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“We can’t find three people. Lemli is searching the area, but…”

If they hadn’t been found yet, chances were they’d been sucked into space. What a gruesome way for lives to end….

“Well, at least these deaths aren’t your fault,” said McCoy’s father. “Other people let them die.”

“He’s about to let these die, though,” said a new voice—Petriello. “Just like us.”

McCoy wanted to tell them all to shut up. He couldn’t work like this, with a crowd of imaginary people around him. He tried to focus on the patient in front of him. He turned to the equipment tray Chapel had brought over and grabbed a hypospray. In one quick, well-trained motion, he loaded it with a drug routinely used in percussive injury treatments. He had to admit he’d never seen a case as serious as these two.

“Just leave them,” advised Joanna. “Move on and don’t think about them any longer. Just like you abandoned me. Do you really need all this responsibility weighing on you?”

He bit down on his lip to curb his instinct to reply.

McCoy was reaching for a protoplaser when he realized he wouldn’t be able to do this alone. No, that was wrong, he wasn’t alone. Chapel was here. But they could work on only one patient at a time, while the other might be getting worse. He needed more help.

“You don’t even want to be here,” added Bouchard. “If you had your choice, you’d still be on Earth, practicing medicine like your father.”

“Like me, the quintessential country doctor.” McCoy’s father coughed. “You went and ran away, though.”

“Stop!”

It took McCoy a moment to realize it was Chapel who had spoken, not one of his visitors. His hands held the protoplaser, centimeters away from the first technician’s skin. “What?” he asked, confused.

“You didn’t take any scans,” she said. “How do you know where the fractures are?”

She was right. He took the Feinberger she was holding out to him and moved it over the patient’s head. Any injuries there needed to be dealt with immediately, while the others could wait, at least for a few minutes.

Chapel read off the result, and he modified the protoplaser accordingly. The trauma to the woman’s skull had caused a hematoma that was putting pressure on the brain tissue. McCoy needed to reduce that pressure as quickly as possible.

“You can barely even handle a couple of compound fractures?” asked Jocelyn.

McCoy wanted to rail that it wasn’t his fault, that he’d done everything he could. Why didn’t they just leave him alone?

No, not alone. “Call in Thomas and Brent. We’ll have to do this simultaneously.” Cheryl Thomas was good at treating difficult fractures.

After taking readings on the second patient, McCoy tried to think what to do next. If he kept his mind on the task, the ghosts stopped harassing him. If he answered back, even internally, they replied. But if he didn’t say anything, they grew quiet eventually. At least for a while.

Scotty wasn’t a tactician, but he understood the shuttles’ problem. If the Hofstadter split off from the Columbus, the other shuttle would be an easy target without a functioning weapons system. But by staying together, they were one target for two enemies. They needed a way to even the odds. Scotty tabbed through the displays on his tricorder, examining the readouts of the shuttle’s sensors. Within the ring of satellites, there was a tiny energy blip.

“Mister Spock,” he said, “one of the Farrezzi satellites is still active.” He glanced to the aft of the shuttle, where the one they’d pulled out of orbit still sat. “If we get closer, we could get a good read and figure out what it’s for. If it is something like a weapons platform…”

“We shall alter course,” replied Spock.

The shuttles veered off in a new direction, dipping toward a satellite orbiting above the southern hemisphere. As Scotty watched on his tricorder, the fighters matched course with them, slipping ever closer. At this rate, they’d be in weapons range in fifteen minutes.

Scotty looked over at Emalra’ehn. The Deltan security guard had remained quiet. “How