Текст книги "Killing Time "

Автор книги: Della Hise

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The Vulcan steeled himself. "If I am able to reconstruct the universe as it mustbe," he ventured, "the problem will most likely disappear. Since it is based on the physiology of my currenthistory—and not on the physiology of the other, correcttimeline, there is every possibility that it will—"

"Spock!" McCoy interrupted angrily. "Between the 'ifs' and the 'maybes,' you're going to get yourself killed! Well here's another one for you: maybeyou're wrong! What then?"

Coal-black eyes hardened as Spock met the doctor's accusing stare. "In that event," he replied stiffly, "I shall die." He turned toward the door, stopping only when McCoy's hand closed unexpectedly on his arm, forcing him to turn around. He hadn't seen the doctor even rise from the chair. . . .

"Now you listen to me, you stubborn Vulcan!" McCoy began, eyes blazing human fire. "Whether you care to admit it or not, I ama doctor. And while I may not be able to cure you of your biology, I cantreat some of the symptoms! And I'll be damned if you go charging off into the Neutral Zone without me!Try it and you'll find yourself slapped down with a medical restraining action so fast it'll make your logical Vulcan head do cartwheels! Try it!" he dared. "If the ship's doctor—meaning me—relieves you of command, not even those muscle-apes from Security will back you up!"

The Vulcan's eyes traveled to the hand which constricted on his arm and held him immobile. "If that is your formal request to … accompany me into the Neutral Zone, Doctor," he managed, holding the anger at bay, "I would be … grateful to accept." If nothing else, perhaps the persistent human would be able to slow the condition's progress, buy more time.

McCoy stared mutely at the Vulcan, a very faint smile hinting at the corners of his lips. "Well … why didn't you just say so in the first place?" he muttered. He bounced happily on his toes, but a sudden thought came to him. "Er … Spock? Just how do you intend to explain me to the Romulans once we get inside the Empire? Blue eyes and wavy hair don't exactly fill their bill."

The Vulcan studied him curiously. "There are various human offshoots in the Empire," he remembered. "You will be my … personal attendant. However," he added, forcing a lightness of mood which came with difficulty, "the Romulans have another word for it."

McCoy felt his face redden, but was too relieved to give a damn about pride. If Spock was agreeing to let him go, he could survive being called a slave.

At last, the Vulcan turned to leave, slipping into the corridor and leaving McCoy alone.

The doctor shrugged, trying to chase away the uncanny sense of displacement which replaced the Vulcan's presence. " Youwon't live it down either, MasterSpock," he muttered once the captain was conveniently out of hearing distance. But let's just hope I can keep you alive long enough to worry about dignity. You stubborn, pigheaded, crazy, illogical Vulcan! Just don't die on me now—not this close to a home I don't even remember but seem to want. Just don't die on me now, Spock. . . .

Alone in his quarters, Spock discovered sleep elusive. Somewhere, a stranger whom he recognized as himself walked deserted corridors … alone … yet not alone. He thought of Kirk, and mentally reached out to the human, attempting to verify … what?

An eyebrow rose. Jim?

For a brief instant, he thought he felt an answering echo; yet it faded as quickly as it came. He took a deep breath which came out as a sign. But at the very least, the human was alive. That much was certain, and the telepathic link between them had survived the transformation of a universe. And somehow, even Thea had recognized his price.

In a fleeting moment, he wondered what Alliance Command would say when– if—they learned of his agreement to Thea's scheme. Even if peace and trade treaties did eventually result from it, it would hardly matter. If he were able to reconstruct the original timeflow, it would completely erase everything he had known … including S't'kal and FleetCom. Technically, therefore, since the Alliance would no longer exist, he did not require their permission.

His eyes closed … but dreams quickly intruded.

Somewhere, a drummer pounded tightly stretched skins; and Madness—a faceless entity with hot red eyes—danced naked in a dry lake-bed, demanding human sacrifice.

The fever claimed him, wrapping him in ember-hot arms for the night.

Chapter Seventeen

KIRK'S EYES OPENED to the sensation of water dripping on his face. Dragging himself back to consciousness, he raised one hand to his forehead, fighting the dizziness and pain which rose in his stomach as he tried to move. Reality refused to focus.

"Spock?"

