Fic: "Perspectives", Part 3 of 6 (Kirk/McCoy)
Title: "Perspectives" (3/6)
Author: mijan
Rating: PG-13
Summary: "Hell, I know I've lost people. I'm a doctor. It happens." McCoy looked up bleakly. "I can't lose Jim."
Canon: Based in ST:XI, strongly influenced by TOS.
Characters: McCoy, Kirk, Spock, with ensemble appearances by Sulu, Uhura, a couple of random Ensigns, and most of the medical staff.
Notes: My immense thanks to my beta reader,
classics_geek , and my test-reader,
red_rahl . You guys are awesome! Also, I'm posting earlier in the day because I am feeling stir-crazy. If I continue to feel stir-crazy, I might post the section after this before the end of the day.
Links: Part 1, Part 2
Disclaimer: Gene Roddenberry is God, Paramount Pictures is Pope, and this is blasphemy. Enjoy!
*********
Doctor McCoy was extremely quiet when Spock returned to sickbay. He merely looked up as Spock entered, face drawn and eyes clouded with distress, and said, “I’m sorry, Spock. And thank you.”
Spock merely said, “I understand, Doctor.” And he did.
With Horvat’s autopsy complete, Doctor M’Benga had been relieved as he had already been on duty for fourteen hours, and other staff had retreated from sickbay, leaving Chapel to manage the floor while McCoy nursed his research and solitude. He spoke no more than what was necessary to share information. He refined computer models of the toxin with the nerve cell receptors, then silently passed the updated versions to Spock, who would then synthesize a new antidote compound to match it, attempting to improve the results each time.
The process reminded Spock of his classes on the history of battle. Ancient Earth artillery units would take a shot at a target that was a "best guess," based on raw visual observation. Typically, the first shot would miss. Then, they would overshoot intentionally in the other direction and compare the two shots. Then they would overshoot in the first direction again, but by less. The process seemed exceedingly wasteful by modern standards, but it was quite effective. They had called it "bracketing." While the molecular structure of the proteins and receptors were far more complex than simple target practice, the methodology was similar. It was the systematic, controlled adjustment process towards a perfectly refined final product. Logical and predictably effective, yes, but also tedious and painstaking.
It also made it easier to appear as though he wasn't paying attention every time McCoy would suddenly jump out of his seat, hurry across sickbay, and compulsively check Kirk's vital signs.
Every so often, Nurse Chapel would come in with something for them both to drink. Spock accepted the beverage each time, seeing no reason to decrease his own mental acuity for lack of water and nutrition. However, the Doctor kept pushing his own cup to the side and grumbling that he didn't have time to eat. Finally, after nearly four hours, and the Nurse's third attempt to get McCoy to drink something, Spock felt the need to intervene.
"Doctor, if you are somehow attempting to punish yourself for the Captain's injuries by forgoing basic nutritional requirements, it seems prudent to remind you that you need to maintain your strength if you are to perform your duties optimally."
"How can you expect me to eat or drink anything at a time like this?" McCoy seemed as though he was trying to sound irritated, but he only succeeded in sounding tired. "Damn it, we've gone through eight testing cycles, and have only managed to prove that we have no idea how this nerve toxin really works. Jim's been on life support for seven hours now. Spock, maybe you have a cast-iron stomach to match your computerized brain, but humans can't eat when we're nervous."
Spock had learned enough about human psychology to understand that in times like this, brief and simple suggestions were safest. It would allow McCoy to speak his mind, which, Spock suspected, was what he really needed. "If your stomach is upset, then perhaps you could administer yourself an anti-nausea treatment."
At that, McCoy actually laughed, though not happily. "It's not that easy, Spock." He sighed and spun around, putting his back towards the computer screen. He leaned his head in his hands. "In three years at the academy and two years floating around in this godforsaken hell of space, I've patched Jim up dozens of times. Black eyes, broken bones, phaser blasts, concussions, contusions, lacerations, and more than a few cases of alcohol poisoning - I'm used to that with Jim. I know how to fix him. I’ve always been able to fix him. Hell, I know I've lost people. I'm a doctor. It happens." He looked up bleakly. "I can't lose Jim."
"Then we shall continue to work on formulating an antidote."
"But what if it doesn't work? What if we're too late?" McCoy's eyes looked glassy and dazed. "You didn't hear him, Spock. He said 'You promise me, Bones.' He was joking about sex, but I know him well enough to know what he meant. He was asking me to promise that I'd save his life."
"And I am certain that you gave him appropriate reassurance."
"No." The word came out as a grunt.
Spock raised an eyebrow in surprise.
McCoy nodded miserably. "No, I didn't. I had a dying man on the table - I had Jim on the table - who just needed the most basic piece of comfort a patient can ask for. He asked me to promise that I'd save him, and I couldn't even say 'yes.' I didn't say anything. And it's eating me alive."
"Your anxiety is understandable, Doctor. He has been your best friend for several years."
"He's more than that, Spock," McCoy said so softly Spock had to lean closer to hear him. "He's the closest thing to family I've got left." His voice dropped even lower. “And I never told him.”
McCoy's words hung in the air until a soft but insistent beeping from across sickbay broke the silence. McCoy jumped up in a panic and took two steps towards Kirk's bed, only to stop when it became clear that the beeping was coming from the other direction.
"Doctor, I believe Ensign Ross is awakening," Spock said, already walking quickly towards her bed as she began to stir.
McCoy was by her side seconds later, already scanning her with a tricorder. “It’s okay, Ensign. Just relax for a moment.” He already sounded calmer, as if soothed by the simple act of working with a patient who wasn’t on the brink of death.
“Doctor McCoy… Commander Spock… how did I… oh. Sickbay.” Her eyes went wide. “Ensign Horvat! Is he okay? What happened? Oh God, please tell me he’s okay.”
McCoy glanced up at Spock briefly, his face grim, before looking back down at Ross. “I’m sorry Ensign.”
She screwed up her face and squeezed her eyes shut, clearly trying not to cry. “Just tell me he wasn’t in any pain.”
