Chapter 2

Lieutenant Commander Montgomery Scott sat on the sickbay diagnostic couch waiting for Dr. McCoy to finish his tests. The riotous high that he'd been on since McCoy's sedative faded fast, replaced by a pounding headache and a more than mild sense of embarrassment at the things that took place in the past two weeks. Rubbing his head, and hoping that McCoy did not notice, he thought back over what parts of the incident he remembered. It started when one of his female lieutenants touched the wrong end of a polarized probe to the matter-antimatter reactor, while he worked in the Jeffries Tube.

The surge of energy described in the logs, perhaps somewhat inaccurately, as an explosion, sent him flying against the bulkhead, knocking him unconscious. He wound up with a concussion. Images ran through his head, as distorted as if he were looking at them through a kaleidoscope. A woman in a red dress, dancing, dead. A group of people in a circle, chanting words that had no meaning. A strange knife and blood on his hands. Furry creatures all over the ship. Try as he had over the past days, he could not sort them out. Apparently, he had worked a normal schedule for a while after the explosion, before another minor accident occurred, this one involving [a fistfight with] Klingons and caused by his own pride, brought on a relapse and landed him back in his quarters first, and then in sickbay for another round of treatment. Finally, in the last few hours, he had started feeling better. Dr. McCoy, wonderful during the preceding days, now tried to determine his fitness to return to duty. He hoped that McCoy allowed him to return to his quarters at least, if not immediately to duty.

McCoy placed the last of his instruments on the tray next to him, handed Scott two pills and a glass of water, and told Scotty to get dressed after he'd taken them and then join him in his office. That meant that he wanted to discuss something important, otherwise, he would relay the verdict then and there. Scott dressed hurriedly and then walked to McCoy's office, wondering what the doctor would tell him. He knocked lightly on the open door, and the doctor motioned him inside and to a chair, then turned back to his screen and finished downloading data into his computer from his portable tricorder. Looking up finally, with an appraising eye, he asked, "So, Scotty, how are you feeling?"

"Much better, Dr. McCoy," he said, almost too cheerfully.

"Tell me what you remember after the explosion."

"Na much at all, Doctor, and all a jumble."

"What kind of jumble?" Scott winced slightly. Here they trod dangerous ground.

"I'm not really sure, sir. Na much o' it is clear."

"Tell me what you do remember, Mr. Scott. Perhaps I can fill in some blanks for you." Scott knew from McCoy's tone that there was no choice, if he wanted to be released from sickbay any time soon, anyway.

"I seem to remember a séance, and a dead woman, and a knife, and me with blood on my hands. I also remember these furry creatures all over the ship, who dinna like Klingons, but I think I must have dreamed that because I couldn't say where they fit into the rest of it. Can't say I disapprove o' their taste, but that was a nightmare."

"That was no dream, Mr. Scott. Anything else?"

"No sir." McCoy opened Scott's paper file, picked up a small stack of papers from the top of a larger stack on his desk, glanced at something in the file, and then slid the papers in his hand into Scott's file and closed it. Paper files were not strictly required, and, in fact, most people did not use them, but McCoy's old fashioned country doctor approach to medicine, coupled with his distrust of all types of machinery, made him desire a tangible output for his tests, 'just in case the computers crashed', he told himself, though it had been at least half a century since any computers really crashed. They might occasionally malfunction, but even then, he could generally access his files.

And besides, they did have Spock, their ace in the hole. The man might be immune to the charms of a beautiful woman, but those long, slender fingers were able to coax things from computers that the average person, no matter their training, couldn't. There was all kinds of love in the universe, and in Spock's case, the closest thing he'd seen to it was when the Vulcan was one with his precious data base. To each his own, he thought, but there's no accounting for taste. Maybe that's why he was always at odds with the first officer – they had two diametrically opposed views of the merits and pitfalls of technology, among other things.

He broke out of his reverie, and looked up as Scott spoke again. "You mean that mumbo jumbo really happened?"

"I'm afraid so. How does that make you feel?" That was McCoy's way of gently pushing him to talk about what had happened, while his tone let the engineer know at the same time that he would not accept any cock and bull stories. He wanted the truth, and McCoy was a man who usually got what he wanted, one way or another, when it came to his patients. Scott sat silently for a moment, staring off into the far distance, considering.

"Dr. McCoy, did I do anything—" he paused. He intended to say 'stupid', but stopped when he realized that was not what he really wanted to know "—embarrassing that I don't remember?"

