Chapter Text
The treatment was going to be as unpleasant as the disease - he knew that. It wasn't that far removed from old-fashioned chemotherapy, the way it attacked the healthy cells as well as the cells that needed repair, and chemotherapy was as old-fashioned and barbaric nowadays as leeches had been at that point in history. But just like chemotherapy, it was an option that the medical profession had used because they didn't have any better options at the time. As far as Starfleet knew, xenopolycythemia was incurable, terminal.
McCoy had never truly believed that anything was completely incurable, except maybe death itself - and even that was a maybe. If it had been Jim, or Spock, or anyone else aboard the Enterprise, he would have been working around the clock to find a cure. Since it was him, it was pretty convenient that the Fabrini's archives had just happened to contain the necessary information, because he couldn't have managed it.
Still, the weakness and aches and vague, chronic sense of vertigo that endured even after the treatments had run their course made him wish he'd had that luxury. Maybe he could have come up with something better.
But then again, maybe not - some of the fixes he'd thrown together weren't exactly pleasant to endure either. At least they'd worked.
So had the Fabrini's solution, according to the tests. Christine insisted on doing the work herself, both she and Geoff double-checking the results to make sure; they knew McCoy too well than to leave it in his hands.
"Counts are still so close to normal, it's not even worth mentioning," she told him with a bright smile, a week after the last treatment.
"I wouldn't go that far," M'Benga added, but he sounded confident and carefree as well. "This has never been done before, you're still showing some symptoms, and we don't know whether or not it's a permanent reversal in the first place. If you were my patient, I'd recommend regular testing for at least a year before declaring you clear."
"I'd point out that I'm your boss, not your patient," McCoy remarked, rubbing at the bridge of his nose as he turned away from the terminal, "but I can't blame you. I'd probably say the same thing to any of my patients. All the information from the Fabrini archives indicates it's a cure rather than a delay, though, and the symptoms aren't unexpected. The compounds are just taking some time to work their way out of my system - I can tell," he added, "because I'm still pissing orange."
M'Benga nodded. "We'll see you again in three days, then?"
"Not a chance," McCoy told him. "I've had enough of sitting around on my ass."
"Doctor," Chapel began to reprove, gently.
He gave her a firm look. "Christine, you've got the results right there in your hand. The counts are fine. You've seen me work in far worse condition than this."
"I have," she agreed, tilting her head skeptically. "But I don't like it."
"You don't want to push yourself too hard," M'Benga added.
"And I won't," McCoy retorted. "I've got a great staff to fall back on if I need it, including you two. But we're scheduled to arrive at 6729e tomorrow, and just in case something goes wrong down there, I'm going to be ready and waiting to deal with it, and that's that. So in that case, why shouldn't I be on the schedule?"
"I suppose," M'Benga agreed, though he looked somewhat reluctant, "that that's a logical argument."
"Great. Want to repeat that to Spock for me?" McCoy asked.
"Not if my license depended on it," M'Benga replied without pause.
"That's what I thought," McCoy muttered. Well, he was the chief medical officer around here, so Spock would just have to live with it. That Vulcan had some funny ideas about the relative frailty of humans to begin with - and McCoy in particular enjoyed proving that they were a lot tougher than Spock assumed.
---
6729e was a planet that had been discovered a few centuries ago, before the light speed barrier had been broken, which had characteristics indicating that it might be what was now called a class M planet - habitable by humans and similar lifeforms. Further observation had revealed it to be less suitable than expected, but by that time, a probe had been launched from Earth. The development of the warp drive meant that the planet had already been examined more closely in the intervening years, but the probe was scheduled to have arrived sometime within the last few months. It was old-fashioned, the information it would have gathered already obsolete, but the probe itself had a certain amount of historical significance.
That was enough reason for its retrieval, according to Starfleet, and Spock had agreed. The probe's data was insignificant. Proof of the success of the probe's mission, spanning centuries, with only primitive propulsion and guidance technologies, was anything but.
