Chapter 26 - Incident, Part 2

Spock studied the scanner rods overhead, the white ceiling and white piping crisscrossing it. The lighting surrounding him was oddly bright yet indirect. He had no time sense. He could have lost sixty seconds or sixty hours. His head pulsed in a way that leeched a foreboding acid down his throat and into his chest. Grange moved into view. He wore a hard look, but it seemed superficial over something more immediate.

"That's an order. Talk to me. What happened?"

Spock made his mouth move. "They were all cadets." He wanted to add that he'd tried not to hurt anybody, but the will to form those words was fleeting.

There were three other staff speaking low, maneuvering things. "Put a medication block on until the xeno gets here." "Get the bed heated." "Skip the respiration, let's assume he'll fight it."

"Look at me." Grange's voice cut through the cacophony of unfamiliar noise and movement and ethyl scents.

Grange came down to eye level, rolled closer on a stool. Spock studied his face, tried to find it comfortingly familiar. His senses were slippery and efforts to focus on his visual sense failed to help. He floated helpless in the flesh of himself. His mind could not be brought to bear, therefore nothing could, certainly not his body or his mental controls.

"I do not like this," Spock said. It came out pleading and he bit down on any more words. His senses continued to slip and skew and the stabbing headache made his eyes damp.

Beeping overhead drew Spock's attention that way. The machines reacted as if revealing his stress.

"What do we have this rodeo round?" A figure loomed into view wearing Starfleet blues with a high sheen. A round, average human face looked down at Spock. He raised a hand to change monitor settings, peered intently at them.

Someone replied, "Hybrid. Looks like human-Vulcan."

"Where's the metabolic model?"

"Nothing came up on his scan."

"What in tarnation?"

Spock flinched from the loud voice.

"The hell is wrong with some people. Get me a swab kit, stat." The figure in blue turned, took something from the person behind him and finished opening it. "Oh and tell those nerd kings down in computing that I need priority time for an emergency full bio model."

He bent over Spock holding white sticks in gloved hands that emitted scents of preserved meats and pickles. "Swallow and open up."

The inside of Spock's cheek was swabbed with a bulb like spun glass and things were handed off. A methodical hurrying recommenced.

A hand scanner warbled, passed over Spock's chest. It was tossed lightly and caught at the correct angle to view the readout. "Name's Leonard McCoy. I'll be your doctor for the duration. And your name?"

"You are a most annoying human."

"Hell of a name. But I'll put it down to the headache you are probably suffering rather than your parents hating you that much."

"His name is Spock," Grange said from Spock's right.

"You are in charge of keeping him talking, correct?" McCoy said. "You're doing a piss-poor job."

"Spock," Grange said.

Spock reluctantly turned his head. It made his senses swim to alter the angle of his vision. He was slipping more, becoming something unknown, something without controls.

"I don't like this. I cannot . . . "

Equipment moved, buzzed.

"I didn't realize you were a hybrid." Grange was looking up at something over Spock's head. He didn't look pleased by it.

Spock waded through meanings while movement and status noises flowed around him. He wanted to close his eyes and shut out everything. Grange repeated his words more forcefully. It clanged against Spock's pride.

Spock sleepily replied, "I don't understand. You met my mother."

"And I met your father. He came by for a tour the other day."

"You told him my class ranking."

"I did not. Admin must have. I would never do that."

Unlike his ordering Spock to answer, this statement rang with real offended emotion. The doctor was on the comm, haranguing central computing for his model.

"Forgive me, sir. I know better."

"It's okay."

Spock studied Grange's eyes, his rough skin, which fit him exceptionally well. He voiced his confusion. "You met my mother."

"I did. She was Vulcan, wasn't she?"

Spock squinted and regretted it. "I do not understand."

"You know." Grange rolled closer again. "She had a head scarf. I didn't see her features. But I sure thought she was Vulcan."

"She'd be flattered." The room swam. Spock was sinking inside himself to a past where his mother's beliefs belonged to a stranger. He had to exhale to talk. "She thinks it's a better way."

"Tell me more about your mother." A pause that Spock didn't have the energy to fill. "Spock? Cadet?"

Blackness welcomed Spock like a lover. He longed to close his eyes.

"Doctor," Grange said with real emotion.

