Uhura's Song by Janet Kagan
Authors: Janet Kagan
Tags: Fiction, General, Science-Fiction, adventure, Space Opera, Performing Arts, Interplanetary voyages, Space ships, History & Criticism, Television, Star Trek Fiction, Kirk; James T. (Fictitious Character)
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Stimulants had a way of disrupting mental processes, and that was one thing he could ill afford.
What he needed most, he thought, was someone to talk to. With Jim and Scotty and- he hated to admit it- Spock chasing all over the galaxy after wild geese, he had no one to check his figures, or to cheer him along on his own wild goose chase.
He settled for a shot of scotch. The bottle had been a parting gift from Evan Wilson, a happy result of all his complaints about the Eeiauoans' dislike of alcohol in any form.
Then he returned to the computers and examined his results for the third time. He had built on the work Evan and Christine had done, following up the apparent immunity of Snnanagfashtalli's people.
He had found something, but what, he was not sure. At best, it was a palliative, not a cure. At worst...
He had to be sure before he went on that it would do no harm to the victims of ADF syndrome. As the Eeiauoan doctors had predicted, the Eeiauoan victims of the disease still lived- as long as they were massively supported by intravenous feeding and all the rest that Federation personnel and equipment could supply. The deaths in previous outbreaks of the plague had all occurred when the victims finally outnumbered those who could care for them.
Humans were another story: two of the earliest known cases had already died, others were sure to follow. That was the last information he had been able to transmit to Evan Wilson before the Enterprise had passed out of range of a Federation relay beacon.
He thought of Christine Chapel and the risks she faced, and he knew he had to go ahead. She could not wait for surety. He took a deep breath and placed a call to Dr. Mickiewicz aboard the Flinn. It took the ship's communications officer a moment to locate her. When she appeared, she was alone in her office.
"Hi, Micky," he said. "Good god, you look terrible!"
"Your bedside manner's shot to hell, Leonard, and you're no raving beauty yourself. You look like you haven't slept in a month.... Chapel's still holding." She shook her head heavily. "Hell," she said, and that was all.
They looked at each other for a long while. Then she said, "I'm glad you called, though. I could use somebody to talk to, just for a minute." She smiled wanly and added, "What's the latest update on coronary infarction?"
McCoy smiled back. "You still don't get it from a sword blade," he said immediately. It was an old joke between two schoolmates, and it made him feel infinitely better.
"Thanks," she said, "I needed that." Her smile this time seemed genuine.
McCoy said, "I've got something for you." At the sudden sharpening of her expression, he added hastily, "Now don't, dammit, don't get all worked up until you hear me out."
He laid it all out, transmitted the data for her to check and waited. She looked through it all. Finally she looked up. "It might work, Leonard."
"It might not."
"I see that, but if it does work we could slow the progress of the disease in humans. And anything that gives us time...!"
"The ethics-" McCoy cut himself short at the expression on her face. She knew every argument he'd had with himself; she knew what he'd given her was a long shot.
"Leonard," she said, very quietly, "I have a volunteer for your treatment: one who can give informed consent."
"Who...?" As he looked at her, he suddenly knew who she meant. "You, Micky?" He could not keep the anger out of his voice. "Goddammit, woman... !"
"Watch your goddamn mouth, McCoy!" she shot back.
He was so surprised at her anger that he snapped his mouth shut. She glared at him.
"See here, Micky," he began again, "trying something like this on a terminal patient is one thing -" He broke off in horror.
She nodded. Her voice was very soft, and now he could see the fear in her eyes. "I am a terminal patient,
What he needed most, he thought, was someone to talk to. With Jim and Scotty and- he hated to admit it- Spock chasing all over the galaxy after wild geese, he had no one to check his figures, or to cheer him along on his own wild goose chase.
He settled for a shot of scotch. The bottle had been a parting gift from Evan Wilson, a happy result of all his complaints about the Eeiauoans' dislike of alcohol in any form.
Then he returned to the computers and examined his results for the third time. He had built on the work Evan and Christine had done, following up the apparent immunity of Snnanagfashtalli's people.
He had found something, but what, he was not sure. At best, it was a palliative, not a cure. At worst...
He had to be sure before he went on that it would do no harm to the victims of ADF syndrome. As the Eeiauoan doctors had predicted, the Eeiauoan victims of the disease still lived- as long as they were massively supported by intravenous feeding and all the rest that Federation personnel and equipment could supply. The deaths in previous outbreaks of the plague had all occurred when the victims finally outnumbered those who could care for them.
Humans were another story: two of the earliest known cases had already died, others were sure to follow. That was the last information he had been able to transmit to Evan Wilson before the Enterprise had passed out of range of a Federation relay beacon.
He thought of Christine Chapel and the risks she faced, and he knew he had to go ahead. She could not wait for surety. He took a deep breath and placed a call to Dr. Mickiewicz aboard the Flinn. It took the ship's communications officer a moment to locate her. When she appeared, she was alone in her office.
"Hi, Micky," he said. "Good god, you look terrible!"
"Your bedside manner's shot to hell, Leonard, and you're no raving beauty yourself. You look like you haven't slept in a month.... Chapel's still holding." She shook her head heavily. "Hell," she said, and that was all.
They looked at each other for a long while. Then she said, "I'm glad you called, though. I could use somebody to talk to, just for a minute." She smiled wanly and added, "What's the latest update on coronary infarction?"
McCoy smiled back. "You still don't get it from a sword blade," he said immediately. It was an old joke between two schoolmates, and it made him feel infinitely better.
"Thanks," she said, "I needed that." Her smile this time seemed genuine.
McCoy said, "I've got something for you." At the sudden sharpening of her expression, he added hastily, "Now don't, dammit, don't get all worked up until you hear me out."
He laid it all out, transmitted the data for her to check and waited. She looked through it all. Finally she looked up. "It might work, Leonard."
"It might not."
"I see that, but if it does work we could slow the progress of the disease in humans. And anything that gives us time...!"
"The ethics-" McCoy cut himself short at the expression on her face. She knew every argument he'd had with himself; she knew what he'd given her was a long shot.
"Leonard," she said, very quietly, "I have a volunteer for your treatment: one who can give informed consent."
"Who...?" As he looked at her, he suddenly knew who she meant. "You, Micky?" He could not keep the anger out of his voice. "Goddammit, woman... !"
"Watch your goddamn mouth, McCoy!" she shot back.
He was so surprised at her anger that he snapped his mouth shut. She glared at him.
"See here, Micky," he began again, "trying something like this on a terminal patient is one thing -" He broke off in horror.
She nodded. Her voice was very soft, and now he could see the fear in her eyes. "I am a terminal patient,
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