syredronning (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
syredronning) wrote2007-11-13 11:13 am
syredronning) wrote2007-11-13 11:13 am
Entry tags:
In Transition (McCoy, Sarek; Mc/f implied, PG-13)
Title: In Transition
Series: TOS, RC series
Codes: Mc, Sa; implied Mc/f (Romulan Commander)
Rating: PG-13, mention of violence
Author's note: This is the sequel to Casualties, The Sound of Breaking Ice and Battlegrounds. Reading the prequels is recommended. Many thanks to Drusilla for her beta! All remaining errors are mine.
Archive: My own site at http://www.syredronning.de , ASCEM, all others ask, please.
Summary: McCoy is on his way…the only question is where to.
***
The windowless room McCoy woke up in was kept in shades of red and brown, a mixture that bore a familiar note without him being able to put a name on it.
Actually, what was more wondrous than the new location was that he was alive and could look out of his eyes for once. The last thing he remembered was that the ship that had carried him – tied and blindfolded – had been in combat and possibly defeated. He had no idea what kind of ship it had been, or who the crew had been, as nobody had said anything to him beyond the most necessary short remarks; and now he had no idea who might have captured him this time. Experimentally, he moved his limbs and then sat up in bed. Everything seemed in full working order, and for once he didn't seem to be chained to anything. Which was definitely an improvement to his latest adventures.
On the other hand, he realized when he looked down on himself, he was completely undressed and smelled like some medical soap, and there was a band around his left wrist, bearing a little chip. It could be a medical device to measure his life signs, but also something to secure him. He roughly ripped it, and was relieved to find it easily removed. With verve he threw it away, then went up with the blanket around his body and searched for something to dress. The room was rather empty, besides the bed, a table and two chairs. His clothes were missing, but in a hidden closet he found something like a robe and a pair of open sandals. He put everything on, then went on with his search of the room. There was another rather hidden door to a bathroom with a shower and a toilet, but he didn't feel like using it right now. Only the basin could be of use, if there was water to be found. But no – the tap only offered a sonic function.
McCoy shrugged and left the bathroom, heading straight for the door. To find it locked was making him nervous, although it didn't really surprise him. The occupants of this ship – it had to be a ship, from the room design and the slight vibrations - were friendlier than the last ones, but not stupid either. He waved his hands in front of the obvious optical sensor. Maybe it would at least make someone show up.
"Hello?" he said, talking towards the door. "Anybody out there?"
When the door suddenly opened, he shrank back when he noticed the slanted eyebrows and pointed ears. For a second, he was recoiling in blinding panic from the visitors; then he got a grip on himself and processed the information in front of him – the man and woman wore robes in medium brown, with Vulcan hieroglyphics and golden borders running down the fronts. They also had that overly serious, composed look that reminded McCoy of Spock.
"Nice to see you, finally," McCoy managed to say, and only now noted that he'd backed away from the door right up to the bed. Pulling himself together, he walked into the middle, but kept a healthy distance to them.
The two Vulcans drew wordlessly into the room until the door closed behind them. The feeling of intimidation instantly grew in McCoy again, but he forced it down once more. Time for defense.
"You're Vulcans, aren't you?" McCoy asked with a frown.
"Yes," the man replied.
"So…what do you want from me? Am I arrested? If it wasn't clear to you, I was nothing more than live cargo on that ship."
"We are interested why you were there, Doctor McCoy."
"So you could read my papers. Good thing," McCoy said ironically. "How about giving me your names? I don't want to talk to nobodies."
"You will be informed soon. Please, take a seat." The man waved to one of the chairs.
"What if I don't want to?" McCoy asked.
"You would make the proceedings easier if you did. Please, doctor."
McCoy swallowed; considering that Vulcans were allies of Earth, their behavior towards him was unusual. Finding his options rather limited again, he sat down on the chair. The male Vulcan took place opposite to him; the woman kept standing next to the table, which made McCoy slightly nervous.
"Do you want anything to drink?" the man asked.
"I'd love to get some water," McCoy said. The man uttered a few orders into a kind of communicator, then focused on him again.
"What do you want from me?" McCoy asked again.
"Your last known location was on board of the freighter 'Terrilium' that was reported missing twenty-two days ago. It was brought up by a slaver's ship, as was found out when four of its passengers were rescued from being sold," the man said.
"Yes."
"What happened to you?"
"I…" McCoy hesitated. "I was captured too, and sold. The ship you found me on was destined to bring me to my future owner."
"How long have you been on this last ship?"
"I don't really know – two days maybe?"
"So you've been in the slaver's power for twenty days?"
"Maybe. I didn't have a calendar."
"It is very unusual for slaver ships to keep their goods for longer than a few days in store – especially as doctors are considered valuable and usually sell well," the woman said.
"They knew I've been in Starfleet. I was a dangerous good. They even considered executing me" McCoy twisted on his chair. "Didn't you want to give me some water?"
"Soon," the man said.
"You know it's against Federation regulations what you are doing here," McCoy said, but they completely ignored his remark.
The woman lifted her PADD. "This is the report of our healer who checked you when you were brought on board. Besides a general bad health and malnutrition, he found a light concussion, micro-fractions in the skull, bruises, some small internal ruptures, muscle damage on neck and chest, traces of a more severe beating -"
"Enough," McCoy snapped.
"- Traces of a metallic alloy at your neck, and another, magnetic alloy around your wrists. These alloys are used outside of Federation space, foremost by the Romulans," the woman proceeded calmly. "This data can only allow for one conclusion – you have been held captive by Romulans."
McCoy clamped his hands around the sides of his chair.
"Do you want to deny that?" the Vulcan asked.
"I'm neither denying nor acknowledging it."
"Why do you lie to us, doctor?"
"Why do you want to know where I've been? It doesn't have to do anything with you. And I want some water, please," McCoy said with verve.
"The healer examined your medical equipment. He found data on your medical tricorder, pertaining to a possibly dangerous virus."
"It's only deadly in combination with a rare parasite. He should've found that too."
"He also found patient data of a Vulcan."
"Not a Vulcan," McCoy stated. "A hybrid." He damned himself for keeping some working data in the readable file space.
"The patient's personal data, however, is locked."
"Sure it is," McCoy said.
"We ask you to unlock it, or we will disassemble the code ourselves."
McCoy smiled, for the first time in this session. The coding had been enhanced by Spock several times and was far above standard. "Have fun trying."
"Why do you not speak to us about the last weeks?" the man asked.
"I…gave my word to someone."
"Your word?"
"I swore on my medical oath that I will keep silence about the place I've been," McCoy said.
The Vulcans exchanged gazes. "We accept that you do not want to break an oath. However, it seems you have been pressured into that oath. This would render it invalid."
"No." McCoy shook his head. "I gave it freely."
"Why did they let you go?"
He hesitated. "My job was done."
"Like treating the hybrid."
McCoy rubbed his face, trying to push the pictures away. "She's dead. You wouldn't be able to help her anyway."
"But there may be more like her."
"No."
The woman raised a brow. "You realize that we cannot be satisfied with the information you divulge. You have been held captive and possibly tortured by Romulans at a location you do not want to disclose, and have treated hybrid patients for a dangerous virus. How can we trust you that you have not partaken into developing a biological weapon that can be directed against Vulcan? We have checked your fields of expertise, and while you are no specialist in virology, as former CMO you have an extensive knowledge of all medical fields."
"I do," McCoy agreed. "But I'd rather die than to develop a weapon for anyone."
"Maybe their intentions were not fully revealed to you," the man said.
"I know what I did. And it was about healing, not killing."
"Twenty days are a long time to be in someone's hold," the woman said. "We researched Earth psychology, and there is a term called capture-bonding. It is possible for an abductor to yield a bond with the captured person. From your professional perspective, do you think it is possible to achieve that in the time span and under the conditions of your captivity?"
"You're asking me if I think I've got Stockholm syndrome?" McCoy asked slightly annoyed. "Well, while the conditions may have been accordingly, not all humans react like that. Some find an inner strength that keeps them from associating with the captor's motives. And I'd say I did."
"The data suggests that you were repetitiously beaten, something that humans perceive as very stressful."
"The beatings were more by chance," McCoy said. "Not part of a big plan." His palms were sweating, and he rubbed them against his robe.
"And the collar and cuffs?"
"Just means of securing me." He briefly closed his eyes, as a wave of nausea hit him unexpectedly. "Enough. Get out of here. I won't say a word until I get something to drink and eat."
"The alloy that was used in the collar is electrically conductive. Were you tortured with electro-shocks?" the woman asked.
McCoy only shook his head, pressing his lips together. They were Vulcans; they had signed the Intergalactic Charta of Rights and wouldn't dare to manhandle a Federation citizen. He could sit this out.
They asked him a few more questions, but finally realized that they wouldn't come far this time.
"We will end for today," the man said. The door opened and another Vulcan brought a tray with food and juice. Then they left him. When he tested the door, it was locked again.
He eyed the table, suddenly neither hungry nor thirsty. Instead, he felt a rather deep exhaustion, being not sure if his situation had improved a lot compared to…
Well, at least he had some freedom of movement left. He went to the bathroom and stripped to take a long sonic shower. Then he went back to bed, letting the lights bury his thoughts when he drifted into a restless sleep.
*
The room was overly silent when he awoke again. The tray was still on the table, untouched, and he finally resigned to eat and drink something. Dressed with the robe, he sat down and took a sip from the liquid. It tasted almost like water, with a slightly muddy side note. The food itself was rather tasteless and obviously had suffered from standing around. Not exactly good, in this human's opinion. McCoy wondered if the Vulcans did that all intentionally - an interrogation against Federation regulations, an isolated room without any stimuli, bland food, the impeding threat of more interrogation – it smelled like "white torture". And after some more hours of being all alone with himself, he was ready to admit that it began working on him. Having no clock at his disposal, he was unable to regain any time feel. He was drifting again, damn them. He wanted to be released and left to go to the moon he tried to reach for weeks.