“No, he wasn’t in any pain,” McCoy said softly. “The toxin he was exposed to was like an anaesthetic. He just fell asleep.”
Ross nodded, then opened her eyes, which were red and slightly bloodshot. “What happened to me?”
Spock stood back and listened as McCoy explained the situation to the young Ensign. He watched the Doctor’s body language, noted the soft tone of his voice, and observed the gentleness of his hands as he guided Ross to sit up. Leonard McCoy was certainly an emotional man, but Spock suspected he would not be such a good doctor without that. At least, not such a good doctor for human beings. The bedside manner seemed to assist the healing process.
After another quick scan, McCoy declared that her system had purged the remaining toxin, and then he called for Nurse Chapel.
“Nurse, please monitor Ensign Ross for another half hour, but get her to walk around and get her blood moving again. Maybe go for a walk around the deck.”
The Nurse smiled knowingly. “Yes, Doctor. Come on, dear. Let’s go for a walk.”
Once they had left sickbay, McCoy gave a deep sigh. "Poor kid."
Spock had to entertain his curiosity. “I have a question, Doctor, if I may.”
“Go ahead, Spock.”
“Is it prudent for your Nurse to take a healthy patient for a walk when we might need her assistance here at any time?”
“Humans need two types of healing, Spock. We don’t have shrinks on this space-faring tin can, so nurses and doctors do the best we can to heal the body, and if we have any time or strength left, to heal the mind and soul. Maybe Vulcans can ignore that part of medicine, but I can't.”
“We approach it differently, Doctor, but I do understand your point."
McCoy shook his head, clearly to himself, as he lightly clapped Spock on the shoulder. “Come on, Spock. We’ve got a puzzle to solve.”
At first, McCoy seemed somewhat refreshed and able to focus on the task at hand more clearly. As another hour ticked away, however, he became progressively more irritable. Finally, after yet another fruitless test, he slammed his hand down on the table.
“This isn’t working,” he said, glaring at the reaction matrix as if he could cause the proteins to bond by sheer force of will.
“Doctor, this methodology is sound. If we deviate from this technique and attempt to create an antidote by random guessing, we could conceivably fabricate the correct compound in one hour, or one week. I do not believe that is acceptable. Our current technique is a proven method.”
“Then why isn’t it working, Spock? Take a look at our results! Not even a marginal reaction curve! Nothing! The compound you just formulated has no more effect than the one you tried five hours ago.” He clenched his fists and pressed the knuckles of his right hand against his mouth as he continued to stare at the screen. “We’re missing something. I know we’re missing something.”
“What could we be missing, Doctor? We are analyzing the structure of the toxin and its receptor molecule and formulating the appropriate compound to neutralize the toxin.” He tipped his head thoughtfully. “We have the lock, and we simply need to create the key.”
“No… no, we don’t have the lock. This doesn’t look right.” He slammed his fists again. “Damn it, it’s not right!”
Spock sat silently, watching McCoy intently, but unsure how to respond to this outburst.
For several seconds, McCoy simply stared at his own two fists on the table. Then he frowned. Then his cheek twitched. Slowly, he raised his hands off the table. Keeping his right hand clenched in a fist, he opened his left hand and rested his fist in the cup of his palm, slowly curving the fingers of his left hand around his fist, like a pair of molecules fitting together, but not exactly. He stared for a few seconds, then glanced over at the flower sample sitting in the analyzer, then his eyes went wide. “Spock,” he whispered, then yelled, “SPOCK!”
“I am right here, Doctor.”
He jumped out of his seat and waved his clasped hands in Spock’s face. “Don’t you see it?”
“Your hands?”
“No, you logic-addled computer, the toxin! It’s missing a part!”
Spock frowned. “If I am logic-addled, then perhaps that would explain why I find your logic illogical.”
McCoy glared incredulously.
Spock furrowed his eyebrows. “We have taken the toxin sample directly from the flower, and -”
“And that’s the problem! We need to take another look at a sample from a person who’s been contaminated with it. The structure will be different, I guarantee it, and I’ll bet I know why!” He all but ran to Horvat’s body, deactivated the stasis field around it, grabbed his tricorder, and began scanning. “If my guess is correct, the molecule in his body is different than the one in that flower. We’ve been formulating the antidote against the molecule in the flower, but testing it against the model based on the scans of the Captain and Ensign Horvat. We never bothered to analyze the toxin directly in their bodies.”
“Doctor, if you are correct, then from where would the missing part have originated?”
“There! Right there!” He hit a few buttons to transfer the data to the main computer and pulled up a diagram on the screen. “Look! The red part is what matches the molecule in the flower. The section in green is the cell’s receptor. Do you see that third part? Take a look! There’s your linear Vulcan logic holding you back! What are you going to say about human intuition now, huh Spock?”
The results of the scan were absolutely clear. Doctor McCoy's wild hypothesis had been unequivocally proven correct. He turned to McCoy and said simply, "Lucky guess."
McCoy scowled at him. "Cheeky bastard."
Spock ignored the jibe. "We have ascertained that there is another molecule present, but we do not have any of this substance in its unaltered state. If we are to model this substance and back-engineer an antidote from it, we will need to find the source of the compound and collect a sample."
“Well, I suppose we - NO.” McCoy’s eyes went wide. “You want to go down to that death trap of a planet again, don’t you?”
“I can see no other logical way to obtain a sample of this compound.”
McCoy shook his head as though trying to dislodge something from his ears. “Spock, has your circuit board blown a fuse? We were down there for what - half an hour? We lost one man, almost lost another, and poisoned two more.”
“And if you will notice, I was not affected.”
McCoy turned his head to the side and his upper lip wrinkled. “I knew we’d find proof someday that you’re an android.” He looked back at Spock. "There has to be an alternative."
"I can think of no alternatives. In order to synthesize an antidote, the complete chemistry of the toxin must be known. For that, we require a sample of the original toxin."
