The Greatest Spones Fanfiction Ever Written
(Part 1)

In the end, there was nothing he could do.

Regardless of what he wanted, it was over.

He had to move on.

Something near the ceiling emitted a low whine, something electronic, and the sound seared into his brain. “Would you turn that damn thing off?”

The medical assistant on rotation leapt from her seat across the sickbed and adjusted a knob on the panel that controlled his patient’s vital sign display. Gradually, like a receding siren, the sound faded.

“Why did they have to install this damn heart monitor again? I usually like to relax on our stops to K-7. You know, enjoy all the modern amenities that a Federation Starbase has to offer. I expect not to have to find a whole mess of ‘upgrades’ to my instruments when I return. I mean really—a heart monitor? Are we back in the 2000s?”

“It’s not a heart monitor, sir,” the assistant interjected helpfully. “It’s a state-of-the-art real time scanning system for a wide array of life indicators including brain activity, blood pressure and organ dysfunction.”

“Thank you for the informative explanation, Judy.” Dr. McCoy passed a hand over his forehead, wiping off sweat. “You’re dismissed for today.”

“Sir?”

“I need to be alone.”

When she’d left, the atmosphere in the room changed; the light pads embedded in the ceiling seemed dimmer, and a cool breeze swept through as the door slid shut. His patient lay on the bed before him, newly dead. Burn marks from an enemy phaser emblazoned his standard-issue red pullover, the center of his chest a gaping hole. McCoy had tried his best to staunch the bleeding, but there was little hope. Ironic that we have our security officers wear red, he thought wryly. At least his shirt won’t be stained.

Nathaniel Beck was his name, someone had said. Officer Beck. Nate. “I’m sorry, Nate. There was nothing I could do.” He drew the sheet over the boy’s head.

It was time to move on. Pressing a finger to the comm panel, the doctor opened a connection to the bridge.

“Jim here.”

“McCoy. The boy didn’t make it.”

A beat. “Officer Nate. Let the record show that he was killed in the line of duty.”

“Is the Klingon ship still trailing us?”

“They’re holding back for now. Biding their time. Seems they got what they wanted on that planet. I took a risk beaming our party down…and a man is dead because of it.”

McCoy could hear the strain in the Captain’s voice. He’d heard it many times before. “Don’t blame yourself, Jim. He knew what he was getting into.”

“We’ll keep it steady at warp three. Let’s see how long the Klingons will wait.” Kirk took a deep breath and let it out sharply, which sounded like hissing static over the intercom. “Thank you, Bones. You did what you could.”

“Can you tell Spock he’s needed in the sick bay?”

“What’s that? You can tell him yourself.”

“I tried. I couldn’t get a hold of him—seems the comm link over here is faulty,” McCoy lied.

“Oh, well, that’s a problem. I’ll send Scotty over to take a look.”

“No!” He cleared his throat. “I mean, it’s not urgent. Scotty’s busy. I’ll pay a visit to engineering and let him know later. Just give Spock my message, will you?”

“Fine.” The captain was snickering. Oh God, he doesn’t suspect, does he? “Bones, I know you two don’t particularly get along, but refusing even to communicate with him on ship business is taking it too far.” No. He doesn’t know a thing.

“I appreciate it, Jim. McCoy out.” He cut the connection and slumped into his chair.

Spock was coming. The speech he had prepared in his head and rehearsed a dozen times suddenly disappeared from memory. Again he wiped the sweat from his brow.

Nate’s body had to be cleaned and dressed in a fresh uniform. The crew had to be notified. Preparations for the ceremony and space burial would be needed. There were logs that needed updating, medical records to be filled out. McCoy had no time to be sitting here reliving a memory.

But it all came back to him, unbidden. The night they had spent together, in his quarters, while Kirk had taken a landing party down to explore the planet. No words had been spoken. He had kept the lights off; his breath came short and ragged as he’d guided the first officer through the pitch black room. I’m shocked he didn’t offer up a comment on his superior night vision.

Neither of them knew what they were doing. The night had been all too brief. It had the air of a first encounter, to be followed by more—there would be plenty of time to learn each other, to go deeper.

Instead, morning came and he was alone in his bed. Spock had already assumed his station on the bridge. Attending to his duties with perhaps more than the typical Vulcan focus, he avoided the doctor that day and the days after. It was only too clear what he thought about the situation: their time together had meant nothing, he felt nothing, and McCoy had to just move on.

As if that damn robot would even know what it’s like to feel something.

The entry hatch swished open.

McCoy's gut turned—he fought off a sudden wave of nausea.

“You sent for me, Doctor?”

Hands clasped behind his back, the Vulcan stood in the doorway, half-frowning or perhaps attempting to smile.

“Yes…I mean, well…”

Words tumbled from McCoy’s mouth before he could catch them. “I wanted to ask…the boy Nate…the dead boy. It’s just that I…when checking the body. What I mean to say is…er…something strange.”

“What you are saying is very strange indeed, Doctor.”

A humorless laugh was all he could muster in response.

“Doctor, if there is no business for me to attend to in the sick bay, I must return to the bridge. The Klingon ship remains in pursuit and there is a sixty eight point three five percent probability that we will not be able to escape it given our current power capacity. I must assist the Captain in devising a plan.”

Shock brought McCoy back to his senses. “You mean they’re going to catch us? Jim said they were about to give up!”

“The Captain believes they will end the chase. If they do not, we will be at a disadvantage.”

As he spoke, Spock stared intently over McCoy’s shoulder.

“Listen to me, Spock…” McCoy began. He crossed and then uncrossed his arms. He felt cold inside, but the surface of his skin was hot. “Would you look at me?”

