Bloodthirst

by J. M. Dillard

  His image faded to dark. Kirk pressed a control and McCoy’s face appeared, covered by a glittering energy field.

  “My God, Bones. What’s happened? A break in decontam?”

  McCoy did not answer the question. “We’ve got a big problem here, Jim. Give me five minutes to disinfect the place, then get down here.”

  “I’m not waiting five minutes without knowing what’s happened.”

  “All right, then. Ensign Lisa Nguyen of Security was attacked and almost bled to death. We think Adams did it.”

  “Adams?” Kirk repeated, trying to make sense of what the doctor had just said. He saw a flash of an image—Lisa Nguyen on Star Base Nine, lying bleeding in an open park.… “Who found her?”

  “The Andorian security guard—uh, what’s her name?”

  “Lamia,” Kirk said intently. “She got her to sickbay?”

  “Yes, but don’t worry about contamination.” McCoy put a finger to the tip of his nose in an attempt to scratch it, realized it was a useless effort, and tried gently rubbing it instead. “Lamia called sickbay immediately. M’Benga took the proper precautions. The medics who brought Nguyen here wore field suits, and we closed off the affected corridors. They’re being decontaminated now.”

  “And the transporter room,” Kirk said automatically. Of course.

  McCoy blinked at him. “Why the transporter ? Oh, I think I see what you mean. The transporter room wasn’t contaminated. Nguyen and Adams were beamed directly up to her cabin. That’s how he managed to get past Kyle and everyone else.”

  Kirk frowned. For a moment, his mind refused to register what the doctor was saying; and then, instantly, he understood and was not at all pleased with the conclusion. “You’re telling me Adams attacked Nguyen here? On the ship?”

  McCoy seemed honestly surprised. “I thought I told you. Nguyen was attacked in her quarters.”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  “I could have sworn”

  “It hardly matters, Doctor. Is Adams still on board the Enterprise?”

  “It certainly looks that way,” McCoy said, looking decidedly uncomfortable. “I’m sorry if I”

  “Has Security been notified?”

  “No, that’s why I was calling you, Captain, as soon as I could leave Nguyen”

  “How is she?”

  “Unconscious. She lost a quarter of her blood volume. But she ought to be all right as long as Adams didn’t infect her.”

  “I’m calling Security,” Kirk said. “Let me know when she’s up for questioning. And the other—Lamia”

  “We’re holding her here for a while, until we can check her blood test. Like I said before, she’s probably immune, but it doesn’t hurt to be safe.”

  “I’ll want to question her. And Tomson will, too, probably. I’m calling Security to institute a search. I’ll be sending them your way for briefing as far as quarantine precautions.”

  “We’ll be here.”

  “I’ll be there in five minutes. Kirk out.” He punched a code into the screen: a priority override message directly to the security chiefs quarters, and forced himself to ignore the fury that was growing inside him. He had no use for it now; it could only interfere with his efficiency.

  “Tomson here.” She answered the page immediately. Kirk flinched slightly as Tomson’s image formed in front of him. He had expected her to block the visual for privacy’s sake, since it was the middle of the night and she had no doubt been asleep. But she seemed wide-awake; in fact, she wore her uniform, leaving Kirk to wonder if she ever took it off. The only hint that she was off duty was her thin lemon-platinum hair, which streamed down her shoulders. It had never occurred to the captain that the tight bun was not its natural incarnation.

  “Lieutenant,” he said, “I have a job for you to do.” It seemed to him that her cold eyes brightened.

  He briefed her, and then he notified Spock. When he was finished, he snapped off the screen and let the anger take hold of him. He suddenly felt a great deal of sympathy for Mendez’s position. If Adams were to suddenly appear before him, Kirk felt quite capable of strangling him with his bare hands.

  Ten minutes later, McCoy sat calmly at his desk watching the Andorian security guard pace back and forth in front of him. One more time, he thought. Let her pace in front of me just one more time, and I’ll put her in an isolation booth and slap some restraints on her.

  She passed in front of him, one more time. McCoy did nothing of the kind.

