Fifteen

The mucky swamp offered no ready landing spot, so Copernicus hovered approximately three meters above the clearing, which was now mercifully free of leeches. The shuttlecraft’s rear hatchway opened, disgorging a pair of security officers who dropped nimbly onto the planet’s surface. McCoy spotted the phasers in the officers’ grips and had a moment of panic. Despite the bright glare of the searchlights, the explosive fog was as thick as ever.

“No phasers!” he shouted. “Trust me on this!”

Chekov hurried forward to brief the new arrivals, while McCoy tended to Spock, who had slipped back into unconsciousnes—or worse. That last, life-saving exertion had taken its toll. His pulse was down to fifty, low even for a human. McCoy needed to stabilize Spock if he was going to make it to sickbay alive.

“Somebody get me a medkit! Pronto!”

His demand was answered with commendable speed. McCoy sighed in relief as he opened the fresh kit and saw all the familiar tools at his disposal. For the first time in far too many hours, he didn’t feel like he was trying to make bricks without straw.

“Hold on, you stubborn, green-blooded son of a bitch,” he said, applying a dermal seal to Spock’s wounded shoulder, getting the bleeding under control at last. An infusion of concentrated nutrients and vitamins would hopefully help Spock’s body find the strength to keep fighting for its life, while an emergency saline treatment and stimulants were needed to elevate Spock’s blood pressure and keep him from going into shock. McCoy scanned the patient with a brand-new tricorder. “Don’t you even think of dying on me after all this. You’re reporting to sickbay, mister, if I have to carry you there myself.”

Thankfully, that wasn’t necessary. A collapsible ladder had been lowered from the rear of Copernicus, but Spock was in no shape to climb it, so a portable antigrav lifter was drafted into service as a makeshift stretcher. Despite his own fatigue, McCoy insisted on supervising as Lieutenants Cassano and Borkowski loaded Spock on the lifter and strapped him in securely. McCoy hadn’t seen Kirk yet; he assumed that Jim was still at the helm of the hovering shuttle.

“You’re next, Doctor,” Cassano said, indicating the hanging ladder. Chekov and Darwa had already clambered aboard Copernicus, with only a little help from the new arrivals, who had insisted on relieving the exhausted survivors. “After you.”

“Forget it,” McCoy said. “I’m not going anywhere until I see my patient safely stowed away.”

The burly, dark-haired security officer shrugged. “If you say so, Doc.” He shouted to the shuttle: “Sending up Mister Spock!”

McCoy spied Saavik peering down through the open hatchway, observing the operation intently. “Acknowledged,” she replied. “Apply all due caution transporting him, gentlemen.”

McCoy thought he spotted more than simply Vulcan concentration in the tense rigidity of her expression. He remembered Spock calling out to her in his delirium.

Saavik-kam . . . Saavik-kam . . .

Could it be that she had actually answered him?

The last human standing on Varba II, McCoy waited until the stretcher had been successfully loaded into the rear of the shuttlecraft before starting up the ladder himself. About time, he thought. If I never see this reeking swamp again, it will be too soon.

A bloodcurdling screech nearly gave him a heart attack. Looking back over his shoulder in alarm, he saw a huge leech barreling toward him. Overcoming its fear of the shuttlecraft, the leech was intent on bringing down its prey before it got away. McCoy recalled just how high the creatures could leap.

“Take her up!” he hollered. “Now!”

Not waiting for him to finish climbing the ladder, Copernicus took off at a steep angle, dangling McCoy and the ladder behind it. The determined leech sprang after McCoy. Its extendable tongue snared his ankle, but a sturdy boot protected him from the tongue’s jagged serrations. The weight of the monster tugged on McCoy, and he hung on to a metal rung for dear life. For a second, he was sure he was going to be yanked from the ladder and back down into the swamp, but gravity came to his rescue. The leech’s slimy tongue snapped in two, one half going limp around McCoy’s ankle, and the rest of the leech went tumbling down into the fog, keening in pain and fury. It splashed loudly out of sight.

“Ugh.” McCoy hastily shook the leftover piece of tongue from his boot. He almost felt sorry for the mutilated animal—until he remembered Fisher and Yost. Serves it right for getting greedy.

Copernicus ascended steeply, clearing the treetops. The ladder retracted mechanically, dragging McCoy aboard. Strong hands grabbed hold of his shoulders, making sure they had a good grip on him despite his muddy clothing, as the aft hatchway closed behind him. It locked into place.

McCoy remembered to breathe.

The clean, oxygen-rich air was intoxicating. McCoy inhaled deeply, grateful for a pressurized atmosphere that he couldn’t actually see and smell. Somebody thrust a canteen into his hand and he took a long, sweet drink before stopping to orient himself. The water tasted even better than black-market Romulan ale, which was saying something.

The passenger compartment was packed. It was a tight fit, but McCoy wasn’t complaining. Spock remained secured to the stretcher, which was laid on the deck between the rows of seats. McCoy took a seat beside him, the better to monitor his life-signs. He looked up to see Kirk emerge from the cockpit, where Saavik had taken the helm. He grinned at McCoy.

“Welcome aboard, Bones.” He inspected the drenched and disheveled physician. “I have to say, you’ve looked better.”

“You try wading through a leech-infested bog the whole damn day or night and see if you’re fit for a diplomatic reception.” McCoy glanced around the compartment: One could tell the castaways from the rescuers by how torn, wet, and filthy their uniforms were. A somber thought lowered his spirits. “You heard about Fisher and Yost?”

Kirk’s grin evaporated. “Yes,” he said, nodding grimly. “But I’m glad we didn’t lose all of you.”

“Me, too,” McCoy admitted, although he still intended to find out Yost’s first name. And write a letter to Fisher’s sister. The dead men had shared their final hours with him. He wanted to get better acquainted with them, if only posthumously.

Kirk drew nearer to Spock. He looked anxiously at McCoy. “How is he, Bones?”

“I’ve done my best to stabilize him, but he needs to be in sickbay, as quickly as we can manage.”

Kirk turned back toward the cockpit. “You hear that, Lieutenant?”

“My hearing is excellent, sir.” Saavik adjusted the flight controls. “I advise everyone to buckle up . . . and hold on tight.”

A dramatic burst of acceleration sent Copernicus rocketing upward into the turbulent clouds. McCoy experienced a moment of panic.

“The shields!” he blurted. “Whatever you do, don’t activate the shields!”

Kirk took his outburst in stride.

“So I gather,” he said.