McCoy smiled at the audience. "That concludes my presentation." He nodded to acknowledge their applause. "Thank you. I will now be taking questions, if there are any." He raised his slide clicker and changed the image to a zoomed-in microscopic view of the virus. Clearing his throat, he then reached for his water bottle, which sat on a stool nearby, and took a swig of cold water. "Yes," he replied, pointing at a young blonde woman in the fifth row who had her hand slightly raised. "Doctor..."

"Lindsey Werner. Not a doctor, actually," the woman admitted, tugging on the right sleeve of her green jacket. "I work in the informational services department at Kitea Waystation. We receive several ships from Iselie and the surrounding area on a regular basis."

"I see." McCoy stepped to the edge of the stage and gave her his full attention. "And you're concerned about travelborne infections, naturally?"

She nodded. "We have many families living and working on and around the station. As you know, when you live in a major exchange post, it's not a matter of if, but when." Werner smiled grimly. "I was kind of hoping you might be passing out free samples of the serum so I could bring some back and put our people's minds at ease."

McCoy cleared his throat again. "As much as I'd like to oblige, Ms. Werner, I don't have any with me at the moment. I can provide Kitea with the chemical formula, however. Your medical clinic does possess a chemisynthesis device?"

"I think so, but I'll have to check with Inventory. We just got a big shipment from Central Supply. They were still unloading it when I left." She smiled and took her seat. "Thank you, Doctor."

"Anything I can do to put your mind at ease, ma'am." McCoy picked up his tablet and made a note on it. "Any more questions?" Several hands shot up. "Yes." McCoy pointed to an older bearded man. "The gentleman with the jelly donut in the back."

"Ganaussis Plinch, Naus to my friends. Yes a doctor, despite my poor dietary choices." He chuckled and took a bite of the pastry. Some of the others around him laughed, too. "Microbiology chair, University of Lumabede. I was wondering if you noted any similarities in those members of the landing party who did not fall ill. Blood chemistry, immunity to other similar diseases, etc."

McCoy raised a finger. "It's funny you should ask that, actually. While preparing my talk for this conference, I noticed that six of the eight patients who responded well to the serum had undergone a two-month field training session on Wrobel III within the last three years. Five of the eight grew up on planets with relatively thin atmospheres, so there may be a link to radiation exposure. And of course, there's their service aboard the Enterprise itself - radiation again."

"All worth noting," Plinch agreed, stroking his beard.

"Yes." McCoy coughed. "In cases like these, it's difficult to draw links between potential causes and effects without a larger patient pool and further research. I'm afraid that's a task better suited to academics than starship chief medical officers. As of this moment, there are three other diseases circulating through the crew which my staff assures me are well under control. That's considered a light week on the Enterprise." A low titter rose from a contingent of Starfleet medical officers who wore assignment patches indicating their current stationing on Rolfu VII's artificial ring system, where the conference was being held. He set down his tablet and took another drink from his water bottle. "I'll be publishing my findings in next month's Frontier Contagions, but I'll also be making my case notes available on Starfleet's MedNet for anyone who wants to investigate further."

"I'll look forward to reading it," the microbiologist replied. Licking his lips with a smack, he flushed and took his seat. "That's powdered sugar, not my eagerness." The audience laughed again.

McCoy raised his hands in the air and held them out to the crowd. "I may be mistaken, but I think he just stole my thunder. Naus, you got more laughs in two minutes than I did throughout the entire talk. If you ever get tired of medicine, I'll hire you on as my warm-up act." Plinch nodded his head in acknowledgment. McCoy strode to the other end of the stage and scanned the rows. "Next question...Dr. Gratton, I believe?"

"Thanks for the ride, Ciunas." After clapping the shuttle pilot on his shoulder, McCoy exited the shuttle. He shifted his bag on his hip before continuing down the ramp. He took a moment to inhale deeply. "Ahhh. Good old shuttlebay air."

"So you prefer engine grease to the sweet smell of antiseptic? Me, too." Scotty's voice emanated from somewhere to McCoy's right. "If'n I had it me way, the one'd smell like the other. Antiseptic like grease, I mean."

"Scotty?" McCoy circled the shuttle, looking for the engineer. He spotted an escape pod that was currently propped up on a repair frame and rapped on the hatch. No reply. "Where are you?"

A rush of air behind him made him take a step forward and turn around. A helmeted redshirt climbed up out of a small trapdoor in the ground and kicked it shut. He sat down on a nearby crate and puffed out a breath. "I ken, those receptor compartments get wee-er every week." Scotty pulled off the helmet and wiped his sweaty, grease-stained face with a corner of his shirt.

"It couldn't be that you're gettin' bigger, now, could it?" McCoy teased.

