0Title: The Desert Children (2/5)
Author: klmeri
Fandom: Star Trek TOS
Characters: Kirk, Spock, McCoy
Summary: Abandoned to a dire fate in the wilds, McCoy learns that every tale has a dark origin.
Previous Parts: 1
There will be some switching between past and present until a full picture of the story comes together.
Part Two
two weeks prior
“If that green-blooded computer skips his appointment one more time…!”
Christine winces in sympathy for each instrument as it passes through the CMO’s hands during his foul mood.
“What does he think—that I’ve got time to chase his skinny Vulcan butt across this ship? Every day my Sickbay is packed full of idiots who can’t remember to wear safety gear or stop ordering the Rigellian surprise from the replicator! When an appointment time becomes available, he ought to be grateful we can fit him in and damn well take it!”
Christine, who has been listening to some variation of this rant for the better part of a week, sighs. “Doctor…”
McCoy picks up another surgical laser, snarls at it not for being what he wanted, and slams it down next to the growing pile of discarded tools. “And, ho oh ho, he just assumes I’ll be lenient because he thinks he’s physiologically superior to humans! Wait until I show ‘im exactly how—”
“Doctor McCoy, please put down the regenerator.”
He fixes his glaring blue eyes on her. “Excuse me?”
“There are only two left that work. Can you…?” She gently eases the handheld regenerator from his grip. “That’s better. Why don’t you take a lunch break?” Chapel suggests sweetly.
He purses his lips for a moment, then his shoulders break from their rigid line and slump slightly. “But I was looking for the #9.”
“I’ll find it,” she assures the doctor. “Clearly you need some downtime. And I will contact Mr. Spock about his missed appointment,” she adds.
“Don’t bother,” McCoy says darkly as he abandons a desktop of scattered, slightly abused medical supplies and stalks toward the bay’s exit. “I’ll see to his truancy personally.”
Poor Mr. Spock, Christine thinks. She doesn’t envy him that future conversation. Then again, he took the risk of McCoy’s ire with each appointment he cancelled and after the third consecutive time, now the price has come due. The sooner, she decides, he admits his fault, apologizes and lets them do their jobs, the sooner she can stop hiding away the more expensive equipment in the medical bay in fear of Leonard’s temper.
Dr. M’Benga peeks around the corner of a wall. “Is he gone?”
She nods. “To the cafeteria, I think.”
M’Benga enters the room, looking relieved. When he spies the mess the CMO had left behind, he shakes his head sadly. “We really do have to hide them better.”
Christine, hands on her hips, shoots him a sharp grin. “Oh, these are the decoys. Do you think I would actually leave fully functional supplies out in the open? He can throw these around all he wants. No harm done.”
“You, my dear, are brilliant.”
She fluffs her short hair with pride. “I know…but thank you for pointing it out, Geoffrey.”
“Jim!”
Jim freezes immediately at the sound of his name, internal warning bells clanging furiously in his head, and realizes hiding the slice of chocolate cake on his tray is impossible. Instead, he quickly and expertly slides the dessert plate next to the elbow of a pretty ensign sitting two seats down at his table and puts his back to her like he has no idea there is cake in the vicinity.
McCoy thumps his own tray onto the table between Kirk and the ensign and takes a seat. Jim recognizes his serious tactical error in that moment and stares at the piece of cake, now separated from him by a metaphorical mile of table and his not-so-metaphorical personal dietician.
“What’s the matter with you?” the doctor asks, eyeing Jim’s devastated look.
Jim viciously stabs a salad cube. It tastes nothing like chocolate cake. “I’m fine,” he mumbles somewhat sourly and glares at his orange tray.
McCoy sighs long and low, an obvious sign that he wants Jim to ask him the same question.
“Long day, Bones?”
The CMO bristles and the words come out like a shot. “It’s that damned Commander of yours!”
Should he be surprised? Years of watching the byplay between McCoy and Spock has taught Jim to be anything but surprised. “Should I even ask?”
“Don’t think I don’t know you’re in on it, Jim!”
Uh oh. Trouble ahead. Jim spares a glance for McCoy. “Why am I always accused of acting in Spock’s favor? I do have moral compunction.”
His friend snorts. “Don’t even get me started on the way you bend rules for that hobgoblin, Jim.”
Jim chews a replicated lettuce leaf and wonders if spitting it out would earn him a lecture. He swallows the tasteless food with some difficulty then addresses McCoy’s bold statement in a mild tone. “I could always change my ways and become a different kind of captain, Doctor McCoy—if that’s your point.”
“It’s not,” McCoy admits. “I’m not complaining.”
Of course you are, Jim thinks. About what, though, that’s the question.
The dark-haired man ignores the food on his tray and sips at a mug of coffee. “My point is, there ought to be one rule on this ship that’s straight and narrow and somethin’ nobody can get around.”
Jim almost quips that rules are made to be broken but he catches himself. “Whose rule is it, Bones?”