Something stiff moved over Spock's left hand, tugged on his fingers before going away again.

"Get me a lazdrain kit. We can't risk real meds without the model and there is already more swelling on the scan than I ever want to see."

Equipment moved around with muttered communication.

"Spock, do you think you can hold still for me?" This was a voice from behind him. Before he could respond, fingers pressed into his face and his scalp, pressing his head firmly to the side.

"Just keep looking this way, at me, Spock," Grange said. "Just relax. Can you do that for us?"

The sense of expectant attention of the many people in the area returned, grew nerves of its own. Spock wondered how they had all become a team against him so rapidly.

"Two ccs of diflourinated cephalinion. We're going to have to take our chances. Doctor Wrey, monitor for rejection please. Someone get a blood shunt ready in case we need it."

"Hold very still," said the distracted voice at Spock's ear.

Spock felt something rough on the back of his head, moving his hair, then whirling and super chilled hardness pressing tight, almost pinching, clamping where it shouldn't be possible.

"Lieutenant, your job is very simple," McCoy said between clenched teeth.

"What's your favorite class, Spock?"

"We've discussed this."

"Can't tell you how pleased I am to hear that," McCoy said. The fingers pressed harder, the pinching grew spiking painful. It was a pleasant distraction from the throbbing ache burning white hot deep in Spock's skull. "You're being held together right now by your human proteins, son. Let's hope they keep coming through for us."

"Tell me your favorite anyway. That's an order," Grange said.

"Your orders do not sound sincere right now."

"Turns out it doesn't matter. They are orders, sincere or not."

"I see." Spock assembled words and pushed them out past the sandy muck of his senses. "I am still quite pleased with the Advanced Ship Design course."

Grange's attention was drawn to whatever was happening to Spock's head. "What's your favorite part of it? You like Captain Chanel?"

"She is a fascinating specimen of her rank."

"That's one way to put it."

"I would think you would get along, sir."

"Spock." Grange shook his head. "You're lucky you can't be held responsible for what you say right now."

"Feeling a little better?" This was the doctor's voice, loud in Spock's ear. The noise clanged against his headache.

Blackness wasn't drawing him in so powerfully. "Perhaps."

Something chimed.

"It's about damn time. Wrey. Hands. Here."

Someone else's painful fingertips joined McCoy's then McCoy's departed. Spock closed his eyes.

"Cadet! Eyes on me. Tell me about Kirk. How's he doing?"

"He cannot tell me much in his messages."

"Miss him?"

Spock lost ground and could not regain it. Above him a monitor trilled wildly.

"Wrong line of questioning," said a new voice at Spock's ear. "Something else."

"Sorry, Spock."

"I do not like this. I cannot. Control. Do. Anything." Spock shifted his hands. They moved but felt very far away.

"That's partly the stim," McCoy said. "Partly the injury. Try to relax. You're going to be okay."

There was the sound of plastic sheets shifting. Drugs being ordered from a computer. A hiss, a wash of warmth strolled through Spock's arm, through the other arm. Again, something stiff caught on the fingers of his left hand, ran from his palm to his fingers and went away.

Grange tapped the bed beside Spock's nose, startled him. "I need to get your parents here."

A monitor thrummed louder.

"No."

"No? You don't want your father and mother here?"

Spock swallowed. The pulsing ache in his head had eased slightly, but he was swimming through his senses with no ability to rein in his instinctive reactions. "I am failing. He cannot see this."

"I can't not contact them."

"No."

"If the boy doesn't want his father here, he has that choice. Let it be." This was McCoy's voice, close again.

"Thank you," Spock said.

A gloved hand touched Spock's shoulder, rested there. There was fussing at the back of Spock's head, a clicking of device covers. Murmured conversation and movement.

"See. I'm not as bad as all that. You can roll your head this way now."

Spock was no longer being held down and couldn't remember when he'd been released. He rocked his head tentatively onto a gel surface. Something was attached to the back of his head, but he couldn't feel it after it sank in and became soft.

The round faced human doctor was studying him. "The medication's almost worse than the headache." He sounded understanding. "I know you feel uneasy. Just try to flow with it for a bit. It's like a lazy river you're going to take little ride on for a time. It's keeping the damage to a minimum and god knows brains are all Vulcans have got."

