The captain decided he would wake them. Kirk picked a capsule far enough down the line to be outside the view of anybody approaching the opening. The controls on the pod were a small display showing six icons. He pulled out the tricorder and activated the translation program. It quickly displayed the meanings of the pictographs. The first four were settings for temperature, pressure, nutrients, and recycling. The last two read “power activation” and “purge.” “Purge” hopefully would empty its interior of water. It seemed like the best option. Kirk pressed the sixth icon.
At first, nothing happened, but then a whirring noise could be heard, and bubbles rose inside the pod. Looking down, he saw water rushing out along the pod’s entire circumference—a trickle that quickly grew into an impressive flush. It was all over in a matter of seconds. The Farrezzi stirred, first its eyes, turning, retracting, and extending, then its limbs, and eventually it pushed the capsule top up.
It let out a terrifying shriek that threatened to pierce Kirk’s eardrum. The universal translator activated, and he was treated to an equally piercing, “Assistance! Assistance! Assistance requirement!”
The captain had to get the situation under control. “Please calm down,” he said. “I’m not here to hurt you. My name is James Kirk. I am a visitor from another planet.”
“Assistance requirement here now!”
“There’s nobody here to help you except me. I’m sorry to tell you this, but some of your people want to sell you into slavery.”
The Farrezzi had stopped screaming, but now it was trembling. Suddenly it was out of the pod, heading away from him, surprisingly fast for somebody who’d just come out of a century-long sleep. Kirk knew he needed to be patient, but he couldn’t afford to be discovered. He had no choice but to run after it.
“I’m here to help you!” he shouted, desperate to be heard over the alien’s wailing. “You’re on a ship that belongs to these slavers. They’ve taken you from your underground refuge and intend to sell you to the Orions.”
The Farrezzi was fast; he’d lost sight of it already. After a while the captain realized that he could no longer hear the loud thumps it made when running. It was hiding somewhere. He had to convince it of his intentions, but would it listen?
“My name is James Kirk. I am the captain of a starship that belongs to an interstellar organization called the United Federation of Planets. We are explorers. We thought you had disappeared. We came to Farrezz to find out why. We discovered that you had not left. We were surprised. Then we saw the slavers. They were members of your own species. They took advantage of your sleeping state to put thousands of your kind on ships to be sold into slavery.” He let that sink in.
Silence. From nowhere, shots rang out. Kirk ducked instinctively.
Where was the fire coming from? How had the Farrezzi got its hands—tentacles—on a weapon?
More shots, some of them ricocheting off the pods closest to him. Kirk realized that the shots were coming from the entrance. He held his breath, waiting for the next impact. There was somebody over there, probably a slaver who’d heard him talking, or the scared Farrezzi wailing.
The captain grabbed his phaser and leaned out from behind the pod. He couldn’t see the doorway from here, so he’d have to move carefully. He waited for a lull in the shots and went into a roll, coming up behind another pod. Cautiously, Kirk leaned out and immediately jumped back as more shots rang out. But he had spotted the shooter. He leaned out and squeezed off a quick shot. His phaser hit the edge of the doorway, showering sparks everywhere.
A sudden wailing from the side of the room diverted his attention. “Assistance requirement here! Assistance requirement! Alien presence! Hostility! Hostility!” It was Kirk’s sleeper, rapidly moving in his direction.
“Identity request! Identity request! Individual family location!” It was the shooter.
“Compliance: I name statement Horr-Sav-Frerin.”
“Explanation: pod nonimmersion! Explanation! Explanation!”
“Sleep disturbance. Awakening with surprise, presence of unknown alien. Assistance requirement!”
“Identity class: sleeper?”
Kirk could see the wailing Farrezzi now. It had reached the doorway. “Affirmative. Assistance requirement immediate!”
A shot impacted a pod right next to the sleeper. “Direction: pod return! Alternative: fatality!” The shooter shot at the sleeper again.
A loud wail emanated from the sleeper as it began moving—toward the shooter. “Assistance requirement! Assistance requirement!”