  This particular shift, McCoy could tell, was starting none too auspiciously. Chris Chapel’s condition was worsening. It made absolutely no sense. Adams was running around the ship, killing people, and Chris lay in isolation, dying. He tried not to think the word, but it lingered unspoken in his mind nonetheless. Her physiological functions were weakening across the board. Her body was shutting down. She was dying.

  McCoy could not accept it. She would get better she had to get better. Adams had gotten better, and he was a psychopathic killer. Chris was one of the finest people McCoy had ever known; her recovery deserved to be resplendent.

  Then, on top of everything, there was Nguyen. Thank God M’Benga had been the physician on duty and had insisted on doing the surgery. McCoy didn’t have the heart for it today. Tonight. Whenever the hell it was. It wasn’t even morning yet, but he had sent M’Benga to bed out of gratefulness, and M’Benga hadn’t argued.

  The doctor watched the Andorian pace back and forth one more time and tried as best he could to sound kindly. It wasn’t easy; like all Andorians, her emotions were on the surface, and she saw nothing wrong in letting them show—though she tried to keep something of a handle on them for her human shipmates’ sakes. If she paces one more time, McCoy thought again; and then he said, “Lieutenant Tomson has already been notified, Ensign. She’ll understand if you aren’t able to make it on duty”

  “Not go on duty!” Lamia sounded horrified at the thought. She was about to say something else, but broke off suddenly and snapped to attention at the sight of Kirk in the doorway. “Sir.”

  The captain gave her a perfunctory nod. “At ease, Ensign.”

  It was clear she was not; she began pacing nervously again, hunched over with her hands behind her back. McCoy shuddered.

  Kirk took the seat across from McCoy’s. “How is she?” McCoy realized he referred to Nguyen.

  “She’s all right.” The doctor glanced in Lamia’s direction. “The ensign here saved her life. Lamia notified sickbay immediately, but suspected Adams might be involved, so we were able to take the proper precautions. Lamia kept Nguyen from bleeding to death by following M’Benga’s instructions.” It was true, but he said it loudly so that she would hear and be cheered.

  “Good work, Ensign,” Kirk said softly, but she seemed too agitated to hear. “What about Nguyen? Is she conscious yet?”

  “Just coming around.” McCoy anticipated where the captain was leading. “I doubt she’ll be able to positively identify her attacker as Adams, though. According to the ensign here, he wore a Vulcan robe with the hood up, and the lights were out.”

  “What about contamination?” Kirk asked.

  McCoy felt the slightest glimmer of amusement threatening to break through his depression; the captain had obviously become uncomfortably aware of the fact that everyone else in the room was suited up. “Relax, Jim. I’m still wearing a field suit because I had it on when Lamia and Nguyen got here. Just haven’t thought to remove it yet. All of sickbay’s been decontaminated, so you don’t have anything to worry about.” To reassure Jim, McCoy pressed the control on his belt and winced as the field disappeared with a pop.

  Jim seemed noticeably relieved. “How soon will Nguyen be up for questioning? Tomson’s probably on her way to talk to you about search precautions.”

  “She’s still weak and shaken up. It must have been a hell of a shock.”

  “How about the disease?” Kirk lowered his voice as if he didn’t want the Andorian to hear.

  �
�We won’t know for a few hours yet. It takes time to know how the immune system will react.”

  Lamia had started pacing again. She wheeled around to face McCoy with the slightest air of defiance. “I’m sure I don’t have the disease, Doctor. After all, you were the one who told the captain it was okay to send me down to Tanis, weren’t you?”

  McCoy felt gravity pulling at the corners of his mouth. “I said that you were probably immune, Ensign. The virus is probably less of a threat to you than it is to us.” He changed his tack as soon as he realized her expression was becoming more defensive. He forced himself to smile. “Ensign the effects of Nguyen’s sedative should be wearing off by now. It’d be best if a friend were there when she woke. Would you like to see her?”

  It was true, after all, McCoy thought. No harm in killing two birds with one stone. It would be best for the patient, and it would get the anxious Andorian out of his office for a little while.

  Her face brightened. “Yes yes, please. I promise, I won’t say anything to upset her.”

