Trek TOS story: Wider Than The Sky (part III)
***
Perched on the edge of a lab table, Doctor McCoy watched James Kirk totter around Sickbay. Truth be told, he wasn’t exactly sanguine about having Kirk out of bed, but he’d been somewhat surprised that he’d managed to keep the man confined as long as he had without resorting to restraints. Clothed in a rumpled, blue, patient smock, Kirk was doing his best to pace the length of Sickbay while grilling his CMO and first officer. Kirk’s steps might not have been as steadfast as usual, but there was no doubting the tenacity in his voice.
“So, you’re telling me I’m currently exposing my innermost thoughts to everyone like some… burlesque dancer on the Orion Circuit?”
McCoy swiftly squelched the rather disturbing images that comment elicited, and waved a placating hand at Kirk. “Now Jim. It isn’t as bad as all that. As Spock pointed out, the only people who even know something’s wrong are those with telepathic abilities, and there aren’t very many of those on board.”
If anything, Kirk’s expression turned even sourer. “Terrific, so I am just bombarding Mister Spock with my mental… prattle.”
“Captain, I am easily able to shield the intrusion of your thoughts.” Spock was standing at parade rest, seemingly relaxed, but McCoy had already seem him twitch once when Kirk had stumbled. The doctor had no doubt should Kirk lose his footing, the captain would never hit the floor.
“Not eavesdropping, Spock?” There was an ugly twist to Kirk’s mouth. “Not even tempted? Why not? You’ve already been in my head.” He ran a heavy hand over his face. “Or maybe what you found there was so distasteful…”
Spock jerked back a fraction, and McCoy stiffened on his behalf. “Now just a minute…!”
“Certainly not, Captain. I…” Spock looked distinctively uncomfortable. “To trespass in your mind without permission would be unconscionable.”
For Kirk to say something so brutal only convinced McCoy that the captain was far more unsettled by events than he was admitting.
And Kirk himself immediately deflated in contrition. His shoulders slumped and he curled into himself, a hand reaching out to find support against a wall. “Sorry, Spock. Of course you wouldn’t… I know that. I don’t know why I said…” He glanced uncertainly at the Vulcan, and McCoy caught something pass between them. Like the shadow of a butterfly. Ephemeral, flickering understanding.
Spock gazed down his long nose and pronounced, “You are overtaxed.”
Kirk slumped against the wall. “Overtaxed. Is that it? Ten minutes out of bed, and I’m ‘overtaxed’. I don’t know why you bother with all those fitness requirements, Bones. I don’t have the stamina of a new born kitten.”
McCoy levered himself to his feet with a snort. “I’d like to see where you’d be without those fitness requirements, Jim. In case it slipped your mind, we almost lost you on Ruel.” He crossed his arms and tried for his most intimidating scowl. “Now, Spock’s right. You are overtaxed and you need to get back in bed.”
Intimidating scowls apparently didn’t work on James Kirk. He ate them for breakfast. Dismissing McCoy, Kirk turned his attention back to Spock. “And you think a Vulcanian healer can help me?”
“I cannot be certain, but it is a logical assumption.”
Kirk’s eyes narrowed. “How?”
“The healer may be able to enter your mind, and repair the neural-damage I have done. If not, he or she could assist you in learning how to shield on your own.”
“Mental training? Won’t that take time?”
“Once you learn the techniques, you could continue to practice them to gain proficiency.”
“How long?”
“You are Human. It will likely take you longer to perfect the abilities…”
Kirk cut him short, voice clipped, “Stop avoiding the question. How long, Spock.”
The Vulcan shifted uncomfortably. “It could conceivably take years of practice.”
“Years. Terrific.” Once again, Kirk rubbed at his forehead, swaying slightly. Both Spock and McCoy took steps towards him, but he fended them off with a sharp, hazel-eyed glare. “We can’t go to Vulcan yet. We are already behind schedule, and I need to get Doctor Nar-Qi and his team to Torrus. Uhura tells me he is not too pleased with out delay on Ruel.”
“We need not go to Vulcan,” Spock offered. “There is a Vulcanian bio-science lab located on Starbase 16. A Vulcanian healer is also present. It is not far out of our way. We could be there in a matter of days.”
“Is it on route to Torrus?”
“No, but I have devised a circuitous route that will…”
Let it never be said, James Kirk played favorites with his command crew. He disregarded Spock as easily as he had dismissed McCoy. “Then it will have to wait, Spock. You yourself said this… condition, has no effect upon my ability to command. Correct?”
“Yes, however…”
“Then I suspect I can hold out until we drop off…”
But he got no further as Nurse Chapel’s strident protests cut short the comment, and the subject of his concern chose that very moment to make an unexpected appearance.
Dr. Tarleton Nar-Qi came sauntering in to the treatment room with an agitated Nurse Chapel on his heels.
“Doctor, I’m sorry,” she offered addressing McCoy. “I told him…”
“Captain Kirk,” Nar-Qi announced with the presumptuous air of someone used to being accommodated. “I have been attempting to reach you for days, and your crew has been most uncooperative. I do not appreciate being treated like a menial.”
McCoy flared. “The captain has been confined to Sickbay for the last few days recovering from debilitating injuries!”
With a mollifying gesture, Kirk waved off the CMO. “Bones. It’s okay.”
Nar-Qi was not a particularly imposing individual. Like all Ithenites, his voice was high pitched and childish, and he stood barely over a meter in height. But what he lacked in centimeters, he made up for in temerity. As was common among his people, he dressed in brightly colored garments designed to attract attention, and his copper-tinted skin gleamed under the lights of Sickbay. He was hard to overlook. Arms crossed, he gazed up at Kirk expectantly. “When I boarded your ship, you assured me and my team that we would reach Torrus within nine days. We are fast approaching that deadline.”
Nonplused, Kirk acknowledged, “Yes. I regret our earlier delay but it was... necessary. I assure you, we are laying in a course for Torrus immediately and will do everything we can to get you there in a timely manner.”
Nar-Qi did not appear impressed. “And am I to understand we will reach Torrus by the designated time?
“No. I’m sorry, but even at top speed we are still five days away.”
Nar-Qi drew himself up to all of his three hundred twenty-five centimeters and spat, “That is unacceptable!”
Kirk spread his hands. “That is… reality. We are contacting the Torran ambassador, and will explain the reasons for our delay. No fault will fall upon you or your team.”
Nar-Qi harrumphed. “That is the least you can do, Kirk. I will, of course, report this incompetence to Starfleet. I was guaranteed timely transport to Torrus and your failure to keep your side of the bargain is indicative of systemic ineptitude. Exactly what I would expect from an egomaniacal starship captain such as yourself.” He thrust a stubby finger at Kirk. “You will be held accountable this time, Kirk. I insist upon it!”