McCoy folded his arms across his chest and fidgeted, refusing to make eye contact.
"There is no other way to save the Captain."
Another few seconds passed, then McCoy made a sound between a sigh and a grunt. "I’m not letting you go down there alone.”
“I had not intended to go alone, Doctor. I was planning to ask Lieutenant Sulu to join me.”
With a sudden huff, McCoy turned around, grabbed his emergency kit, and started tossing stuff into it. Spock watched him curiously. “Doctor, if I might ask -”
“I’m coming with you, you suicidal nut.”
Spock decided that it was better not to argue.
*********
Fifteen minutes later, McCoy, Sulu, and Spock were on the transporter pad, all wearing level-3 containment suits, as McCoy had demanded. Nurse Chapel had been charged with constant observation of the Captain, and told that if there was any change in his vital signs, she should contact McCoy immediately. Although he had not yet told the others of the issue raised by Lieutenant Uhura, Spock had instructed her to contact him directly if she observed any changes in the transmissions from the planet's surface during the away mission.
“I still believe that the protective gear is unnecessary for me, Doctor,” Spock said again, “and it may interfere with my ability to make unhindered observations.”
“What’s wrong, Spock? Are your ears too crowded in that hood?”
“Not at all, Doctor.”
“Then stop complaining and let’s do this before I change whatever's left of my mind.”
Knowing that further discussion would be both futile and time-consuming, Spock conceded. “Mr. Scott, energize.”
He thought he heard McCoy grumble, "God, I hate transporters," just before they dematerialized.
The sun was low in the sky at the landing site, casting deep shadows through the woods. Spock pulled out his tricorder and began taking readings as he walked towards the edge of the clearing. "We have approximately 52 minutes until sunset, which would make this mission more hazardous, so we should move quickly. The site where Ensign Horvat was poisoned is approximately 65 meters in this direction." He strode off into the woods, knowing that the rest of his team was following close behind him.
"Commander," Sulu called from behind, "I'm getting some distinct readings from some of the plants… uh… organisms here. They definitely fit the pattern I anticipated after studying that flower."
"Then they are indeed more animal-like in nature than our original observations had indicated?"
"Yes, sir. I'm scanning for key biomarkers… getting preliminary results."
McCoy cut in from further back. "Are either of you picking up any traces of that toxin component?"
"Not yet, Doctor," Sulu replied. "Plenty of organic compounds in the air, many of them similar to other biochemical signals used by sessile plant-like animals. Trying to narrow the search field."
"We do not yet know if the compound we seek is airborne," Spock reminded them. "But it is one possibility."
McCoy and Sulu continued to speak back and forth, exchanging information, but Spock was too busy focusing on two separate tasks to which he'd set himself on this away mission. Firstly, he was searching for the compound required to synthesize an antidote for the Captain. Secondly, he was searching for sentient life forms. Seeing as that was one of the primary missions of the Enterprise, it seemed prudent. Quietly, he activated his communicator. "Spock to Lieutenant Uhura."
"Uhura here. Go ahead, Commander."
"We are moving northwest from the landing site. Focus your scans on our location. Have there been any notable changes?"
"Minor fluctuations only, Commander. Nothing outside the patterns observed over the past several hours."
"Noted, Lieutenant. Contact me if anything changes. Spock out." He tucked away his communicator on his containment suit’s utility belt and pulled out his tricorder again. “Doctor, Lieutenant, we are approaching the area where Ensign Horvat was poisoned. I suggest we divide our surveys.”
“I’ll keep doing air sampling,” McCoy said. “You two play with those man-killing plants you seem to love.”
Spock began his own search by circling the tree where Horvat had been found. He looked at the tree and narrowed his eyes at the clusters of pink flowers on its branches. However, just like the sample in the medical lab, these flowers did not contain the other part of the toxin. Several other compounds his tricorder picked up fit the classification and general structure of the compound in the laboratory, including two that were being vented as vapors by pores in the leaves. He set the tricorder to analyze those as he took other observations.
Then, he set his tricorder for a closer scan of the tree. The only surface with thorns or excreted toxins seemed to be the petals of the flowers themselves. The trunk, however, appeared benign. No residues, no spines. More interesting than that, however, were the traces of myelin he was detecting in the core of the trunk.
“Commander Spock, this is Lieutenant Uhura.”
“This is Spock,” he said quietly.
“Commander, I’ve detected a slight increase in the intensity of the transmissions originating in your vicinity.”
“Noted. I may be close to isolating the compound, but I need to test a hypothesis. Please stand by.”
A quick glance back over his shoulder confirmed that McCoy and Sulu were thoroughly engrossed in their own observations. He should have just enough time. Quietly, casually, he wrapped his heft hand around the right-hand cuff of his containment suit and separated the glove from the sleeve. Moving slowly, he reached out and placed his fingers on the trunk of the tree, searching for a connection…
In a mental swirl of lights and colors, Spock found himself unable to find where he ended and the other organism began. It was a mind unlike any other mind he had ever contacted. Its entire perception of the world was something new and alien. It was sentient, defensive, proud, angry… then curious. So very curious…
He was snapped out of the connection physically as someone grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him around. It took him a moment to readjust his perceptions, and he recognized McCoy standing directly in front of him, livid inside his own containment suit. Sulu was standing off to the side, looking uneasy.
McCoy was cussing and scanning Spock with his tricorder. “God damn it, Spock! What kind of twisted logic is this? Do you think that just because you’re green too, you should be cavorting with the plants that killed your crewmate? Are you insane?”
He cleared his throat. “Not at all, Doctor. Based on my readings, the portion of the tree with which my hand made contact showed no signs of toxicity.”
That didn’t seem to diffuse McCoy’s wrath. “And I’m sure Horvat didn’t think the flower was deadly when he picked it up, either! Why on this devil-planet would you be daft enough to take that risk? What were you trying to do?”
“I was trying to make contact.”
“Make… what?” McCoy pulled back and stared at him, eyebrows furrowed. He looked at the tree and then back at Spock. “I’ve heard of people talking to their plants, but this is ridiculous.”
