Nightshift 49: Homeworld - U.S.S Enterprise
[From here]
McCoy had just been thinking the same thing. They didn't have any proof that scent could travel through those doors, but there was no point in risking it. Exposed food and exposed, fresh blood was too tempting a target to just about anything with a set of fangs. If they could get beamed all over, just by going through an entryway, there wasn't any reason why the native creatures here couldn't do the same. They hadn't seen any sign of them yet, not even a corpse, but he and Spock could've been exceedingly lucky so far.What about the others?
He was starting to acutely feel the silence. Even when Jim or Spock split the landing party into teams, all the away teams still kept audio contact, checking in at least every hour and making any reports or immediate notes among themselves. Without even a primitive radio, they were running blind out here. Maybe they'd been fortunate themselves, but it could be a different story for the Captain and Chekov. The same incredible luck that enabled Jim to escape odds stacked against him tended to have another side to it: if Jim wasn't the one looking for trouble, trouble usually found him anyway. This time, they wouldn't have any way of knowing it.
What was Jim up to right now? McCoy wondered all the same. Probably wondering the same thing. With their luck, they could very well run into him with all this blasted teleporting around. He just hoped he was still in one piece.
The doctor opened the door, closed his eyes again, and stepped through. The warp couldn't have taken much more than a second, less of a delay than a transporter and unnervingly smooth when it came to moving them. When McCoy opened his eyes again, he was standing in an office. It took a second for that to settle in, that this wasn't the institute. It was well lit, a few books scattered around, memory tapes and his chair, along with the few brandy's that were gathering dust behind the sliding glass. It was sickbay. It was also his office. Once again he could feel that faint hum under his boots.
He found he was much too surprised to feel any nausea or dizziness, stunned silent instead. He looked backwards slowly. Spock was right there with him, proof enough that he hadn't somehow dreamt up the past few days or his existence.
"We're back?" he managed. Not the most intelligent reaction, he knew his office and his sickbay inside and out, probably more so than his own quarters. He knew the distant thrum of the engines and the white noise that the ship made around him. There wasn't any doubt where they were. The doctor took a hold of himself. There wasn't any time to waste. He'd been missing for several days now: he'd have plenty of time to worry about how he got back later. He had to report in.
McCoy strode over to the wall speaker. He pressed the button. "McCoy to Bridge."
There wasn't any answer, no Uhura or Spock or Jim's voice on the line. There wasn't even static, just a dead silence.
McCoy had just been thinking the same thing. They didn't have any proof that scent could travel through those doors, but there was no point in risking it. Exposed food and exposed, fresh blood was too tempting a target to just about anything with a set of fangs. If they could get beamed all over, just by going through an entryway, there wasn't any reason why the native creatures here couldn't do the same. They hadn't seen any sign of them yet, not even a corpse, but he and Spock could've been exceedingly lucky so far.What about the others?
He was starting to acutely feel the silence. Even when Jim or Spock split the landing party into teams, all the away teams still kept audio contact, checking in at least every hour and making any reports or immediate notes among themselves. Without even a primitive radio, they were running blind out here. Maybe they'd been fortunate themselves, but it could be a different story for the Captain and Chekov. The same incredible luck that enabled Jim to escape odds stacked against him tended to have another side to it: if Jim wasn't the one looking for trouble, trouble usually found him anyway. This time, they wouldn't have any way of knowing it.
What was Jim up to right now? McCoy wondered all the same. Probably wondering the same thing. With their luck, they could very well run into him with all this blasted teleporting around. He just hoped he was still in one piece.
The doctor opened the door, closed his eyes again, and stepped through. The warp couldn't have taken much more than a second, less of a delay than a transporter and unnervingly smooth when it came to moving them. When McCoy opened his eyes again, he was standing in an office. It took a second for that to settle in, that this wasn't the institute. It was well lit, a few books scattered around, memory tapes and his chair, along with the few brandy's that were gathering dust behind the sliding glass. It was sickbay. It was also his office. Once again he could feel that faint hum under his boots.
He found he was much too surprised to feel any nausea or dizziness, stunned silent instead. He looked backwards slowly. Spock was right there with him, proof enough that he hadn't somehow dreamt up the past few days or his existence.
"We're back?" he managed. Not the most intelligent reaction, he knew his office and his sickbay inside and out, probably more so than his own quarters. He knew the distant thrum of the engines and the white noise that the ship made around him. There wasn't any doubt where they were. The doctor took a hold of himself. There wasn't any time to waste. He'd been missing for several days now: he'd have plenty of time to worry about how he got back later. He had to report in.
McCoy strode over to the wall speaker. He pressed the button. "McCoy to Bridge."
There wasn't any answer, no Uhura or Spock or Jim's voice on the line. There wasn't even static, just a dead silence.