Star Trek: The Original Series: The Shocks of Adversity (12 page)

“Seriously, please give me something,” the man pleaded, “before I end up gouging another
hole in my shoulder with my fingernails.”

McCoy gave him a long, wearied look. “How is it you security officers are so gung-ho
to put yourselves in situations where you can get hurt,” he asked, “and then, when
you actually do get hurt, suddenly it’s
my
fault you’re in pain? Nurse?”

Christine Chapel stepped through the door from the lab. “Yes, Doctor?”

“Give Lieutenant D’Abruzzo ten cc’s of hydrocortilene,” he told her, then asked the
patient, “How’s your appetite?”

“I guess I’m kind of hungry,” he said, though judging from the readings on his metabolism,
it would probably be more than a guess once his mind was off his pain.

“I’ll bring you lunch in just a minute,” Chapel told him as she returned to the bedside
with the loaded hypospray. McCoy left D’Abruzzo to the nurse’s tender bedside manner.
Leaving the ward,
he ran straight into Doctor Deeshal, standing just outside the doorway. “Sorry, Doctor.
Checking up, are you?”

“Weren’t you a little harsh with Joe just now?” Deeshal asked.

McCoy bristled slightly at the other man’s sharp, scolding tone, though he supposed
he couldn’t fault the alien for any misinterpretation of the scene he’d just witnessed.
“He knows I was kidding with him,” McCoy assured Deeshal. “The crew is used to my
gruff yet lovable personality. If I were to start treating him with kid gloves, then
he’d think I was covering up something that was wrong with him.”

Deeshal arched one brush-like eyebrow at McCoy. “If you say so,” he said, not fully
convinced. He turned and looked into the ward as he added, “You know your people better
than I do.”

McCoy started for his office again, but stopped and turned back to see Deeshal was
still standing where he was, and still staring, with an unreadable look on his face.
“Is there something you aren’t telling me?”

Deeshal started and turned, as if he had not realized the other doctor was still there.
“What?”

“You keep looking into the ward with this odd look in your eyes,” McCoy said as he
moved back across the room to where Deeshal stood. “Is something wrong with D’Abruzzo?
Is he not out of the woods yet?”

“Woods?” Deeshal repeated quizzically, but understanding lit behind his eyes almost
as soon as he said it. “Oh, no. No, Lieutenant D’Abruzzo is recovering just as he
should. It will still be some time before we know how fully his injury will heal,
but for now, he seems to be doing well.”

McCoy was relieved to hear that, though Deeshal’s expression hadn’t changed. “Well,
then, what is it?”

“Your Nurse Chapel . . .” he said, and then appeared to struggle for words. “She seems . . .
interesting. . . .”

“Interesting.” McCoy tilted his head and folded his arms. “And what is it that interests
you about her?” he asked.

Something in McCoy’s demeanor or tone finally caused Deeshal’s expression to shift.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . . I didn’t realize that the two of you were . . .”

“What?” McCoy nearly shouted. “Christine and me? Of course not! I am a gentleman!”

Deeshal’s eyes narrowed in confusion. “Yes? And Christine is a female.”

“No,” McCoy grunted, “I mean ‘gentleman’ in the sense that I would not use my professional
position as her superior in such an untoward way.”

“Ah, I see,” Deeshal said. “Then, is there another man she has a relationship with?”

“I’m not sure how comfortable I am talking
about my nurse’s private life behind her back,” McCoy said, wishing he had simply
continued on to his office and left the other doctor to silently moon after Christine.
He could have told him about her not-so-secret crush on Spock in order to dissuade
him, but that was a topic he honestly preferred never to even think about, let alone
discuss at any length.

But before McCoy could say anything more, Deeshal jerked back away from the door,
a stricken look on his face. “Oh, dear lord,” McCoy muttered to himself, as he realized
the adult physician before him had suddenly turned into a nervous teenage boy. A second
later, Chapel walked in through the doorway. “Hello, Doctor Deeshal,” she greeted
him with her characteristic cheer.

“Hello, Nurse,” he answered flatly, his professional mask firmly in place. “How is
the patient?”

“He seems to be coming along very well, wouldn’t you say so, Doctor McCoy?”

