Uhura now joined Spock's impromptu research group. Kirk had been reluctant to include yet another crew member in this secret, essentially making her another accessory to this not-entirely honest mission. It disturbed Kirk a great deal that they were devoting to such time and resources to a project he couldn't possibly bring to Star Fleet. He, and everyone on Spock's team, were now linked via deception.
The closer they got to the Star Base, the more he questioned his decision. He worried that Starfleet Command would shut the rescue mission down, because there was no hard evidence that anything was amiss. Just as McCoy had told him earlier, they could not, without a doubt, prove that he was of a parallel universe. And even if they could, he contemplated tortuously, there was no precedent for this. The imposter had the same name, DNA, blood type, fingerprints...everything except memories. And if they really couldn't reach other side, McCoy's extra-universe origin was a moot point. He found it more and more difficult to justify to himself taking away everything to which McCoy was entitled just by being who he was.
He lifted his weary head from his hands at the sound of his door buzzer. He sighed, hoping it was Spock, and pressed a button at his desk. He all but groaned when the door opened and McCoy walked in. The way he stormed in, his furious determination obvious but restrained, was painfully reminiscent. He hardened himself and stood up from the desk.
"What's this I hear about a space burial?" McCoy demanded before Kirk could say a word.
Kirk's lips parted to speak, but he was speechless for a moment, unable to determine McCoy's hidden agenda. Why should he care what happened to Dorek's corpse, he thought. What did he want with it? He thought about ordering McCoy out of his cabin, but realized with some shame that was motivated by spite. He knew he had to put himself above the other man and his emotional outbursts. He said calmly, "That's what his crew and myself have decided. Dorek died on my ship. He was under my protection and I let him and his crew down. I know you hated him, but can't you begrudge me some semblance of tact?"
"Go ahead with the ceremony," McCoy said with irritation. "Why, I'll put the flag on the damn coffin myself. That's not what I'm trying to say."
"Then what?" Kirk snapped.
Some of McCoy's anger faded, and he just looked tired instead. "His father needs his son back. Come on, Kirk, his family has no idea here he is or what happened to him. And now you want to just jettison him into space, take away his family's last chance to see him or have their own service."
"What do you care about his family?"
"I don't," McCoy said flatly. "But I know it isn't right. If you want to have a service here, fine. Do it. But leave the coffin empty. I've got plenty of room in the ship's morgue to store his body. Then we can deal with it when we reach the base. The Romulans are going to find out about this one way or another, probably as soon as the defectors touch down on that base. I know it'd be easier, more convenient-"
Kirk raised a hand and frowned. "Alright...I see your point." He turned from McCoy and rubbed his tired eyes. McCoy relaxed, though at first he wasn't sure he heard him right. He had expected more of a fight than this.
A little humbled, McCoy said, "He's in stasis right now in the morgue, and Chapel will be monitoring the field's integrity. There won't be any contamination, his body is completely contained."
Kirk gazed at the wall directly in front of him and nodded. "Fine," he said. "I'll inform his crew of the change in plans." He turned appraising eyes at McCoy. "But I'm not sure they'll like it. Their captain committed suicide. I'd suspect they would see a burial at space as a way to spare his family any dishonor."
"Maybe they would see it that way," McCoy said, crossing his arms stubbornly. "Maybe his family will hate you for making them see for themselves how he's dishonored them. And maybe they'd think they'd rather wash their hands of him and let the Federation put on their funeral pageants for him, as if any us cared about him. Maybe his parents will be mortified and disown him posthumously. I think robbing them the chance at some resolution is far more dishonorable, Sir. If I'd lost someone like that, I'd want to see his face one last time, honor be damned."
Kirk looked at him in silence for a moment. "I suppose, so," he said gently, and they regarded each other carefully, neither wanting to risk speaking more than he had to. He went back to the computer at his desk. "Thank you," he said, but in a dismissive, aloof way.
McCoy grunted something and walked out. Kirk stared at his monitor long after McCoy left, unable to focus on a single sentence of the communique.