The doctor looked up at the monitor, kept watching it. Spock wished he could see it. The beeps and hums fell into a regular pattern and the two nurses and the other doctor were no longer hurrying. Two of the nurses in white went out, one returned.

Grange asked him about his classes, wouldn't let up, no matter how repetitive Spock's answers.

"I hear my father's voice," Spock said rather than do the impossible and explain why literature was so difficult for him.

"Doctor?" Grange said in concern.

"What are you asking me for? Go check. I'll keep him occupied for you."

McCoy pulled the blanket down, pulled a piece of engineering tape off Spock's chest. Then a second one. "Looks like you went to a hell of a party, son."

"Not precisely."

"What happened?"

"I was stunned and taped to another cadet."

"Ah. That sort of thing. Buck naked, I assume, based on the tape. Ah, takes me back."

Spock felt his left brow go up. It didn't hurt as much to move his face. "Explain."

"Medical school's rough on you if you are slow, or have an accent that makes you pronounce latin incorrectly, or are just plain disliked. The school work is nothing in comparison."

"I see."

"Look on the bright side. Whoever did this to you is Leanea VII Tar Pits deep in trouble. Rule one is leave no marks on anything but pride. Or that was the rule back in my day."

"I am a first year. I do not know these rules."

"First year? Not a lot of Vulcans in Starfleet. They aren't succeeding in chasing you out, I hope."

"Seems like you'd be pleased if they were."

"The hell it does."

Spock looked up at the ceiling. Confusion made him queasy. "My mistake."

Grange returned to the now open right side of Spock's bed. "The Academy Super, Vice Admiral Justin, is here with your father. I suspect he contacted your dad when he found out what happened."

"Doing damage control already," McCoy said.

The other nurse returned. "Can we have visitors?"

"Son?"

Spock turned to the doctor. "I do not think I have a choice."

The doctor patted Spock's arm, this time sans glove. Spock felt a wash of raw compassion that contrasted with his demeanor.

"Show 'em in, Nurse."

Justin strode in and came beside the bed where the doctor had vacated. "How are you doing, son?"

Spock stared. This form of address was becoming less logical by the moment.

Sarek approached more slowly. Took in the monitors overhead before shuffling up to the right side of the bed.

"I'm improving, sir." Spock spoke as strongly as possible. Hoped he didn't sound as gasping to them as he did to himself.

Justin was visually tracing the spread of equipment around Spock's pillow that Spock couldn't see but could hear and feel when he shifted. Justin's face grew darkly concerned. He turned to McCoy. "How is he?"

"We'll know better in 24 hours. Swelling's under control but we can't assess damage yet."

"Cadet. Do you remember what happened?"

"Yes."

"Can you identify the perpetrators for me?"

Spock disliked staring straight up at them. "Not with sufficient certainty."

Sarek and the Admiral stared at each other. Sarek said, "The admiral was reasonably certain you would not say."

"Given the consequences, I must to be 100% certain." Spock turned to the doctor. "May I sit up a little?"

McCoy came to the side of the bed. "If you feel up to it. Just a few degrees."

The bed lifted. Spock ignored the nausea. The bed stopped at thirty-five degrees. McCoy pulled out a stylus and caught it in Spock's fingers. Spock looked down at his hand, at how it was curled in on itself. He stretched his hand out but could not do so fully, felt it trying to curl back.

"Nurse. The customized protinental ready yet?"

"Six minutes, doctor."

"You didn't have a model on file for him." This was directed at Sarek.

"He has never had care on earth."

"Now he has a model on file. So, next time there won't be a delay in treatment. Hopefully, it wasn't too costly."

Spock expected Sarek to go on the offensive in response to this attitude. But he remained silent and inward. Spock straightened the fingers of his left hand again, felt them curling again.

McCoy said, "It's improved a lot since the swelling's reduced. I think you're going to be just fine. And if not you have a few brain cells to spare at your age."

Justin was watching Spock's hand. "Remembering any better, son?"

"I remember that it was my fault I was dropped unceremoniously. I did not want to be dunked into the fountain."

"The fountain's an honor," Justin said. "But I understand your reservations on it."

"That is an unexpected honor," Sarek said.

"Tradition. After finishing the year top in a category, or winning an outside award. Keeps people from thinking too much of themselves. Reminds them they are at the mercy of others."