For his part, Kirk responded with a finger jab of his own, and opened his mouth to deliver what he considered a fair retort, but apparently reconsidered when he caught an eyebrow from Spock. Dealing with unreasonable civilian scientists simply wasn’t cost effective in terms of the expense of effort and energy. Especially when one was dealing with depleted reserves of both. Instead, Kirk let his hand drop heavily to his side, and sighed. “You are free to do what ever you feel is justified, of course, Doctor. In the meantime, we will make all efforts to get you and your people safely to Torrus.”
Spock was watching the captain with narrow, dark eyes. He took a step forward, head cocked. “You are in pain.”
That caught McCoy’s attention. He straightened and shot a censuring look at the captain. “Jim?”
Kirk graced the Vulcan with a sour look. “Peeking Spock? I thought you said you wouldn’t trespass.”
Spock’s lips flattened, but he rose to the challenge. “I am not ‘peeking’, Captain. The amount of discomfort you are experiencing has intensified to a level which was able to breach my natural shields.
Kirk flushed at that, somewhat disconcerted. “Oh…” he mumbled. “Sorry.” He seemed at a loss as to how to appropriately apologize for leaking one’s innermost emotions and thoughts all over the place.
“To insure your privacy, I will, of course strengthen my telepathic barriers in future. However, this does not negate the fact that, at the moment, you are in pain.”
“It’s nothing.”
“You let me be the judge of that!” McCoy snapped, pointing insistently towards Kirk’s bio-bed. “Now, are you going to go willingly, or do I have Mister Spock carry you!”
Kirk glanced at Spock and the expectant lift of an eyebrow told him was out maneuvered. With a meek look of contrition, he acquiesced, allowing himself to be herded back to bed.
Spock turned his attention to Dr. Nar-Qi. “Doctor. As you can see, the captain is presently still recovering from injuries sustained on Ruel. He requires rest. I respectfully request that your refrain from contacting him until such time as he is fully recovered.”
Tarleton Nar-Qi planted his hands firmly on hips and glared at Spock. “And when will that be, Mister Spock?”
“I am unable to answer that at present.”
“Typical! Using his crew to deflect objections and hiding his deficiency behind these supposed ‘injuries’.”
Spock’s voice lowered an octave, clear indication to those who knew him that he was growing agitated. “The captain’s injuries were quite real. Now, I must insist that you leave Sickbay and allow the captain his rest.”
Doctor Nar-Qi did not look pleased with the situation, but seeing no advantage to continuing the discussion, he capitulated. “Very well. But as your captain apparently remains ‘indisposed’, I will expect to communicate directly with you. You are second in command, are you not?”
“I am.”
“Then I will anticipate being able to contact you as needed,” Nar-Qi stipulated, as though it were his due. “I will not be put off by servile members of your crew.”
“I do have a starship to run, Doctor Nar-Qi.”
If Nar-Qi picked up on the dry irony flavoring Spock’s comment, he chose to ignore it. “Your captain stated we are presently proceeding to Torrus?”
“That is correct.”
“Then, prove yourself more dependable than your captain, and I do not foresee needing to contact you at all.” With that brusque dismissal, Dr. Nar-Qi finally exited Sickbay.
***
Brow drawn together in a frown, Kirk processed the response just received from Ambassador Torru Gah Ka Ffsst'tah'preh'hoon on Torrus. Running a hand across the back of his neck, he reflected that the headache McCoy had banished earlier with one of his elixirs was one again lurking. He glanced towards Spock, who stood at his science station, one raised eyebrow expressing his own surprise at the content of the unexpected communication. Licking his lips, Kirk considered his reply before speaking into the audio link being routed though the universal translator and down to planet Torrus. “Ambassador. I don’t… quite understand. What do you mean, you refuse to meet with Doctor Nar-Qi and his team?”
“We have reconsidered,” came the reply in a wet, slushy voice that was neither male nor female but an amalgamation of the two.
Kirk waited, expecting more, but apparently the Torran ambassador felt that was sufficient. Not for the first time, Kirk wished for visual contact. He always felt better when he could see those with whom he was conversing. However, in the case of the Torrus, there were sound reasons for avoiding visual interchange. Namely, it was likely to make his bridge crew sick.
As noted by various scholars and scientists, a notable percentage of the species encountered throughout explored space were essentially similar in appearance. Such a large number, in fact, as to be indicative of some deliberate plan. Vulcanoids. Orions. Xentians. Humanoids. Andorians. Tellarites. Romulans. Klingons. Ithenites. Caitains. Deltans. All bipeds with bilateral bodily symmetry. In fact, the prevalence of intelligent, bipedal species itself could not be accounted for by natural development. Many theories had been put forth to explain this phenomenon, including the suggestion that the Preservers, an ancient race of beings who had been responsible for seeding life throughout the galaxy, had suffered from a bias towards hominid life forms.
The Torrus, however, were an exception to the bipedal prototype. Standing just over three meters tall, they resembled in shape, perhaps nothing more closely than oversized Terran potatoes standing on end. Their lumpy forms were covered by a pliable, translucent brown tinted skin that allowed a blurry view of the workings of their internal organs and bodily systems. When they moved, they secreted mucus to aid in locomotion, leaving behind a trail of thick slime Humans found malodorous.
The shifting colors and shapes of Torran anatomy, coupled with their less than pleasing smell, had a pronounced negative effect the sons and daughters of earth. Reactions ranged from a slight queasiness to intense nausea and bouts of uncontrollable vomiting. This "allergy" to the Torrus proved so debilitating that all initial contacts between the Federation and the Torrus had been conducted by non-Humans. However, subsequent contacts had shown that as long as Humans were forewarned of the possible consequences and limited their contact with the Torrus to short intervals, the worst reactions could generally be avoided.
Kirk wasn’t sure if mere visual contact would be enough to debilitate anyone, but he wasn’t keen on finding out. He would stick with audio for now.
He leaned forward in his command chair, frustration growing. “Reconsidered? You… reconsidered? Ambassador, may I respectfully remind you, it was the Torran delegation that requested the presence of Doctor Nar-Qi.”
“That was before.”
Again, that seemed to be all he was going to get.
Kirk shot a helpless look at Spock, then returned to the fray. “Before? Before what Ambassador?” He was definitely at a disadvantage in this conversation.
“Before you did not arrive as was promised.”
Shit. Kirk rubbed at his eyes. Yes, the headache was definitely making a comeback. “Ambassador. We have explained the reasons for our delay. It was unfortunate, but unavoidable. Now, we’ve come a very long way...”