/
McCoy hadn't expected this outcome, but he wasn't terribly bothered by it, now that he'd done what he thought was his part. He felt responsible for Dorek's death. True, he did not press the makeshift blade into the Romulan's wrist, but McCoy felt he had led him to it. He could at the very least, he thought, see to Dorek the way he hoped someone would see to him when he died. It was only fair.
McCoy took care of some last minute details concerning the corpse. He took his time, finding the task relaxing. He didn't feel sorry for Dorek. He was dead, gone. Unable to feel or care or worry or hurt ever again. McCoy allowed a twinge of envy as he gazed at the body. There were far worse things than death, he mused. He'd toyed with the idea of suicide when he was back on the I.S.S. Enterprise, but couldn't bring himself to hurt what remained of his family. He would often lie awake at night wondering what his Captain Kirk would tell them if he'd died under his charge. Or if he'd bother trying to find McCoy's next of kin at all.
He realized with grim acceptance that his nightmare had come true after all. He had disappeared from his universe, out of his relative's lives forever. He hoped his counterpart might get a chance to track them down and reconnect. But he doubted the other McCoy would live long enough. His family would never know what happened to him.
Satisfied with himself, McCoy left Sick Bay, eyes open for Spock. He felt empty and aimless now that the excitement of the past few hours drained from him. He drifted down the halls with detachment, certain that he wouldn't be here much longer. On this ship, anyway. The tension between himself and the others wasn't so amusing anymore, he thought. He felt like he was just sinking into another dismal situation by staying with people who so plainly hated him for having the face of their missing friend. Perhaps he didn't have to worry about physical harm here, but he still felt like he had to stay on constant alert around these people because of how they reacted to him.
He also hated having no where to go on this ship that was his, really his. Sick Bay was perhaps where he felt the most comfortable, now that Chapel and M'Benga had warmed to him. But he wasn't in charge of it; he couldn't run things his way anymore. He had to accommodate, compromise, ask for permission for every little thing. More and more, he ended up deferring to Chapel, anyway. It was her medical bay now, not his.
He saw Spock sitting with Uhura and Scotty in the rec room, and hesitated. He was getting tired of how conversations tended to stall if any of the ones that knew about him were around. He wondered if Uhura was now one of them, or if this was about something else. That wonder turned to curiosity, and he remembered he had nothing better to do. He walked in with exaggerated casualness, going for the replicator first. Glancing across the room to the little party at the table, he saw Uhura look up at him, and then flash a look to Spock. She buried her nose in her PADD, and that was all McCoy needed to see. She knew. And she probably had some judgments about it. Then again, Nurse Chapel knew about him, too, and had seen for herself the type of person he was. She'd been judgmental at first, McCoy thought as he finally punched in an order. She liked him plenty now. Maybe Uhura could look past his origins and like him too. He headed over there.
"Doctor," Spock greeted as he neared the table, forcing the other two to acknowledge him. McCoy nodded at him and glanced at the others briefly. They had schematics spread out on the table, PADDs, and a couple half filled coffee cups.
"Figure it out yet?" McCoy asked, and deliberately sought out Uhura's eyes.
She seemed to hesitate at first, but then she answered, "We came to a solution, yes." Se didn't seem too happy about it.
McCoy frowned and looked to Spock, who said nothing. McCoy held a soft gaze on the Vulcan while Scotty piped up, "Your particles are useless, lad."
"What?" McCoy snapped, as if personally insulted. Frustrated by the restrained look on Scotty's face, he glared at Spock. "Well? What's he talking about? What particles?"
"Mr. Scott is of course referring to the collection of fundamental particles that make up your body," Spock lectured as he leaned over a schematic page and made a mark with a small pencil. He seemed to be intently studying the complicated diagrams, and his other hand was engaged with his PADD, constantly calculating. "Before you arrived here, they would have resonated with the same frequency as your universe. You and your surroundings were in phase. Apparently you remained in that phase for some time after beaming to this universe."
"How would you know that?" McCoy asked with narrowed eyes.