Leonard meets his eyes. “Mine. You tell Mr. Spock, Captain, that if he doesn’t show up for his next examination, I and a whole medical team will be permanently settin’ up shop in his quarters.”
“I’ll pass along the message, Doctor McCoy.”
“Good.” McCoy picks up his fork and twists to the side to address the ensign. “That’s a nice lookin’ piece of cake, darlin’.”
“Oh, it’s not—” At Jim’s loud cough, the ensign’s eyes widen with understanding. “I mean, yes, yes it is. Nice cake, that is.”
“Mind if I try some?” Doctor McCoy asks her.
Under the table, Jim’s hands spasm on his knees. Not the cake!
Cautiously, the ensign edges the dessert plate toward her superior. “I’m not… really hungry.” Then she collects her tray and vacates the table as quickly as possible, leaving Jim to stare at the delicious treat now in McCoy’s possession. It’s the smug expression on the doctor’s face as he takes the first bite of the chocolate cake that says McCoy knows exactly whose dessert he is eating.
And Jim can’t fight him on it.
Though the revenge is petty, Jim feels slightly mollified as he says, “On second thought, Bones, why don’t you talk to Commander Spock directly?” He stands up. “I have Bridge duties to attend to.”
“I’d planned on it anyway. You think Spock would actually take you seriously if you said come on down to Sickbay?”
Jim stares at McCoy. “…Yes. I’m the Captain.”
“And I’m a vetted physician. The only way to get him to comply is to drag him by the tip of his pointed ear like a naughty child.”
“I have things to do,” Jim mutters and makes a swift exit. He can no longer contain his amusement once he is in the hallway, and no one seems to think it strange that their commanding officer is laughing himself silly. They pass by him without a word, smiling.
“Doctor McCoy is looking for you,” Chief Communications Officers Nyota Uhura warns the Science Officer.
Spock does not appear overly worried to hear this news. “Doctor McCoy is well-aware of where I might be found.”
“You are a very brave individual, Mr. Spock,” Uhura says warmly and turns back to her station.
This is the statement that alarms Spock. He lifts his head and looks in her direction. “May I inquire why you have cause to say so, Lt. Uhura?”
“Oh, you know how the doctor is,” she remarks as she cheerfully switches between communication dials.
“I… do not. Please explain.”
She doesn’t answer immediately, listening to something in her ear piece. “No one openly defies him, not even the Captain,” she begins idly. Then, “Mr. Spock…” Her voice holds a question, deferring to authority. Spock moves silently to stand beside her station. “There is a new message from Starfleet, sir,” she explains. “Orders. They want us to change course to a Federalist colony in the alpha-six-four sector.”
“Notify the Captain and relay the message to my station,” Mr. Spock tells her, all thoughts of McCoy forgotten.
present
Leonard stops and stares at the scenery, not quite sure if he is hallucinating. The woman steps into a shadow belonging to a branch of a tree that closely resembles a gigantic dead oak. That the tree is alive in an expanse of dry desert, and by the looks of it fairly ancient, Leonard has difficulty processing as real. He puts the back of his hand to his forehead; his skin is warm but not overly so. No fever then, he thinks. But where had the tree come from? It’s not like he hadn’t been paying attention to their surroundings.
Silently, his companion blends from one shadow to the next as she moves toward the broad trunk of the tree. Upon its peeling bark, she knocks twice.
“Who’s there?” a disembodied, grumbling voice asks.
Even with a faint morning sky, Leonard peers up into the leafless branches of the tree and sees only emptiness.
“I said,” the voice comes again, rougher, “who’s there?“
Above them, a deep shadow shifts, detaches from the girth of the tree and shapes itself into a man. The man waddles out onto a branch big enough to easily bear the weight of three grown adults and he hunkers at its edge. He hasn’t cast off with his shadow form yet, but the unnatural glow of his eyes causes a nervous tingling in Leonard’s stomach.
“Ah,” the man concludes of the people standing below, “visitors.” Swiftly he comes down to the lowest branch to stare at them.
Leonard isn’t certain of what to say. He tries a mundane “Hello?”
The man jumps to the ground then. He is squat-like in stature, hairless, and flat-nosed. The random scattering of white scars carved into his bare arms and legs adds a rather frightening layer to his mysteriousness. Leonard takes a tentative step away from him and the tree.
To the woman, the man says knowingly, “So you want a rest in my tree, eh? There’s a price.”
She points at Leonard.
The man grins slightly, revealing tiny, needle-like teeth and fixes his eyes on Leonard. “She says you pay.” He scuttles forward and surveys Leonard from head to toe. “A fine dinner, I see.”
“I don’t have money,” Leonard begins. “I’m—”
“Bah!” The man snorts. “Did I say anything about money? Dinner will do.”
He’s tired, thirsty, and the dirtiest he’s ever been in his life. “Do I look like I’m toting dinner!” Leonard snaps, anger blossoming from the roots of his desperation. He jerks the carry-pack from his shoulder and wrenches out the empty bottle. “I don’t even have water, damn you!”
