by Jean Lorrah
Chapter Twenty-six
When James T. Kirk left the two Klingons, he found Dr. McCoy leaving the decontamination lock from the isolation units. “How’s Amanda?”
“Weak. Hanging on, though. I gave her the serum; now there’s nothing to do but wait.”
“Been to visit Spock and Sarek?”
“Yes. Jim, have you talked to either of them?”
“Spock, of course. Why?”
“Doesn’t anything strike you as odd here?” asked McCoy.
“Bones, I’ve been concentrating on some way of getting those Vulcan rebels out of engineering, short of explosives.”
“Oh—yeah. I forgot about that problem. Making any progress?”
“Not yet. Now that Scotty’s out of sickbay, though, I’m sure he’ll get those doors open. Now, what’s this about Spock and Sarek?”
“The time. You know that damn Vulcan time sense. Sarek has had nothing to do for the past three days but worry about his wife. Some of what he said to me the translator wouldn’t handle, but what he was really mad about is that he’s been cooped up in there for three days. Three days, Jim.”
“What? You mean neither Spock nor Sarek—?”
“That’s right, and I just don’t get it. Spock—well, who can predict how his system will react to anything? But Sarek is full Vulcan, and he’s been exposed twice now. First at the same time Amanda was, and then again by Amanda. My God, she made a gash on his face, put the virus straight into his blood, and he’s not sick.”
“Could it be that weird blood type that they both have?” Kirk demanded.
“T-negative? It’s rare, but I can’t believe no Vulcan on Nisus has that type,” said McCoy.
“What about Vulcans on Nisus who haven’t caught the plague? Bones … !”
“I’m on it, Jim.” He went to the intercom. “Uhura, put me through to Sorel and Corrigan—emergency priority.”
There was a short wait, then a cultured voice said, “M’Benga here, Dr. McCoy. Sorel and Dr. Corrigan are attending patients.”
“You can check this for me, Geoff. I want to know if any Vulcans with blood type T-negative have had any strain of the plague.”
“Just a moment. They’ll be in a separate computer file … yes, here are the records. Six in all Nisus’ Vulcan population. One moment while I check their names against the disease records. T’Ara … Strain A, recovered. Skitra … Strain B, deceased. Suter … Strain B, recovered. T’Gra … Strain C, critical—” McCoy sighed. “Thanks, Geoff. I thought we might have had an answer, but obviously T-negative’s not it.”
“So why is Sarek immune?” asked Kirk. “Let’s get some of his blood and see,” said McCoy. A few minutes later, Kirk was in the lab with McCoy, both swathed in protective gear against contamination. McCoy showed him on the magnification screen how the Klingon blood samples destroyed the various strains of the virus. But Sarek’s blood didn’t; the very first specimen McCoy introduced to it began to multiply like wildfire.
“He’s not immune,” said Kirk.
“But he’s definitely not sick,” McCoy responded. “Oh, hell—we might as well let Spock and Sarek both out. They’re not going to infect anyone when they’re not sick themselves, and I don’t think either one wants to sit in isolation forever just to avoid the possibility of catching this thing.”
When they were released, both Spock and Sarek insisted on seeing Amanda, but McCoy would not allow them into her room. They had to look in through an observation port, to see her lying pale and still, only the flashing of the heartbeat indicator showing she was still alive.
Spock was already speculating as to why neither he nor Sarek had caught Amanda’s illness. “I want to see those studies Korsal did,” he said. “The graphs that identified the mutation pattern.”
McCoy explained that Korsal was still in sickbay. After passing through all the decontamination procedures in leaving isolation, they went to where the Klingon engineer was. As Kirk had ordered, the computer terminals had been set up, and Korsal was working. Fields of multicolored dots flashed across his screen as he watched, frowning.
Korsal looked up as the group entered his room. “Captain Kirk, have you started beaming materials and personnel up from Nisus?”
