He sees her - the dying boy, convulsing helplessly, he sees the impossible and knows that he is going to die here, in this ship, millions of miles from home. After all, one doesn't see ghosts and live.

McCoy doesn't see her, only knows that someone managed to get the access panel disconnected from the rest of the ship, and they're hauling the young electrocuted engineer across the hallway, flat on his back, doping him to his eyeballs with sedatives and anti-arrhythmic drugs and McCoy is praying fervently to whatever god cares to listen to ship's medics that he won't have to take the boy's hand in the end. Sure, there have been great strides in prothetics, but it won't be the same, and the boy's career, just begun, would be effectively over. The corridor reeks of burnt flesh and burnt plastics, and it becomes obvious who is in the medical department and who isn't, even without the colored tunics - everyone has cloth or hands up in front of their faces except McCoy and his crew. They've smelt worse, sometimes while grabbing a quick bite during emergencies.

Just then, they actually do shut down the panel, and someone reports as much to McCoy.

McCoy starts wondering if Spock didn't have a point about the crew needing more disaster drills.