He was almost glad when someone came finally. This time, it was only the female Vulcan. He sighed and took a seat. Vulcanoid women were really low on his hit list at the moment, and he wondered if the Vulcans had noticed his increased nervousness where she was concerned. She sat down opposite to him, her PADD in hands again, although McCoy assumed that she had everything in mind she needed to know.
"How are you today?" she asked.
"I'd be better if you let me go my way," he said bluntly.
"You only have to answer our questions," the Vulcan said.
"Maybe I'd be more cooperative if this didn't smell fishy," he countered.
"Fishy?" She raised a brow.
"You didn't inform Starfleet about my whereabouts, right?" McCoy asked. "Because if they knew I was here, they'd probably have sent someone already to get me. You didn't tell them anything because you want to keep your dirty little secret a secret – that Romulans are still genetically compatible to Vulcans. Something the official policy always denies."
The woman didn't reply to his accusation, only gave him a Vulcan trademark stare. "The hybrid is only one aspect of our investigation. The virus is more of our concern."
"You have the data. I'm sure you checked it against your databanks." McCoy leaned back in his chair.
"It is unknown to us. However, it resembles an Earth virus, as you know very well."
"It does."
"Who developed it?"
"Developed?" McCoy raised a brow.
"Do you think it was a natural part of the planet's environment?"
"Yes."
"On which planet was that?"
"I don't know. And if I knew, I wouldn't tell you."
"Our healer found antibodies in your blood. Did you get infected by the virus?"
"Yes. It made me very fatigued and easily exhausted, but it reacted well to antiviral shots."
"What does it cause in Romulans?"
"Actually, Romulans are naturally resistant against it. Vulcans too, I guess."
"Then why were you captured to research a cure?"
"Because some persons had a damaged immune system."
"From the parasite."
"Yes."
"Do you think this parasite would make a valuable weapon?"
"Not at all," he said. "Once I had found it, it was quickly removed."
"And the parasite was from Romulus?"
McCoy kept quiet.
"Do you think it was natural to Romulus?"
"It was probably natural to its former habitat," McCoy said coldly. "I don't see a reason speaking against it. Even in our age, there are parasites and viruses."
"How many people were infected?" the Vulcan asked.
McCoy remained quiet.
"You allured to the hybrid's death. How did she die?"
When McCoy didn't answer, she asked, "Did she die from the virus? You understand that this is important for us to know."
"I have no proof that the parasite or the virus could infect hybrids," McCoy stated neutrally.
The woman looked down on the PADD. "You stated you were released because the work was done."
"Yes."
"You realize that this is unusual? In 92% of all known cases, Terran prisoners were executed by Romulans once they were no longer useful. Logic suggests that they should either have kept you for further service, or killed you."
"Guess I was lucky," he said.
"Or you were more forthcoming with them than with us," she said.
"What are you suggesting? Betrayal of secrets?"
"Yes."
"I didn't tell them more than they needed to know about the virus and parasite."
"Our healer further analyzed your brain patterns. Your physiological data suggests that you suffer from post traumatic stress, resulting from an experience that took place even before you left Earth."
"You're doing a thorough research, don't you?" McCoy asked, increasingly angry.
"You left Earth only to fall into the hands of slavers and be sold to a Romulan colony, in which you were maltreated and starved. Do you not think that would make anyone willing to relay information to improve the situation?"
"I didn't tell them anything of importance," McCoy snapped. "I'm officially retired from Starfleet. I don't have any cool information, no codes, no mission data. My Fleet history is long over. If that's what they had wanted, they would have had no success."
"But they wanted something else, which you gave them."
"A cure. For their problem. What's wrong with that?"
"You left them the information."
"Of course. They may need it."
"They may also build a weapon with it."
"As I said, the parasite and the virus are easily healed, once you know the mechanism."
"Could they be mutated?"
"Anything can be mutated." McCoy rubbed his face. "What about some better tasting juice?"
"Later," she said.
"You know…you're not so different to them," he said. "Are you going to starve me too?"
"There is food on the table," she said.
"And it tastes like shit." He shook his head. "What do you really want to know?"
"Everything, doctor. Where you have been, who captured you, what you did exactly, who the hybrid was and her fate –"
"You won't get it," he said. "I'm not going to say a word anymore. Fini."
"We could still use other methods to find the truth, doctor."
"You would use a mind meld on me? Against my will?" McCoy shook his head in disbelief. "That would be against everything you believe in, wouldn't it? And just imagine the headlines it would make when I went to the press later."
"There would be no traces."
"Liar," he snapped. "A healer can detect the effects of a forced meld on a brain."
"And undo them."
McCoy leaned back, crossing his arms in front of him. "No more words. I'm done with you. If you want to torture me, go ahead. But I won't give you any more information as long as I can help it."
"You think we cannot threaten you because you have survived worse than we would be able to inflict on you?" she asked, raising a brow. "Rest assured that there are always possibilities."
"I want to speak to a solicitor."
She remained silent.
"I want to be allowed to call a friend and inform him of my situation," McCoy said. "Now!"
"We cannot allow this," she said. "You are thereby arrested under the suspicion of collaboration with an enemy of Vulcan. You will be brought to Vulcan for further interrogation by the V'Shar."
"Oh please!" McCoy said in exasperation. "I didn't do anything that could endanger any planet, or any government. I helped a little colony and they let me go because of a…personal thing. And now I just want to be free and go my way."
"As long as you do not answer our questions satisfactorily, we cannot let you go. And referring to any personal debt or relationship does not improve your situation, doctor."
"Alright." He took a deep breath. "So bring me to Vulcan then. But I insist on being treated like a Federation citizen. I demand that you supply me with food and water digestible by humans, as well as something like a console with music or reading material."
"When you cooperate."
"I gave my word," McCoy whispered. "I won't break it."
She went up. "We will speak again tomorrow. Good night, doctor." She left him.
McCoy couldn't believe it. So much for being saved from the Romulans. Khell would find his current fate probably very amusing.
The door opened for a Vulcan who brought him fresh food and two liters of water. But that were the only things they readily offered him. Left alone with himself and his memories, McCoy's mind began racing in sleepless circles.
*
The woman came back after long hours, but McCoy resigned to say not another word. Talking to her was too exhausting and useless; he better used his leftover energy for preserving his sanity.
The next time, the man returned to throw more of McCoy's medical details at him, listing every little fractured and healed bone in his body – which were more than McCoy cared to know. The Vulcans' analysis was rather to the point, allowing them extrapolating some of the events that had taken place. Once again, McCoy didn't say a word and tried to show no reaction; but he was so puking sick afterwards that he had to visit the bathroom, and he was sure they had it all on screen. Especially the memories of his punishment in habitat 3 were nauseatingly fresh in his mind, and with a new clarity he recognized the humiliating details which had been probably Khell's decision, and not the principal's. Maybe it was better to revive the whole scene and chew it in his mind. After all, that was the age-old method of Prolonged Exposure that had proven rather helpful for trauma therapy. But after thinking about it a few more minutes, it seemed just too much. The situation was beginning to get him, and it wouldn't help to make it all worse by living through the full expense of such a memory without anyone to talk about. He took a sonic shower and then went to bed for a rather sleepless night.
*
But suddenly, on what was possibly the next morning, everything seemed to improve. He was given a tasteful breakfast with coffee and a console with reading material, and the interrogations by the two Vulcans stopped completely. He was wary of the change, but not really in a position to question it, so he simply used the improvement to built his energy level and defenses.
It was some time later when he was brought out of the cell for the first time, and led down a long corridor to another room. It was empty but for a table and two chairs, but there was once more water and coffee – even sugar - offered, and he took a cup of the dark brew. How he had missed good, old Earth coffee…it was astonishing with how little a human could be satisfied. Stirring in his cup to solve the sugar, he wondered what they were up to. His question was soon answered, as the door opened and Spock's father stepped into the room.
"Sarek!" For a second, words fled McCoy. Then he said, "Were you sent in to give me the third degree?"
Sarek raised a brow, obviously not getting the reference. "Good afternoon, Doctor McCoy," he said and offered his hand.
Caught by surprise, McCoy shook it. "I thought Vulcans don't shake hands."
Sarek took a seat opposite to him. "As an ambassador, I am used to other species' conventions."
"Was it your doing that my situation improved?" McCoy asked. "If so, then…thank you."
"The persons in charge were not aware of the distress they would cause," Sarek said.
"That's what they told you?" McCoy said in disbelief. "They made it sound as if they had researched all of human psychology. I bet they came along the relevant lines in their interrogation handbook."
"I really apologize for the inconvenience, doctor. However, you must understand that the circumstances are suspicious and disquieting."
"For them or for me?"
"For all of us."
McCoy saw Sarek's eyes searching his face. "Are you going to ask the same questions as they did? Because I can't answer them."
"You do not want to answer them."
"I swore not to answer them."
Breaking the tension, Sarek took a glass of water. "I have seen the medical report. It is complicated to explain my reaction. I…feel responsible, partly."
"Responsible?" McCoy said confused.
"As you may know, I was in contact with Jim Kirk…after the first events."
McCoy remained silent.
"I should have contacted you in person and offered help. It was a family debt, and you paid the price. I should not have been content with Kirk's word alone."
McCoy looked down on his cup. "There was nothing you could have done."