“Yes,” McCoy nodded, “that’s just what Deeshal and I were talking about, how good
his prognosis looks.”

“I was going over the literature on muscle regeneration from the Domain medical library,”
Chapel continued. Since getting under way from the Nystrom system three days earlier,
both vessels had made the unclassified sections of their respective library computer
banks open and accessible to the
crews of the other. “There’s some really revolutionary ideas in there, particularly
about polyenzyme therapies.”

“Really?” Deeshal asked. “You mean Izay’s monographs? You read those, Nurse?”

“Don’t let her job title fool you,” McCoy said, something he’d had to tell more than
a few people who had made the mistake of underestimating Chapel over the years. “Christine
is an accomplished bioresearcher, and has a far better understanding of how to be
a healer than half the doctors I know.”

“I apologize for my shock,” Deeshal told her.

“Not necessary,” Chapel told him, her cheeks turning slightly pink in response to
McCoy’s praise.

“But, why would a person of such accomplishments opt to serve in this position?” Deeshal
asked her.

“Oh,” Chapel said, “mostly for the experience of serving on a starship, getting out
of the laboratory and seeing the universe.” Of course, that wasn’t the only reason—Chapel
had abandoned her bioresearch career years earlier following the disappearance of
her fiancé, Doctor Roger Korby, and had accepted the position as nurse in the
Enterprise
’s medical department in hopes of finding him.

Chapel revealed none of this to Deeshal, and she had shot McCoy a quick sideways glance
that communicated her hope that he wouldn’t reveal any of it, either. McCoy was a
bit confused by that look at
first. Then he noticed that Christine was still blushing under Deeshal’s gaze, and
realized that it probably had nothing to do with his own earlier flattery.

“Well,” McCoy said, suddenly quite uncomfortable. “Um . . . did you give D’Abruzzo
his lunch, Miss Chapel?”

“Yes, Doctor, I did,” she answered.

“Good. So then, um, why don’t the two of you go get some as well?” he told them.

“The two of us?” Deeshal asked.

“Well, why not?” McCoy asked, covering his discomfort with irascibility. “The Goeg
eat; I’ve learned that much about you over the past few days. Go on!”

Looking confused but not displeased, Chapel looked back to Deeshal and asked, “Shall
we?” The Domain doctor shrugged by way of agreement, and followed as Chapel headed
out of sickbay.

Once they had both disappeared behind the doors to the corridor, McCoy brought a hand
to his face and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Well,” he muttered to himself, “it
can’t be any worse than her and Spock.”

*   *   *

Whatever else he may have thought about the Domain and the way they ran their ship,
Sulu had to hand one thing to them: they knew how to eat.

He and Chekov shared a table in the officers’ mess
aboard the
814
. They had just come off duty, which for the next week and a half would be aboard
the Domain starvessel, serving as liaisons during the first duty shift. Rather than
returning directly to the
Enterprise
, they had opted to try their luck and take their meal here. Like the rest of the
ship, the mess was utterly spartan, with long rows of gray metal tables and low matching
stools bolted to the deck. In contrast, the tray Sulu had set before him was filled
with a colorful mix of chopped vegetables and noodles, in a slightly sweet sauce.

Across the table, his back to the bulkhead, Chekov took a look around the hall as
he chewed a mouthful of his own food, a reddish-brown stew-like dish, then swallowed
and said, “Do you think we should be sitting alone like this?”

Sulu froze, his utensil poised halfway to his open mouth. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“I mean apart from everyone else,” Chekov explained. The mess was less than half full,
and they had taken the open seats closest to the end of the serving line. The next
closest diner was a large, intimidating-looking Rokean seated alone reading from a
data slate. “The captain did say we were acting ambassadors.”

That’s true
, Sulu reflected as he looked around the hall, and decided that they likely did seem
a bit too standoffish to the Domain officers. “You’re right,” he told Chekov, standing
up and picking up
his tray. Chekov followed suit, and the two moved across the hall, past the bison-faced
Rokean who, Sulu decided, looked very much like he wanted to be left alone with his
reading. Instead, they approached a pair of Liruq engaged in casual conversation as
they ate. “Hi,” Sulu said to them, “mind if we join you?”

