A/N: I am not dead. No internet access and real life took over! enjoy!

There is a brief moment of silence as Mark looks between the doctors surrounding the table. Each one, save Leonard, are looking to him for some sort of guidance. Finally, Mark opens his hands in a gesture of surrender and smiles brilliantly up at the man before them. "Governor Kirk, once again I would like to extend my apologies to yourself and yours for the confusion. I do sincerely hope it will not cause a problem between us."

"I was the one who hid, not you." Jim – no Governor Kirk – says, and he sits before them. He stares at each one individually, his blue eyes piercing and calculating. This is not the carefree boy Leonard met last night in the bar. This is a man who knows his duties to his people and knows what he needs to do. "Captain Rousseau, do you know why I called you here?"

"We were told there was a plague."

"That's what they assume." The governor says, clicking a small button next to the head of the table. A bright light forms in the middle of the table and seconds later, the form of a human appears. "Around six months ago, our doctors received their first patient. She came in exhibiting symptoms including of fatigue, fever, and a small headache. The doctor that treated her says she showed signs of nothing more than just allergies, or perhaps a small cold. He prescribed her the appropriate medication and sent her on her way. Hours later, she showed up again, this time at the emergency room. She was blue. Within two hours, she started coughing, vomiting blood, and eventually died." Kirk takes a breath. "She wasn't alone. Her family members showed up shortly after that – all but her husband and eldest child died. Her co-workers, friends, then their families until it's reached the insane numbers we have today. We have no idea where this came from, what's causing it, or what it even is. My people are afraid, doctors. Many won't leave their houses; children are being pulled from their schools.

"Tarsus has seen its fair share of hard times, and we're strong people. We don't trust outsiders. But I can not sit by and watch my people die. Not again."

Leonard can hear the doctors talking amongst themselves as thins start to light up on the holographic body in front of them. "First, they say it starts in the lungs and presents itself as something close to an upper respiratory infection. Sneezing, runny noses, coughs, and headaches, followed by unusually high fevers and muscle aches. For some, the virus or whatever it is seems to stop there and doesn't progress any further. For those lucky, it ends within a week's time."

"Like a normal influenza?" One of the female doctors asks.

Kirk nods. "Correct. But for many, it settles into the lungs, causing pneumonia. Past this, my doctors tell me – and I know I am going to butcher this – it usually causes a . . hypercytok . . " Kirk stalls on the word, obviously hoping someone will help him out.

Leonard comes to his rescue. "Hypercytokinemia, or a cytokine storm. It's an over-reaction of the immune system. Your body is producing fluids to rid itself of the infection, but it floods it so fast, it doesn't have time to adapt. Instead, the lungs accumulate fluid so quickly is shuts off airways, which causes respiratory failure, which can and will lead to death if nothing is done about it quickly. It would explain why your patients are turning blue."

The way Kirk's eyebrows lift toward his hairline tells Leonard he is at least mildly impressed. "That's the way my doctors described it to me."

Mark shifts in his seat, looking between Leonard and Kirk with a confused expression on his face. "Governor Kirk, it seems to me your doctors have given you quite a bit of information. If that's the case, why the distress call to Starfleet?"

"We can't control it. It's spreading far too fast for my team to be able to do anything about it and more and more people are becoming sick each day. I don't know if you've noticed, but Tarsus isn't exactly large and most of the people on this planet were either born here or haven't set foot off planet in over ten years. I would assume those from Earth probably have more up to date training and education than mine would?"

A chuckle escapes from one of the doctors to Leonard's left and he turns to see who it is. He has to resist rolling his eyes as the man speaks. "We're probably years ahead of your doctors."

Kirk doesn't disagree. "That very well may be true. In some ways, I hope it is. I've talked it over with the local hospital and they have agreed for you to shadow them for a day before you start taking patients of your own. This isn't a vacation and you will be working. Although, I assume you're all used to working long hours?" He smiles as some of the crew chuckle. "Great. You're to report to the hospital at 0700 hours. If there are no further questions, you're all dismissed. Sleep well, and if there is anything at all you need or that can be used to help, please don't hesitate to ask."