"A Vulcan healer may have been able to intervene in the first phase of the aftermath."
"I would have left Earth anyway. I wasn't really happy there." McCoy shrugged.
"But maybe your leave would have been less hastened, and your journey better planned."
And not ended on a raided third-class freighter, McCoy agreed, but only said, "Fate."
"Vulcans do not believe in fate."
"A pity. It sure explains a lot."
"It is also disquieting how far into Federation space the slaver activity has moved," Sarek said, changing the subject. "Do you know what species they were?"
McCoy shook his head. "I've very briefly seen their ship from outside, on the main screen of the freighter's bridge. I've never seen the insignia before. Later, I was held in a room with about forty other men. There was a boy, probably human, who never said a word, and another human who was called the helper and responsible for bringing people in and out." He looked up. "I remember something – the slavers had electrical whips. That's how they knocked me out when they captured me. Leaves a burn on one's skin. They also used it for quieting prisoners who got out of control."
"Interesting. We have heard of this species, but know no details so far. What happened after your capture?"
"For days, I was just forced to wait. Everyone was chained up, living on very little food and water. My seat neighbor bought himself off slavery, but when I tried that too, I was told I was already sold." McCoy took a deep breath.
"To whom?"
McCoy sighed a little helplessly. "I promised not to talk about it, Sarek. I swore on my Hippocratic Oath."
"Let us approach it differently. I will suggest what happened, and you can keep quiet…or add details which you consider not a breach of your oath."
McCoy shrugged. "If you want to…"
"You were sold to someone who needed a doctor and did not care for your Starfleet history, and brought to a Romulan colony. The medical data of your digestion system shows the food composition very clearly. There was not much to eat, either intentionally or because they didn't have much themselves. Freshly colonized planets have a reputation for being poor. You were ordered to inquire an unsolved medical problem. I presume that it had already caused deaths, or it would not have been considered important enough to spare the expense of purchasing a specialist from a slaver."
McCoy listened in silence, carefully trying to keep his face blank.
"I do not think that there was much coercion necessary once they had laid open the problem," Sarek went on. "You are a healer and take your vocation very seriously. You investigated the virus, found it to be environmental, and thought you had a solution. But it was not all, and this caused a violent reaction when the Romulans thought you had deceived them."
McCoy swallowed involuntarily as the memories of the shocks evoke some phantom pain in his neck. "Sounds like an interesting story."
"Then you realized the parasite infection, and once you had this break-through, you had the cure. When the problem was solved, you were brought to another ship to be sent somewhere else. This ship was captured by Vulcans, and you ended here."
"Why did your folks arrest that ship anyway?" McCoy asked curiously.
"The captain was wanted for espionage activities."
"A Romulan spy?"
"Yes."
McCoy laughed quietly. "No wonder they thought I were in the same trade. Even though they should've noticed I wasn't exactly a well-treated guest there."
"You were blindfolded and tied with your hands behind your back when they found you. You were also unconscious from hitting the wall during the battle."
"I've been held like that for…I don't know, two days? I've never seen anything, and they barely talked to me."
"It must have been a very uncomfortable trip."
"I was treated okay, and had been told they would bring me to the moon that had been my original destination. Therefore, I was hopeful."
"You may have been sold to the next slaver."
"I wouldn't have been able to do anything about it," McCoy said fatalistically. "I've learned to live on hope. No good thinking too much about the future."
"I see." Sarek said. "Let us take dinner together, doctor."
"I'm not really hungry," McCoy replied. "And please, don't tell me that my medical data says this or that. I'm rather sick of hearing that."
"It has been a long journey for me," Sarek said, "so I would rather have some nourishment now. Maybe some of the dishes will be acceptable to you as well."
The door opened and two Vulcans McCoy hadn't seen before brought in plates with various bowls, two plates, two cups and a bottle of something McCoy didn't recognize. The food smelled delicious, and once Sarek started eating, McCoy reconsidered – he was hungry, and he could admit that to himself. He took little portions from various bowls, to test what they contained. All the dishes seemed vegetarian, but some resembled meat, from the consistency and taste. The warm food seemed to bring some badly needed energy into McCoy's body, and he took second helpings of some especially tasty dishes.
"They are all agreeable with human digestion," Sarek said. "In fact, some of them are recipes improved by my wife."
McCoy nodded. "Thanks for making me feel like a guest for once. I was beginning to think there wasn't much difference between Romulans and Vulcans."
"An unfortunate idea," Sarek replied.
They finished their meal in silence. Afterwards, he was offered a fresh coffee, and accepted it.
"Let us speak about the hybrid, if you consider this to fall outside of your oath of silence. What makes you so sure she was one?"
Since the Vulcans had found the data, and the girl was dead, McCoy considered this to be a rather safe ground. "Her genetic patterns looked like standard Romulan at first glance, but there were some deviations I had only seen in Spock's genes, and some markers I remembered from your own operation. I was instantly sure that she was a hybrid, and the reaction of…well, there was an indication that her Romulan master knew that too. He wasn't the least surprised when I made a remark about it."
"But she never could tell you where she had been from?"
"No." McCoy sighed. "No, she didn't. And I'm actually not sure she remembered where she originally came from. She had no idea that she was a hybrid, but probably considered her status simply due to her being a slave, instead of a possible genetic background."
He looked at Sarek. "I've heard rumors about Romulans interbreeding with Vulcans, but I've never believed in them. Guess I was wrong. She surely isn't the only hybrid. Did your government ever do research in that area?"
Sarek laced his fingers. "Within the last two decades, fourteen Vulcan ships have gone missing in space. While some undoubtedly have fallen prey to natural disasters or conflicts with races others than Romulans, we long suspected that some of them had been taken over by Romulans. At first, we thought they would use these captured Vulcans as agents to infiltrate our planet. However, it is very rare that a Vulcan can be broken and reconditioned to the point of becoming an agent for their side. And a Romulan does not have the personal and genetic predispositions to fit into our society. Hybrids, however…there have been a few detected, but it was never possible to trace their path back to the source."
"To the planet where the laboratory was."
"Correct."
"Well, it wasn't on the planet I've been on," McCoy said. "And she was the only one there."
Sarek put his hands on the table top. "We could identify the genetic background of the girl. Her father was a Vulcan officer, whose ship was reported missing nineteen standard years ago."
"Sorry to hear that," McCoy said.
"We hoped you would be able to bring more light to the situation."
McCoy stared on the table. "I would - if I could. But she's dead, and I don't know more than you've seen in my data."
"Tell me about her. Please. What you relay to me here in this room will only be told to her closest family."
"What do you want them to give?" McCoy asked tiredly. "A dead officer with a daughter who'd been beaten to death by her Romulan master? She didn't know where she came from, and I never got around asking her again before…well." He brushed through his hair. "I even forgot her name."
"And the name of her master?" Sarek asked.
McCoy waved his hand. "Can't tell you."
Sarek just looked at him for a while. "Are they so worth of your protection?" he finally asked.
"Some of them, yes," McCoy said.
"Because you could save them with your medical knowledge?"
"Because…I owed them."
"Romulans?" The moment Sarek asked the question, McCoy could see sudden understanding in the Vulcan's eyes. "Her family?"
McCoy averted his gaze.
"Was it herself who bought you?" When McCoy didn't answer, Sarek asked, incredulously, "Why did she let you go a second time?"
"Guess she…grew to like me, in a way."
Sarek's face showed a lot of changing emotions, considering that it wasn't supposed to show any at all.
"Doctor…under these circumstances I cannot even surmise the full impact of the last events. You need to seek out psychological assistance."
"Maybe," McCoy said. "But actually I just want to go back to something resembling normal life, doing my work without anyone…breathing down my neck."
"Or beating you."
"It was my own fault. I was too curious."
"The Romulan master?"
"I really don't want to talk about it," McCoy said roughly. "Sarek, by god, all I want is to be my own free man again and go my way. I'm sick of being held and interrogated. You know me. I didn't participate in any conspiracy and I didn't give them any information besides the cure and vaccinate for their own medical problem. That's all she wanted."
"Are you so sure of that?"
"Yes. There were lives at stake, of people who were important to her. It's got nothing to do with Vulcan."
"You have been under a lot of pressure," Sarek said. "Is it not possible that you cannot even remember everything that took place?"
"I remember enough," McCoy said.
"Let me put it another way – if a patient was sent to you, with the same medical history, what would you as expert suggest to your captain when it comes to interrogation?"
McCoy palmed his forehead. "I would probably tell him that the patient may suffer from a severe trauma, dissociation and depression, and may not be able to give accurate details," he finally said defeated. "But I know myself. When she caught me the first time, there on Luna…that was the time when it really hit me. Because I wasn't prepared in the least. I was just a guy on vacation. She threw me out of my life, of everything I had planned, hoped, wanted… it was hell. I was absolutely helpless. There was nothing to offer, nothing to negotiate for. She had made her decision and returned her verdict, and I could only suffer. I accepted it, because it was the only way that the situation could make some kind of sense…and I needed that sense to keep some shreds of my sanity.
"But the second abduction - even though it was very hard in the beginning, I was actually getting stronger over time. She became less intimidating. She got a face, a name, a background history, and I had a chance to do my work, be a doctor. She still had the power to beat or kill me, but the bite of it got less. It's the threat humans really fear; but pain is just pain, after all."
McCoy stopped, realizing his shivering hands and the sweat in his face, and above all a deep fear about his future that took a hold on him. "You've got to believe me that I didn't give them anything that could hurt Vulcan interests," he said desperately. "Let me get out of here, Sarek. Help me out of this nightmare."