"By studying samples I collected. You leave quite the colony of cells on your synthehol bottles, Doctor."
McCoy stared at him and then just shook his head, like he couldn't be bothered to care. "OK, so?"
Spock put his PADD down and leaned back in his seat, hands folded in his lap, his gaze on the schematics. "All but a small amount has already changed phase to match this universe."
"Well, I've got plenty more," McCoy said.
"By now I suspect your entire being has cohered with this universe. I collected an additional sample—a hair you left in the shuttle bay—and every atom has already changed phase."
Scotty could tell McCoy didn't understand the significance of this. He reached across the table for Spock's schematic and brought the whole rustling mass of charts and diagrams to his side of the table. He scooted to give McCoy room to sit down. The two huddled over the specs as Scotty explained, "It'd work like this: our Spock sends a beam of high energy particles, 70% jekyll, 30% hyde. By now our McCoy has almost completely shifted in phase, so he's all hyde. At the same time this beam is sent through on our side, the other Spock will need to dematerialize and send McCoy through the transporter-"
"To what coordinates?" McCoy interrupted.
"To the very same transporter pad he'd be standing on," Scotty said. When McCoy gave him a confused look, Scotty's eyes lit up, happy to explain. "Well, Doctor, every point in space-time on this ship corresponds exactly to that of the other ship! If it weren't for the barrier keeping our universes separate, then we would be able to look around this room and see crew members from both ships at the same time. We could talk to each other, interact. Why, at this very moment, one of your people could be sitting exactly where you are, but you can't sense them because of the barrier."
"Alright," McCoy said thoughtfully, glancing at the other two. "So he'd end up materializing on this side of the barrier," he said, to make sure he was getting this.
"Yes, but he has to change phase. See, while his atoms are in the transporter beam on his side, we'll have our hyde/jekyll particles suspended in the transporter beam on our side. Both energy beams would be in the exact same point in space-time, with only the barrier keeping them separate. The hyde particles in our beam will attract McCoy's through the barrier. They will be suspended with the rest of the mixture. Of course, the transporter controls won't know what to do with these exotic particles, so that's where the mixture comes in. By this point, both beams of particles will have combined and decohered. The jekyll particles in the beam will, in a sense, contaminate the hyde particles and force them to change phase to match them. Then the transporter computer will recognize an incoming signal as our own McCoy, and there we go." He leaned back in his seat with a rather self-satisfied look on his face.
McCoy was silent a moment as he studied the diagrams, his head resting against his hand. "Have you even tested any of this?"
"Yes," Spock said from across the table. "I had to send a mixture of particles through the transporter when I sent the message. Both types must be present in the transporter field in order for any decoherence to begin. Otherwise, the signals I had sent would have merely shown up in our own transporter computer."
The four lapsed into silence, obviously the safe part of the conversation already taken care of. McCoy looked hard at Spock. "But there's a problem," he urged. "Right?"
"As Mr. Scott pointed out, we no longer have a source for fresh hyde particles. We have one last good sample, currently stored in a super-cooled state. That has slowed down the phase shifting considerably, but it's only a matter of time before every last particle permanently coheres with this universe."
"How much time?"
Scotty answered for Spock, who seemed relieved for the break. "A day or two, week at the most. It's hard to tell for sure, because it's all changing one atom at a time in a terribly random way-"
"I get it," McCoy interrupted with an exasperated wave of one hand, and a heaviness descended on him. "What about Spock—mine, mean. I bet he could figure something out, can you send another message?"
Spock said, "We dare not. So far he still has not responded to the first. I would have noticed the energy spike. I can only surmise that he cannot, either from lack of knowledge or opportunity. I am also hesitant to call attention to ourselves by sending these signals. If your captain believes there is a malfunction with the transporter, he could have it shut down, or the specs changed, in which case we can do nothing. We do not have the particles to spare for additional messages, anyway. We have just enough to send one person through the barrier."