0700 hours met a bleary eyed Leonard McCoy who is half way through this third cup of regenerated coffee. He has always hated the stuff and has disliked it even more since joining Starfleet where it was the only option available. He shuffles into the Tarsian hospital, more than a little surprised at the style. Doctors in white coats, their faces covered with masks, bustle past Leonard in a hurry, barely noticing him. Leonard pays them no heed and moves toward the back of the hospital as he was commanded. There, he finds what he assumes to be a nurses station. They pause momentarily and stare at him with distrusting eyes.

"May we help you, sir?" A nurses asks him, never lowering the mask from her face.

"Doctor Leonard McCoy. I was supposed to report to the Chief of Staff?"

"Are you one of the Starfleet officers?"

Leonard feels heat creeping on the back of his neck. "Yes, ma'am."

"One moment, please." The nurse disappears into a back room and returns momentarily with an older gentlemen, who looks at Leonard with the same untrusting eyes as the rest of the crew had.

"You're from Starfleet?"

"Yes. Doctor Leonard McCoy." Leonard sticks out his hand toward the doctor, who takes it and gives it a firm shake in return. "The other doctors and I met briefly with Governor Kirk last night. He explained the situation as best he could, but I'm still unclear as to how this all began, if we're quite honest."

"You're about as clear as the rest of us – we gave Governor Kirk all we knew." The man began walking as he talked and Leonard followed without further comment. "The first girl died so suddenly. We're used to seeing fast acting illnesses, and usually we can control or decrease them before they turn fatal. This wasn't just one incident, however. This has affected over two hundred people and growing. We're getting desperate and more and more patients are flooding the hospital daily."

"What about lab work?"

"We work with what we have." The doctor turns to face Leonard, as if assessing if he can trust him. "Between you and me, Doctor McCoy, Tarsus doesn't exactly have the most technologically advanced medicine in the galaxy. We're years behind what you're working with."

'Ah, the mistakes of being shut off from anyone for over ten years' Leonard thought. "The lab upon the ship may be temporary, but it's fully functional and will be able to give us the information we need. We'll be able to take samples and swabs from the patients, won't we?"

The look on the doctor's face tells Leonard he'd would rather them not, but he nods instead. "Governor Kirk told us to do anything you needed."

Leonard sees other doctors interacting with patients as he goes about his day, first shadowing the Chief of Staff, then taking his own. They people, even sick, are friendly but suspicious and they gaze uncertainly at Leonard as he speaks to them. He's quick with his work, doesn't linger – Leonard isn't well known for his bedside manner.

One patient, however, refuses to take his silence. "Do they train you to be rude in Starfleet?" she asks one day, barking at him in a sharp tone. She had been completely silent before and Leonard almost jumps when he hears her speak."

"No, ma'am." He answers. "That's just me."

"You admit to being rude?"

"I admit to not having the best bedside manner, yes." Leonard says. There is no use denying it – he's known it for years. "I'm sorry, ma'am. It isn't intentional. I'm usually so focused on what I'm doing, I lose track of everything else."

She huffs, but allows him to go about his business. It's moments before she speaks again. "Think you have a cure?"

"We don't know yet." Leonard answers. "Lie down and breathe normally." She does as he asks and he presses a stethoscope to her chest, listening to the sound of her lungs as she takes shallow breaths. He almost breathes a sigh of relief – she's the first person today who isn't showing signs of liquid in their lungs. He takes notes and hands them off to a nurse, ordering several tests and lab samples to be taken.

Leonard is used to dealing with hospitals, but he has never dealt with one that was only partially operational. Several times he orders a test only to be met with a blank stare and a sense of frustration that it will have to wait until he returns to the ship. The nurses and doctors aren't much better – they work with what they have and do not seem interested in anything else.

Upon returning to the ship, he finds his experience was not unique. "They don't seem to have any interest in helping us at all," one of the other doctors complains, while carting several carriers full of lab samples. "They're content to do what they've been doing all along! They're killing their own people!"

Leonard doesn't disagree, but he's almost too tired to even verbalize this.