Kirk shrugged. “Once we had the plague aboard, it didn’t matter any longer. No one beamed up right away, though.”
“Not till yesterday,” McCoy affirmed.
“You, Dr. McCoy,” said Korsal. “Who else?”
“Sorel and Corrigan. M’Benga. Some of our nurses went back and forth too, and several lab technicians.”
“Then … both kinds of the virus may be aboard by now,” said Korsal.
“There are four strains now,” said McCoy.
“No—not the strains, the … substrains, I suppose is the term. When you told me that our iron-based blood could not provide immunity to those with copper-based blood, I revised the chart, using only red for iron, green for copper, and white for silicon-based blood. People with silicon-based blood have had only Strain A.”
“How many such people are there on Nisus?” asked McCoy.
“Forty-seven,” Korsal replied, “and no one of mixed heritage combining silicon with either copper or iron. Look at the spread pattern, then: white to white, red to red, green to green. But just as the mutations to more deadly strains of the virus have occurred in people of mixed ancestry, so have the substrains developed. Watch. Here is Strain B.”
With only the three colors, instead of the original host of varying shades, they could see the mutation spread, red to red to red to red to red—until it reached someone whose dot was both red and green, someone whose ancestry combined iron-based and copper-based blood, as Spock’s did. From that person three patterns spread: red to red to red, and green to green to green of Strain B, and Strain C, in this case going green to green to green.
Spock had moved forward to study the screen. Kirk saw him swallow, very hard. “Doctor,” he said, his voice absolutely flat, “I think I must go back into isolation.”
Kirk saw the doctor look at their Vulcan … their half-Vulcan friend, first startled, then sad. Then, “Yes,” he said, “I’m afraid you’re right, Spock. Let’s just hope you’re not contagious now.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
Since she was already as exposed to the plague as it was possible to be, Sorel allowed T’Pina to nurse her mother. The younger woman had been working, like everyone else not sick or recovering, almost without rest. The healer expected her to show the first symptoms sooner than forty-eight hours from her exposure, but the first day brought no sign of the disease.
T’Kar continued to run a dangerously high fever and did not regain consciousness. Sorel ordered a cool bath, for there was plenty of water on Nisus. On Vulcan such cooling would be done with an environmental-control unit.
There were many, many other patients. Sorel had not slept since their arrival on Nisus—perfectly possible for a Vulcan, but he was beginning to reach his limits.
Now that they were able to produce a serum for those whose blood was iron-based, the time of the doctors and healers was divided even further: patient care, research into a cure or vaccine for people with other blood bases, and preparation and administration of the serum.
Their three Klingons could produce only a finite amount of blood. Sorel was especially concerned about the younger boy; his strength should be going into growth, not blood production stimulated by drugs. But they had no choice. Karl Katasai was sent up to the Enterprise and put on the same regimen as his father and his brother.
Priorities for the serum were critical patients, medical personnel, people of mixed ancestry with iron-based blood, anyone showing the first signs of the disease, and finally general population with iron-based blood, beginning with children and anyone else at high risk. However, their supply covered only the first two categories and part of the third.
At least Daniel is safe, Sorel thought as he administered the serum to his friend and colleagu
e of so many years.
“But you’re not, and neither is T’Mir,” Daniel replied sadly to his unspoken thought.
Sorel started in shock—Daniel’s ESP rating was virtually nil. The Human locked eyes with him, then stared at Sorel’s hand, still gripping his arm. “You are exhausted,” he said. “I’ve never known your shields to slip like that before.”
“You’ve never known it,” Sorel replied. “Forgive me, Daniel.”
“For what—proving again that we’re family? You wouldn’t ask T’Mir’s forgiveness if you slipped with her.”
“You must be retested when we return to Vulcan,” said Sorel. “Your bonding with a Vulcan appears to have increased your ESP.”
