A CONTINENT AWAY, Chekov, Rawlings and Hudson were putting things in order at their campsite as Spock and Connie Iziharry processed the party's radiological tabs. It had been a warm, dry night, with gentle, safe winds from the north.
It was a beautiful morning, with the suns bright in a cobalt-blue sky. The forest screened out most of the glare, so sunglasses weren't needed. That was fortunate. None of the humans had brought sunglasses, and Spock had not thought to do so because he himself would not need them and did not consider that others might. The humans would have to depend on the hyperpolarized faceplates in their suits' helmets, if things became intolerable.
The dirty-dish detail had been delegated to Chekov and Rawlings. Chekov (washing) was whistling; Rawlings (drying) was humming an adequate tempo in three-quarter time. Their slightly syncopated rendition of Tales from the Vienna Woods was doing an excellent job of scaring the birds away. Hudson was making sure that the campfire was dead; he took the job very seriously. They had all seen enough burned-out land the day before.
* * *
After leaving the Defense Center, Spock's party had boarded Columbus and flown over many square kilometers of blasted territory to the south and west. There had been nothing but death and devastation; there had not even been a recognizable ruin within ten kilometers of the spaceport site. Everything had been smashed flat and burned.
Those aboard Columbus had hoped that they might find some evidence of life as they approached less damaged areas. They flew over towns and villages that were more or less intact, but no one had been there; survivors had apparently fled in the face of mounting radiation. One airfield sixty kilometers south of the spaceport seemed undamaged, yet its holding areas were clogged with stalled flitters; no people could be seen. A southbound roadway near the airfield was strewn with ground vehicles of every sort, all of them motionless. Some of them had skewed off the roadway into ditches or collided with others. Hovering close to the ground, those on Columbus could see bodies in some of the vehicles. No one was found alive.
There had been one exception to the general devastation. Columbus found its first and only survivors of the day some eighty kilometers southeast of the spaceport, in Greenvale, a small and undamaged town protectively nestled in a narrow valley. Initially, no one could be seen on the streets. Chekov had overflown the town, and then some of the residents, alerted by the sound of the shuttle's engines, had emerged from their homes and waved. Chekov particularly remembered a heavyset woman in overalls who had energetically whipped a checkered tablecloth over her head.
Radiation readings were normal. The deadly fallout had missed this valley; the pressure suits would not be needed here. Spock told Chekov to land. By then, all five of them desperately needed to see and talk to some living, breathing people.
No one in Greenvale seemed to be in trouble, although everyone was hungry for news; they hadn't had electricity since the blast, and all their 3V and newspapers were from New Athens anyway. Spock and the others told them what they'd seen and done that day, but assured the townspeople the skies were now safe and that help was coming.
Columbus took off from Greenvale soon afterward. Nothing else remarkable was found, and as first sunset approached, Spock decided to stay on the planet overnight. The others were amenable to that; it had been a long and terrible day. They flew to a safe area in some pretty woods well west of the danger zone.
They landed in a clearing next to a small stream. Spock got a moderately high Geiger reading from Columbus's shell, so Hudson got a long hose and a minipump from the shuttle's small cargo bay and washed Columbus down to get rid of whatever radioactive particles were on her hull. Then they built a fire to hold back the night, ate a little dinner, and slept fitfully. Their dreams were not pleasant.
Everything was now packed into Columbus for takeoff, and the campsite had been policed. Spock and Iziharry had finished processing the radiological tabs, and fresh ones had been issued.
"We will fly north today," Spock announced. "As you know, we have reason to suspect conditions to the north of the spaceport are less severe than we have found south of it. We will continue to observe and record, and offer aid where it is needed. Any questions?"
There weren't, and they climbed aboard. The impulse engines howled once more, and Columbus leaped into the sky.
Chekov flew directly over the spaceport crater again, left it behind and passed over the site of the Defense Center. He could see the slight impressions left by Columbus's landing pads the day before.
