Chapter Text
11 Days Down - Chapter 1
Jim woke from surgery confused. His chest felt tight and his eyes resisted his first attempts to open them. The sound of his own heartbeat filled his ears. I’m in Sickbay… on a biobed, he reasoned, and forced his eyes open to confirm it.
He seemed to be alone except for a blurry figure in blue across the room. Bones, he thought at first. Then, after a few hard blinks, he realized it was Spock.
“Spock,” Jim called, not expecting his voice to be a raspy whisper. His first officer heard him, though, and turned. Jim tried lifting himself up on shaky elbows and discovered he could not.
“Captain,” Spock said, rushing toward him, “Dr. McCoy has you heavily sedated. Please lie still.”
Kirk nodded. Moving was clearly a bad idea. He laid his head back on the pillow to ease the wave of nausea his efforts had caused.
Anticipating his captain’s first question, Spock offered, “The ship and crew are safe.” That was always the best way to quell Kirk’s anxiety when he awoke disoriented in Sickbay. Spock and McCoy had both learned to deliver him that news as swiftly as possible.
Jim nodded his head gently, careful not to flare that queasy feeling that had gripped him when he moved. He gave a small smile of appreciation to his first officer for the information.
Spock looked concerned. No one else would have thought so, but Jim could read his Vulcan friend’s expressions like the back of his hand after 4½ years serving together. If the ship is fine, then it must be me, he thought. I must be hurt badly. Jim had to admit he felt like hell. He couldn’t remember what had happened to him, but judging by Spock’s face, it was serious. Jim wondered where McCoy was.
He didn’t trust his voice, so he cleared his throat a few times, then said with authority, “All right, let’s have it, Spock. Report.”
McCoy should be the one delivering medical news, but he was occupied and had asked Spock to brief Jim if he woke up enough to inquire about his condition. Spock judged Kirk able to receive the briefing, so he quickly organized his thoughts, clasped his hands behind his back, and launched in.
“Captain, you sustained multiple injuries: a concussion, lacerations, internal bleeding, contusions, and several broken bones. A shattered hip caused extensive nerve damage, which is why you cannot move your left leg.”
Kirk slowly tried to move his legs. This was news to him. “Oh. I hadn’t noticed that yet,” he told Spock. He’d only been awake for a minute or two. Frowning, he watched his right knee rise up under the orange and gold quilted sheet, while the left side remained still. “Hm,” he grunted with displeasure.
“Your orthopedic, vascular, and soft tissue injuries have been repaired surgically by Dr. McCoy,” Spock continued, “but he informs me that neither he nor Dr. M’Benga possess the requisite skill set to correct the nerve damage in your hip. Therefore, we are currently en route to Starbase 4, which has physicians qualified to perform nerve regeneration procedures.”
A flicker of worry shot across Jim’s face, prompting Spock to quickly add, “Under their care, your prognosis for a full recovery is very good, Dr. McCoy has stated.”
“Okay, then.” Jim’s tone of voice reflected his relief. One of his worst fears was a career-ending injury. It sounded like this was bad, but not anything that would jeopardize his position as captain of the Enterprise.
Spock paused to gauge his captain’s ability to process this information in his drugged state, but Kirk seemed to be following along.
“We are currently 2.1 days from Starbase 4, traveling at warp 8,” Spock informed him.
“Two days at that speed will strain the engines. Don’t get me in trouble with Scotty,” Kirk joked.
“Mr. Scott assures me we can maintain warp 8 for the duration, Captain,” Spock said, “and Dr. McCoy believes there IS a critical time factor.”
“Oh?” Kirk questioned.
“Results will be optimal if the nerve regeneration procedure can begin in under 72 hours from the time of injury, which was 21.3 hours ago.”
“I see,” said Kirk.
Spock continued, wanting to give his captain as much information as he could while he was alert, “Starbase 2 was 35.5 minutes closer at warp 8 and could also provide adequate medical personnel to perform the procedure, but I decided Starbase 4 was preferable because their shore leave facilities are superior to those of Starbase 2.”
“Good thinking, Spock. The crew could use some R & R.” Jim had been hearing subspace chatter for months about the newly refitted Starbase 4. The gardens were supposedly glorious and a new entertainment technology using solid-seeming holograms had everyone raving. The crew should have a good time there, even though it wasn’t a planetside base.