“Don’t change the subject. If you can slip mentally, you can slip physically—and that possibility is as dangerous to the physician as to the patient. I’ve accepted your advice to nap every few hours, but you haven’t slept at all. You’re not going near any more patients until you’ve had at least six hours of sleep. Doctor’s orders, Healer!”
Daniel was right. Sorel reluctantly accepted the prescription, used a meditation technique to fall asleep, and awoke feeling rested, although no less concerned. It was warranted: there were seven more cases of Strain D, all in people of copper-based blood. They had no cure for them, could only treat the symptoms.
T’Kar’s fever raged despite cold-water lavage and an ice bath; she had gone into convulsions twice. T’Pina remained at her side, replacing the ice as fast as it melted, her concern and frustration showing in her eyes, even though she schooled her face into calm Vulcan lines. She was pale, but that was a symptom of weariness, not plague.
All T’Pina’s vital signs remained astonishingly normal. Sorel did not understand how her system could resist the virus for so long. “The first moment you feel feverish, you must call for help,” he cautioned her, and reminded the Human nurse who was checking T’Kar’s progress every half hour to scan T’Pina each visit as well.
At least it was refreshing to see the medical personnel who had been vaccinated coming out from beneath the cumbersome protective gear. And to see Human, Lemnorian, Caitian, and Hemanite patients recovering.
But just as fast, the diagnostic beds filled with Vulcans, Orions, Rigellians—and emptied, as fully two-thirds of those with Strain D died within the first twelve hours.
In the computer room, McCoy showed Sorel Korsal’s new findings. “And there we went, possibly contaminating the Enterprise with every strain and substrain, when Sendet had carried up only a strain which attacks iron-based blood—a strain for which we now have a cure!”
“We had no way of knowing, Leonard.”
“No,” the Human doctor agreed, “no way.” He snorted derisively. “I was hoping to see Sendet hoisted on his own petard.”
“You do not mean that,” said Sorel. “You would never wish illness on anyone.”
“No,” McCoy agreed. “I’ve seen enough to last a lifetime.”
The intercom beeped. McCoy punched the switch, considerably harder than he would have had to. “McCoy here.”
“Gardens here, in the Enterprise sickbay, Doctor. I think you will want to beam aboard. Mr. Spock has gone into systemic failure.”
Chapter Twenty-eight
Perfectly healthy, not medical personnel, and not of mixed heritage, James T. Kirk was at the bottom of the list to be vaccinated against the plague. That meant he was stuck aboard the Enterprise. Everyone who had been near Amanda between her exposure by Sendet and her confinement to sickbay had been inoculated. It seemed to work: no one else had come down with the disease except Spock.
Not being on the priority list for the vaccine also meant that Kirk could not visit Spock, although McCoy reminded him that he was not a doctor, and could really not do the now-unconscious Vulcan any good. Somehow, though, he had the irrational feeling that Spock would know he wasn’t there, and that if he could be, perhaps he could will a fight for survival into his friend.
Amanda was out of danger now, weak, greatly worried about Spock, but recovering. Sarek spent most of his time at her side, which McCoy said was probably safer for him than anywhere else on board. “All the medical staffs been vaccinated,” explained his CMO, “not that Sarek could catch it from them anyway. Either he’s already caught it from Spock, or he’s safe unless the copper-based strain was brought aboard by our carelessness.”
“The way Sendet brought aboard the iron-based strain,” Kirk said angrily.
“We’ll know soon enough,” said McCoy. “We’re filtering the air through the entire sickbay, not just the isolation units. Sorel and the other Vulcans are staying planetside for now—they’ve added to their tasks trying to develop a quick test for the disease before the symptoms start to show.” The doctor rubbed weary eyes. “Things are better now that we’ve got the vaccine. So why are we busier and tireder than ever?”
“We only have part of the answer,” Kirk replied, “and we can’t implement it because we can’t make vaccine fast enough.”