The Vulcan reached over the table, clasping McCoy's hands. "Doctor, if it were only my decision, you would not be here. But it is not. I asked for this assignment to help you, but I may not be able to fulfill your wish that easily."
"I know. I've been in Starfleet. I know that if it was me sitting in your place, I wouldn't be able to let myself just go either." McCoy clamped his fingers into Sarek's. "I understand everyone's position. It just doesn't make it easier to live through it."
"I share your pain, doctor. I promise to work for a solution that is agreeable to all parties involved."
"I can't ask for more," McCoy whispered.
Sarek pressed his hand once more, then called a Vulcan. "We will end our conversation for today. You will be brought back to your quarters, but do not hesitate to call if you are in need of anything. I will be available at all times."
"Thank you, Sarek." McCoy went up and followed the other Vulcan. The quarters were redecorated, some paintings hung up and snacks, water and juice on the table. McCoy appreciated the changes. Even knowing that Sarek was effectively just another interrogator, he was also the closest thing to a friend here. McCoy thought back to their conversation and wasn't quite sure if he hadn't said too much at some points. Sarek was an extremely skilled negotiator, and he should keep that in mind before breaking his word. He wondered if she hadn't foreseen that this might happen. Maybe the information she swore him to keep silent about wasn't as important as it seemed…or she had really been that trusting that nobody would be able to gather information from him. Which would actually have been very naïve and unlike her.
McCoy lay down on the bed without undressing and closed his eyes, soon falling asleep.
*
He awoke with a start as someone entered his cabin.
"I apologize," the young Vulcan said. "I was sent to bring you your clothes." The man set the pile onto one of the chairs and left the room again.
McCoy sleepily eyed them. He was rapidly returning into the status of a real person, which suddenly amused him. He had tried so hard to vanish from the face of earth when taking flight towards the moon, never talking to anyone on any of the ships, always avoiding to be noticed, when he could help it…but from the moment on that others tried to make him become a non-person, he valued his existence a lot more again. Sarek would find a solution, McCoy was hopeful, and then he would be out of here and ready to really restart his life, with a new job at a new place and the memories soon fading to manageable junks.
With the smile still lingering on his face, he returned to sleep.
*
When he woke up again, it was morning – according to the console's timer – and he took a long sonic shower and dressed in his own clothes. Even though they were thoroughly cleaned and repaired once more, they displayed some of the events of the last weeks almost more clearly than his body did. For a moment he considered to switch back to the robe, but these clothes were also a part of his individuality, and so he decided to rather wear his history literally on his sleeves than to get back to being just a nameless patient.
Someone knocked on his door, and he was brought a small breakfast and a coffee. When he was done, he wasn't surprised to be brought to the other room again. Sarek was already waiting for him, once again shaking his hand…possibly picking up his current mood this way, now that McCoy gave the action a conscious thought.
"So, what's the status?" McCoy asked when he was seated.
"I talked to my government," the Vulcan said.
"And?" McCoy tensed. There was something in Sarek's voice that told him he wouldn't like the next sentence.
"They are willing to let you go, as long as you accept a mind meld from me to ensure that you have spoken the truth regarding the sharing of information with the Romulans."
McCoy's eyes widened. "I thought…oh damn. And if I don't agree, they'd send someone else to force it on me?"
"It is rare, but not unheard of," Sarek replied cautiously.
McCoy looked away. "You folks do realize that a forced meld is rather similar to a…physical rape? Which is forbidden according to official Federation interrogation statutes?"
"I am aware of that. I would rather have you agree to this procedure. I give you my word that any events irrelevant to the question if you have revealed secret information or produced anything resembling a biological weapon will be ignored by me. This may not be the case if anyone else undertakes the meld."
"I know. It seems like a rather generous offer, after all." McCoy smiled sadly. "You're sure you want to descend to that rather uncomfortable place that my mind is currently?"
"It would be my honor to be allowed into your mind, Leonard McCoy," Sarek said. "I would also offer to…dampen the worst pain. Not to remove memories, but to ease them."
McCoy sat back in his chair, considering the option for a moment. When he agreed to the meld, he could just as well accept that offer for help – it sounded too good to let it pass. "Alright. Go ahead."
"Please turn your chair towards me," Sarek said and came over with his own chair. "I presume you have some experience with mind melds?"
"Yes. Though I'm not particularly fond of them," McCoy said, suddenly rather nervous. "It's a matter of control…giving up control." He clamped his hands around his thighs.
"Relax. I will start slowly." Sarek bent a little forward, placing a first hand on the left side of McCoy's face. "My mind…to your mind. My thoughts to your thoughts."
Almost effortlessly, McCoy glided into the meld. It felt different to melds with Spock; maybe decades of more practice paid off in Sarek's favor. He felt embedded and protected, then floating. His often racing thoughts slowed down, decelerated in their endless circles by a tender, damping field. It was a more peaceful state of mind than he had known for many months, and a large weight seemed to be lifted from his chest, making him breathe more freely. If Sarek scanned anything, McCoy didn't notice and didn't care. His conscience was clean; there was nothing he had held back that would important for the Vulcans to know, nothing he had to feel guilty about for telling the Romulans. She had never wanted any information from him aside personal things…things with which she could manipulate him. If she had asked for Fleet secrets, he might have been able to feel like a hero for withstanding her, but she had never left that retreat for his ego. For her, he'd just been a plaything, after all.
But the thought hurt suddenly much less than in the past, as if someone had taken the sharp barbs of pain and rounded them, so that he could touch them without bleeding. Pictures swirled through his mind, the idea that he could take memories and put them into a little panopticon to watch little figures act out the play. He could lift each one up and turn it in his hands, eyeing every scene from every angle, seeing every little aspect suddenly with much more clarity. He saw himself on the ground, beaten but getting up, again and again, finding strength in his work and the conversations, relentlessly moving forward through the pressure, step by step. There was no weakness in losing fights one could not win, on a battleground someone else had chosen the weapons for. But in the end, his persistence had won out. He was alive and free. He saw the scene in the hills, realizing that it had been only the impression he had been able to make on her that had kept her from killing him. Every little moment in which he had found the words to speak up, demand her noticing him as a living being, had been a stone in building his way out of the situation. And while there were many panopticons left he wouldn't want to touch right now, they were neatly stapled now, waiting for his attention whenever he was ready.
As softly as he had slipped into the meld, he slipped out of it now. Taking a deep breath, he took a moment to ravel in the change, the incredible relaxation and deep relief he felt. When he opened his eyes, Sarek encountered his gaze.
"I can't put into words just how thankful I am right now," McCoy whispered.
"I only assisted you in a development you already had started," Sarek said. "I must say that you processed the events better than many others would have done. It will take me some hours of meditation to process them as well."
"As I said…not a really good place to hang around at the moment. Or at least, it wasn't until you came in and helped clearing up a little." McCoy put his face into both hands and rubbed over it. As good as he felt overall, he was also damn tired again.
"How's the verdict?" he asked, suddenly remembering what the meld had actually been performed for.
"I will give you full clearance, Doctor McCoy. This should be enough to absolve you from all accusations. Where would you want to be delivered upon discharge? Your original destination was…"
"… Alandrin. A moon in the outer rim. And yes, I'd still like to go there. I've got a new job there."
"A man with your knowledge?"
"Is of the best use in an area far away from the feisty, dull medical faculties of Earth," McCoy said determined. "I want to make a difference."
Sarek nodded minutely. "I understand." There was silence for a moment, then the Vulcan asked, "Regarding Jim Kirk – I could send him a message and inform him of your whereabouts."
"No thanks," McCoy said. "I'll send him a message myself, as soon as I'm settled in."
"He is concerned about you."
"I know." McCoy kneaded his fingers. "He was rather concerned on Earth too. But it wasn't really about me, but about his own pride, I think. We had drifted away after the Enterprise. He didn't even tell me that he had married. What kind of friend is that?" How much this little thing still hurt. "And Spock…well. He just left with a short note to the both us and vanished."
"If it is of any consolation," Sarek said softly, "he only left us a message too."
"Spock didn't even visit you before joining that group?"
"No."
"Idiot," McCoy said heartily.
"Maybe not his wisest choice ever," Sarek said, signaling quiet agreement.
"You thought that about Starfleet too."
"I reconsidered." Sarek went up. "Doctor – we will possibly not see each other again for now, but I wish you all the best for your future work and for your full personal recovery, of which I have no doubt."
"Well, thanks to you, it'll be much easier," McCoy said, getting up too to shake hands with his unexpected savior. "And no telling how this arrest might've ended if you hadn't shown up."
Sarek didn't comment on that, which only confirmed McCoy's suspicion that in a worst case scenario, he might indeed have ended locked up in some secret Vulcan facility. To be spared that was seventh heaven.
"Give my regards to your wife," McCoy said as they slowly walked towards the door.
"I rather would not, as all that ventured here will be kept under high secrecy."
"Well, then – just give her some regards from an old friend whose name you've forgotten."
"Vulcans do not forget names important to them," Sarek said solemnly. "You saved my life on board of the Enterprise, Doctor McCoy, and maybe it was indeed fate that allowed me helping you now. I will forward your greetings, which will doubtlessly bring joy to her. Live long and prosper."
"Live long and prosper too, Sarek." McCoy skipped to return the Vulcan's greeting, never really having managed that particular hand position. He was brought back to his quarters, taking a deep, deep breath when he was inside. He felt like singing and dancing, but that may be a very confusing sight to the Vulcans, and the least thing he wanted was to cause any more confusion about him. They would bring him to the moon, and all would be well.
He went into the bathroom and looked at his face in the mirror, beaming into his own blue eyes.
