The Brave and the Bold Book Two - Keith R. A. DeCandido [60]
McCoy shook his head. “A transplant. What’d you do, sew it on with needle and thread?”
B’Oraq laughed. “The captain might’ve preferred that—without anesthetic, of course. But no, the ancient nature of the procedure notwithstanding, it was done with proper modern technique—and in the Gorkon’ s state-of-the-art medical ward, not some chamber of horrors on the Homeworld. I’m hoping that each new class of ship that the Defense Force constructs will improve on my designs.”
Snorting, McCoy said, “So what the hell you need me for?”
“Because hope isn’t always enough. You are a revered figure in Federation medicine.”
“Yeah, but my history with Klingon medicine isn’t exactly what you’d call stellar. My most famous operation was when I failed to save the life of the chancellor that your ship’s named after.”
B’Oraq sighed. “Perhaps, but that was hardly your fault, and I think people know the true political motivations behind your subsequent imprisonment.”
“Don’t remind me,” McCoy said, taking another sip of his bourbon and not even seeming to notice this time. “Took me months to stop shivering after they rescued us from Rura Penthe.” The ice planet where the empire sent their worst criminals had a deserved reputation as a hellhole. Worse, he and Captain James Kirk had been sent to Rura Penthe not due to any crime they had committed, but as part of an elaborate frameup designed to prevent a Klingon-Federation alliance.
“Still,” B’Oraq said, “I’ve seen the footage of your attempts to revive Chancellor Gorkon after he was shot. I can assure you that your efforts were more successful than any contemporary Klingon doctor’s would have been. In fact, your efforts then were probably more than most Empire physicians would have done now, eighty years later.”
After draining his mug, McCoy said, “Maybe. In any case, B’Oraq, I hope you succeed. And I’m—well, honored to be part of your efforts.”
“The honor is mine, Doctor.” She frowned. “Doctor?”
The human seemed to fall into a daze for a moment, then blinked twice. “Just gettin’ old, B’Oraq. I think I’d better see just how good that QongDaq is on my sacroiliac.”
Wincing at his pronunciation, B’Oraq said, “I think it would be best if you just called it a bed, Doctor.”
“Put a feather mattress and some cushions on it, and I’ll call it a bed. Not befo—”
He seemed to fall into a daze again.
“Doctor?” Now B’Oraq got up from the QongDaq and went over to McCoy. “Are you all right?”
McCoy made a grunting noise, but said nothing. Then he got up, went over to his luggage, and started going through it.
“Dr. McCoy, what is wrong? Can I help you with something?” He hadn’t mentioned any specific illnesses or other difficulties that he might need aid for. Then again, that didn’t preclude the possibility that he had them. Physicians, after all, were notoriously awful patients, and he doubted that the elderly human would trust a Klingon doctor—even B’Oraq—with any kind of detailed information about any condition he might be suffering from.
Still, this sudden total silence from him as he rummaged through his bags was bizarre—and out of character.
She walked up to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “Doctor, are you—”
Before she could complete the sentence, McCoy whirled around with a speed she never would have expected from even a Klingon of his age, much less a human, and injected her arm with a hypospray. “What are you—?”
The depressant took hold in her bloodstream almost instantly. She tried to activate the communicator on her wrist, but her arms felt like dead weight. Her vision clouded over, and she managed to somehow ask “Why?” before unconsciousness overtook her.
Chapter Eleven
“SIR, WE ARE RECEIVING A PRIORITY CALL from General Talak,” Lieutenant Toq said from the operations console on the bridge of the I.K.S. Gorkon.
Finally, Captain Klag thought.
“He wishes the communication to be private,” Toq added.
Klag couldn’t imagine