by Rudy Josephs
The admiral cleared his throat.
“But while Cadet Jackson’s behavior was fatally ill-advised,” she continued, “I’m more bothered by the fact that whoever performed this surgery had to know what he or she was doing. This is an advanced procedure. The doctor—and I’m using that term loosely—had to be aware that stopping Jackson from feeling pain was not helping him in any way. Yet the doctor performed the operation anyway. To what purpose?”
Spock considered that line of thought. “You fear that the culprit might attempt the same surgery with another cadet?”
“We do,” Captain Warde said. “And it just doesn’t feel right in my gut. It’s a very random procedure. I think there might be more to this.”
Spock ignored most humans when they referred to their “gut” in any decision-making endeavor. Captain Warde, however, was different. She didn’t jump to a conclusion without fully examining the situation. Where other people often followed their gut to the exclusion of actual facts, she only used it as a starting point.
The admiral cautioned, “No need to get ahead of ourselves. This is just the start of the investigation. But you can see, Spock, how we would want to get in front of this before word spreads to the students.”
“You intend to keep the cadet’s death a secret?” Spock asked. While that might help the investigation, Spock could not imagine that it was a wise course of action. In his time at the Academy, he had learned that most news the administration tried to keep classified often spread even faster.
“Not at all,” Admiral Bennett said.
“We’re waiting until the cadet’s parents can be notified,” Warde explained. “They’re on holiday off planet, and we haven’t been able to contact them.”
The admiral straightened in his seat. “We’d like you to assist the captain in her investigation, Spock. I feel that a Vulcan perspective will be invaluable. It’s also nice to have someone a bit closer to the cadets’ ages involved. Maybe get some insight into their thinking. See if you can use that to your advantage.”
Spock wasn’t entirely sure what the dean was suggesting, but he nodded in agreement.
“I’ll leave you two to discuss how to proceed.” Admiral Bennett dismissed them with a nod toward the door.
Spock accompanied Warde in total silence as they walked through the outer office, passed the dean’s assistant, and went out into the crowded halls. That silence stayed with them all the way to Captain Warde’s office since she would not discuss the case in front of others. Spock appreciated that Warde did not bother to engage in small talk in the meantime.
Her office was not as decorated as the admiral’s nor was it as large. Spock was not sure if Captain Warde’s design aesthetic tended toward the spartan or if she simply had not yet unpacked her personal items. He’d had no reason to visit her office when he was a cadet.
As soon as the door was shut behind them, Captain Warde addressed their working situation. “I’m going to be honest with you, Spock.”
He had learned to be suspicious of that phrase during his time on Earth. Spock found that when a human felt the need to point out that they were being honest, it usually meant they were about to be insulting.
The captain took a seat behind her desk. “I didn’t want you on this investigation,” she said. “I don’t want you on the case.”
Spock raised a questioning eyebrow, but remained silent while she explained.
“Not that I don’t think you will provide valuable assistance,” she added. “A Vulcan perspective will be an asset. But I was hoping for someone who could blend in with the cadets. Speak to them on their level. Interact as a peer. I don’t think I’m saying anything surprising when I point out that you don’t exactly blend in.”
“My time at the Academy has more than adequately prepared me for that criticism.”
“It’s not criticism, Spock,” she insisted. “It’s just a statement of fact. I’m sure you will prove to be exceedingly useful to the investigation. I just haven’t figured out how yet.”
Spock would have suggested any number of contributions he could make to the case, but he suspected it would have been irrelevant. Captain Warde was well acquainted with his abilities from his years as a cadet, and likely had studied up on his more recent accomplishments before meeting in the admiral’s office.
“I have a couple quick interviews I need to conduct,” Warde said, handing him a PADD. “Here are the initial notes on the investigation, along with the cadet’s files and other pertinent information. It’s all been pulled together in the past hour so don’t expect much.” She got up and went for her door. “I’ll be back shortly.”
Spock nodded, then got to work reading through the files. She was right in saying that the information was limited. After all, it was only the beginning of the investigation.
He did understand what she’d been saying about his inability to blend in. Like the “gut feeling” that the captain had referenced earlier, this was a quality that had escaped him during his time as a cadet. Building relationships with the more highly emotional races of the Federation had often proven to be the more challenging aspect of his time there.
Spock appreciated a challenge, though. This would simply be another in a long line of obstacles he had overcome since moving to Earth. He was looking forward to the opportunity to prove himself in any situation that would test his abilities. He was particularly intrigued by this investigation, because it seemed like a chance for him to tap into his human side. Not something he often attempted.
McCoy knew the moment he connected the dots on the illegal surgery performed on the deceased cadet that he’d stepped into a mess of trouble. First-year cadets shouldn’t get involved in scandals. Even by accident. It wasn’t good for career advancement.
Things moved very quickly in the moments after Griffin reported their findings to his superiors. Admiral Bennett had been the first on the scene, demanding to be walked through the autopsy. Several other senior officers stormed into the room in the minutes that followed, requesting the same information.