"Juliet?" another familiar voice said as Kirk became aware of a supportive hand on his shoulder. "Sorry to disappoint you, Jim," Richardson added, words coming as if through a tunnel, "but it's just Prince Charming without his Cinderella. And on thishunk of rock, I don't think there's even an ugly stepsister."

Struggling to sit up, Kirk leaned heavily on Richardson for support, grabbed the wet cloth from the other ensign's hand, and rubbed it briskly across his face. After a moment, his eyes opened, scanning the desolate terrain, and he found himself suppressing a groan of dismay.

Jagged rocks reached toward a pale yellow horizon on all sides; and skeletal trees with black-fingered branches dotted the alien landscape. The ground was relatively soft, consisting of muted brown sand and a smattering of tiny clear crystal-pebbles vaguely resembling diamonds. As the blue sun sank low on the horizon, the clear rocks glistened, giving the illusion of a sea of shiny stones. Overhead, somewhere high among the rock buttress, a spring gurgled noisily, sounding like a muted whisper of children's voices.

At last, Kirk met his roommate's eyes. "I feel like a person who just swallowed a bottle of rubbing alcohol," he muttered, wishing his head would clear. "What the hell happened?"

Richardson shrugged absently, then winced at the stab of pain which ran through one arm. "Close range disruptor stun," he surmised. "That was a good try you made back on the ship. Too bad it didn't work."

Forcing himself to remember the turn of events, Kirk breathed deeply. "Not exactly standard issue Security people," he recalled.

Richardson grunted, leaning up against the outcropping of rock, shielding his eyes from the sun with one hand. "Our little friends left a pile of survival gear over there," he continued, jerking his head toward a mound of green canvas packs resting against the base of the buttress. "But since I flunked basic tent-building in survival school, I thought I'd wait around for some help in setting up housekeeping." He paused. "I hope you read Romulan cookbooks, Kirk."

Kirk managed a smile, glancing to where the gear had been haphazardly dropped to the ground. "I don't suppose they decided to stay for dinner," he surmised.

Richardson shook his head. "They did ask me to relay their humblest apologies, but I had the impression they were in a bit of a hurry to get back." Gradually, he sobered. "I was barely awake myself, Jim," he explained. "But I did hear one of them summon a Romulan cruiser for beam-up, so I'd assume we're not in the Alliance anymore." His eyes narrowed curiously. "Still … if they'd wanted to knock us off completely, they wouldn't have left that stack of junk for us to play with."

Kirk nodded to himself. "Dead hostages don't command a very high price on the open market," he said quietly. Then, looking at Richardson, a frown came to his face. "C'mon," he urged, putting his own misery in the background. "Let's see what we can do about that arm."

Without waiting for an answer, he stripped off the uniform tunic, struggled with the sleeves, then grunted appreciatively when the fabric finally ripped. His eyes scanned the horizon carefully as he sought something to use as a splint. Finding a nearby tree with low-hanging branches, he stood—a little too quickly, he discovered, as the desertlike world shifted and spun out of focus. He took a deep breath, waved Richardson's unspoken protest aside with a quick gesture, and edged over to where the skinny tree had poked its way through the rocks and was growing at a crooked angle. Bracing himself with one foot, he lifted the other leg, drew back at the knee and kicked.

With a startled snap, the tree severed almost at the base. After picking it up and breaking the main branch to an appropriate length, Kirk turned to see a puzzled and worried expression take shape on Richardson's face. He returned to his friend's side, took the man's wrist in one hand, and slowly extended the arm to its correct position, grimacing as he felt the ligaments straighten.

"This is to pay you back for all the dirty clothes you left all over my bed!" he said, trying to refocus Richardson's attention.

Richardson winced. "It's not broken," he said matter-of-factly, "but it willbe if you keep that up!"

Kirk managed a laugh, looking at the alien landscape once again. "Any idea where we are?"

"Well, at first glance," Richardson began with a mock-professional air, "I'd be willing to bet that we're not in Oz." He flinched when Kirk began fitting the branch to the arm. "But if you'll look out that window on your left, you'll see that we're now passing over the—ouch!—Golden Gate Bridge. On your right, you'll see the Pacific Ocean. That tiny speck is a lifeboat, containing your captain and crew. And if you'll further observe—ouch, dammit!—you'll see that the left wing is on fire." He grinned warmly. "Use your imagination, Kirk," he urged. "And don't pinch the stewardess."

Kirk laughed lightly, using strips of the dismembered uniform to tie his handiwork in place. "Better?"

