At least I’m the right gender this time.
“Let’s get you to the infirmary,” O’Herlihy said. “Where I can conduct a proper exam.”
Kirk had no idea where that was, so he let the others guide him out of the airlock into the habitat module beyond the cargo bay. Weightless, he didn’t need to be supported, but both women took him by the arm regardless. Fontana watched him as if she half expected him to pass out at any minute. The other woman kept up a stream of friendly chatter. Kirk waited in vain for someone to address her by name.
“Oh, here’s your lucky charm back.” Fontana removed a pair of antique dog tags from her neck and placed them around Kirk’s. “I kept them safe for you, as promised.”
He didn’t peek at the name on the tags. That might have been suspicious.
“Thanks.”
With space at a premium, the infirmary seemed to serve as gym, mess, and rec area as well. Kirk looked about for a bed or examination table, then realized that there was no need for such furnishings in zero g. A padded mattress, with Velcro straps, was mounted on one wall, at a right angle to a nearby treadmill. There was no sign of a fully equipped biobed.
Not exactly sickbay, he thought.
“Over here, please,” O’Herlihy said. “Make yourself comfortable, Shaun.”
Kirk sat down on the pad, at a ninety-degree angle to the floor, and strapped a belt across his lap to stay in place, while the doctor retrieved what looked like a primitive medkit from a steel cabinet. The instruments inside the case were also strapped down to keep them from drifting away. Kirk winced at the sight of antique syringes, thermometers, and surgical supplies. He could just imagine what McCoy would have to say about such barbaric medical apparatus. There didn’t even seem to be a standard medical scanner or hypospray.
“All right,” O’Herlihy said. “If you ladies will leave me alone with my patient.”
“Roger that,” Fontana said. She took the other woman by the arm and guided her out of the infirmary. Kirk got the distinct impression that there was no love lost between them. “I’ll be in the cockpit. Page me if you need me.”
“Will do,” the doctor said.
To Kirk’s relief, the exam was both basic and relatively painless. He was a bit taken aback when O’Herlihy jabbed a needle in his arm to take a blood sample, but he acted as though such bloodletting was routine. Certainly, it stung less than a Klingon agonizer. He wasn’t too worried that the doctor would figure out what had really happened. Mind transference was practically unheard of even in his own time. He couldn’t imagine that twenty-first-century medicine was equipped to detect it. Even McCoy had been unable to prove that Janice had taken over my body.
“Well, you seem more or less undamaged,” O’Herlihy pronounced at last. “I’m still recommending a couple of days’ rest before you resume your full duties, but mostly just as a precaution. You had a fairly serious shock.”
You have no idea, Kirk thought. Still, he was glad to hear that Shaun Christopher’s body was apparently in working order. He flexed his arm experimentally. At least his new body seemed to be fit enough, although a bit stiffer and more wrinkled than he would have preferred.
How old was Shaun again?
He wondered what had become of Shaun’s own consciousness. If we’ve truly switched bodies, does that mean that Shaun is in my body and my time?
He wished he knew what was happening — or, to be more precise, would happen — aboard the Enterprise more than two hundred years from now.
What will become of my ship?
Thirteen
2270
Captain’s log. Stardate 7104.2. First Officer Spock reporting.
I have assumed temporary command of the Enterprise following Captain Kirk’s traumatic encounter with the alien probe. Although our mission to render assistance to the endangered Skagway colony, and perhaps find a way to avert the disaster, remains paramount, I cannot help wondering what effect the probe has had on the captain’s mental state.
Spock entered sickbay, where he found McCoy waiting for him just inside the doorway. The doctor’s office preceded the examination rooms and recovery wards beyond. Spock didn’t waste time with pleasantries. “You asked for me, Doctor?”
“That’s right,” McCoy grumbled. “About time you got here.”
Spock felt a touch of impatience himself. He had been called away from other pressing duties, most notably the challenging task of saving the Skagway colony from total destruction. “If this is urgent, it might have been more efficient simply to transmit your report to the bridge.”
McCoy snorted. “I think you need to see this for yourself.”
That remains to be determined, Spock thought. He was uncertain why humans placed so much value on direct visual observations when eyewitness accounts were often notoriously inaccurate. Still, his curiosity had been piqued, and he remained concerned about Kirk’s condition. More than one hour and sixteen minutes had passed since he had placed the captain in McCoy’s care. By now, Kirk should have recovered from the nerve pinch. Spock could only wonder if he had recovered from his contact with the probe as well.
“How is your patient, Doctor?”
McCoy remained stubbornly uninformative. “Let me show you.”
The doctor led Spock to a private examination room adjacent to the primary ward. The chamber was sometimes used to quarantine patients who needed to be kept isolated from the rest of sickbay. Spock found Kirk strapped to a bed, under restraint. A diagnostic screen above the bed monitored his vital signs, which appeared to be normal for an adult human male of Kirk’s age and conditioning. Nurse Christine Chapel watched over the patient. A highly emotional woman, even by human standards, she could not conceal her anxiety, although Spock had no reason to expect this to affect her performance. She was the ship’s senior nurse, after all, and had served aboard the Enterprise since the onset of its current voyages. Kirk lay silently on the bed, his eyes closed. His fingers drummed irritably against the sheets. Spock could not immediately determine if he was conscious or not.
“How is he, Nurse?” McCoy asked.
“A bit calmer,” she reported, “but… the same.”
An unnecessarily cryptic diagnosis, Spock mused. He trusted that more concrete data would be forthcoming soon. Minus any more attempts at drama.
Their voices roused Kirk, who opened his eyes and lifted his head from the pillow. His gaze zeroed in on Spock. His fists clenched at his sides. Only the restraints holding him down kept him from jumping off the bed and perhaps engaging Spock in a physical confrontation.
This was not an encouraging sign.
“You again,” Kirk snarled. “What did you do to me before?”
Spock assumed that he was referring to the nerve pinch. “My apologies. You were resisting our efforts to assist you. It seemed necessary at the time.”
“Necessary?” Kirk challenged. “Is that what you call it?”
“This is Mr. Spock,” McCoy said, intervening. “Our first officer.”’
Spock frowned. That the doctor found it necessary to introduce him indicated that Kirk’s memory was still impaired. Don’t you know me, Jim?
Kirk regarded him warily. “And is he… human?”
“I am Vulcan,” Spock stated. “As you should be aware.”
“And why the hell should I know you’re a Vulcan, whatever that is?”
“Because you are Captain James T. Kirk of the U.S.S. Enterprise, and we have served together for some time.”