, Bones. D'you know who did it?"
"We think it was Lieutenant Green. . . trouble was, no one saw it, so we can't exactly accuse anyone without evidence. . .I mean, if Chekov could tell us maybe we could at least give him a warning.but the quarters we found him I, the surveillance cameras had been out for ages. I don't even know if they worked in the first place. . ."
Pang. Pang. Pang.
Agony throbbed through the young body on the Bio-Bed, a groan escaping his lips, for there were no words that could describe the pain that was echoing around his figure like a swarm of bees around a hive.
"Chekov?"
No. No. No.
No noise, thought the figure, please, just no noise.my head, my ears, my arms, my legs.someone, please, put me out of this misery.
"Chekov? Chekov?" The voices became less slurred, and the wounded young man tried to open his hazel eyes. The light that shone in stung, and he closed them again, sucking air in between his teeth.
"Chekov, please, try and stay awake."
Until then, he hadn't needed to try. But as soon as his tired brain registered the word 'sleep', it immediately tried to do so.
A jolt ran through his neck as a flow of ice-cold liquid passed from the needlepoint of a hypospray into the warm veins, making him cry out and try and bat the hand that was holding the instrument away.
Suddenly, his body filled with energy, and he was able to open his eyes fully, the light tolerable, and sit up slightly.
But as soon as he did, his chest constricted and forced him to gag, a warm, metallic rush of thick liquid shooting up his throat.
He coughed it out onto the sheets, startled to see that it was in fact blood, then looked down at himself dozily. There were linen bandages wrapped around his chest, a stiff cast on his arm and, from what he could feel, a lump at the left side of his jaw line. He ran his fingers along it, discovering that it felt like a long thin rod of metal, then looked up at the blurred figures around him. He blinked several times, clearing his mind and eyes of unconsciousness, then looked again.
Captain Kirk, Spock, DeSalle and McCoy were to his left, Rand, Chapel and Riley were to his right.
"I thought you said you'd sorted his lungs out?" Kirk asked, staring at the blood Chekov had just coughed up on the sheets.
"The best we could. There'll be some blood left in there, but he'll cough it up."
"Isn't that dangerous?" Rand asked, blinking at McCoy, "couldn't he choke?"
"Rand, you could choke on water and therefore conclude that all drinkable liquids are dangerous. It's all we could do, alright?"
"Yeah, whatever." Rand muttered. She glanced at the digital clock on the wall and sighed, "I gotta go. Duty and all that."
"How did. . .how did I get here?" Chekov winced at how sore his jaw felt when he spoke. He blinked a few times, then looked up unsurely at the people around him.
The last he could remember. . .
"Lieutenant DeSalle heard a commotion from your quarters. He ran to the nearest Comm. Terminal and called Security. By the time they reached you, your attacker was gone." Kirk explained, "Chekov. . .who-"
"For God's Sake," McCoy snapped, his usual over-protective bedside manner kicking in, "Jim, he doesn't need this as soon as he-"
"Bones," Kirk turned away from Chekov and glared at his friend, "if there's an illegal alien on this vessel, then I have to know."
"Negative." Spock butted in, "I am the only non-human life onboard."
Kirk looked at Chekov meaningfully, "Mr. Chekov, who?"
"I ken't tell you." This took everyone by surprise. Every Star Fleet officer swore blind that they would always give their Captain the required information. Not doing so was considered a breach of Security.
"Chekov, I order you-"
"Sair, you can court martial me for all I care. I ken't tell you. And I newer vill."
There was a short pause, then Kirk, tightly, said, "fine. Alright. I'll give you a few days to change your mind."
He walked out, a few bemused glances being stolen at his back.
No one ever said no to Captain James T. Kirk.