"Welcome to the future, Leonard McCoy," he said and toasted himself by lifting an invisible drink.
***
Series: TOS, RC series
Codes: Mc, Sa; implied Mc/f (Romulan Commander)
Rating: PG-13, mention of violence
Author's note: This is the sequel to Casualties, The Sound of Breaking Ice and Battlegrounds. Reading the prequels is recommended. Many thanks to Drusilla for her beta! All remaining errors are mine.
Archive: My own site at http://www.syredronning.de , ASCEM, all others ask, please.
Summary: McCoy is on his way…the only question is where to.
***
The windowless room McCoy woke up in was kept in shades of red and brown, a mixture that bore a familiar note without him being able to put a name on it.
Actually, what was more wondrous than the new location was that he was alive and could look out of his eyes for once. The last thing he remembered was that the ship that had carried him – tied and blindfolded – had been in combat and possibly defeated. He had no idea what kind of ship it had been, or who the crew had been, as nobody had said anything to him beyond the most necessary short remarks; and now he had no idea who might have captured him this time. Experimentally, he moved his limbs and then sat up in bed. Everything seemed in full working order, and for once he didn't seem to be chained to anything. Which was definitely an improvement to his latest adventures.
On the other hand, he realized when he looked down on himself, he was completely undressed and smelled like some medical soap, and there was a band around his left wrist, bearing a little chip. It could be a medical device to measure his life signs, but also something to secure him. He roughly ripped it, and was relieved to find it easily removed. With verve he threw it away, then went up with the blanket around his body and searched for something to dress. The room was rather empty, besides the bed, a table and two chairs. His clothes were missing, but in a hidden closet he found something like a robe and a pair of open sandals. He put everything on, then went on with his search of the room. There was another rather hidden door to a bathroom with a shower and a toilet, but he didn't feel like using it right now. Only the basin could be of use, if there was water to be found. But no – the tap only offered a sonic function.
McCoy shrugged and left the bathroom, heading straight for the door. To find it locked was making him nervous, although it didn't really surprise him. The occupants of this ship – it had to be a ship, from the room design and the slight vibrations - were friendlier than the last ones, but not stupid either. He waved his hands in front of the obvious optical sensor. Maybe it would at least make someone show up.
"Hello?" he said, talking towards the door. "Anybody out there?"
When the door suddenly opened, he shrank back when he noticed the slanted eyebrows and pointed ears. For a second, he was recoiling in blinding panic from the visitors; then he got a grip on himself and processed the information in front of him – the man and woman wore robes in medium brown, with Vulcan hieroglyphics and golden borders running down the fronts. They also had that overly serious, composed look that reminded McCoy of Spock.
"Nice to see you, finally," McCoy managed to say, and only now noted that he'd backed away from the door right up to the bed. Pulling himself together, he walked into the middle, but kept a healthy distance to them.
The two Vulcans drew wordlessly into the room until the door closed behind them. The feeling of intimidation instantly grew in McCoy again, but he forced it down once more. Time for defense.
"You're Vulcans, aren't you?" McCoy asked with a frown.
"Yes," the man replied.
"So…what do you want from me? Am I arrested? If it wasn't clear to you, I was nothing more than live cargo on that ship."
"We are interested why you were there, Doctor McCoy."
"So you could read my papers. Good thing," McCoy said ironically. "How about giving me your names? I don't want to talk to nobodies."
"You will be informed soon. Please, take a seat." The man waved to one of the chairs.
"What if I don't want to?" McCoy asked.
"You would make the proceedings easier if you did. Please, doctor."
McCoy swallowed; considering that Vulcans were allies of Earth, their behavior towards him was unusual. Finding his options rather limited again, he sat down on the chair. The male Vulcan took place opposite to him; the woman kept standing next to the table, which made McCoy slightly nervous.
"Do you want anything to drink?" the man asked.
"I'd love to get some water," McCoy said. The man uttered a few orders into a kind of communicator, then focused on him again.
"What do you want from me?" McCoy asked again.
"Your last known location was on board of the freighter 'Terrilium' that was reported missing twenty-two days ago. It was brought up by a slaver's ship, as was found out when four of its passengers were rescued from being sold," the man said.
"Yes."
"What happened to you?"
"I…" McCoy hesitated. "I was captured too, and sold. The ship you found me on was destined to bring me to my future owner."
"How long have you been on this last ship?"
"I don't really know – two days maybe?"
"So you've been in the slaver's power for twenty days?"
"Maybe. I didn't have a calendar."
"It is very unusual for slaver ships to keep their goods for longer than a few days in store – especially as doctors are considered valuable and usually sell well," the woman said.
"They knew I've been in Starfleet. I was a dangerous good. They even considered executing me" McCoy twisted on his chair. "Didn't you want to give me some water?"
"Soon," the man said.
"You know it's against Federation regulations what you are doing here," McCoy said, but they completely ignored his remark.
The woman lifted her PADD. "This is the report of our healer who checked you when you were brought on board. Besides a general bad health and malnutrition, he found a light concussion, micro-fractions in the skull, bruises, some small internal ruptures, muscle damage on neck and chest, traces of a more severe beating -"
"Enough," McCoy snapped.
"- Traces of a metallic alloy at your neck, and another, magnetic alloy around your wrists. These alloys are used outside of Federation space, foremost by the Romulans," the woman proceeded calmly. "This data can only allow for one conclusion – you have been held captive by Romulans."
McCoy clamped his hands around the sides of his chair.
"Do you want to deny that?" the Vulcan asked.
"I'm neither denying nor acknowledging it."
"Why do you lie to us, doctor?"
"Why do you want to know where I've been? It doesn't have to do anything with you. And I want some water, please," McCoy said with verve.
"The healer examined your medical equipment. He found data on your medical tricorder, pertaining to a possibly dangerous virus."
"It's only deadly in combination with a rare parasite. He should've found that too."
"He also found patient data of a Vulcan."
"Not a Vulcan," McCoy stated. "A hybrid." He damned himself for keeping some working data in the readable file space.
"The patient's personal data, however, is locked."
"Sure it is," McCoy said.
"We ask you to unlock it, or we will disassemble the code ourselves."
McCoy smiled, for the first time in this session. The coding had been enhanced by Spock several times and was far above standard. "Have fun trying."
"Why do you not speak to us about the last weeks?" the man asked.
"I…gave my word to someone."
"Your word?"
"I swore on my medical oath that I will keep silence about the place I've been," McCoy said.
The Vulcans exchanged gazes. "We accept that you do not want to break an oath. However, it seems you have been pressured into that oath. This would render it invalid."
"No." McCoy shook his head. "I gave it freely."
"Why did they let you go?"
He hesitated. "My job was done."
"Like treating the hybrid."
McCoy rubbed his face, trying to push the pictures away. "She's dead. You wouldn't be able to help her anyway."
"But there may be more like her."
"No."
The woman raised a brow. "You realize that we cannot be satisfied with the information you divulge. You have been held captive and possibly tortured by Romulans at a location you do not want to disclose, and have treated hybrid patients for a dangerous virus. How can we trust you that you have not partaken into developing a biological weapon that can be directed against Vulcan? We have checked your fields of expertise, and while you are no specialist in virology, as former CMO you have an extensive knowledge of all medical fields."
"I do," McCoy agreed. "But I'd rather die than to develop a weapon for anyone."
"Maybe their intentions were not fully revealed to you," the man said.
"I know what I did. And it was about healing, not killing."
"Twenty days are a long time to be in someone's hold," the woman said. "We researched Earth psychology, and there is a term called capture-bonding. It is possible for an abductor to yield a bond with the captured person. From your professional perspective, do you think it is possible to achieve that in the time span and under the conditions of your captivity?"
"You're asking me if I think I've got Stockholm syndrome?" McCoy asked slightly annoyed. "Well, while the conditions may have been accordingly, not all humans react like that. Some find an inner strength that keeps them from associating with the captor's motives. And I'd say I did."
"The data suggests that you were repetitiously beaten, something that humans perceive as very stressful."
"The beatings were more by chance," McCoy said. "Not part of a big plan." His palms were sweating, and he rubbed them against his robe.
"And the collar and cuffs?"
"Just means of securing me." He briefly closed his eyes, as a wave of nausea hit him unexpectedly. "Enough. Get out of here. I won't say a word until I get something to drink and eat."
"The alloy that was used in the collar is electrically conductive. Were you tortured with electro-shocks?" the woman asked.
McCoy only shook his head, pressing his lips together. They were Vulcans; they had signed the Intergalactic Charta of Rights and wouldn't dare to manhandle a Federation citizen. He could sit this out.
They asked him a few more questions, but finally realized that they wouldn't come far this time.
"We will end for today," the man said. The door opened and another Vulcan brought a tray with food and juice. Then they left him. When he tested the door, it was locked again.
He eyed the table, suddenly neither hungry nor thirsty. Instead, he felt a rather deep exhaustion, being not sure if his situation had improved a lot compared to…
Well, at least he had some freedom of movement left. He went to the bathroom and stripped to take a long sonic shower. Then he went back to bed, letting the lights bury his thoughts when he drifted into a restless sleep.
*
The room was overly silent when he awoke again. The tray was still on the table, untouched, and he finally resigned to eat and drink something. Dressed with the robe, he sat down and took a sip from the liquid. It tasted almost like water, with a slightly muddy side note. The food itself was rather tasteless and obviously had suffered from standing around. Not exactly good, in this human's opinion. McCoy wondered if the Vulcans did that all intentionally - an interrogation against Federation regulations, an isolated room without any stimuli, bland food, the impeding threat of more interrogation – it smelled like "white torture". And after some more hours of being all alone with himself, he was ready to admit that it began working on him. Having no clock at his disposal, he was unable to regain any time feel. He was drifting again, damn them. He wanted to be released and left to go to the moon he tried to reach for weeks.
