Space Adaptation Syndrome
Fandom: Star Trek
Prompt: Motion Sickness
Wordcount: 860
Summary:
Space adaptation syndrome. That was the specific medical term.
Warning: May contain mild profanity.
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek or its characters. This is purely for personal enjoyment, not profit.
Leonard McCoy was a doctor, not a diplomat. He had never supposed to be on the away mission in the first place but Jim had been called into a secure meeting with the admiralty right at the last minute, requiring a third senior officer to take his place. The Relationship's between the two opposing parties were too precarious to delay any longer.
After three, very long days, they'd finally come up with a truce that both parties could agree on, which in itself was a small miracle. McCoy had found the negotiations tedious. With both parties quarrelling over petty things, like bickering children, the process had been like pulling teeth; even Spock's patience had been running thin towards the end.
It had been a relief when the three of them had stepped back onto the shuttle for the nine hour journey back to the ship. They'd just reported in when Spock had detected the fluctuation within the shuttle's warp core. A subroutine introduced into the craft's programming designed to destroy them. They hadn't had time to try and fix it, to locate the rogue code and delete it. How the code had gotten there, they would never know; the away team had barely had time to suit up and transport out of range before the ship had exploded. McCoy could still see the pyrotechnics's display seared into the back of his eyelids.
It had been a whole hour before the Enterprise had detected their distress beacons but it wasn't just as simple as beaming them back onboard; The Enterprise had run into some engineering problems of their own which had taken out power to the entire starboard side, including the transporters.
That was how McCoy had come to be drifting aimlessly in space, trying not to think about how much oxygen he had left or how the only thing protecting him from the hard vacuum of space was a thin suit. Sometimes Leonard wished that he wasn't a doctor who knew over twenty different ways he could die in a space suit. All it would take would be one tiny hole and now, if all that wasn't bad enough, McCoy was getting space sick.
McCoy took some deep breaths to try and quell his stomach.
At the end of their first year at the academy, all cadets had had to complete the zero-gravity training. The course had been one of the only two McCoy had nearly failed. His knowledge of medicine and an empty stomach had saved him; he'd been so drugged up on anti-anxiety drugs and anti-emetics he barely remembered the final test. Sadly, today he was not so lucky, Dammit.
Space adaptation syndrome. That was the specific medical term; His vestibular system was having trouble adjusting to the sudden lack of gravity. Even though it felt like he hadn't moved, the stars were drifting in circles around him.
Deep breaths, in and out.
The disorientation was making him sick and dizzy.
Leonard tried to curl his arm around his stomach but the suit got in the way while the small movement sent the stars into a faster orbit. Spock and Uhura were just chattering away between the two of them, seemingly oblivious to his distress.
When Leonard thought about dying, choking on his own vomit was not how he wanted to go. If by some small miracle he didn't suffocate, there was the dual threat of both aspiration and chemical pneumonia. The acidic contents would burn the insides of his lungs. No, puking in a spacesuit was a very bad idea; It was nearly always fatal.
McCoy swallowed against the bile rising in the back of his throat.
Ah, hell.
He hoped Scotty fixed the transporters soon.
Leonard closed his eyes, hoping that not being able to see the swirling stars would settle the nausea. It didn't help a bit; his guts were still trying to float their way out through his mouth, contents and all. McCoy missed gravity.
'I think I've solved the problem.' Scotty's voice crackled over the tiny speaked inside his voice. 'Prepare to Energize.' The sound was loud compared to the relative silence of his helmet. All McCoy could hear was his heavy breathing and the pounding of his heart inside his chest.
As he watched, the stars were multiplying. Each grew bigger and brighter as the seconds passed until the stars merged into one giant, shining bright light all around him.
The feel of solid ground, complete with gravity, suddenly appearing underneath his feet was just as diconserting as gravities sudden loss. The sensation was too much for McCoy's already unsettled stomach. It was no longer a case of if he was going to throw up but when. He just hoped he lived through it.
McCoy barely waited for the re-materialisation sequence to finish before he was fumbling at the catches of his suit. The retching started before the helmet was completely off. He stumbled over to the edge of the transporter, leaning against the wall for support as he heaved. There wasn't much to bring up but Scotty was going to be pissed.
Leonard hated space.
Jim would find it funny though.