“Actually, Doctor, Spock may have a point,” Sulu said cautiously, clearly unsure whether it would be dangerous to get into the middle of their conversation. “I told you that some of these organisms have animal-like characteristics. Well… now that I’ve been able to survey the organisms in their entirety, it’s clear they’re very complex.”
Spock nodded slowly. “And sentient, Doctor.”
McCoy's mouth fell open. "What the hell… ?"
Just then, Spock’s communicator beeped.
“Uhura to Commander Spock.”
“Spock here. Go ahead Lieutenant.”
“The intensity of the signals from the planet’s surface is increasing exponentially. The area of the source is radiating outwards from your current location.”
“Understood. Does the signal itself pose any risk to us?”
“No, Commander.”
“Stand by.” Spock put his communicator back in his belt. “The signal detected by Lieutenant Uhura is the communication frequency used by these creatures. Yes, they appear to be sentient.”
Sulu actually grinned, but McCoy looked like he’d been back-handed. He blinked a few times, then looked down at Spock’s hand. “I didn’t detect any contamination, but put your damn glove back on.”
As Spock fastened the glove back onto the cuff, his tricorder began to beep. “Doctor, we seem to have found a match for the missing compound. It is an airborne compound released by pores in the leaves of the same tree that produces those flower.”
McCoy’s eye twitched, but other than that, he showed almost no emotional response. “Then collect a few of those leaves. I’ll take air samples. Then can we get the hell out of here?”
Spock inclined his head. “Absolutely, Doctor.”
*********
The atmosphere in the sickbay laboratory was woven thickly with the tension of one determined medical officer and one science officer working as quickly as possible to synthesize an antidote in a time window that would be considered impossible by most standards. The small delta-shift staff in sickbay kept clear of the laboratory, with only Nurse Emert running in with status reports on Kirk's condition, which was beginning to show signs of instability. At one point, Spock began to mention that the task would be almost unattainable, only to have McCoy all but rip his head off.
Jim doesn’t believe in no-win scenarios, Spock, and right now, neither do I.
After that, McCoy didn’t speak again for hours. He would hand his datapad to Spock silently, who would then transmit those results into the chemical synthesis computers. The modifications McCoy made with each attempt were quite liberal, but highly insightful, and they made rapid progress.
Time began to lose meaning. Even Spock ceased checking the clock; there was no point. The only thing that mattered was the next modification, the next test. The events down on the planet, the new race of sentient beings, and the translation of the strange signals being produced by the trees - those things were meaningless unless the Captain was revived.
After a lengthy period of time and nearly three dozen tests, a beeping monitor sent McCoy jumping out of his chair and running from the lab into the surgery and recovery ward. Nobody moved until he returned a few minutes later, his eyes tense but dry. "He's still stable. I've paged Nurse Chapel, and she's rested enough to come back, so she's on her way. Let's keep working."
Every minute felt both too long and too short, with the slow blinking of computer lights keeping time like a perverse metronome. The air from the ventilation system seemed stale and humid. Spock found himself barely able to keep pace with McCoy, who was working feverishly, only pausing occasionally to wipe his sleeve across his forehead. Spock had seen the Doctor give everything he had before on a patient, but never like this. He was quite convinced that McCoy wouldn't quit until he saved Kirk or reached the point of absolute collapse. Bearing witness to an effort such as this, Spock found himself able to accept the irrational human saying, "to give 110%."
And then, suddenly, McCoy sat up straight, put his hands on the workbench, and pushed his chair back. He was staring straight ahead, with deep circles under his eyes giving the appearance of a man on his last legs.
Spock furrowed his eyebrows and lead towards him. "Doctor McCoy, is something wrong? Are you unwell?"
McCoy shook his head. "Move over, Spock."
Spock obliged, but had to raise the point, "Doctor, I am perfectly capable of loading the next set of design parameters."
"I'm going to do it." It was a voice that would bear no argument.
With the parameters loaded, McCoy engaged the next test cycle. Nurse Chapel stepped into the lab and watched from the door. Spock found himself doing something illogical: hoping.
The computer began to generate a reaction curve. Before the graph was complete, Spock knew. "Doctor, I believe you have indeed done it."
He shook his head. "Not yet, Spock." He hit a few control buttons to start the synthesis process, then spun his chair around. "Nurse Chapel, prep the Captain for surgery. As soon as the antidote kicks in, we're going to need to get Jim off that machine and restart his heart."
She nodded, but frowned. "Doctor, you've been on duty for who knows how many hours, and you haven't stopped once. Perhaps we should call Doctor Carlson to -"
"No," McCoy said flatly. "Nobody is going to touch him but me."
She pressed her lips together, clearly nervous, but nodded and hurried off to the surgery ward.
Spock considered the situation. Although it was unlikely that McCoy would reconsider, and although this was the one area where mere rank could not trump McCoy's authority as CMO, Spock had to speak up. "Doctor, perhaps you should consider what Nurse Chapel has said. Her duty shift began hours after you had already been awake, and she has had periods of rest during this ordeal. You have not stopped for over twenty hours, with the exception of the brief period of time you spent unconscious due to a toxin."
"And that nap was too long, Spock," McCoy shot back. "You're not lying down and taking a break either."
"Vulcan physiology evolved under much more harsh conditions than human physiology, Doctor. I could continue to function adequately for over a week without sleep."
"And you'd be amazed at what humans can do when the shit hits the fan." He shook his head. "I have to do this. Nobody else in this flying circus has the skills I have. I can't leave something like this to anyone else. Not this. Not Jim. I'm wide awake, Spock. I've never been this awake in my life. Maybe I'll sleep for a week when this is over, but now -"
He was interrupted by the ping of the synthesizer, calling out like the bell for the final round of a fight. He reached down and withdrew the vial from the unit, which was now filled with the newly synthesized antidote. "Right now, I have to do this. Because that's Jim… and this is me."
With that, McCoy spun around and strode off to the surgery ward. Without a word, Spock followed.