  McCoy glanced at Jim, who shrugged. “If you think it’s best, Doctor. Tomson and I can probably wait two minutes.” But there was a light in the captain’s eyes. He knew what McCoy was doing.

  “All right,” McCoy said. “You can go see her.”

  They both watched her leave. “They must be very good friends.” Kirk’s voice sounded grim and distracted.

  “Let me guess.” McCoy finally got up out of the chair and stretched, feeling stiff and old. “Thinking about Adams.”

  “Aren’t you?”

  McCoy grunted. Thinking about Adams and what he’d done to Chris. And wondering how many others would follow.

  “What precautions can we take?”

  “Not that many.” The doctor shrugged. “Let’s be honest with ourselves, Jim. If Adams has free run of the ship, no one can know where he’s been. Any area could be contaminated.” He had a sudden, ridiculous image of four hundred people jammed into isolation. “If Adams is sighted, we’ll have to quarantine the area immediately, decontam it, and hope for the best. But there’s no real way to ensure against someone getting infected without knowing it and infecting others before he even realizes he’s ill.”

  “There’s got to be more we can do.”

  “Everyone can’t go around wearing field suits indefinitely.” McCoy sighed. “Other than that, there’s not much more we can do, except tell folks to sleep with their doors locked. That rules out Mr. Spock, of course, but then, I don’t think he’s Adams’ type.”

  Kirk did not smile. “How’s Chapel?”

  “It shows, does it?” McCoy folded his arms and looked down at a corner of the room. “Not well. Not well at all, Jim. It doesn’t make any damn sense.”

  “I’ll find Adams,” Kirk said, in that very quiet tone that McCoy found frightening. “And when I do, I’ll force him to make sense out of it.”

  The lights in the isolation unit were slightly dimmed. Inside, Lisa lay on the bed with her eyes closed. Awake and on her feet, she had impressed Lamia as being strong and sinewy; now, she seemed small and frail. Her normally almond skin was ashen, and there was a seam under her right jaw where M’Benga had sealed the wound.

  The sight of her friend so close to death pained Lamia greatly; yet, at the same time, she could not look at her without a sense of joy. Lisa would live because of what she, Lamia, had done. It was an act as worthy as bringing a new life into the universe. Even her family on Andor could not disagree. Lamia wished there was some way to share this with Tijra.

  “Lisa?” Lamia said softly, and tapped the window. Then, feeling foolish, she saw the intercom below the glass and switched it on. “Lisa?”

  Lisa opened her eyes. She had not been asleep.

  Lamia smiled brilliantly at her. She had come very close to total despair at the thought of losing Lisa, so close after losing Tijra, and Stanger. Not so. You didn’t lose Stanger. You never had him.…

  But Lisa would live. Lamia still had a friend aboard the Enterprise.

  “Lamia?” Lisa whispered hoarsely. Her eyes were dark and frightened. “Where am I? Is this sickbay?” Her fingers went to her throat, to the cut that was already healing and would leave no scar. Without warning, her face crumpled and she burst into heaving, voiceless sobs.

  The Andorian’s antennae drew back in sorrow. She pressed a hand against the glass, unable to comfort with a touch. “Lisa. Poor Lisa, don’t cry. You’re all right. Dr. McCoy says you’re going to be just fine.”

  “Then why am I in here?” Huge tears ran down her face, unsettling her friend greatly—on Andor, no creature wept. “It was Adams, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Lamia said.

  “Then I’ve got his disease. Don’t lie to me, Lamia. You’re a terrible liar.”

  It was true. It was simply not in her nature to lie. Nguyen wouldn’t have believed her if she did, so Lamia told her the truth. “We just don’t know, Lisa. Dr. McCoy doesn’t have the lab results yet. We both might have it.” She kept her glowing hand next to the glass while Lisa wept silently.

  I’m sorry,” Lisa sobbed. “You helped me, didn’t you? If you get sick”

  “They’re almost positive I’m immune. If I did get sick, it probably wouldn’t be serious. It’s going to be all right, Lisa. I have a feeling, I really do, that you’re going to be okay. And Stanger and I will come visit you until you’re well enough to go back on duty.” Stanger. Why did she bother to mention him? He would probably decide that it was too inconvenient to visit Lisa too much of a complication, Lamia thought bitterly. “I’m your friend, and I’ll take care of you.” She had said it to make Lisa feel better, but it only seemed to make her cry harder.