“It was Dr. McCoy’s suggestion,” Spock admitted, “He said it is what you would do.”
“Spock, when I’m incapacitated, the final decisions on this ship are yours and yours alone.”
“I know, Captain.”
“Bones is right, though,” Kirk said. “It is what I would have done,” Jim quirked a smile and a wink. “Good decision.”
Spock’s face remained impassive, but to Kirk, he looked pleased.
“So, how long will I be lollygagging… uh… convalescing there? Do you know?” Kirk asked.
“Dr. McCoy estimates a minimum of 11 days.”
“11 days?!” Jim balked, “What in the human body takes 11 days to heal?!”
“Nerves, apparently, Captain,” Spock replied evenly, “According to Dr. McCoy, they are ‘finicky things.’”
Kirk gave a little chuckle hearing Bones’ words come out of Spock’s mouth. “Well, the good doctor knows best, I suppose. Where IS McCoy, anyway? My head hurts,” Jim complained, discovering the goose egg on his forehead and dried blood that for some reason hadn’t been cleaned off yet.
“I will have the nurse bring you something for your headache,” Spock said, flipping the wall comm and speaking briefly into it. Turning back towards Kirk, he reminded him, “The doctor is currently occupied coordinating your care plan with the medical facility on Starbase 4.”
“Oh, right. You told me that already, didn’t you?” Jim realized, pinching the bridge of his nose in pain and fatigue.
The nurse came in then and pressed a hypospray to his neck. “I’m sorry, Captain. I’ve been busy with the Andorians,” she said. “Minor injuries, mostly, but the mental trauma they sustained… I can’t do much about that, sadly, but I’m trying to be of some comfort. I’m glad their homeworld is sending a ship to Starbase 4 to bring them home,” she said. “They’ve been asking to see you and Mr. Spock. They want to thank you.”
Before the captain could reply, Mr. Spock stepped in to handle it. “You may tell them I will meet with them in Conference Room 3 at 16:30, Nurse,” Spock said. “I put Yeoman Brecht in charge of assigning them guest quarters and seeing to their comfort.”
“Yes, Sir. I’ve been coordinating with him,” she replied, moving to clean the dried blood from Kirk’s head wound. “Has the hypo taken effect yet, Captain? How is your pain level?”
“Much better. Thank you,” he smiled appreciatively.
“If you have any more discomfort anywhere or need anything, Captain, please call me. Don’t try to get up; Dr. McCoy has your leg nerves blocked with a sedative to prevent pain and further deterioration. Oh, and you’re on a liquid diet for the time being.”
“Hm, lovely,” Jim sighed with a frown. “Thank you, Nurse,” he called as she disappeared through the doorway, leaving Kirk and Spock alone again.
“We have Andorians aboard?” Jim asked cautiously, not wanting to alarm Spock that his memory was not 100%.
“Captain, do you not recall the circumstances of your injuries?” Spock asked, raising an eyebrow and chastising himself for not inquiring sooner.
“Um, no, not completely,” Jim realized. Over the course of their five-year mission, Kirk had woken up on his back in Sickbay more times than he cared to count. Funny how this time he’d forgotten to even ask how he got here.
“There was a cave-in….” Jim began tentatively, flinching as he remembered the painful force of large boulders pummeling his body. He couldn’t get away. The ceiling was collapsing, burying him. Spock! Spock, stay back! He saw his First Officer running toward him, green blood covering his chest.
“You were hurt!” Kirk exclaimed suddenly, “Your chest was bloody.” He instinctively reached his hand out toward Spock, who was just beyond arm’s reach.
“No, Captain,” Spock quickly corrected him, “It was paint. My captors had been preparing me for ritual sacrifice. It was only ceremonial paint,” he repeated to reassure Jim. The captain had pulled his hand back, but his eyes were still wide from the glimpsed memory.
It seemed to Spock that more than 21.3 hours had passed since he’d been held prisoner in that damp cell, afraid for his life, shirt stripped off, at the mercy of primitive beings twice his size and strength. He had suppressed the emotional component of the experience temporarily to maintain his efficiency while in command. He would need to meditate tonight before sleeping.
“Ritual sacrifice? They were going to kill you?” Kirk asked, “Why? How?”
Spock opened the memories at Kirk’s request, “From the petroglyphs in the underground hallways and chamber where I was held, I surmised that the sacrificial victims have their throats ceremonially cut while hanging upside down. Their blood is collected and offered to deities in the hopes of favor. There are examples of cultures like this in both Terran and Vulcan prehistory.”