*********
(To be continued...)
Author: mijan
Rating: PG-13
Summary: "Hell, I know I've lost people. I'm a doctor. It happens." McCoy looked up bleakly. "I can't lose Jim."
Canon: Based in ST:XI, strongly influenced by TOS.
Characters: McCoy, Kirk, Spock, with ensemble appearances by Sulu, Uhura, a couple of random Ensigns, and most of the medical staff.
Notes: My immense thanks to my beta reader,
classics_geek , and my test-reader,
red_rahl . You guys are awesome! Also, I'm posting earlier in the day because I am feeling stir-crazy. If I continue to feel stir-crazy, I might post the section after this before the end of the day.
Links: Part 1, Part 2
Disclaimer: Gene Roddenberry is God, Paramount Pictures is Pope, and this is blasphemy. Enjoy!
*********
Doctor McCoy was extremely quiet when Spock returned to sickbay. He merely looked up as Spock entered, face drawn and eyes clouded with distress, and said, “I’m sorry, Spock. And thank you.”
Spock merely said, “I understand, Doctor.” And he did.
With Horvat’s autopsy complete, Doctor M’Benga had been relieved as he had already been on duty for fourteen hours, and other staff had retreated from sickbay, leaving Chapel to manage the floor while McCoy nursed his research and solitude. He spoke no more than what was necessary to share information. He refined computer models of the toxin with the nerve cell receptors, then silently passed the updated versions to Spock, who would then synthesize a new antidote compound to match it, attempting to improve the results each time.
The process reminded Spock of his classes on the history of battle. Ancient Earth artillery units would take a shot at a target that was a "best guess," based on raw visual observation. Typically, the first shot would miss. Then, they would overshoot intentionally in the other direction and compare the two shots. Then they would overshoot in the first direction again, but by less. The process seemed exceedingly wasteful by modern standards, but it was quite effective. They had called it "bracketing." While the molecular structure of the proteins and receptors were far more complex than simple target practice, the methodology was similar. It was the systematic, controlled adjustment process towards a perfectly refined final product. Logical and predictably effective, yes, but also tedious and painstaking.
It also made it easier to appear as though he wasn't paying attention every time McCoy would suddenly jump out of his seat, hurry across sickbay, and compulsively check Kirk's vital signs.
Every so often, Nurse Chapel would come in with something for them both to drink. Spock accepted the beverage each time, seeing no reason to decrease his own mental acuity for lack of water and nutrition. However, the Doctor kept pushing his own cup to the side and grumbling that he didn't have time to eat. Finally, after nearly four hours, and the Nurse's third attempt to get McCoy to drink something, Spock felt the need to intervene.
"Doctor, if you are somehow attempting to punish yourself for the Captain's injuries by forgoing basic nutritional requirements, it seems prudent to remind you that you need to maintain your strength if you are to perform your duties optimally."
"How can you expect me to eat or drink anything at a time like this?" McCoy seemed as though he was trying to sound irritated, but he only succeeded in sounding tired. "Damn it, we've gone through eight testing cycles, and have only managed to prove that we have no idea how this nerve toxin really works. Jim's been on life support for seven hours now. Spock, maybe you have a cast-iron stomach to match your computerized brain, but humans can't eat when we're nervous."
Spock had learned enough about human psychology to understand that in times like this, brief and simple suggestions were safest. It would allow McCoy to speak his mind, which, Spock suspected, was what he really needed. "If your stomach is upset, then perhaps you could administer yourself an anti-nausea treatment."
At that, McCoy actually laughed, though not happily. "It's not that easy, Spock." He sighed and spun around, putting his back towards the computer screen. He leaned his head in his hands. "In three years at the academy and two years floating around in this godforsaken hell of space, I've patched Jim up dozens of times. Black eyes, broken bones, phaser blasts, concussions, contusions, lacerations, and more than a few cases of alcohol poisoning - I'm used to that with Jim. I know how to fix him. I’ve always been able to fix him. Hell, I know I've lost people. I'm a doctor. It happens." He looked up bleakly. "I can't lose Jim."
"Then we shall continue to work on formulating an antidote."
"But what if it doesn't work? What if we're too late?" McCoy's eyes looked glassy and dazed. "You didn't hear him, Spock. He said 'You promise me, Bones.' He was joking about sex, but I know him well enough to know what he meant. He was asking me to promise that I'd save his life."
"And I am certain that you gave him appropriate reassurance."
"No." The word came out as a grunt.
Spock raised an eyebrow in surprise.
McCoy nodded miserably. "No, I didn't. I had a dying man on the table - I had Jim on the table - who just needed the most basic piece of comfort a patient can ask for. He asked me to promise that I'd save him, and I couldn't even say 'yes.' I didn't say anything. And it's eating me alive."
"Your anxiety is understandable, Doctor. He has been your best friend for several years."
"He's more than that, Spock," McCoy said so softly Spock had to lean closer to hear him. "He's the closest thing to family I've got left." His voice dropped even lower. “And I never told him.”
McCoy's words hung in the air until a soft but insistent beeping from across sickbay broke the silence. McCoy jumped up in a panic and took two steps towards Kirk's bed, only to stop when it became clear that the beeping was coming from the other direction.
"Doctor, I believe Ensign Ross is awakening," Spock said, already walking quickly towards her bed as she began to stir.
McCoy was by her side seconds later, already scanning her with a tricorder. “It’s okay, Ensign. Just relax for a moment.” He already sounded calmer, as if soothed by the simple act of working with a patient who wasn’t on the brink of death.
“Doctor McCoy… Commander Spock… how did I… oh. Sickbay.” Her eyes went wide. “Ensign Horvat! Is he okay? What happened? Oh God, please tell me he’s okay.”
McCoy glanced up at Spock briefly, his face grim, before looking back down at Ross. “I’m sorry Ensign.”
She screwed up her face and squeezed her eyes shut, clearly trying not to cry. “Just tell me he wasn’t in any pain.”
