Star Trek - TOS 38 Idic Epidemic (18 page)

But the temperature was falling, penetrating into
their small haven. They layered their clothes back on
and huddled together to share body warmth as the
cold seeped in.

“Tell me more about your brother Krel,” Kevin
said. “Maybe someday I’ll get to meet my uncles.”

“He died,” said Korsal. “Died in a battle with the
Federation, six years ago. I never got to tell him I
knew
…
he gamed with me when I was a boy
…
so
I could … win
…
at something.”

“Father?”

Korsal heard the word, but could not find the
energy to answer. Anything else Kevin said he did not
hear.

He sat down before a board set up for the Reflective
Game. Across from him sat his brother Krel. He
smiled without showing his teeth and gestured to Krel
to make the first move.

Chapter Seventeen

Captain James. T. Kirk sat on the bridge of the USS
Enterprise
as she entered orbit around Nisus at last.
Leonard McCoy stood at his left shoulder, watching
the viewscreen.

The planet was Earth-like, with vast oceans sur
rounding one large continent and a number of good-sized islands. The science colony occupied only one
small area of the continent; there was plenty of room
to spare if the population increased.

It appeared deceptively peaceful and beautiful.
McCoy echoed his thought: “Looking at it from up
here, you’d never know they had all that trouble.”

“Well, it’s your job to go down and solve the
problem, Bones,” Kirk said, swinging his chair
around so he could look into the weary blue eyes.
“We’re gonna miss you, you know.”

“Just don’t get into too much trouble while I’m
gone,” McCoy replied, never one for fond farewells.

As he turned to climb the step to the turbolift,
Spock left his station. “Doctor,” he said, “I trust that
one of your noxious potions will quickly destroy that virus.”

“You better believe it, Spock,” McCoy replied with
a grin. “But if it doesn’t, maybe I’ll try beads and
rattles.”

“However you do it,” Spock said solemnly, “please
protect yourself. It would be a great inconvenience for the
Enterprise
to have to break in a new chief medical
officer.”

“Oh, I certainly wouldn’t want to inflict
your
anato
my on some other physician,” the doctor agreed, and
turned to the turbolift. The doors opened. “See you
soon.”

“Good luck, Bones,” said Kirk.

To his surprise—and McCoy’s, he saw as the doctor’s eyes widened—Spock echoed, “Indeed, Doctor.
Good luck.”

Then the turbolift doors closed, and the reports began coming in from the transporter room as the
medical experts were beamed down to Nisus.

As soon as the transporter reports ended, Kirk
called the Starfleet liaison officer on Nisus. There was
no military installation here, but there were always
numerous Fleet scientific staff on the planet. At the
moment, senior officer was Commander Carmilla
Smythe. He took a moment to check her file, as he had
never met her, and discovered that her specialty was
ethnography. What in the world was an ethnographer
doing at the science colony?

He called her office, where an assistant told him, “Dr. Smythe is at home, recovering.”

“Recovering?”

“Yes, sir. She was very fortunate—she is one of very few to survive the most recent strain of the
plague.”

“Perhaps I shouldn’t bother her,” said Kirk. “Who is next in command?”

“Command?” the young man asked in obvious confusion. “Oh—you mean Starfleet personnel. Uh,
Master Thorven died a few days ago. Dr. Chang was
taken to the hospital yesterday. I’m sorry, sir, but I’m
not Starfleet. I don’t know the line of command on
Nisus. If it’s not classified, could you tell me what you
need to talk to Dr.—uh, Commander Smythe
about?”

“A young citizen of Nisus has gained early admission to Starfleet Academy.”

“Oh—
good
news! Let me give you Dr. Smythe’s home code; it’ll do her good to hear that.”

For a few moments, Kirk thought he was not going
to get an answer, but then his screen filled with an
extreme close-up of a woman, backing off after press
ing the answer switch on her own console. “Smythe here,” she said. Then, studying him, “Captain Kirk?
The
Enterprise
has arrived? Thank goodness!”

Now that she was in proper range for the scanners on her console, Kirk got a good look at her. She was
standing, leaning on a cane, and he could see a
cast-brace on one foot that peeked out from under her
robe.

Even though she wore one of those one-size-fits-all
flowing garments favored by women whose privacy
might be intruded on even in their own quarters, he
could see that she was too thin, too pale. He wanted to
put an arm about her frail shoulders … but she was just an image on a screen. A very attractive image,
actually, the youth of her face belying the premature
gray of her hair.