"Do you sanction this, Superintendent?"

He frowned painfully. "Ambassador, we are going to send these students to the far reaches of space where the external risks are off the charts. We can't have internal risks too. If we control the students too closely they will have no idea how to control themselves once they are out there, out of reach of oversight. If they aren't a team, they won't make it back even from an easy mission. We're constantly learning the hard way, just as our predecessors did a hundred years ago, just what kind of oversight to provide."

Sarek stood with hands knitted before him staring at the admiral.

Justin returned Sarek's gaze unblinking. "Accidental harm is a different category of transgression than intentional, but is still taken seriously. We expect care for one's actions, including taking into account incidental risks. We will deal with what happened."

Spock's thoughts were coming together better. Every minute felt like a fresh awakening.

Sarek said, "Our people certainly sanction hard training and hardening of abilities through exposure to difficulty, even for children, but not humiliation of this nature."

"I understand, Ambassador."

Spock said, "May I speak to my father alone?"

McCoy crossed his arms. "You'll have to drag me out with a butterfly net."

"We'll go. Lieutenant, with me." Grange and Justin departed along with the one remaining nurse.

"Father, I need your attention to a matter. I hope you will see your way to it." Spock wished his voice was stronger. The words still needed to be pushed out. And he'd spoken in Standard without meaning to.

"Depends upon what it is."

"My companion, P'Losiwst Jlowisam, she was targeted along with me. Her father is an Andorian business owner of some influence. He was most displeased to find we were keeping friendly company . . . let alone this."

Spock paused to arrange his thoughts. He must have paused longer than he realized. His father's hand came to rest on the bed beside his shoulder.

"Spock?"

"He will be most horrified when he learns what happened. I fear he will remove her from the Academy."

That was all Spock could manage. He watched Sarek take this information in.

"What do you wish from me?"

"That you intervene with him before he makes such a decision or takes an action that his pride will not allow him to revoke." Spock couldn't detect any reaction in Sarek. "Please. Father."

Sarek remained stoic. "When you are stable, and your mother arrives. I will consider it."

The monitor gave away Spock's stress at this reply. Spock tipped his head away, floundered for the shreds of his control.

"It's the treatment," McCoy said from where he leaned on the end cap of the horseshoe of equipment.

Sarek nodded. He spoke in Vulcan. "Rest your efforts, Spock."

Admiral Justin returned. He looked at Spock as he spoke. "I sent Lt. Grange back to the Academy. Which is where I should be as well, sorting this out. You'll let me know if anything significant changes, Doctor?"

"Aye, aye, Admiral."

Justin hesitated departing. "Thank you, Doctor. I think." He bowed. "Ambassador. Please contact my office when it's convenient. Or sooner if you need anything from us."

Grange walked out to the lifts past the hospital floor's large waiting area. A contingent of eleven third year cadets rose up from the couches and chairs.

"Sir."

Grange rubbed the grit clear of his left eye. The darkened windows showed even darker trees tossing in a silent wind. He memorized who was present.

"Yes?"

A few stood straighter. "How is Cadet Spock, sir?"

"A little better now than when he arrived."

Gazes dropped or shifted away. No one else spoke.

The elevator doors opened. A few eyes lifted with interest in that direction. Grange turned. Lady Amanda exited flanked by two tall Vulcans, one young, one middle aged. She pulled her head scarf down, glanced at the younger of the two accompanying her. Without a word, he strode off ahead.

Amanda appeared to compose her expression. She folded her hands before her, became a picture of control, the kind that matched Grange's mistaken expectations of her race the last time they'd met.

She looked his way. He nodded and stepped over. It wasn't his place to give her official news, but he was prepared to accept any blame she needed to dole out.

"Lieutenant." She was the picture of polite calm, as if perhaps he was the one in need of support. This made him feel considerably worse.

The young Vulcan returned accompanied by Sarek. They stopped just inside the waiting area.

"Husband." Amanda swept across to him. She stopped before Sarek and composed herself again, said something in Vulcan, received a curt reply in Vulcan. Sarek held up his index and middle fingers and led her away by the fingers.

They were swallowed up by the busy movement in the long corridor. Grange glanced at the cadets, some biting lips, staring off into space, two were examining their boots. He needed them back at the Academy for official debriefing, but decided to let them stew and walked away