McCoy leaned back in his seat as this sunk in. Spock paused a moment, and then said, "This person would take with them a two samples of super-cooled, contained, particles, one hyde, the other jekyll. They'll be in cylindrical data tubes that can be interested into the transporter beam via the console itself, that way my counterpart can go ahead with the plan without any need of communication with us. He will have more than enough jekyll particles to beam back both McCoy and whomever we decide to send through the barrier."
"Someone, huh?" McCoy muttered. "Spock, if you have something to ask me, spit it out."
"You would be the logical choice," Spock said softly. "You would have a better chance defending yourself once you are transported, due to your familiarity. You'd know where to find my counterpart, and how to ask him for his assistance. However, I am not asking you to do this. I have told you that you would not be forced to return to that universe, Doctor, and I stand by that."
McCoy snorted. "Then who are you thinking, you? Give me a break, Spock. What if there just happens to be someone in the transporter room when you show up? Go ahead and plaster on a fake beard, that won't help you. You three are so damned different from the ones back home, you're complete strangers to me. Whichever one of you goes will betray yourself the second you open your mouth." At this, McCoy gave them a look that made the humans of the group squirm. He was smirking, his eyes dark. "And just wait till the Captain finds one of you sore thumbs sneaking around his ship." He chuckled.
"I take your point, Doctor," Spock said. "I am merely trying to assure you that neither myself nor the Captain will try to force-"
"You can't force me into anything," McCoy interrupted harshly. "This is my choice." He saw the looks on their faces. Spock was blank faced, but just by the softness of his eyes, he betrayed his feeling. McCoy absorbed it, allowed himself to enjoy it for a moment, and said, "When do we start?"
"As soon as possible," Spock said. "We are scheduled to reach Titus Alpha tomorrow. Even if the Captain's opinion of you were irrelevant, Doctor, Starfleet will inevitably conduct an extensive investigation of the Enterprise over Captan Dorek's death. We would be far too busy with the inquest to make this attempt."
"You also don't want Starfleet to know what you've got planned, hmm?" McCoy said.
A look of pain seemed to flash across the Vulcan's face, his eyes wincing ever so slightly. "That might prove...disastrous."
McCoy smirked. "To put it mildly." He got up from his chair with infectious energy. Spock and Uhura got up while Scotty put the schematics in order. "Alright, let's get this show on the road. What's the first step?"
They headed out of the room, Spock in the lead. "Mr. Scott, Lt. Uhura, you will prepare the samples for transport and meet McCoy and myself in the transporter room. Please wait for us if we're not there by the time you arrive."
"Where will you be?" Uhura asked.
Spock answered in a heavy tone, "Warning the Captain." Scotty and Uhura exchanged worried glances, but they did not argue. They left for Engineering.
"I figured he'd be happy about this," McCoy when they were alone. He followed Spock as he headed for the turbo-lift.
"He would prefer it if you left the ship, yes," Spock said. They boarded the lift, and Spock sent it upward. "However this plan will require him to trust you."
"Don't you?" McCoy asked with a deliberate barb in his voice.
Spock looked at him. Expecting confrontation, McCoy faced him, ready. But instead of hardness or anger, Spock's eyes showed vulnerability. "Can I trust you, Doctor?"
McCoy still held an aggressive stance, but his face softened. "Yes, Spock. Now, I can't promise I'll succeed. I could easily get caught. But I'm still going to try."
"Thank you," Spock said, quiet but earnest.
McCoy scoffed, "I'm not doing this for you, Spock. There's nothing for me here."
"But your universe..."
"Is a very big one," McCoy fired back. "And just like yours, always changing. Besides, I have people over there. I...I have a daughter I haven't seen since she was a little girl. I will see Joanna again, Spock." He spoke with determination.
Spock met his eyes and nodded. He said nothing, but McCoy felt the tension between them ease. They walked exited the life and walked down the corridor in peaceful silence. At Kirk's cabin, Spock turned to McCoy. "I would suggest that you remain out here while I speak to the Captain."
