"WHAT DO YOU MEAN, we appear to have lost contact with the ship?" McCoy's voice broke the profound silence following Spock's terrible pronouncement. "Have we or haven't we?"
The Vulcan's one eyebrow twitched slightly. "Yes, Doctor, we have." He glanced curiously at the communicator still cupped in his hand, then returned it to his belt.
"Well, that's just terrific!" McCoy crossed his arms tightly over his chest, not because he was annoyed or angry (though he was both), but because his hands were suddenly colder than they had any right to be, even considering the cooler temperatures of the derelict space station. He crammed his hands into his armpits and tried to ignore the shivering sensation that sprang to life somewhere deep in his solar plexus. He unhappily eyed Spock's stoic features. "Now what do we do?"
"I recommend that we carry on our investigation of this vessel as planned," Spock said simply, and with more calmness than McCoy felt he had any right to display. "We are still under orders from the captain to try and discover why this station is here. I think it likely that whatever caused our power outage may also have contributed to the station's present condition. We will attempt to reestablish contact with the Enterprise at routine intervals during our search."
"And hope for the best?" McCoy asked sourly.
"And find an alternative system of communication, if necessary, Doctor," Spock replied.
"Where, sir?" asked Markson.
Spock turned toward the young security guard. "Despite the fact that auxiliary systems are inaccessible, Ensign, I believe our chances of success are greater on the station bridge."
"Mr. Spock," Leno spoke up. "Do you think that the same thing that drained your hand lamp is interfering with our ability to contact the ship?"
"And yet the lights didn't go out again," Chekov pointed out to her.
"Even so, Lieutenant," Spock replied. "Which makes these circumstances even more curious. It may mean that the Enterprise is affected as well and is unable to receive my signal or respond if they are receiving."
"I was afraid you'd say that," McCoy grumbled.
"Mr. Spock, what happens if we get to this bridge and you're wrong? That the generator can't access the computer?" Markson's dark eyes looked huge in the odd light. "What if we can't reach the Enterprise to let them know what's happened? What if she can't reach us? What do we do then?"
Spock stared down at the younger man and was quiet for longer than McCoy liked. "I do not know, Ensign," he replied evenly. "That line of speculation is useless until it becomes a necessity."
"He's right," McCoy added more gently, and laid a careful hand on Markson's arm. "In psychology it's called fortune telling. You predict that things will turn out badly before waiting to see what's the reality of the situation. That produces stress and makes the current situation just that much more difficult to deal with. We're going to be okay."
"If you say so, sir," Markson said gamely. His Adam's apple bobbed twice. "It's just that, well, something might have killed that Romulan." His hand waved out in an unhappy gesture at the sprawled corpse. "What do we do if it's still aboard?"
"You're doing it again, Dan," Hallie warned.
"What do you suggest we do, Markson?" Leno asked tersely. "Walk back to the ship?"
"Easy, you two," Chekov said quietly. His voice brought their eyes to his face and they visibly relaxed after some silent, secret message passed between them and their chief. Leno nodded an apology at Markson, and he smiled slightly.
"Maybe something killed her," McCoy added. "And maybe something happened so that she fell and landed wrong and fractured her neck that way. It's been known to happen."
Markson nodded. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."
Hallie patted her friend's shoulder. "Take it easy, Dan. Everything's going to be all right. We're not out of this yet." She grinned gamely at Chekov. "I'll bet the lieutenant's been in worse scrapes than this in his career, right, sir?" McCoy didn't need a degree in linguistics to read her body language. She wanted her friend reassured, and maybe herself, too.
Chekov rolled his expressive eyes and nodded. "There are a number that come to mind, Hallie. Dr. McCoy can attest to that?"
"Right, Lieutenant," McCoy agreed enthusiastically. "Why, Ensign Hallie, I could bore you for hours recounting some of the stuff we've been through."
She smiled and nodded. "I'll take you up on that sometime, sir, if I may."
McCoy put a reassuring hand on Markson's shoulder and squeezed, then turned his attention to Spock. "Well? If we're going to find that bridge, or anything else, we'd better get a move on."
"I agree. Doubtless, the captain is as concerned by our silence as we are by theirs."
"Concerned? Jim's probably pulling out his hair." Just talking about his friend, and reminding himself that Kirk was out there, made McCoy feel better. He swung one arm in a broad arc. "After you."
They fell into a close file. Chekov led, phaser in one hand, light in the other, with Markson and Spock behind him. McCoy followed with Hallie protectively at his heels, while Leno brought up the rear.
The corridor seemed a dead end until they drew closer and discovered a slight turn. There they found a door set into the wall at such an angle that it had been impossible to see it before, even when their handlamps lit the corridor. When Chekov tried the door, it opened easily. Beyond him, stairs rose and descended into red-hued darkness.