Scott dismissed him with a wave of his hand. "Nay. I stopped growing years ago, ever since I traded in real food for an engineer's diet. It consists mainly of handfuls of whatever you can snatch between crises, which isn't much."

The doctor smiled. "Not much time for salad in between emergency surgeries and quarantine protocols, either."

Scott nodded. "Maybe after I retire, I'll write a cookbook for those poor souls what come after me. 101 Ways to Prepare Sawdust." He stood up and straightened his clothes, then reached for the helmet. "How'd your presentation go? I would've attended, but I figured I might drown you oot with all me snoring."

McCoy rolled his eyes. "Thank you for not comin', then." He swallowed and tugged at his collar. "I think I did a fairly decent job. Spoke for about two hours, fielded questions for half an hour afterwards. Ahem. Sure makes a man powerful thirsty, though. Can I buy you a drink?"

Scott smiled. "Sure. Just let me clean up first." They walked across the bay, passing several crewmembers and entered a small washroom facility. McCoy leaned against the tiled wall as Scott turned on the sink and began to scrub his greasy hands with yellow liquid soap from the dispenser. "Before ye return to business as usual, I feel it's only fair to warn you about Spock."

McCoy jerked forward. "What's he done now? Painted the bridge black? Issued uniform-colored gags to all the departments?" He ran his hands through his hair. "Started a shipboard annex of the Letar Society?"

Scotty shook his head. "Nay, nothing that drastic." He stuck his hands under the water to rinse them, then splashed his face, sputtering as he did so. "Didn't you get the memo?"

"Nah, I haven't checked my messages for two days. What memo?"

"The one about Silence Week. Participation is voluntary, of course, but you may notice the halls might be a little quieter and darker for the next few days." Scotty shook the excess water off his hands and pressed a button, dispensing a white towel. He grabbed it and patted his face dry, then dematerialized the towel.

"That Vulcan will be the death of me." McCoy sighed and threw up his hands. "He's suckin' all the life out of this ship, one silence at a time."

"Maybe so, but you have to admit, at least it conserves power." Scotty shrugged. "And some of the crewmembers have really taken to it, especially the scientific departments. Word is there's been an increase in productivity in the records section, as well. Fewer distractions." He grinned at the doctor. "I might even get some of my flamin' requisitions filled for a change."

McCoy followed Scotty out the hallway exit door and down the corridor to one of the turbolifts. "I just hope sickbay hasn't caught the silence bug." He coughed. "Nobody likes to visit a clinic that resembles a mausoleum."

"Nobody likes to visit sickbay, period. They have to." Scott entered the lift and selected the floor manually.

"Oh, I dunno about that." McCoy tapped his fingers on the handhold. "Beth Kearns seems to find plenty of excuses to drop by. It'll be a cold day in the arboretum when that woman doesn't think she's coming down with something." He tsked and shook his head.

Scott stuffed his hands in his pockets. "I think that might have more to do with Doctor Casell than hypochondria."

"Really?" McCoy moved towards the door as the car shuddered to a stop. "Come to think of it, he was the attending physician on call the last two times, that I know of." He shrugged and exited the turbolift, Scotty behind him. "Well, I'll be. Beth and Travis. That might explain his request for time off this weekend. Maybe he thinks if he takes her out proper, she'll quit bugging him at work."

"Or perhaps he wants the time off to avoid her," Scott chuckled.

"I don't really care either way, as long as it gets that woman out of my sickbay until I summon her or she comes in on a stretcher. Do you know that I almost hung my jacket on her once?" McCoy entered the ship's refreshment room and signaled to the bartender, who removed two glasses from behind the bar and set them on the counter, awaiting their orders. Swallowing hard, he turned to the engineer. "What's your pleasure, Scotty?"

McCoy rolled over in bed, coughing raspily. He stretched his arm out and reached for a bottle of water on his bedside, knocking it over in the process. With a growl, he sat up and rubbed his eyes, blinking. "Confound it!" He clutched his throat as the words came out hoarsely. "Computer, lights." The room remained dark. Sighing, he rolled out of bed and groped around in the darkness until his hand touched the lightswitch.

Ten minutes, a shower, and a fresh uniform later, he strolled into sickbay, nodding at his colleagues as he passed by them. Stifling a cough, he continued on into his office and secured the door behind him. He unlocked a small cabinet above his desk and removed a small glass bottle containing a green beverage, which he poured into a shot glass.

"Bragoon before breakfast?" A red-haired doctor waggled his finger back and forth. "For shame, Leonard." He set down a bin full of sample containers on the couch and joined McCoy at his desk. "Rough night?"

McCoy shrugged and took a sip, grimacing. He set the glass down.

The other doctor leaned forward on one elbow, studying McCoy. "You know what would make it better?" He picked up the glass and rolled it between his fingers. "Stop pretending you're not sick and take your medicine like a big boy."