“No, he wasn’t in any pain,” McCoy said softly. “The toxin he was exposed to was like an anaesthetic. He just fell asleep.”
Ross nodded, then opened her eyes, which were red and slightly bloodshot. “What happened to me?”
Spock stood back and listened as McCoy explained the situation to the young Ensign. He watched the Doctor’s body language, noted the soft tone of his voice, and observed the gentleness of his hands as he guided Ross to sit up. Leonard McCoy was certainly an emotional man, but Spock suspected he would not be such a good doctor without that. At least, not such a good doctor for human beings. The bedside manner seemed to assist the healing process.
After another quick scan, McCoy declared that her system had purged the remaining toxin, and then he called for Nurse Chapel.
“Nurse, please monitor Ensign Ross for another half hour, but get her to walk around and get her blood moving again. Maybe go for a walk around the deck.”
The Nurse smiled knowingly. “Yes, Doctor. Come on, dear. Let’s go for a walk.”
Once they had left sickbay, McCoy gave a deep sigh. "Poor kid."
Spock had to entertain his curiosity. “I have a question, Doctor, if I may.”
“Go ahead, Spock.”
“Is it prudent for your Nurse to take a healthy patient for a walk when we might need her assistance here at any time?”
“Humans need two types of healing, Spock. We don’t have shrinks on this space-faring tin can, so nurses and doctors do the best we can to heal the body, and if we have any time or strength left, to heal the mind and soul. Maybe Vulcans can ignore that part of medicine, but I can't.”
“We approach it differently, Doctor, but I do understand your point."
McCoy shook his head, clearly to himself, as he lightly clapped Spock on the shoulder. “Come on, Spock. We’ve got a puzzle to solve.”
At first, McCoy seemed somewhat refreshed and able to focus on the task at hand more clearly. As another hour ticked away, however, he became progressively more irritable. Finally, after yet another fruitless test, he slammed his hand down on the table.
“This isn’t working,” he said, glaring at the reaction matrix as if he could cause the proteins to bond by sheer force of will.
“Doctor, this methodology is sound. If we deviate from this technique and attempt to create an antidote by random guessing, we could conceivably fabricate the correct compound in one hour, or one week. I do not believe that is acceptable. Our current technique is a proven method.”
“Then why isn’t it working, Spock? Take a look at our results! Not even a marginal reaction curve! Nothing! The compound you just formulated has no more effect than the one you tried five hours ago.” He clenched his fists and pressed the knuckles of his right hand against his mouth as he continued to stare at the screen. “We’re missing something. I know we’re missing something.”
“What could we be missing, Doctor? We are analyzing the structure of the toxin and its receptor molecule and formulating the appropriate compound to neutralize the toxin.” He tipped his head thoughtfully. “We have the lock, and we simply need to create the key.”
“No… no, we don’t have the lock. This doesn’t look right.” He slammed his fists again. “Damn it, it’s not right!”
Spock sat silently, watching McCoy intently, but unsure how to respond to this outburst.
For several seconds, McCoy simply stared at his own two fists on the table. Then he frowned. Then his cheek twitched. Slowly, he raised his hands off the table. Keeping his right hand clenched in a fist, he opened his left hand and rested his fist in the cup of his palm, slowly curving the fingers of his left hand around his fist, like a pair of molecules fitting together, but not exactly. He stared for a few seconds, then glanced over at the flower sample sitting in the analyzer, then his eyes went wide. “Spock,” he whispered, then yelled, “SPOCK!”
“I am right here, Doctor.”
He jumped out of his seat and waved his clasped hands in Spock’s face. “Don’t you see it?”
“Your hands?”
“No, you logic-addled computer, the toxin! It’s missing a part!”
Spock frowned. “If I am logic-addled, then perhaps that would explain why I find your logic illogical.”
McCoy glared incredulously.
Spock furrowed his eyebrows. “We have taken the toxin sample directly from the flower, and -”
“And that’s the problem! We need to take another look at a sample from a person who’s been contaminated with it. The structure will be different, I guarantee it, and I’ll bet I know why!” He all but ran to Horvat’s body, deactivated the stasis field around it, grabbed his tricorder, and began scanning. “If my guess is correct, the molecule in his body is different than the one in that flower. We’ve been formulating the antidote against the molecule in the flower, but testing it against the model based on the scans of the Captain and Ensign Horvat. We never bothered to analyze the toxin directly in their bodies.”
“Doctor, if you are correct, then from where would the missing part have originated?”
“There! Right there!” He hit a few buttons to transfer the data to the main computer and pulled up a diagram on the screen. “Look! The red part is what matches the molecule in the flower. The section in green is the cell’s receptor. Do you see that third part? Take a look! There’s your linear Vulcan logic holding you back! What are you going to say about human intuition now, huh Spock?”
The results of the scan were absolutely clear. Doctor McCoy's wild hypothesis had been unequivocally proven correct. He turned to McCoy and said simply, "Lucky guess."
McCoy scowled at him. "Cheeky bastard."
Spock ignored the jibe. "We have ascertained that there is another molecule present, but we do not have any of this substance in its unaltered state. If we are to model this substance and back-engineer an antidote from it, we will need to find the source of the compound and collect a sample."
“Well, I suppose we - NO.” McCoy’s eyes went wide. “You want to go down to that death trap of a planet again, don’t you?”
“I can see no other logical way to obtain a sample of this compound.”
McCoy shook his head as though trying to dislodge something from his ears. “Spock, has your circuit board blown a fuse? We were down there for what - half an hour? We lost one man, almost lost another, and poisoned two more.”
“And if you will notice, I was not affected.”
McCoy turned his head to the side and his upper lip wrinkled. “I knew we’d find proof someday that you’re an android.” He looked back at Spock. "There has to be an alternative."
"I can think of no alternatives. In order to synthesize an antidote, the complete chemistry of the toxin must be known. For that, we require a sample of the original toxin."
McCoy folded his arms across his chest and fidgeted, refusing to make eye contact.
