Free Corona by Greg Bear Page A

be sure, Captain. I knew Grake only briefly, and that more than twenty years ago."
    "And?"
    "I must inspect the situation more closely before I voice any hypothesis," Spock said. His look said, in a way that Kirk was quite capable of interpreting, that a Vulcan could maintain a record for accurate observations only if not pressed at a premature moment.
    "Very well. Thank you, Ensign, Mr. Olaus. Rowena, you'll be allowed on the planetoid as soon as we decide it is safe. The second party will transport as soon as Dr. McCoy has assembled his equipment."
    "I'll be ready in ten minutes, Captain," McCoy said. "I'll want Nurse Chapel with me."
    "Fine." When he was alone in his quarters, Kirk played back the message and searched Grake's face closely, trying to find what Spock had found … something so vague and uncertain the Vulcan couldn't yet express it. Kirk sensed something, too …
    Something very disturbing.

 
Chapter Eleven

    McCoy was in a fever of activity. He ordered the nurses about sharply, efficiently, his southern drawl becoming so pronounced that occasionally he had to repeat his orders to be understood, which exasperated him no end. The TEREC analyzer—a box about a foot on each side—waited on its floating pallet as other medical supplies were added, including the TEREC remote probe, a diagnostics tricorder and McCoy's "little black bag," a customized general practice unit now equipped for the Vulcan inhabitants of Station One. Mason watched and recorded and did her best to stay out of his way, not that McCoy would have said a harsh word to her. Already, she felt a very father-daughter relationship blossoming between them, though few words had been said. She wondered if it was her gamine personality that attracted McCoy, but suspected it was her small-planet-girl handicap.
    The pallet, full to overflowing, was rushed by a harried ensign to the elevator. McCoy followed, Chapel in tow, as both donned pocket-studded medical field jackets. "He handles that pallet like it was a mule," McCoy undertoned, passing Mason. Mason grinned and fell in behind.
    In the transporter room, Kirk and Spock were strapping on their security belts and phasers as McCoy and Chapel entered and positioned the pallet over its disk on the platform.
    Shallert stood ready at the controls. When Kirk and Spock were in position, they were joined by Chekov, who doubled as part of Olaus's security team. Shallert switched on the transporter. McCoy muttered something beneath his breath until his eye caught Mason's, and he flashed a brave and utterly false smile.
    "Let's go, Mr. Shallert," Kirk said. Shallert initiated beaming.
    While in the transporter beam, there is no sensation of time or event. At the most, one feels a slight tickle at the base of the neck ( Dr. McCoy cannot explain this, but the sensation is experienced at least once by anyone who has ever been transported. ) Rumors of spiritual experiences, of the feeling that one has died and returned to life, or seen what lies beyond death—or even more pervasive rumors of those who have the talent to see the future while being transported—have never been substantiated. And yet …
    Spock, the least likely to put any credence into such rumors, feels a touch, the merest feathery whisper of inquiry, as if the scattered particles that will reassemble as himself are being individually examined …
    "Spock. Spock!"
    They stood in the broad equipment storage dome of Station One, clustered around Spock, who lay flat on his back, not moving. Kirk bent over his first officer, while McCoy checked the Vulcan's pulse at his armpit. Spock's eyes fluttered and he turned his head. The first face he saw was that of Radak, watching him with curious interest from behind the larger forms of Grake and T'Prylla.
    "Jim, I want that transporter torn apart top to bottom," McCoy said softly. "I've never liked that thing, and so help me, I'll shut it down—"
    "Done. Spock, are you okay?"
    "I do not seem to be