“You may leave now.”
“Ambassador. Please be realistic…”
“Captain,” Uhura swiveled in her chair, an apologetic look on her face. “Contact with the Ambassador has been broken.”
“Broken?” Kirk came up out of his chair. “Broken how? Get him back, Lieutenant.”
Her fingers flew over the controls. “I’m trying, Captain, but the transmission was disconnected on their end.”
Kirk slapped a hand down on the arm of his chair. “Dammit! Keep trying! I didn’t come halfway across the galaxy to have a door slammed in my face!”
That brought McCoy to life. The CMO had been hovering at the rear of the bridge, watching Kirk closely. He hadn’t been particularly enthusiastic about allowing Kirk back on the bridge in the first place. And he certainly wasn’t pleased with the level of agitation Kirk was displaying. “Jim!”
Kirk whirled on him, then pitched sideways, reaching out blindly to catch at the arms of his chair as the bridge reeled around him.
Spock was beside him in an instant. He caught Kirk by the arm and steered him into his command seat. “Captain?”
Kirk impatiently shook off Spock’s hand. “I’m fine. Just got a little dizzy.”
Then McCoy was there, eyes flashing daggers. “What did I tell you about demanding too much of yourself too soon?” He ran his scanner over Kirk, his lips pursed in a scowl.
Kirk waved a dismissive hand. “Bones, talking with the Torran ambassador is hardly what I’d consider harmful.”
“That’s not what my instruments are telling me!”
Spock shifted his attention. “Doctor?”
McCoy harrumphed as he read the readings on his tricorder. “Nothing serious. Just some stress related changes in blood pressure.” He glowered at Kirk. “Jim, I don’t like this. You’re pushing yourself too hard. You should still be in Sickbay.”
“Oh no,” Kirk’s glare was every bit as stern as McCoy’s. “You are not locking me back up in that dungeon.” He spun to face the communications officer. “Any luck, Uhura?”
She shook her head regretfully. “No, Captain. I’m sorry. They are refusing to answer my hails.”
Kirk levered himself out of the chair. “Well, if the mountain won’t come to Muhammad…”
“Casting yourself in the role of prophet, Captain?” Spock inquired with a hint of something Kirk chose to interpret as humor.
“No, Spock. Casting myself in the role of beleaguered starship captain.”
McCoy planted himself firmly in Kirk’s path. “And just what are you planning?”
Kirk tugged his shirt into place and considered the chances of successfully dodging around McCoy. “I am planning on beaming down to the surface of Torrus and speaking personally with the ambassador.”
“Oh no you’re not!”
“Bones…”
“I mean it, Jim. You shouldn’t tax yourself any further!”
Kirk sighed, and resigned himself to the headache. “I am actually trying not to tax myself any further.”
McCoy looked exceedingly skeptical, but at least he wasn’t bustling Kirk back to Sickbay - yet. “How do you figure that?”
“If I don’t fix this mess,” Kirk noted, with a droll twist of his mouth, “the only thing I am going to hear, from now until we dump Doctor Tarleton Nar-Qi and his team at the nearest Starbase, is what a wretched failure I am and how I should do the universe a favor, resign my commission and take up basket weaving, as it is about the only thing for which I am suitable.” He rubbed at a temple. “And that, gentlemen, would be taxing”
At his side, Spock slipped into lecture mode, offering his professional insight. “As I understand it, the process of weaving fibers into baskets can require a high degree of dedication and concentration. It is a craft which has been practiced on Vulcan since the earliest stages of our evolution.”
Kirk turned to him, feeling extremely under whelmed. “Really, Mister Spock? That is exceptionally… unhelpful.”
As Spock mulled that over, Kirk glanced over the first officer’s shoulder towards the communications station. “Miss Uhura, please have Mister Scott report to the bridge, and arrange for someone to cover your station. I’d like to have you in on this. Your communications expertise might come in handy.” He tapped a finger against his lips, thinking. “I’ll also need a security detail. Have a team meet me in the transporter room.” A nod towards the Vulcan. “Spock, you’re with me.”
“Yes, sir.”
McCoy had not budged. He stood rooted as firmly as a Vorshian thorn brush. “If you insist on beaming down there to meet with those spuds, I’m coming along!”
“Bones, I don’t think…
“That’s the only way I’ll to agree to this Jim.” His expression clearly read, ‘Don’t push me.’
Knowing McCoy wasn’t one to make idle threats, Kirk amiably agreed. “Okay. Let’s go.”
Gathering Spock McCoy and Uhura he stepped up to the tubolift and was waiting when it deposited Chief Engineer Montgomery Scott on the bridge. “Mister Scott. You have the con. We’re beaming down to meet with the Torrus.”
“Aye,” the Scotsman replied. “Don’t worry. I’ll take bonnie care of her for you, sir.” His warm brown eyes crinkled at the edges. “Have a’care with those wee beasties. I hear they can turn a man’s stomach.”
“We will, Mister Scott.”
***
Doctor Nar-Qi and his team were waiting in the transporter room, equipment piled around their feet, and in one case, tentacles.
Beleaguered starship captain indeed. Kirk’s headache shifted into high gear in mere anticipation of the upcoming confrontation.
“Doctor…” That was as far as he got.
Tarleton Nar-Qi stepped forward, face flushed with irritation. “Kirk! I understand we have arrived at Torrus. Why wasn’t I informed?”
Kirk tried for charming, though he suspected it would have little effect on the diminutive Ithenite. “We were establishing communications, Doctor Nar-Qi. You would have been notified as soon as we had made the appropriate arrangements for you and your personnel to beam down.”
Nar-Qi glanced over the members of the landing party. “But you are obviously beaming down now!”
“Yes. I am taking a landing party down to the planet to discuss…”
“Then we will join you.”
The charming smile wavered just a little. “I am afraid that is presently out of the question.”
“It would be inadvisable,” added Spock.
But Nar-Qi would not be put off. “Nonsense,” he sniffed scornfully. “We are here to study the Torrus, and I will not have you interfering, Kirk.”
“Doctor…”
Turning his back on the captain of the Enterprise, Nar-Qi addressed his people, shooing them towards the transporter platform. “Okay people. Look lively. Up you go. Doshal, be careful with those transponders. We don’t want a repeat of that incident on Hinidrian.”
Lieutenant Uhura, who had already moved into position on a transporter pad had to step aside to avoid being trampled on by a lumbering Grazerite.
Kirk abandoned charming all together. “Doctor Nar-Qi,” he snapped. “You are not beaming down.”