Kirk nodded, frowning.
“The Andorians,” Spock continued, “have no precedent for ritual sacrifice in their planet’s history, and were terrified beyond rational thought. I tried to effect a rescue but could not. Then, I was captured and moved to a separate holding area, where you found me.”
“I found you?” Kirk asked.
“Yes, Captain. You do not remember?”
“I remember receiving orders from Starfleet Command to investigate the disappearance of an Andorian research vessel…,” he paused for a few seconds, seemingly lost, so Spock continued.
“We proceeded to the last known coordinates of the vessel and sensors revealed it had crashed on a small, arid moon. The ship had a complement of 24, but we found no bodies or signs of survivors,” Spock prompted.
“They’d been taken underground,” Jim remembered, “by those large creatures.”
“Yes,” Spock confirmed. “We couldn’t beam them up through rock containing complex sulfosalts, so a team had to be sent in to get them. I led it.”
“It went wrong, though,” Jim ventured. The memory was there, but he needed Spock to help him bring it into focus.
“Yes,” Spock said, glancing from Kirk’s bruised face to the floor and back up again. He endeavored to be truthful and accurate with his captain 100% of the time, but he really didn’t want to be relating his mistakes and failings right now. He needed to concentrate on his duties, attend to a dozen things that were competing for his attention as the current commander of the Enterprise… but he couldn’t leave his captain alone with so many questions. He saw that it frustrated him to have holes in his memory, so Spock would do his best to fill them.
“I was in command of the landing party,” Spock explained, “which included Commander Scott, Lieutenant Uhura, and Ensign Chekov. Once we discovered evidence that the Andorian crew had been taken by force into underground tunnels, we investigated…,” Spock trailed off.
Kirk looked at him expectantly, so he continued. “Two hundred feet into the tunnels, we heard screaming. It sounded like a large group and some of the words being shouted were from an Andorian dialect. We drew closer and got a glimpse of their captors: hairy, ape-like bipeds, approximately twice the size of a man. They dwarfed the Andorians they were guarding.”
“The captured Andorians continued screaming. One of their crew was hanging by her ankles. Her body was painted with the same green paint you saw on me later. She was alive at that point, but I… I could not…,” Spock’s narrative tapered off. “Captain, may we continue this after I meet with the Andorians at 16:30? It is 14:15 now and I have many duties to attend to before then,” Spock said.
“Of course, Spock,” Jim granted, “I’ve kept you long enough. Go mind the store.” He could wait for the rest of the story. He wasn’t in command and it didn’t sound like he was going to be anytime soon. “I need to go back to sleep anyway; McCoy’s sedatives are tugging at my eyelids. I’ll call the nurse if I need anything.”
“Very well, Captain. Thank you,” Spock replied, and then he was gone.
Jim hoped he was holding up all right. He was glad that Spock had somehow escaped being injured in the cave-in, but it sounded like he’d had some harrowing experiences of his own.
Jim was tired. Engaging with Spock always held his attention, but with the room empty now and the rhythm of his heartbeat on the monitor, he let his eyes fall shut. I hope Spock gets a chance to rest soon, he thought before sliding into a peaceful sleep.
***
Several hours later, Kirk awoke to Scotty whispering rather loudly from the Sickbay doorway, “Captain? Are ya sleepin’ or no?”
“No, Mr. Scott. Come in,” Jim answered.
“How are ya feelin’, Sir? I canna git anyone to give me an update on yer condition,” he complained. “Dr. McCoy is busy, Mr. Spock is busy…. So, I decided to just drop in an’ see for m’self.”
“I’m fine, Scotty,” Kirk smiled as his chief engineer came closer.
“We’re squeezin’ warp 8 outta the engines to git ya to Starbase 4 on the double, Sir.”
“Thank you, Mr. Scott. I appreciate it.”
“So, you’re needin’ surgery only a starbase can provide ya with, then?” Scotty asked, and Kirk realized he really was in the dark.
“A boulder crushed my hip in the cave-in. It caused nerve damage that McCoy can’t fix,” Kirk explained.
“Aye, is that so?” Scotty considered soberly, concern written across his face. Then he smiled and said, “Well, if our good doctor canna mend ya, I’m glad there are docs nearby who can. If I could git ya there faster, Captain, I surely would.”
