Chapter 3: Where Does Duty Lie?
A sharp buzz cut through McCoy's sleep. Very rarely did anyone come to see him in his own quarters, and so he was startled into full awakeness by the untimely and ghastly intrusion on his nightly relaxation. He rolled over and reaching out a heavy feeling hand turned the clock to face him.
300 Hours. He blinked at the time. Wasn't Nurse Chappel covering tonight's graveyard shift? Well, who in dang blazes could be calling upon him this unholy hour?
The chime rang again and he groaned loudly. Just leave him alone! Wasn't that not too much to ask? The chime rang again and he angrily sat up.
"Come in!" he snapped and the door hissed open.
Standing in the doorway was Spock. His eyebrows raised in disbelief. Surely Spock couldn't be in here? He must still be asleep. Yes, that was it. That steak did have a funny taste. Perhaps he'd have to have Scotty do a thorough check on the replicators once he got back from the surface.
"Not a good sign when your dreams follow you into the waking world," he muttered.
"I am no dream, Doctor," Spock said, the door hissing shut as he stepped out of the motion detector's limited rang. A few seconds passed as McCoy stared at him queerly, trying to figure out what exactly was going on.
"If you were really the real Spock and no a dream," McCoy reasoned, rubbing the side of his face, "You'd wait until I got to sickbay. That's where you and Jim always go to talk to me."
"We have come into your quarters before," Spock said.
"No," McCoy shook his head, "You haven't."
"Of course we have," Spock's eyebrows furrowed, "It would be illogical to have never visited your quarters before."
"No," McCoy snapped, slapping the mattress to the bed with a hand, "You haven't ever been in here. And I'm too d-n sleepy to argue the issue with you. So, tell me Mister Spock, what brings you to my humble abode?"
Spock shrugged slightly. "I have need of your guidance, McCoy," he stated.
McCoy rolled his eyes and standing up moved to the water facet near the mirror. He turned it on and lowering his face splashed cold water. It wasn't the shock into full awareness he had hoped, but, it did drive some of the sleep away. He looked up at the mirror and seeing his own bags under his eyes grunted.
You are becoming an old man, Leonard.
"I must be asleep," he said, grabbing the hand towel and wiping the water from his face, "Because you would never ask for my guidance on anything."
"But I do ask for it," Spock stated, a sense of…was that urgency Bones heard?
McCoy turned to Spock and stared at Spock, and reaching over, touched him on the shoulder. The Vulcan looked down at his hand and looked up at him, squinting his eyes in confusion. McCoy ran his hand up and down Spock's biceps and blinked. He dropped his hand.
"I guess you are the real thing," the Doctor finally said, convinced.
"And you can tell by touching me?" Spock asked.
McCoy shrugged and moved to his desk and took a seat. "You don't know how many times dreams have talked me into believing they weren't fake," he replied. He reached under the desk and pulled out a bottle of Saurian brandy. He reached behind him, grabbed two cups and pulled them out and set them down on the flat top of the desk.
"Want something to drink while you tell me whatever it is you are bothered with?" he offered.
"No thank you, Doctor," he said, and gestured towards an empty chair, "But I will take a chair."
"Go for it," he said, pouring himself a full cup. He lifted it to his lips and took a small swig while Spock settled into the chair. Once Spock had been seated, he put the cup down and held it between the fingers of both hands.
"So," he stressed the word, "What brings you here? Why not talk to Jim? Isn't he a better friend then I am?"
"I trust only you with this matter," Spock replied, and McCoy even in a sleepy state could tell the Vulcan was choosing his words carefully, "It is a matter that concerns us and not him. And besides, while we might have our differences, they in the end…as you would say, 'add flavor' to our relationship."
"Why thank you, Spock," McCoy smiled genuinely, "I feel the same about you. But, enough about that. What matter concerns us and not him?"
"Doctor, do you remember the woman Zarabeth?" Spock inquired, leaning forward slightly.
McCoy frowned. The name rang a bell, but he couldn't put names to faces or anything at the moment. He shrugged slightly, a small admittance of his own human frailty and his own age. His mind wasn't as sharp as it had once been.
"The woman from Sarpeidon," Spock offered, "The woman that was exiled in time."
"The woman from the ice age?" the doctor asked, the pieces coming together, "Yeah, now I remember her. But Spock, the Captain was on that planet too. He even heard about us talking about her afterwards."