“Don’t worry, Captain,” Nar-Qi drawled the title as though it tasted foul on his tongue. “We will not obstruct with your work, as long as you don’t hinder ours.” He waved imperiously at the transporter chief. “Go on. Fire her up!”
Kirk shot the transporter tech a look that promised years of hard labor on a penal colony if he so much as touched a control and stalked over to the transporter platform. “I repeat. You are not beaming down to the planet. Now, get off my transporter!”
Standing on the platform added additional height to Nar-Qi, and he was nearly able to look Kirk in the eye, a situation of which he took full advantage. “You were assigned to transport my people to Torrus , Captain Kirk. You failed to accomplish that successfully, and now you are attempting to forbid me to do the job I was sent here to do.” Hands on hips he berated the captain. “You are a disgrace, Kirk, and I will certain inform Starfleet that you are obviously incapable of command. When I finish with you, you’ll be lucky to pilot a garbage scow!”
Well aware of McCoy intense scrutiny, Kirk managed to keep a reign on his temper. Barely. Pinching the bridge of his nose against the rising pain in his head, he took a deep breath. “Doctor. You may not beam down because the Torrus have denied you permission to do so. I am attempting to mitigate the situation, but it order to do so, I need to beam down, and I can’t do that until you… get… off… my… transporter!” He spread his hands. “Please!”
Nar-Qi’s team milled about uncertainly on the platform, seeking guidance from their director. He was still staring stubbornly at Kirk, unwilling to budge.
Kirk put his last card on the table. “I can have security remove you and confine you to quarters. I would rather not have to, but I will…”
“The Torrus denied us permission to beam down?”
Spock nodded. “That is correct.”
“Why?” Nar-Qi looked genuinely puzzled. “They are the ones that invited us. Why would they change their minds now?”
Kirk was not about to admit that arriving late might have a great deal to do with sudden reluctance on the part of the Torrus. “That is what we are trying to determine, Doctor. Now, if you will step aside, maybe we can get you an answer.”
Still grumbling, Nar-Qi led his assistants off the platform. “You better fix this, Kirk. Though I don’t know why I should expect someone like you to manage anything without making a complete disaster of it. I have never encountered such a complete lack of professionalism in my life…”
He was still ranting as the landing team dissolved into energy sparkles.
***
Kirk was radiating barely leashed anger as they materialized on the planet. It was an affirmation of his admirable skills as a diplomat that none of his raging inner frustration was revealed in either stance or voice as he as he stepped forward to greet the awaiting Torri.
To avoid any unpleasant ‘diplomatic incidents’ arising from the appearance and smell of the Torrus, the landing party had all been well briefed, and if needed, McCoy stood ready to offer injections of a mild sedative. These precautions would hopefully keep them from embarrassing themselves or their Torran hosts.
Aware of Human's unusual sensitivity to the sight of the Torrus Spock was keeping an unobtrusive eye on his fellow shipmates, but there was little reaction aside from a few heavy swallows and a soft groan from a member of the security team. Spock allowed his diligence to ease just a fraction; thankfully, it appeared no one was going to succumb to bouts of retching. His own scrutiny of the pulsing, fluctuating greens and yellows of the soupy Torran interiors evoked in him nothing more problematic that scientific curiosity. Vulcanoids were apparently immune to the "allergic reaction".
The tingling effects of the transporter had barely faded when Kirk stepped forward to confront the Torri, apparently wishing to get this situation over with as soon as possible. Uhura shadowed him, making small adjustments on her portable universal translator as they drew closer to the gathered Torri. Although the Captain appeared composed, Spock could read tension in the tight shoulders and lightly curled fingers.
"Ambassador Torru Gah Ka Ffsst'tah'preh'hoon..."
Spock raised an appreciative eyebrow at the Captain's ability to handle the multi-syllable Torran title.
"I would like an explanation for your refusal to meet with Doctor Nar-Qi and his personnel. I assure you, any complaints you have with our late arrival are solely my responsibility and should in no way reflect upon the Doctor.”
In Uhura’s hands, the translator sang out a stream of musical notes directed at the Torri.
Anyone who didn't know James Kirk would imagine the smooth, almost overly cordial tone indicated considerable esteem, but Spock knew his Captain, perhaps far better than anyone else did, and he realized the soft beguiling voice was indicative of Kirk's continued agitation. Kirk at his softest was often Kirk at his most dangerous.
"Surely we can discuss..."
Between one step and the next Kirk suddenly stiffened and froze. His forward momentum would have sent him face down in the dirt if had Lieutenant Uhura not reacted swiftly, reaching out a hand to steady him.
"Captain?” the communications officer inquired, tone alarmed.
Ever alert to possible threats, Yalina Alvarez of Security reacted immediately, darting forward to Kirk’s side. “Sir?” Alverez was a short, stocky, honey skinned woman native to the Iberian Peninsula of Earth. Her dark gaze sharpened, and she reflexively grasped Kirk by the arm as she took in his expression.
Kirk seemed unaware of the women’s concern. He stared straight ahead, startled hazel eyes too big in a face gone deathly pale. A strangled protest gurgled and died in his throat.
"Jim!" McCoy hurried forward. "What is it? What's wrong?"
Kirk swayed, then folded as his knees buckled. Uhura, hampered by the translator in her hands, lost her grip on the captain, but Alvarez executed a deft catch about Kirk's waist and gentle lowered her superior to the ground.
"Spock!" McCoy shouted over his shoulder as he bent to kneel beside the Captain, but the first officer was already moving. As McCoy unslung his tricorder and began an initial scan, Spock dropped to his knees beside Alvarez, none to gently appropriating her hold on Kirk.
Kirk was clutching his head, fingers tearing at his skull as though trying to rip it apart. His eyes rolled wildly in their sockets and there was no awareness in their depths. As Spock slid a supportive arm behind his back, Kirk began to convulse, arching and writhing in the Vulcan's grip. Thin, keening cries and whimpers escaped Kirk's bloodless lips, the unholy sound raising the hairs on the back of McCoy's neck as he ran a scanner over his thrashing friend.
"Doctor!" Spock snapped, Vulcanian control slipping.
"I don't know!" McCoy growled in reply, angry at himself and medical instrumentation that refused to give him an answer. "Some kind of seizure. It's not a toxin. Not one I can detect at least." He dug for a hypo. "Hold him still!"
Spock wrapped both arms around his captain, cradling him close, but, even countered by Vulcanian strength, Kirk's spasms were still strong enough to rock them both.
McCoy pressured the contents of the hypo into Kirk. The captain slumped in Spock's arms as the sedative took effect, but his limbs continued to flop and twitch weakly.