“I can’t keep Korsal and his sons on those drugs much longer, either,” said McCoy. “They’re not as dangerous as that drug I used on Spock the time I needed so much blood for Sarek’s heart surgery—but on the other hand, they increase production by only twenty-five percent, not two hundred percent like that Rigellian serum.”
“But the Rigellian serum—” Kirk began.
McCoy chorused with him, “—only works on people with copper-based blood.”
Kirk shook his head. “Bones, did you ever think there’d be a time when we’d wish we were hip-deep in Klingons?” Suddenly he realized, “Wait a minute! Maybe we can be!”
“Huh?” said McCoy, that brilliant repartee evidence of how tired and overstressed the CMO was.
Kirk left McCoy’s office and went into the area where Korsal was with his two sons. One look at the younger boy, and he called, “Bones! Come here!”
Karl was asleep. When he didn’t wake at Kirk’s shout, though, both his father and his older brother were immediately at his side. “What’s wrong with him?” Korsal demanded as McCoy hurried in.
Kirk saw McCoy study the life-sign indicators over the bed, but they meant nothing to him as he had no idea what the vital signs of a half-Klingon, half-Human boy ought to be.
The doctor peeled back one of Karl’s eyelids, shined a light in—and the boy woke, feebly pushing McCoy away and turning onto his side, sliding immediately back into sleep.
“He’s all right,” said McCoy. “He’s just exhausted. I’m taking him off the drugs, effective immediately. He’s just too young to take the stress.”
Korsal looked from his son to the doctor, and Kirk saw the emotions flicker over his face. “You are sure he has not been harmed already?”
“Look at the indicators,” said McCoy. “The warning is set to go off well above the danger levels, and it didn’t. Would have in another few minutes, though. Korsal, there’s no telling how many lives you’re saving; do you think we’re going to repay you by allowing your son to come to harm?”
“No. I have observed your precautions. But now your production of vaccine will be cut by one third.”
“It doesn’t have to be,” said Kirk.
Korsal stared at him, frowning. “What do you mean?”
“Korsal, I can’t believe that the Klingon Empire would maroon you here, on a Federation planet, with no means of calling for help if you need it.”
“I report regularly to the empire,” Korsal replied, “but my mission is to acquire and transmit scientific data.”
“But you can contact the empire?”
“Yes. Why?”
“You know why! Even Klingons respond to a medical distress signal! The moment you found out we could make a vaccine from Klingon blood, why didn’t you send out a call for volunteers? Surely you’ve lived among us long enough to know we wouldn’t take the opportunity to lay a trap and kill them!”
Korsal was staring at him impassively, Kevin in horror. Then
the boy looked to his father, equally horrified. “I didn’t know you could call directly to the empire. Why didn’t you, Father?”
Korsal walked heavily back to his bed and sat down. “I can send a message that will reach an empire outpost in approximately two days. No, I have not sent such a message. Captain, have you thought about what you are asking?”
“Help. From Klingons. Are you saying, then, that Human prejudice is justified: that if a Klingon saw a man bleeding to death by the side of the road, not only would he not help him, but he would rob him before he left him to die?”
“Jim!” McCoy protested.
Korsal looked up, wearing a smile that just barely showed the points of his teeth—a warning. Kirk had seen that Klingon expression many times in a long career, but never before from Korsal.
Then the Klingon said, “You are a soldier, Captain, among your people that sets you apart. Among my people, the fact that I am not a soldier sets me apart. Despite that, I know something of military thinking.”
He continued, “If I sent a medical distress signal, the empire would send help. But consider: those who came to the aid of Nisus would take back a full report. Captain Kirk, have Humans never engaged in biological warfare?”
The Eugenics Wars. Kirk’s stomach clenched. “We consider it the most heinous crime imaginable,” he replied.
“And to consider it so means that at some time in your history your people have experienced it. Among Klingons, it is considered equally reprehensible, dishonorable, forbidden. However, every military man knows that once a weapon exists—”
“—it will be used,” Kirk completed the statement. “A Klingon saying too, I take it.”