Richardson grimaced. "Do Gorns fly?"

After another moment, Kirk finished the splint, rose to his feet, and brushed loose sand from his knees. "Let's see what our hosts left to eat," he said, going quickly to the pile of survival gear and dragging the two largest bundles over to where his roommate waited. He began digging through the first pack, pulling out an assortment of ration bars (labeled in Romulan dialect); instruments which appeared to be for cutting and digging, presumably to use in search of food; and finally, a standard Alliance-issue medi-kit.

"Efficient little bastards, weren't they," Richardson said, leaning forward to survey the contents of the bag.

But Kirk didn't answer. His eyes remained locked on the contents of the medi-kit … and the two full ampules of lidacin. He took a deep breath, then glanced at Richardson out the corner of one eye.

"How's the pain in the arm, Jerry?" he asked at last, also noting the diluted coenthal and another painkilling substance which was marked with the universal symbol for morphine.

"Manageable," Richardson decided. "Save the stuff for later." But his brows furrowed as he studied Kirk's face. "Do you … remember anything that happened while you were unconscious?" he asked presently.

Kirk felt a chill climb along his spine. "No," he replied. "Why?"

"Well, when you started coming around, you kept calling for Spock." An easy grin came to the ensign's face. "Now in itself, that may not seem so strange. He isthe captain: fearless leader, bold ruler, god among mortals, et cetera and so on and so forth. But that's not what caught my attention." He laughed reassuringly at Kirk's confused expression. "Maybe it doesn't mean anything, and maybe it does," he continued, "but you kept asking Spock about the Enterprise. You kept asking him if the Enterprisewas safe."

Kirk felt something change inside himself, a moment of nonreality, a moment of elation … and finally, the bitterness and the loss. "I … the Enterprise…" He rolled the word off his tongue, comparing the sound with the feelings which accompanied it. Warm. Secure. Home.

But for a moment, EnsignKirk resurfaced. Never to touch her. Never to know her. Never to haveher. "I don't know," he snapped angrily. "Probably just another bad dream." He wondered why he was becoming defensive again, why he felt so helpless and alone. The lidacin stared up at him from the medi-kit, but he turned away before the illusion could tempt him further. "It's nothing, Jerry. Just forget it!"

"Whoa!" Richardson remarked, eyes widening. "Are you sureabout that, Jim?" he asked, wriggling around until he could lean comfortably against the rock-face. "And even if youare, I'm not. I saw it in S'Parva's mind, too—during the link—and I'm convinced that it's something important. Think, dammit!"

Kirk rose, started to run, then abruptly sank to the ground once again. Enterprise… It was just a word, he told himself. Meaningless. Obscure. But that, he realized, was the real lie. With a conscious effort, he chased the bitter ensign-reflection back into the mind shadows, trying to remember more details of the meld he'd done with Spock. She. Enterprise … She. At last, the pieces fell into place like laser-carved puzzle segments. He took a deep breath.

"It's … she's… the ship," he said at last.

Richardson remained silent for a moment, warm brown eyes darkening thoughtfully. " Yourship," he added finally, reaching out to touch Kirk's arm in a gesture of reassurance. "S'Parva and I saw it, too … we just didn't have a name for it."

For a moment, EnsignKirk rebelled, slamming against the heavy walls which CaptainKirk had placed around him. But it was a losing battle. Hazel eyes drifted shut. "Am I a fool to believe that?" he asked, as much of himself as of Richardson. "Or … is it really possible?"

Richardson shivered slightly as a chilly wind whistled through the rock-face, playing alto to the soprano whispers of the spring overhead. "All I know is what I feel," he replied. "And I feellike that'swhere we belong. The rest of it," he continued with an embittered laugh, "is the illusion, Jim."

Kirk turned slowly, eyes instinctively scanning the late afternoon sky. "Well," he said, not daring to dwell on the silver-warm image, "we're not going to do anybody any good sitting here." He rose from the ground, began untying the second bundle of survival gear, and found the small two-man dome-tent.

"Want some help?" Richardson asked, crawling over to Kirk's side on his knees.

"I'll handle the tent," Kirk suggested, spreading the numerous canvas strips and support poles onto the ground. "You see what you can find to eat."

Richardson sat cross-legged on the ground. "I'm a lousy cook," he complained. "And I'm more concerned about how we're going to get outof here. At least in sixth grade, you always knew Mom and Dad would come back at the end of a miserable week. But I don't think our little friends have any such intentions—at least not immediately."