The discovery made McCoy uneasy. He'd done a fair job explaining away the Romulan woman's death, and he believed Spock's explanation for the flash of movement they had seen. Mostly. But being the devil's advocate that he was, there was an annoying trait of speculation in his soul that made him wonder if, indeed, there had been something in the hallway that had escaped into this stairwell. If so, was there any guarantee that it wouldn't conceal itself farther along to do them mischief later?
"Well, Spock? Which way should we go?"
The first officer stepped into the stairwell and shone his handlamp above and below. The tricorder in his hand gave off no pertinent readings, and he put it away after brief consideration. "I recommend we go up.'"
McCoy shrugged. "Suits me. Let's go." He followed the others inside.
The stairs were open-worked metal and clanged gently at each step they took. After two turns, McCoy expected to find a landing for the next level, but that was not the case. The stairwell extended on above them into darkness and he sighed, resigned to a long climb on calf muscles not used to such exercise. He'd have to stop playing Riseaway so often and concentrate on leg weights for awhile, unless he wanted his lower body to turn into a sponge.
Hallie's low voice in his ear was so unexpected that McCoy started slightly, only then noticing that she was pacing him, rather than following behind. "Is he going to be okay, sir?" Her chin jerked. "Dan, I mean. I've never seen him get edgy like this before."
"How much do you know about Ensign Markson?" he caged.
She shrugged one shoulder, her eyes following the motion of her feet. "We were pretty good friends at the Academy, and it was nice being assigned together, especially to the Enterprise. I know he's from Vindali 5, if that's what you mean."
McCoy nodded. "Has he told you much about Vindali 5? About the culture?"
"A few things, now and then. We've talked about our families and stuff, and a little bit about growing up, but Dan's not a great one for talking about his past. He's not secretive or anything, it just doesn't seem to him that anyone would be interested."
The doctor paused, thinking, then decided that, while personnel records were confidential, he wasn't exactly breaking the doctor-patient code of silence to discuss the religious habits of a rim world. "Vindalins are devout believers in the supernatural, Ensign. Ghosts figure very strongly in their daily lives, whether it's an ancestor you hope will guard you or an enemy you want to be guarded against. The belief is an integral part of their society and their daily lives."
"So Dan's afraid of ghosts?" She looked vaguely disgusted, vaguely disquieted, and she studied her friend's broad back where he walked ahead of Spock. "But, he's not even really a Vindalin, except by birth. His folks are originally from Earth."
"In some ways, he's Vindalin in all but bloodline," McCoy continued. "He was raised with Vindalin children, educated in Vindalin schools. I'm sure his parents taught him about Earth and our beliefs, but kids are an impressionable lot, especially if their peers are radically different. Without a doubt, he internalized a lot of that culture. And we don't have any idea what kinds of things he's seen." McCoy pursed his lips, pondering, suddenly sorry there hadn't been more detail in Markson's file. "And I don't know if 'afraid' is the correct word to describe what he's feeling, Hallie, but I think he's bothered by all this creepiness. Hearing Mr. Scott's story about the Stephanie Emilia just before this assignment probably didn't help any."
She nodded. "You know, I tried talking about that a little after we left the rec room, because I thought it was such a neat story, but Dan wouldn't join in, so I dropped it."
"There you go. We don't know what Dan was exposed to as a kid, what he saw while he was growing up. But I'll tell you something … I've been trained by Starfleet and I'm about as down-to-earth as you can get without becoming a Vulcan, but I've seen a few things in my life that, were I inclined to believe in spirits or influenced by a culture that does, all the Starfleet training in the world wouldn't get me to change my mind. There's some spooky stuff out there in the universe, Ensign."
"I know," she agreed. Her eyes shone. "I want to see it all."
McCoy laughed quietly. "Spoken like a true Starfleet graduate!" He patted her arm. "Markson's feeling nervous, Hallie, that's all. His past is coming out of the closet, so to speak. Most of us deal well with fear until our own personal bogey-man comes along. You never know how you'll react under those circumstances, so maybe we all should show him some understanding. Hell, we may all be more than a little frightened by the time this mission is over." He didn't like saying that, but it was a way to let her know to expect the unexpected.
She nodded and he saw that she understood and appreciated not only his words but the underlying message as well. "Thank you, sir. I'll keep that all in mind."
"Good."
They followed the others, progressing up the stairs, turn after turn, until McCoy began to wonder just where the hell they were headed. Spock periodically attempted to raise the Enterprise, but with no success. The communicator remained resolutely silent, as though the universe had ceased to exist beyond the tiny sphere of what was readily observable by the landing party. That thought made McCoy's skin crawl, and he hurried to make certain very little distance opened up between him and the long-legged Vulcan ahead of him. He wasn't about to be left behind in this Romulan excuse for a funhouse.
"Here's another door, Mr. Spock," Chekov announced from the front. "And it's open."
"Great!" McCoy exclaimed. "Let's get the hell out of here, even for a few minutes." He followed the others out of the stairwell and stopped dead, his mouth hanging open.
