Chapter 17. Request Denied.
With its customary swoosh, the door to the lab opens to reveal Jim and McCoy, right on time.
"Come in, gentlemen. I believe you will find this interesting."
He is unable to prevent a small sigh from escaping as he sits in front of the creature he captured earlier, and so almost does not notice McCoy subtly trying to scan him.
Spock tries not to grit his teeth in frustration. It is hard enough to maintain control without having to expend extra energy fighting McCoy at every turn. Indeed, his stomach is churning again and he is dimly aware of the creature punishing him for his experiments through the controls he is using for the pain.
He wonders briefly if McCoy will be able to determine that his capture of the creature on the planet's surface caused him to vomit afterwards, but dismisses the concern. Regardless of whether McCoy notices, it is hardly a pressing problem at the moment.
"Doctor, your medical skill and curiosity are quite admirable, but I assure you I'm alright."
Perhaps that would have been more convincing if his raw throat did not make his voice sound so gravelly.
"You may be controlling the pain, Mr Spock, but you're far from alright."
"Unimportant at the moment, Doctor. Please observe."
He reaches out and flicks the switches needed to run the experiment, hoping that they cannot see his hand shaking.
"Interesting, gentlemen. A one-celled-"
Blinding pain, an unconscious flinch.
"-Creature, resembling, more than anything else, a huge… individual… brain cell."
"Yes. That would answer a lot of questions," Jim notes, glancing at McCoy.
"Do you understand what I'm suggesting, Captain?"
"I think so. This may be one cell in a larger organism – an incredibly huge organism, in fact."
"And although it is not physically connected to the other cells," Spock forces out, desperate to fill in the gaps, "it is, nevertheless, part of the whole creature, guided by the whole…"
Blinding pain…
"…Drawing its strength from the whole, which probably accounts for its unusual resistance to our phaser weapons."
As Jim turns to McCoy to speculate about the creature travelling between planets, Spock uses the momentary privacy to gather himself. The pain increases still further while they speculate about the possibility of killing the creatures, and Spock is just barely able to hold it back, hiding his shaking hands under the table, swallowing back the nausea, resisting the urge to scream.
"I want an analysis of all this," Jim is saying, "from medical and life science departments within the hour."
A short deadline, but necessary. If he can keep himself together just long enough to find some information that the rest of the team can build on, he will have hopefully helped them find a way of saving the colonists before the creature inevitably kills him as punishment.
"Yes, sir."
Jim strides out of the room, leaving Spock alone with McCoy. Spock immediately turns back to the experiment – he is not sure how much longer he can last if he does not start now – and hears the tell-tale whirring of McCoy's scanner.
He forces himself to turn to the doctor and plaster on his usual disdainful expression, hopes that McCoy will decide not to confront him further and leave him to his research. Surprisingly, although McCoy clearly does not like what he sees, he leaves without another word.
Spock waits until he hears the sound of the door sliding shut before he draws in a steadying breath, turns to the creature he is experimenting on, and…
…Is forced to make an impromptu dash to some nearby conveniences to vomit, his whole body shaking feverishly.
He waits until the nausea subsides enough to stand and pushes himself to his feet, swaying dangerously, hands scrabbling at the wall, gasping as the world turns black around the edges. He soon finds himself back on his knees, retching miserably again, his stomach so completely empty from his difficulty eating over the previous weeks that all he manages to bring up is some bile.
His throat is raw, his lips chapped from dehydration, his skin clammy, and he does not know if he can control the pain through the next minute, let alone an hour of experiments, but he has no choice but to try. He cannot leave over a million colonists to die simply because he lacks control.
"I am a Vulcan," he chokes out. "There is… no pain…"
He is not sure whether it is the Disciplines or sheer desperation, but the pain recedes enough for him to climb – slowly this time – to his feet and shuffle back into the mercifully empty lab to run his next test.
oOo
Somehow, he makes it to the briefing, his emotional control distinctly frazzled from the pain and the prospect of a painful, lonely death on the planet below. Although he has known since he was attacked that he is going to die, like all living beings he finds, once actually faced with the prospect, that he has been holding out illogical hope for a cure.