After laying out the tent, locating the stakes and driving them into the ground, Kirk sat down facing his roommate. "Well, our choices are limited to building a spacecraft out of rocks and branches, or just sprouting wings and flying." He grimaced. "Care to hazard a guess at our chances?"

Richardson winked. "We may be physicallystuck here," he conceded, "but there's nothing to keep us from thinkingour way out." He leaned back on the ground, pillowing his head on his good arm. "Since the telepathic link with S'Parva was done just yesterday, her mind should already be receptive to mine; and if I can establish a directional link, we may be able to let her know we're here … wherever 'here' is."

Kirk grunted amiably. "I'll set up the tent," he repeated, meticulously joining two poles together to form the basic structure of the alien contraption. "You see what you can find to eat."

"Suit yourself," Richardson agreed, not moving from his place on the ground. "But if I were you, I'd try to establish a link with Spock. If the images I saw in the link with S'Parva are even remotely correct, you might be able to get through to him telepathically. When I was LieutenantRichardson, I had the strong impression that you and Spock belong together there, too. Besides, what've you got to lose but your sanity?" he asked with a smile.

Kirk felt himself open up a little as he connected the pole to the snap-tight canvas body of the tent. "If that's the case, I've got nothingto lose," he decided. He glanced over his shoulder, confirming what the chilly breeze suggested. In a few more moments it would be dark. "Okay," he said. "I'll try the telepathic link with Spock just as soon as we get camp set up. But it won't do much good to send a message only to have him rescue two frozen corpses, Jerry."

Still, Richardson didn't move, eyes alight with mischief as Kirk hoisted the tent into position. "Now that that's taken care of, what's for dinner, Juliet?" he asked.

Kirk stared mutely at the other ensign, then leaned back, resting on his heels. "How'd you like me to break your other arm?" he asked pointedly.

At last, Richardson rose, strode over to last bundle of survival gear, and popped open the snaps. He peered inside. "Well," he said miserably, "we've got a choice between T'kroumaand S'latami." He shrugged. "And since the Romulans didn't condescend to put pictures on the cans, there's no way of knowing whatthe hell we'd be eating!"

Kirk managed a laugh as he secured the final locktight mechanisms at the proper height on the poles. When completed, a pale blue dome wavered and breathed on the alien landscape like some misplaced animal. After grabbing the tent-pack and withdrawing two well-insulated sleeping bags, he crawled inside.

"I'll pass," he decided as Richardson crawled through the small opening and zipped the "door" shut behind him.

The other ensign grinned. "You're not as crazy as I thought," he said, wriggling carefully into one sleeping bag. He took a deep breath, eyes closing. "You gonna do it?"

In the near-darkness, Kirk glanced at his roommate, letting the images fill his mind. "Yeah," he muttered, feeling reality waver. Already, he could sense another presence; and as his eyes drifted shut, he gave in to the pleasant warmth which accompanied it. Trinity … She… Dark, angular features took shape in his mind's eye, and he began to project outward.

Neutral Zone … desert world … blue sun …

Chapter Eighteen

MCCOY EYED THE Vulcan curiously. Somehow, the long black robes and hood seemed natural on Spock, and the doctor found himself suppressing a smile as they walked across the hangar deck and boarded the T'Favaron. His medical check on the ShiKahr's captain that morning, however, left him troubled. Blood pressure elevated; glandular hyperactivity; emotional stress. Even with the drugs he'd administered to slow the condition's progress, there was no way to know how long the Vulcan could hold on.

As they entered the small craft and assumed their positions along the wall, the doctor exchanged glances with S'Parva. He knew the Katellan didn't trust their Romulan hosts any more than he did himself; and it had been an uphill struggle convincing Thea to permit S'Parva to come along. Only Spock's insistence that the Katellan was his personal guard had finally swayed the Praetor … but McCoy suspected that the lie had been about as transparent as glass.

With a sigh, he settled into the chair, surprised to discover that the T'Favaron's interior was almost identical to an Alliance shuttle. Six passenger seats lined one wall; the other side contained a fold-down bed and emergency medical equipment. And other than the black interior walls and unrecognizable symbols, McCoy could almost make himself believe he was transporting down to some harmless planet for a few days of R & R.