He was almost glad when someone came finally. This time, it was only the female Vulcan. He sighed and took a seat. Vulcanoid women were really low on his hit list at the moment, and he wondered if the Vulcans had noticed his increased nervousness where she was concerned. She sat down opposite to him, her PADD in hands again, although McCoy assumed that she had everything in mind she needed to know.
"How are you today?" she asked.
"I'd be better if you let me go my way," he said bluntly.
"You only have to answer our questions," the Vulcan said.
"Maybe I'd be more cooperative if this didn't smell fishy," he countered.
"Fishy?" She raised a brow.
"You didn't inform Starfleet about my whereabouts, right?" McCoy asked. "Because if they knew I was here, they'd probably have sent someone already to get me. You didn't tell them anything because you want to keep your dirty little secret a secret – that Romulans are still genetically compatible to Vulcans. Something the official policy always denies."
The woman didn't reply to his accusation, only gave him a Vulcan trademark stare. "The hybrid is only one aspect of our investigation. The virus is more of our concern."
"You have the data. I'm sure you checked it against your databanks." McCoy leaned back in his chair.
"It is unknown to us. However, it resembles an Earth virus, as you know very well."
"It does."
"Who developed it?"
"Developed?" McCoy raised a brow.
"Do you think it was a natural part of the planet's environment?"
"Yes."
"On which planet was that?"
"I don't know. And if I knew, I wouldn't tell you."
"Our healer found antibodies in your blood. Did you get infected by the virus?"
"Yes. It made me very fatigued and easily exhausted, but it reacted well to antiviral shots."
"What does it cause in Romulans?"
"Actually, Romulans are naturally resistant against it. Vulcans too, I guess."
"Then why were you captured to research a cure?"
"Because some persons had a damaged immune system."
"From the parasite."
"Yes."
"Do you think this parasite would make a valuable weapon?"
"Not at all," he said. "Once I had found it, it was quickly removed."
"And the parasite was from Romulus?"
McCoy kept quiet.
"Do you think it was natural to Romulus?"
"It was probably natural to its former habitat," McCoy said coldly. "I don't see a reason speaking against it. Even in our age, there are parasites and viruses."
"How many people were infected?" the Vulcan asked.
McCoy remained quiet.
"You allured to the hybrid's death. How did she die?"
When McCoy didn't answer, she asked, "Did she die from the virus? You understand that this is important for us to know."
"I have no proof that the parasite or the virus could infect hybrids," McCoy stated neutrally.
The woman looked down on the PADD. "You stated you were released because the work was done."
"Yes."
"You realize that this is unusual? In 92% of all known cases, Terran prisoners were executed by Romulans once they were no longer useful. Logic suggests that they should either have kept you for further service, or killed you."
"Guess I was lucky," he said.
"Or you were more forthcoming with them than with us," she said.
"What are you suggesting? Betrayal of secrets?"
"Yes."
"I didn't tell them more than they needed to know about the virus and parasite."
"Our healer further analyzed your brain patterns. Your physiological data suggests that you suffer from post traumatic stress, resulting from an experience that took place even before you left Earth."
"You're doing a thorough research, don't you?" McCoy asked, increasingly angry.
"You left Earth only to fall into the hands of slavers and be sold to a Romulan colony, in which you were maltreated and starved. Do you not think that would make anyone willing to relay information to improve the situation?"
"I didn't tell them anything of importance," McCoy snapped. "I'm officially retired from Starfleet. I don't have any cool information, no codes, no mission data. My Fleet history is long over. If that's what they had wanted, they would have had no success."
"But they wanted something else, which you gave them."
"A cure. For their problem. What's wrong with that?"
"You left them the information."
"Of course. They may need it."
"They may also build a weapon with it."
"As I said, the parasite and the virus are easily healed, once you know the mechanism."
"Could they be mutated?"
"Anything can be mutated." McCoy rubbed his face. "What about some better tasting juice?"
"Later," she said.
"You know…you're not so different to them," he said. "Are you going to starve me too?"
"There is food on the table," she said.
"And it tastes like shit." He shook his head. "What do you really want to know?"
"Everything, doctor. Where you have been, who captured you, what you did exactly, who the hybrid was and her fate –"
"You won't get it," he said. "I'm not going to say a word anymore. Fini."
"We could still use other methods to find the truth, doctor."
"You would use a mind meld on me? Against my will?" McCoy shook his head in disbelief. "That would be against everything you believe in, wouldn't it? And just imagine the headlines it would make when I went to the press later."
"There would be no traces."
"Liar," he snapped. "A healer can detect the effects of a forced meld on a brain."
"And undo them."
McCoy leaned back, crossing his arms in front of him. "No more words. I'm done with you. If you want to torture me, go ahead. But I won't give you any more information as long as I can help it."
"You think we cannot threaten you because you have survived worse than we would be able to inflict on you?" she asked, raising a brow. "Rest assured that there are always possibilities."
"I want to speak to a solicitor."
She remained silent.
"I want to be allowed to call a friend and inform him of my situation," McCoy said. "Now!"
"We cannot allow this," she said. "You are thereby arrested under the suspicion of collaboration with an enemy of Vulcan. You will be brought to Vulcan for further interrogation by the V'Shar."
"Oh please!" McCoy said in exasperation. "I didn't do anything that could endanger any planet, or any government. I helped a little colony and they let me go because of a…personal thing. And now I just want to be free and go my way."
"As long as you do not answer our questions satisfactorily, we cannot let you go. And referring to any personal debt or relationship does not improve your situation, doctor."
"Alright." He took a deep breath. "So bring me to Vulcan then. But I insist on being treated like a Federation citizen. I demand that you supply me with food and water digestible by humans, as well as something like a console with music or reading material."
"When you cooperate."
"I gave my word," McCoy whispered. "I won't break it."
She went up. "We will speak again tomorrow. Good night, doctor." She left him.
McCoy couldn't believe it. So much for being saved from the Romulans. Khell would find his current fate probably very amusing.
The door opened for a Vulcan who brought him fresh food and two liters of water. But that were the only things they readily offered him. Left alone with himself and his memories, McCoy's mind began racing in sleepless circles.
*
The woman came back after long hours, but McCoy resigned to say not another word. Talking to her was too exhausting and useless; he better used his leftover energy for preserving his sanity.
The next time, the man returned to throw more of McCoy's medical details at him, listing every little fractured and healed bone in his body – which were more than McCoy cared to know. The Vulcans' analysis was rather to the point, allowing them extrapolating some of the events that had taken place. Once again, McCoy didn't say a word and tried to show no reaction; but he was so puking sick afterwards that he had to visit the bathroom, and he was sure they had it all on screen. Especially the memories of his punishment in habitat 3 were nauseatingly fresh in his mind, and with a new clarity he recognized the humiliating details which had been probably Khell's decision, and not the principal's. Maybe it was better to revive the whole scene and chew it in his mind. After all, that was the age-old method of Prolonged Exposure that had proven rather helpful for trauma therapy. But after thinking about it a few more minutes, it seemed just too much. The situation was beginning to get him, and it wouldn't help to make it all worse by living through the full expense of such a memory without anyone to talk about. He took a sonic shower and then went to bed for a rather sleepless night.
*
But suddenly, on what was possibly the next morning, everything seemed to improve. He was given a tasteful breakfast with coffee and a console with reading material, and the interrogations by the two Vulcans stopped completely. He was wary of the change, but not really in a position to question it, so he simply used the improvement to built his energy level and defenses.
It was some time later when he was brought out of the cell for the first time, and led down a long corridor to another room. It was empty but for a table and two chairs, but there was once more water and coffee – even sugar - offered, and he took a cup of the dark brew. How he had missed good, old Earth coffee…it was astonishing with how little a human could be satisfied. Stirring in his cup to solve the sugar, he wondered what they were up to. His question was soon answered, as the door opened and Spock's father stepped into the room.
"Sarek!" For a second, words fled McCoy. Then he said, "Were you sent in to give me the third degree?"
Sarek raised a brow, obviously not getting the reference. "Good afternoon, Doctor McCoy," he said and offered his hand.
Caught by surprise, McCoy shook it. "I thought Vulcans don't shake hands."
Sarek took a seat opposite to him. "As an ambassador, I am used to other species' conventions."
"Was it your doing that my situation improved?" McCoy asked. "If so, then…thank you."
"The persons in charge were not aware of the distress they would cause," Sarek said.
"That's what they told you?" McCoy said in disbelief. "They made it sound as if they had researched all of human psychology. I bet they came along the relevant lines in their interrogation handbook."
"I really apologize for the inconvenience, doctor. However, you must understand that the circumstances are suspicious and disquieting."
"For them or for me?"
"For all of us."
McCoy saw Sarek's eyes searching his face. "Are you going to ask the same questions as they did? Because I can't answer them."
"You do not want to answer them."
"I swore not to answer them."
Breaking the tension, Sarek took a glass of water. "I have seen the medical report. It is complicated to explain my reaction. I…feel responsible, partly."
"Responsible?" McCoy said confused.
"As you may know, I was in contact with Jim Kirk…after the first events."
McCoy remained silent.
"I should have contacted you in person and offered help. It was a family debt, and you paid the price. I should not have been content with Kirk's word alone."
McCoy looked down on his cup. "There was nothing you could have done."
"A Vulcan healer may have been able to intervene in the first phase of the aftermath."