“Thanks, Scotty,” Jim said, returning his smile. “The prognosis is good, as long as the nerve regeneration procedure begins within 72 hours of the injury. At least that’s what Spock told me McCoy told him. I haven’t actually seen Bones yet since I woke up from surgery. He sent Spock to brief me.”
“Well, since Mr. Spock’s memory is perfect, I reckon ya got as good a rundown as McCoy woulda given ya.”
“So, Bones has been really busy, huh? With the Andorians?” Jim probed.
“Aye, those poor blue devils. That young lassie, the one who dinna make it… she was their engineer,” Scotty said, hanging his head and shaking it slowly. “Andorians mourn hard. I dinna realize.”
“Scotty, can I tell you something, confidentially?” Kirk asked suddenly, frustrated at not understanding things at the level he wanted to.
“Certainly, Sir,” Scotty answered.
“Pull up a chair, Scotty. Only Spock can stand at my bedside that long.”
Scotty offered a little chuckle as he sat down, then put on a serious face again as he waited for Kirk to begin.
Jim cut straight to the chase. “Scotty, I don’t remember some of the events from yesterday. Spock was trying to fill in the gaps for me, but his duties pulled him away before I got a complete picture of what happened. Since you were there, I’m wondering if you could give me just a quick overview of events.”
“Aye, Sir.” Scotty’s eyes were full of sympathy, as they flicked briefly to the goose egg and abrasion on the Captain’s forehead. “It’s a wonder yer even alive, the way ya looked when Spock carried ya outta there.”
“Spock carried me out? After the cave-in?” Jim asked.
“Aye. He dug ya out alone, and carried ya nearly 500 ft to the mouth of the tunnel system. I’d already beamed up with the Andorians we’d freed and was mannin’ the transporter controls m’self, so the second you two emerged from underground, I could grab ya.
“Seein’ ya on the transporter pad was shockin’. Mr. Spock’s eyes were wild and you looked like a dead man in his arms… Beggin’ yer pardon, Captain,” Scotty bowed his head and looked embarrassed to have worded it that way, but continued, “Dr. McCoy left the Andorians with M’Benga and began emergency surgery on ya within minutes. Ya were in right dreadful shape, Captain.”
“Yes,” Jim said, his voice grave, “Spock gave me a laundry list of my injuries shortly after I woke up today.”
“I’m glad the doctor could heal most of ‘em at least,” Scotty offered. “Are ya in any pain right now, Sir?”
“No. Strong pain killers and sedatives are onboard…. If I nod off while we’re talking, don’t be offended,” Kirk joked.
Scotty chuckled.
“So, we rescued the Andorians on our second attempt, correct?” Jim asked.
Scotty nodded.
“How did we do that,” Jim asked, “and what went wrong on the first attempt?”
“Well,” Scotty gathered his thoughts, “ya sent the first landin’ party down to inspect the crashed research vessel after ship’s sensors had located it on that moon. We reported that it looked to us like the crew had been forced from their ship and marched away toward some caves, so ya ordered Mr. Spock to investigate.”
“Spock told me the landing party was about 200 ft inside the first tunnel when you started hearing screams,” Kirk said.
“Aye. Screamin’ like banshees they were, like they were dyin’. Well ya canna ignore that, now can ya? So we rushed toward the screams and saw an awful scene where the tunnel opened onto a chamber. That wee lass was hangin’ by her ankles from a kind of giant scaffold, and one of those hairy beasties near her was wavin’ a knife in the air.” Scotty paused, gripped by the memory. “Her crewmates were goin’ insane with panic. They were restrained and couldna help her. She was still alive, her upper body covered in a green paint.”
“The color of Vulcan blood,” Jim whispered grimly, remembering his visceral reaction to the memory of the paint on Spock’s chest.
“Um, aye,” Scotty confirmed, glancing sideways, a bit confused.
“The first person I saw with paint on his chest was Spock, and I thought that he… the color was so…,” Jim explained with a tight mouth.
“Ah, aye,” Scotty said, “That musta been a shock.”
“So, what happened next, Scotty?” Kirk wanted to keep this ball rolling. He was starting to feel sleepy again. These damn drugs.
“Well, the beastie with the knife started chantin’ and movin’ it toward the lassie’s throat and another one of those shaggies placed a large bowl underneath where she was hangin’… like they were gonna cut her head off or something!”