McCoy took another reading, shaking his head at the results. "His brain activity has gone haywire, Spock! It's like he's being short circuited. Neural network over stimulated. Autonomic systems shutting down. Cerebral hemorrhaging..." He trailed off as the need to counter the symptoms took precedence over speech, but Spock had already ceased listening. He now understood what had happened
The Torrus were a race of highly sensitive telepaths. Upon beaming down, Spock had instinctively strengthened his shields to prevent either inadvertently projecting or receiving thoughts. However, Kirk had no such abilities. He had no way to silence his currently heightened psychic voice. And he had been angry - furious with Nar-Qi and irritated with the Torri. They had obviously interpreted his fierce thoughts as an attack and had retaliated in kind.
Eyes narrowed, lips compressed, the Vulcan surged to his feet. “Lieutenant,” he snapped, taking Uhura’s wrist in a tight grip, and hauling her in his wake. “I require the translator!” At some later time, he would regret the strength of his grasp which was fierce enough to bruise Human flesh, but at the moment, he was solely focused on halting the deadly assault on Kirk.
"STOP!" he roared, striding towards the Torri, Uhura at his side. The gelatinous interiors of the Torri were radiating a pulsing orange light. Now that Spock realized their intent, he could feel the power of their minds flaring outward, concentrating upon Kirk, wrapping about him like a giant fist of psychic energy, intent on crushing his mind.
At Spock's shout, the Torri had shifted their focus, turning their minds towards the Vulcan. Quickly, Spock wrestled his own negative reactions into submission. If the Torri sensed the outrage that had momentarily overwhelmed his controls, they might decide he constituted a danger as well. He had no desire to experience their mental onslaught.
"Release him," Spock commanded, striving for Vulcanian calm as he came to a halt before Torrd Torru Gah Ka Ffsst'tah'preh'hoon. "It was not an attack. He meant no harm. You will destroy his mind."
The translator warbled its message.
"Captain Kirk sang hurt at us...." came the reply in its asexual voice. "We heard his mind song of fire. He must be silenced."
Spock choose his words carefully, fully aware of the captain's vulnerability to the Torri and of McCoy's undertone of urgency as he placed a call to the ship. He must move swiftly, but with discretion.
"Captain Kirk was... distressed at your refusal to meet with Doctor Nar-Qi. His... song... was not meant to be heard by others. It is rare for Humans to have the capacity of mind-song. Captain Kirk has only recently acquired the ability. He is… kae-kan rivinik." He used the Vulcanian term for a child who has not yet mastered the ability to shield. There was no equivalent in Human language.
Uhura glanced towards him, eyes wide as she took in the implication of what he was saying. She alone among the landing party understood the reference he had chosen.
"He is... brain damaged?" The query was liquid music.
Spock stiffened at the term. Apparently, there was no exact equivalent in the Torran language either. Unfortunately, due to the mental attack upon the Captain, the unpleasant description might be more accurate than he wished to contemplate.
"Yes. He is... damaged. If there was offense given it was in innocence."
Torru Gah Ka Ffsst'tah'preh'hoon stretched upward, its body thinning as it rose past Spock's waist, almost as though it were using height to establish authority. The rest of the Torri bobbed and flattened, their internal colors fading to dull earth tones.
"If no offense was meant, no offense is taken. We regret... miscommunication."
"Torru Gah Ka Ffsst'tah'preh'hoon, pu hanni mehmmmubbla." Spock replied, bending slightly at the waist as he offered the traditional words of closure. Turning, he dismissed the Torri, and moved swiftly back to crouch beside his injured captain. Kirk's command tunic was twisted and smudged with dirt, his face streaked with scarlet where trickles of blood had flowed from nose and ears. The trails of crimson looked too bright against the pale, waxen skin. His head lolled in Alvarez's' lap. Her slim, brown fingers stood out in sharp contrast to his too pale skin as she absently brushed stray locks of hair back from his sweaty forehead. "Sir?" she focused fierce brown eyes upon her commander. "The Torri?" Her hand inched close to her phaser.
He understood the nature of the query. "Take no action that could be considered hostile, ensign. The captain's life may depend upon it."
McCoy knelt at the captain's side, one hand holding a running scanner, the other wrapped around Kirk's wrist in a gesture that bespoke both professional intent and comfort.
He glanced up into Spock's smoldering dark eyes.
"Spock! There's nothing more I can do for him down here. We have to get him back to the ship now or we're gonna lose him! "
Spock retrieved his communicator. "The Torri will no longer oppose our departure, Doctor. I trust you have a medical team standing by." At McCoy's affirmative nod, he flipped open the communicator grid. "Mister Scott. Beam the landing party aboard."
***
Doctor Nar-Qi and his assistants were still roaming about the transporter room when the landing team was beamed aboard. In the chaos of the first few minutes spent getting Kirk on a grav-stretcher and headed to Sickbay, the scientists hung back out of the melee. However, as Spock made to follow the medical team down the hall, he found his way blocked by the Lilliputian Ithenite.
“Well, Mister Spock, it appears your captain has put his foot in it again.”
Spock watched with a tense expression as the blue shirted medical team disappeared around a bend in the corridor, then turned impatiently to the archeologist. “What is it you require, Doctor?”
“What do I require? Why the same thing I’ve always wanted! To be allowed to do my job.” He gestured towards his waiting personnel. “We’re ready to beam down now. So if you would please instruct your crew to transport us to the surface, we will get out from under your feet.”
Spock shook his head. “I regret that is not permissible at present. The Torrus have perpetrated an aggressive act against the captain. Currently, they are deemed potentially hostile by Starfleet Directive 011. I cannot beam you down into a conceivably dangerous situation.”
Nar-Qi flipped a hand dismissively. “No doubt your captain brought it upon himself. He is most annoying. It is about time someone took him down a peg.”
At his sides, Spock's hands curled into fists, but none of his agitation reached his voice. “You are guests aboard the Enterprise. As such, you are my responsibility. I cannot allow you to put yourselves in harm’s way.”
“Do not concern yourself with us, Mister Spock. We are quite capable of looking after ourselves.” He stepped closer and poked Spock in the stomach. “Look at it this way, Vulcan, if you beam us down to Torrus, we will no longer be your responsibility.”
“True. However, in order to transport you to Torrus, I would have to relinquish my responsibility to you. And that I cannot do, therefore I cannot beam you down at this time.”
Doctor Nar-Qi thrust a pudgy finger at Spock. “You people are impossible! I would think that you, of all people, would understand. You are a scientist, or so you say, but it appears you too are just another lackey for the military arm of Starfleet. I demand you allow me and my party to beam down to Torrus!”