"I would have left Earth anyway. I wasn't really happy there." McCoy shrugged.
"But maybe your leave would have been less hastened, and your journey better planned."
And not ended on a raided third-class freighter, McCoy agreed, but only said, "Fate."
"Vulcans do not believe in fate."
"A pity. It sure explains a lot."
"It is also disquieting how far into Federation space the slaver activity has moved," Sarek said, changing the subject. "Do you know what species they were?"
McCoy shook his head. "I've very briefly seen their ship from outside, on the main screen of the freighter's bridge. I've never seen the insignia before. Later, I was held in a room with about forty other men. There was a boy, probably human, who never said a word, and another human who was called the helper and responsible for bringing people in and out." He looked up. "I remember something – the slavers had electrical whips. That's how they knocked me out when they captured me. Leaves a burn on one's skin. They also used it for quieting prisoners who got out of control."
"Interesting. We have heard of this species, but know no details so far. What happened after your capture?"
"For days, I was just forced to wait. Everyone was chained up, living on very little food and water. My seat neighbor bought himself off slavery, but when I tried that too, I was told I was already sold." McCoy took a deep breath.
"To whom?"
McCoy sighed a little helplessly. "I promised not to talk about it, Sarek. I swore on my Hippocratic Oath."
"Let us approach it differently. I will suggest what happened, and you can keep quiet…or add details which you consider not a breach of your oath."
McCoy shrugged. "If you want to…"
"You were sold to someone who needed a doctor and did not care for your Starfleet history, and brought to a Romulan colony. The medical data of your digestion system shows the food composition very clearly. There was not much to eat, either intentionally or because they didn't have much themselves. Freshly colonized planets have a reputation for being poor. You were ordered to inquire an unsolved medical problem. I presume that it had already caused deaths, or it would not have been considered important enough to spare the expense of purchasing a specialist from a slaver."
McCoy listened in silence, carefully trying to keep his face blank.
"I do not think that there was much coercion necessary once they had laid open the problem," Sarek went on. "You are a healer and take your vocation very seriously. You investigated the virus, found it to be environmental, and thought you had a solution. But it was not all, and this caused a violent reaction when the Romulans thought you had deceived them."
McCoy swallowed involuntarily as the memories of the shocks evoke some phantom pain in his neck. "Sounds like an interesting story."
"Then you realized the parasite infection, and once you had this break-through, you had the cure. When the problem was solved, you were brought to another ship to be sent somewhere else. This ship was captured by Vulcans, and you ended here."
"Why did your folks arrest that ship anyway?" McCoy asked curiously.
"The captain was wanted for espionage activities."
"A Romulan spy?"
"Yes."
McCoy laughed quietly. "No wonder they thought I were in the same trade. Even though they should've noticed I wasn't exactly a well-treated guest there."
"You were blindfolded and tied with your hands behind your back when they found you. You were also unconscious from hitting the wall during the battle."
"I've been held like that for…I don't know, two days? I've never seen anything, and they barely talked to me."
"It must have been a very uncomfortable trip."
"I was treated okay, and had been told they would bring me to the moon that had been my original destination. Therefore, I was hopeful."
"You may have been sold to the next slaver."
"I wouldn't have been able to do anything about it," McCoy said fatalistically. "I've learned to live on hope. No good thinking too much about the future."
"I see." Sarek said. "Let us take dinner together, doctor."
"I'm not really hungry," McCoy replied. "And please, don't tell me that my medical data says this or that. I'm rather sick of hearing that."
"It has been a long journey for me," Sarek said, "so I would rather have some nourishment now. Maybe some of the dishes will be acceptable to you as well."
The door opened and two Vulcans McCoy hadn't seen before brought in plates with various bowls, two plates, two cups and a bottle of something McCoy didn't recognize. The food smelled delicious, and once Sarek started eating, McCoy reconsidered – he was hungry, and he could admit that to himself. He took little portions from various bowls, to test what they contained. All the dishes seemed vegetarian, but some resembled meat, from the consistency and taste. The warm food seemed to bring some badly needed energy into McCoy's body, and he took second helpings of some especially tasty dishes.
"They are all agreeable with human digestion," Sarek said. "In fact, some of them are recipes improved by my wife."
McCoy nodded. "Thanks for making me feel like a guest for once. I was beginning to think there wasn't much difference between Romulans and Vulcans."
"An unfortunate idea," Sarek replied.
They finished their meal in silence. Afterwards, he was offered a fresh coffee, and accepted it.
"Let us speak about the hybrid, if you consider this to fall outside of your oath of silence. What makes you so sure she was one?"
Since the Vulcans had found the data, and the girl was dead, McCoy considered this to be a rather safe ground. "Her genetic patterns looked like standard Romulan at first glance, but there were some deviations I had only seen in Spock's genes, and some markers I remembered from your own operation. I was instantly sure that she was a hybrid, and the reaction of…well, there was an indication that her Romulan master knew that too. He wasn't the least surprised when I made a remark about it."
"But she never could tell you where she had been from?"
"No." McCoy sighed. "No, she didn't. And I'm actually not sure she remembered where she originally came from. She had no idea that she was a hybrid, but probably considered her status simply due to her being a slave, instead of a possible genetic background."
He looked at Sarek. "I've heard rumors about Romulans interbreeding with Vulcans, but I've never believed in them. Guess I was wrong. She surely isn't the only hybrid. Did your government ever do research in that area?"
Sarek laced his fingers. "Within the last two decades, fourteen Vulcan ships have gone missing in space. While some undoubtedly have fallen prey to natural disasters or conflicts with races others than Romulans, we long suspected that some of them had been taken over by Romulans. At first, we thought they would use these captured Vulcans as agents to infiltrate our planet. However, it is very rare that a Vulcan can be broken and reconditioned to the point of becoming an agent for their side. And a Romulan does not have the personal and genetic predispositions to fit into our society. Hybrids, however…there have been a few detected, but it was never possible to trace their path back to the source."
"To the planet where the laboratory was."
"Correct."
"Well, it wasn't on the planet I've been on," McCoy said. "And she was the only one there."
Sarek put his hands on the table top. "We could identify the genetic background of the girl. Her father was a Vulcan officer, whose ship was reported missing nineteen standard years ago."
"Sorry to hear that," McCoy said.
"We hoped you would be able to bring more light to the situation."
McCoy stared on the table. "I would - if I could. But she's dead, and I don't know more than you've seen in my data."
"Tell me about her. Please. What you relay to me here in this room will only be told to her closest family."
"What do you want them to give?" McCoy asked tiredly. "A dead officer with a daughter who'd been beaten to death by her Romulan master? She didn't know where she came from, and I never got around asking her again before…well." He brushed through his hair. "I even forgot her name."
"And the name of her master?" Sarek asked.
McCoy waved his hand. "Can't tell you."
Sarek just looked at him for a while. "Are they so worth of your protection?" he finally asked.
"Some of them, yes," McCoy said.
"Because you could save them with your medical knowledge?"
"Because…I owed them."
"Romulans?" The moment Sarek asked the question, McCoy could see sudden understanding in the Vulcan's eyes. "Her family?"
McCoy averted his gaze.
"Was it herself who bought you?" When McCoy didn't answer, Sarek asked, incredulously, "Why did she let you go a second time?"
"Guess she…grew to like me, in a way."
Sarek's face showed a lot of changing emotions, considering that it wasn't supposed to show any at all.
"Doctor…under these circumstances I cannot even surmise the full impact of the last events. You need to seek out psychological assistance."
"Maybe," McCoy said. "But actually I just want to go back to something resembling normal life, doing my work without anyone…breathing down my neck."
"Or beating you."
"It was my own fault. I was too curious."
"The Romulan master?"
"I really don't want to talk about it," McCoy said roughly. "Sarek, by god, all I want is to be my own free man again and go my way. I'm sick of being held and interrogated. You know me. I didn't participate in any conspiracy and I didn't give them any information besides the cure and vaccinate for their own medical problem. That's all she wanted."
"Are you so sure of that?"
"Yes. There were lives at stake, of people who were important to her. It's got nothing to do with Vulcan."
"You have been under a lot of pressure," Sarek said. "Is it not possible that you cannot even remember everything that took place?"
"I remember enough," McCoy said.
"Let me put it another way – if a patient was sent to you, with the same medical history, what would you as expert suggest to your captain when it comes to interrogation?"
McCoy palmed his forehead. "I would probably tell him that the patient may suffer from a severe trauma, dissociation and depression, and may not be able to give accurate details," he finally said defeated. "But I know myself. When she caught me the first time, there on Luna…that was the time when it really hit me. Because I wasn't prepared in the least. I was just a guy on vacation. She threw me out of my life, of everything I had planned, hoped, wanted… it was hell. I was absolutely helpless. There was nothing to offer, nothing to negotiate for. She had made her decision and returned her verdict, and I could only suffer. I accepted it, because it was the only way that the situation could make some kind of sense…and I needed that sense to keep some shreds of my sanity.
"But the second abduction - even though it was very hard in the beginning, I was actually getting stronger over time. She became less intimidating. She got a face, a name, a background history, and I had a chance to do my work, be a doctor. She still had the power to beat or kill me, but the bite of it got less. It's the threat humans really fear; but pain is just pain, after all."
McCoy stopped, realizing his shivering hands and the sweat in his face, and above all a deep fear about his future that took a hold on him. "You've got to believe me that I didn't give them anything that could hurt Vulcan interests," he said desperately. "Let me get out of here, Sarek. Help me out of this nightmare."
The Vulcan reached over the table, clasping McCoy's hands. "Doctor, if it were only my decision, you would not be here. But it is not. I asked for this assignment to help you, but I may not be able to fulfill your wish that easily."
