A contest of principles, p.9
A Contest of Principles, page 9
Jemo was blunter. “She’s a stuck-up harpy who thinks she casts a bigger shadow than she does.”
The mirror shimmered and Bilis reappeared. “The Yiyova will see you after all,” she announced with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.
“Splendid,” Rayob said. “We appreciate your cordial assistance.”
Jemo snickered, eliciting a dirty look from Bilis, who nevertheless reached outside the border of the mirror to operate some unseen mechanism. McCoy expected the mirror to retract, but instead it sublimed into a silvery mist through which Rayob passed effortlessly. He beckoned for McCoy and Jemo to follow him.
Instead of dissipating, the mist remained within the confines of the archway. McCoy instinctively held his breath as he passed through it; he felt nothing but a staticky sensation as he stepped from the hallway to the antechamber beyond, where he found Bilis waiting in the flesh. She gestured toward one of three branching hallways. “If you’ll follow me.”
“No need.” Jemo brushed past her. “We know the way.”
The right-hand corridor led to a smaller archway. They entered a cozy study lined with shelves holding a generous assortment of knickknacks, microtapes, and bound albums, atlases, and encyclopedias. A miniature brass orrery, charting the orbits of Braco and its sister planets and moons, shared space with the fossilized tooth of some prehistoric predator. A plush wingback chair faced an open balcony looking out over the pastoral countryside beyond. The chair spun around at their approach. Its occupant’s face lit up in delight.
“Jemo!” blurted Avomora, Yiyova of Ozalor.
McCoy recognized the crown princess from her official portrait, curly brown hair and all, although the real thing was rather more animated. She rose, perhaps a touch unsteadily, from her mobile chair to embrace Jemo, who gingerly hugged her back. Avomora winced anyway, although she tried not to show it. Jemo saw through her efforts.
“Bad day?” the bodyguard asked.
“Worse than some, better than others.” Avomora shrugged, clearly putting up a brave front. “But let’s not discuss that tiresome subject again.” Her gaze lit on McCoy. “Who is this intriguingly new face?”
Rayob led McCoy toward the Heir. “Your Highness, allow me to introduce Doctor Leonard McCoy.”
A flicker of dissatisfaction passed over the young royal’s face at the word “doctor.” McCoy couldn’t much blame her. He imagined she’d seen more than her fair share of physicians and specialists.
“An honor to meet you, Your Highness.” McCoy treated her to his warmest bedside manner, figuratively speaking. He hesitated, unsure of the proper etiquette. Was he supposed to bow or curtsy or what? He compromised by dipping his head momentarily.
Avomora did not appear inclined to stand on ceremony. “You’re from the Federation!” she said with excitement. “Earth, if I’m not mistaken.”
“Guilty as charged,” he said. “Is it that obvious?”
“Your accent is quite distinctive, even through the automatic translator,” she explained, “while, upon reflection, your name also has the ring of Earth.” A sweep of her arm encompassed the numerous tapes and tomes filling the study’s shelves. “I’ve made quite a study of the galaxy beyond our sector. An engrossing diversion for those times when I’m… ill-disposed.”
McCoy noted that her chair contained a built-in tape reader and screen, not unlike those on the captain’s chair back on the Enterprise or the biobeds in sickbay. Looking closer at the young woman herself, he saw that she appeared rather more pallid than in her official portrait. She was trembling, too, even though the room’s temperature felt quite comfortable to McCoy. He got the impression that she was under more of a strain than she wanted to let on.
“Perhaps you should sit down, Your Highness,” Bilis suggested. She hovered in the doorway, watching over the scene. “You mustn’t tire yourself.”
Avomora rolled her eyes, but grudgingly accepted the advice. She retreated back into her chair, drawing a quilted blanket over her lap and lower limbs as though chilled. The diagnostician in McCoy filed that observation away even as he made small talk to put his prospective patient at ease.
“You are clearly a scholar and a gentlewoman, Your Highness.”
“And, I flatter myself, a fine judge of character despite my relative youth and inexperience.” She graced him with a winning smile. “Please call me Avo. All my friends do, at least outside formal occasions.”
