Star Trek - TOS 38 Idic Epidemic (36 page)

“I’m thirsty,” T’Pina repeated, “and yet I feel bloated, as if—”

Deaver grasped her left arm. The blood flow had
stopped. The medtech had told him to keep letting the
blood flow out, but also to put fluid back in her veins. He wished the Rigellian were here now.

“We have two choices,” he said. “Do nothing, and
hope the pressure doesn’t build up to a stroke or other
vascular damage, or let some of your blood out, and hope it doesn’t weaken you too much.”

T’Pina did not know any more than he did what to
do. She only knew, “If you bleed me, that blood’s wasted. It can’t be used to make serum against the
plague.”

“But if you die, or become so ill you can’t use the stimulant,” said Deaver, “then there won’t be any more serum, either.”

T’Pina was feeling stranger by the minute. The stray thought crossed her mind that Deaver’s grammar and enunciation improved dramatically when
the situation was serious. “Perhaps you really could
have taught at the Vulcan Academy,” she whispered.

She felt his sharp intake of breath. “We must do
something!”

Deaver felt in his shirt pockets. “Didn’t lose it!” he
said in relief, and produced the scalpel with which he
had cut them loose from the sinking ambulance. “Pretty dull after what I used it for, though.” He smiled weakly. “God, I hope we’re doing the right
thing!”

There was no way to sterilize the scalpel. He nicked
the vein inside T’Pina’s elbow, and the blood spurted,
the pressure behind it completely abnormal for a
Vulcan.

“Better?” Deaver asked. T’Pina saw him swallow
hard at the amount of blood coming from the cut.

“Better …” T’Pina replied.

Deaver wrapped his arms tightly around her.

Chapter Thirty-eight

On the rooftop of the Nisus Trade Center, the res
cue operation was now in full swing. Spock’s at
tention was divided between his work and the
horrifying fascination of the still-rising flood waters.
It was difficult to send other crewmembers to do
the rescue work while he remained safely on the roof
top. Behind him, Miss Nordlund picked up a com
ponent for one of the air cars and gave a yelp as she
straightened.

Spock jumped to catch the equipment, asking,
“What’s the matter?”

“My back, sir,” Nordlund replied. “It goes out
sometimes.” It had obviously gone out now.

Nordlund was a sturdy woman whose long thick
curls of nearly white hair were now pulled back off her
face for efficiency. Spock knew she would go on
despite her pain if he let her, so he said, “You can
not pull people out of flood waters in that condi
tion.”

“But I want to help, sir,” Nordlund protested. Her
pallor was receding; she did not appear to be in pain
once she let go of the heavy article.

“Then take over my job,” said Spock, handing
Nordlund the communicator.

He joined Sarek in assembling the air car and took
the pilot’s seat.

By now the waters were swirling two stories high
around the trade center. He saw no one except their
own people watching from the upper windows, trying
to decide when to launch their boats.

Spock banked and flew toward the hospital; there
had been ground ambulances moving steadily back and forth between it and the medcamp hastily con
structed on the mountainside.

The hospital was almost underwater. There were
people on the roof, safe enough for the moment—the
objects in the water were what concerned him.

They hit updrafts over rooftops that had been in
sunshine all day, then downdrafts over the icy water. The clash of temperatures created treacherous eddies
of wind.

Sensor scans gave back anomalous readings in the
swirls of heat and cold; the water would have to settle
more before they could rely on their sensors for life
readings. In the meantime, they searched for survi
vors by eye.

In a low area where two main streets crossed, flood
waters meeting from two directions created a whirl
pool. “There!” said Sarek, pointing to what at first
seemed to be one blue-and-green object tossed on the water. When they came closer it resolved into
three figures, two in the blue of hospital personnel,
one in a green patient’s coverall. The men in blue
held the other’s head above water. Spock swung down, saying, “Can you hold the air car steady,

Father?”

“I am not familiar with this vehicle,” Sarek replied,
fastening a safety harness about himself and attaching
a line to it. “You fly, and I will go down to help those
people.”

The moment Sarek opened the door, the wind tried
to tear them out of the craft. Spock’s father braced himself and climbed out onto the pod on his side.

The patient in the green coverall was Vulcan, and
unconscious. Such icy water was enough to knock out
a Vulcan even in good health. Spock fought the
controls, taking the craft down to skim the top of the
water.