The shooter slipped through the doorway, pointing its weapon right at the sleeper. “Alternative: fatality!”
Kirk leaned out, hoping that despite the fact that his opponent had five eyes, its attention was elsewhere. His luck failed him. The shooter began to aim its weapon his way, but Kirk got off two good shots, dropping the Farrezzi.
The sleeper ran toward Kirk and stopped short, then slumped against a pod. It emitted a strange, otherworldly wail that the translator didn’t process.
“So,” Kirk said, “are you ready to believe me now?”
The Farrezzi inclined its head slightly, to let all its eyes look at Kirk. He didn’t mind being the focus of its attention; perhaps this meant it was no longer so afraid of him that it wanted to run away. “That person over there is one of the slavers.”
Eyestalks turned and contracted, a limb curled upward, parting at the end to reveal two appendages that scratched the skin under the fur. The Farrezzi made a noise that sounded like a heavy sigh. “Not-I here defective youngchild repeat low-speed.”
At last, a first-contact exchange with a Farrezzi that wasn’t a slaver. But what was the alien saying?
Giotto heard thumps in the distance. This was it. He raised his phaser, ready for whatever they were about to throw at him. It was difficult to tell how many individuals there were. He’d just have to wait and see.
The first one was already coming around the bend. He didn’t give it a chance to get very far. A slight contraction of Giotto’s trigger finger released the energy that vaporized the target upon contact. He’d deliberately set the phaser to maximum because of the psychological aspect. When you saw a body drop in front of you, that was bad, but when it vanished, that was bound to even get to combat-trained warriors.
The Farrezzi didn’t immediately follow their unlucky comrade. They stopped just short of the bend, out of sight, but not out of hearing. The commander could make out some of their strange squeaks: “Order request” and “Unknown assailant.”
The shadows changed, there was a brief flurry of movement, and then something small and round came rolling along the tunnel, emitting a steady whine. Grenade!
He threw himself back into the room and grabbed the remote. He wasted precious seconds fumbling to find the right icon. Cursing himself for taking so long, Giotto squeezed the button as far down as it would go.
The grenade had almost reached him. Desperately, he stabbed the icon again. The door descended in a painfully leisurely fashion. It wasn’t going to make it. Giotto sprinted to the back of the room, throwing himself over the still unconscious Chekov.
He heard the thud-clang of the metal door hitting the floor. Then an enormous roar drowned out every thought.
Slowly, he stood up and opened his eyes. The door had closed just in time. However, the grenade had bowed the door. It wasn’t going to open again. Giotto didn’t mind—he and Chekov were safer in here.
He turned his head to check on Chekov. The ensign was still lying there, but his wide-open eyes bore a scared, pained look.
Giotto moved over to Chekov. “Hey, Ensign. You made it.” He noted with apprehension that he was barely able to hear his own voice. Hearing lost, hopefully only temporarily.
The ensign didn’t reply. He simply lay there, seemingly mulling something over. Eventually, he opened his mouth, forcing out, “Papa?”
Giotto leaned forward, making it easier for Chekov to take in his face. “I’m
not your father, Ensign. Take a good look. Recognize me?”
“I… what…” the ensign stammered.
“Easy, now. You’re safe,” Giotto said. “I don’t know what they did to you, Pavel, but they’re not here now. We just need to be patient. The captain’s on his way.”
Chekov stared at him with glazed eyes.
A sound made Giotto whirl around. The heat coming off the door was considerable, but judging from the small crack at the bottom, the Farrezzi were trying to wedge it open.
He knew he had to do something. It would make things difficult later, but he had no choice. Grabbing his phaser, he quickly adjusted the setting and fired a continuous beam at the door edge. It didn’t take long for the door to heat up and seal them in the chamber.
Giotto looked over at the unconscious Farrezzi guard. He set his phaser on stun and fired, just to make sure the guard wouldn’t wake up. Then he pulled out his communicator to hail the captain. Hopefully, he would be able to do something. If not, Giotto and Chekov were done for.