McCoy appreciated the familiarity. “As long as I won’t be sent to the dungeons for breaching protocol.”
“The dungeons were turned into wine cellars and a fully equipped gymnasium a century ago,” she informed him. “We may not be as technologically advanced as Earth or Andor, but we’re hardly medieval.”
“I never meant to imply otherwise,” McCoy said. “And my friends call me Bones.” He shrugged. “Some of them at least.”
“What a curious nickname,” she said. “From whatever is it derived?”
“That’s too grisly a story for so lovely a day. Perhaps we should save that for a more appropriate occasion, preferably midnight during a thunderstorm.”
“I look forward to it,” she said, “although this is hardly storm season.” She marveled at McCoy. “A doctor from Earth, no less.” She looked at Rayob. “Does my father know of this?”
“I have not had occasion to mention it to him yet,” Rayob confessed. “He is a busy man after all.”
“Oh, very busy,” Avo agreed, although her tone indicated that she knew full well that there was far more to the majordomo’s omission than simply her father’s demanding schedule. She returned to her attention to McCoy.
“Will you be with us long, Doctor Bones?”
McCoy glanced at Rayob, whose poker face would do Jim Kirk proud. “That remains to be seen… and perhaps we should just stick with ‘Doctor’ for now.”
It occurred to McCoy that he might be able to convince the crown princess to allow him to return to the Enterprise, but he was uncertain if now was a good time to play that card. There was still a lot he didn’t know about the treacherous political currents here in the palace. Openly accusing Rayob—and Jemo—of kidnapping a Starfleet officer, and to a member of the royal family no less, could have potentially explosive consequences, so he chose to play it by ear for the time being.
“Very well, Doctor, and I certainly hope you won’t be departing too soon. I’ve never met an Earthman before and fortune only knows when I’ll have the opportunity again.” Her pale cheeks flushed with enthusiasm. “You must tell me all about everything. Have you visited many worlds?”
She leaned forward in her chair, perhaps too abruptly. She grimaced in pain and a shudder ran through her body. She sagged back into the chair.
“Your Highness!” Bilis shoved her way past McCoy and the other guests to reach Avomora. “You must not overexcite yourself. Shall I summon Lossu Vumri?”
“No!” Avo said forcefully, although the effort clearly cost her. She gripped the chair’s armrests with white knuckles. “Not yet.”
“But why torture yourself by waiting?” Bilis pressed. “You know what the Lossu said. You should call for her as soon as you feel one of your spells coming on—”
“That will be enough, Bilis,” Avo managed. Her generous eyebrows slanted ominously, signaling her displeasure. “When I require Vumri’s services, you will be the first to know.” She appeared both embarrassed and annoyed to have her condition addressed so blatantly in front of company. “For now, you will leave me with my visitors.”
Bilis wrung her hands. “But Yiyova…”
“That will be all, Bilis.”
“As you wish, Your Highness.”
Bilis unhappily retreated from the study. Avo watched her go.
“That’s better,” the princess murmured. She took a few deep breaths to recover from the exertion. Her grip on the armrests loosened as though the spell was ebbing to some degree. “I swear, if she weren’t my second cousin, thrice removed…”
Jemo regarded Avo with concern. “Never mind that self-important hanger-on. How are you doing?”
“Been better,” the princess admitted. She looked ruefully at McCoy. “My apologies, Doctor, I regret you had to witness that. I resent being treated as an invalid, even if it’s occasionally an apt description.”
“Think nothing of it,” he assured her. “Occupational hazard.”
“I just wish I was in better shape to receive you.” She glanced at Rayob. “I’m guessing that our faithful majordomo has apprised you of my… affliction.”
McCoy recalled that the princess’s illness was not public knowledge.
“That is so,” Rayob said. “Doctor McCoy is a physician of some renown. I took the liberty of consulting him in hopes that he can provide his professional opinion on that matter.”
“I suspected as much,” Avo said, groaning, “and here I was hoping this was purely a social call. Nothing personal, Doctor, but I am weary of medical tests and examinations. Given a choice, I would gladly never discuss my condition again.”