"There is no other way to save the Captain."
Another few seconds passed, then McCoy made a sound between a sigh and a grunt. "I’m not letting you go down there alone.”
“I had not intended to go alone, Doctor. I was planning to ask Lieutenant Sulu to join me.”
With a sudden huff, McCoy turned around, grabbed his emergency kit, and started tossing stuff into it. Spock watched him curiously. “Doctor, if I might ask -”
“I’m coming with you, you suicidal nut.”
Spock decided that it was better not to argue.
*********
Fifteen minutes later, McCoy, Sulu, and Spock were on the transporter pad, all wearing level-3 containment suits, as McCoy had demanded. Nurse Chapel had been charged with constant observation of the Captain, and told that if there was any change in his vital signs, she should contact McCoy immediately. Although he had not yet told the others of the issue raised by Lieutenant Uhura, Spock had instructed her to contact him directly if she observed any changes in the transmissions from the planet's surface during the away mission.
“I still believe that the protective gear is unnecessary for me, Doctor,” Spock said again, “and it may interfere with my ability to make unhindered observations.”
“What’s wrong, Spock? Are your ears too crowded in that hood?”
“Not at all, Doctor.”
“Then stop complaining and let’s do this before I change whatever's left of my mind.”
Knowing that further discussion would be both futile and time-consuming, Spock conceded. “Mr. Scott, energize.”
He thought he heard McCoy grumble, "God, I hate transporters," just before they dematerialized.
The sun was low in the sky at the landing site, casting deep shadows through the woods. Spock pulled out his tricorder and began taking readings as he walked towards the edge of the clearing. "We have approximately 52 minutes until sunset, which would make this mission more hazardous, so we should move quickly. The site where Ensign Horvat was poisoned is approximately 65 meters in this direction." He strode off into the woods, knowing that the rest of his team was following close behind him.
"Commander," Sulu called from behind, "I'm getting some distinct readings from some of the plants… uh… organisms here. They definitely fit the pattern I anticipated after studying that flower."
"Then they are indeed more animal-like in nature than our original observations had indicated?"
"Yes, sir. I'm scanning for key biomarkers… getting preliminary results."
McCoy cut in from further back. "Are either of you picking up any traces of that toxin component?"
"Not yet, Doctor," Sulu replied. "Plenty of organic compounds in the air, many of them similar to other biochemical signals used by sessile plant-like animals. Trying to narrow the search field."
"We do not yet know if the compound we seek is airborne," Spock reminded them. "But it is one possibility."
McCoy and Sulu continued to speak back and forth, exchanging information, but Spock was too busy focusing on two separate tasks to which he'd set himself on this away mission. Firstly, he was searching for the compound required to synthesize an antidote for the Captain. Secondly, he was searching for sentient life forms. Seeing as that was one of the primary missions of the Enterprise, it seemed prudent. Quietly, he activated his communicator. "Spock to Lieutenant Uhura."
"Uhura here. Go ahead, Commander."
"We are moving northwest from the landing site. Focus your scans on our location. Have there been any notable changes?"
"Minor fluctuations only, Commander. Nothing outside the patterns observed over the past several hours."
"Noted, Lieutenant. Contact me if anything changes. Spock out." He tucked away his communicator on his containment suit’s utility belt and pulled out his tricorder again. “Doctor, Lieutenant, we are approaching the area where Ensign Horvat was poisoned. I suggest we divide our surveys.”
“I’ll keep doing air sampling,” McCoy said. “You two play with those man-killing plants you seem to love.”
Spock began his own search by circling the tree where Horvat had been found. He looked at the tree and narrowed his eyes at the clusters of pink flowers on its branches. However, just like the sample in the medical lab, these flowers did not contain the other part of the toxin. Several other compounds his tricorder picked up fit the classification and general structure of the compound in the laboratory, including two that were being vented as vapors by pores in the leaves. He set the tricorder to analyze those as he took other observations.
Then, he set his tricorder for a closer scan of the tree. The only surface with thorns or excreted toxins seemed to be the petals of the flowers themselves. The trunk, however, appeared benign. No residues, no spines. More interesting than that, however, were the traces of myelin he was detecting in the core of the trunk.
“Commander Spock, this is Lieutenant Uhura.”
“This is Spock,” he said quietly.
“Commander, I’ve detected a slight increase in the intensity of the transmissions originating in your vicinity.”
“Noted. I may be close to isolating the compound, but I need to test a hypothesis. Please stand by.”
A quick glance back over his shoulder confirmed that McCoy and Sulu were thoroughly engrossed in their own observations. He should have just enough time. Quietly, casually, he wrapped his heft hand around the right-hand cuff of his containment suit and separated the glove from the sleeve. Moving slowly, he reached out and placed his fingers on the trunk of the tree, searching for a connection…
In a mental swirl of lights and colors, Spock found himself unable to find where he ended and the other organism began. It was a mind unlike any other mind he had ever contacted. Its entire perception of the world was something new and alien. It was sentient, defensive, proud, angry… then curious. So very curious…
He was snapped out of the connection physically as someone grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him around. It took him a moment to readjust his perceptions, and he recognized McCoy standing directly in front of him, livid inside his own containment suit. Sulu was standing off to the side, looking uneasy.
McCoy was cussing and scanning Spock with his tricorder. “God damn it, Spock! What kind of twisted logic is this? Do you think that just because you’re green too, you should be cavorting with the plants that killed your crewmate? Are you insane?”
He cleared his throat. “Not at all, Doctor. Based on my readings, the portion of the tree with which my hand made contact showed no signs of toxicity.”
That didn’t seem to diffuse McCoy’s wrath. “And I’m sure Horvat didn’t think the flower was deadly when he picked it up, either! Why on this devil-planet would you be daft enough to take that risk? What were you trying to do?”
“I was trying to make contact.”
“Make… what?” McCoy pulled back and stared at him, eyebrows furrowed. He looked at the tree and then back at Spock. “I’ve heard of people talking to their plants, but this is ridiculous.”
