Star Trek_ A Choice of Catastrophes - Michael Schuster [64]
“Deck Five,” McCoy told the turbolift. The turbolift doors swished open to reveal a dark corridor. The lights were dimmed in this section, either because of a malfunction or to conserve power. The corridors were a mess, with chunks of support material pushed to one side. The bulkheads were scorched.
The doctor made his way to Sulu’s quarters; the acting captain had been discharged there. Recalling what Chapel had said earlier about Specialist Ryerson, McCoy had come to visit. The mind was important to the healing process, after all. McCoy found him at his desk, collecting data slates in front of him. “Feeling better already, Mister Sulu?”
“I think so.” Of the multitude of injuries the lieutenant had suffered, the most serious was the trauma to his head. Sulu would have to stay off duty for a while and give his body time to heal.
“I need to get back on duty, Doctor,” the lieutenant said. “We’re still in danger.”
“The best thing you can do is rest.” McCoy gestured toward Sulu’s bed. “Or you’ll be in danger.” He was determined not to be talked into letting a barely healed man back on duty.
“I’m useless in here. All I do is think. Second-guess myself. Try to come up with solutions.” Sulu clutched the desk and stood.
“Your reaction is natural,” said McCoy. “But you need to give yourself time.”
“But there’s no—”
“Don’t make me order you. Do yourself a favor and rest.”
Sulu wasn’t happy, but he got the point.
The quarters closest to sickbay had been turned into recovery rooms for over twenty patients, whose injuries were no longer life-threatening but still grave enough to require attention. The doors of these quarters all sported adhesive labels with the names of the patients inside. McCoy stopped at the first door he passed: GOLASKI-LAWRENCE, ISBELL and HAINES, JANA. When it opened, the doctor stepped inside. The younger woman was sleeping, but Ensign Haines—a woman in her early forties—was awake.
“House call,” he said, holding up his medkit. “Everything okay?”
Haines nodded, then uttered a strained, “Yes.” She was the one who had suffered a collapsed lung and some fractured ribs. Her grimace belied her words.
“You shouldn’t be in pain,” McCoy said.
He checked her chart. “This says you’re maxed on painkillers.”
“I know,” she said, wincing.
McCoy scanned her. Nothing. “Where’s the pain?”
“Everywhere. It’s like a dull ache throughout my entire body, but it just keeps on building. I can’t ignore it.”
“Physically, there’s nothing wrong with you.” He flipped off the tricorder. “I can give you another dose of painkillers.”
“Maybe I’m just imagining it.” Haines lowered her gaze, as if she was ashamed of herself.
“Let’s do something about it.” He smiled his best smile. “Have you been sleeping?”
“No,” she said. “It hurts too much.”
“I can help you sleep. Would that be good?”
“I think so.”
McCoy filled a hypo with a sedative. “You can rest easy now, Ensign. Sleep, and forget your pain.” A hiss, then the hypo had emptied into her bloodstream. Within seconds, her eyes closed, and her regular breathing told him she’d fallen asleep.
“If only you could solve your own problems like that,” he heard a familiar voice say, startling him. “You don’t have a magic cure-all for this one.”
Raising his head, he spotted somebody standing on the other side of the bed.
It was Jocelyn, standing right there in front of him, looking just the way he remembered her.
Another shot caused sparks to fly off the cryopod just ahead of them. Seven Deers thought she felt them on her cheeks. Tra had succeeded in taking them almost to the elevator. Before they could reach it, a host of armed Farrezzi had turned up, chasing after them, firing powerful projective weapons. With his training, Tra was faster than Seven Deers and Rawlins, but he adjusted his pace to theirs. They were sticking close to the pods to reduce the chance of being hit. But the slavers kept on firing, with no regard for the lives of the sleepers.