The safest way to search 6729e was by shuttle; the planet's atmosphere was thin, only rich enough to breathe in the lowlands between the mountains and the craters resulting from numerous asteroid impacts. It would be fortunate if the probe was found in such an area. If not, retrieval might prove more tedious, particularly given the frequent flares from the star at the center of the solar system.
Aboard the Enterprise, Chekov was keeping track of the star's activity and the trajectory of nearby asteroids while Spock and his team of mostly science officers were conducting the search. Sensors indicated metal alloys and petroleum-based solids near the edge of one of the largest craters, which was a promising sign, and Spock had the others watching as he guided the Copernicus carefully in a slow, close arc around the mountains and stony protrusions of the planet's surface. The sensors showed they should be almost above it now...
"I think I see it," Lt. Hill said abruptly, standing up to get a better angle through the shuttle's window. "There's a white spot, right there - it could be a reflection."
Spock rose slightly from his seat to have a better look as well, and agreed with her assessment. The ravine was largely dark despite the sun's position, due to the composition of the rocks, and yet... yes - that was most certainly the sun's glare, shining off something reflective. "Excellent work, Lieutenant - it does appear to be an artifact rather than a natural phenomenon." He pressed the transmission button as he settled again, taking stock of the surrounding terrain. "Copernicus to Enterprise: we may have found the probe. I am going in closer to verify."
"Great - I'm glad to hear it," came the captain's reply. "If it is the probe, is it going to be possible to retrieve it by hand?"
"There are stretches of flat, largely clear ground upon which to land, although the atmosphere is thin," Spock reported. "We would require pressure suits and oxygen until descending deeper into the ravine where the object is located, but I believe it to be quite possible." He paused as they made another slow fly-by of the area; this time he could see the dark antique solar panels surrounding the module, gleaming in the light. "Confirmed," he said. "It is indeed the probe. Permission to land and begin the process of retrieval?"
"Yes, let's get it aboard. How long do you think it'll take?"
"Allowing for careful traverse of unfamiliar terrain," Spock said, turning back towards the closest of the landing zones, "and the additional burden of the probe's weight on the return trip to the shuttle, I estimate approximately nineteen to twenty-two minutes."
"Not bad." The captain paused. "Mr. Chekov - is there anything they need to worry about in that area for the next half an hour?"
"Half an hour yes, twenty minutes no," came Chekov's reply. "Another solar flare appears to be beginning, and could cause unsafe radiation levels throughout the area in approximately twenty-four minutes."
"Hmmph." Spock could hear the captain's uneasy exhale. "That's cutting it close."
"My estimate was conservative," Spock assured him. "I believe that our time will be closer to the nineteen minutes than the twenty-two minutes I had allotted, and perhaps even less. Furthermore, perhaps it would be acceptable to beam us back to the ship with the probe once we have reached it, and once the storm has passed, beam myself or another back to retrieve the shuttlecraft."
"All right, sounds like a plan," Kirk agreed. "I'll have transporters standing by; Chekov will keep you updated on the flare's progress."
"Very well - and I shall update periodically on our progress also," Spock replied. "Preparing to land... Copernicus out."
Although the terrain in the ravine was too uneven for a shuttlecraft to land, it wasn't difficult to traverse on foot from just beyond, even in the somewhat unwieldy pressure suits. The four-person team made excellent time, following the tricorders' readings of metal and petroleum further down the slope. There was sparse vegetation as well despite the harsh environment - brown grasses and withered-looking vines sporting dull red bulbs as they spilled down from crevices in the rocks, and Spock took a moment to take stock of them as well. They were reminiscent of some of the desert plants of Vulcan, though there was the question of what these plants might subsist on. There was not enough atmosphere in this area, nor water on the planet, to form proper clouds that might provide them with even sporadic rain. There had been no mention of these plants in past studies of 6729e.
