Twelve

“Saavik-kam,” Spock murmured in Vulcan, much to McCoy’s confusion. Although fading fast, Spock managed to raise his arm and shakily hold up two joined fingers before him. McCoy recognized the greeting from past encounters with Vulcans; it was the way Spock’s parents had discreetly shown affection in public. He wondered what the devil was going through Spock’s mind, even as the dying Vulcan whispered deliriously. “Kashkau—wuhkuh eh teretuhr . . . .”

McCoy had no idea what Spock was babbling about. Where’s our Universal Translator now that I need it?

He was crouched beside Spock, helplessly monitoring his friend’s rapid decline. It felt like a deathbed vigil, just wetter and muddier and surrounded by giant, bloodthirsty leeches, which seemed bound and determined to make a midnight snack out of the remainder of the landing party, despite the tireless efforts of Chekov and Darwa to ward them off. The latter dropped down beside him and held out her empty hypospray.

“I’m sorry, Doctor.” She cast a worried glance at Spock. “I wouldn’t ask again, but . . .”

“Hurry!” Chekov called out frantically. “There’s more of them!”

He tried to compensate for Darwa’s brief retreat from the fray by spraying a tight circle of repellent around the party, waving his own hypospray through the air to leave a trail of floating green mist behind it like the tail of a comet. The tactic momentarily discouraged the growing pack of leeches lurking in the fog, but the spray was already thinning, dissipating into the swirling yellow fog. Chekov tried to patch up the barrier, but his hypospray was starting to sputter as it ran low as well.

“Doctor,” Darwa pressed him.

McCoy looked at his failing patient. He knew what Spock would want him to do.

Damn it.

“All right. Give me that thing.” McCoy snatched the empty hypo from Darwa’s hand and pressed it against Spock’s good shoulder again. It hissed like a viper. “Forgive me, Spock.”

He felt like a goddamn vampire as he handed the reloaded instrument, now bearing another seventy ccs of Spock’s blood, back to Darwa, who hurried to assist Chekov, who emptied the last of his “ammo” into the gaping maw of an impatient leech, which screeched angrily before withdrawing back into the fog. Breathing hard, Chekov spared a moment to wipe the sweat from his brow. Both security officers were showing signs of exhaustion; adrenaline could carry them only so far without any rest or food or water. Darwa was the youngest of the crash survivors, but even she was looking like she’d just run the Martian Marathon. She fired back at the leeches in a two-handed stance, using one tired arm to support the other. The bruise on her forehead had turned an ugly shade of purple by now. Another burst of atomized blood polluted the air.

McCoy winced on Spock’s behalf. “Make it last!” he shouted.

“I’m trying, Doctor,” she replied. “Believe me!”

Chekov joined McCoy at Spock’s side. He peered anxiously at Spock. “How is he doing, Doctor?”

“Not good,” McCoy said bluntly. “Just look at him. I’ve seen corpses with more blood in them.”

Spock was slumped against the moldy log, his head lolling limply to one side. His ashen complexion was as gray as an old-fashioned steel bulkhead. Half-lidded eyes gazed blearily past the two other men, seeing only his own delirious imaginings, even as he continued to hold up two joined fingers in greeting. His voice was by now little more than a raspy whisper.

“Saavik-kam,” he said, almost too faintly to make out. “Kashkau—wuhkuh eh teretuhr.”

Chekov’s brow furrowed. “What is he saying, Doctor?”

“Hell if I know.” McCoy leaned in closer, straining his ears, not that this did him much good. His knowledge of Vulcan grammar and vocabulary was only barely greater than his Klingon, and apparently Chekov wasn’t any more fluent in the language than he was. Too bad Spock’s not speaking Russian.

“Saavik?” Chekov echoed. “You think he believes he’s talking to Saavik?”

“Possibly.” McCoy regarded Spock’s upraised fingers. He wondered what parting words Spock was trying to convey to his protégé. Something only another Vulcan could understand?

A shame she can’t hear him.