"Once we reach the Ravon," Thea's voice said, interrupting his reverie, "you will be escorted to my quarters-deck immediately. Since no one on board that vessel knows the Praetor's true identity, it will not appear odd." She smiled in Spock's direction as she slid gracefully into the command chair. "Do not look so grieved, Captain," she intoned as long fingers activated the controls which would bring the engines to life. "If we are successful in our attempts, you need never see me again once you return to your Alliance."

One eyebrow arched beneath a hood which cast black shadows across the Vulcan's face. "It is not your presence which troubles me, Thea," he replied coldly. "It is the fact that you have resorted to tactics befitting your species which causes me to question your true motives." He paused, wrestling the unbidden emotions back under control. "I shall not underestimate your cunning again."

Thea smiled as the T'Favaronbegan rotating toward the hangar deck doors. The viewscreen followed the ship's rotation, until finally the distant stars of the Romulan Empire came into view.

"You have not underestimated me, Spock," Thea countered, testing the thrusters and finally easing the small craft through the opening and into the black void. "You have merely been forced to admit that, in this particular game, I hold all the high cards."

"If you speak of Ensign Richardson and Ensign Kirk," the Vulcan returned, "then youhave underestimated me. It is not solely on their behalf that I am agreeing to your scheme." He ignored the warning glance from McCoy.

Thea nodded absently, waiting until the T'Favaronhad cleared the mammoth starship, then boosting power until the whine of the engines filled the cabin. "Then it isa myth that Vulcans do not lie," she remarked to Sarela. "But no matter. Tasme and Sekor have informed me of their safe transport to a planet well inside our Empire—a planet with ample food and water to support them for a verylong time … if necessary."

Spock contained his reaction as the ship maneuvered its way clear of the ShiKahr. After a moment, Thea's hands moved over the controls once again. There was an instant of engine silence as the power went momentarily off the scale; the viewscreen erupted into a brilliant pattern of light as the vessel achieved warp speed.

That, Spock realized disjointedly, was one distinct difference between an Alliance shuttle and the T'Favaron. But when he remembered who owned this particular craft, he wasn't surprised. Thea could command anything she wanted … and he realized with a sigh that his mere presence was sufficient proof of her authority.

During the course of the two-hour flight, Thea and Sarela explained once again what would be expected of him. Once the Ravonreached Romulus, the pseudo-Praetor would be taken to the palace, briefed on the importance and idiosyncracies of each of the Romulan governors, and prepared for the Tribunal meeting. At that meeting, Thea explained, the Tenets of Discipline would be read and explained; questions would be answered; and, if necessary, arguments would be entertained from the Warriors' two representatives. At the conclusion of the meeting, the Praetor would return to anonymity and the Tenets would be placed in the hands of the governors, where the doctrine contained within the strict laws of discipline would be presented to the individual worlds of the Empire.

Spock took it in quietly, asking questions only when necessary. But his mind was scarcely on the charade. Instead, he concentrated on Thea—on her strengths and weaknesses. If he could learn precisely what had been done to alter the timeflow, it might be subsequently possible to discover what must be done to remedy the situation. But escaping her scrutiny was not likely to be easy.

At last, as if out of nowhere, the Ravonappeared, its protective invisibility cloak lowering as the T'Favaronapproached. Despite the chipped paint on the underside and battle scars from numerous phaser strikes, it was still an impressive sight, hanging in space just barely within the boundaries of the Neutral Zone.

Turning in her chair as the docking computers went on automatic, Thea smiled. "Do you feel soiled to be in the territory of your enemy, Captain Spock?" she asked of the Vulcan. "Or will even you admit to the excitement—and the changes—which you are about to create?"

Spock studied Thea carefully, noting absently that she was attempting to bait him into an emotional confrontation. "I am a Vulcan," he replied stiffly. "Excitement is alien to me."

"Indeed a myth, Lady," Sarela replied with a wistful smile. "He lies as well as any Romulan in the Empire!"

But as Thea continued to study the Vulcan's hardened expression, the cold dark eyes, she felt something inside herself soften. At one time, their positions had been reversed … and now shecould almost feel sorry for him, could almost consider being gentle with him. But she turned her back on the alien thought.

"Come," she murmured once the docking maneuver was complete and the T'Favaron's doors slid open onto the Ravon's hangar deck. "The Praetor should see his finest flagship."