This was before they’d even noticed McCoy. The questioning stopped immediately, and McCoy was instructed to wait in Dr. Griffin’s office. He was told not to leave for any reason.
That was more than two hours ago.
McCoy was still waiting.
His thoughts turned, once again, to that small medical practice somewhere in the country he’d always dreamed of opening. A place where he would treat patients from birth to adulthood. Where the diagnoses would fall into categories of illness people had been suffering with for generations, not mysterious criminal causes. Where he wouldn’t have to deal with the bureaucracy of big city hospitals.
Those hospitals were now a dream compared to the levels of political red tape he suspected he was about to experience with Starfleet Academy.
Dr. Griffin finally returned to his office, carrying a mug of coffee. McCoy was up and out of the guest chair the moment the door opened.
“Sorry you were stuck waiting,” Dr. Griffin said as he took a seat on the couch. “Seems we’ve stirred up quite a bit of a hornet’s nest.”
“I’d guess so,” McCoy said. He joined his mentor on the couch. “At least the administration is taking this seriously.”
“Oh, they’re taking it very seriously,” Griffin reassured. “These kinds of things don’t usually happen in a vacuum.”
McCoy assumed the administration would want to keep this investigation contained to the Academy, but he wasn’t so sure it could be. Cadet Jackson’s death wasn’t just an unfortunate training accident. It was possibly a symptom of a problem that ran much deeper. “You think something bigger’s going on?” McCoy asked. “What’s the administration going to do about it?”
“Captain Warde’s been assigned to head up the investigation,” Griffin said. “As to what she’s doing, you’ll find out soon enough. She wants to see you in the faculty conference room in the administration building in five minutes.”
&nb
sp; “Me?”
“You were the one who diagnosed the problem,” Griffin reminded him. “Kind of your fault we’re all involved, isn’t it?”
McCoy knew that Griffin was making a joke, but he didn’t find it all that funny. “When I’m done, you want me to come back here and fill you in?”
“No. I’ve got an errand to run,” Griffin replied, “Report to emergency medical services. You did a good job this morning. I’m putting you on emergency room rotation.”
“Thank you, sir.” McCoy couldn’t believe it. As horrible as his findings were this morning, he never expected to be rewarded simply for catching something his instructor had not.
“You better get moving,” Griffin suggested. “Admin isn’t exactly next door.”
McCoy wanted to ask the doctor more about what the investigators were thinking. He wanted some idea of what he was walking into. It wasn’t that McCoy was concerned about saying or doing the wrong thing. He knew he’d already been helpful. Being effectively held captive in Griffin’s office for two hours made him uncomfortable. No telling how long the investigating officer might keep him.
That was especially troubling now that he had something to look forward to once the interview was over. Not for the first time, McCoy realized that doctors had an odd perspective on life.
McCoy left the Starfleet medical building and made his way across campus. He wondered if any of the other cadets he’d passed knew about what was happening around them. The odds were good that word had spread by now. Even in a structured organization like Starfleet, gossip could not be contained. This kind of story was exactly the type that set the grapevine abuzz.
McCoy’s wandering mind stopped short outside the conference room when he saw Dr. Peteque stepping into the hall. He couldn’t imagine what she was doing there.
The way she exploded in semicontained rage upon seeing him gave him his answer. “Why would you tell Griffin that I was snooping around your little whatever it is you were doing earlier?”
“I just told him you’d been there. Didn’t say you were up to anything.” McCoy was pretty sure that Griffin had seen her leave the room himself. All McCoy had done was pass along what she’d told him.
“And yet suddenly I’m getting called to the administration building to answer a bunch of questions,” she said, “just for walking into a room I thought was empty. What’s going on?”
If Captain Warde hadn’t seen fit to explain the situation to Peteque, McCoy wasn’t about to. “Got me,” he said as he brushed past her. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I hear the good captain has some questions for me as well.”
McCoy knew that his blithe manner would only annoy Peteque even more. And it did. She stormed off in a huff that was very unlike the behavior of most grown medical students.
Once Peteque was gone, McCoy stepped up to the conference room door, bracing himself for whatever was on the other side. He expected a packed house. This kind of thing would have the administration doubling and tripling up to make sure that the investigation was well covered. He took a deep breath as the sensor on the door registered his presence.
This is not going to be fun.
The first surprise came as soon as the door swished open, revealing a nearly empty conference room. A woman McCoy assumed to be Captain Warde sat at the near end of a long conference table. He’d never met the captain in person, but he’d seen her name on the class schedule. She taught law classes and security officer training. She was the natural choice to lead this kind of investigation.
“Cadet McCoy.” Warde remained in her chair, but her greeting was warm. “Have a seat.” She motioned to the chair beside her. He’d half expected her to be on one side of the table while he sat on the other side. That seemed more proper to an investigation. This seating arrangement was more casual, which put him on higher alert than he would have been in a formal setting.
“Captain Warde,” McCoy said as he sat.
“I’ve heard some good things about you, McCoy,” she began. “Sorry we’re not meeting under more fortunate circumstances.”