As much as Spock might wish to rid himself of the troublesome anthropologist, his duty was clear. “That is a demand I cannot honor at this time. Now, if you will excuse me, my presence is required elsewhere.” Turning on his heels, he dismissed the scientist and hurried towards Sickbay.
***
McCoy stripped off his surgery scrubs and gave them a toss in the general direction of the recycle shoot, knowing that even if he missed one of the nurses tidying the surgical bay would see that they were properly disposed of.
He wasn't surprised to find the first officer hovering unobtrusively outside the door to the surgical wing, that is, if anyone who commanded as much presence as the tall, austere Vulcan could ever be unobtrusive.
McCoy passed the Vulcan with a grunt of recognition and continued on into his office. As expected, Spock fell into step behind him, placing himself opposite the desk as McCoy flopped into his chair.
"Doctor?" There was no need for further words. They both knew why Spock was there.
"Asking if your command of the Enterprise might be permanent this time?" McCoy leaned back in the chair and massaged the bridge of his nose. "I just don't know… Dammit! We just barely got him back on his feet after Ruel, and now this! Whatever those Torran bastards did, they messed him up pretty badly." He noted Spock's covert glance towards the ICU and softened his expression, answering the question that would never be voiced and offering reassurance that would never be sought. "Chapel's monitoring. If he so much as twitches a finger she'll let us know. There's really not much we can do till he wakes up. Right now it's a waiting game."
"His condition?"
McCoy let out his breath in a slow sigh. "I managed to repair most of the physical damage... cerebral hemorrhaging, subdural hematoma, elevated blood pressure, fluid build up in the cranium..." He fixed Spock with a piercing blue gaze. "You realize we won't know for sure the extent of his injuries till he regains consciousness."
"I am aware that the trauma he suffered could result in a permanent diminishing of brain function."
The facade of Vulcanian composure didn't fool McCoy for an instant. "Brain damage... yes, there is that, but there's something else... something strange..." McCoy's focus grew distant, his lower lip protruded in a frown. "I can't quite put my finger on it..."
Spock raised a quizzical eyebrow. "'Something strange?' Is that a medical diagnosis, Doctor."
McCoy shot him a sharp glare. "It's the best I can come up with at the moment. His brainwaves are still running amuck and the stress indicator is through the ceiling. I don't dare give him a heavy sedative, not with the cerebral trauma. Doing so could send him so deep we might not get him back." He waved a hand in frustration. "I really don't know what we are dealing with here, Spock. You say the Torrans initiated some sort of mental attack on the captain?"
"The correct usage is 'Torri', Doctor. There were only five individual Torrd present. Furthermore, the greater plural is 'Torrus' not 'Torrans'."
McCoy opened his mouth with the intent of telling Spock to shut his trap, but swallowed the heated words before they slipped out. He'd worked with the Vulcan long enough to know that this current infatuation with grammar was Spock's way of trying to sublimate his concern for Jim Kirk. The Doctor settled for shooting the first officer a blistering scowl.
"And technically, the Torri did not initiate the attack. Captain Kirk did."
"What!" McCoy rocked forward, coming half out of his seat. "Are you out of your Vulcan mind? Jim didn't do anything to those Torrds... Torran... Turds... whatever they are! You were there, Spock. How can you say Jim attacked them?"
Spock kept his own tone level. "The attack was not intentional, Doctor. However, from the Torri perspective, it did occur."
McCoy shook his head. "I don't understand."
"You recall out conversation concerning the captain’s heightened mental resonance.”
"Yes. I remember. What about it? Are you saying it had something to do with what happened down there?"
Spock nodded. "The Torrus are highly sensitive telepaths. They do not require physical contact to receive impressions. When we beamed down, the captain's disposition towards Torru Gah Ka Ffsst'tah'preh'hoon was not entirely... congenial. Without the ability to shield his thoughts, they were easily received by the Torri. His words and gestures would have carried little meaning. For the Torrus, it is the mind that speaks the truth, and in Captain Kirk's mind they heard anger, primarily directed towards one of their highest officials. In essence, the Torri came expecting a handshake and were greeted instead with - I believe the colloquial usage is - a sucker punch. They reacted accordingly."
"You're saying they read Jim's anger and thought he was going to attack them?"
"Essentially correct. The negative emotions of another can be very unpleasant to a telepath, Doctor, and as an unforeseen result of our melding, the captain has developed an unusually loud mental voice for a Human. The Torri would have been surprised. Whether the attack was to be mental or physical, the Torri felt the need to defend their leader. Under the circumstances, their reaction was quite logical."
"Logical!" McCoy hollered. "They almost killed him!"
"Indeed." Spock clasped his hands stiffly behind his back, and straightened, expression uncharacteristically grim. "It was a situation I should have foreseen."
McCoy paused in his tirade and cocked an eyebrow at Spock. So that was it. Guilt - a difficult emotion to deal with even if you were willing to admit its existence. "You couldn't have known what would happen."
"No, but I was aware of the captain’s condition. I should have realized such a misunderstanding could occur and taken steps to prevent it. I was remiss in my duties to the captain, and to this ship."
"Spock," McCoy tempered his tone. "If you look at it that way, I'm as much at fault as you. I knew about Jim's condition too, and it never occurred to me something like this could happen. You can't blame yourself."
But Spock would not be swayed. "You are not used to considering the parameters of telepathic communication. It is not unexpected that you would fail to recognize the implications in this situation. I, however, have no excuse for my oversight."
"Spock, this argument is pointless. Either one of us could have realized the danger, but we didn't. What's done is done. The important thing now is to do everything we can to help Jim."
Spock's stiff backed stance relaxed just a fraction, apparently conceding the point. "What would you suggest?"
"Well..." McCoy nibbled his lower lip in thought. "Like I said, right now we sit tight... see what develops." He shot a speculative look at the Vulcan. Spock might never admit it, but McCoy knew he was deeply concerned about Kirk. James Kirk was more than a commanding officer to Spock; he was the Vulcan's closest friend, a dear thing to a man who generally held himself aloof from those around him. McCoy also knew that Spock held himself accountable, not only for what he perceived as his failure to protect his captain on Torrus, but also for eroding Kirk's mental barriers through repeated uses of the mind fusion. It would do no good to point out that each time the Vulcan had chosen to meld with Kirk it had been necessary to preserve either the captain's life or reason, and often both. How could McCoy get Spock to admit the "illogic" of his propensity for self-recrimination when he wouldn't even admit the feeling existed?
