| ..."There was some sort of commotion and a couple of military looking personnel rushed in and bundled me into a shuttle, something of that type. We went a short distance to a heavily defended base and within that a prison block of some sort, a pretty brutal looking place. They hustled me into a cell. He was...well, I wouldn't have recognised him if it hadn't been for his uniform." McCoy's hands were shaking. He picked up a pen and twisted it with quick, agonised movements. "He was unconscious when I got there and they were giving him oxygen. Seemed they'd used a neural disinhibitor of some sort and he'd reacted badly. They'd let me keep my tricorder and I found that the drug had depressed the brain stem function so that he wasn't breathing. His heartbeat was erratic. They wanted me to administer a stimulant. And then they wanted me to stick around and keep him alive so that they could go on questioning him."
McCoy chucked the pen clear across the small office like a dart. "Before you say it, Jim, I know what the regs say. And I know what the law says about doctors who assist anyone in physical abuse of prisoners."
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