“Well, I figure my medical studies keep me busy enough,” McCoy replied. “Not much chance I can take on law classes to add to the workload.”
Captain Warde got right to the point. “Can you please walk me through your autopsy on the body of Cadet Jackson?”
“Where do you want me to start?” he asked. “I figure Dr. Griffin probably gave you the important details.”
“He did,” she replied. “But I want to get your impression on the proceedings. Tell me what happened, from when you first stepped into the room. Leave nothing out.”
“Nothing?” he asked. There weren’t many words in the English language that were both as specific and as vague as that one.
“Nothing,” she repeated.
“Okay, then.” McCoy slipped into his story, telling her about his arrival in the empty room, but leaving out the part about his temptation to peek under the sheet. That was a little too much of nothing in his opinion.
Under other circumstances, he might have glossed over the part about Dr. Peteque walking in, but since the captain had already interviewed her, he figured omitting it would be pointless. And possibly look suspicious. Once he got past that, he moved on to Dr. Griffin’s arrival and the more salient information.
The captain was silent throughout his retelling of the morning’s events. She nodded a few times, prodding him on. She even cracked a smile on one occasion when he’d made a lighthearted comment about the lack of sleep for cadets at Starfleet Medical to break the tension in the room. Otherwise, she was stone-faced and professional, not giving even the smallest hint if he was providing the information she wanted.
“And then Dr. Griffin sent me to his office till he told me to come here,” McCoy concluded.
“So you were the one who discovered the rare disease was actually an intentional procedure?” It was the first thing Warde had said since McCoy started his monologue.
She hadn’t said it in an accusatory manner, but he felt like he had to protect Dr. Griffin all the same. “The evidence was microscopic. Anyone could have missed it.”
“But a follow-up examination would have probably revealed it?” she asked.
McCoy couldn’t imagine that a follow-up would have been necessary. How many autopsies would be performed? “Only if the doctor knew what to look for. I’d never heard of this congenital insensitivity to pain. Without that information, I never would have found the evidence of microsurgery.”
“You’ve been a doctor for how long?” she asked.
“Few years.”
“So the odds of you coming across this—”
“The odds of anyone coming across this are slim to beyond none,” McCoy interrupted, his temper rising. He’d used his time in Griffin’s office to research the disorder. It had been eradicated from Earth long before McCoy had been born. Captain Warde wasn’t accusing him of anything, but somehow it felt like she was. The leading questions. The innuendo in her tone. It felt like she was guiding him down a path he didn’t want to go.
“Where would someone perform this kind of operation?”
“How in the world should I know?” McCoy said. “With today’s medical gadgetry, probably anywhere. This conference room. Your office. Doubt you’d need some kind of medical facility.”
“But you would need advanced equipment?”
McCoy had been so focused on the medicine behind what Cadet Jackson had suffered that he failed to examine it from the practical side. It was such a basic question he’d overlooked. “Of course,” he replied.
“Of course, what?”
“This wasn’t some fly-by-night thing,” McCoy said. “This kind of surgery took special planning. And special instrumentation. Microsurgery of this type would be otherwise impossible. We’re talking about a very precise operation on the nerve fibers. Especially considering it barely left any scarring behind.”
“Which is why it was lucky you found the evidence.”
“Exactly,” he said, ignoring the suspicion in her tone. “Now, a doctor might be able to do that kind of surgery with a tri-laser connector, but I doubt it. You’d need something more specialized.”
“Such as?”
McCoy searched his memory for information from his medical studies, and for the second time that day it failed him. “I don’t know that the instrument exists.”
Kirk caught himself staring at the lithe body of Cadet Uhura as she ran through her warm-up routine. She wore the standard physical activities uniform all cadets wore, but she still managed to stand out among her classmates. It was another monochromatic red outfit, but in less restrictive design than the duty uniforms they typically wore. The material hugged her body, highlighting her form as she stretched.
Just looking at another girl wasn’t cheating. He and Lynne hadn’t even been on an official date yet. All the same, it somehow felt wrong when he caught Thanas staring as well.
“Nothing as enticing as the one who won’t give you the time of day, huh, Kirk?” Thanas stepped onto the circular gray mat between them.
“You would know.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Haven’t seen her holding on to your arm, have I?”
“Only have two arms.” Thanas flexed his biceps. “They haven’t been very lonely. And her partner over there kindly took up an arm when she escorted me to class.”
Andros, Uhura’s partner, was standing next to Uhura going through her own warm-up routines. She was a bundle of energy, jumping around to get the circulation flowing. There was something manic about her movements, which made it difficult to watch. It didn’t match the contained grace of Cadet Uhura.
“Bet she won’t even give you her first name.” Kirk was taking his chances with that one. The odds weren’t in his favor that she withheld that information from Thanas as she had with Kirk.
Thanas didn’t respond, but the uncomfortable expression on his face said it all. Kirk wasn’t sure if Andorians blushed, but there did seem to be a darker tint to the blue of his cheeks. Kirk felt a lot better knowing he wasn’t the only one she’d blown off.