McCOY PRESSED A BUTTON THAT WOULD START THE PREPROGRAMMED STIMULUS SEQUENCE.
Impatient, he counted to ten. Now this should have an immediate effect. McCoy glanced up at the monitor.
Nothing.
“If there’s no physical cause,” he said, increasingly worried, “then what’s slowing his brain down?”
“Infection?” suggested Brent. “Virus?”
“Can’t be,” McCoy said, “he hasn’t been off the ship. The only recent possibility of infection is C-15’s anatid flu, but biofilters would stop that from getting aboard.”
“Blood analysis?” Chapel asked, grabbing an empty hypospray.
McCoy nodded. “Worth a try—but we need to treat him immediately. This man is dying.” Desperate to try anything, he adjusted his hypospray. “Ten cc’s should do the trick.”
Still no reaction. He didn’t understand—what could be causing this? By all appearances, there was nothing wrong with the man.