On his way back to sickbay, McCoy checked on his patients. Not surprisingly, Sulu was still eager to go back on duty. His tricorder readings were almost good enough for McCoy to let him. Almost. One more day of rest, and he could take back command of the ship. Haines was still sleeping, and the other outpatients were doing well.
As soon as he entered sickbay, he called out for Chapel, Odhiambo, and Thomas to come to a staff meeting, hoping that they would be able to suggest a treatment he hadn’t thought of. A long shot, certainly—but occasionally, a long shot hit its target.
“Doctor?” Chapel said as she entered his office. “What is it?”
“Christine, Zainab, I need your help.” He motioned at the two to sit down. “Where’s Nurse Thomas?”
Odhiambo spoke up. “Getting some rest. Cheryl’s been up since yesterday.”
“Ah,” was all McCoy replied to that. He hadn’t noticed that, which showed how oblivious he’d become. “I need your suggestions for treatments you think might work for our coma patients. Something out of the ordinary—unusual, even unorthodox.”
Neither of the two nurses said anything. The doctor imagined he could see their brains shifting into high gear. Odhiambo turned her gaze away from the display case behind him, her face taking on a hopeful expression. “I’m not sure… it hasn’t been done for years…”
“Yes?” said McCoy.
“Well, why don’t we try deep brain stimulation?” Odhiambo looked embarrassed. “I know it’s really ancient … like suggesting osmotic eels…”
“Interesting idea. I don’t know enough—” McCoy interrupted himself. “Let’s see if we can get all the literature on it.”
Odhiambo seemed very interested in the deck. “I’ve done all the research. It had mixed results, but it wouldn’t harm them, and it could help. The procedure is on your computer.”
McCoy reviewed the data. It wasn’t much to go on, but if there was even the slightest chance of success, he’d try it. “Well done, Nurse. This may be just the sort of left-field suggestion we need.”
There was no device designed for this ancient therapy on the Enterprise, but a good doctor knew how to improvise. McCoy took a simple somnetic inducer and within a quarter hour he’d reconfigured it.
The nurses wanted to stay and observe. “I get all twitchy when you stand there behind me, looking over my shoulder,” he said. So he sent them off to look after the patients elsewhere on the deck.
The modified device in hand, McCoy stood at Bouchard’s bed. This was the moment of truth. The small device gave off a low hum, which was all the indication he got that it was working. There was a small but insignificant spike in brain activity. He didn’t want to give up yet and continued moving the device over Bouchard’s head for another minute.
No change.
Damn it!
His frustration was growing. McCoy knew himself well enough to take a break before he had to vent his anger at something. Or somebody.
The bosun’s whistle sounded for a shipwide announcement. “All hands, this is Lieutenant Uhura. The Enterprise is going to be advancing at impulse speed, accelerating gradually. We’ve currently stabilized our position by using the warp engines to project a bubble of normal space. Our goal is to smooth the path before us. We anticipate only minor turbulence, but all hands should continue to be alert, because automated computer systems may fail without warning. Report any and all unusual occurrences to your section chiefs. Uhura out.”
Chapel reported discharging three more patients, leaving only two serious cases—in addition to the espers—for them to care for. Those who had been discharged were able to go back to their stations. McCoy ordered Odhiambo to go around with Abrams, checking on the crew to see if they needed stimulants. He didn’t particularly like the idea but it was necessary if the Enterprise was going to free herself.
Discouraged, McCoy had injected himself with a neural suppressant again, to keep away his visions. But it was only working intermittently. He was still seeing Jocelyn or his father. Worst of all, they were joined by Joanna, who just stood there, staring at him accusingly. It was as if every guilty thought, every pang of his conscience, had been given substance, taking on the form of the three people in his life that he’d hurt the most.
McCoy would have welcomed some new data to distract him. The damned computer was still humming merrily away, but it had yet to figure out anything usable. He pinched his nose in frustration.
“Since when were you dependent on computers to solve your problems?” Joanna wanted to know, in a tone that allowed no opposition. “You always told me that a physician’s best tools were compassion and insight.”
