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With a shout-out to David R. George III.
Come on, the guy’s got Roman numerals.
Roman numerals are cool.
Historian’s Note
This story takes place in early 2274, about six months after the V’ger threat was neutralized by the Starship Enterprise (Star Trek: The Motion Picture).
Chapter 1
Doctor Christine Chapel folded down a jump seat from the port bulkhead of the shuttlecraft Copernicus and dropped into it while mumbling a few choice curses she’d picked up from Leonard McCoy over the years. The famously gruff chief medical officer of the Enterprise had been her mentor in many ways—both good and bad.
Her so-called patient, sitting up in the bed on the other side of the cabin, said, “My hearing is unaffected by my condition, you know.”
Chapel didn’t know exactly what role Commissioner Audrid Dax had in the Trill government, but it was important enough that she represented Trill in high-level Federation meetings, and she clearly had a lot of pull. With a sigh, Chapel studied her patient. Dax was in her early middle age, looking quite fit and trim. Beautiful, really, with long dark hair and a friendly face showing only a few laugh lines. Chapel hoped she herself looked that good ten or fifteen years down the road. All of which belied the necessity of this assignment. Dax smiled back at her, somehow charming and smug at the same time, as if she knew everything that Chapel didn’t. Which is exactly the problem, thought Chapel. This whole mission is a mystery.
“I’ll have to take your word on that, won’t I?” Chapel didn’t like that Dax had turned her bedside manner into McCoy’s curmudgeonly approach, but a patient demanding emergency evac yet refusing all medical scans could get under any doctor’s skin.
“I know it’s awkward.” Dax was still smiling, but sympathetically now. “But I can’t ignore centuries of Trill tradition because I’m suffering from a little personal discomfort.”
Chapel nodded her grudging acceptance but turned away from Dax. If this was only a “little personal discomfort,” why were they racing to rendezvous with the Troyval, a Trill starship? The crew cabin of the Copernicus had been quickly reconfigured as an emergency medical unit; a privacy wall separated the cabin from the cockpit aft of the side doors, and a portable diagnostic bed had been installed along the starboard bulkhead—but with its scanners off-line. Chapel distracted herself from her dilemma by thinking about the design improvements these new shuttlecraft had over the shuttles the Enterprise had during the five-year mission. The large drop-down door in the stern allowed various modules to be quickly installed, depending on specific mission needs. She rolled her eyes. First she was channeling McCoy, now she was turning into Scotty.
Spock’s deep voice emanating from a ceiling speaker shook her out of her reverie. “Doctor, may I have a word with you?”
Chapel glanced at Dax. “Excuse me.” She got up and made her way forward, hoping Spock would tell her the Troyval would be meeting them ahead of schedule. As the door of the med unit slid shut behind her, she settled into the copilot seat on Spock’s right. He no longer looked as severe as he had when first returning to the Enterprise six months before at the start of the V’ger mission, but he didn’t often look comfortable either. He’d gone through a lot back then, breaking his Kolinahr training—the path to total logic—and then mind-melding with the giant machine entity V’ger. It had shaken the Vulcan to his core, transforming his outlook on the role of emotions and logic in his life. He was a changed man but still adjusting to such a profound personal upheaval. Chapel felt an ache in her heart for her friend whenever she saw him doubt himself, a lost expression sometimes plain on his face, at least to those who knew him well.
And Christine Chapel certainly did know him well. She’d served with Spock throughout the five-year mission, and five years of adventures on the Enterprise were like fifteen years anywhere else. She had even briefly hosted his consciousness in her own mind while his body had been taken over by Henoch, one of the last survivors of an ancient race yearning to return to corporeal existence after living for half a million years as mental energy in storage units. At the time that happened, she’d already been carrying a blazing and unrequited torch for Spock for years. It was embarrassing now to think about how, just a few short years before, she’d been pining after him like a schoolgirl; but, in a strange way, it had led to a closeness between them that she wouldn’t trade for anything. The torch had finally been extinguished as she pursued her medical degree. The confidence she’d gained becoming a doctor had done wonders for her, personally and professionally.
Just as Chapel was settling into her new position as chief medical officer of the Enterprise under Captain Will Decker, everything changed. You could say it had reverted. Kirk came back. He brought McCoy back. Spock came back. McCoy’s seniority obviously entitled him to the CMO position. Chapel made a show of being happy that McCoy was CMO instead of her but privately worried she was falling behind in her career. Chapel briefly considered transferring to a different ship, but she decided to stay aboard the Enterprise and forged ahead as best she could, reminding McCoy she was no longer his nurse when he seemed to forget it. And then there was Spock: Initially he had been cold and distant as never before; then, after melding with V’ger, he’d become somewhat bewildered as he embraced his human half. She had been the first to bring up their past “relationship.” Chapel wanted Spock to know how she had moved past her infatuation with him. After trying to explain it in broad, brisk strokes, she still doubted that he understood. She realized that she couldn’t expect him to put all the pieces together when he was moving from a lifetime of denying emotions to suddenly trying to make peace with them.