"I know. I've been in Starfleet. I know that if it was me sitting in your place, I wouldn't be able to let myself just go either." McCoy clamped his fingers into Sarek's. "I understand everyone's position. It just doesn't make it easier to live through it."
"I share your pain, doctor. I promise to work for a solution that is agreeable to all parties involved."
"I can't ask for more," McCoy whispered.
Sarek pressed his hand once more, then called a Vulcan. "We will end our conversation for today. You will be brought back to your quarters, but do not hesitate to call if you are in need of anything. I will be available at all times."
"Thank you, Sarek." McCoy went up and followed the other Vulcan. The quarters were redecorated, some paintings hung up and snacks, water and juice on the table. McCoy appreciated the changes. Even knowing that Sarek was effectively just another interrogator, he was also the closest thing to a friend here. McCoy thought back to their conversation and wasn't quite sure if he hadn't said too much at some points. Sarek was an extremely skilled negotiator, and he should keep that in mind before breaking his word. He wondered if she hadn't foreseen that this might happen. Maybe the information she swore him to keep silent about wasn't as important as it seemed…or she had really been that trusting that nobody would be able to gather information from him. Which would actually have been very naïve and unlike her.
McCoy lay down on the bed without undressing and closed his eyes, soon falling asleep.
*
He awoke with a start as someone entered his cabin.
"I apologize," the young Vulcan said. "I was sent to bring you your clothes." The man set the pile onto one of the chairs and left the room again.
McCoy sleepily eyed them. He was rapidly returning into the status of a real person, which suddenly amused him. He had tried so hard to vanish from the face of earth when taking flight towards the moon, never talking to anyone on any of the ships, always avoiding to be noticed, when he could help it…but from the moment on that others tried to make him become a non-person, he valued his existence a lot more again. Sarek would find a solution, McCoy was hopeful, and then he would be out of here and ready to really restart his life, with a new job at a new place and the memories soon fading to manageable junks.
With the smile still lingering on his face, he returned to sleep.
*
When he woke up again, it was morning – according to the console's timer – and he took a long sonic shower and dressed in his own clothes. Even though they were thoroughly cleaned and repaired once more, they displayed some of the events of the last weeks almost more clearly than his body did. For a moment he considered to switch back to the robe, but these clothes were also a part of his individuality, and so he decided to rather wear his history literally on his sleeves than to get back to being just a nameless patient.
Someone knocked on his door, and he was brought a small breakfast and a coffee. When he was done, he wasn't surprised to be brought to the other room again. Sarek was already waiting for him, once again shaking his hand…possibly picking up his current mood this way, now that McCoy gave the action a conscious thought.
"So, what's the status?" McCoy asked when he was seated.
"I talked to my government," the Vulcan said.
"And?" McCoy tensed. There was something in Sarek's voice that told him he wouldn't like the next sentence.
"They are willing to let you go, as long as you accept a mind meld from me to ensure that you have spoken the truth regarding the sharing of information with the Romulans."
McCoy's eyes widened. "I thought…oh damn. And if I don't agree, they'd send someone else to force it on me?"
"It is rare, but not unheard of," Sarek replied cautiously.
McCoy looked away. "You folks do realize that a forced meld is rather similar to a…physical rape? Which is forbidden according to official Federation interrogation statutes?"
"I am aware of that. I would rather have you agree to this procedure. I give you my word that any events irrelevant to the question if you have revealed secret information or produced anything resembling a biological weapon will be ignored by me. This may not be the case if anyone else undertakes the meld."
"I know. It seems like a rather generous offer, after all." McCoy smiled sadly. "You're sure you want to descend to that rather uncomfortable place that my mind is currently?"
"It would be my honor to be allowed into your mind, Leonard McCoy," Sarek said. "I would also offer to…dampen the worst pain. Not to remove memories, but to ease them."
McCoy sat back in his chair, considering the option for a moment. When he agreed to the meld, he could just as well accept that offer for help – it sounded too good to let it pass. "Alright. Go ahead."
"Please turn your chair towards me," Sarek said and came over with his own chair. "I presume you have some experience with mind melds?"
"Yes. Though I'm not particularly fond of them," McCoy said, suddenly rather nervous. "It's a matter of control…giving up control." He clamped his hands around his thighs.
"Relax. I will start slowly." Sarek bent a little forward, placing a first hand on the left side of McCoy's face. "My mind…to your mind. My thoughts to your thoughts."
Almost effortlessly, McCoy glided into the meld. It felt different to melds with Spock; maybe decades of more practice paid off in Sarek's favor. He felt embedded and protected, then floating. His often racing thoughts slowed down, decelerated in their endless circles by a tender, damping field. It was a more peaceful state of mind than he had known for many months, and a large weight seemed to be lifted from his chest, making him breathe more freely. If Sarek scanned anything, McCoy didn't notice and didn't care. His conscience was clean; there was nothing he had held back that would important for the Vulcans to know, nothing he had to feel guilty about for telling the Romulans. She had never wanted any information from him aside personal things…things with which she could manipulate him. If she had asked for Fleet secrets, he might have been able to feel like a hero for withstanding her, but she had never left that retreat for his ego. For her, he'd just been a plaything, after all.
But the thought hurt suddenly much less than in the past, as if someone had taken the sharp barbs of pain and rounded them, so that he could touch them without bleeding. Pictures swirled through his mind, the idea that he could take memories and put them into a little panopticon to watch little figures act out the play. He could lift each one up and turn it in his hands, eyeing every scene from every angle, seeing every little aspect suddenly with much more clarity. He saw himself on the ground, beaten but getting up, again and again, finding strength in his work and the conversations, relentlessly moving forward through the pressure, step by step. There was no weakness in losing fights one could not win, on a battleground someone else had chosen the weapons for. But in the end, his persistence had won out. He was alive and free. He saw the scene in the hills, realizing that it had been only the impression he had been able to make on her that had kept her from killing him. Every little moment in which he had found the words to speak up, demand her noticing him as a living being, had been a stone in building his way out of the situation. And while there were many panopticons left he wouldn't want to touch right now, they were neatly stapled now, waiting for his attention whenever he was ready.
As softly as he had slipped into the meld, he slipped out of it now. Taking a deep breath, he took a moment to ravel in the change, the incredible relaxation and deep relief he felt. When he opened his eyes, Sarek encountered his gaze.
"I can't put into words just how thankful I am right now," McCoy whispered.
"I only assisted you in a development you already had started," Sarek said. "I must say that you processed the events better than many others would have done. It will take me some hours of meditation to process them as well."
"As I said…not a really good place to hang around at the moment. Or at least, it wasn't until you came in and helped clearing up a little." McCoy put his face into both hands and rubbed over it. As good as he felt overall, he was also damn tired again.
"How's the verdict?" he asked, suddenly remembering what the meld had actually been performed for.
"I will give you full clearance, Doctor McCoy. This should be enough to absolve you from all accusations. Where would you want to be delivered upon discharge? Your original destination was…"
"… Alandrin. A moon in the outer rim. And yes, I'd still like to go there. I've got a new job there."
"A man with your knowledge?"
"Is of the best use in an area far away from the feisty, dull medical faculties of Earth," McCoy said determined. "I want to make a difference."
Sarek nodded minutely. "I understand." There was silence for a moment, then the Vulcan asked, "Regarding Jim Kirk – I could send him a message and inform him of your whereabouts."
"No thanks," McCoy said. "I'll send him a message myself, as soon as I'm settled in."
"He is concerned about you."
"I know." McCoy kneaded his fingers. "He was rather concerned on Earth too. But it wasn't really about me, but about his own pride, I think. We had drifted away after the Enterprise. He didn't even tell me that he had married. What kind of friend is that?" How much this little thing still hurt. "And Spock…well. He just left with a short note to the both us and vanished."
"If it is of any consolation," Sarek said softly, "he only left us a message too."
"Spock didn't even visit you before joining that group?"
"No."
"Idiot," McCoy said heartily.
"Maybe not his wisest choice ever," Sarek said, signaling quiet agreement.
"You thought that about Starfleet too."
"I reconsidered." Sarek went up. "Doctor – we will possibly not see each other again for now, but I wish you all the best for your future work and for your full personal recovery, of which I have no doubt."
"Well, thanks to you, it'll be much easier," McCoy said, getting up too to shake hands with his unexpected savior. "And no telling how this arrest might've ended if you hadn't shown up."
Sarek didn't comment on that, which only confirmed McCoy's suspicion that in a worst case scenario, he might indeed have ended locked up in some secret Vulcan facility. To be spared that was seventh heaven.
"Give my regards to your wife," McCoy said as they slowly walked towards the door.
"I rather would not, as all that ventured here will be kept under high secrecy."
"Well, then – just give her some regards from an old friend whose name you've forgotten."
"Vulcans do not forget names important to them," Sarek said solemnly. "You saved my life on board of the Enterprise, Doctor McCoy, and maybe it was indeed fate that allowed me helping you now. I will forward your greetings, which will doubtlessly bring joy to her. Live long and prosper."
"Live long and prosper too, Sarek." McCoy skipped to return the Vulcan's greeting, never really having managed that particular hand position. He was brought back to his quarters, taking a deep, deep breath when he was inside. He felt like singing and dancing, but that may be a very confusing sight to the Vulcans, and the least thing he wanted was to cause any more confusion about him. They would bring him to the moon, and all would be well.
He went into the bathroom and looked at his face in the mirror, beaming into his own blue eyes.
"Welcome to the future, Leonard McCoy," he said and toasted himself by lifting an invisible drink.
***
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