"No!" McCoy growled, then softened his gruff tone and added, "No more so than the rest of us, though you might be embarrassed by some of what happened." He smiled widely. "Relax, Scotty. You're among friends. We've all embarrassed ourselves at some time or other, with the probable exception of Spock, and we've survived to tell the stories long after they've become simply funny stories, and no longer painfully funny ones. If it's any comfort to you, at least you had an excuse for making a fool of yourself. You had a mild concussion, and a sedative. Also, if you did do anything 'embarrassing' as you say, the rest of the crew probably doesn't remember either. After all, the Captain ordered tranquilizers for the whole crew. What about the crewman who caused the explosion?" McCoy purposely refrained from mentioning a gender, wanting to know how Scott felt by what he said.

"She's a fine, wee lass, and it was an accident. I hope the Captain won't log it as negligence and place it in her file. She's up for a promotion soon, and I'd hate to see her lose it."

"I'm sure Jim will consider what you have to say about the affair, Scott, but it was a mistake, however unintentional, and one that endangered the ship, and might have cost some of the crew their lives. You know the Captain. He takes these things very seriously, but whatever happens, Jim is a man who doesn't believe that any failure is permanent. He'll give her a second chance to redeem herself."

"Aye, sir. I know. What about me? When can I go back to work, Doctor?"

"Let's say tomorrow, Mr. Scott, if you go directly to your quarters when you leave sickbay and don't come out until suppertime. I will be by to check on you later. Sometime in the next few days, I'd like to see you back here, and I want to see if we can sort out the memories in your mind into something cohesive, so you won't have to worry about them."

"Thank you, Dr. McCoy." In truth, Montgomery Scott did not want to talk to anyone about what he remembered and didn't remember; he'd just as soon forget the last two weeks altogether and focus on using his work to help himself heal, as McCoy had taught him. He knew that McCoy had a reason for any medical order he made, though, and the man had patched up various members of the crew too many times for Scott not to trust him. Besides, McCoy had this indefinable quality about him. Scott supposed that some just considered it part of his bedside manner, but as a member of the senior staff, who witnessed the Chief Medical Officer of the starship Enterprise in action more than once, Scotty knew that it went much deeper than that. McCoy cared about his patients to the same degree that Scotty cared about his engines, and though he might bellow at times, his anger was just another of the instruments he used to help his patients. He had a way of finding and bringing out the things that no one wanted to face, then laying a hand on a shoulder and making a joke so that the truth went down easier. In off duty hours, that sometimes even extended to sharing a drink with a patient while he felt them out. Scott came out of his reverie to find McCoy watching him, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Problem, Scotty?"

"Nae. I'm just ready to forget all of this and get back to work, if you'll let me." McCoy smiled gently.

"I'm afraid that's impossible at the moment, Mr. Scott. Our memories, especially the jumbled ones, have a habit of coming back to haunt us, and they tend to do so at the most dangerous times. I'll promise to make it as painless as possible for you, though. Let's just let them settle for a few days, first, all right?"

"Aye, sir."

"Good boy. Now, get on over to your quarters, and I don't want to see you out at all today except at mealtimes. Call me if you need me."

"Yes, sir." Scotty fairly bolted from the room before the doctor had a chance to change his mind.

"Computer?"

"Working."

"Play log entry regarding James T Kirk."

"Specify."

"Third entry," he said, choosing a random number.

"Acknowledged"

"Lieutenant James Kirk slowly opened his eyes and was immediately inundated with the strangeness of the room he was in. Only one thing was certain—he was no longer on the ship, which is where he last remembered being. That must mean that the ship's crew was temporarily planet-side. The beeps and chirps and whirrs in the background indicated that he was in a sickbay. Other than that, he had no memory of how he'd ended up here, and no idea which sickbay he was in.

He tried to sit up, but found himself restrained across the chest and legs, rendering him completely unable to move. He struggled for a few moments, finally managing to wiggle one hand out from under the binding across the chest, and then it was only the work of a moment to unfasten the bonds that were restraining him and sit up. When he discovered no adverse effects from that, he leaned over and unfastened the binding across his legs. Dangling his legs over the side of the bed, he slid downward, only to have his legs turn to jelly, and dump him unceremoniously to the floor.