"He went to another time period of that planet's history, Doctor," the Vulcan reminded him, then he looked ever so slightly away from McCoy's face, "I never told him about her. When he asked about it, I told him it was of no consequence."
"You lied to him?" McCoy's eyes went wide. Never in a hundred years did he ever suspect that Spock would ever lie to the Captain. They were too close for such a thing to happen. And yet, the proof was in the pudding.
"Lie?" Spock raised an eyebrow, "I did not lie. I made a choice. She was….special to me."
"Alright," McCoy asked, prodding the conversation along, "So, what about her?"
Spock closed his eyes and pressed his hands together and raised them to his face. "I think I have found a way to go save her," Spock said.
"Save her?" McCoy's eyes went wide, "But Spock, she's been dead for over five thousand years!"
"I have uncovered a document of a project that a Vulcan scientist conducted on Sextus Dominar with time travel involving a device that can transport a person throughout time and distance," Spock explained, "And while there are risks, we can save her, Doctor."
"Whoa, hold your horses, Spock," McCoy raised up a hand and took another swig to wrap his mind around what was being said. "Time travel is a tricky proposition. You know better than I the consequences."
"Yes, Doctor," the Vulcan nodded his agreement, "But I have to."
"But why?" McCoy pressed, "Why? She has been dead for a long time. You yourself admitted it. Why has it become so important?"
Spock opened his eyes and slowly laced his fingers together. He dropped them to his knee, and McCoy could swear he saw emotions raging inside him. What could this mean? Did Spock really feel for this girl? Did he, heaven forbid, love her?
Spock spoke very slowly, "I don't know. I don't know why it has become so important to me. I thought the feelings I had disappeared when we came back to our time. But, I haven't gone a day without thinking about her. She's in my mind all the time. I….I love her, Bones. But I need help. I don't know if this is true or not. But I must find her and save her if I can."
Bones leaned forward and stared closely at the Vulcan. No, there was no beard. But, this passion was unbefitting a Vulcan. The dedication to logic was far more important to a Vulcan than anything else. He knew Spock was half-human, but that still shouldn't mean anything. Was this the same man who continually belittled him for his emotional outbursts?
"I see," McCoy said, leaning back, "Then why do you need me to help you? Why not, Jim?"
"You are also her friend, Doctor," Spock reminded him, "But also, I will need your help for something else."
The Doctor didn't think his eyes could get any wider. But, they did. "Angels and ministers of mercy save us!" he quipped, "What else do you need me to do?"
"To help me make the logical and correct decision if she can't be saved," Spock spoke softly.
"No," Kirk said as they walked towards Transporter Room 2, "I do not like the idea of you doing time travel for any reason."
They passed by some technicians as they moved down the hallway, the technicians pressing themselves closer to the wall to give the Captain and his command staff more space. But, Kirk was not so much concerned about that. No, he had been presented with a request to use a device to travel in time. No reason why, except it was important.
"We have done time travel before," Spock reminded him as McCoy followed behind them, "And it has always been profitable."
"But I knew what was at stake in those situations," Kirk pointed out, the door to the transporter room sliding open with a hiss as they entered the room, "And you won't even tell me why it is important to do this little escapade."
"Jim," McCoy interjected, "I have always found that when Spock thinks something needs to be done, it needs to be done."
"Prepare to energize us down to the planet," Kirk ordered the transporter operator, throwing his face back to see the woman acknowledge the order with a nod, "That's not the point, McCoy. And you know that. Do you know what it is about, Bones?"
"I do know, Jim," McCoy said, stepping up onto the transporter pad and taking the pad to the left and a little back from Kirk and opposite from Spock who had already taken his place, "And believe me when I say it is for a good cause."
Kirk shook his head, his face resolute and stubborn. There were several things he hated. Powerful entities transporting him off his ship at a whim. Crew-members getting god-like powers. Women who wouldn't be seduced by his charm and charisma. But most importantly, he didn't like it when there were secrets and they wanted him to take it off faith.
"Can you tell me what it is that is so important, Leonard?" he asked, turning back to look at McCoy.
"No sir," McCoy shook his head, "I cannot."
"Then why should I allow it?" he asked, "Give me one good reason why I should allow you two to go on this jaunt."
Spock cleared his throat and looked at the short human with his impassive glance. "The advancement in scientific advancement would be quiet significant," he reasoned, "Surely that is enough."
Kirk again shook his head. "Not good enough gentlemen," he decided.
