Chapter Seven
"We're almost done, Jim," McCoy said.
Kirk lay uneasy on the bed, trying to be still as he had been instructed. McCoy, Boyce and a nurse he didn't know surrounded his prone figure. The lights in the room were painfully bright, reflecting off the white walls and ceiling in a blinding glare. He closed his eyes in an effort to ease the ache that had begun just behind his eyes.
"Cauterize that," Boyce ordered. "I'm going to get a sample from another section."
He'd been numbed for the procedure, but he still felt the pressure of the probe as it took a sample of his liver. It wasn't painful, but it was invasive. He felt trapped and on exhibition beneath their ministrations.
"His heart rate is increasing, Doctor," the nurse said.
"We're almost through," Boyce said.
The machines hummed and beeped around him, an electrical display that distracted and exposed. He felt the strange pressure within him as they moved the instrument. There was a sterile field that stretched from his chest to his hips. He hated the smell of it.
"Nurse, move the scanner to the right," Boyce said.
His chest felt tight and heavy.
"Sample the pancreas while in here?" McCoy suggested.
"Might as well," Boyce said. "Can you get that from your side?"
A high-pitched buzzing filled his ears. It was the sound of the warp core straining to align. Enterprise was falling…falling to Earth.
"How are you doing, Jim?" McCoy asked.
Terrific.
The buzzing grew louder, filling the tiny room.
"Jim?" McCoy's voice sounded far away.
A wave of heat washed over him. He was on fire…his body burning….
"Doctor, his vitals…"a feminine voice.
He wasn't going to make it. The ship was dying. His crew was dying….
A cool hand on the side of his face. He moved away from it.
The voices were distorted and hollow as if under glass.
"…get his temperature down…."
It was too late, too late to save them. The heat consumed him, dragging him into darkness.
The darkness lifted gradually. He was aware first of his body, which had cooled. His chest rose with shallow breaths. The tightness was gone but his chest felt heavy, as did his whole body. It was all he could do to fill his lungs with short breaths.
He'd fallen away from the warp core: He'd kicked and kicked until his arms were numb and his blood boiled. Every joint and cartilage burned and screamed in agony, but still he kicked. Every time his feet made contact with the coupling it jarred his spine, sending waves of pain through him. And then, somehow, the coupling moved into place, and he was being smashed into the conductors, vertebra cracking. Like a rejected child's toy, his body bounced and fell onto the hot floor of the Enterprise.
The droning of the engines eased him into awareness, soothing him in a language he could not understand. Pain radiated from within, undefined and pervasive. He wanted to retreat back into the darkness, back into peace. He'd done his part, hadn't he? He'd saved the ship.
Why was he being punished?
The droning sound changed. It wasn't the engines comforting him. It was something else, something familiar and taunting.
Move!
He had to move. The radiation was killing him, destroying his cells, making it hard to breathe. He couldn't just lie still and die. His crew needed him. The ship was falling…
"…in Medical Center." The voice penetrated the thick cotton that packed his head. "The ship…fine."
"…falling," he said. It was impossible to make his tongue work.
"You're
…Fleet Medical Center on Earth."
He had to get out of the chamber. The radiation was killing him.
"I need you to lie still, Jim."
The pressure in his chest made breathing difficult. His body was so heavy. Why were they trying to keep him here? He needed to move.
"Give me 15cc's of…."
His head pounded.
A sharp sting on the side of his neck sent him into darkness.
"His vitals are stabilizing, Doctor," the nurse said.
McCoy knew that without her announcement. He felt Kirk's muscles relax beneath his sensitive hands. Kirk's breathing slowed. The sedative had done its job.
"Keep the cooling blanket on him," he ordered as he straightened up. "We have to give the new medication a chance to work."
"I've never seen a patient react so strongly before," she said.
McCoy had; his first year of residency on a space station in the Outer Frontier; a yeoman a few years younger than Jim. She was the first patient McCoy ever lost. Some nights, when he drank too much, he could feel her fingers clutching at his arm.
He sat down heavily in the chair by the bed.
"You look exhausted, Doctor," the nurse said. "I can stay with him if you need to get some sleep."
"I'm fine, Nurse, but some coffee wouldn't hurt."
"Yes, Doctor."
As she left, Boyce entered carrying a PADD.
"Well, at least we know why his liver was enlarged," Boyce said waving the PADD.
Yes, now they knew, McCoy thought bitterly. An allergic reaction to the medications he had prescribed for Kirk. But they discovered it too late.
"This is going to set him back a bit," Boyce said, staring down at Kirk's unconscious form.
"He'll love that."
Boyce looked at McCoy. "His cells regenerated at an amazing rate, but there are complications."
"I know."