As he struggled to stand, the sickbay doors whooshed open, and a murderous voice bellowed, "You get your tail back in that bed before I sedate you." Thinking how much easier that was to say than to actually do, James Kirk took hold of the side of the bed for support, and with a Herculean effort, hauled himself upright, though he did not completely make it onto the bed. With his heart pounding in his ears, Kirk fought off a wave of dizziness, and managed to remain upright—just. He glared at the familiar face across from him with some irritation.

"I can't—", he began.

"Serves you right, far as I'm concerned," the doctor barked, but he moved to help his young patient as he saw him start to fall again. "Are you out of your mind? What were you thinking?" With one hand steadying Lt. Kirk, the young doctor used his free hand to lower the bed, so James could climb back under the covers.

"How did you know?" Kirk asked, wondering for the millionth time since he'd known him if the doctor was telepathic. Seemed like he always knew when Kirk was up to something.

"I know you, Jim."

"What are you doing here?"

"Nice to see you again, too, my friend." The doctor's voice was laced with sarcasm, but for all that, it was affectionate enough.

"Answer me, you old sawbones." Affection belied the irritation in the lieutenant's voice as he addressed his friend. "What are you doing here?"

"I work here. You're the one who's visiting. Now, have you learned your lesson, or do I need to use the restraints again?"

"I'll behave. I promise." He looked around, trying to decide if this sickbay looked like the one where he'd first met the doctor. He couldn't tell.

"Good. Then I'll allow you to sit up while we talk. Glad to see you're feeling better by the way. You had us worried for a while there. Are you hungry?" Jim Kirk considered for a moment, and then, deciding that he was indeed very hungry, he nodded. The doctor picked up a meal card from his desk, placed the order with the synthesizers, and then, bringing the tray over and settling it in front of Kirk, he sat down in a chair next to the bed. He decided his patient was feeling better when Kirk said, "Chicken soup? That's all you have?"

"No, but it is likely all your body can handle right now. Eat up. You need to regain some strength." Kirk took the spoon and dipped it into the soup, then raised it to his mouth, savoring the warmth, even if synthesized food did only taste like a memory of its authentic counterpart. Watching him closely, the doctor asked, "Do you remember what happened?" Kirk paused, spoon halfway to his bowl, and thought about that question for a moment. "The last thing I remember is being on the ship, during a normal duty shift. Now, I am here, wherever here is."

"You don't remember being poisoned?"

"Poisoned? How?"

'That's what we are trying to figure out. All we've determined so far is that you were being poisoned for at least six weeks, and that the poison had some unusual side effects. You are a strong young man. By the time your CMO caught the illness, all they could do was bring you here."

"Bones, what do you mean by 'unusual side effects'?"

"Never mind that. You will remember when you are ready to remember. I'd like to let nature take its course on things like that."

Captain James T. Kirk smiled slightly as he turned off the sickbay desk viewer, thinking back over that day when he tried to sneak out of Bones McCoy's sickbay, and learned that his doctor and his friend missed very little. He wondered if it would work today any better than it had then. After all, he'd been ill then, and he was in top form now. At the moment, Bones was in another area of sickbay, checking on a space sick crewman, while the Captain was in the middle of his quarterly physical. If he moved quickly, he could probably make it almost to his quarters before McCoy came back.

Mischief twinkling in his eyes, he slipped off the bed with his tunic shirt around his neck, and was out the door and down the hall in a matter of seconds. As he made his way down the hall, he thought back over that day, so many years ago, glad to know that some things hadn't changed in the intervening time, and smiling widely at McCoy's reaction when he came back and discovered that the Captain had given him the slip. He frowned a little bit as he realized that he never did learn what McCoy had meant when he told him that he'd suffered unusual side effects from the poison, and he made a mental note to ask McCoy about it later. Reaching his quarters, he punched in the code that would allow him access to his room. Still encased in his reverie, he walked inside, and was greeted by a familiar bellow.

"If you don't sit your butt down on this bed until I'm finished, I'll declare you unfit for duty and confine you to sickbay, if I have to tie you to the table in there to do it." Meekly, Jim sat down at his table, and the doctor moved over beside him, tricorder in hand.

"Bones, how did you get in here?"

"I have the magic code!" the doctor said, sarcastically.

"I don't mean that, Bones. I mean, how did you beat me to my own quarters?"