He has no strength to argue against McCoy when the doctor makes his characteristic remarks about cold logic. If he is trying to draw him into a debate about the merits of sacrificing some lives to save many, he will be sorely disappointed; it is all Spock can do at this point to sit upright, and he finds himself swaying slightly in his chair, his ears full of cotton wool.
Fortunately, Jim cuts McCoy off – though Spock soon realises, when Jim refuses to let him beam to the planet, that this is not because he is on Spock's side.
Instead, having ordered them to find a third alternative that Spock strongly doubts exists, Jim stalks out of the room.
"Well," McCoy drawls, "I guess that's that."
As if on cue, everyone makes their way towards the door to carry out Jim's orders, but Spock remains behind, ostensibly fiddling with the computer terminal. In reality, he is unsure if his legs can support him and he needs a moment to absorb what he has heard.
He is nearly clear when McCoy abruptly realises he is alone and turns around, a concerned look on his face. "Spock?"
As if what Jim said has only just sunk in for the creature, a sudden spasm of pain flits across Spock's face and he gasps, his head sagging forwards as the strength leeches out of him.
The scanner is out again (where does McCoy keep it?). The human is actually waving it in his face pointedly.
"You can't keep going like this!"
"I am alright."
"Oh, are you?" McCoy asks acerbically, the tone not hiding the deep concern in those blue eyes as he puts the scanner away and crosses his arms. "Let's go, then."
"In a moment."
McCoy huffs out a breath. "Well, besides the pain - which I still think you should be taking medication for, by the way - your blood pressure is through the floor and your electrolytes are all out of whack. Luckily, I know just the thing."
Spock is so busy focussing on breathing that he does not notice McCoy leaving his side until some cubes and an orange liquid are unceremoniously shoved in front of his face. He looks up at McCoy in disbelief.
McCoy sets the food and drink down with a clatter and throws his hands in the air. "Damn it, Spock, if you won't take the medicine, I've got to do something! I can't just stand by and watch!"
"I am not hungry, Doctor."
"You need to eat! Now, you're good, I'll give you that - you managed to hide it from me after our conversation about Edith Keeler-"
Spock flinches.
"-But the scans don't lie, Spock. That nausea never went away, did it? What with that and the creature, you're borderline underweight now-"
"Doctor, there are much more pressing concerns at the moment. There are over a million lives at risk, and we have our orders. My physical condition is unimportant."
Shaking like a leaf, Spock levers himself out of his chair only to find himself clutching the computer terminal for dear life.
"…God damn it," he hears through the roaring in his ears. "Sit down, Spock, sit…"
Rough hands force him backwards as his knees buckle, dumping him unceremoniously back into the chair. Unable to help himself, he gags, and McCoy fairly boggles, clutches his shoulders and, perhaps counterintuitively, forces Spock's head under the table.
As the blood rushes back into his head, the nausea subsides, and Spock relaxes, feeling his body go boneless, McCoy's hands the only thing keeping him upright.
He is breathing heavily as the doctor helps him to lean back into his chair, and he closes his eyes, gathering himself. As if sensing weakness, the creature is pounding against his controls, desperate to stop the experiments, but Spock somehow resists.
"Alright," McCoy announces, and Spock's eyelids flutter open. "If you can't eat – not surprising given the pain you're in-"
"Indeed," Spock rasps dryly.
McCoy shoots him a 'don't you start' look. "If you can't eat, at least drink this. It'll help raise your blood sugar – help with controlling the pain too, I'll bet."
The logic is sound, so Spock sits there for a solid ten minutes as he slowly forces the liquid into his churning stomach, grimacing, wishing he could be doing something productive instead of catering to his capricious body's weakness.
McCoy nods approvingly, scanning him again. "Told you."
Now it is Spock's turn to shoot McCoy a look. "We have wasted enough time," he says shortly. "We must find the Captain's third alternative."
This time he makes it to his feet with the help of a steadying hand from McCoy, and they begin the impossible task of finding a way to kill a creature that is only vulnerable to the sun without killing the host.