McCoy's eyebrows raised. "Who said I was-" His mouth snapped shut as the words came out souding gravelly.

The doctor smiled. "Busted. Usually when you show up in the morning, you're barking orders, calling the shift meeting, checking on patients. Not setting a record for the hundred meter cross-sickbay dash." He set the glass down. "One of the first rules of medicine: any sudden changes in behavior are suspect. You've said as much on numerous occasions."

McCoy leaned back in his chair. "Yeah, I did say that, didn't I, Travis? All right, let's get this-" He cleared his throat and winced. "-over with." He opened a drawer and removed a medkit, pushing it across the desktop.

Casell opened the kit and began to scan McCoy's throat with the medical tricorder. "Pulse slightly high. Temperature elevated. Throat tissue is definitely inflamed," he noted as he studied the screen, a serious expression crossing his features.

"No kidding." Leonard rolled his eyes. "For this, I need a professional?"

"Open up." Casell removed a sample probe from its casing. "There we go. Just gonna tuck that in there," he added, swabbing the back of McCoy's throat. "Give it a little twist..."

"Cut the play-by-play and tell me what I've got." McCoy coughed as Casell removed the probe and sealed it in a capsule.

"Just be glad I didn't make you parade out there in patient whites and stocking feet." Travis headed for the door of McCoy's office and stuck his head out. "Hey, Pat. Plate this for me?" He passed the sample capsule to the medical tech, then reached for the bin of containers. "I'll be by in a few to look at it." He glanced back at McCoy. "Don't get any ideas about disappearing on me. And lay off the bragoon." His cheeks pinked at the chief's frown. "What's the matter? Did I overstep?"

McCoy shook his head and waved his hand dismissively. "Nah. We have a sayin' here in sickbay; you sow what you reap. That includes bedside wisecracks." He stuffed his hands in his pockets. "I'll just lounge here on the couch until you come back with the bad news." He walked over and plopped down on the couch, leaning back on his folded arms.

Ten minutes later, Casell re-entered, carrying a tablet and stylus in his left hand. He raised his eyebrows. "Congratulations, Doc. You're the lucky winner of a case of Cranician laryngitis." He passed the tablet to McCoy, who scrolled through the images; vital sign readings, a scan of his inflamed throat tissue, a close-up microscopic image of the tiny blue viruses, a graphical projection of the infection's likely course. "Fortunately for you, it looks like you're past the contagious stage. It only lasts about six hours."

McCoy frowned. "How'd I ever run into that one? Nobody's been allowed anywhere near Cranice since they instituted their seasonal quarantine last month."

"Well, you did attend a medical conference. All those people in one big room, shaking hands..." Travis shrugged. "Something's bound to spread to someone from somewhere."

Leonard coughed and handed the tablet back. "It's a blasted petri dish, that's what it is. You'd think a bunch of doctors'd know better." He puffed out a breath of air. "Suggested treatment?"

Casell scrolled down the page. "A course of liornofilnin, plenty of sleep, and..." He tucked the tablet under his arm.

"And what?"

"I'd recommend complete vocal rest for the next week, unless you want to damage your voice permanently." Casell made a note on McCoy's file. "I'll have to inform Starfleet Medical about your condition so they can alert the other attendees, as well." He pointed his stylus at McCoy. "Tell you what...I'll sign yours if you sign mine. Excuse slips, that is." He scratched the side of his head. "My brother sent me some of my old hologames in that last supply shipment. I thought I'd try to beat my high scores."

"Is that all you've got planned?" McCoy winked. "Why don't you ask Beth if she'd like to-"

Casell held a finger in front of his lips. "Uh uh. Write it down." He glanced down at the tablet. "I'll send Teresa in here with your meds. Then it's off to bed with you." Backing out of the room, he nodded at McCoy. "And...um, about Beth? I'll think about it."

Leonard entered the crowded recreation room. A spirited game of ring toss was taking place in the far left corner, while two women in casual clothes were putting together a four-dimensional puzzle near the doorway. Two couples had spread a blanket on the floor and were enjoying a picnic lunch of fried chicken and watermelon. McCoy grinned. A cross-legged Travis was smiling at Beth as he passed her a soda. The wiry brunette didn't appear the slightest bit ill as she accepted the can from her crush. Neither appeared to notice him. Their dining companions, two Twanelian security officers, were seated side by side, holding webbed hands and watching the other couple with amusement.

He headed past the happy couples towards a small table on the right, where Kirk sat, deep in thought with a stack of tablets and file clips next to him. The doctor tapped Kirk on the shoulder.

Kirk looked up. "Hey. What's with the casual wear?" he asked, indicating McCoy's green wool turtleneck sweater and blue denims.