“Actually, Doctor, Spock may have a point,” Sulu said cautiously, clearly unsure whether it would be dangerous to get into the middle of their conversation. “I told you that some of these organisms have animal-like characteristics. Well… now that I’ve been able to survey the organisms in their entirety, it’s clear they’re very complex.”
Spock nodded slowly. “And sentient, Doctor.”
McCoy's mouth fell open. "What the hell… ?"
Just then, Spock’s communicator beeped.
“Uhura to Commander Spock.”
“Spock here. Go ahead Lieutenant.”
“The intensity of the signals from the planet’s surface is increasing exponentially. The area of the source is radiating outwards from your current location.”
“Understood. Does the signal itself pose any risk to us?”
“No, Commander.”
“Stand by.” Spock put his communicator back in his belt. “The signal detected by Lieutenant Uhura is the communication frequency used by these creatures. Yes, they appear to be sentient.”
Sulu actually grinned, but McCoy looked like he’d been back-handed. He blinked a few times, then looked down at Spock’s hand. “I didn’t detect any contamination, but put your damn glove back on.”
As Spock fastened the glove back onto the cuff, his tricorder began to beep. “Doctor, we seem to have found a match for the missing compound. It is an airborne compound released by pores in the leaves of the same tree that produces those flower.”
McCoy’s eye twitched, but other than that, he showed almost no emotional response. “Then collect a few of those leaves. I’ll take air samples. Then can we get the hell out of here?”
Spock inclined his head. “Absolutely, Doctor.”
*********
The atmosphere in the sickbay laboratory was woven thickly with the tension of one determined medical officer and one science officer working as quickly as possible to synthesize an antidote in a time window that would be considered impossible by most standards. The small delta-shift staff in sickbay kept clear of the laboratory, with only Nurse Emert running in with status reports on Kirk's condition, which was beginning to show signs of instability. At one point, Spock began to mention that the task would be almost unattainable, only to have McCoy all but rip his head off.
Jim doesn’t believe in no-win scenarios, Spock, and right now, neither do I.
After that, McCoy didn’t speak again for hours. He would hand his datapad to Spock silently, who would then transmit those results into the chemical synthesis computers. The modifications McCoy made with each attempt were quite liberal, but highly insightful, and they made rapid progress.
Time began to lose meaning. Even Spock ceased checking the clock; there was no point. The only thing that mattered was the next modification, the next test. The events down on the planet, the new race of sentient beings, and the translation of the strange signals being produced by the trees - those things were meaningless unless the Captain was revived.
After a lengthy period of time and nearly three dozen tests, a beeping monitor sent McCoy jumping out of his chair and running from the lab into the surgery and recovery ward. Nobody moved until he returned a few minutes later, his eyes tense but dry. "He's still stable. I've paged Nurse Chapel, and she's rested enough to come back, so she's on her way. Let's keep working."
Every minute felt both too long and too short, with the slow blinking of computer lights keeping time like a perverse metronome. The air from the ventilation system seemed stale and humid. Spock found himself barely able to keep pace with McCoy, who was working feverishly, only pausing occasionally to wipe his sleeve across his forehead. Spock had seen the Doctor give everything he had before on a patient, but never like this. He was quite convinced that McCoy wouldn't quit until he saved Kirk or reached the point of absolute collapse. Bearing witness to an effort such as this, Spock found himself able to accept the irrational human saying, "to give 110%."
And then, suddenly, McCoy sat up straight, put his hands on the workbench, and pushed his chair back. He was staring straight ahead, with deep circles under his eyes giving the appearance of a man on his last legs.
Spock furrowed his eyebrows and lead towards him. "Doctor McCoy, is something wrong? Are you unwell?"
McCoy shook his head. "Move over, Spock."
Spock obliged, but had to raise the point, "Doctor, I am perfectly capable of loading the next set of design parameters."
"I'm going to do it." It was a voice that would bear no argument.
With the parameters loaded, McCoy engaged the next test cycle. Nurse Chapel stepped into the lab and watched from the door. Spock found himself doing something illogical: hoping.
The computer began to generate a reaction curve. Before the graph was complete, Spock knew. "Doctor, I believe you have indeed done it."
He shook his head. "Not yet, Spock." He hit a few control buttons to start the synthesis process, then spun his chair around. "Nurse Chapel, prep the Captain for surgery. As soon as the antidote kicks in, we're going to need to get Jim off that machine and restart his heart."
She nodded, but frowned. "Doctor, you've been on duty for who knows how many hours, and you haven't stopped once. Perhaps we should call Doctor Carlson to -"
"No," McCoy said flatly. "Nobody is going to touch him but me."
She pressed her lips together, clearly nervous, but nodded and hurried off to the surgery ward.
Spock considered the situation. Although it was unlikely that McCoy would reconsider, and although this was the one area where mere rank could not trump McCoy's authority as CMO, Spock had to speak up. "Doctor, perhaps you should consider what Nurse Chapel has said. Her duty shift began hours after you had already been awake, and she has had periods of rest during this ordeal. You have not stopped for over twenty hours, with the exception of the brief period of time you spent unconscious due to a toxin."
"And that nap was too long, Spock," McCoy shot back. "You're not lying down and taking a break either."
"Vulcan physiology evolved under much more harsh conditions than human physiology, Doctor. I could continue to function adequately for over a week without sleep."
"And you'd be amazed at what humans can do when the shit hits the fan." He shook his head. "I have to do this. Nobody else in this flying circus has the skills I have. I can't leave something like this to anyone else. Not this. Not Jim. I'm wide awake, Spock. I've never been this awake in my life. Maybe I'll sleep for a week when this is over, but now -"
He was interrupted by the ping of the synthesizer, calling out like the bell for the final round of a fight. He reached down and withdrew the vial from the unit, which was now filled with the newly synthesized antidote. "Right now, I have to do this. Because that's Jim… and this is me."
With that, McCoy spun around and strode off to the surgery ward. Without a word, Spock followed.
*********
(To be continued...)