“Trust me, I get awful sick of sickness too,” McCoy said, sympathizing. “Is that why you resisted calling for your healer?”
“That’s one reason,” she said pointedly. “I dislike being dependent on anyone, let alone the likes of Vumri.” She seemed to share her visitors’ distaste for the vaunted healer, whom McCoy had yet to encounter. “Please tell me you’re not here to subject me to another diagnostic inquisition.”
“No promises,” McCoy said. “But how about we just chat a bit first?” He pulled over a much less impressive chair. “If you don’t mind…”
“Please, make yourself comfortable, all of you,” she said. “I was so excited by your company that I neglected my manners.” She let her visitors find seats as she awaited McCoy’s questions. “But hasn’t Rayob already informed you of the particulars of my ailment?”
“To some extent,” McCoy said, “but I’d like to hear it in your own words.”
“Very well.” Avo resigned herself to the inevitable. “It comes in waves, some more severe than others. Early on, there are simply chills, fatigue, lack of appetite, and an increased sensitivity to light, sound, smell, and touch. Sometimes that’s as bad as it gets: unpleasant but hardly incapacitating… if I’m lucky.”
McCoy gathered her symptoms were worse at present. “And when you’re not so lucky?”
“The sensitivity increases, becoming more uncomfortably acute, so that dealing with the world becomes ever more excruciating, and I am forced to retreat to my chair. My body temperature swings back and forth erratically, so that I go from freezing to feeling overheated and back again, sometimes in a matter of minutes. And my nerves begin to hurt, beginning at the top of my spine, then radiating out to my extremities. Just a dull ache at first, but growing sharper as the wave crests. My body starts to twitch and I can lose control of my fingers, so that I become clumsy and have difficulty holding on to things. Sometimes my vision even blurs…” She cringed, recalling past ordeals. “It’s horrible.”
McCoy mentally catalogued her symptoms. Any number of possible diagnoses occurred to him, but he knew better than to jump to conclusions in the absence of any actual tests or scans. As he understood it, Ozalorians, along with Vokites and Bracons, were largely indistinguishable from humans, but that “largely” could make a world of difference where medical issues were concerned. Nebular influenza, for example, presented as a sudden fever for Izarians but could cause shortness of breath for Bolians. Similarly, different species of humanoids could react very differently to certain drugs and therapies. You wouldn’t want to prescribe melenex to a Catullan unless you wanted to sterilize them for life, so McCoy was reluctant to make any snap judgments about Avo’s ailment without further research.
“I’d like to help you, if I can.” He cracked open the briefcase and took out his medical tricorder. “Would you allow me to conduct a few noninvasive scans? Strictly routine, I promise.”
Avo eyed the device. “If you must, but I expect a sizable infusion of small talk in return.”
“It’s a deal.”
He activated the tricorder and began a thorough scan of the patient, starting with her basic physiognomy and making his way through her nervous system, circulatory system, endocrine system, and other functions. A deployable hand scanner allowed him to target specific regions with greater focus than a standard tricorder would have permitted. He perused the readings as they streamed across the tricorder’s display panel, while recording them for future study. Adjustable knobs allowed him to fine-tune the scans along a range of parameters as he pursued various hunches with no immediate success. An electronic warble accompanied the scans.
“Well, Doctor?” Rayob looked on intently. “Have you found anything?”
“No immediate red flags or irregularities,” McCoy reported, finishing up, “but I never expected it to be easy. Anything obvious would have been picked up by your own doctors well before now. Plus, what I don’t know about the finer points of Ozalorian medicine would fill databanks. It’s going to take some time and effort to get to the bottom of this.”
If we can, he added silently, not wanting to crush Avo’s hopes before he even raised them. As it happened, he had reviewed Vokite physiology on the way to Vok, which might come in handy given that Vokites and Ozalorians supposedly shared a common ancestry, but he still needed to compare Avo’s readings against those of other Ozalorians if he wanted to identify any telltale deviations from the norm. Wonder if Jemo would consent to a full scan to help me establish a baseline for their species?