It had never really occurred to him how much this station might incorporate, how much it might resemble other stations he had visited in his travels around the universe, despite its odd appearance from the outside. What he saw now left him as speechless as Dorothy Gale suddenly plopped down in the center of Munchkinland.
The area they had stepped into was enormous, stretching away in all directions with a spiderwebbing of access corridors going every which way. McCoy couldn't see the ceiling in the encroaching gloom, but there was an impression of distance. All around them were shops and storefronts, and—he guessed—the Romulan equivalent of bars and such. The transporter room might have been at the center of the station's mass, but this was the hub, the life of the place. Or, rather, it was meant to be, for every establishment was dark and silent, empty of any sign of life, past or present.
"It's like a ghost town," McCoy noted quietly. One look at Ensign Markson immediately made him regret his choice of words. "Just a figure of speech," he amended.
"It looks so … innocent," Chekov said, sounding surprised. "I expected to find something more—" He sought for a word. "—sinister on a Romulan space station."
"There is nothing more sinister than a Romulan bar, Lieutenant, or so I've been told." McCoy rubbed his hands together and tipped a look at Spock. "What do you say we do a little looking around?"
"That's what we are here for, Doctor. While you and the security team explore, I shall endeavor to locate a computer terminal access junction and patch into the mainframe of the station to contact the Enterprise."
McCoy nodded and waved an arm. "Come on, Ensign Hallie. You can be my shadow. You wanted to see everything in the universe? Let's start here."
"Do not wander off too far, Doctor," Spock cautioned. "We should stay within earshot."
"Whatever you say, Spock." McCoy started away, the security guard close behind him. He unslung his medical tricorder as they walked and took a quick reading that showed him nothing worth mentioning to anyone. The place might as well have been filled with dust mice and tumbling tumbleweeds, for all the indications of life it showed.
He looked around as they walked up the wide avenue, staring upward at the structures that disappeared into the gloom. Some seemed unfinished, or perhaps that was just the way they were intended to look, with skeletal projections of metal reaching toward the unseen ceiling or across the gaping street at the buildings standing opposite. McCoy stopped to peer into one building, wiping his sleeve across the window, then moved on.
"It's like an amusement park at night, isn't it?" Hallie asked wonderingly.
He looked over. The security guard was standing still, staring upward. "Beg pardon?"
She looked embarrassed. "I've never seen one, of course, but it looks like the pictures on the vid. All metal and spidery-looking. Not when it's running, but afterward, when everyone has gone home and all the lights are turned off."
The doctor followed her gaze. He'd seen tapes of Coney Island, before it had disappeared into the sea so many years ago. He knew what she meant. "Yes, Ensign, I guess you're right."
They kept walking. Most of the buildings were barred to their entrance and neither of them thought it prudent at this time to force way in. They peered through windows when they could, remarking on the wares within. Bolts of brilliant cloth caught the illumination from their handlamp when the beams were trained inside, the light catching and running along metallic threads woven into the sumptuous material. Food was molding in the window of another shop they hurried past. Farther along, plants lay brown and dead. In a fourth were displayed items that made Hallie blush and look away and made McCoy chuckle.
"Well, they didn't close up for lack of variety, that's for sure," McCoy remarked. He stopped to stare at the next shopfront. It was low and long and seemed to go back for quite a distance. "Now, this looks interesting." He gestured at the sign overhead. "Can you read Romulan, Ensign?"
"No, sir. It wasn't one of my languages." She tilted her head, studying the front of the building. "Maybe it's a bar."
"Too big." McCoy furrowed his brow, considering. "Could be a theater of some kind." He reached out and jiggled the catch on the door, and it moved under his hand. His eyes lit. "Hey! This one's open! What do you say we—"
Spock's voice cut him off, hailing them from the far end of the street where he stood with Chekov, Leno, and Markson. "Dr. McCoy! Ensign Hallie!"
"He always finds a way to spoil my tun," McCoy muttered. "What is it, Spock?" he called.
"I have managed a partial access into the computer system."
"Great! What have you found out?"
"Relatively little before the system shut down. However, I did gain a map of the station in the process, so we can now proceed to the bridge."
"All right!" McCoy called. "We'll be right with you. I just want to check this one—" He depressed the catch even as he spoke and hip-shoved the door open.
The smell that assailed them turned Hallie around in her tracks, gagging, one hand pressed tightly over her mouth. Breathing deeply through his mouth, McCoy shoved her back with one arm as he stepped farther into the room and clicked on his handlamp.
The building was an amphitheater or something along those lines, with a high, vaulted ceiling that vanished into shadows. Whoever had been performing had played to a packed house. Now the room was filled with Romulans who had been dead some weeks.
"I don't need this," McCoy said quietly. An undefinable sadness swept through him as he swallowed a roil of sickness and removed the mediscanner from his pouch. "I don't need this at all."