"Jim-"
"No, Doctor McCoy!" he snapped, holding up his hand to cut him off, "My decision is final. You aren't doing it. Am I crystal clear?"
They both acknowledged their understanding and obedience. He nodded, glade that he got the last say. Rank did have its privileges. They were few but they were profound. And there were times he had to exercise them a bit more.
"Now that the matter is settled," he said with relief, "Energize."
"While I go talk to this Minister," Kirk rolled his eyes, "I hope that you'll have more success than I do. Au revoir, gentlemen."
"See you later, Jim," McCoy called out as they watched Kirk step off in the direction of the Ministry of Law office building, "Sorry, Spock, looks like no deal."
"I need no deal, Doctor," Spock said, turning and heading off with his long strides.
McCoy frowned and turned chased after him. "Spock!" he called out, "D-n it Spock! What are you doing?"
Spock didn't slow down, but kept walking with his long strides, determination fixed in his face. He was heading through the heart of the G'neld capitol, the populace taking interest at these two aliens as they roamed through the streets. The sun seemed to dance off the hard marble walls of the city, almost giving it a blinding quality. The streets seemed to be made of hard glass, and while it was hard enough for one to be able to grip the ground with ease, it almost was too slippery for traction.
Hovercraft flew over their heads, just far enough that G'neld could walk under with still a couple feet between them and the speeding craft. The native language of the people was all around various tones and mannerisms. They sounded to be like the snapping of fingers through the various tones and clicks of the native language. And unlike the Ministers, if Spock had been interested, he'd have seen the people not wearing the head robes and flowing cloaks, but wearing harsh linen clothing of various colors. Blue, grey and red. The colors of the G'neld Empire.
In fact, the Imperial Colors were everywhere. The road was laid in three lairs, each one of a different color of the tri-colors. The cars were either solidly one of the colors, or a mixture of two or three of the colors. Imperial banners were everywhere, the emblem a planet with a the outline of a square shield surrounding the sphere.
McCoy ran after Spock, who even though he was not running, was walking at such a pace it was nigh to impossible for him to keep up. They had gone nearly a mile into the city, and his breathing became labored and he began to slow. He tried to call out to the Vulcan, but he kept slipping through the crowd.
"Spock!" he shouted, but soon the Vulcan was completely gone from sight.
He looked around, and while people were watching him, he doubted anyone could help him. Probably none of them spoke or understood English. But, he also knew if he didn't get help, he'd be lost. Following Spock, he hadn't taken the time to look around, and he knew they'd taken one if not more turns in their pursuit of where ever this stupid portal was.
"Can someone tell me where the Vulcan went?" he asked, looking from face to face. Hoping at least one person would understand him.
But, that hope was in vain as they looked at him and simply blinked. Some were even laughing, pointing at him. He was a strange alien on their streets. An oddity to behold. He was getting a sinking feeling.
"The pointed-eared fellow," he said, using his fingers to make his ears pointy, "Where did he go?"
There was just more laughter and shaking of their heads. He closed his eyes in frustration and hung his head. Of course no one could help him. And he couldn't talk to any of them. Where was Uhuru when she was needed? She was a communications officer.
"I'm a doctor," he muttered, "Not a linguist."
He was lost in the streets of an alien city. With no signs he could read, and unable to communicate with the locals. He knew going back wouldn't be a good idea. He hadn't paid attention to their route. He was just about to panic when he thought to himself, Leonard! You idiot. You've got your communicator! Just call the Vulcan.
"That's embarrassing," he muttered, reaching over to his hip and grabbing the communicator. As a doctor you needed to have a good memory. Any momentary lapse in memory could be potentially fatal to anyone involved. That's one reason he had spent almost seven years at ol' Mississippi State, learning medicine. To help ingrain those things into the memory so permanently that you could do it perfectly without power.
He flicked the communicator cover open, and was reaching out for the dialing knob when suddenly a strong hand grabbed his free arm in a powerful grip. "What the-" he protested, yanking hard. But, he could do and say no more as the metallic cold edge of a long knife pressed against his throat.
"Cry out Human," a voice hissed at his, the voice coming slightly above his head. A shorter G'neld most likely, "And you will die."
McCoy was roughly pushed from the back as he was led off the streets and into a back alley. It was surprising to him that despite there being so many people in the streets that had seen the abduction, not a single person had come to his rescue. Sure, perhaps he was an alien. But surely common sense dictated you go help when something like this happened.