It brought to Scotty’s mind the planet Argelius and the lovely girl he’d been accused of murdering on that otherwise peaceful world. He buried the thought. Now wasn’t the time.
“Go on, Scotty,” Jim prompted. The next part of the story was what he was most eager to hear. Somehow, Spock had been captured, and the Andorian engineer killed. What had happened? Jim wondered.
“It was the most unfortunate thing, Captain. Our phasers wouldna fire! None of them! Mr. Spock had us fanned out along the dark walls of the chamber, waitin’ for his signal to fire. There was so much commotion and all eyes were on the… ceremonial proceedings,” the corners of Scotty’s mouth turned down in disgust. “We weren’t seen nor heard for a few seconds and Spock had the best position for the first shot, deep into the chamber. He was aimin’ for the knife-wieldin’ beastie from about 15 feet away and signaled for Uhura, Chekov, and m’self to cover him and stun whichever of those monsters became a problem after the first one dropped. I suppose Mr. Spock intended for us to stun as many shaggies as we had to. From our positions in the dark, they wouldna even know what was happenin’ to them or where it was comin’ from. Then, we could lead the Andorians out of there and beam up before the natives woke up. It was a good plan, but it all went south.”
“We had already realized our communicators were inoperative in the caves, but it really hadna occurred to me that our phasers might let us down, too. Mr. Spock fired and nothin’ happened. He fired again and nothin’. We all started firin’ at the main target and NOTHIN’… except a noise. Our weapons still made the typical phaser-fire noise and with all of us firin’ at once, even in the din of that cave chamber, the beasties heard us. Spock was surrounded right away, but the rest of us were close enough to the tunnel opening to make a run for it. Spock shouted for us to get back to the ship and report. We dinna know what those beasties were gonna do to him, and we still wanted to save the lass, but those creatures were twice our size and without phasers, we couldna do anything but retreat.” Scotty’s face reflected the defeat he had felt at the time. He hung his head. “You’ll have to ask Spock what happened after that, Sir. I hope he dinna have to watch that poor lass die. He dinna tell ya?”
“No,” Kirk said, looking troubled.
“I’m so sorry we left him there, Captain,” Scotty said, gripping his hands tightly together on his lap.
“Orders like that are hard to follow, Scotty, but you did the right thing,” Kirk reassured him.
“Thank ya, Captain,” Scotty said, looking straight into his face with a curious expression. “That is almost verbatim what you said to me in the conference room yesterday after we beamed up and reported to ya. Are ya beginnin’ to remember, Sir?”
“No,” Jim admitted. “I guess I’m just… still… me,” he said with a small, warm smile.
“Aye, Sir. Indeed ya are.” Scotty returned the affectionate smile, which said that he greatly admired the person his captain was.
“If you don’t mind me keeping you here a little longer, Scotty,” Kirk said, “can I ask you a few more questions?” Jim gave the most beautiful smile that he knew no one could refuse.
Scotty was now several minutes late for supper with Lt. Hartman and Ens. Xi from Engineering. They would understand, he decided.
“Certainly, Captain,” he said, settling himself more comfortably into his chair so his body language didn’t say, I have somewhere else to be.
“What happened on the second landing party mission? Before I got hurt in the cave-in,” Jim asked.
“Well, the first thing ya should know is ya saved 23 Andorians! They are very grateful, despite their grief over their lost engineer. Uhura has been in contact with Starfleet Command and the leadership of the Andorian homeworld and word is there’ll be commendations,” Scotty winked.
“How did I get them out, Scotty?” Kirk asked.
There was a twinkle in Scott’s eye as he answered, “Well, there was a wee bit of Scottish ingenuity involved, if ya donna mind me boastin’ some, Sir.”
“By all means, Mr. Scott.” Kirk grinned and motioned that the floor was all his.
“Well, Sir, you know how anthropologists use duckblinds to study pre-warp cultures from a secret, tucked-away lab without bein’ seen?”
“A forcefield that simulates a natural rockface? Yes, I’ve seen those,” Kirk replied.
“Well, I made a portable one!” Scotty said, beaming with pride. “I made three actually, after testin’ me prototype to make sure it would function inside the tunnels. Each hand-held unit created the illusion of a rock wall about 18 ft long and 7 ft tall, so our people could move along the actual walls of the tunnels, projectin’ a false wall on their other side, renderin’ them essentially cloaked!” Scotty looked very pleased with himself.
