by L. A. Graf
"Very sane and very lucid, Captain. There's not one who's crazy."
"The drug protocol worked, then?" McCoy flipped through the chart. "What did you use?"
"That's the whole point, Dr. McCoy. Beyond the use of drugs to calm them enough to get them to our sickbay, there hasn't been any drug protocol because there hasn't been any need for one." She waved a hand toward the silent screen, her voice tight. "The patients seem to be healing themselves without the benefit of psychotropic drugs and, so far as we've been able to determine, without any lasting deleterious effects."
Spock looked at her. "Mental illness does not usually cure itself."
"Oh, you're correct, Mr. Spock. But this illness does, whatever it is, and we have absolutely no idea how it's happening. And believe me when I say we've tried every angle we can think of."
McCoy flipped through the chart, eyes racing over the lines of small, tight print. "These are all the personnel who have been affected?"
"So far." She didn't sound hopeful that it would stop with these hapless few.
"Did any of these people have anything to do with the shuttle explosion that stranded Dr. Stehle and his team?" Kirk asked.
Kane's short, bitter laugh seemed out of place with her dismissive wave. "No. That was just a common Nordstral accident. We've been losing equipment to the planet since the day we set up shop here."
"Given that Nordstral's magnetic field is many times stronger than normally found on a class-M planet," Spock remarked, "such losses are not surprising."
Kirk frowned, drumming his fingers on the table. "The Enterprise was told you lost that shuttle because of sabotage. Are you telling me Nordstral Pharmaceuticals lied to Starfleet about what's going on?"
Kane sighed. "According to our station manager, sabotage is always a possibility. He says other pharmaceutical companies would love to get their hands on our concession with the native Kitka." She waved a hand at the screen. "But I don't see how it could be related to these mental problems."
"Are there other records we could see?" McCoy interjected. "I'd like to check their personnel records, to see if there's some medical risk factor they all shared."
Kane shrugged. "Certainly." She leaned across her desk to swing the computer console toward McCoy. "Be my guest. I don't mean to sound short, but I've run out of ideas."
"That's what we're here for," Kirk assured her as McCoy began to work. "Sometimes all a problem needs is a new set of eyes."
"I hope you're right."
McCoy accessed the personnel files and sent the computer searching for corollaries between the sick crewmen. Anything had to be considered because nothing seemed likely. Despite hope that he might find a common home planet or education or a genetic link like eye or hair color, there was only one match he felt had any credence.
"Did you know that all your sick personnel came off surface installations and harvesters? None of them is from your orbital fleet or from this station."
She leaned over McCoy's shoulder and followed his finger as he traced the corollary. "My God you're right!"
"So whatever's happening is confined to the planet's surface." Kirk turned to Kane. "We'll need to investigate this at the source. Can my people go down to visit one of the company's permanent installations?"
"That won't be easy. Our contract with the native Kitka limits us to only a few employees at our harvester docks. We might be able to find you space to stay on a harvester, but they're hard to reach by radio. It's those damned magnetic storms." She reached across to blank the computer screen and bring up further information. "You're in luck, thoughthe Soroya's due for a brief stopover at Byrd Station midday tomorrow. I can call ahead to have Captain Mandeville expect you."
"That would be fine," Kirk agreed.
"Jim "
Kane sighed. "Is there anything else you need me to arrange?"
"Jim "
Kirk cocked his head thoughtfully. "You could transfer Dr. Stehle's plankton research files to the Enterprise for Mr. Spock to analyze. It might turn out to be useful."
"Jim"
"After all, IWhat is it, Bones?"
McCoy's stomach felt awash with bile. "I hope I heard wrong, but when you said 'your people' would go down to the planet surface, you didn't include me, did you?"
Kirk looked confused. "Of course I did. You have to examine the workers down there for evidence of illness."
"I don't like water, Jim."
Kirk blinked and stared at his friend. "It's not water, Bones, it's ice."
"Under that ice is a lot of water, and I don't like water unless it's surrounded by a glass and mixed with Kentucky bourbon."
A chime sounded, cutting them off, and Kane looked up in irritation. "Come."
