Apparently I have to put some disclaimer in here. I own nothing except the skin I was born with, and even then my parents have a stake in that…
Bones stood over the unconscious patient and looked scowlingly at the vital signs displayed on the high-tech board above him. It irked him not to be able to do anything for the man, a free trader the Enterprise had picked up floating dead in space. Lieutenant Uhura had picked up the ship's automated distress beacon and had called the Captain and himself straight away.
Everything about the rescue had gone completely by the book, no surprises. Bones chuckled, thinking that Kirk had probably despised the entire encounter as being boring, or an unworthy challenge for his highly trained and mostly handpicked crew. But the laugh died on his lips as he looked again at the prone figure on the bed. Only the good Lord himself knew what had been doing that far out from the regular shipping lanes, but he may well have paid for it with his life. As far as Bones could judge, life support in the small merchant vessel had failed a good ten minutes before the Enterprise had reached it. Now, the amount of damage the merchant's all-too-human brain had sustained was beyond McCoy's ability to repair it.
And then there was the problem of the man's pet, a reptilian-looking, cat-sized creature which refused to move from the side of the sick bed and hissed evilly at anyone who attempted to put him somewhere more suitable than a starship sickbay. At one point when the thing had been asleep, McCoy had noticed a type of drawing tattooed onto the underside of it's belly and had pointed it out to Lieutenant Regahkar, one of the science officers aboard who specialised in obscure life forms.
"Definitely…not…natural…" he had said in the stilted manner of his species. One of the first Rathkilians to join the Federation, he had specifically requested an assignment aboard the Enterprise in order to be exposed to exactly these kind of situations and his face positively glowed a faint bluish light with excitement.
"I'll…just…take…a…look…." he said, as quickly as he possibly could, and reached down for the creature. In retrospect, Bones supposed he should have tried to stop him, but part of the smooth running of any starship was trust in your fellow crewmates abilities and so… well, it hadn't been too bad. A quick hypospray of anti-venom and a bit of new skin and the much wiser scientist had been good as new. But now they were in the dark, both as to what was so important you would tattoo it to your pet, and also as to what they were going to do with the empty shell the trader had left living when his brain had died.
"Excuse my interruption Doctor," came a precise tone from the doorway. McCoy looked up from his patient to where the First Officer stood at the entrance to the sickbay.
"Blast it Spock, don't just stand there. If you want to come in, come in!"
Despite the antagonism of the Doctor's words, his voice was tired and his eyes showed the strain of his latest sleepless night. Spock took another step forward into the room, and then paused, looking at Bones with something akin to concern.
"Is everything in order Doctor?" Spock asked. Bones shook his head wearily. His eyes looked down at the merchant, but his gaze seemed to travel past him to something Spock wasn't able to see.
"These young, energetic men and women just throw themselves haphazardly into space an I'm expected to patch 'em back together again using nothing more than some new-fangled bits of electronic equipment and some good luck," he sighed in frustration and then looked up, "and it burns me up when I can't do it." Spock looked thoughtful, searching for a reply, but McCoy kept going, his Southern accent becoming more pronounced with his sardonic mood.
"But you didn't come visit me for that now, did you? What can I help you with Spock?"
The First Officer hesitated, as though unsure whether to speak.
"I believe…I believe there may be a problem with Lieutenant Uhura."