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“If you’d just admit the truth about why you’re here, then you could admit that you can’t save them,” Jocelyn continued. “You’re not here because this is what you want to do. You’re not even here because you’re good at it. You’re here because it lets you get away from me. And what kind of reason is that?”

She had him there. So many people signed up for star-ship duty because it was their calling. Look at Jim—that man was at home on the Enterprise bridge. But for McCoy, it was because he didn’t fit in anywhere else. That was why he’d moved from assignment to assignment. This ship was beginning to feel like a place where he could stay… so of course it frightened him.

“Never anywhere long enough for everyone to find out that you’re a fraud. You stayed here too long,” she said. “Your third year here’s just ended—you haven’t been in one place this long since we met. And now it’s done you in. You should have kept running, Leonard.”

If he hadn’t known that there was no way for Jocelyn to be in the depths of deep space, he’d have sworn she was here. A light fixture on the wall shined straight onto her, giving her complexion a weird, otherworldly look, and she had a shadow.

She wasn’t there, and McCoy knew that. He wouldn’t let himself think she was really there. His ex-wife was a figment of his overstressed mind. If he ignored her, she’d fade away. He was going to read this article, he was going to figure out what was wrong with those espers, he was going—

“The problem with you, Leonard, is that you didn’t choose to be here.” Jocelyn crossed the rest of the room, sitting down on the edge of McCoy’s desk.

Hell, he could even smell her. She’d never been one for perfume, but when you live with someone long enough, you remember how they smell. His reaction was curious: a mixture of comfort and anger. If only they’d been able to make it work. If only he’d been able to make it work. Then he wouldn’t be here right now, trying to solve this blasted—

“You merely chose to get away from me. That’s all you’ve ever chosen.”

McCoy switched off his monitor with an angry jab. Physician, heal thyself was the old saw. If he couldn’t figure out why he was hearing voices and seeing people, then there was no hope for his patients.

He left his office, Jocelyn trailing behind him, peppering him with questions. How did he expect to stop his patients from dying if he wasn’t able to do anything about it? Determined to get to the bottom of this, he fetched a psycho-tricorder from the equipment cabinet. The device was designed to gather relevant neurological and physiological data. It could tell him if there was anything wrong with him.

It could tell him if he was going insane.

After a few seconds, the tricorder reported heightened brain activity, but nothing else. A good CMO would relieve himself of duty. It was the right thing to do.

“Then do it!” Jocelyn said. “Do the right thing for once in your life!”

Chapel and the others then would have to face this crisis alone. No. The Enterprise needed a doctor. A neural suppressant was called for, something to clamp down on heightened brain activity. Jocelyn needed to disappear.

If there’d been another way, he’d gladly have done it. Time was running out. McCoy loaded up the hypospray and injected himself.

“Drugged up,” said Jocelyn. “Oh, very professional for a medical practitioner. You’ll be in top form with your brain slowed down.”

“Shut up, Jocelyn.” Back in his office, McCoy reopened the article and began reading, waiting for Jocelyn to add another biting comment.

Nothing came. When he looked up, there was no trace of her anywhere. He gave a relieved sigh. It had worked.

McCoy continued his reading, but to his dismay he quickly found it was hard going. Not because of voices, but because his body could no longer ignore the effects of exhaustion. Every sentence posed more of a struggle than the one before it. He’d used too much neural suppressant, McCoy realized with dismay.

Pulling himself together, McCoy was able to