"Genetically modified blood is illegal for a reason."
McCoy met Boyce's grey eyes. "Is there something you want to tell me?"
"Starfleet's confiscating all your data relating to this case."
It didn't surprise him, but it annoyed him just the same. He'd read that Khan's promise to use his blood to save Harewood's dying daughter had been the bribe to persuade Harewood to blow up the Kelvin Memorial Archive. McCoy could only imagine how the brass was fretting about the potential explosive repercussions of using engineered blood that not only cured people, but brought them back to life as well.
His head nodded. He really could use that cup of coffee.
Boyce looked around the room. "I get nervous when HQ gets involved in Medical. They're looking hard at this one."
McCoy's eyes narrowed as he studied Boyce. Was that anger he saw in the older man or exasperation? Was that why Boyce had taken such an interest in Kirk? Had the senior officer seen the writing on the wall?
"Jim's still a patient under Medical authority," McCoy said.
"He's a Starfleet officer first and a patient second. That's how it works." Boyce stared hard at McCoy. "HQ is securing his medical records. They've already scrubbed everything from the database. Everything that you prescribe or order for him is going straight up the ladder. Do you know what this means, Leonard?"
McCoy dropped his gaze to Kirk. "It means they're scared."
The door hissed open and Spock entered. The Vulcan, always proper, halted just inside the room.
"Am I interrupting, Doctors?" he asked.
"A welcome interruption, Mr. Spock," Boyce said and turned and left the room.
Spock waited until the doors closed before walking to Kirk's bed.
"I don't suppose you brought any coffee, Spock?" McCoy asked.
"Vulcans do not drink coffee, Doctor."
"That's what I was afraid you'd say." He rubbed his face with his hands then turned slightly to Spock, seeing him in the familiar science blue tunic. "You've been busy. I commed you two hours ago."
"An unforeseen delay at the dock."
"Getting busy up there."
"And down here, as well," Spock said, staring at the unconscious Kirk. "Something has happened."
"He had an allergic reaction to the medication."
"Severe?"
"Severe enough."
Neither man spoke. The only sound in the room was the soft beeping of the monitor.
"Your prognosis?" Spock inquired.
"He'll recover. He's just wearing his body down. Every set back is significant, and now it's even more significant."
Spock turned to look at him. "What do you mean, Doctor?"
"I'm tired, Spock."
The door opened again and the nurse entered with a steaming cup. The scent of fresh brewed coffee permeated the room. She handed it to McCoy.
"Is this real?" he asked, inhaling the scent.
She smiled. "I thought you could use it."
Real coffee, not replicated coffee. He had no idea where she had procured it. He held the cup as if he were cradling something precious.
"Is there anything else you need?" she asked.
"No, thank you."
She quietly left.
McCoy took his first sip and let the hot liquid rest on his tongue. When was the last time he'd had real coffee? Oh, yes, the doctors' lounge at Mercy Memorial. That seemed like a hundred years ago.
Spock hadn't moved, but watched McCoy, waiting. That was the thing about Vulcans, McCoy knew: They didn't forget a thing.
"Starfleet's scrubbing the records," he said. No sense being soft about it. Subtleties were lost on Vulcans. "They don't want the public to know about Khan's blood."
Spock digested that for a moment then turned back to Kirk. "That is most logical."
"And why is that?"
"Doctor, even you can see the potential harm in the population becoming aware of a substance that can virtually eliminate illness and death."
"I'm a doctor, I don't see harm in eliminating illness and death."
"Who would regulate it? How would it be used? Earth made a decision hundreds of years ago not to genetically modify humans and for just this reason. Khan is a perfect example of what happens when humans attempt to create a utopian society."
McCoy glared at him over his cup. "Jim wouldn't be alive without that blood."
"Yes and for that I am grateful." Spock turned now to meet McCoy's gaze. "But that poses its own quandary. You made the decision to bring Jim back from death. There were more than fifty other crewmembers who lost their lives and did not receive the same opportunity."
McCoy felt the blood drain from his face.
"Doctor, certainly you realize the necessity of Starfleet controlling this information for public safety, as well as your own."
None of this had occurred to McCoy. He'd seen his friend dead and seized the moment that had presented to him. He honestly hadn't thought of the other patients lying in the Sickbay…or in the morgue. It had been a last-ditch experiment, a longshot at best. And it could mean a court martial.
The cup in his hand was like an anchor. He set it down. "You think Starfleet HQ is better qualified to judge this than I am?"
"I am not judging you, Doctor. I am merely offering you my opinion."
McCoy looked at Kirk lying sedated, wracked with fever. He wondered if Kirk had any idea how much attention his resurrection had generated. And again the question rose from the dark floor of his mind: Why had Kirk gone into the warp core knowing he could not survive?