McCoy heard her heavy sigh when the door opened to admit a tall, angular gentleman with blond hair. "Dr. Kane." His voice was heavily accentedSwiss, or Swedish, or something like that, McCoy couldn't be sure. "You're a hard woman to track down. I'd like some infor"
"Mr. Steno," Kane coolly cut him off. "May I present Captain Kirk, Mr. Spock, and Dr. McCoy of the Federation starship Enterprise? Gentlemen, this is Nicholai Steno, Curie station manager for Nordstral Pharmaceuticals." There was no mistaking the undertone in her voice.
Steno either hadn't picked up on her dislike or didn't care. He came into the room as though he owned itwhich, McCoy mused, he technically did. "So, Captain. Report to me."
"I beg your pardon?" Kirk asked with far more politeness than was deserved.
"Report, report! Tell me what you've found."
Kirk's gentle hand squeezing McCoy's shoulder stilled the doctor's tongue. "Nothing as yet, Mr. Steno. We've only just arrived."
"Don't waste my time, gentlemen. I hate when my time and money are wasted. Dr. Kane's been virtually worthless coming up with a solution to our difficulties. I was told the Federation could do better. Now I'm not so certain."
"We will do our best." Kirk's voice, low and calm, displayed the best of the diplomacy and tact drummed into him at the Academy, when, McCoy suspected, he'd really like to drive Steno's teeth down his lanky throat.
"I certainly hope so," the station manager sniffed.
"We're planning to get an early start down to the planet's surface tomorrow to hunt for Dr. Stehle and his team. I don't want to be kept waiting."
"You don't ?"
"I'm heading the rescue team, Captain. You didn't think I'd leave it in the hands of amateurs, did you?"
"Captain Kirk and our security force can hardly be considered amateurs," Spock commented.
Steno snorted. "They're amateurs on Nordstral. This is a dangerous planetand with the magnetic storms we've been having lately, you can't just beam off it when you get yourself in trouble." He glanced at Kirk. "Fortunately, my people will be along to keep you and your rescue team from doing anything stupid."
Kirk's body practically thrummed with irritation. Caught between his captain and Dr. Kane, McCoy felt like a tuning fork. "I'm sure my rescue team will appreciate that, Mr. Steno," Kirk said tightly. "But I'm afraid I'll have to miss out on the expedition."
Steno struck a pose apparently meant to convey righteous indignation. "But I thought you came all this way to find our missing shuttle crew. Are you going to look for them from orbit?"
"No." Kirk glanced over at Kane. "Judging from what I've just seen, your missing shuttle crew is the least of your problems on Nordstral. I've decided to send Lieutenant Chekov with the Enterprise search and rescue party, while I investigate what's causing the mental instabilities on the planet."
"I see." Steno sniffed. "And just who is this Lieutenant Chekov? Your second-in-command?"
"No." Kirk sounded amused. "He's chief of security aboard the Enterprise. My second-in-command is standing right next to you."
Steno scowled at the silent Vulcan, thin mouth pulled into a frown of displeasure. "For goodness sake, Captain. If you refuse to see to your own duties, I at least expect your second-in-command to take over for you."
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"In case you haven't noticed," Kirk stated in tones so clipped McCoy expected them to draw blood, "Mr. Spock is a Vulcan. If we send him down to a glacial planet like Nordstral, he'll freeze."
"Is that true?" When Spock nodded, Steno rolled his eyes with a subvocal sigh. "Isn't that just like Starfleet? They always find a reason to do exactly what they want."
Kirk favored the businessman with a smooth, if chilly, smile. "Then it's good for both of us that Starfleet wants to help Nordstral Pharmaceuticals. I think you'll find Lieutenant Chekov's very good at what he does. He'll find your missing research team."
Steno huffed. "He will if he has the sense to stay out of my way and do what I tell him. And I'll expect timely reports from you as well, Captain. You can be sure I'll report your change of plansand obvious lack of desire to cooperate with Nordstral managementto Starfleet." Without saying goodbye, Steno left the room.
"I hate that man," Kane rasped angrily.
"I can't say I blame you," Kirk replied. He looked down at McCoy's snort of laughter. "What is it, Bones?"