The small man ignores the bottle Leonard disgustedly pitches onto the ground and bends down to pick up the communicator that had fallen out of the carry pack. He hmms over it with interest. Leonard, temper forgotten, reaches down to take it but the man scurries away with his prize.
“Hey, I need that!” Never mind that it’s broken, possibly disabled by the colonists. That could be the very unpleasant truth since they clearly didn’t want Leonard to be able to contact the Enterprise.
Settled midway up the tree, the man flips open the lid of the communicator then flips it closed again. He repeats this several times, only pausing to put an ear to the speaker when it crackles with static. “This will do,” he says at last, still ignoring Leonard’s demands to have the comm unit returned to him. Immediately the woman springs into the air with a lithe strength, takes a hold of the lowest branch, and swings her body into the tree. Leonard is left gaping at its foot.
“Well, don’t just stand there,” the tree’s owner calls down to the human, “unless you want to get wet.”
The first drop of rain is an unexpected surprise. Leonard glances at the cloudless sky in bafflement. Yet the rain keeps falling, first softly, innocuously, then in fat drops that sink into his dusty clothes and wash the red dirt from his face. He realizes belatedly how stupid he is to simply stand under the downpour and scrambles for the water bottle that had rolled between two exposed tree roots. It’s like being a kid again, trying to catch the rain with his hands and watch his bottle fill. If the two people in the tree can hear him partly laughing, partly crying over the sound of the rain, he doesn’t spare a thought for embarrassment.
The man makes a low chortle when Leonard finally sits down at the base of the tree and savors the slide of tepid, metallic-tasting water along his throat. The rain, pouring as it is from the sky and hissing at each contact with the overheated desert sand, cannot seem to touch Leonard as long as he leans against the great tree. High above, the woman has curled on her side upon a limb and lies utterly still like she is asleep.
A “You’re welcome” floats down to Leonard as a solitary leaf might—though whether the being refers to the dry sanctuary or the rain itself is unknown. And Leonard, too shocked by the fortunate change in weather and heavy-limbed with relief, forgets to ask.
The Enterprise party catches sight of a colonist watching them from a window. It takes little time to find the person and apprehend him then prevent him from running away. Jim tries to be polite because he doesn’t want to seem hostile or engender hostility towards his group.
“We are from the starship Enterprise. Where is Doctor McCoy?”
The person, a young man, mutely shakes his head. His wide eyes continuously track back and forth between Jim and Spock.
“Doctor McCoy,” Jim says slowly. “My Chief Medical Officer. He was transported to your base to assist in the research of the disease afflicting your children.”
Again the man shakes his head. He trembles when the security officer lifts a phaser in warning and chokes out, “D-Don’t k-know!”
Jim shoots a hard look at his overzealous officer until the red-shirted man lowers his weapon sheepishly.
The colonist swallows and lifts his hand to point at Spock. “One of them,” he whispers.
Jim looks to Spock, whose eyebrow rises in question. What is the fellow trying to tell them? “This is my First Officer, Mr. Spock,” Jim introduces the Vulcan.
Spock tells the young man, “We are seeking Doctor Leonard McCoy of the Enterprise. If you are unable to provide his location, please indicate where we might find the commander of your outpost.”
Hearing Spock speak has a strange effect on the colonist. He turns pale and backs away in obvious fright. Spock, perhaps unused to this reaction, grows very still. Jim steps forward slightly to block the colonist’s view of Spock, acting on an instinct he has honed over many years. “There is no reason to fear Mr. Spock.”
“But his ears,” the colonist protests, raising both hands to cover his own rounded ears.
“He is a Vulcan.”
“Only the Others,” the young man argues in a raggedly, “have them. But why…? No!” He gasps, focusing his attention solely on Spock. “The man, we gave you the man! We paid the tithe!” And, without warning, he bolts.
With a silent curse, Jim takes off after him. The man, lent an extra swiftness by his fear, plunges down the street and finally through the side door of a ram-shackle building. When Jim enters on his heels, panting from the chase, he finds himself in a room surrounded by people. No, not people—children, all of whom are of varying young ages, male and female standing in mixed gender pairs, barefoot and dressed in identical clothes like twin dolls. They lift wide, fearful eyes set in pale faces to Jim. The young man has grabbed one of the girls by the wrist, separating her from her boy companion, and dragged her to a corner where he shields her from view.
There is a knife-edged balance between fear and panic in the room. Jim doesn’t move an inch, struck by a keen awareness of this balance. He does not, however, realize how deep their fear goes or why. It isn’t until the last of Jim’s team crowds behind him into the cramped space—until Spock, that is, becomes a tall shadow in the doorway—that the children begin to scream in terror.
Related Posts:
- The Desert Children (6/6) – from May 21, 2012
- The Desert Children (5/6) – from May 14, 2012
- The Desert Children (4/6) – from May 10, 2012
- The Desert Children (3/5) – from May 4, 2012
- The Desert Children (1/?) – from April 30, 2012
