Chapter 2
Dr. McCoy knew that there was a serious problem the moment that he and Nurse Chapel entered the transporter room. Two small shapes were shimmering on the pad and then vanished. "I thought we were beaming people up; not down!" said McCoy.
"We are, sir," said Lt. Kyle, the stress in his voice evident. "I'm cycling them through the pattern buffer. I wasn't able to get a proper lock on one of them, but my orders are to initiate emergency beam-up. I'm attempting to re-assemble them now."
Again, Kyle energized the pad, and the familiar humming sound filled the room. As the two shapes began to form on the pad, Dr. McCoy and Nurse Chapel both gasped in shock. The shapes on the pad had solidified enough for them to see that the people beaming up were not Starfleet crewmembers. They were children. A boy and a girl no older than twelve. And the girl was doubled over in pain. No sooner had the shapes appeared, they vanished from the pad.
"Damn it, Kyle!" McCoy moved to Kyle's side. "What the hell is wrong, now?"
"I'm recycling them back to the planet, sir," said Lt. Kyle. "I'm getting Heisenberg Scatter on the little girl, but I don't know why! There is nothing wrong with the transporter hardware!"
"Then what the hell does that flashing yellow light mean?" said Dr. McCoy.
"The pattern buffer is starting to overheat. Hold on; I've got a proper lock on the girl now. I'm re-energizing the pad."
The transporter hum was deafening and the yellow light on the console began to flash red, but this time, the two shapes were forming solid. A few seconds later, Lt. Kyle breathed a sigh of relief and activated the intercom. "Transporter room to bridge. We have them. They are not from the Volynov; they are children."
"Gee, you think?" said Dr. McCoy dryly. The first thing McCoy noticed was the girl. She was on her knees, hyperventilating, and had her thin, bare arms wrapped around herself, shivering as though she was cold. Then McCoy noticed a little bird on the pad in front of the frightened child. Poor thing must have been caught in the transporter beam. Odd . . . McCoy did not remember seeing the bird during Lt. Kyle's first attempt to beam the children aboard.
Then McCoy looked at the other child. The boy's left hand was wrapped in a blood-soaked bandage, but otherwise, he looked alright. Both children were filthy and their clothes were stained and torn. The boy was about to say something when the girl began to gag and then threw up on the transporter pad. The little bird took flight, and barely escaped being drenched by the girl's vomit. Then the bird landed on the girl's shoulder.
"Oh, no . . . ." said Lt. Kyle.
"What's the matter, lieutenant," snapped Dr. McCoy. "You never saw some poor, scared kid loose her lunch after having her atoms scrambled?"
"Toddlers, sometimes," admitted Kyle. "But never a child that old, doctor."
The boy went to her side and put his left arm around her protectively. He then turned to face Dr. McCoy, his jutting jaw and fierce eyes belied a maturity far beyond his chronological age. Again, the boy attempted to speak, only to be cut off by the girl.
"MARK!" she gasped. "Oh, Mark! I hurt so badly! I feel so sick! I feel like I did at Bolvangar; when me and Pan were almost severed!" The girl began to cry, sobbing heavily.
The boy turned to face the adults, shifting his intense stare from Dr. McCoy, to Nurse Chapel, to Lt. Kyle. "Right, then, where are we?" demanded the boy. "Who are you? Do you work for Mrs. Coulter and Sir Charles?"
"Ah, you're English," said Lt. Kyle. The transporter chief could place the boy's accent as south-east England, probably Winchester, though the boy's speech had an old, Second Elizabethan flavor. The girl was more difficult. Her accent almost sounded like she was from Oxford Shire, but something about it was, well, off . . . wrong. "Well, that's me, also. I was born in Sheffield."
"I don't care where the bloody-hell you're from!" the boy looked about frantically. "Hold on . . . how did Ly - Lizzie and me get indoors?! What is this place?!"
"We can explain that," said Dr. McCoy. "Right now, I promise you, you are safe. My name is Dr. Leonard McCoy; I'm the Chief Medical Officer on this ship. This is Nurse Christine Chapel, and this is Lt. John Kyle. You are aboard the USS Enterprise."
"My sister and me are on an American Aircraft Carrier? Right! Those don't look like US Navy uniforms you people are wearing!"
Dr. McCoy took a step towards the children, and the boy pulled a gleaming knife from a sheath on his belt. "One more step towards us and I'll kill you!"
McCoy stopped and held out his hands in a gesture of reassurance. "Now put that Arkansas Toothpick away, son; nobody is going to hurt you or your sister." He looked back at the girl. The little bird was gone, but now there was a small squirrel on the girl's shoulder. Where the hell did that come from?
"Don't call me 'son!'" snapped Mark. "I'm not your son! I'm warning you: I have killed before! Now, let us go!"
"Listen to me, Mark," said McCoy. "I'm a doctor; not a kidnapper." McCoy showed the children his tricorder. "I would like to scan you and your sister. I want to see if either of you need immediate medical attention, though I would like to have a real look at your hand, later."
The boy's grip tightened on the knife and he moved closer to his sister. Now Nurse Chapel stepped forward slowly. The boy turned his attention to her, but made no threatening moves with his knife. When she was about a meter away, she got down on her knees in front of them.
"Please, Mark, my name is Nurse Chapel, but you and your sister, Lizzie, may call me Christine. You both look like you have been through so much. We just want to help you. Please let me scan you and your sister to see if you need any immediate care. This won't hurt, I promise. You can hold on to your knife while I scan you two, if you want."
The boy nodded cautiously and Nurse Chapel took out her tricorder. It made a soft, rhythmic whistling noise as she passed the scanner in front of the two nervous children. A few minutes later, she smiled. "There. That's all there is to it! I told you it wouldn't hurt!" She then transferred the results to McCoy's tricorder.
Lizzie wiped a trickle of vomit from the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand and managed a smile. Nurse Chapel moved closer to her, taking care not to kneel in the puddle of vomit on the deck. The little squirrel on Lizzie's shoulder peered cautiously at Nurse Chapel from behind the girl's dark blonde hair.
"Well, hey there, little fellow," said Nurse Chapel gently. "Aren't you a sweet little thing? Is he yours, Lizzie?" The animal cocked its head. "Well, I think he is so cute!"
And Nurse Chapel reached out to pet the small animal . . . .