McCoy shook his head over the inherent stubbornness of green-blooded, pointy-eared Vulcan-Human hybrids, and decided to hand out a veiled prescription. Giving Spock something constructive to do would keep him from wallowing, and might benefit Kirk as well. "It might help," he grumbled, as though in after-thought , "if I had a better idea just what those Torri did to Jim."
Spock's head went up, and he nodded, apparently eager to cooperate in his own deception. "I will arrange to speak with the ambassador. The Torri may be able to repair some of the damage of their attack." He turned to go, but paused in the doorway, one hand on the lintel as though for support. He seemed to debate with himself for a moment before he spoke. He did not turn around. "Doctor..." The voice was a low murmur. " Would it be possible for me to see the captain for a few moments?"
Behind Spock's back, McCoy's lips twitched in a soft, sad smile, a recognition of this man's worth and sincere regret over his self imposed isolation, isolation from all but one man, James Kirk, who now lay in ICU fighting for his life and sanity. "Certainly, Mister Spock," McCoy replied, keeping his tone carefully professional. "I think that can be arranged."
***
Spock needed information from the Torrd Torru Gah Ka Ffsst'tah'preh'hoon and he did not trust ship to shore communication to convey the precise meaning of his request. Nor did he wish to rely upon the inexact nature of the universal translator. The need for accuracy was too great. There could be no room for miscommunication. He chose instead to beam down to Torrus. He did not inform Doctor McCoy or Mister Scott of his full intentions, as it was highly probable that they would protest his decision to initiate mental contact with the same being that had been responsible for the attack on Captain Kirk. However, Captain Kirk's life was in danger - sufficient reason to take the risk. That he was not acting in a precisely logical manner was something Spock did not dwell upon. He had long ago admitted to himself that his logic was somewhat faulty when it came to the well being of one James T. Kirk.
Torrd Torru Gah Ka Ffsst'tah'preh'hoon was most eager to honor Spock's request for a meeting. The Torrus were not a violent race. As with most telepaths, they abhorred inflicting pain upon others, and the Torru was genuinely distressed over what had occurred. S/he willingly offered whatever assistance s/he could to undo the damage the mental assault of the Torri had wrought.
As the Torrus were more powerful telepaths than Vulcans, it was agreed that Torru Gah Ka Ffsst'tah'preh'hoon would act as guide during the meld with Mister Spock. Gently s/he led Spock through an intimate exchange of thought and information. The integrity of his mind preserved by a clear, protective bubble, he drifted through landscapes of entwined perceptions, shifting impressions, and images that flowed like a melody. The mind song of the Torrus swept him up in its haunting chorus, and for a moment, he was but one note in a symphony of sorrow, a singer in an endless dirge of mourning for the loss of something precious - a mind - a mercurial, shining mind that reverberated like the single chime of a small silver bell. He had only an instant to realize that this was his own thought, his own concept of Jim Kirk offered up to the song. Then Torru Gah Ka Ffsst'tah'preh'hoon reached out her/his mind and plucked him free from the music, bringing him safely back to his self.
He came to awareness of his exile curled on his side in the dust before Torrd Torru Gah Ka Ffsst'tah'preh'hoon. He felt torn asunder, abandoned and bereft. His face was wet with tears, though he did not recall weeping.
"Torru Spock..." warbled the Torrd, his/her internal systems muted to dull colors that Spock now understood expressed distress. "You mind song grows weak. To continue would be a danger to you."
Slowly, Spock rolled to his knees, and with some effort managed to regained his feet and his dignity. "Yes," he agreed tugging his tunic into place and brushing dirt from his uniform. "Mental contact with the Torrus is... exacting." He swayed slightly as he regarded Torrd Torru Gah Ka Ffsst'tah'preh'hoon. “However, I have gained the information I required. I thank you for your cooperation."
The Torrd undulated urgently. "Understand you, Torru Spock, that the Torrus will undo the hurt we have caused?"
"Yes."
"Understand you that one hurt will be paid for by another, so that healing can begin?"
"Yes, I understand Torru Gah Ka Ffsst'tah'preh'hoon.”
The Torrd stretched upward, weaving back and forth before the Vulcan like an agitated cobra. "You will sing our song to the ship? You will sing to your healer?"
"I will present your proposal,” Spock affirmed. “We will let you know our decision in this regard.”
Torrd Torru Gah Ka Ffsst'tah'preh'hoon’s internal colors brightened, expressing satisfaction. “That is agreeable. You may send the Federation scientists among us. We have touched your mind and understand now. No harm will come to them.”
“Doctor Nar-Qui and his team will be pleased with this news,” Spock acknowledged. Indeed, most of the crew would be also quite gratified to see the highly emotional scientist depart the Enterprise. Spock half bowed to the Torru. "I must now depart to bring your song to my people. Pu hanni mehmmmubbla."
***
Confusion.
Where?
Lost.
Pain.
Disorientation.
Voices.
Too many voices.
Who am I?
Pain.
Go away!
Stop. Stop. STOP!
Can’t…
Who am I?
Someone please…
Too much…
Panic.
Chaos.
Shut up! Shut up! SHUT UP!
Help me… help me… Please… stop!
Get out of my head!
The pain…
Make it stop!
MAKE IT STOP!
MAKEITSTOP!
STOPSTOPSTOPSTOP!
***
Armed with the knowledge gained in mental contact with the Torrus, Spock could have predicted the commotion he encountered upon entering sickbay.
"Spock!" McCoy pounced on him the moment he cleared the doors. "Where the hell have you been?" He waved a hand dismissing the question as soon as it was asked. "Never mind that. My people are dropping like flies. Sudden headaches. Disorientation. Nausea. I've had to hospitalize two of my nurses and so far we can't get a handle on what's causing it!" He winced and rubbed the side of his head. "What'd you find out about Jim?"
Spock glanced around at the sickbay personnel, noting the ashen faces and uncoordinated movements. "I assume Captain Kirk has regained consciousness."
"Yes. He's semi-conscious. Came out of it about ten minutes ago." McCoy suddenly blanched and staggered, clutching at his head. As Spock reached out a supportive hand to the doctor, one of the nurses near the door to the ICU moaned and wilted to the floor.
McCoy massaged his temples. "How'd you know?"
Spock took McCoy's elbow in a firm grip and steered him into a chair. "Doctor, you must discharge all non-essential personnel from sickbay immediately and dismiss those members of your staff with telepathy ratings of 250 psi or higher. They are a danger to the captain and he to them." It was possible that evacuating just the Sickbay would not be adequate, but until Spock could deduce the parameters of the phenomena, it would have to suffice.
Face screwed in a tight grimace, McCoy peered at him out of one eye. "You're saying Jim is the cause of all this?"