Chapel studied Spock as he swiveled to face her. He appeared confident and all business. “I have lost contact with the Enterprise.” He spoke softly, obviously wanting to ensure that Dax couldn’t overhear through the temporary wall separating the cockpit from the main cabin. “Sensors are nominal, but with some interference. It could be a natural phenomenon, but so far I have been unable to rule out artificial intervention.”
Chapel rocked back in her seat. “You’re saying someone might be jamming our communications? Can you contact the Troyval?”
Spock’s expression changed subtly, to something not quite grim but also not comforting. “I cannot. But this could simply be a temporary technical problem. Please don’t worry unnecessarily. I will continue to attempt to rectify the situation.”
Chapel almost suggested that, just to be safe, they return to the Enterprise, but she thought better of it. They had been en route long enough that they would be closer to the rendezvous point than to the Enterprise. Even if Captain Kirk thought the communication problem warranted turning around and warping back toward the Copernicus, he’d be playing catch-up compared to the Troyval, where Dax needed to go for her treatment. Continuing to the rendezvous was still the best course of action without additional information—information they were unlikely to get without being able to contact either of the ships. Chapel frowned and drummed her right hand on the copilot’s console in frustration.
Spock tilted his head slightly toward the aft cabin and lowered hi
s voice a little more. “What is Commissioner Dax’s condition?”
“She appears fine. Of course, she still won’t allow me to do a proper exam.”
“The Trill have a cultural taboo regarding—”
“I know, I know.” As she watched Spock closely, his expression became more neutral. Chapel shook her head. “I think you’re trying to change the subject. We’re transporting an important Federation representative on a shuttle with a skeleton crew—an incomplete skeleton, at that—and we’ve lost communications. How is worrying unnecessary?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Worrying is always unnecessary, as it serves no functional purpose. As to our current situation, we are deep in Federation space. There is little cause for . . . concern.”
With a chuckle, Chapel said, “Sorry, but those have the sound of famous, and ironic, last words.”
“If you are implying that something terrible is going to befall us, then no matter how ironic my statement might turn out to be, it is unlikely to be reported and achieve any level of fame.”
Chapel glared at him to see if she could read him, but although his expression had softened slightly, he remained impassive, almost unblinking. He’s practiced this game with Leonard for too long. She gave up with a sigh. “I can tell you one thing for sure: Leonard owes me one for sending me on this trip.”
Doctor Christine Chapel looked up as McCoy entered her office in sickbay without knocking, the swish of the door her only warning of company coming. “Chapel, I—” He stopped on the threshold as soon as he recognized her glare. She made shooing motions with her hands. “Oh, for crying out loud,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. Someone must have been standing behind him, out of Chapel’s line of sight. “Of all the times to . . .” His voice trailed off into mumbling or growling as he stepped back enough that the door slid shut.
As soon as she was alone again, Chapel smiled but then put on her best grimace as McCoy’s voice came over the intership. He could tell when she was smiling, even on a speaker.
“Excuse me, Doctor, do you have a moment?” He tried so hard to sound polite that it was just that much more sarcastic.
She counted to five before responding. “Yes, Doctor, come in.”
The door slid back open. McCoy was frowning, but the tall, stately woman he had with him seemed amused. They both stepped inside her office.
Chapel smiled warmly at her guests. Then she noted the delicate, leopardlike spots running down the sides of the woman’s neck—obviously one of the Trill delegates. Chapel’s smile remained polite, but she had a bad feeling that she hid behind her professional facade. The Enterprise was transporting over two dozen ambassadors and dignitaries, as well as their staffs, to a diplomatic conference on Deneva. Following standard procedure, Chapel had reviewed the database on the delegation until crashing into the metaphorical force field around Trill physiology. They didn’t use transporters, and they didn’t allow non-Trill physicians to treat anything but the most minor wounds. No tricorders or scanners of any kind could be used on them. If the Trill woman had a medical issue, Chapel hoped McCoy wouldn’t have gone along with her insistence on protocol.
“Doctor Christine Chapel, this is Commissioner Audrid Dax. Audrid, Christine Chapel.”
As Chapel got up and came around her desk, she noticed two things: McCoy had called the commissioner by her first name, and his bluster had been replaced by nervousness. He shifted uncomfortably on his feet. Chapel’s smile became more genuine. Interesting. There’s a story behind these two.
“Very nice to meet you, Doctor.” Dax extended her hand, which Chapel shook firmly, noting the coolness of the Trill’s palm. Their lower body temperatures were in the medical records, as it came from simple observation, not diagnostic scanning.
“You too, Commissioner. Welcome aboard the Enterprise.”
“Thank you. But please, call me Audrid.” She gave a sidelong glance at McCoy. “I’m sorry for the intrusion, but Leonard does have a way of blundering into things, doesn’t he?”
“Well, yes, he does,” Chapel said hesitantly, glancing at McCoy. He bounced on his feet and pursed his lips. Is that a blush? Chapel didn’t know whether to laugh or feel sorry for McCoy. This Dax must have really had something on him.
