"No, Jim, it's..." He opens his mouth and gives him a dubious look at Jim wearing the goddamn tribble like a parrot. He swipes it away as gently as he can and sets it back on the bed reverently because this is insane. "I don't mean good health for a tribble. I mean perfect health. I mean, the disease that was going through it when I had it is gone, but there's genetic markers I recognize. Cell counts, organ strength..."

"It's like it was just born, but the thing is years old," he says, furrowing his brow. "It must have been treated with something."