The two looked up at them, surprised. “No,” said the one closest to Sulu.

“But, why?” asked the other one nervously.

“Just to be friendly,” Chekov said, moving around the table and placing his tray down.
“I’m Pavel,” the ensign said as he sat, and stuck out his right hand. The Liruq looked
from it to Chekov’s face, having no idea why it, or he, was there.

“And I’m Hikaru,” Sulu said as he took the stool opposite Chekov. “And you are . . . ?”

The man next to Sulu pulled himself up straight in his seat. “Rizil, Third Lieutenant,
Environmental Control.”

“Migor, Third Lieutenant, Environmental Control,” the other Liruq announced in the
same fashion.

“At ease, at ease,” Sulu told them. “Like Chekov said, we’re just trying to be friendly.
We’ve been assigned as liaisons to this ship, and we just want to learn as much as
we can about the Domain and the Defense Corps.”

Sulu’s attempt to ease the lieutenants’ apprehension
had the opposite effect. Rizil’s eyes shot all around the room, as if worried who
was watching, while Migor suddenly became fascinated by the tray of food in front
of him. “Or answer any questions you might have about the Federation, if you prefer,”
Chekov added quickly, trying to save the encounter.

“What is this about?”

All four men at the table jumped at the sound of Second Commander Satrav’s voice cutting
across the mess hall. The older Goeg stalked down the row of tables and stopped at
Sulu’s side. “Why are you interrogating my officers?” he demanded.

Sulu craned his neck back to look up at the senior officer, agog. “It’s not an interrogation,
Commander.”

“We were only trying to have a conversation, sir,” Chekov chipped in, “and be goodwill
ambassadors.”

Satrav scowled at the human, and then addressed his officers. “Third Lieutenants,
were you aware that the captain of the Starfleet vessel has issued invitations to
all Domain crew members to visit and make use of their recreational facilities during
their off-duty time, at any time throughout our joint mission?”

“Yes, sir,” the two Liruq answered in near unison.

“And it was your preference to remain aboard this vessel, rather than mixing with
the outsiders?”

“Yes, sir,” they repeated. A quick glance around the mess told Sulu that they were
probably in the minority in that regard.

Satrav nodded approvingly. “Code 10,” he told them mildly, and both Rizil and Migor
grabbed their trays and moved to the far end of the dining hall. Satrav then turned
his glare back to the two humans. “I understand that your intentions are innocent,
Lieutenant Sulu, Ensign Chekov. But you are aboard this vessel only because you need
to be, in order to facilitate the joint operation with NCC-1701. While I appreciate
your desire to create goodwill, that is not your function while you are here.”

The Goeg turned away, heading for the food service line. Sulu looked across the table
to Chekov, who looked back silently for a moment, then shrugged and picked up his
eating utensil again. “So much for making friends,” he said before shoveling another
bite into his mouth.

*   *   *

Spock stood off to the edge of the
Enterprise
’s Deck 6 recreation deck, passively observing the behavior of the large gathering.
A significant majority of the
814
’s off-duty crew had congregated here, as had been the case over the previous nine
shifts. They had been generally well-behaved guests, save for a single unfortunate
incident two days earlier. One
of the Liruq technicians had decided to try a cup of coffee from the food dispenser,
unaware of the beverage’s high levels of caffeine, a substance classified as a dangerous
psychotropic drug in Liruq pharmacology. Though the technician’s reaction was not
life threatening, it did spark a minor panic, and necessitated additional protocols
being programmed into the food synthesizers.

At the moment, though, there were no indications of any similar episodes in the offing.
The first officer also noted that, whereas the Domain crew members had initially tended
to keep to their own small cliques, they were increasingly interacting with members
of the
Enterprise
crew. At present, he noted Lieutenants Uhura and M’Ress sharing a meal with a pair
of Abesian officers, and Christine Chapel deep in conversation with Doctor Deeshal.
Spock considered that particular pairing with an arched eyebrow. While it should not
have been surprising that the two medical professionals would gravitate to one another,
something struck him as odd about the quality of their social behavioral cues. . . .

“Mister Spock.”

Spock turned toward the sound of his name, and saw that Chief N’Mi had just entered
through the door behind him. “Chief,” he greeted her with a dip of his head.