It just makes sense, he thought to himself. But even as he did, he could just hear Spock saying that he needed to stop attributing human values to alien races, because of it being illogical.
"So," he said, trying to make friendly conversation, "I suppose you are the welcoming committee."
"Shut up, Human!" the G'neld snapped, and he was roughly shoved again on the left shoulder, pushing him deeper into the dark alley.
He glanced around seeing if there was anything to help him. Perhaps small trash cans. Packing crates. Being pieces of garbage. Heck, he'd take dirt if it gave him a chance to slip through the clutches of the man behind him. But no, there was nothing here to help him.
"I have to say I agree with your people's standards of cleanliness," he said, not even seeing stairwells through which he could jump up and perhaps give him the slip, "Even you alleys aren't too shabby."
"What did I tell you?" the G'neld barked, pushing the blade tip against the small of his back. Bones was being corralled towards the back of the alley, which was walled off. The only way out was back the way he'd come. D-t Spock! Where was the Vulcan when he was needed?
"To shut up," Bones answered, but playing a hunch said, "But I wouldn't suggest that."
"Why not?' the G'neld demanded.
"Humans can't breathe with their mouths closed," he said, now being turned and pressed against the wall, his back smarting as it hit the stone face with a degree of force he didn't much care for.
The G'neld wasn't the largest being he'd seen. But, he had a long scar down his face, which curved around his eye. One ear had been lopped off it seemed, and the middle of his fingers on his right hand had been cut off down to the fourth of five knuckles. He assumed it was part of the gangs ritual that man belong to, to cut the finger off. Either way, he was still in deep crap.
"Humans have nostrils," the G'neld said, glaring his fierce gaze at him.
"What are nostrils?" McCoy squinted his eyes, trying to look confused.
"Those holes in your face with the growth," he said, tapping it hard with his free finger, his other blade moving up to the Doctor's throat.
"Oh," McCoy chuckled, trying not to show fear. That would undermine everything. "Those aren't for breathing."
The G'neld frowned. "What are they for then?" he asked suspiciously.
"Reproductive organ," McCoy said, although even as he said it he wondered if that was really the best thing he could come up with.
The G'neld blinked. That was obviously the last thing he expected. But, while McCoy wasn't a student of the body, or, to be more specific, body language, he could tell the disgust on the G'neld's face.
"And you leave it...exposed?" he asked incredulously, "For everyone to see?"
"The females of our species judge men by these sexual attributes," he improved with a smile, "Some have really massive noses. Some have long ones. Really good for penetrating..."
"My orders were to bring you back dead or alive," the alien snarled, "I'd have let you live, but this total immoral display must be put a stop to. Say goodbye, Healer."
McCoy closed shut his eyes, hoping not to see the blade as it slid through his neck and cut his Cortaid artery. Oh well...he guessed there would be no way out of this. But, just then, there was a howl from the man before him and he opened one eye wearily. The man's stomach had vanished in a circular hole, the superheated edges still red hot and smoking. He collapsed backwards onto the ground, and McCoy blinked in surprise as the G'neld died in such a horrible fashion.
"The Grand Vizier is getting jumpy if he is hiring members of the Bokara'Mettarch to hunt one of you," a G'neld roughly thirty feet from him said, holstering a rather large looking disruptor.
No matter what race it was, one could always tell military. His pants were blue, but his tunic was red on one side and green on the other. He wore a cap like an ancient Earth Police officers cap, and on his chest were strips of metal which were probably medals. And on his shoulders were three circles, one ring surrounded the next.
"Are you alright, Doctor McCoy?" he asked.
"My hearts racing a hundred kilometers an hour," he said, taking deep breaths to steady his nerves, "But, I'm alright. You are?"
"Third Major Gelba'Dosh of Supreme War Admiral Kilo'vash staff," he said, "At your service."
"How did you know to find me?" McCoy asked, looking down and was startled to see the body slowly turning into dust before his eyes.
"Your Vulcan friend sent me to find you," the Third Major replied, "Told me where you had been seperated. He's asked me to escort you to the Lower Imperial Archives. So, if you'd follow me, Doctor."
"I might not know what the rank of Third Major or even Supreme War Admiral Kilo'vah is," he said with a bewildered glance, "But I'll follow your advice."
He stepped around the body and hurried to reach the Third Major who turned and began to walk by his side out, his hand resting on his disruptor's handle.