Their objective now was the retrieval of the probe, however, and Spock activated the suit's communicator once they had reached it. "Spock to Enterprise - we have reached the probe. It seems to be in good condition," he reported, watching as his team spread out to have a look. "The descent buffers must have fired as they were designed. The primary module is 1.75 meters high and proportional in diameter; the width and breadth of the solar panels is approximately 1.5 meters each, extending to a wingspan of just over five meters. I do not foresee any trouble with beaming it directly aboard."
"Great, let's get it started," Kirk replied. "Tell me when you're in position."
Everyone involved knew what was to be done, and the members of the away team fanned out, positioning themselves at the extremities of the probe's solar panels. "Spock to Enterprise," Spock called again. "We are in position. The probe is ready to be beamed aboard."
"Aye, I've got a lock," came Mr. Scott's voice, and moments later, the probe began to shimmer as it was caught up in the transporter beam.
"Mr. Chekov," Spock inquired as the probe disappeared. "What is your current estimation of the time remaining until the effects of the solar flare reach the surface of the planet?"
"Thirteen minutes and nineteen seconds," came the immediate reply.
"I can easily return to the shuttlecraft before that time has expired," said Spock. "I recommend beaming up the other members of the away team while I do so - assuming that this is an agreeable course of action, captain."
"That sounds fine," Kirk replied. "Be careful down there, Spock - if you run into any delay, let us know. We'll keep an eye on your location, so we can beam you out as well if we have to."
That was exactly as Spock had expected. "Very well - proceed at Lieutenant Hill's command," he suggested, and started back the way they had come as the three other officers positioned themselves for transport. He kept an eye out just long enough to make certain that they were beamed away safely, then turned his full attention to the path back to the shuttle. It was, after all, more difficult to go uphill than downhill, though the ground was firm, and he expected no significant challenges.
Further up the slope, he again encountered the vines with their red bulbs. The bulbs were made up of several petals, he discovered, for they were beginning to draw back and flatten, opening as flowers and exposing thin tendrils to the thin air and the glare of the planet's sun. "Fascinating," he murmured to himself.
The communicator in his suit chirped. "How are we doing down there, Spock?"
"Progress is as expected, captain," Spock replied. "I should reach the shuttlecraft within five minutes."
"That's good, because Chekov says the radiation's going to reach you in seven," Kirk replied.
"As of yet, there has been no obstacle to a swift return," said Spock, picking up his pace just slightly. "Except, perhaps, for scientific curiosity; there is vegetation at the edge of what could be considered the upper atmosphere. Having observed its state during descent and at present, while it appears to be flowering, I believe it may subsist on the radiation from the solar flares."
There was a quiet, appreciative hum. "That's interesting..."
"Now, I'll admit I'm always telling you that maybe you should stop and smell the roses sometimes," came another voice. "Now's not really the time, though, unless you want to get yourself cooked."
"I am aware of that, doctor," Spock replied. "I would also like to point out that within the controlled environment of the pressure suit, I am incapable of smelling the flowers, if indeed they have a fragrance. I would find that highly unlikely, as the lack of lifeforms on 6729e would suggest-"
"Do you ever not take anything literally?"
Behind the doctor's irritable voice, Spock could hear the captain laughing under his breath. "Keep us posted on your progress, Spock."
"Yes, captain."
At his increased pace, Spock reached the shuttlecraft with more than three minutes to spare. "Copernicus to Enterprise," he said, shedding the pressure suit as he opened a channel from the shuttle's communications systems. "I have returned, and am ready to lift off."
"Excellent - we'll be waiting for you."
Liftoff went without a hitch, though as the shuttle rose into the air, starting back towards the higher orbit in which the Enterprise had remained, Spock checked pressurization and the seals on the airlocks. The air within the shuttle seemed to be growing thin, and he found himself breathing more deeply. The seals and air pressure seemed to be normal, and a quick diagnostic revealed no breaches. Even so, Spock was beginning to feel light-headed.