“I don’t believe eye contact is necessary for effective communication.” But Spock looked at him.

Those dark eyes…I can’t see the bottom. For a moment he lost his words again. Suddenly he was unable to recall anything else in the room. Damn Vulcan. It’s like he’s looking right through me.

“Don’t you care even the slightest bit that a man died?” McCoy blurted out.

“It is unfortunate to have lost a key member of the—”

“Silicon.” A corner of the sheet covering the deceased flew up in the wake of his gesticulating arm. “The boy’s blood. Abnormally high levels of silicon.”

“Silicon?”

“I don’t know what it means, yet. It’s not a natural human process. Our bodies don’t produce that much silicon, so it’s either something synthetic or…an alien life form. I thought you might have some insight, being an alien yourself and all.”

“What you call ‘alien’, Doctor, is relative. You and the rest of the crew are just as alien to me as I may seem to you. If I may.”

Spock lifted the sheet and exposed the body. Was it possible that, for a split second, he hesitated, about to say something? He had his back to McCoy, but his fingers clutched the cotton fabric tightly, like they had that night.

Get ahold of yourself, Leonard! I’m imagining things. Projecting.

The dead man’s skin had taken on a peculiar gray color. Not just the bloodless pallor McCoy would expect and had seen many times when patients he couldn’t save slipped away, turning as white as the bed they expired on. This corpse was silver. The body reflected the light that fell upon it and became prismatic, bringing to mind a picture McCoy had once seen of the gasoline people used for fuel hundreds of years ago.

One of the arms, dislodged by movement, dropped off the bed and hung over the side. It was stiff. Spock felt the back of the hand with his own, then scratched it with a nail. “Extremely dry.”

“Yes…it started after he was gone. I checked his body with the tricorder. Wherever I touched him, flakes came off.”

“Fascinating.” Spock straightened and turned back to the doctor. “What were the readings you found?”

“On the tricorder? Well, I saw abnormally high levels of silicon, like I said, and also traces of aluminum and calcium.”

For once, the expression on Spock’s face changed; most people wouldn’t notice it, but McCoy did. Almost imperceptibly, the corners of his mouth turned up in a satisfied smile. “I will need to conduct some tests to confirm my theory. But, Doctor, I believe this man is turning to stone.”

“Stone?” McCoy laughed. “Sounds like someone I know.”

“I am not joking, Doctor.”

“But…what does it mean?”

“I cannot say. It may be a new weapon of the Klingons. This wound on the man’s chest does not resemble that induced by either a Klingon or Federation phaser. In fact, it appears to have been created by a small spherical object used as a projectile—or, as you humans used to call it, a bullet.”

“A bullet! I didn’t find anything like that in him.”

“Then perhaps it was designed to disintegrate on impact.”

“But…why? What advantage do they get from going Medusa on a man after he kicks the bucket?”

“Your connection of this phenomenon to a mythological legend of your species is unfounded. However, I agree. The motive is unclear.”

Spock allowed his eyebrows to lower a fraction. McCoy recognized it as his thinking face. “If my theory is correct," he continued, "this is an important technological advancement for the Klingons, and Starfleet must be informed. I will consult the computer.”

He started for the door.

“Stop right there!”

McCoy held his hand out in an arresting gesture. “I’m not letting you leave until you tell me what’s going on.”

Silence filled the room for a moment.

“I do not know.” Spock’s arms were at his sides, and he stood erect, motionless.

“What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“The cause of the abnormal blood chemistry…”

“You know that’s not what I’m talking about!” McCoy couldn’t take it any longer. He seized Spock’s shoulder and spun him around. “What’s going on with us?”

Their faces were inches apart, but it felt like a distance impossible to cross.

“We are colleagues,” said Spock finally.

“And that’s it?”

“Doctor, you know that I cannot give you what you seem to be asking for. It is not in my nature.”

“I don’t believe you.” His grip on Spock’s arm softened. I can feel his muscles. “Something happened between us that night. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. But you…have you forgotten?”

“No, I have not.”

“It’s not just in my head then.” His chest was on fire and he could barely breathe. He wanted to stop the words but he couldn’t. “I know it sounds crazy but I think I’m in—”

“Don’t say it,” Spock cut in, wrenching out of McCoy’s grasp. “You do not know what you are saying.”

“So you feel nothing.”

“I…Leonard…”

Putting his fingers to his temples, Spock closed his eyes and his face became blank.

He’s not used to emotions of any kind. They’re difficult for him. Well, if he’s not going to say anything, then I will.

“Spock, we’ve worked together a long time. We’ve had our disagreements and didn’t see eye to eye. At times, I even hated you. Especially when your blindness to things like human empathy put the Captain and the rest of us in danger. Spock, something changed.

"For months now I get butterflies whenever we speak, when I hear your voice on the intercom, when we meet each other by chance in the passageway. And that night in my quarters—it was the best night I can remember. Something changed, but if I’m honest, I think it’s always been there.

“I’m not afraid to say it. I think I’m in love.

“Well? Are you going to say anything?”

Spock opened his eyes. “Behind you.”

“What?”

He whirled around and saw.

What five minutes before had been a man on a hospital bed was no longer. The cot and its pillow and sheets lost their fabric softness as the surface mineralized. Each of the bed platform’s four legs hardened and turned the color of soot.

While they watched, the floor underneath the bed began to crack. Crystalline formations emerged, glinting in the room’s cold medical light.

“It’s spreading,” said Spock.

As always, he announced their mortal peril with the utmost calm.

TO BE CONTINUED...