So I like to sneak in references to Original Series episodes. Spot any in this chapter? ~ Cooper

CHAPTER 3

McCoy's medical training, as well as his experience leading several medical missions to poverty-stricken planets, kept him from outwardly gagging. Unfortunately, the captain didn't have such experience and was retching loudly as he tried to regulate his breathing. McCoy switched to breathing through his mouth, but it wasn't much better.

He'd already identified some of the smells as bodily waste. The others were slotted somewhere on the scale between rotting food and unwashed flesh.

McCoy stepped forward so that he was standing just inside the doors. The stench was worse but he could ignore it now. The room was brightly lit and he could see trash littering the floor: food wrappers, empty hydro-bottles, and various other sundries lay where they'd fallen when the gravity was turned back on. And yes, there were the familiar yellow-brown splatters of bodily waste mixed in with the trash.

The room appeared to be otherwise unoccupied, except for a metal cargo box in the center of the room. It stood about mid-thigh while the length measured three quarters the length of a biobed and only a little wider. Secured to the deck with several straps, it could have been mistaken for a standard shipping container, but a glowing green light next to a keypad on the container's side suggested that it was anything but normal. If McCoy had to guess, he would have said that it was hermetically sealed, much like the ones he used for sensitive vaccines. Those, of course, were much smaller. McCoy whistled softly as he calculated the value of such a large unit.

"Reminds me of the off-campus dorm I stayed in my second year at the Academy," Kirk grunted as he moved to stand next to McCoy. His eyes had begun to water and he wiped them on a gold sleeve.

McCoy turned to give him a skeptical look. "And you stayed the whole year?"

Kirk shrugged. "The parties, Bones. The parties were legendary."

McCoy snorted softly; it was more likely that Kirk's partieswere legendary, if rumors could be believed.

A weak groan echoed within the equipment bay.

Startled, McCoy glanced at his tricorder, thinking that perhaps the lifeform was not visible to the human eye, when Kirk shouted. "There!"

Poking out from behind the metal container were a pair of bare, dirty, human feet.

McCoy let the tricorder fall on its strap as he dashed forward, ignoring the filth-covered deck. He rounded the container first and felt his mouth drop open.

"You?" He asked in disbelief just as Kirk slid into him. McCoy nearly fell but Kirk's arm snapped out and steadied him without taking his eyes off the corpulent man struggling into a sitting position. Food crumbs stuck to the drooping mustache as he squinted up at them from underneath bushy eyebrows.

"You!" Kirk barked accusingly. "I should have known!"

"Kirk? Jim Kirk?" Came Harry Mudd's weak yet obviously annoyed voice. "Oh, hell—I'd rather kiss a Klingon."

Kirk snapped his communicator shut and looked up as McCoy approached him. They stood just outside the smaller room where the air was slightly more tolerable.

"Well?" Kirk prodded. "What's the diagnosis, Doctor?"

"Mild bone density loss, slight dehydration, and a minor concussion," McCoy said. "But for surviving in there for thirty-seven days, I'd say he's in relatively good shape."

Jim's lips twisted into a sour expression. "Of course he is; the man's a cockroach."

"Now, now. There's no need to be insultin' cockroaches, Jim. They're useful creatures, after all." McCoy shot a wry look over his shoulder. Mudd was sitting on the cargo box, doing a good imitation of looking both offended and forlorn while twisting a greasy lock of hair around one finger. "Him on the other hand, well, I'm just curious to learn how he got off that Class K planet we left him on."

"And how he came to be on a stolen ship," Kirk added, taking a step in Mudd's direction before McCoy's arm stopped him.

"Hold on just a minute, Captain. I'd like to get off this tin can before the gravitational grid fails," McCoy said, then jerked his head in the direction of the smaller room. "Before all that crap, literally, takes flight again."

Kirk nodded. "Quite right, Bones." Kirk walked towards Mudd, pulling a spare locator beacon from his belt.

McCoy followed, stopping a few feet behind Kirk. The captain tossed the locator beacon where it was quickly palmed in the con man's fleshy hand. Mudd stood, letting the coin-shaped sensor roll through his fingers once before eyeing Kirk.

"What's this, Jimmy? A token of forgiveness?"

"Shut up, Mudd," Kirk ordered. "We're beaming back to the Enterprise, and if you want to get there in one piece, you'll hold onto that."

Harry Mudd nodded with sudden understanding. "Ah, yes. The radiation interference. But Jim, my friend, I can't leave without my cargo." He hit the metallic container twice with a meaty fist. "Very valuable. I couldn't possibly leave without it."

"More valuable than your life, Mudd?" Kirk asked. "Because there's about 30 seconds before this ship's backup generators burn out and eventually, even cockroaches need to breathe."

Mudd looked alarmed as Kirk flipped open his communicator. "Scotty?"

"Aye, Captain. I'm in the Transporter Room. You've only got a few seconds before—"

Mudd started to talk over Scotty's voice and Kirk turned away, trying to hear what his Chief Engineer was saying.