He cleared his throat. “It’s not really an intrusion. This is a professional visit after all.”
“Then let’s all sit.” Chapel returned behind her desk while McCoy and Dax sat in the two guest chairs.
“Here’s the situation.” McCoy glanced at Dax as if to make sure she was going to let him speak without further abuse. “Audrid’s a little under the weather. Nothing life threatening, but, given the peculiarities of Trill customs, the treatment can only be administered by Trill physicians. Instead of delaying all the other delegates to the conference, she’ll be shuttled to the Troyval, a medical ship already on its way. Shuttlecraft Copernicus can get to the Troyval in plenty of time, but just in case of any complications during transit, I’m assigning you to accompany Aud . . . the commissioner.”
McCoy almost blurted the last part out, and Dax gave him a sharp look, as if this had been a point of contention. Clearly there was more going on here than what McCoy was willing to share—and, as her superior, that was his prerogative—but the situation was frustrating.
“Of course,” Chapel said. “But given all the restrictions on diagnostics and treatments, my presence hardly seems necessary.”
Dax leaned forward. “At the risk of sounding self-centered, Doctor, your presence being unnecessary is the outcome I’m hoping for.”
Slightly chagrined, Chapel nodded. “I’ll do whatever I can to help, Commissioner.” She glanced at McCoy, who had relaxed a little bit. “I do have some research projects right now that need my attention.”
“I’ll tend to them, just leave me the protocols.” McCoy stood abruptly and made for the door. “Besides, Spock’s the pilot, and I’m not going to be cooped up with him for a couple days in one of those tin cans.”
The door slid shut, leaving Chapel alone with the Trill. Dax shrugged. “He does have a way with last words.”
Chapel laughed in spite of her darkening mood.
Chapel fidgeted in the copilot’s seat as she watched Spock run various scans and diagnostics. She ran a hand through her hair, which she had been wearing down lately. It felt odd after so many years to feel it brushing against the collar of her uniform.
“A human aphorism comes to mind.” Spock continued the slow, deliberate play of his fingers over the console as he spoke, not sparing her a look.
“What’s that?”
“As I understand it, an aphorism is a pithy turn of phrase that—”
“I’m going to stop you right there. I know you and Leonard enjoy your games, but I think it keeps a real distance between you.” She only just resisted patting him on the leg. “I don’t want that. We’re old friends. Close friends. I’d rather just talk without the teasing.”
Spock looked almost flustered for a moment, and Chapel worried that she’d been too sharp. “I was not aware that you felt that way. I am sorry, Doctor.” He stopped his work on the controls for a moment. “We are indeed friends; I would not want you to think I felt otherwise.”
Now Chapel felt a little flustered, taken aback by the sincerity and warmth in his voice. “Of course not, I know that. I just—I’m a little on edge. I’d feel better if we had a full crew aboard.”
“As would I. It was because of the commissioner’s insistence on privacy—and Doctor McCoy’s vehement support for her wishes—that the captain agreed to assign only myself in addition to you.”
Chapel frowned. “So what is it with those two? There’s obviously some history there. Do you know anything about it?”
He shook his head slightly as he went back to tapping at the controls. “I do not. I reviewed the files of all the representatives in preparation
for this mission, and it would seem unlikely that Commissioner Dax and Doctor McCoy could ever have crossed paths.” Spock again took his hands away from the controls and sat back in his chair. “I, however, am in no position to criticize him for not being forthcoming about a relationship from his past, as I am sure you would agree.”
Chapel smirked, wondering if this was a reference to his betrothal to T’Pring, which had come as quite a surprise when T’Pring introduced herself as Spock’s wife. Chapel had been particularly shocked and disappointed, given how she’d been taking care of Spock, not knowing his symptoms were caused by pon farr, the Vulcan mating drive. It had taken a long time before she could appreciate the irony that she’d been tenderly caring for her unrequited love while he was in fact in the throes of needing to mate with another woman. The universe has a warped sense of humor, she thought. And maybe it’s best to change the subject.
“What was the aphorism you were thinking of?”
Spock raised an eyebrow, somehow communicating a slight discomfort that she had returned to that subject. “A culinary metaphor that seemed apropos of you closely observing my attempts to discern the reason for our loss of communication: A watched pot never boils.”
That got an open laugh from Chapel, but she was interrupted by Dax crying out in pain. Chapel leaped from her chair toward the aft cabin, squeezing through as the door slid open. She rushed toward Dax, who was doubled over, arms clutching her abdomen.
Chapter 2
As Dax again moaned in pain, she moved one arm from her stomach to wave Chapel away from her. “I’m fine,” she said, although her jaw was clenched tight as she spoke.
Chapel grabbed the waving arm to steady Dax. “You need to lie down. Come on.” With Chapel’s assistance, Dax moved the few steps necessary to get into bed. The Trill’s face was pale, making the spots along her forehead seem darker. Her long hair was sticking to perspiration on her neck. “Will elevating your legs help?”
Star Trek: The Original Series: The More Things Change Page 1