“So why did your duckblind devices work down there if the transporter and phasers wouldn’t?” Kirk asked.
“Oh, Sir,” Scotty looked dismayed at the prospect of having to explain that which non-engineers would have little chance of understanding.
“Okay, Mr. Scott,” Kirk conceded, reading his face, “Just tell me the rest of the story.”
Scotty took a breath and continued, “You beamed down with us this time, Sir, and usin’ these devices, we went back in stealthily, huggin’ the walls, to look for the Andorians and Mr. Spock. We found the Andorians first, all together. They’d been moved to a smaller room with steel gates, held together by chains.”
“We knew the creatures could smelt, because we’d seen that metal knife earlier, but we were a wee bit surprised to see metal gates and chains. They seem so brutish, like animals, but they are intelligent. We hadn’t seen any of the creatures so far this time, so you sent Chekov back outside to call the ship and have them replicate a good old-fashioned crowbar. When the laddie returned with it, you used it to break the chains. The Andorians said their engineer had been killed and they dinna know where Spock was bein’ held. We got them out and lined ‘em up single-file against the tunnel wall, behind the duckblind forcefields, and presto! Invisible.”
“It worked like a charm… until the first sign of a beastie. Then, the Andorians couldna be quiet to save their lives… literally. They started shriekin’ in fear. I thought our haggis was in the fire for sure, but listen to this part,” Scotty continued, “To those shaggies, it looked like the shrieks were comin’ from nowhere, from completely empty halls, and it scared the livin’ daylights outta them! So much so that they turned tail and ran down toward the deeper levels,” Scotty chuckled. “If that wasna somethin’ to see! Their eyes were big as saucers. Maybe they thought the angry spirits of their victims had come back for revenge!”
Kirk chuckled. He was really enjoying being with Scotty. His miracle worker was funny and could tell a good story, even about such a serious topic.
Mr. Scott went on, “We kept the Andorians movin’ steadily along the wall, and when it was obvious we were gonna make a clean escape, you ran back down the tunnel with the crowbar to search for Mr. Spock, orderin’ me to get everyone to the ship and then stand by to beam you up as soon as you emerged with him. All I can tell ya from that point on is what happened up on the ship. You’ll be needin’ to ask Mr. Spock the rest,” Scotty concluded.
“Well, thank you, Mr. Scott. Now, go type all that up and submit it,” Kirk cracked a smile. “I’m joking. You know you have five days. I should probably give you seven since I made you do an oral report, too.”
Scotty’s eyes twinkled. He was always happy to help his captain, “I do hope yer memories come back, Sir. Mighty disconcertin’ feelin’, I imagine.” He thought again of Argelius and how his total lack of memory had made it impossible to defend himself against the murder charge.
“You don’t have to imagine, do you Scotty?” Kirk asked gently.
“No, Sir,” he admitted, eyes downcast. Captain Kirk had been so wonderful during that whole, miserable affair. How many people would believe a man was innocent who was holding a bloody knife, with a dead body at his feet, and saying, “I don’t remember what happened,” he wondered. James Kirk had believed him. Through all of the insulting theories that had been proffered, like he was secretly angry with women and had snapped, Captain Kirk stood by him, knowing him for the gentle, innocent man that he was. If Kirk hadn’t already had Scotty’s loyalty, he would have earned it on Argelius.
Thinking of their history made Scotty suddenly think to ask, “Are any of your memories missin’ from before yesterday, Captain?”
“No, just yesterday, I think,” Kirk shrugged.
“Well, that’s a wee blessin’, at least. A ton of rock fell on yer noggin, after all! I wouldna worry m’self too much about a few missin’ memories when you’re lucky to be with us at all,” Scott offered.
“Well put, Scotty,” Kirk conceded. “I’ve got 11 days of convalescing coming up on Starbase 4. That should give me plenty of time to read everyone’s reports,” Kirk joked. “Go get some dinner, Scotty. I need sleep,” he yawned. “Thanks for stopping by. I’ll see you later.”
“Goodnight, Captain. Rest well,” said Scotty, scooting his chair away from the biobed, back against the wall where it had been when he arrived. That was Scotty. Such a stickler for order, almost as much so as Mr. Spock.
Spock, where are you? What are you doing right now?
