Red Means Dead

Release

It's late when he returns, carrying dinner in both hands and we sit on one of the beds to eat. We talk about inconsequential things disjointedly, like we're pulling random sentences from the air. My leg is a topic that we fall back to when we aren't quite certain what to talk about. It rests on the table stretched out beside us and he rests his hand on it occasionally causing weird sensations in the nerves.

The Captain comes by as we eat and I listen as he gives me an "'at-a-girl" speech about bravery and respect and fortitude and gratitude and sympathy for Meiying. McCoy watches me, intently chewing his food and again looking like he wants me to say or do something specific.

"I'll have my report to you by end of day tomorrow."

Apparently that's not what I'm supposed to say as those angry little vertical lines show up on McCoy's forehead.

Of course I know he asked the Captain to stop by as I don't merit a visit for any special reason and I shoot him a look to let him know I don't appreciate the gesture. He fires one back that lets me know he doesn't care.

The Captain watches our silent conversation with slight amusement before adding, "Mr. Spock searched the databases and discovered a small footnote of an Andorian ship that went missing in orbit of Eris, the entire crew of 27 declared dead. Uhura took the screechings recorded by McCoy's and your universal translators and discovered the aliens call themselves Phonoians and we had trespassed on sacred grounds."

I know all of this. Everyone on the ship has read the official notes being compiled on the event, excluding myself. I've been told by several sources I don't want to know what else they were saying but I don't need a translation to know the intent.

"A passing Tellarite ship comm'ed just to inform us of the savage nature of the Phonoians and not to go to the planet and when I informed them of the events that had unfolded, the Tellarite Captain offered his condolences."

To the living or the dead, I wonder to myself.

"I'm sure your report will be beneficial for keeping others alive."

His words hit close to that peculiarity that's now living in my chest. I rub my sternum absentmindedly trying to get it to settle and nod again.

I stay up late to get the report finished, sickbay is amazingly quiet and surprisingly empty. McCoy is missing, probably in his quarters. My report is clinical, factual. I leave out how the little hairs on my body stood on end when the monsters' screeches ripped through my head and how the thick, slippery stickiness of blood felt against my skin.

When I finally do fall asleep, my head is filled with nightmarish images and I wake myself with my own screaming. It takes far too long to register McCoy's frightened face hovering over mine but finally my brain clears enough to shake the remnants of the ghosts as I press my forehead against his bare forearm propped next to me.

He asks if I want to talk about it and I shake my head, determinedly breathing through the tremors of fear.

It's hours later before I finally settle down enough to fall back asleep, my dutiful doctor nearby, not quite working but not settled either.

The next evening, I'm piddling around on my PADD, not doing anything important, truthfully I'm royally losing at some sort of logic game, while McCoy is working. I think he's reading, probably a medical article or something else equally as boring when the sickbay doors slide open and Scotty and another engineer come rushing in, carrying a third. Judging by the awkward angle of his leg, I venture a guess he has a severe break and is dangerously close to passing out.

I slip from my bed and hobble over to assist the best I can as most of the night staff is on call and will take a few minutes to report. McCoy is already in action, nearly like a machine, pulling equipment and tools and other needed items to the area as Scotty gets the engineer to a bed.