Quite curious. Unable to account for the difficulty he was having, Spock glanced around the interior of the shuttlecraft, and at first thought that he might be beginning to lose consciousness. But no - at least not yet.
---
"You can't tell me you didn't miss that while I was laid up," McCoy told Jim with a smirk, from his position behind the captain's chair. Jim's laughing eyes said it all.
"I wouldn't dream of trying," Jim said, with a fond grin. "It's good to have you back, Bones."
McCoy gave him a fond smile of his own. "Good to be back." Even if the light and blinking brightly-colored buttons of the bridge weren't improving his headache any, it was much better than sitting in his quarters with the lights turned down to be watching over the crew, keeping tabs on an away team, and messing with Spock. Especially messing with Spock. He hadn't appreciated being treated delicately, the way Spock had reacted to his diagnosis getting out. That just wasn't how he and Spock were supposed to be, and that kind of thing was the whole reason he'd tried to keep it a secret in the first place.
Shortly after Spock's liftoff, they saw the shuttle approaching onscreen. Everything seemed normal, until Spock raised communications again. "Copernicus to Enterprise."
"Yes, Spock, what is it?" Jim replied.
"I am..." There was a pause. "...Having difficulty breathing."
"Chekov," the captain muttered sharply, but the ensign looked up in alarm, shaking his head.
"The solar radiation had not yet reached the planet's surface - I swear it."
"That wouldn't be the worst of his symptoms if it had," McCoy pointed out, instantly on alert.
"I... I believe... I have been exposed to..." The sound of a dry cough. "There is a strange... black dust. I saw nothing on the suit when I removed it. Yet it is... everywhere."
"Spock, hang on," Jim ordered him, instantly getting up from his seat, hitting the intercom button and turning away. "Scotty, prepare to beam Spock from the Copernicus."
"Aye, sir."
"Just a second, Jim," McCoy spoke up, grabbing the captain's arm as he started for the turbolift. "Spock - this stuff proliferated after you got inside?"
"Yes." The brief reply only served to prove that Spock was in bad shape. "I am... losing consciousness." A fit of coughing. "...I apologize."
"Scotty!" Jim ordered. "Beam him-"
"Hold on a minute!" McCoy interrupted. "Jim, he's contaminated."
"He's suffocating," Jim shot back, jerking his arm out of McCoy's grasp.
"Scotty, close off the transporter room, make sure everyone in there's got a respirator," McCoy shouted back towards the intercom, even as he followed Jim to the turbolift. "Then beam Spock aboard, and stay back."
"Captain?" Scotty inquired warily.
"...Do as he says," Jim said, his voice tight and tense.
The look he gave McCoy as they got into the turbolift was no less intense. "It's not just dust," McCoy informed him. "If it was just dust, he would have seen it on the suit. Whatever it is that's affecting him, it's reproducing. Probably our environment is making it grow faster than it normally would on that planet's surface - we've got moisture, and air - it could be oxygen, nitrogen, carbon dioxide..."
Jim punched the turbolift's intercom button emphatically. "Scotty?"
"Readying to beam him out now, captain," came the slightly muffled and extremely anxious reply. "Already locked in, here we go..."
The turbolift arrived before they could confirm success, but Jim grabbed McCoy's arm and pulled him out, the two of them racing down the corridor towards the transporter room. "Jim!" McCoy gasped, panting even from the minor exertion. He definitely preferred being a doctor over a patient. Despite his head swimming, he managed to yank open one of the emergency panels outside the transporter room, and reached in to grab two full facemasks, handing one to Jim. "All I'd need is to have to treat you too."
Impatient as Jim was, he nodded and slipped it over his head before activating the intercom once more. "Have you got him?"
"We do, he's in pretty bad shape," Scotty confirmed.
"We're just outside," McCoy told him. "Unseal the door just long enough for us to get in there."