  Lisa managed to stem the flow after a bit, and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Thank you. You’ve been so good to me.”

  “You’ll be back on duty before you know it,” Lamia prattled on, “wishing for shore leave again. You’ll see.”

  Lisa tried to shake her head, but the discomfort made it impossible. “No,” she whispered, and closed her eyes.

  “You don’t mean that, Lisa. I care about what happens to you. You’ve got to get better. You can’t” Lamia’s voice caught. “You can’t leave me.”

  “No,” Lisa said again. She closed her eyes and would say no more. Lamia was uncertain whether the pain reflected on her friend’s face was emotional or physical, or both.

  The Andorian took her hand from the glass. “You’ll feel differently soon. You’re in pain and frightened now.” She said it to reassure herself as much as Nguyen. “When you feel better, I’ll come see you again.”

  Lisa still did not answer. Lamia turned and left, telling herself that her friend was still hysterical from the trauma of what had happened. Lamia would be patient, would visit Lisa every day, would show her that she had people who cared for her on the Enterprise. She refused to lose Lisa now, because if she lost her, there would be no one left.

  After the captain and Tomson had left and gotten what information they could from Nguyen and Lamia, McCoy confined the Andorian to a corner of sickbay and then shut himself in his office to reflect on his particularly foul mood. Maybe he’d caught it from Jim, or maybe it was just the fact that they both realized that as long as Adams was tiptoeing around the Enterprise, there was the very real chance McCoy might run out of empty isolation units. Then there was the fact that he’d checked on Chris again and found that her pulse was inexplicably slowing. Stimulants seemed to help somewhat, but there was nothing he could do for the bizarre changes in her brainwave pattern. He turned on the alarm system so that if there were any changes in her life functions at all, he would be summoned from his office.

  He huddled over his desk miserably and thought of how he missed her. He kept half expecting her to walk by so he could say: “What do you think is holding up that lab report on Lisa Nguyen?”

  Or he could talk to her about the astonishing development of coma in the early stages of the disease. But she
wasn’t there. If he just had more knowledge of the early symptoms—if there were just some way to question Adams about it

  His lip curled sourly. He ought to go to the lab and help with the blood tests or the vaccine—he’d had word they were within hours of coming up with something—but he felt like staying at his desk and moping.

  Nguyen’s reaction to her attack and possible infection was another good reason to feel mean. The woman was completely dispirited and broken, sobbing before McCoy even got the words out of his mouth. Her tears rendered McCoy helpless. She even refused to listen to his upbeat lecture about how the lab was this far from a miracle cure.

  He struck the intercom with his fist. “Lab! How long before that report on Nguyen and Lamia?”

  Tjieng answered. Her voice sounded very tired. “It’ll be a few hours, Doctor. We’re pulling double shifts today; the vaccine is top priority. Or would you rather everyone got a toxic dose and be done with it?”

  “Sorry, Chen.” It was as close to the proper pronunciation as he could get. He propped his head on an elbow, slumped on the desk. “I don’t mean to be such a pain. Maybe I’ll be over in a bit and give you guys a hand”

  “I know what you’re like when you get this way,” Tjieng continued wearily, but he heard the undercurrent of teasing. “Maybe you’d better stay and take care of your patients. If they can survive your mood.”

  “Well, I’ll only come if I cheer up, okay? Keep me informed.”

  “You know I always do.”

  “I know,” McCoy said, sounding conciliatory. It paid to stay on Tjieng’s good side. “McCoy out.”

  He looked up to see Spock standing outside his door. And that, he decided, was just one more reason to be in a sour mood. “Come in,” he said, feeling wary.

  The Vulcan stepped inside, his expression composed but his tone hesitant. “Dr. McCoy, I have come to ask for a favor.”

  “Well! A historic occasion,” McCoy said, aware that his sarcasm was quite lost on Spock. He motioned with his arm. “Come in and take a seat.”