The doctor's blue eyes danced. "So, Chekov's leading the shuttle rescue team now, eh? Does he know this?"
"He will shortly," Spock replied. "In fact, I will deliver the message personally upon my return to the ship."
McCoy chuckled. "Spock, you get to have all the fun."
Kirk shared his friend's smile. "Not all the fun, Bones. We get to beam up with him, long enough to pack and catch the shuttle down to Nordstral."
"Some fun." McCoy tried to hide the wash of fear that flashed through him, suspecting he wasn't too successful. "First I get to have my particles spread all over the known galaxy, then I get to drown under billions of metric tons of water."
"Would you rather not come planetside?"
McCoy looked away when concern flicked over Kirk's features, knowing he'd do it if only because Kirk wanted him to. "No, I'll come. But I promise to hate it."
Chapter Two
"CHIEF? I THINK we've got company."
Pavel Chekov glanced up from his work station, quelling a twinge of irritation at having his hurried landing party preparations interrupted for what felt like the hundredth time that evening. Ensign Michael Howard, young and bearded, hung through the office doorway with his hands on either lintel, looking apologetic for barging in with a message after the chief specifically ordered he be left alone. "I can ask her to wait out here, sir, if you don't want her brought to your office."
Chekov leaned back in his seat without setting aside his note-taking stylus. Even so small a gesture of abandoning his work bothered him, and he was determined to finish these arrangements before morning, despite having to plan on such short notice. "Tell whoever it is to talk with Ensign Lemieux." He flicked eyes to the chronometer on his desk even though he already knew the time, then caught himself kneading the back of his neckmore from frustration than because it actually helped anything. "I haven't got time to see anyone before we go planetside tomorrow, and Lemieux will be in charge while I'm away."
"Uh " Howard tossed an uncertain glance over one shoulder, and Chekov heard voices approaching from the outer room. "This is kind of a 'now' thing, sir," Howard said. "I don't think she wants to see Lemieux."
"You keep trying to have these boys stall me, Lieutenant Chekov, and I'll just pull rank and force them to let me come through."
Chekov smiled tiredly at Lieutenant Commander Uhura as she leaned through the doorway beneath Howard's arm. Her black eyes, as bright as the silver disks on her earrings and necklace, matched her brilliant smile and playful tone.
"You could try," the security chief allowed, "but it wouldn't do you any good. I've a loyal crewthey'd never disobey my orders." He threw a mock-threatening glare at Howard and Publicker, now behind Howard's shoulder in the doorway. "Would they?"
Both guards fidgeted abruptly, drawing themselves a little straighter, their hands coming down to their sides. "Oh, no, sir." "Of course not, sir." The red on Howard's cheeks stood out nicely above his dark brown beard.
Chekov shrugged. "See? They would die for me."
Uhura's musical laughter lifted his spirits, just as it had from the moment he'd first met her. Chekov didn't think he'd ever known anyone so truly pleasant. Suddenly willing to be interrupted at least for the moment, he tossed his stylus to the desktop and pushed back his chair. "Sowhat brings you down to security? I'd think you'd be seeing enough of us tomorrow."
"Well, that might be." Hands behind her back, Uhura slipped past Howard with the delicate grace only available to the very small. "But there's one of you I haven't seen quite enough of lately." She brought her hands forward to reveal a small tray, packed with ice and bits of what looked to Chekov like uncooked cat food. "You weren't in the rec hall for dinner tonight."
Chekov leaned over his desk to peer at the bundles of grayish mess, wrinkling his nose at the distinct odor of raw seafood. "If this is what they served, I'm glad I wasn't there."
Uhura reached out to swat him atop the head. "You haven't even tried it yet."
"That's all rightI don't intend to."
"Pavel!" She slid the tray onto his desk, pushing aside what papers and diskettes he didn't snatch out of her way. "I'll have you know this is authentic native cuisine. The Nordstral natives survive almost entirely on a diet of seafood, and I went to a lot of effort to dig up these ingredients." She plucked a small sample from among the bed of ice and offered it to him between two slim fingers. "Try it."
Chekov looked at the tidbit, looked at her, and slowly shook his head. "It's raw."