McCoy sat down and removed a small tablet from his pocket, typed out a message, and passed it to Kirk. Off work. Cranician laryngitis. No talking allowed. Supposed to be in bed, but didn't want to.

"Ouch." Kirk winced. "Get better soon." He frowned. "Wait a minute. Leonard McCoy disobeying a doctor's orders? Gasp." He widened his eyes and covered his mouth with one hand, fanning with the other. "Whew! I can smell the hypocrisy from here."

Bored to tears, McCoy wrote. Not contagious. Close your mouth, Jim.

"Okay, okay." Kirk pressed his lips together and held up his hands in surrender, then hunched over his notes again. "But the next time I play checkup hooky, I get a free pass, capisce?"

No promises. What are you doing? McCoy looked over Kirk's shoulder. A series of meaningless vectors and calculations covered the tablet screen, liberally annotated with notes in Kirk's handwriting. Doodles of question marks and spirals filled the margins.

"Navigational plotting." Kirk rubbed his eyes. "Starfleet's adopting a new framework in the next series of computer program upgrades and all the captains have to familiarize themselves with it. L-redirection, non-linear wave grids..." He shook his head. "I thought I was a genius, but now I'm starting to wonder."

Get Pavel to tutor you. He ought to understand all these scribbles. McCoy frowned.

"Yeah. Probably." Kirk yawned and shoved aside the tablet, twirling his stylus around. "Wow. What do you plan to do with all that free time?"

I dunno. Have some medical journals to catch up on, but don't feel like reading about other diseases right hurts like I'm swallowing gravel and glass. Tired, but can't sleep. He sank into a chair. I was hoping you might have an idea.

"Well, I guess glee club's out of the question." Kirk grinned, leaning on one elbow.

No kidding. McCoy swallowed hard, grimacing. Ow.Feels like when I had my tonsils out as a kid.

"Tonsils..." Kirk tapped his lower lip with one finger. "Hey. I know. Let's go get some medicine."

Already had some. Uck.

"Not that. The kind that doesn't need a prescription and comes with hot fudge, whipped cream, and sprinkles." Kirk forced a cough into his hand. "I think I'm catching something, too. Ahem."

You're a terrible liar, Jim. But I could go for a creamsicle.

"Captain." Both men looked up. Spock stood by the table, hands folded behind his back. "Doctor."

McCoy tipped his head in acknowledgement.

"Jim," Spock repeated, "as you weren't answering your communicator, I came to personally remind you that we are to rendezvous with the Wren in two hours." He gestured at the pile of tablets. "Your signature is required on several documents beforehand."

Kirk groaned. "Can't you just forge it for me or something?"

Spock frowned. "I could, but I did not wish to take the liberty nor set the precedent." He picked up a tablet and opened the paperwork files, handing it to Kirk. He looked at McCoy. "Leonard. I was apprised of your condition. May your recovery be both swift and complete."

McCoy nodded. Thank you.

"I suspect the likelihood of that outcome would increase if you availed yourself of the opportunity to sleep." Spock narrowed his eyes, then looked away. "I am certain you are already aware of that, however. Since you appear determined to rebel against doctor's orders, I can offer a possible compromise."

What's that? McCoy asked, massaging his throat.

Spock acknowledged two passing science officers as they greeted him, then returned his attention to McCoy. "Rather than languish in your quarters, you might consider participating in Silence Week activities instead." He raised an eyebrow. "There are a variety of competitive silence tournaments, activity sessions, and film screenings scheduled in the next few days." He checked his communicator. "I will be teaching a beginner's air lute class in assembly room 4 ten minutes hence. "

McCoy's mouth dropped open. Mouthing the words air lute?, he exchanged glances with Kirk, who just shrugged. McCoy turned back to look at Spock.

The Vulcan replace his comm in his pocket. "You are welcome to join us, if you wish."

McCoy shook his head. I'll pass.

"Very well. Now, if you will excuse me, I have a few last-minute preparations to make before the class commences."

Like what? Unscrewing all the lightbulbs? Or maybe warm-up exercises. Finger crunches? Lip presses?

Kirk stifled a laugh. "Good luck, Spock. I'll try to drop in for a minute after I finish my paperwork."

"Thank you." Spock turned to leave, then paused and looked McCoy in the eyes. "Perhaps it is fortuitous that you acquired the infection when you did, Doctor. This way, you will not have to feel left out or lonely during your convalescence." With a nod, he left the room.

Kirk stood up and hefted the pile of tablets and clips into his arms. "Looks like I have a lot of homework to do." He sighed. "What about you, Bones? Frozen treats or a silent music lesson?"

"Mmmm." McCoy leaned forward and buried his head in his arms. "My nice warm bed's startin' to look a lot better..." he whispered.