doctoring—just as Spock frequently used to remark to get his dander up—but there was still very little that could be done to make old bones mend faster than in two days.
There’s a pun in there
, he thought grimly. He had been forced to watch the commissioning ceremony on the biggest and best tri-holo set available, but it wasn’t good enough for him. He wanted to
be there
with the others. He had seen the other starships that had borne the name
Enterprise
, had served on three of them, until Starfleet had promoted him to admiral and command of Starfleet Medical Corps.
He had retired ten years ago and more or less settled into a comfortable life on a small but meticulously maintained farm in a still rural area of Georgia. The news of the construction of a new
Enterprise
—NCC-1701-D—unexpectedly had given him a jolting thrill, and he knew he had to see her.
That was when “Bones” McCoy began to do something he had never before done in his life. He
politicked
. He was a retired admiral . . . an old
Enterprise
senior officer . . . and he called in ancient favors and long overdue debts with charm and perseverance, until he got himself outbound on the
Hood
with the roster of new personnel meeting the
Enterprise
at Farpoint Station. After that, it had been easy to finagle a courtesy tour of the ship, particularly the medical facilities.
McCoy liked her. This
Enterprise
was bigger than any other starship in the fleet, but size alone wouldn’t have endeared her to him. He could see traces of the original ship he had first known in the trim racehorse outlines of this one. She was fast; she was efficient; she was the best of her breed; and McCoy had always loved style. Her crew was, again, the best and the brightest. He had been impressed with Jean-Luc Picard, a different style of captain, but clearly a brilliant one. McCoy felt comfortable with this new
Enterprise
in his hands.
They had finally reached the shuttle bay. McCoy grunted softly, tired with the effort of walking on his still-game leg. The android turned to him, concerned.
“Are you quite all right, sir?”
McCoy nodded briefly. “Yep. Want you to remember something.”
“Of course, sir.”
“This is a new ship, boy, but she’s got the right name. Remember that.”
“I will, sir.”
“You treat her like a lady. She’ll always bring you home.”
Chapter Six
B EVERLY C RUSHER HAD served in some of the best starbase hospitals and on several starships, but the technology at her disposal in the
Enterprise
’s sickbay was impressive beyond her wildest imaginings. Ismail Asenzi, the young doctor who would be her assistant, had covered most of the equipment and was proudly showing her the hospital beds with which the treatment room was equipped. He seemed to know his business; but Beverly noticed that he regarded the equipment, especially the computer-controlled operations, as machinery that functioned on its own without need of human attention.
“Every bed has a full set of instruments here,” he said as he directed her attention to the side of the bed.
Beverly nodded and reached out to touch a contact point at the left hand side of the bed. A tray of instruments slid out, and she looked them over as she spoke. “Yes. Sterilized and examined by the ship’s computer. Do you ever examine them, Doctor?”
“But it isn’t necessary, Doctor. The ship’s computer signals on the med-alert screen if they show any sign of damage or deterioration.”
Beverly tapped the contact point again, and the tray of instruments obediently slid back into the bed. She raised her glance to Asenzi, and her voice grew measurably colder. “I didn’t ask you that, Dr. Asenzi. I asked if you personally examined them.”
The younger man was embarrassed. He knew it was required that physicians and surgeons check their instruments despite the computer surveillance, but he had become used to letting the machine do it because he had never found an
There’s a pun in there
, he thought grimly. He had been forced to watch the commissioning ceremony on the biggest and best tri-holo set available, but it wasn’t good enough for him. He wanted to
be there
with the others. He had seen the other starships that had borne the name
Enterprise
, had served on three of them, until Starfleet had promoted him to admiral and command of Starfleet Medical Corps.
He had retired ten years ago and more or less settled into a comfortable life on a small but meticulously maintained farm in a still rural area of Georgia. The news of the construction of a new
Enterprise
—NCC-1701-D—unexpectedly had given him a jolting thrill, and he knew he had to see her.
That was when “Bones” McCoy began to do something he had never before done in his life. He
politicked
. He was a retired admiral . . . an old
Enterprise
senior officer . . . and he called in ancient favors and long overdue debts with charm and perseverance, until he got himself outbound on the
Hood
with the roster of new personnel meeting the
Enterprise
at Farpoint Station. After that, it had been easy to finagle a courtesy tour of the ship, particularly the medical facilities.
McCoy liked her. This
Enterprise
was bigger than any other starship in the fleet, but size alone wouldn’t have endeared her to him. He could see traces of the original ship he had first known in the trim racehorse outlines of this one. She was fast; she was efficient; she was the best of her breed; and McCoy had always loved style. Her crew was, again, the best and the brightest. He had been impressed with Jean-Luc Picard, a different style of captain, but clearly a brilliant one. McCoy felt comfortable with this new
Enterprise
in his hands.
They had finally reached the shuttle bay. McCoy grunted softly, tired with the effort of walking on his still-game leg. The android turned to him, concerned.
“Are you quite all right, sir?”
McCoy nodded briefly. “Yep. Want you to remember something.”
“Of course, sir.”
“This is a new ship, boy, but she’s got the right name. Remember that.”
“I will, sir.”
“You treat her like a lady. She’ll always bring you home.”
Chapter Six
B EVERLY C RUSHER HAD served in some of the best starbase hospitals and on several starships, but the technology at her disposal in the
Enterprise
’s sickbay was impressive beyond her wildest imaginings. Ismail Asenzi, the young doctor who would be her assistant, had covered most of the equipment and was proudly showing her the hospital beds with which the treatment room was equipped. He seemed to know his business; but Beverly noticed that he regarded the equipment, especially the computer-controlled operations, as machinery that functioned on its own without need of human attention.
“Every bed has a full set of instruments here,” he said as he directed her attention to the side of the bed.
Beverly nodded and reached out to touch a contact point at the left hand side of the bed. A tray of instruments slid out, and she looked them over as she spoke. “Yes. Sterilized and examined by the ship’s computer. Do you ever examine them, Doctor?”
“But it isn’t necessary, Doctor. The ship’s computer signals on the med-alert screen if they show any sign of damage or deterioration.”
Beverly tapped the contact point again, and the tray of instruments obediently slid back into the bed. She raised her glance to Asenzi, and her voice grew measurably colder. “I didn’t ask you that, Dr. Asenzi. I asked if you personally examined them.”
The younger man was embarrassed. He knew it was required that physicians and surgeons check their instruments despite the computer surveillance, but he had become used to letting the machine do it because he had never found an
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