"Yes. It is telepathic esper-resonance. The sensations you are experiencing are emanating from his mind. The attack by the Torri has amplified the damage I did in my earlier meld. He now has no barriers and his thoughts are being magnified and broadcast to all those around him. I can shield, but Humans have no natural screens to mental energy. The higher the telepathic sensitivity of the individual, the more debilitating the effect will be. "
McCoy was exerting a concentrated effort to make sense of Spock's words. "What about Jim? If he has no barriers...?"
"Precisely, Doctor. Your thoughts are also impinging on his consciousness. He is being overwhelmed by impressions that are not his own. We must find a way to protect his mind or he will certain become catatonic if not irrevocably insane.
"How? Can you do something?" McCoy hissed, teeth clenched against the pain.
"I propose to meld with him. I can shield his mind, perhaps help him to erect barriers of his own."
McCoy shook his head. "But you said that would take years of training?"
Spock did not answer, but the flesh around his mouth tightened in unease. Obviously, there were flaws in his plan he was not inclined to discuss. "You may remain here, Doctor," he intoned, before heading for the ICU.
"The hell I will," groused McCoy, coming out of his chair, yelling orders to clear Sickbay as he trailed, none to steadily, in the Vulcan's wake.
***
Christine Chapel squinted at the readings over the Captain's bed, willing herself to see past the exploding nova that was obscuring her vision. Her grip on bio-bed rail was knuckle white, and she used deep breaths to keep her head clear. Not unlike an untreated migraine, this pain, she reflected. Though she wasn't prone to them herself, she had heard descriptions from those who were. However, as far as she knew migraines were not contagious, and whatever was troubling her had also affected most of the sick bay personnel. Whatever the cause of the headaches, at the moment it wasn't her concern. Dr. McCoy and the others were looking into the situation. Her job was to keep a professional eye on the captain.
Kirk thrashed on the bed, a soft moan escaping from dry lips. Chapel reached out to place a comforting hand on his brow, wondering if he too were suffering from the headaches and nausea. His skin was warm beneath her touch, warm and damp with sweat.
"It's all right, Captain," she murmured in a soothing tone, then gritted her teeth as a flare of pain went off in her skull like a phaser bolt. She tightened her hold on the bed rail and fought to stay on her feet.
The whoosh of the ICU doors caught her attention. Turning, she greeted the approaching blur in science blue. "Mister Spock..." For a moment, she was unable to say anything further for her movements had sent the room into a tail spin, and all she could do was close her eyes and hold on. When she regained some sense of balance, she noted that Doctor McCoy had also entered the room and stood hovering at Spock's shoulder.
"Doctor," she breathed, struggling to get the words past a tongue gone leaden in her mouth. "Stress indicator rising. Heart rate increasing. Blood pressure..." McCoy's face began to fade at the edges, bleeding away into darkness. "Blood pressure is… Doctor, I..."
Eyes rolling back in her head, Christine Chapel did a fair imitation of a marionette bereft of supporting strings. Spock caught her before she could hit the floor, and in a move that would have been the envy of even the most accomplished dancer in the Russian Bolshoi ballet, spun her lightly around and into McCoy's arms.
The sputtering CMO suddenly found himself with his arms full of head nurse. In his initial surprise he almost dropped her, but chivalry won out and he managed to shift his hold before they both ended up in an undignified heap on the floor.
"Nurse Chapel!" he growled indignantly, but she was obviously beyond the reach of even his most irate upbraiding. With a sigh of resignation, he lifted her in his arms and carried her towards the door. He moved with care, for Christine Chapel was no delicate little, flower; she was a lot of woman, and McCoy figured it was still a toss up as to whether he would get her to safety before slipping a disk.
"I'll be back," he told Spock before staggering out of the room, but the Vulcan was bent over Kirk's bed, his slender fingers cradling the captain's skull in the meld position. He did not seem to hear.
***
“My mind to yours,” Spock murmured, his eyes fluttering shut. A few deep breaths to steady himself as he slipped beneath the surface of Kirk’s thoughts, and descended into…
Pandemonium.
A whirlwind of sensations…
Fear.
Panic.
Confusion.
No golden oat fields here. No farmhouse porch. No sunlight and blue skies. Just a tumult of tormented images and thoughts. Fragments of madness. A mind under assault, crying out for meaning and stability.
Spock realized he had to work quickly if he was to save anything of James Kirk’s sanity.
Reaching out he tried to capture the shreds of Kirk’s mind, grasping hold and seeking to draw them near, hoping to piece them together into a whole. But they slipped away, whirling out of reach, spinning off into darkness and disorder.
Frustrated, he increased his efforts, snatching determinedly at slivers of thought, remnants of memory, morsels of awareness - striving to exert control over the discord of Kirk’s mind and bend the mayhem to his will. But he could not. Thoughts melted through his metaphorical fingers, fluttered erratically like dying butterflies always just beyond his reach and vanished into vapor.
Around him, the tempest raged, and a distant wail rose and fell with the chaos. A primal cry. No words. No reason behind it. Just the cry, not unlike that of a wounded animal, calling out of mercy, for comfort, for succor.
Jim.
Calling out with his mind, in the only way he knew.
Spock drew back, seeking calm, centering himself. This was not a battle he could win through force. He must seek another way.
A memory came to him - a grim faced Jim Kirk, uniform coated in filth, skin smudged with soot, kneeling in the dust of some distant outpost. A security party accompanied by Kirk, Spock, and McCoy had beamed down to the small colony world shortly after a reported attack by pirates - possibly Orion, though Orion had denied all responsibility. The colony had been decimated. They had wandered through a landscape of blasted craters, scorched fields, and smoldering buildings, some still ablaze. There were few survivors. They’d found a child. A young Andorian male, hidden amongst the rocks, a sharp knife clenched in his fist. The security guard who had first approached the boy had taken a deep wound across his forearm when the frightened child struck out in anger and fear. And now, while McCoy patched up the security officer and muttered unhappily about reckless starship captains, Kirk knelt in the dirt and reached out to the fierce, blue-skinned child clutching a bloodied blade. He did not try to touch the boy, merely reached out a hand, palm upward, and spoke soothing words while McCoy fumed and Spock remained poised to intervene if necessary. Gently, with his soft words and open hand, Jim Kirk had coaxed the boy out of the shadows and into his lap.
Open palm. Not closed fist.
Spock ceased his efforts to snare Kirk’s thoughts, and instead opened himself - projecting security, serenity, a harbor against the storm…
Home.
And gently, he coaxed James Kirk into the shelter of his Vulcanian mind.
***
Link to Wider_Than_The_Sky: Part_IV