Spock consulted his map, the one he'd borrowed from Peter Siderakis. The rubble below them was beginning to resolve itself into ruins; this had been a heavily built-up area. It is right near here, somewhere, Spock said to himself. If I triangulate carefully, assuming that this map is in scale, perhaps I might locate it. We should be very near it now …
"Mr. Chekov, please take us down close to the ground," Spock said. As Chekov pitched the joystick forward and eased back on the power, he asked, "Vhat are ve looking for, Mr. Spock?"
"Some indication of the location of the New Athens Medical Complex," the Vulcan answered. "Dr. McCoy's daughter was a medical student there. I would like to be able to tell the doctor something of her fate."
"Of course, Mr. Spock," Chekov replied. "Ve vill all look wery hard."
Once again, Iziharry, Rawlings and Hudson gathered behind the pilot and co-pilot seats, in order to peer out the forward windows. At last, another kilometer or so onward, Iziharry noticed the stumps of what had been several Gothic-style buildings to port. "I think that's it, Mr. Spock," she said. "I visited here once. I remember thinking the medical buildings here looked like some of the cathedrals on Earth. Nothing else on this whole world was ever built of stone."
Spock nodded. "Closer, please, Mr. Chekov. The location indicated by Miss Iziharry agrees with my map."
Slowly, Columbus coasted over the ruins of the Medical Complex and its school of medicine.
"I remember something from the New Testament," Rawlings mused. "Something about 'no stone being left on top of another,' or somesuch."
"The destruction of Old Jerusalem, I believe," Spock said. "Yes."
"This is terrible," Hudson said to no one in particular. Iziharry's eyes had filled. Here and there, dead littered the landscape. Some of them were medical students in their traditional white smocks.
Chekov's teeth were clenched. "Somevone must answer for this … this …" He sought an adequate word, but could not find one.
Columbus hovered over what had been the central square of the medical school campus for fully ten minutes. No one came out from hiding. Finally Chekov took Columbus up and away, still heading north.
"New Athens, Mr. Spock," Chekov announced.
Before them sprawled a massive city, a proper capital for any planet. But this one appeared lifeless although damage, while heavy, did not match the devastation a few kilometers south. There was a haze in the air from thousands of small, still-burning fires. They looked down into the streets on the southern end of town and saw no one.
Columbus pressed on. Toward the center of town, damage was even less pronounced; the streets had been sheltered by the buildings between them and the spaceport blast. I believe most of this city can be reclaimed, Spock thought. I did not hope that anything could be salvaged, but with a great deal of work, at least part of New Athens can be repaired and inhabited again.
They also started to spot some people on the streets. There was even a little ground traffic. Attracted by the noise of Columbus's engines, the citizens of New Athens looked up and waved. Although they could not be heard, some were obviously cheering the appearance of the Federation shuttle.
"Do you mind, Mr. Spock?" Chekov asked.
"Not at all, Ensign. I believe some demonstration is called for."
Chekov smiled and, grasping the joystick firmly, flew a figure-eight over the heads of the people below—the traditional salute of a wingless aircraft. Chekov saw the people below them grow even more enthusiastic; there were hundreds of them now, and some were standing on the roofs of abandoned automobiles and jumping up and down.
Rawlings said it best: "They look ragged and dirty as hell, but I'll be damned if they look beaten. These people are amazing."
Chekov, in his soul, agreed. He repeated the figure-eight and then resumed his northerly course.
"I'm glad we found them," Connie Iziharry said. "I needed to see some happy people."
"So did we all, Miss Iziharry," Spock said. He was remarkably unembarrassed by what he was feeling, although he took care not to show it overmuch.
The map indicated a large public park about five kilometers north of the center of the city. Chekov took Columbus there on a hunch, after conferring with Spock; the Vulcan agreed that it looked like a likely place to find an emergency aid camp of some sort. In fact, it was the only large cleared area in the city.
Founders Park was packed with people. There was more waving and cheering from those below. Spock's preliminary estimate indicated a closely packed crowd of perhaps two hundred thousand; the park had obviously attracted most of the city's survivors. He could see tents, trailers, shelters and shacks dotting the parkscape. There were small cookfires sending thin wisps of smoke into the air.
