by Anna Perotti - English text revised by Marketa J. Zvelebil
SUMMARY: Dr. McCoy learns to his own expens that it's not wise to pick and bring home unknown things.Amok Time, the day after
Relived, Doctor McCoy entered his quarters to have a well deserved shift of rest. It had been a very long day, full of shocking events, but, in the end, he had been pleased. To see Spock's face, when he had found himself facing Captain Kirk, alive and healthy, was worth some of the trouble! He grinned to himself while, as was his norm, he emptied his trousers pockets before stripping. He had the habit to put anything he found into his pockets.
"And now, what the hell? A pebble?" he muttered, turning the object in his hands. It was actually a pebble, but there was something attached to it. As soon as he saw what it was, the memory came flooding back: it had been after they had materialized on Vulcan, in the place of koon-ut-kal-if-fee. His attention had been caught by two tiny wrinkled leaves, which were agonizing in that fierce sun that could dehydrate an elephant in a few hours. He hadn't be able to recognize the variety. He knew very little about Vulcan flora. Thus he had picked them up, along with the pebble to which they desperately clinged, resolved to ask Spock, as soon as he would be able to turn his attention to something less ... more ... well, different! Then events had rushed on and he had forgotten about the whole thing.
He examined carefully those poor remnants of vegetation, gently stroking them with his finger. The leaves had a gummy consistence, soft and smooth. Perhaps they weren't totally dried up. Maybe he could rehydrate them? Following his compassionate feelings, he went to the food dispenser, asked for a bowl of water and soaked the pebble in it along with its fragile charge.
"The proof of the pudding is in the eating." He said wisely to himself, then laughed thinking what Spock would have said if he could hear him ? Whatever that seedling might be, it had nothing to do with pudding!
He could do nothing more, so he finished to undress and went to bed. He had barely time to order the computer to turn off lights and was soundly asleep.
"Good morning, Doctor McCoy, it is half past six."
With tireless zeal, the computer replayed the message a dozen times, before an angry voice, with a strong southern accent, answered: "Go to hell! I heard you!"
The computer didn't mind. "At 7:00 you have to check the dressing on the Captain's abdomen; at 7:15, auxiliary personnel briefing; at 7:30 ..." a slipper, thrown with skilled accuracy - a result of years of training - hit the speaker's switch and stopped the litany.
Before leaving his quarters to go to sickbay, McCoy stopped to look at the unknown Vulcan plant and he was glad to see that the night spent in the water had done it good. The two small leaves were now fat and smooth, with a pleasant pinky colour and, on the end, a tiny fringed root stretched out. The pebble almost disappeared under two strong suckers, which adhered to it.
Pleased, he had the botanical lab send him a bowl with some sandy loam, enriched with nourishing substances, and settled his little guest in it. Watered it well and promised himself to study it better as soon he would have time.
***
The day had started well and went on even better. The Captain's wound was healing perfectly. McCoy did a simple plastic surgery to erase the scar and sent him back to the bridge, wholly recovered. The few patients who were in sickbay didn't cause any worry. Spock came of his own will for the quarterly check up and submitted himself to everything without protesting nor making allusions to woo-doo practices. McCoy tried to raise the subject of Vulcan flora, but didn't find him receptive. Well, after all that his friend had been through, perhaps it was better to leave him alone. There would be other time...
The only annoyance was nurse Chapel, who, even though she did her duty with her usual care, didn't cease to sigh. While checking on Spock, McCoy thought it safer to entrust to her some analysis on a colony of Surgelian bacteria and to send her to the lab. Toward the end of his shift, there was a minor emergency. An engineering technician had a finger cut by a control board hatch and a swift surgery was needed to reattach it. The only problem had been rescuing the finger, which had fallen down a thin hollow space inside the device - but, for that, Scott's intervention proved decisive.
When he could call it a day, McCoy went to his quarters, stopped before the door and waited for it to recognize him and open. He waited several seconds, but nothing happened! ? Well, something happened, to tell the truth, but not what he was expecting. The door hissed at first, followed soon by a tremendous scream. Then a bluish smoke, accompanied by threatening sparkles, raised from the door jamb, just where controls should be. After that, all fell silent again.
After some hours of hard work, a team of technicians led by Engineer Scott finally succeeded in opening the relacitrant door, which as soon as it was freed from its runners was sucked inside, as if it were attached to a gigantic rubber band.
"Be damned!" the Doctor said, looking bewildered at the interior of his quarters. Most of the room was filled by a thorny trunk, thick as a man's arm. It twisted in every direction. Thinner branches started from it and stretched out like tentacles toward any reachable surface, to which leaves (if those plump masses could be called so) adhered with all the strength of their suckers. In some places, bulkheads began to buckle because of the traction. On the floor, one could discern some fragments of the bowl, which roots had shattered while growing and expanding in search of whatever was soft enough to be got through (the mattress had been well enjoyed, but they seemed to like also the carpet and, perhaps, giving them time, they would have enjoyed the floor itself!)
"What the hell is that?" Scott asked as soon he recovered his power of speech.
"Interesting!"
That night, Spock had withdrawn early in his quarters. He felt the need to spend some hours meditating, but the noise in the corridor had disturbed his trance; " it would seem to be a har'vhe'hk, a typical plant from Vulcan deserts. The only one able to survive years of total and unbroken drought. Although, I must say that I did not ever see a specimen of that size! My congratulation, Doctor, it would seem that you have what on your planet is called a *green finger*!"