"Well, Spock?" McCoy grumbled impatiently, standing over the Vulcan's shoulder. Thea and Sarela had left over an hour before, under the pretense of going to Sarela's quarters to retrieve all personal belongings; but the doctor hardly expected them to remain absent forever.

Dark eyes slowly lifted from the computer terminal in their assigned quarters. "There is indeed information concerning time displacement," Spock confirmed. "Apparently the Romulans have attempted it several times. Unfortunately," he added, "securing all pertinent information from this terminal would appear to be impossible." He paused. "Thea no doubt suspected we would avail ourselves of the terminal; yet she also knew we would be unable to find anything of value."

The doctor bounced angrily on his toes, glancing at S'Parva out the corner of his eye. "Can't you break through the programming?" he asked pointedly. "After all, you've said yourself that the computer systems here aren't thatdifferent from those on the ShiKahr."

S'Parva moved forward, still finding it difficult to maneuver gracefully on two legs, but nonetheless resigned to it. "It would be a relatively simple matter to break into the computer's programming, Leonard," she said to the doctor, " ifwe knew where the main system was located. Since the break-in can only be accomplished from the central or auxiliary banks, and since those systems are located in another area of this vessel, I do not see an immediate solution. This," she indicated, "is nothing more than an information retrieval terminal—but in order to get the data we need, we would have to know precisely what programs to call up."

She leaned forward, studying the small terminal over the Vulcan's shoulder, one ear accidentally slipping free of the clip which had held it in place. It tickled the captain's neck unnoticed, until she saw the Vulcan lean back in the chair and look up at her. With a gentle smile, she shrugged, then reclasped the ear firmly into place. "Sorry, sir," she murmured.

An eyebrow rose as the Vulcan checked the desk chronometer. "I am scheduled to make a routine inspection tour of this vessel in approximately one hour," he began. "Thea feels it would be wise to begin the masquerade while still aboard the Ravon, since Commander Tazol holds considerable prestige with the other Warriors. Undoubtedly," he continued, "Thea and Sarela will accompany me on the tour, and the two of you will remain here under guard." As an idea began to take shape, he turned to S'Parva. "The doorguards know who we are," he pointed out, "for they serve the Praetor personally. However," he added, "once the tour of the Ravonbegins, even Thea will be forced to acknowledge me in the role she has assigned to me. Since she will be posing as a mere adviser, she will not be able to question my requests without placing suspicion on herself. And since it is apparently common for the Praetor to be seen in the company of his personal slaves and guards, it should not appear unusual if I request the doctor's presence after the tour is in progress."

S'Parva smiled to reveal sharp white teeth as the plan became clearer. "When the guards open the doors to escort Leonard out," she said, easily picking up on the captain's plan, "it should be easy enough to escape." She scratched her whiskers thoughtfully. "If I can telepathically disrupt their thought patterns—make them believewe're actually going onthe tour, the illusion itself should be enough. They'll thinkwe're right there at their sides; and while they're reallyonly escorting Leonard to join you on the tour, I should be able to find an unoccupied computer access chamber and retrieve the necessary information. I'll get back here; and by the time you and Thea return, everything'll be normal again."

The Vulcan nodded quietly. "Since Thea has apparently taken over this entire deck for her personal use, it should not be difficult for you to move about freely. The majority of her advisers and slaves will be part of the tour party, and therefore occupied." He activated the small terminal once again, eyes intent on the screen. "According to these diagrams, there is an access chamber approximately a hundred yards down the corridor from our present location."

S'Parva took a deep breath. "Just keep them occupied for an hour and I'll have the schematics of the whole damned Romulan system!" she said confidently.

For a moment, Spock felt himself relaxing, and allowed his eyes to close. Yet he was still painfully aware of the time elements, the numerous deadlines, and the rapid progression of his own shameful condition. Already, he had felt the telltale signs of mental lethargy; and now, more than ever, he could ill afford imperfection. One mistake, he reminded himself, and it would be all over.

But his eyes sprang open suddenly as he felt the hiss of a hypo against his shoulder. He turned to see McCoy regarding him curiously, standing a safe distance away as he replaced the offending instrument into the medi-kit.

"Precisely what was that, Doctor?" he asked coldly.

McCoy's brows rose as the familiar nervousness and worry returned. "Just a little something to keep you on your feet during the tour, Spock," he replied, his voice unaccountably gentle. "Whether you believe me or not, you're on the verge of collapse!"