The law was here, too. Those aboard Columbus could see police flitters on the ground here and there; two or three were cruising over the park. They appeared to be from the city's own bureau of security. As yet, Spock had seen no evidence of any planetary government involvement in alleviating the disaster; the Vulcan was still wondering about the repair crew that had supposedly been dispatched to the Defense Center. The disaster had been days ago, yet people were greeting Columbus as if she were the first evidence they had seen of any rescue effort. Spock was beginning to believe that it might be true.
Chekov set about looking for a place to land. One wasn't difficult to find; somebody had painted a large red cross on the roof of a building—perhaps a boathouse—near a large pond. There was a cleared area behind the building; Chekov set Columbus down there.
"Exterior radiation readings slightly above normal background, Mr. Spock," Iziharry reported. "We don't need the suits, but we ought to keep the tabs."
"Very well, Miss Iziharry," the science officer answered. He opened the hatch, and they disembarked.
Spock looked around. A few people were approaching them. In the forefront was a tall, white-haired man in a bloodied white smock; a medical tricorder was slung over his shoulder and bounced against his hip as he walked. He was smiling widely, his hand extended. Then he noticed Spock was a Vulcan; he dropped the smile and raised his hand, his fingers split in the Salute. "I am Dr. Saul Weinstein," he said.
"I am Spock, first officer and science officer of the U.S.S. Enterprise," the Vulcan said, returning the Salute. "These are Ensign Chekov, Nurse Iziharry, and technicians Rawlings and Hudson." The humans nodded their greetings.
"Live long and prosper, Spock," Weinstein said formally. Then he grinned again. "How the hell are the rest of you, anyway?"
Weinstein took the five from the Columbus on a quick tour of the immediate area. The boathouse was serving as a makeshift hospital; what equipment and supplies there were had been looted—with complete police approval and assistance—from a medical warehouse a few blocks east of the park. "We save most of the patients here," Weinstein told Spock a little boastfully. "It's been tough, though, and supplies are running short. Medikits ran out after the first two days; I've even been stitching wounds. But that works just as well now as it did in great-grandpa's time. People still heal themselves, with a little help. We might wind up learning something from all this."
The boathouse-hospital contained makeshift operating room facilities, and a small recovery room had been established in the boathouse cafeteria. There was no intensive care unit; there was nothing to equip one with, nor personnel to staff it.
Tents just outside the makeshift hospital served as patient wards. Nurses—and some civilians pressed into nursing duty—kept a constant watch on patients. "We don't have any monitoring equipment," Weinstein said. "We have to take temperature and pulses, watch input/output, and so forth. It's like medical science has retreated three hundred years." He paused. "But you know what? I actually think the patients are getting better faster. The personal touch seems to count for something."
"Perhaps the subject is worthy of study," said Spock. "But, Doctor, such medical care is labor-intensive—that is, the techniques require the work of a great many people to replace the machines you do not have. From where do you draw your staff?"
"We lucked out," Weinstein said. "There's a big medical equipment plant on the northern edge of town. A lot of their stuff's useless to us here—a lot of it's electronic, and we don't have the power to run it—but the plant's staffed by personnel who know what sanitary means. That gave us a pool of hundreds of people to draw from for nursing and other purposes. I had enough people to set up auxiliary medical tents here and there around the park, so people wouldn't have to go too far for help."
"It is quite fortunate, Doctor, that the plant was so close to hand," Spock observed.
"More than that, Mr. Spock," Weinstein said. "I was in the plant at the time of the explosion. We were taking a tour of the facilities. I'm a professor of diagnostic medicine at the Complex med school, south of town—although I gather the school's not there any longer. I was with a group of my students on a field trip—"
Suddenly Spock knew with a sure and entirely illogical instinct that she was nearby. "Miss McCoy!" he called, startling Weinstein and the four from the Columbus. "Joanna McCoy! Are you here?"
Not too far away a head turned, searching.
"Oh, yes, that's Joanna," Weinstein said. "Tireless young woman; she's been working like a dog. How do you know her?"
Spock had never met Joanna McCoy, but he'd taken the precaution of seeing a picture of her before he'd left the Enterprise. She clearly looked like McCoy's daughter—her smile marked her as such without hope of appeal—but she was a softer McCoy, pretty without glamour. "Thank God she doesn't look like me," Spock had heard Bones McCoy say once, but she did.