"It's priceless! You can't do this! I won't let—"

"Now, Mr. Scott."

Just as the gold light began to envelope McCoy, he watched as Harcourt Mudd threw himself on top of the metal container.

"Jim!" he shouted, but his warning was lost in the familiar hum of the transporter beam.

Both an eternity and a fraction of a second passed before McCoy saw the familiar shapes of the Transporter Room begin to materialize, but then, to his horror, the room dematerialized and he was back in the Gyrating Ginny's bay. He felt strangely disconnected, out of control, then he caught a glimpse of Mudd still clinging to the storage unit. It was floating several inches above the floor while the severed tie-straps twisted up from the deck like Terran sea eels.

From the corner of his eye, McCoy saw the captain's outstretched arm before he felt the tugging sensation in his gut that indicated he was about to be transported again. For the second time in as many seconds, McCoy was engulfed in light. Except this time the light was not a humming gold, but the screeching, blinding white of overworked sensors.

A cascade of familiar voices were shouting around McCoy as he stumbled from the transporter pad. He ran a shaky hand through his hair while going through a mental checklist of body parts. Everything seemed to be there, but damn it, he wouldn't be able to relax until he scanned both himself and Jim.

Jim! If anything had happened to his friend, he would forget his medical vows and kill Mudd himself. But when McCoy spun on his heel, he saw that Kirk had a hand around Mudd's throat, pinning him to the top of the metallic cargo box. His friend looked furious but blessedly whole.

"Mr. Kyle, get security in here!" Kirk barked.

Unable to control himself, Scotty was shouting at Mudd over the captain's shoulder.

"What were ye thinkin,' man? I almost lost the lot of ye for that blasted thing!"

The remnants of fear on Scotty's usually good-natured face told McCoy just how close they'd come to having their atoms scattered across the galaxy, or much, much worse. He had never told anyone, not even Kirk, the reason for his deep-rooted fear of the transporter. It hadn't always been so; at one time he'd thought it convenient transportation; that was, until he'd witnessed what the Star Fleet cadets had termed "getting spliced." It had been his first mission overseeing a medical supply run. It was supposed to be a cakewalk, boring even, except that one of his assistants had gotten spliced in the last transporter beam.

McCoy would never forget the woman's gargled sounds as she materialized with half of her chest cavity and lower abdomen turned inside-out. He shuddered and loud voices brought him back to the present.

"Get this thing off my ship, Mr. Scott," Kirk ordered, dragging Mudd off the container and shoving him from the platform. "And as for you—"

"No! Don't do it!" Mudd twisted out of Kirk's grasp and threw himself across the transporter control panel. "You'll kill her!"

Silence.

It had become so quiet in the Transporter Room that McCoy jumped when the doors slid open with a gentle whish, allowing Commander Spock to enter. With a quick sweep of his dark eyes, he clearly picked up on the tension within the room. He locked his hands behind him and remained silent.

Part of McCoy's mind filed the Vulcan's presence away for future commentary: Spock had witnessed the transporter disruption from the science station and had come to check on them himself. McCoy felt a flicker of smugness—let Spock deny this one!—before his full attention returned to the drama unfolding in front of him.

"Her?" Kirk repeated softly in a voice that held as much warmth as deep space. "What do you mean, Mudd? Her?"

If Jim hadn't been his best friend, McCoy would have felt the fear that was so obviously coursing through Mudd's massive body. The man's left eye had developed a sudden tic as he shuffled backwards on filthy feet. When he finally ran out of room and his back was pressed against the bulkhead, his mouth popped open, emitting a distressed squeak.

Kirk's somewhat boyish features were tense, his jaw flexed rapidly, as he sought for self-control. Instead of moving toward Mudd, something he obviously wanted to do, he turned away and jumped up onto the transporter pad.

For the first time, McCoy noticed the faint beeping coming from the cargo box. The green light which had been glowing on the side of the container—the one indicating it remained hermetically sealed—had turned a vibrant, flashing red.

The seal had been broken.

McCoy didn't have time to remind the captain of potential biohazards –Kirk was already punching in an emergency override code—but McCoy doubted his warning would have made a difference. They both knew that the "her," if there was indeed a person inside it, would die if it wasn't opened immediately.

Kirk punched in the last sequence of numbers and there was a soft whirring of gears from inside the box. The lid popped up a few inches and a mist began seeping out, drifting down the sides of the container and pooling around its base. There was a soft blip as an internal blue light flicked on, much like the light from Spock's scanner. It highlighted the underside of the escaping mist, making it look eerily alive.

"It's not what you think, Kirk!" Harry bellowed suddenly. "I'll-I'll tell you everything just—"

Without saying a word, Kirk jerked his head first in Spock's direction then in Mudd's. Scotty looked like he was about to catch Mudd's body as it went limp from the Vulcan's nerve pinch but then looked as though he'd thought better of it.

Everyone turned back to face the transporter pad.

There was the sound of metal clinking inside and then, with no sound at all, the lid slid back on hidden rails.