“Please sit down, Commander,” was all that he could do about making her comfortable. “I see that
you’ve been injured.”

Her dark eyes narrowed for a moment as if the
memory pained her. “Yes. It seems that I attacked one of my assistants. This new version of the plague often
starts that way. He was able to evade and subdue me,
but I sustained a broken ankle. However, I am lucky: I
did not kill anyone. Not all victims have been so fortunate.”

“So we hear,” said Kirk. “I am glad that you
recovered, and I have news that I hope will speed your
recuperation. You recommended one Kevin Katasai
for early admission to Starfleet Academy.”

“You mean they actually—?” For a moment her face lit with a smile, but then it clouded again.

“Yes,” Kirk assured her, “he’s been admitted.”

“I hope it’s not too late,” was her strange reply.

“Don’t tell me he’s ill with the plague?”

“Kevin?” She looked at him with a puzzled frown.
“Surely the doctors transmitted the information on immunity. Kevin’s not going to get the plague, but right now we’re not sure he’s still alive.”

“What do you mean you’re not sure?”

“We’ve had some trouble with ice hitting the power
plant at the dam. Yesterday morning Kevin and his father took a hoverer up the mountain to check the
safety sluices, see where the ice was getting through.
They haven’t come back; there’s a storm raging up
there now. The automatic emergency beacon from the
hoverer is on, but we can’t get search parties into the
area. There are two possibilities: they landed and turned the beacon on
…
or the hoverer crashed.”

“Damn!” said Kirk. Then, “Wait—give me the coordinates of that beacon, we’ll home on it, scan around it for them, and beam them—”

He remembered.
“Hell
and damn!” he reiterated. “We can’t beam anybody on board because of that
plague!”

“They’re not carriers, Captain. The doctors tested
Korsal very thoroughly, and his younger son Karl has
been through every test our doctors could conceive of
in the past two days. Klingons are definitely immune
to the plague.”

“… Klingons? They
are
Klingons?”

“Yes—but Korsal is a scientist, and his sons grew
up right here on Nisus. Never mind—if you can locate them and beam them to the
Enterprise,
you’ll
save their lives.
If
they’re still alive.”

“Perhaps we could hold them in stasis without materializing them on board,” Kirk suggested, “and redirect them to the Nisus hospital.”

“Captain—they’re
not
contagious, but they will
probably be very weak. A two-man hoverer doesn’t carry much survival equipment, and if they crashed
they may be injured. I know that what you suggest has
been done, but I also know that being held in stasis while coordinates are changed causes temporary
weakness in a perfectly healthy person.”

“How would you know that?” Kirk asked.

“It’s not classified; any member of Starfleet can
look it up. I’ve never liked allowing my molecules to
be scrambled, but since it is necessary, I found out everything I could about the procedure, including
experimental techniques.”

“You’ll have to meet our Dr. McCoy,” said Kirk.

“That’s another reason to beam Korsal and Kevin
to your ship: the hospital here is impossibly over
crowded, and all personnel and facilities are working
against the plague. Kevin and his father will get much
better treatment in your sickbay. Now, Captain —could we please dispense with further argument
and rescue those two men? They could be dying while
we’re talking.”

“You’re right, of course. Hold on.” Kirk punched
the engineering switch on his intraship console. “Scotty, I need you to do some fancy transporter
work.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Tersely, he explained the situation.

“Klingons?” his chief engineer protested. “We’re
under strict orders not to beam so much as a scientific
journal up from Nisus—and you want to beam
Klingons
aboard?”

“That’s an order, Scotty.”

Only a moment’s pause. Then, “Aye, Captain. I’ll
calibrate my scanners.”

Kirk turned back to the viewscreen, giving Com
mander Smythe a confident smile. “Once Scotty goes
to work on it, consider it done.”

“Thank you, Captain. I just hope you’re in time.”

“We’ll know in a few minutes,” Kirk told her. “If you’d like to stay on-line—”

“Definitely!” she replied.

“While we’re waiting, would you satisfy my curiosi
ty? The records show that you’re an ethnographer.
What are you doing on Nisus, instead of off studying
new civilizations? Typical Starfleet assignment
foul-up?”

“No, indeed!” she replied. “I’ve been studying the
culture here on Nisus, which is unique in our galaxy
—there’s even more ethnic diversity than in
nineteenth-and twentieth-century America, with far
more interdependence. I
asked
for this assignment. I
thought I had finished my study and was about to
request reassignment when the plague began. Now,
suddenly, I have an entire new study: the reaction of Nisus’ unique society to crisis.”