McCoy fought back the instinct to reply. It was hardest with Joanna, because she was right. He had left her behind. Immediately after the divorce, he’d been so focused on getting away from it all that he’d spent barely any time with her.
“Don’t desert these people like you deserted me.”
It wasn’t fair. He wanted to rail at her, to tell her that he was working his damnedest to save his patients. She was a distraction, a reminder of his failures.
“Like always.”
This he couldn’t let stand unchallenged, but when he opened his mouth to say something, the deck began to vibrate beneath his feet. His tricorder skittered across his desk, and the objects on the display shelf behind him rattled in place. Uhura had been right; the distortions weren’t too bad.
“Don’t let them down like you did me.”
McCoy didn’t recognize the voice. It was a man’s, but it wasn’t his father’s. Too young and too strong. He looked behind him to see a man in a blue uniform. His torso was twisted at an unnatural angle, and blood was oozing down the side of his shirt. The face was familiar…
“I don’t even know who you are,” he said. “I’ve never talked to you before in my life.”
“And certainly not in mine,” said the man, and he laughed. It was a deep, rasping sound that made McCoy’s spine shiver with guilt and cold.
Spine! It was Hendrick, the one who had died last night.
“Thanks so much for remembering me,” said the man. “Senior Chief Petty Officer Luke Hendrick. Twenty-three years in the service, all over. And you can’t even remember my name.”
McCoy was about to argue back, but he snapped to his senses in time. That man shouldn’t be here. None of them should be here! There must be something wrong with him, something he could detect and treat. Uncertain what else to do, he grabbed the psycho-tricorder from his desk.
His face fell when he studied the readings. Still nothing. How was that possible? McCoy was losing his mind, and he had no idea why.
TWELVE
Twelve Years Ago
After less than a year on the Feynman, Leonard lands an assignment on the Koop. His residency, jumping from place to place, can’t look good on his record, but he’s getting deep-space experience. The fact is, he couldn’t stand it on the Feynman, but the Koop isn’
t much better. When he stays in one place too long, he begins to think too much. When he learns that Joanna and Jocelyn have moved to Cerberus, he requests a starbase posting in the same sector. He ends up on Starbase 7 in Sector 006, close enough to visit.
Joanna is almost three. He realizes that she thinks of him as a visitor, and not as her father. Pretty soon, she will have grown up without him. She throws awful tantrums, and he has a hard time dealing with them. Jocelyn has to step in to calm her down, which makes him feel even worse. It hurts him that he can’t be an integral part of Joanna’s life. Even if he wanted to give it another go, Jocelyn wouldn’t take him back.
Frustrated, he transfers off Starbase 7 to the Constitution, where he finally finishes his residency. Despite his record, he lands a plum assignment as a junior medical officer on the Newton. After two years, he hears from his father. He’s dying of pyrrhoneuritis, a rare offworld disease that’s made its way to Earth. Leonard asks for a transfer back to Earth, where he becomes an instructor at Starfleet Medical. Weekends he spends in Forsyth, taking care of his father.
After two years of constant pain, his father dies. Jocelyn sends him her condolences. He doesn’t answer the message, and hopes she doesn’t come to the funeral. She stays away. Nancy doesn’t come either. Leonard learns that she’s married and has joined her husband on a survey mission. He isn’t disappointed by the news.
The day after the funeral, he requests the deepest space assignment he can get. He spends six months on Capella IV, a planet near Klingon space. It’s a welcome relief. He enjoys getting to know the Capellans and their rituals.
As his assignment ends, Leonard hears from Jim Kirk. He’s met Kirk a couple times before. “Bones!” Kirk’s comm begins. “I need you.” Kirk is the new captain of the Enterprise and is just setting out on a five-year mission away from the Federation core worlds. He’s looking for a chief medical officer.
“Jim, do you think I want to look at four hundred people’s tonsils?” But he accepts the offer. Leonard has realized that he loves practicing interstellar medicine. He enjoys pushing himself, learning. He’s at home in Starfleet.
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