Now she looked tired. Her smock was streaked with dirt and blood; she badly needed some rest, a shower, and two or three meals. Her nails were broken. She was wearing one earring; the other was missing. Her skirt was ripped. She looked as if she wished she could brush her teeth.
She looks magnificent, thought Spock in a detached way.
Joanna McCoy had been wrapping an elderly woman's leg wound with sterilized rags. An open medikit lay on the ground. As Spock approached, Joanna finished the job, spoke quietly to the woman, and directed two young men nearby—the woman's sons, perhaps—to pick her up gently and take her to the boathouse for observation. Then she rose, stood straight, and looked for whoever it was that had been calling her.
She spotted the Vulcan right away; her eyes quickly found the ship's insigne on Spock's blue shirt, and the similar insignia on the shirts of the four with the Vulcan. She smiled widely. "The Enterprise!" she exclaimed. She read the commander's stripes on Spock's sleeves and said, "You must be Mr. Spock. My father's written me about you. I'm Joanna McCoy."
Joanna was polite; she offered the Salute, which Spock returned. "Live long and prosper, Miss McCoy." Spock performed the introductions to Chekov and the others.
"Is my father with you?" She looked past Spock for him.
"No. He chose to remain aboard the ship, for now. He had pressing duties there. I also believe he is undergoing emotional distress concerning your fate."
"Oh, poor Daddy," Joanna fretted. She frowned just like her father, and Spock was again struck by the resemblance. "He always was a worrier. Look, I'll give you a note to take back with you, if that's all right."
"I am prepared to take you up to the Enterprise, if you desire to go," Spock said. "I believe your father would be glad to see you."
"I know he would, Mr. Spock. I'd love to go. But I can't leave here now; there's just too much for me to do. Do you understand?"
"Perfectly, Miss McCoy, and I think your father will understand as well." Spock paused. "You do him great honor."
Spock soon had a note, scrawled hastily by Joanna to her father. Now Saul Weinstein gave him a list of desperately needed medical supplies. "If you don't have something, I'll try and make do with something else," Weinstein said. "But I need something."
Spock scanned the list quickly. "I believe we have everything you require, Doctor, although not in the quantity needed to service a great number of people."
"So I'll make do," Weinstein shrugged. "Something is better than nothing, nu? I'll be grateful for anything you and your people can do for us, Mr. Spock."
Spock bowed his head slightly in polite appreciation.
Connie Iziharry spoke up. "Mr. Spock?"
"Yes, Nurse?"
"Requesting permission to remain behind on detached duty," she stated formally. "I think I can do some good here." Weinstein's eyes lit with greed at the thought of a Starfleet nurse in his makeshift hospital. Chekov's eyes told another story.
Spock nodded his permission. "Dr. Weinstein, I believe the Enterprise has just made its first contribution to your efforts here. As for the rest of us, we'll be going. I expect we'll be back with your supplies before very long."
"Till then, Mr. Spock," Weinstein said, and saluted in the Vulcan manner.
As Spock, Rawlings and Hudson headed for Columbus, Chekov hung behind. "Connie," he said, fumbling for words, "be safe. Be vell."
"I will, Pavel." She stood quietly, close to him. Her eyes were very large, dark and deep. So beautiful, Chekov thought as he kissed her … and then he spun away and was gone from her, double-timing it to the open hatch of the shuttle.
Soon they were home again; Chekov cut power to the engines, and Columbus settled to the deck.
"Landed, Mr. Spock," Chekov reported. "Landing deck pressurized; engine shut down. Open the hatch at your pleasure, sir."
"Thank you, Ensign." Spock paused. "Gentlemen, you have comported yourselves on this mission in the finest traditions of the fleet. I will be pleased to note same on your service records. I appreciate your efforts." The Vulcan left the shuttle, followed by the other three.
"Landing deck officer!" Spock called out. An orange-garbed woman came trotting over. "Yes, sir?"
"I trust the transporters are still non-functional?"
"That's correct, sir."