McCoy grunted as if insulted, but he silently agreed. Maybe his last interaction with Kirk wasn't too bad, but he didn't want to test him. "I'll meet you in the transporter room," he said. "There are some...last minute things I need to do."
Spock regarded him carefully, as if trying to decide whether or not to ask what he intended to do, and McCoy tolerated it in stiff-lipped silence. "Please hurry," was all Spock said, before turning to ring the buzzer on Kirk's door. McCoy gazed at him a moment before turning away.
/
"Doctor...are you alright?"
McCoy lifted his head from his hand and gazed at Nurse Chapel blankly. A sigh raised his shoulders mightily, and he got up from the desk. He slowly walked past her and poured himself a glass from a long bottle. He held it up slightly and gave her a look. "Join me for one last drink?"
"One last..." Chapel began with distress. "What do you mean, Doctor?"
McCoy came closer and pressed a filled glass into her hand. She took it if only to keep it from dropping. Concern, maybe even fear, was scattered over her face. McCoy put a hand on her shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze. "I'm going home, Christine." He took a drink from his glass.
Chapel stared at him, mouth agape for a moment, and McCoy just took in the details of her face. He knew it probably wasn't the best time to grin, but he couldn't help it. "But...but why? If this is about what happened in surgery-"
"It's not," McCoy said. "No one is making me do this, Christine. Don't you dare feel sorry for me."
Chapel looked at him with such concern in her eyes, such raw, unfiltered feeling, that McCoy abruptly pulled her into his arms, holding his glass with practiced care at her back. She spilled some of hers as she knocked against his body. The rest of it was tipped as she enveloped McCoy with her arms, head pressed against his shoulder, though she had to stoop. "Never," she said, though tears spilled down her cheeks. "Pity doesn't suit you, Leonard."
McCoy moved back to look at her. "You remember that when he gets here," he said. As her reddened eyes widened, he laughingly added, "Well, come on! Can't have him over there getting in my way. He's probably run Sick Bay into the ground by now!"
She hugged him once more, arms tight and protective, and he held her in return. At last, he gently pulled away. Feeling her gaze on him, McCoy went back over to his desk and put something in his pocket. He put his glass down on the desk and went to the door of his office, Chapel remaining. He gave her one last glance and said, "Goodbye, Christine."
/
The three officers waiting with growing impatience and worry in the transporter room. Spock kept his concern hidden, especially from himself. He told the other two to wait just another five minutes, before he'd go looking for McCoy himself. Whenever an assumption floated to his consciousness, he shoved it down. McCoy could be up to no good. He could be trying to escape somehow, could be endangering someone. Or he could simply just be on his way, about to sacrifice his chance at a different life, for the sake of a crew that was not his own. He let out a breath of tension and checked the settings of the transporter computer yet again.
The three turned expectant glances at the door when it opened, and relaxed visibly. "What?" McCoy quipped as he strode in. "Thought I got lost?" He grinned at Scotty and Uhura as he went over to Spock at the console. Spock handed him two cylindrical objects. They were identical in appearance, but for the small labels to attached to the sides: J and H, respectively. McCoy pocketed them.
All four were now gathered by the console as Spock explained to McCoy how the other Spock was to pull this off. He considered sending McCoy with a PADD with the instructions, but felt it was too risky, in case someone on the other side found McCoy out before he could make the attempt. For the most part, it would be a simple task for the other Spock. All he'd have to do was insert the cylindrical data discs into the console at precisely the right times and watch the computer display for any problems. Spock or one of the others would stay in the transporter room as long as it took to watch for their McCoy's incoming signal.
After hugging Uhura and getting scooped into Scotty's arms, McCoy stepped onto the transporter pad. Spock, his hands at the controls, looked at him for a moment. His face revealed nothing, but McCoy saw the warmth in his eyes. Spock dropped his gaze for the controls. Just as his hand fell upon the toggle switches, he heard McCoy call his name and looked up.
McCoy said nothing. He didn't need to. He just gave him a small, soft smile and a Vulcan salute. Spock returned it, then dropped his hand to activate the transporter.