ࡱ> @B?@ |+jbjbܡܡ %<|%lBBBBBBB , $$$$$Vz$d f f f f f f ,  B$$ BB$$B$B$d V66BBBBd d BBd d d d ggd Mission Logs of the Internet Star Trek Society http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Dimension/4195/logs.html From:  HYPERLINK "mailto:judith011@shaw.ca" Natalie K. Bjrklund Date: Sun Mar 2, 2003 12:33:38 AM America/Winnipeg Subject: Horta T'Prang of Vulcan, Bondmate Chp3/Pt 1 [Pg-13] (DS9) 14/42 Bondmate Post 14: "T'Prang of Vulcan" a trilogy. Book 1/3, "Bondmate" Chpt 3/7 'Conferences', Pt 1/6 by Judith Gordon For Disclaimer see Prologue. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= T'Prang sat at her desk impatiently tapping a stylus on the perfectly ordered surface. "Computer, Chief Medical Officer's Log." >> Working. << "The Horta was supposed to stop by the clinic first thing in the morning for a routine check up. He has not bothered to come. Nor has he even bothered to let me know he wasn't going to. This has disrupted the orderly schedule of work that I had planned for today. Keeping things orderly and well planned is more efficient and efficiency is logical. If I were not Vulcan, I would be exceedingly annoyed. I will leave now for lunch." She rose and was getting ready to walk out when there was a rumbling on the hard metallic floor. The Horta slid heavily into the infirmary, his rocky bulk swaying as he moved in a uneven line across the floor. [Dr. T'Prang?] came a wavering telepathic query. [I am Lt. Cheereep.] Automatically, T'Prang answered back in the same fashion. [Lt. Cheereep you are three hours overdue, this is not,] T'Prang trailed off as she detected something unbalanced in the mental query. [Lt. Cheereep, are you all right?] [I've been too ill to navigate from my quarters for most of the past three hours,] Cheereep responded. T'Prang was immediately concerned. She got up and walked towards him. [Why didn't you call for help?] [My communications box has ceased to function,] Lt. Cheereep answered. [I think it's related to my illness.] He followed this by sending the peculiar disoriented sensations he was experiencing. T'Prang became even more concerned as she felt them. Nausea hit her first, followed by generalised aches and pains with dizziness. With difficulty she suppressed the sensations even as she considered how efficient it was to know exactly what her patient was experiencing. She picked up her medical scanner and scanned the Horta. To her frustration, the scanner read nothing at all except for a bleep on the Horta's surface. She stepped to her communications console. "Dr. T'Prang to Ops." >> Dax here. What is it Doctor? << "I require a geology scanner in the infirmary," T'Prang said. >> Geology scanner? << "Yes, it's for the Horta," T'Prang said. She increased the suppression of nausea as her stomach lurched again. >> Right away, Doctor. << T'Prang went to a bench and took out a petri dish and some tools. She used a small, flat blade to scrap the surface of the Horta carefully gathering the scrapping in the dish. As T'Prang finished, a young Human man burst into the room. He stopped midstep and froze, staring at her. T'Prang noticed the geology scanner in his hand. "My scanner," T'Prang observed. "Thank you, Ensign." T'Prang stepped up to him and put out her hand. He kept staring and then his eyes abruptly focused and he handed her the scanner while he turned a darker shade of Human pink. Blushing, T'Prang thought to herself. Normal human physiological reaction indicating stress, embarrassment or other strong emotions. As she regarded him, she sternly reminded herself that "ugly" was an illogical adjective to use because of its subjectivity and that Vulcans did not carry the defective pigmentation trait the caused redheads. At least he had one redeeming feature, big ears. "Ensign, I require your assistance," T'Prang said. She indicated the Horta. The ensign's gaze shifted to the silicon based life form and he gasped. "Wha, wha, what's that?" "This," T'Prang replied, "is Lt. Cheereep. He is a Horta and his communication device is malfunctioning or else he would speak directly to you himself. Your name ensign?" The young man pulled his eyes off the Horta, and focused on her instead, resulting in another deep blush, "Uh, Michael Taylor, Sir." he glanced sideways back at the Horta, "uh Sirs?" "Very good, Ensign Taylor." T'Prang was all brisk business. "I am downloading specifications for a new communications box to the science laboratory." She looked up and saw that he was still staring at her. "You will go there, construct a new communications box, and return here with it immediately." "Yes Doctor," he said absently, still staring at her. After a long moment, T'Prang crossed her arms over her chest and cleared her throat. "You are dismissed, Ensign." Taylor blushed furiously again, whirled, and ran out of the room, stumbling over the floor and almost crashing into the doorframe before catching himself. T'Prang wondered briefly if there was a connection between defective pigmentation and clumsiness. She decided, after recalling what she could of both conditions in Humans, there was not. [Please excuse his reaction,] T'Prang said to the Horta. [Humans have a notoriously self centered view of the universe and tend to be startled by new life forms.] [Oh that's quite all right,] Cheereep answered. [I am as used to that as one can be. His reaction was better than most.] [Now, while our flustered ensign prepares a new communications box, I will attempt to ascertain the cause of your illness.] T'Prang took the petri dish to