Star Trek_ A Choice of Catastrophes - Michael Schuster [51]
McCoy watched her go, her upright frame indicating her confidence. She would handle the situation to her utmost abilities.
If only you were capable of the same.
He ignored Jocelyn’s voice and went back to working on Sulu.
Thirty-four minutes after the Enterprise hit the distortion, he lost his first patient.
SEVEN
Twenty-one Years Ago
Jocelyn’s a logistics major, and she too isn’t happy about taking a philosophy class—she’s just better at hiding it. Their “dates” are typically extended study sessions in McCoy’s dorm room or, more commonly, hers. They help each other focus. Leonard needs the help. A junior at Ole Miss, he always feels like he’s drowning in work. He knows it’s only going to get worse.
They’re both from Georgia, albeit from opposite sides of the state. She’s from Waycross, while Leonard calls Forsyth home. Over summer vacation, Leonard spends his weekends and the odd weeknight with her, while working at his father’s practice. Spending most of the week separated is awful for them both, and they talk to each other incessantly.
Thankfully, the summer is soon over and they’re back at school for their senior year. Leonard still lives on campus—easier to study at the library. Jocelyn has an off-campus apartment, which is great. Really great. He tries not to spend too much time with her—he’s trying to stay at the top of the class and he’s applying to medical schools.
As winter break nears and Leonard’s applications are sent, he asks Jocelyn about her post-graduation plans. She’s cagey, saying they “depend.” Leonard wonders what they depend on.
The day before they go home for the holidays, he takes her on a walk around campus. In Doctor Ducey’s classroom, he gets down on one knee and looks up into those brown eyes. Leonard extends his hand, a simple diamond ring in his palm. “Jocelyn Abigail Darnell, will you marry me?”
She says yes.
Stardate 4757.8 (1803 hours)
As the Columbus landing party worked their way across the chamber, the blue light gave everything a cold, dismal glow. Everyone’s skin looked washed out, especially Tra’s, whose Arkenite skin was pale to begin with.
Chekov checked his tricorder, puzzled by the readout. His analysis of the gas being pumped into each cryopod indicated that it almost matched the atmosphere of the planet. There were still trace elements of toxicity in the atmosphere, but according to his scans of the Farrezzi, they were well within the aliens’ tolerance. Why hadn’t they woken up?
The Farrezzi should already have returned to the surface. Chekov wondered if he could persuade the captain to wake up some of these aliens and ask them what had happened. His scans explained the near-dry lakes and rivers they had seen near every population center: the water was being diverted into the pods.
Answers could wait until after they found Yüksel. The captain was determined to locate him, but Commander Giotto was still saying that taking the entire landing party was an unnecessary risk.
“No risk is unnecessary if it gets one of our men back, Commander,” the captain had snapped.
The chamber had appeared to be one large room in the initial scans, but it had turned out to be subdivided into smaller sections by thin clear walls, with the same semicircular doors. They made their way into the next section of the chamber, where Chekov’s tricorder registered another thirty-four thousand cryopods. It was hard to scan down here; the Farrezzi had hidden themselves well.
Chekov’s tricorder began to let off a steady beep. “Energy reading ahead, Captain.”
Kirk looked back at him. “Human? Or Farrezzi?”
“Farrezzi, but—” The ensign found himself fumbling for words. “This is a different signature. Not the same as the cryopod readings.”
“Okay, Mister Chekov,” the captain said, “guide us toward it.” With the captain and Giotto on point, and Chekov right behind them, Y Tra was bringing up the rear, following Seven Deers and Rawlins in the middle. Their tricorders actively absorbed every