I'd Pay Real Money If He Would Shut Up Mccoy Video
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I'd Pay Real Money If He Would Shut Up Mccoy Movie

Shortly before he retired in the 2290s, Montgomery Scott stated that he had 'just bought a boat.' (Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country) Leonard McCoy responded to Chang incessantly declaring quotations of William Shakespeare during the battle of Khitomer by saying, 'I'd give real money if he'd shut up.' (Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country). 'I'd give real money if he'd shut up.' - McCoy to Spock (Star Trek VI) 'You can't appreciate Shakespeare until you've read him in the original Klingon.' - General Chang (Star Trek VI) 'Logic is the beginning of wisdom; not the end.' - Spock (Star Trek VI) Great Star Trek Quotes has been accessed times since the 18th of January, 1997. “Shut up!” Riley said. He was staring at Miss Blandish. An idea had suddenly dropped into his mind. Here was a chance of getting into the real money. This girl’s father was worth millions. He would pay anything to get her back safe. “She’s coming with us.” Miss Blandish suddenly broke free from Old Sam.

2273

This is a seven point five at least, he thought. I’dbet real money on it.

Leonard McCoy had ridden a lot of things in his career as anofficer on the Enterprise: Shuttlecrafts, hoverers, horses, land cars, flivvers, brak’los,magnetic storms, transporter beams, the wings of fear and hope, and a damned serious quakeor two.

But this one was outside the realm of his personalexperiences. It was big. Really big. He’d never ridden anything quite like it before.This one threw him painfully to his backside before he even had the chance to formcoherent thought. And then Spock was grabbing him and pulling him, tugging at his tunic,scrabbling with him backwards toward the huge table that McCoy had commented on whenhe’d entered the vast reception room. It had looked like a small country to him then,this table, like a continent set hard against the wall; big, sturdy, made of local treesand what looked to be titanium leg braces. He’d joked about it to Spock—who hadnot seen the humor in it—whispered to him sotto voce, had said something aboutoil-drilling platforms and space stations. It was ludicrous, the size of it, he’dsaid. And if it was going to be filled with food, they’d have to recalibrate thetransporter to be able to accommodate their extra girth when this hoo-haw was over.

But now, as he did a clumsy land-based backstroke, pushingwith his feet and arms towards it with Spock at his side, it looked to be about the sizeof his medical tricorder. The ceiling was screeching and moaning as he inched towards iton the buckling floor, and it was dropping small metal panels on his face. His last visionbefore the underside of the table (is that gum?) was of big exposed beams.Killers. Widow-makers, seen through a metallic snow. And then they were safe, side-by-sideon their backs under the table, chests heaving. There was a long, high scream of stressedalloys, and then a series of rumbles so deep that he felt them in his stomach and bonesmore than heard them, and then there was a great wwoomphhh, and then there wasnothing.

*****

His mother was calling him. It was time for school.

He was suffocating, and he reached down to push off hisblanket. But there was no blanket, no bed, and damn little air, and his brain fought toconnect vital synapses to make these things comprehensible. A dream? He squeezed his eyestight and then opened them to blackness. No. Not a dream. A nightmare. His hands ran downhis chest, touching, feeling. He was gritty. His foot was killing him. He sat up.

Well, he sat part of the way up, and then his head met withsomething unyielding.

'Ow!' he said, falling back to rest on his elbows,and the lack of echo made him remember that he was in a small place. A very small place.He sniffed at the stale and chalky air as he reached to his right and his hand met sharpchunks and shards of stuff, of walls. And ceiling. And..

He quickly reached out to his left, remembering Spock,sucking air through his teeth at the pain provided by his movement, and he groped until hehit flesh. A hand. It was reassuringly warm. He squeezed it.

'Spock!' Speaking made him cough harshly. He pulledhis right arm across his face, not that it helped much. It transferred grit, butdidn’t get rid of it.

Hell of an earthquake, he thought, dropping Spock’shand and feeling gingerly down his right leg, twisting to avoid hitting his already achinghead. He struggled to remember what planet they were on, to recall what beings they wouldhave been breaking bread with tonight. Or maybe it already was tonight. He had noidea how much time had passed.

His right foot was trapped. He could reach only down to hisankle, and then his hand met with something big and hard. One of the widow-makers,perhaps. He considered himself lucky to have only sacrificed a foot to it. The table haddone its job. He just hadn’t scooted that right foot all the way under.

Mellak. That’s right. They were on Mellak. Itwasn’t an earthquake. It had been a damned Mellakquake. He thought Spock mightappreciate his precision in that regard. He’d provincially thought 'earthquake'as soon as he’d felt it, instead of the more appropriate and politically suitable'groundquake,' or even worse: 'tectonic shift' or 'seismicdisturbance.'

Thoughts of Spock sent his left hand out again, reaching. Hefound Spock’s fingers and gripped them, giving them a good shake. There was noresponse, and he shifted his own fingers down to the wrist to feel the Vulcan’spulse. It was there, and seemed weak, but who could be sure where Spock was concerned?McCoy knew that he could be deep in meditation, or he could have already put himself intoa systemic hibernation to save oxygen. In spite of these possibilities, McCoy momentarilyfought a little thrill of panic. It was unusual for Spock to be the last to gainconsciousness in any situation.

'Doctor.' It was more of a wheeze than a word, andMcCoy turned and peered futilely into the blackness, his relief overwhelming.

'Spock? You okay?'

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I'd Pay Real Money If He Would Shut Up Mccoy Video

'My hand?'

'Oh.' Though blind as a bat, McCoy still glanceddown to the space between them as he released it. 'I was feeling your pulse. You hadme worried. You—'

'Have you your communicator?'

Ah yes, McCoy thought. If he had to be trapped withsomebody, he supposed that it was good to be trapped with someone who had a logicalpropensity for survival, who was going to immediately cut through all the superfluouscrap. Superfluous crap like You’re alive. Are you all right? Superfluous craplike Is your foot still attached to you? On the other hand, the first officer andchief medical officer of the U.S.S. Enterprise, trapped together in a space theapproximate size of an academy dorm room closet, almost guaranteed that somebodywouldn’t come out of this alive.

'Doctor? Your communicator?'

'Yeah, yeah,' McCoy muttered, reaching to his waistand patting. It was not there, and he felt around the right side of his body, pushingaside pieces of wall an