a microscope on a high bench and after a moment of focusing, projected triumph. [Have you been on Earth lately, or had contacts with any Terran species?] she asked. [I was on Luna,] Cheereep said, [and I met several crewman from Earth Deep Sea Project Alpha who were on leave. During a sleep cycle, they decided to play a practical joke on me. I was transported into a tank filled with fish and weeds, and woke up to find myself on display for the Luna population as a sea monster.] T'Prang sighed. [I have never understood the Human need for practical jokes but I have been told it is generally considered a sign of affection. Numerous of these pranks were played on me whenever I worked on Earth.] She gave a tiny sigh. [It would appear this one backfired. Have you ever heard of diatoms?] [Indigenous, photosynthetic, Terran microorganism,] the Horta replied, [protoctista I believe, found in fresh and sea water, and comprising a large portion of the biomass of the planet, silica shelled,-] Recognition followed the silica portion of his statement. [Of course!] [Yes, I believe you have a diatom infection,] T'Prang said. Privately, she considered what a pleasure it was to deal with such a refreshingly logical and well-informed mind. [The diatoms appear to be eating your silica rich version of sweat and they are producing what is apparently a toxin to your metabolism.] [Can you treat it?] Cheereep projected alarm at T'Prang. T'Prang slowed her heart rate back to normal after suppressing an unaccustomed adrenaline rush. [I believe so. Let me consult the records.] T'Prang went to the computer console and hooked into the main memory banks. She read rapidly. [Yes,] she said, projecting reassurance. [They are, in a sense, a form of plant and so a herbicide mist should get rid of the problem.] [Is it harmful?] Cheereep asked. [Not to you, but quite toxic to most humanoids,] T'Prang replied, [I will use a medical isolation field during application.] There was a noise in the doorway. T'Prang turned and looked up. Ensign Taylor arrived back at the clinic with the new communications box. He seemed to have recovered his poise. He was now emanating eager curiosity and energetic efficiency. T'Prang punched a few commands into the computer. A printout appeared on screen and she indicated that Taylor should step closer read it. "Herbicide," he noted, "pretty nasty stuff too." "I need enough to thoroughly mist Lt. Cheereep within a medical isolation field. "I'll program it immediately," Taylor replied eagerly. T'Prang monitored him as he set up a field and programmed a replicator to produce a herbicide. She had to contact Dax again to over ride the computer's built in safety protocols before Taylor's program could produce the toxic substance. Once the isolation fields were ready she watched with satisfaction as a fine mist settled over the Horta and he took on a sheen. Another program of Taylor's transported the substance away again and safely disposed of it once T'Prang tricorder showed the diatoms were dead. T'Prang decided it might take several days for Cheereep's metabolism to clear out the last of the toxins. She put Cheereep on medical leave for a week with a note that she might have to extend it. She assigned Taylor the task of accompanying the Horta back to his quarters. In spite of his earlier clumsiness, Taylor did a respectable job of warning other pedestrians clear while hopping around, and occasionally over the Horta as the living rock slid erratically over the floor. T'Prang considered Taylor as he continued his impromptu ballet until he was out of sight. She was impressed with the competence of the young ensign and double checked his record after he left her office. She made a note to that effect in her report of the incident, which she forwarded to Dax, as well as to Sisko. Afterward, she sent a letter of reprimand to the Captain of Project Deep Sea alpha and a note to the Vulcan Healer's Guild Medical Bulletin explaining the dangers of diatoms infection to silica based species. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- 0op{+|+ϺܯϪ B*ph0JCJOJPJQJ(jB*CJOJPJQJUphB*CJOJPJQJph"jB*CJOJPJQJUph5B*CJOJPJQJphCJ$0i-.@A`D E   1$7$8$H$ & 0` P@0i-.@A`D E   ^ _ C D   #$;<HI/0jkef !_` !!""""0#1#!$"$$$d ^ _ C D   #$;<1$7$8$H$ & 0` P@HI/0jkef1$7$8$H$ & 0` P@ !_` !!""""0#1#!$"$$$$$0%1%1$7$8$H$ & 0` P@$$$0%1%h%i%g'h'H)I)U+V+|+ 1%h%i%g'h'H)I)U+V+|+1$7$8$H$ & 0` P@ #0P/ =!"#$%DyK judith011@shaw.cayK 2mailto:judith011@shaw.ca i0@0NormalCJOJQJmH <A@<Default Paragraph FontxB@x Body Text71$7$8$H$ & 0` P@5B*CJ8OJPJQJph(U@( Hyperlink>*B*|%< z z z z zh|%L|+ 1%|+$|+o|%X OLE_LINK3 OLE_LINK4 OLE_LINK1 OLE_LINK200~%ii~%o.6BIksvz $S[nu%-GO-8  m t   O T W ^ B G z ! ( I P   8?QYch  \cmr 2:`g%SZ") ip 7!>!?!H!h!o!!!!!^"c"##I#P#j$m$}$$~%isz'+ } _a_` ##?%K%~%:::::::::::::Richard GordonjDick Gordon's iBook System:Users:gordonr:Public:Dick's Library:Dick's Gor1990- Library:Gordon (2003) HortaRichard GordonjDick Gordon's iBook System:Users:gordonr:Public:Dick's Library:Dick's Gor1990- Library:Gordon (1997) HortaRichard GordonjDick Gordon's iBook System:Users:gordonr:Public:Dick's Library:Dick's Gor1990- Library:Gordon_(1997)_Horta@oot}55ooQ|%P @GTimes New Roman5Symbol3 Ariale MHelvetica-BoldTimes New Roman;Helvetica3TimeskMLucidaGrande-BoldTimes New Roman qh`ss_A>0%ir#From: Judith Gordon <judith011@shawRichard GordonRichard Gordon Oh+'0   < H T`hpx'$From: Judith Gordon ARoot Entry F.CData 1Table'WordDocument%<SummaryInformation(/DocumentSummaryInformation87CompObjX FMicrosoft Word DocumentNB6WWord.Document.8