Unfinished Business
Chapter 2 : Help Me
September, 2270
McCoy was sitting in his comfortable armchair, in his own study, reading, when the comlink chime sounded. Grumpily, he rose to see who it was. He was not really expecting anyone at this hour. When he activated the screen, the image that appeared there was not one he had anticipated at all. Nyota's face stared out at him, and she did not look good at all. Her skin was the wrong color, and there was sweat beaded on her forehead, and she was slumped off to one side.
"Good God, woman! What's wrong?"
"Help me, Len, please." There were tears on her face.
"Where are you?"
"In … Atlanta. At the spaceport. In a hotel. Sick."
"I can tell you're sick, dollface. Just stay there. I'll be there as soon as I can. Don't worry. I'll take care of you." He clicked off the comlink and ran for his flitter, in the air in nothing flat. He programmed the autopilot for the spaceport in Atlanta, at maximum speed, and got on the air, asking for information about the hotels at the spaceport. By the time he was on the outskirts of Atlanta, he knew which hotel she was in, and which room, and had alerted the management to the fact that she was ill, and he was her personal physician. He landed right outside the door, and burst in, finding the man there, wringing his hands, afraid that someone would think the hotel responsible for the guest's condition.
The manager let him into her room, and he found her almost unconscious. A quick scan told him that something was seriously wrong. He injected her with antibiotics, and started a saline drip to rehydrate her, and got her up in his arms. The manager quickly checked through the room, to be sure she had nothing that was not in her duffel, and then followed behind him, the duffel in his hand. He settled her into the back seat of his flitter, and fastened the webbing down around her. The manager handed him the duffel and he set it on the floor, and then he was in his seat, and headed back home, burning up the air.
He put her in his guest room, and worked on her the rest of the night. He had never been so thankful for the complete medical office he had there at the house as he was that night. It was hours before he found the reason for her illness. Even after he had determined that it was copper poisoning, he had not known the cause, until he did the final probe, and discovered that small bit of fetal tissue, still in place, pumping out poison. He cursed whoever had treated her for what must have been a miscarriage, for missing this, and almost killing her. And he cursed that green-blooded hobgoblin for leaving her alone, to deal with this on her own.
She did not regain consciousness for three days. By then, she was out of danger. But the damage to her reproductive system was severe. He was not sure how to tell her this, or whether he even should at this point. Perhaps she would eventually heal. For now, he needed to get her well, and responsive, not sunk into total depression as she was.
That looked to be a long road. He checked, she still had several weeks of leave left. She would spend them all right here. He had nothing better to do, waiting for his discharge papers, so that he could set up in private practice. He would devote all his time to this one patient, for she deserved nothing less.
Far away, on another planet entirely, a despairing man walked across the desert. He had no supplies with him, no water, no food. He ate what he found, drank when he came across a stream. And his mind was in turmoil, constantly. He could not think, he could not meditate, he barely functioned at all. The desert heat, the merciless sun, stripped away everything non-essential from him, his already lean body becoming scrawny and angular, his face hollow-cheeked and covered with dark stubble. His hair grew, becoming shaggy as he continued across the sands.
When the soles of his boots wore through, he discarded them. But he continued walking. Eventually, he came to the mountain that was his objective. Although he had made no attempt to track time, it had taken him two months, three weeks, and four days to reach this spot from the spaceport. He was unaware of this. It would not have mattered to him if he had been. He began to climb the rugged side of the mountain, his eyes on the stone buildings at the summit. He arrived there with bleeding feet and hands, of which he took no notice at all.
They took him in, and gave him a room, more of a cell, which contained only a flat pad for sleeping, and a hook to hold the robe they gave him. They also gave him a pair of simple sandals. This was all the clothing that he needed. There was a firepot in the corner of the room, and he spent half of every day there, trying to calm himself, for an indeterminate amount of time. And when he could speak again, they began to teach him, to train him in the way they would have him go. He did not find it easy.