Kirk was momentarily tempted to push the shipwide comm button and say with authority, “Mr. Spock, report to Sickbay.” He smiled at that notion, but quickly dismissed it. Spock would come immediately, of course, so would McCoy if Jim called, but the Enterprise was a busy ship right now and his officers had the burden of running it without their captain. He could wait. It was nice to see Scotty, and as the Sickbay door whooshed closed behind his engineer, Jim set his illumination controls to Night and let his eyelids slide shut.
Before he fell asleep, however, he heard a second whoosh, then some muffled voices from the other room.
“…yes, Doctor, he’s had 4cc of… the vitals have been… not that I’ve noticed….”
Either Bones or M’Benga was out there in the Sickbay office, conferring with the nurse.
“…and that’s damn lucky, isn’t it? I’m not a magician, just an old country doctor,” a gruff voice complained.
Bones. Jim smiled to himself in the dark and turned his illumination controls to 25%. “Bones,” he called out.
“Jim! How’re you feeling? Did I wake you up? I apologize for taking so long to get back here,” McCoy said in one breath, rounding the corner and hurrying to Jim’s bedside.
“Don’t worry about it, Bones,” Jim said, “Busy day for all, I’m told. How are our guests?”
McCoy rubbed the back of his neck and shook his head, “Those blue bastards really have their antennas in a bunch after the trauma they’ve suffered. I’m a surgeon, not a psychiatrist, but M’Benga and I and the nurses have been doing our best with them. God, man! The wailing. The wailing has really got my nerves on edge, let me tell you,” McCoy huffed, pacing a bit, “I couldn’t do an autopsy on their engineer, for obvious reasons, but since 23 people witnessed the cause of death…,” McCoy shrugged.
“23?” Jim asked, “Then Spock didn’t see it?”
“Oh, I don’t know for sure. I haven’t directly asked him, and the Andorian accounts are all over the place. There are almost as many different descriptions of events as there are Andorians, but most seem to agree that Spock had been knocked out by then. The Andorian captain, who got his emotions in check a bit quicker than the rest of them, told me Spock broke away from those creatures and even got control of the knife for a few seconds, trying to save her, but was picked up and thrown against the cave wall and didn’t get up.”
Jim winced reflexively.
“After I heard that, I found Spock and ran a scanner over him again, but he was fine,” McCoy said. “He denied ever being unconscious, so I’m not sure what happened really.”
“I’m not clear on a lot of things, Bones. I’m having memory trouble,” Jim told him.
“Oh?” said McCoy, coming closer and looking concerned.
“Just the events of yesterday. Some I can recall and some I can’t. Scotty says I shouldn’t worry about it,” Jim said.
“Oh, he does, does he? Maybe you should let the Chief Medical Officer and not the Chief Engineer decide that,” McCoy grumped. “That slight concussion was the least of your worries yesterday, Jim. It’s possible I overlooked something,” the doctor said, contrite. “Stay right there,” he instructed, as he ducked back into the Sickbay office.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Jim called after him, good-naturedly.
Bones came back with a different kind of scanner and ran it carefully over Kirk’s forehead, crown, and temples. “Hm, your brain activity reads normal. If memory loss persists past tomorrow, we can have the Starbase 4 team give you a Level 12 scan.” He paused. “There’s a lot that we starship surgeons can do, but still a lot that we can’t, obviously. I’m sorry about that, Jim.” He looked sorry… and so, so tired. Leonard McCoy, with his endless compassion and devotion to his profession. Not being able to get the captain back on his feet like usual was quite a blow to him, Jim imagined.
“Your surgical skill saved my life, Bones. What’s a few days in a starbase med clinic?” Jim shrugged nonchalantly and shot him a grin.
McCoy had conferred with the experts on Starbase 4, discussing every aspect of Jim’s treatment plan, backward and forward. He had a solid plan to present to his captain.
“Did Spock tell you we’ll be there for 11 days?” he began.
“Yep,” Jim replied without complaint.
“I know you hate being laid up, Jim, and 11 days down is not going to be easy on you, but it can’t be helped.”
“I understand, Bones. ‘Nerves are finicky things,’ or so Spock tells me,” Jim chuckled.
“He said that?! Why that pointy-eared dictaphone!” McCoy laughed. “When he relays a message, you’re gettin’ a perfect transcript, aren’t you? Ha!”