Kirk's upper torso was bathed in the blue light and he stood there, frozen, for several seconds until his hand twitched in McCoy's direction.

"Bones," he said softly. "Come here."

Professional duty and curiosity prompted McCoy to step back onto the transporter pad and stand by his captain's side, but he was silently preparing himself to see a spliced mess of biological matter. At first, all he could see was the blue-white mist floating up from inside. It touched the back of his hands in a damp, cool caress and then, in the very next breath, the mist cleared.

And something that had been sleeping within McCoy, something that had been slumbering for so long he'd thought it long dead, awoke. There were no words to describe the sensation. His heart felt like a caged bird, his ribs ached to keep it contained. If anything, it was an exquisite sort of pain.

McCoy squeezed his eyes shut, shook his head once to regain control of himself. He was a physician; he had a job to do. Inhaling sharply, McCoy opened his eyes and looked again.

A human woman lay within the padded confines of the metal box, cradled by a silver padding that had clearly been molded for her body. She lay on her side, knees drawn up and arms crossed over her chest. Her head rested on a pillow of her own long, dark brown hair. She was naked, and the pale skin along her torso and exposed leg shimmered as if powdered with dilithium or diamond dust. In truth, it was moisture from the escaping gas, but McCoy couldn't care less. In all his travels through space and dreams, he'd never seen such an ethereal creature.

Fingers trembling, McCoy lifted his tricorder. "She's alive. Free from contagion," he rasped, tearing his eyes away from the still form long enough to read the results. "She's in some sort of . . . stasis."

"Stasis," Kirk repeated in disbelief, touching the outside lip of the box. "Then what the hell is this, Bones? Some sort of . . . cryo-unit? Like Kahn's?"

McCoy's eyes widened in sudden comprehension just as an alarm began to blare from the tricorder. "Shit! Shit, you're right!" McCoy watched in horror as the slender figure inside started to convulse. "She wasn't brought out properly—she's crashing!"

Kirk jumped from the platform and darted around Scotty, slapping a hand against the intercom. "Medical team to transporter room—"

"No time!" McCoy yelled, yanking the tricorder strap over his head and letting it drop. He pulled an adrenaline-filled hypo from the medkit on his belt and pressed it against the woman's neck. There was a hiss as the medicine was blown into her veins but it did little to comfort McCoy. He threw the spent hypo aside. With more strength than most people would suspect from his wiry frame—excluding his sparring partners in the boxing ring—McCoy hefted the shaking figure into his arms and spun around.

It was the first time the others in the Transporter Room were able to see the container's occupant, and Scotty's eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hairline.

"Bloody hell! Who's that—"

Kirk pushed the intercom again as McCoy shot by him.

"Attention all hands! Clear corridors from the Transporter Room to Sick Bay! Repeat! Clear all corridors from the Transporter Room to Sick Bay."

McCoy heard his friend's voice from the various intercoms along the bulkheads but couldn't make out the words over the blood pounding in his ears. His heart was doing a damn fine job of keeping up with his boots hitting the deck.

Crewmembers were scrambling to empty the corridor as he ran by but a few caught sight of the woman in his arms and stopped dead in their tracks. One young ensign dropped the stack of datapads he was holding, forcing McCoy to hurdle over the mess or be forced to slow down.

The woman's head bounced against his chest as he landed and he felt a single, labored breath against his chest and then . . . nothing. His ribcage tightened so much that it was difficult to draw in his own breath.

He could not—would not—lose her.

"I'm not going to let you go, darlin'," he panted, pressing his cheek against the crown of her head as he rounded the last turn into Sick Bay. "So don't fight me on this."

Nurse Christine Chapel stood next to an empty biobed in Surgery, looking calm and unfazed as McCoy ran into the room with a naked woman in his arms. Christine was the best damn nurse he'd ever worked with but even she wasn't psychic. Jim, McCoy realized quickly. Jim must have called her in the eleven seconds it took to reach Sick Bay.

McCoy placed the limp form on the bed and turned to wave his arms underneath a sterilization light.

Ever proficient, Chapel had already covered the patient, turned up the thermo controls on the biobed, initiated life scans, and was reading off the results as McCoy turned around. Several alarms were roaring to life and McCoy quickly killed them. The patient's blood pressure had dropped through the deck while her pulse had skyrocketed in a fruitless attempt to get oxygenated blood to vital organs. Respiratory function had stopped working and yet brain function indicators were off the charts.

In essence, all hell was breaking loose.

And yet, as McCoy stepped up to the surgical unit, he felt himself shift into the eye of the storm. He was prepared to fight Death itself for this patient, and his face revealed a focus and determination that would have impressed even the most austere Vulcan.

The Enterprise was the best starship in the fleet, and there was a reason why Leonard H. McCoy was her Chief Medical Officer.

So, yeah. I always felt (and still do) that Dee Kelley's McCoy never got the kudos he deserved. His passion and caring made him damn sexy. I bet Kirk never ran through corridors with a naked woman in his arms. (Then again, there were those parties his second year at Starfleet Academy. . . )