"This list, then." Spock handed it to her. "Please have Stores load the items on it, in the quantities specified, onto Columbus. I want to leave as soon as possible. After we leave, refill the list; we'll be shuttling supplies to the surface until further notice."
"Aye, aye, sir. Overhaul and fueling routine for the shuttle, Mr. Spock?"
"Refueling and a routine engine check will do. Have it done as the cargo is being loaded aboard. I do not have very much time."
"Very well, sir." The LDO ran off, Weinstein's list in her hand. Spock headed for the turbolift, followed by Chekov, Rawlings and Hudson. "Mr. Rawlings, Mr. Hudson, you're returned to normal duty. Report to Mr. Scott. Mr. Chekov, secure some refreshment; we'll be leaving again shortly."
The turbolift doors squeaked closed as Spock grasped the manual override handle.
Spock found Bones McCoy in Sickbay, treating a Security lieutenant, the victim of a loosened ceiling panel which had fallen on his head. "You're my last patient of the day," McCoy told the redshirt. "Keep that bandage on for four hours, and you'll be fine."
"Thanks, Doctor." The Security man noticed Spock standing there; McCoy followed his gaze. The doctor's face went cold. The Security man left.
McCoy spoke quickly, but without emotion. He was pale. "Go ahead, Mr. Spock. It's about Joanna. It's all right. Tell me." He closed his eyes.
"Safe and well, Doctor," Spock said. "She sent you a note." He held it out.
McCoy opened his eyes after a moment. "She's all right?" There was a look of disbelief on his face … but he was regaining his color.
"Perfectly well, Doctor. She was unhurt in the explosion. She was in another part of the city." Spock rapidly gave McCoy the details. "She trusted you would understand her desire to remain at the emergency medical care facility."
McCoy blinked. "Yes, yes … of course." The doctor unfolded the note from Joanna and began reading. His eyes misted, and he blinked more rapidly. Spock watched him struggle for control. I know that feeling well, Doctor, the Vulcan thought. Draw strength from me, if you need it.
After a moment McCoy looked up; his eyes were dry, and there was a hint of the doctor's accustomed wry expression. "She's all right, all right," McCoy said. "She called me an 'old poop' in the note and told me to get my butt down there."
"I can oblige you, Doctor. Mr. Chekov and I are leaving for the facility again shortly."
"Let me pack a few things, tell M'Benga he's on duty, and I'll be right with you—just as soon as I check in with our lady captain."
McCoy was silent as Columbus departed the Enterprise. He was silent as Chekov smoothly piloted the shuttle safely through the upper atmosphere of the planet, through a sky now free of the threat of ground-to-space missiles. He remained silent as Columbus swiftly fell toward Founders Park and the cleared area behind the boathouse.
Chekov landed without a bump and cracked the hatch from his board. "Thank you both," McCoy said quietly. He grabbed his personal kit. "See you later." Spock and Chekov watched him go.
McCoy swung his kit over his shoulder and began looking around. She knew I was coming, he said to himself as he marched through the crowd, stepping over people and narrowly avoiding collisions with others. He moved more and more quickly. She'd stay close to the landing area, I know she would. She never liked our being apart. She was always right there at the Starfleet arrival gate whenever I'd come home to see her. She's here somewhere.
And then there was a cry, as there had so often been before. "Daddy! Over here!"
She was standing there, tall and proud and alive … and waving to him. She was the most beautiful thing McCoy had ever seen. His vision blurred with the sight.
He pushed his way quickly through the crowds separating them. They met together in a mass of people.
McCoy dropped his personal kit and hugged his daughter fiercely. "Hiya, Squirt," he said softly.
"You big mushball," Joanna said mock-scornfully, too low for anyone but McCoy to hear. "Don't get s-s-sloppy on me … Oh, Daddy, I'm so glad to see you …" She sniffled.
And then it was finally too much for Bones McCoy, all the worry and the waiting and the conviction that she was dead, and in all that time he had not broken. But now that she was safe and well and in his arms, he hugged his daughter fiercely, sobbing unashamedly with the relief and joy that filled his heart and soul, and he did not care who saw him cry.