Uhura sighed dramaticallythe same sigh she used every time Chekov refused the various native foods she felt the need to foist upon himand popped a piece into her mouth as though to prove it was edible. Chekov assumed she'd someday believe him when he told her he wasn't interested in being experimental about what he ate. So far, it was eight years and counting. "Be brave," she persisted when she'd finished chewing. "They don't have sophisticated cooking facilitiesthe Kitka live in an arctic environment."
Chekov rotated his chair to face his terminal again, feeling about for his stylus. "So do the Siberians, but we don't eat raw fish."
"No," Uhura snorted. "You eat forty versions of baked and boiled cabbage."
"What's wrong with cabbage?" He made a note to bring additional food rations for himself and his squad. Let Uhura eat the native fish if she wanted to.
Pursing her lips in wry annoyance, Uhura turned to offer the morsel to Howard. "Come on, Ensign Howard."
The guard glanced up from the slim reader screen he'd been scanning, his face a study in apprehension. "Sir?"
"Prove yourself a better man than your boss."
The ensign's eyebrows shot up nearly to his hairline and he slipped the reader back into his pocket. "That's all right, sir. It's his job to be the better man."
Chekov kept his eyes fixed on the notes in front of him, trying to recapture his train of thought while he counted supplies and played with mental images of the arctic terrain they would scour for Dr. Stehle and the missing shuttle crew. "Go ahead, Mr. Howard. You and Mr. Publicker assured me you'd be willing to die for me." He flicked both ensigns a crooked smile. "Now's your chance."
Uhura scowled playfully at the lieutenant while handing both Howard and Publicker a small sample.
"You must be in a bad mood because you haven't eaten."
The computer inserted a flag into Chekov's list: additional power packs for the thermal units couldn't be expected to maintain their effectiveness due to Nordstral's strong magnetic fields; shielded packs within the units should be fine. "I'm not in a bad mood." Scratching a quick delete through the packs, he tallied the mass allotments again for what they could leave behind in favor of additional thermals. The only things in the running were the smaller communications equipment and lanterns.
"You're just overworked and overtired." Uhura moved up behind him to rest her hands on his shoulders. He could feel her attention shift to the terminal scr
een, scanning his collection of lists and scribbled notes. "Other officers sleep before planet landings, you know. I'd think you'd appreciate the need for alert security personnel."
"I do." The accusation still stung enough to burn his cheeks, though. He was only willing to cut their lanterns by a third; not enough to add an appreciable number of thermals. "Other officers also have longer than twelve hours to prepare. If Mr. Spock had told me sooner that the captain had assigned me this rescue mission, I'd have had all this done by now."
Her hands tightened briefly on his shoulders. "He didn't have a lot of choice. That's why they call it a Priority One emergency."
Chekov sighed. "I know." As if knowing Nordstral's desperate situation should somehow make him feel better about outfitting a landing party at the next to the last minute. He hated planning planetary rescue parties, especially when he had every reason to believe the rescuees were already dead. He could think of few things worse than stumbling across the pitiful remains of people who died believing help would come to save them. "Do you think the Nordstral shuttle pilot will complain if I make him strip the interior?"
"I suspect so. Call it a hunch." Uhura leaned forward to frown over his shoulder at the screen. "Did you remember to include my special suit translators? I want to be sure I can talk to the Kitka, and I can't read your handwriting well enough to tell if you've got them."
He didn't have the heart to tell her that was probably because he tended to note-take in a random mixture of Cyrillic and English. Keying the terminal to translate his notes into text, he switched screens so she could see the more readable version, pointing to the notation for sixteen grams worth of translators for the insulation suits.
Uhura nodded her satisfaction, then reached out to tap one entry with a fingernail. "Why all the lanterns?"
"It's winter in the northern territorythat means it's probably dark there, as well." It always was in Siberia. He remembered visiting his uncle during school break as a boy, getting up in the dark, running about all day in the dark, going to bed in the dark. It stayed like that for six months, his uncle told him, with six months of unbroken, watery daylight to follow. Chekov hated the thought of hiking Nordstral's ice sheets in perpetual night, especially with no allowance for lost or broken or malfunctioning lanterns.