Jim grinned, then asked seriously, “You two getting along okay through this, Bones?”
“Aw, yeah. Spock has been the very model of efficiency, and if I can say so myself, so have I. Everything’s as good as it could be, Jim. Don’t worry,” he reassured. “The trains will run on time, even with you down for the count.”
They both smiled broadly at each other. Suddenly, Dr. McCoy’s smile quivered and fell. He looked down, somber. “It was really touch-and-go with you during surgery, Jim,” he blurted. “I almost couldn’t pull it off. When Spock gave you to me, I honestly think he believed you weren’t going to make it.”
Jim was taken off guard. “Oh?” he said. “When Spock briefed me on my injuries, they did sound bad, but he rattled them off so matter-of-factly…,” Jim trailed off.
“Spock estimated the boulder that crushed your hip weighed 300 lbs,” Bones began. “He said he had to use that crowbar you brought to get it off you. Even he couldn’t lift it! He knew you had multiple fractures and internal bleeding. No detectable pulse. I could tell by his face, he thought he might be bringing me a dead man.” McCoy stopped then, because Jim’s face looked like that was all he could handle right now.
“I’m sorry I worried you both so much, Bones. Thanks for the good work,” was all Jim could think to say. The thought of Spock carrying him all that way, thinking he might die, choked him up. He could picture Bones concentrating for all he was worth over the surgical table, trying to undo what a fluke accident had done to his captain’s body. He pinched his eyes shut.
They were both quiet for a few moments.
Then, partially to lighten the mood, Jim asked, “Can I have solid food now?”
McCoy laughed a little too loud as the tension left him, “No! Do you know how much blood I took out of your belly yesterday? Let’s not push it for another day or two. You’re getting all of your nutrients through the hypos the nurse has been giving you.”
“Oh, okay,” Kirk said. “I thought the reason for no food was because of my upcoming nerve surgery, maybe.”
“No,” McCoy corrected. “You can be on a normal diet throughout those procedures.”
“‘Procedures?’ As in plural?” Jim asked cautiously.
“I’m afraid so,” McCoy confirmed, “but it shouldn’t be bad… or at least that’s what the Mullovs are telling me.”
“Mullovs?” Jim asked.
“The husband and wife team who will be treating you, Elaina and Evgeny Mullov. Nerve repair and re-growth is their specialty. They say the treatments are non-invasive, so it’s not really surgery. They have to go a little bit at a time with a couple of days of natural growth in between treatments. By Day 9 or 10, they should be doing the final treatment, which they call ‘pruning’ the nerve overgrowth. Then, if all has gone well, they’ll release you to my care, I’ll certify you fit for duty, and we can hop back aboard our shiny ship and go find some more dangerous things to do.”
“Ha! Sounds good to me,” Jim said, then added more thoughtfully, “I don’t try to get hurt, you know.”
“I know, Jim,” McCoy said, his expression warm. “It’s just par for the course when you do what we’ve chosen to do for a living. You saved 23 Andorians and your first officer yesterday from sacrificial slaughter, for Heaven’s sakes! Let’s focus on that, shall we?”
As McCoy had been talking, he ducked into his office again and returned with a filled hypospray and a long syringe. The hypo he quickly pressed into Jim’s neck.
“This has everything you need to get through the night. You won’t feel hungry, you won’t feel pain, you won’t need to go to the little captains’ room,” he winked, “…because you’d fall on your face if you tried…, and you won’t lie awake mulling anything over because this is some strong stuff,” he concluded.
“What is that for?” Jim asked warily, his eyes glancing over to where McCoy had placed the long syringe.
“Well now, nothing gets past you, does it?” McCoy stalled. In 60 seconds, Jim wouldn’t care. “This is just a little something to keep what’s left of those nerves of yours plump and prepped for the re-gen procedure. The starbase doctors say that if the nerves completely die, and they have to start from scratch, you’d be looking at a longer recovery. So… this lovely needle is going in that lovely hip as soon as those lovely eyes of yours are closed.”
McCoy finished preparing the equipment and glanced up at Jim who had a silly, sleepy grin now.
“Bones?”
“Yes, Jim?”
“Nerves are finicky thi…” and he was asleep.
Smiling at his friend, McCoy said, “Goodnight, sweet prince.”
Syringe in hand, he gently pulled back Jim’s sheet and proceeded as the nerve experts on Starbase 4 had instructed.