Once the door had snapped shut behind them, both he and Jim went straight to Spock, collapsed on the transporter pad. "Call sickbay," McCoy snapped over his shoulder as they rolled Spock onto his side. Spock coughed harshly; a cloud of black dust came from his mouth. "Have someone bring down a portable sterile field generator, oxygenation system, mouthpiece, and a handful of hypos of tri-ox. Make sure they're wearing masks too."
The black dust seemed to be deposited around Spock's eyes and nose as well, and more black spots were blossoming on the floor in front of him, right before their eyes. "That's what I thought," McCoy muttered, pulling out a scanner. "It's the moisture. Doesn't get much of that where it lives, so it's eating its fill now."
"A creature?"
McCoy shook his head, examining the readings. "Spores. Bet they're from that plant he found so interesting. Probably hitched a ride on his suit, so small as to be invisible to the naked eye. Once in an environment as welcoming as the interior of a shuttlecraft, it started spreading slowly, then got into his lungs. Like a perfect luxury resort in there, hot and humid." He patted Spock's shoulder as the Vulcan coughed up another black dust cloud. "No one in here's going to be able to leave until we've been thoroughly decontaminated and the room sanitized - we can't even take him to sickbay."
Jim nodded slowly, understanding. McCoy reached over and squeezed his arm too, seeing the dismayed expression. "I'll take care of him, Jim. I can't say it's going to be easy, but I'm pretty sure I know what we're going to have to do. You take care of the rest."
Behind the mask, Jim inhaled deeply, and then got to his feet. "Everybody keep back," he ordered the transporter room staff, and went for the intercom. "Someone get a tractor beam on the Copernicus - bring it in, leave the shuttle bay depressurized until I've said otherwise."
At least coordinating that sort of thing gave Jim something to do while McCoy treated Spock, or made his best attempt. Even when Chapel arrived with the equipment, it was a tricky situation, working with only the portable resources. Spock was stabilized and out of danger quickly enough, but he wasn't going to be able to breathe under his own power until they'd managed to clear his lungs of the stuff - and doing that wouldn't be any good until they were out of the contaminated transporter room, or it would just start all over again.
Eventually, after having made a couple more calls to sickbay for a few other things, McCoy had Spock's lungs mostly cleared, and managed to get a face mask on him. The rest could be taken care of in the decontamination chamber, now that he was at least moderately safe to transport. Jim had the corridors sealed off even so, just to make sure that those who had been contaminated due to their presence in the transporter room couldn't inadvertently spread the contamination further as they moved.
Once inside, with the beam sweeping over them, McCoy leaned back against the wall and took a few deep breaths, letting his eyes close. He felt like he'd been awake for days, and he couldn't quite hold back a little moan as he rubbed at his aching head.
He felt a hand on his arm, and opened his eyes again to see Jim regarding him with a cautious smile. "Still good to be back, Bones?"
"Ask me in a couple hours," McCoy groaned, and took one more deep breath before he and Jim knelt beside Spock, now sitting up groggily under his own power, to help him get the mask off.
---
The worst was over by far. Spock was up and around, moving and talking, and even helping Jim and Scotty work on the problem of decontamination; the transporter room and half the deck were strictly off-limits until they'd done so. McCoy had his staff examine a sample, one he'd extracted early on from Spock's exhalations, and they confirmed it was the moisture that made the stuff spread, not the air. The spores would become inert if they removed all moisture from the area, and from there they could clean up - while contained in biohazard suits, of course. It would be easy enough to tell whether or not they'd gotten it all just by having climate control emit a light mist through the deck afterwards. Same would work for the shuttle, though the suit Spock had been wearing would have to go straight to disposal.
It was still possible that there might be another outbreak before they were through, and McCoy himself had been looking into options that would be lethal to the plant without being lethal to the person whose lungs they'd taken up residence in. Once he was reasonably sure of a formula he'd cooked up to be delivered via inhaler, he sat back and rubbed his eyes. The computer said it was only just past 1700 - the way he felt, it should have been well past midnight.