"I know you, Jim. And, you seem to have forgotten that sickbay has more than one exit. Now, I believe we have a physical to finish." Bones glowered at his Captain, and Kirk felt a little guilty for having the doctor on. He managed to look somewhat contrite. "Sorry Bones, I couldn't resist. Do we need to return to sickbay so you have access to the equipment there?" Bones' frown softened slightly. "Nah. We were almost finished anyway. The few things we had left to do I can do right here. You might find some of these tests a tad more comfortable had you stayed in sickbay, but that was your decision," he said, mollified.

"Do you remember that day when I tried to sneak out of your sickbay before?"

"Someone's been looking at the medical record tapes in the restricted section of ship's library again," McCoy said accusingly.

"As Commanding Officer of this vessel, I have a responsibility to know what is happening with every person on board," Kirk said, indignantly. Judging the doctor's mood, Kirk really did not want to ask the next question he had to ask, but there was no avoiding it. He had to know. It could mean the safety of a crewman, and therefore the ship itself, and that left him very little choice. He took a deep breath. "Bones, did Mr. Scott ever come to you to sort out his memories after his accident?"

"Dammit Jim, those are supposed to be confidential." Bones scowled at the Captain. The gruffness in his voice gave way to something more like amused frustration, and Kirk swallowed a sigh of relief. McCoy shook his head, stifling his laughter because he was not yet quite ready to forgive the Captain this little indiscretion. Actually, the Captain had the right to demand a report for every person on the ship, and McCoy had a responsibility to bring the medical issues of crew members to the Captain's attention, but looking at the tapes was treading on the edge of his authority as Captain, since some issues in those records were meant only for the CMO to see.

Still, McCoy knew Kirk well enough to know that he didn't just pry into the private lives of his crew without good reason. Instead of saying the few choice things that came to mind, things that probably only he could get away with saying to his Captain, he contented himself with filling the largest hypospray he had. Moving back across the Captain's quarters, he smiled wickedly. "Drop your pants." Kirk stared at him, not comprehending.

"What?"

"You heard me. The latest vaccine that Starfleet requires works best in the backside, so that's where it's going. Now, either you can drop trou or I can drop them for you."

"You're enjoying this," the Captain grumbled, but he unfastened his trousers and pushed them down to his knees. "You didn't answer my question" he said, more to take his mind off of what was about to happen than because he needed an immediate report. Bones was very good at his job, and Kirk knew that the doctor would tell him anything he felt his Captain needed to know.

"Why do you ask, Jim?" For all of his frustrations with the Captain's methods of information gathering, McCoy knew he did not pry into the lives of his crew members without good reason. In fact, most of the time, the record tapes the Captain perused were those involving himself. McCoy held the hypo spray to the very bottom of the small of his back, just below the waistline of his boxers, and Kirk winced as it delivered its load. "Have you seen something, Captain?"

"No, not exactly." He laid his concerns out for McCoy, and as he did so, he realized how flimsy they sounded, even to him. When he finished, McCoy regarded him with the manner of a man who had learned long ago to trust this man's instincts more than most men's witnessed observations. "I don't know, Captain. The accident was three months ago, and it's only bothering him now? I've heard of trauma cases in which patients experience problems years later, but Scotty is as grounded as they come." He chose his words carefully here. "I have trouble believing that it would be so with him. I'll stop by and talk to him, though. See what I can find out."

"Thank you, Doctor. Are we finished?"

"Almost sir."

(0o0)

Lieutenant Nyota Uhura didn't wait for the doors to her quarters to slide open all the way before she slipped inside through the widening crack. She sank down into her desk chair, slipping off her shoes as she did so. A moment later, she was up again, moving restlessly through her living quarters. She pushed the button to open up her wardrobe and selected a sarong made of brightly colored silk. Tossing it onto her bed, she then moved to the replicators and ordered some hot spiced tea. She commanded her viewer to begin a search for a book in the ship's library. Retrieving her tea, she sat down at her desk and began to read. She soon grew restless again. She couldn't concentrate on the book, or on anything else. Maybe some music would help. "Computer, Bach symphony 9 please."

As the music began, she closed her eyes, and allowed it to wash over her. Shapes began moving behind her eyelids, but it was too dark to make out anything else about them. Visions began to play out in her mind, almost like dreams turned nightmarish. It was too dark to see, but she saw red, burning eyes, evil eyes, and a swirl of red smoke followed by a high pitched voice.

Terrified, she heard herself screaming, and she tried to open her eyes, but she couldn't. Finally, the music stopped and her eyes flew open. She wasn't making a sound, but her heart beat wildly in her chest, and Uhura knew she wouldn't sleep for a very long time.