Damn, he was tired.
McCoy stood. "It doesn't really matter what either of us thinks; Starfleet is going to do whatever they feel is best, and there's not a damn thing we can do about it. My job is to treat Jim as a patient, to get him back on his feet and as healthy as I am able. I'll leave saving the Federation to Starfleet."
"Do not take this lightly, Doctor," Spock said. "We do not yet know the full repercussions of the decision we made."
We made, McCoy thought with irony. He was the doctor who had made the decision. He had drawn the blood, designed the serum. He had violated every ethical oath he had ever taken.
The truth was: He'd do it again to save Jim.
"You're unusually quiet," Kirk said. He was lying in bed, slightly raised, with another pounding headache. He'd asked McCoy to lower the filters on the windows to soften the blinding glare in the room, but now the room felt gray and still.
A small table was suspended near the bed. On it sat a glass of purified food – a sickening looking mixture of liquefied protein. Since he'd been refusing solid food, this was McCoy's next best option to entice him to eat. It had been sitting on the table for over an hour – untouched.
McCoy picked up a small scanner. "I'm a busy man, Jim."
"I was supposed to meet with Admiral Satori yesterday."
In a very calculated move, McCoy moved the glass closer to him. "I wouldn't complain about that if I were you. I'm sure he'll find his way over here soon enough."
"Something happened."
"Yes, something happened, you had an allergic reaction." McCoy moved the scanner over Kirk's abdomen. "You're supposed to be concentrating on recovering and not worrying about what's going on in the world."
Kirk watched McCoy closely. On the outside, the doctor presented himself as usual – a little short tempered and acerbic, but focused on the task at hand. Kirk would be the first to say that McCoy's bedside manner could use a little honing, but what he saw today was unease.
McCoy set the scanner aside and gently palpated Kirk's abdomen. "Is there any pain?"
"No and I'm not worrying. I'm thinking," Kirk said.
"And what are you thinking?" McCoy didn't sound the least bit interested.
"I think you're not telling me everything."
"Maybe I don't know everything." McCoy took one of his hands. "Squeeze my hand."
He squeezed.
"As hard as you can."
His hand began to shake and he let go with an exasperated puff of breath.
"Is there any pain when you squeeze?" McCoy asked.
"No," he said sternly. "And answer my question."
McCoy met his stare. "You didn't ask me a question."
"Bones," he said quietly, closing his eyes. His head was really pounding now and his arm had begun to tremble. "What are you trying to protect me from?"
McCoy turned away from him, putting away the scanner. He stood with his back to Kirk and did not move. When he said nothing, Kirk spoke.
"Bones, I caused the death of the head of Starfleet. We destroyed a Starfleet Class A vessel and all her crew. I crossed into Klingon territory, invaded their home planet, and destroyed three Klingon cruisers. Do you think I don't know there are things I'm going to have to answer for?"
"It's not just that, Jim." McCoy turned around to face Kirk. "The media is breathing down Starfleet's neck about Marcus and his damn war machine, and they don't even know what happened on Kronos. Starfleet wants this all to go away and here you are—"
McCoy stopped suddenly, staring down at him with a look that bordered on guilt.
"Here I am what? Alive?" He stared at McCoy. "Is that what this is about? The transfusion?"
"It's a big deal, Jim."
"Why?"
McCoy settled his shoulders. "Because Khan gave Harewood's dying daughter his blood in exchange for blowing up the archives. Because taking another being's blood without consent is immoral. Because genetically altering blood is illegal. Because using blood that can resurrect people is more dangerous than any long range torpedo Starfleet could design."
He hadn't thought about the blood, and he hadn't known about Harewood. But suddenly he could see exactly what Starfleet saw, the implications of a substance that could potentially create immortality – sold to the highest bidder. McCoy was right; in the wrong hands such an element would be very dangerous.
"Are you in trouble?"
McCoy almost smiled. "No, but Starfleet is erasing your medical records and everything to do with your treatment."
"You are in trouble."
"They're not happy with my decision…but they are happy with the results. Look, Jim, you're going to go back to being Captain of the Enterprise and Starfleet's going to make this Khan element disappear. Hell, no one but us even knows he exists."
"And I'm hoping we can keep it that way," a deep voice said from the doorway.
Both men turned to see Admiral Satori walk in.
"You're early, Admiral," McCoy said.
Satori smiled. "I've been having trouble keeping this appointment. Dr. Boyce tells me that Captain Kirk is now well enough for an interview."
McCoy glared at the Admiral, but seemed to know that he was outranked and outmaneuvered. He looked back at Kirk who nodded his consent.
"An hour, Admiral," McCoy said and left the room.