All in a day's work, though. Even if it had been past midnight, or if he'd not finished and would have to keep working until past midnight, that was just how it was in Starfleet.
But since he was done... "Computer - turn down the lights, fifty percent," he muttered. There - much more comfortable. Not that he needed to stick around in the lab any longer, in fact he should probably give a call over to sickbay with the results, but it had been a long day, and if there were any problems, someone would have called him. It was all right if he just closed his eyes for a couple of minutes, let himself stop trying to focus...
He was startled by the sound of someone entering. A somewhat puzzled voice spoke. "Dr. McCoy, are you unwell?"
Spock. McCoy straightened up, wincing slightly at the way his head spun. "Who is it who nearly got themselves killed today?" he asked, turning in his chair, pointing to a vacuum-sealed test tube containing the young shoots of a vine, with small red bulbs. "These things were trying to set up a greenhouse in your lungs. One good dose of infrared, and you'd have been coughing up petals."
"Indeed. Your advice regarding the smelling of roses seems to have done more harm than good."
"Very funny."
"Do not misunderstand," Spock told him. "You have my gratitude for the rescue, and the safety measures taken to protect the Enterprise. The captain informed me that you prevented me from being beamed aboard at once."
"Given the evidence, it seemed logical to take some precautions," McCoy remarked. "Thought you'd appreciate it."
"I do," Spock said simply. "There was no sarcasm in my repetition of the facts."
"For once," muttered McCoy. "Anyway, you're welcome. ...Something I can help you with?"
"I came to see whether or not you had found an easily-applied remedy, in case our decontamination of the transporter room and the surrounding area is not as thorough as we will attempt to be."
"As a matter of fact, just finished," McCoy told him, turning back around to show Spock. "Didn't take that long to figure out how we could kill the stuff off, but the real trouble was finding a way to do it without killing off the host..."
The chronometer beside the equipment, he observed as he explained to Spock, now displayed 20:24. And he still felt no more rested, even after his unintended nap.
It must have been obvious to Spock, who listened with interest to his explanation of how the treatment he'd formulated would work, but immediately changed the subject as soon as McCoy was finished speaking. "You appear tired," he observed. "The level of the lights and your posture when I entered would indicate the same."
"It's been a long day," McCoy pointed out. "My first day back - and you sure know how to give a guy a warm welcome."
"I assure you, I had no intention of returning with an intruder of any sort." Spock paused, and looked McCoy over with a critical eye. "You have again proven yourself to be a vital component of the Enterprise's crew, doctor; I cannot say that you should not have returned to duty so quickly, but I would recommend, since the immediate danger is now past, that you concede to your body's need for rest."
Slowly and carefully, McCoy got to his feet, stretching. "Why, Spock - you almost sound as if you care."
"I do indeed care," Spock replied. "The outcome of our missions might be drastically different if you, by your own stubborn actions, made it necessary for us to acquire a replacement."
McCoy made a face at him. "Thanks for your support. Anyway, for once I agree," he admitted, reaching over to the terminal to eject the disk with his documentation. "I'll just take this up to sickbay, then head back to my quarters."
"I will take it to sickbay," Spock said, reaching for the disk as it popped out, before McCoy had the chance. "You have done enough for today, particularly considering your condition."
"Oh, don't give me that," McCoy told him. "The xenopolycythemia's gone - all that's left are side effects from that compound they used to treat it. If you don't believe me, you can ask Geoff or Christine to see my records, since you insist on going to sickbay anyway."
"Indeed," Spock told him with a raised eyebrow. "I shall do both."
And secretly, McCoy was a little grateful for that, because he was feeling pretty lousy. Getting back to his room and lying down sounded like a great idea.
Despite his unexpected nap, he fell asleep easily and slept through the night without waking. That was good... but it wasn't so good that he woke up feeling just as groggy as when he'd first laid his head down. Well, no one said this was going to be easy. In fact, he'd assumed just the opposite.