Star Trek_ A Choice of Catastrophes - Michael Schuster [35]
Chapel glanced at the list. “There’s Ryerson. Zoology specialist, first degree burns on his torso. Nurse Odhiambo’s treated him, and he’s okay physically, but I feel he might like to see a doctor. Do you think you have a moment to settle his mind? All you’d need to do is tell him he’ll be out of here in a little while.”
McCoy smirked. “I should be able to do that. Not that I’m capable of doing much else.”
Self-criticism? How novel. Funny what you come up with when you have enough time for reflection. Normally, you just keep on moving, moving, moving, leaving yourself no time for anything substantial. You push the past away from you and try to forget it, not because it’s good medicine, but because it’s what you’ve always done to avoid the pain. That’s not doctoring, it’s cowardice.
His thoughts were interrupted by the whistle of the intraship. “Sickbay here.”
“Bridge.” It was Lieutenant Uhura again. McCoy hoped she wasn’t calling to say they were going back to warp speed. That was the last thing he needed now. “Doctor, can you send someone up here? We’ve got a few injuries.”
A few injuries! The incident had been three hours ago. “Why did you wait so long?”
“We’ve been busy,” said Uhura drily. She sounded tired.
In three hours, a lot could go wrong, especially when the injured didn’t receive any medical attention. McCoy wondered what could possibly have been so important that they hadn’t found time to notify sickbay. “I’ll be right up.”
“Thank you, Doctor. Bridge out.”
“Let’s hope it’s nothing serious,” Chapel said.
McCoy gathered up his gear, saying, “Academy graduates don’t have an ounce of common sense. Trying to keep a stiff upper lip, while their arms fall off because they think it’ll impress their commanding officers.”
Sulu’s forehead was covered with a raised purple bruise, the result of an impact with the deck. His cheek and chin were bloody, and his lower lip was split. He looked like he’d been attacked by a mugato. McCoy ran his tricorder’s Feinberger over the lieutenant’s forehead, checking for any kind of internal damage.
“We have a crisis, Doctor,” Sulu said in defense when McCoy asked him to explain his state. “I needed to remain in command. I intend to bring this ship back to Captain Kirk in one piece.”
McCoy’s anger evaporated as he was suddenly struck by the impossibility of trying to live up to the image Jim always projected. Jim wouldn’t have reported to sickbay under these circumstances. McCoy knew that if Sulu didn’t bring the Enterprise back in himself, he’d feel like he’d let down the captain.
He shut off the Feinberger, watching as its analysis streamed into his tricorder. “How do you feel?” he asked.
Sulu shook his head, grimacing slightly. “I’m fine.”
Right. “I’d like you to come down to sickbay nonetheless. Everything looks all right, but it’s better not to take any chances where the brain is concerned.”
And this is a brain problem where you’d actually know what to do, after all. Unlike poor Bouchard and the rest.
Sulu squinted at him, dubious. “So nothing’s actually wrong?”
“No,” McCoy had to admit, “but there’s no sense in—”
“In that case, Doctor, I will remain in command of the Enterprise until the crisis abates. Please give me something for the pain.”
McCoy loaded up a hypospray but didn’t inject it yet. “Mister Sulu, I strongly advise that you come with me to sickbay and let us check you thoroughly.”
“Is that an order, Doctor?” Sulu was usually an open book, but McCoy was finding him hard to read.
Dammit. Under extreme circumstances, the chief medical officer could order a commanding officer to stand down if their ability to command was compromised. McCoy had threatened it on more than one occasion, but he’d never actually gone through with it.
“No,” he said at last, and jabbed Sulu’s arm with the hypo, injecting its contents into his bloodstream. “No, it’s not. But if you pass out up here, it will be.”
McCoy began working his way around the bridge, double-checking