The air car’s motors whined in protest, and the
wind howled. Spock could see that one of the men in
blue was trying to tell Sarek something, but that his
father could not understand as together they rolled
the Vulcan into the passenger pod.

The moment all were in place, Spock shot straight up until they were above the whirling winds, then let
Sarek hold the craft steady while he leaned out his side to fasten the straps around the exhausted Hu
mans.

As soon as both were secure, Spock streaked back toward the Trade Center, for it was too far from here
to the medcamp for the exhausted men in soaked
clothing.

By this time the
Enterprise
medical unit was in full
operation. Two of McCoy’s medtechs, Arthur and Westplain, plucked the patients from the pods and wrapped them in blankets. The Vulcan was still unconscious. Spock saw Dr. Gardens run her med-
scanner over him and gesture to have him taken to the
beaming area, for transport to the ship.

Meanwhile, Westplain, a tall, lanky Human with
auburn hair and a face strangely weathered for a man
who spent most of his time on a starship, was bending
over the other two they had picked up. Suddenly one
sat up, grasping the medtech’s arms, and nothing
Westplain could do would calm him until he had told
him something that made his usually laconic attitude
shift drastically.

Spock and Sarek were almost ready to take off when
Westplain ran toward them, waving his arms. Spock
opened his door, and Westplain shoved his head in
“Those men were ambulance attendants,” he said
“They had three patients when they were caught b)
the flood—that Vulcan man you rescued, another
Nisus scientist, and that girl with the Romulan blood
—
T’Pina
!”

Chapter Thirty-nine

T’Pina
lay in Beau Deaver’s arms, still feeling
strange. Letting some of the blood out of her body had
relieved her bloated feeling, but she was still cold and
thirsty, and her mind would not track.

She tried to focus in on their situation. “We should
try to reach the surface now, Mr. Deaver.”

“Not yet,” Deaver said. “Let’s make sure that yer
all right. Besides, I know that water’s not cold enough
to kill me, but I don’t know about Vulcans.”

“Romulans,” she muttered.

“Same as makes no difference,” he replied. “One
little blood factor.”

She felt his eyes upon her, struggled to maintain control. “You should go, then. Bring back help for
me.”

Deaver shook his head slowly. “Not just yet,” he
repeated. “We can’t even be sure the flood waters have
completely settled.”

In response, T’Pina shivered violently.

“Here!” said Deaver, pulling her tightly against his
broad chest, trying to stretch his wet robe over both of
them. “No,” he concluded, “that won’t do. Turnover,
T’Pina.”

“Turn over?”

“On your side, back to me. There, that’s it,” as she
moved obediently.

He circled her with his arms and drew his knees up
behind hers. Suddenly, even through her soggy hospi
tal coverall, she could feel his warmth. His body temperature was much cooler than hers ought to be. At the moment, though, he provided a welcome
warmth.

“That’s good—you’ve stopped shivering,” he said, squeezing her. “Don’t get too comfortable, though. I don’t want you falling asleep.”

“I won’t,” she promised even as her eyelids
drooped.

But Deaver was alert. “T’Pina, keep talking.
Hey—I told you all about me sordid past. Now it’s your turn.”

“I
…
don’t know anything … about my sordid
past,” she replied.

“Amnesiac, are you?”

“
Don’t know … who I am.”

“Sure you do,” he said. “You’re the little girl who
saved Nisus.”

“Not a child,” she protested, and felt his arms
tighten, the movement of his facial muscles against
her neck as he smiled.

“No,” he said, “I can tell you’re not a child. But I’m
puttin’ on me best gentlemanly ways, an’ not takin advantage of the current situation, am I?”

“
Taking … ?”

“Alone, a beautiful woman in me arms. Anyone
finds out I did no more’n hold ‘er, an’ me reputation’s
ruint, innit?”

T’Pina had no answer for that. She connected his
comment with common jokes and innuendos that
never made sense, although she had heard them from
non-Vulcans all her life. It was not that she did no
comprehend the biology of reproduction; it was that
she had never understood what it had to do with the kissing and other odd touching activities she read about or saw in entertainment tapes.

Yet … now that she had matured, she began to realize that there were connections. She recalled her embarrassing response to Sendet. But he was an unbonded male of her own species—or at least her
own culture. Why would Beau Deaver expect her to respond to him?