Uhura had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Dr. McCoy never failed to return from shore leave or at least to check in if he was to be delayed for any reason, even when he had imbibed too much. She continued automatic scan for his communicator frequency. She looked up as Scotty leaned over her shoulder.

"Anythin'?"

She shook her head glumly. "Where could he be Scotty? It's almost as if he's disappeared from the planet's surface. He either doesn't have his communicator with him or it's been damaged." She looked up sharply at Scott as the implications of the latter part of her statement sank in.

Scott sighed and patted her shoulder, "Keep tryin' lass. Keep tryin."

She took a deep breath and began standard hospital contact search procedure.

********************

He came to slowly, as if his mind couldn't bear to face consciousness and what it may have to deal with. He lay ensconced in a very comfortable old-fashioned featherbed, covered with some sort of quilt. His left arm was clean (thank God) and tucked tightly against his side. His right arm lay across his chest, firmly splinted, wrapped in some sort of linen bandages, and nestled in a fabric sling tied around his neck.

Very warm and cozy. Still doesn't answer where the hell I am. And why I'm not dead.

He tried to raise his head and look around. Big mistake. The room swam wildly. He closed his eyes, trying to forestall the churning nausea. It didn't work. The same strong, steady arms lifted and held him as he alternately vomited and dry heaved. When the spasms finally ceased, someone gave him a few sips of cool water, and gently eased him back down with a wet cloth across his eyes. He heard conversation, the voice from before.

"Don' know what's wrong with 'im. The Cap'n never used to get drunk like this before. I'm tellin' you, he ain't been the same since Gettysburg. Since we been back, I've had to track 'im down ever' night and make sure he's alright. He must've got into somp'n nother kind of big ruckus tonight. Never seen 'im hurt this bad. He didn't even know who I was!" A callused hand smoothed damp hair back from his forehead.

Another voice now, gruff, somehow familiar, oddly comforting, yet sad. "Well, he's certainly earned the right to his excesses. Y'all go on home Gabe. I'll keep watch over him. Good night."

"G'night Doc."

Doc? Okay, 'Doc' can you please tell me where I am? He tried to find his voice, but the effects of emptying one's stomach several times within a few hours were hard on the vocal chords. He felt another hand gauge his left wrist and then feel his forehead. The cloth was removed, refreshed, and replaced. Sure does feel good. "'Scuse me…could you please tell me where I am?" he managed to croak.

"Of all the cussed things to ask. You are in bed, hopefully recoverin' from the bender from hell."

That voice. It sounded like - it sounded like…his! He cautiously opened one eye. Thankfully, the room didn't move this time. He slowly opened the other eye.

A slender older man was sitting in a chair beside the bed, peering down intently at him. "How're you feeling son?" The voice had lost its irritation and was filled with warmth and concern. He gazed up into ice-blue eyes, craggy face, dark hair heavily streaked with gray, handlebar mustache.

"Who-who're you?"

The man sighed sadly, "You must've taken quite a blow to your head, son. Don't you know your own father?"

Father? Impossible! My father is - I helped to - No! No! Where AM I? His head began spinning, his sight faded, stomach cramping again, pain coming on stronger. "No - no! It can't be!" he managed to whisper before the merciful darkness enveloped him.

********************

Kirk and Spock materialized outside the entrance to the Federation Consul to Vela Gamma II at precisely 0845 hours. "Captain, may I remind you of your status as Starfleet's representative in this quadrant?" Spock hazarded tactfully. Kirk had been unable to get back to sleep and had uncharacteristically spent the time brooding. He had worked himself up into a simmering fury over McCoy's disappearance and the Consulate's seeming unconcern over it. "Spock, a member of my crew is missing! Worse yet, a member of my command team!" And? Spock answered with his eyebrow. "AND, I'm going to get to the bottom of it if I have to go straight to Nogura himself!"

They exited exactly one hour later with nothing but the ambassador's softpedaling and no concrete plan. Now I know why Bones hates the diplomatic corps and its inhabitants so much. They are useless! No amount of barely restrained saber rattling on Kirk's part had convinced the Federation's representative to take anything other than routine action. Politically, there was no love lost between the citizenry of Vela Gamma II and the Federation, and the delicacy of the situation forced Kirk to act through official channels rather than contact the Gamma II authorities directly. There was apparently even less enthusiasm for Starfleet, although the credits spent on shore leave by Starfleet personnel were by no means turned away. Oh well money talks, Starfleet walks!

"Well Spock it looks like we're to expect no help from this quarter."

"We have initiated planetwide hospital search, Captain." Spock, given the situation on Vela Gamma II and knowing his Captain well, subtly cautioned against any rash decisions. "I suggest we exhaust all standard avenues of procedure before considering any alternate course of action."

Kirk knew he was right and worked his jaw in frustration. Bones, where in the hell are you?