“I understand, Doctor,” Rayob said, unable to entirely conceal his disappointment. “I confess I had hoped for a more immediate end to the Yiyova’s maladies.”
And a quicker departure for your rival, Vumri, McCoy thought. “I never promised you a magic bullet. I only agreed to examine the patient.”
He wrapped up his initial scans, intent on analyzing them more thoroughly later… assuming the Enterprise hadn’t come to reclaim him by then. To his annoyance, he found himself oddly conflicted when it came to the prospect of being rescued before he’d had a chance to help or cure Avomora. Now that he’d actually met the young royal, he hated leaving her in the lurch.
Seems like a nice kid, he thought.
“All done.” He switched off the tricorder and lowered the hand scanner. “See, that didn’t hurt a bit.”
“I suppose not,” she said, but a strained whimper escaped her. She clenched her jaw, clearly trying to bite back another groan. She squirmed uncomfortably in her chair and, trembling visibly, pulled her blanket up to her shoulders. The movements seemed to pain her, contorting her features, which grew steadily more ashen, as well as slightly green around the gills. Blinking, she turned her face away from the light pouring in from the balcony. An involuntary gasp escaped her lips. Tears leaked from her eyes.
“Avo!” Jemo was alarmed by the younger woman’s turn for the worse. She wheeled about to confront McCoy. “What’s wrong? What did you do to her?”
McCoy was suddenly all too aware of the ionic knife sheathed at the bodyguard’s hip. “Whoa there! Let’s not do anything hasty!”
“It’s nothing he did,” Avo said through her torment. “It’s my gods-splintered spells, that’s all.” She raised a shaky hand to shield her eyes from the sunlight, which wasn’t really all that glaring. “Somebody draw the drapes, please!”
“Right away, kiddo!” Jemo rushed to the balcony, forgetting all about McCoy for the moment, and yanked the drapes shut, casting the study into gloom. “There you go!”
Instead of experiencing relief, however, Avo clamped her hands over her ears. “Not so loud, I’m begging you.”
“Sorry,” Jemo whispered in chagrin. She made her way back toward the others, moving as silently as a shadow. “Didn’t think.”
McCoy found the bodyguard’s practiced stealth rather disturbing. He could only imagine how good she was at sneaking up on people.
Something to remember.
Avo kicked off the blanket, sweating as though in a steam bath. Palsied fingers fumbled with a control panel on her armrest, trying to adjust what looked like temperature controls. “Shards!” she cursed in frustration, unable to get a grip on the knobs. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the world.
Rayob turned to McCoy in dismay, clearly anguished by the sight of Avo’s suffering. Any doubts McCoy had regarding the majordomo’s genuine concern for his princess evaporated. This wasn’t just about politics and power struggles to him; he obviously cared about Avomora’s well-being.
“Can you do nothing for her?” he asked softly.
“I don’t know,” McCoy said. “I’ve barely begun to study her condition. I don’t want to make things worse.”
Avo writhed in her chair. Her right eye blinked spasmodically.
Despite his reservations, McCoy found it hard to stand by while Avo suffered right before his eyes. Perhaps he could risk a mild sedative or analgesic? He extracted a hypospray from his concealed medkit and set it to a cautious dosage.
Maybe eight cc’s of sonambutril… ?
Before he could administer the drug, however, a strange woman barged into the study as though she owned the place.
“Stand aside!” she ordered. “Let me to my charge!”
McCoy could guess who this was. The notorious Lossu Vumri, I presume.
The controversial healer was a tall, bald woman clad in a plain, dark-green robe and sandals. Esoteric symbols were tattooed onto her shaved pate, making her stand out from every other Ozalorian woman McCoy had encountered so far. Eerie white eyes also caught his attention, their faint gray irises so thin as to be almost invisible compared to her large black pupils. A simple rope belt held a few small pouches and purses, while her only jewelry was a clear glass pendant dangling on a chain about her neck.
Sure looks the part of a mystic, McCoy thought, for what that’s worth.
He found himself briefly targeted by those unearthly eyes as Vumri gave him an icy look before rushing to Avo’s side. Her husky voice held a peculiar vibrato.
