Constellations by Marco Palmieri Page A

transfixed. He ignored Spock’s presence, which he felt behind him. Kirk couldn’t help but feel a flash of guilt, wondering whether, if Spock had been more persuasive, Sulu wouldn’t be lying on that bed. Had Kirk rushed to judgment, relying too much on his own instincts and too little on Spock’s logic? Still, another part of him recognized that if it wasn’t Sulu, it would be a different crewman on that bed, being put back together. What happened wasn’t Sulu’s fault.
    â€œThat should do it,” McCoy suddenly said out loud. His instructions to Chapel had been low-voiced, demanding things Kirk couldn’t make out. But this remark was clearly intended for his guests.
    â€œWhat’s the prognosis?”
    â€œWell, Captain,” McCoy said, wiping his hands on a sterile cloth, Sulu’s blood turning the shiny blue fabric a dull purple, “while the lieutenant here has a lot of injuries, none of them are life-threatening. I’ve stitched him up, knit a few bones, and treated the rest. He needs forty-eight hours bed rest in sickbay and then maybe another day in his quarters before he’s fit for duty.”
    â€œSo noted. Thank you, Doctor,” Kirk said.
    â€œI’m not done,” McCoy interrupted. Kirk gave him a quizzical look.
    â€œHe was barely conscious when they brought him in here,” the doctor continued. “He managed to explain what had happened to him, and maybe it was the shock of the injuries, maybe not, but I’m certain this rattled him. A lot.”
    â€œRattled?”
    â€œJim, you sent him down there ill-prepared for that place and it shook him to his core. When I got him, he was scared to death. He’s likely got psychological injuries, and those may be harder to heal than the physical ones.”
    Kirk was thankful that the doctor stopped the harangue, but then saw that McCoy was staring at him. He could only imagine what expression he was projecting. Sucking in a lungful of air, he tried to calm his feelings.
    â€œLook,” McCoy said, “I don’t know this kid yet. In fact, I’m still learning about the entire crew, so I don’t have an informed opinion, just adding up my observations. When he awakens, I’ll talk to him and make a better evaluation.”
    â€œThank you,” Kirk said quietly, flicking his eyes once more to Sulu’s body. He was reassured by the steady breathing.
    â€œNow get out of here, I have an autopsy to perform.”
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    As the captain and first officer left, McCoy and Chapel gathered up their tools and cleaned up around the bed where Sulu lay still. He didn’t want to open his eyes, didn’t want to answer questions. Too many parts of his body were sore, too many parts felt numb from anesthetic, and besides, they were discussing him. He heard the conversation, every word, and had to agree with the doctor: He wasn’t prepared for that planet. In fact, he wasn’t sure he was prepared for his new career and was coming to regret his decision. Because of that lack of preparation, someone died. Maybe it should have been him.
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    On the way to the turbolift, Kirk brooded. Everything about this landing party bothered him. He’d lost crew before, although he had to admit, he never imagined he’d lose as many since taking command. While he normally disliked comparing himself with the captains who had preceded him, he knew his mortality rate was higher than Chris Pike’s, and that angered him.
    â€œComputer, deck five,” Kirk ordered as the doors closed. “Mr. Spock, keep the ship in orbit another twenty-four hours. I want to make sure that planet is secure before we leave. I’m leaving you in command,” he said as his hand twisted the turbolift’s control wand.
    Spock merely nodded, keeping his comments to himself, which was just fine with the captain.
    The turbolift slowed to a stop, went horizontal for a few moments, and