Parts Fourteen and Fifteen and Epilogue posted together. Be certain you have read Part Fourteen first!

Lt. Andrew Kolarski handed a pair of communicators to Giotto. “As requested, sir. Functionality is restricted to one channel.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Giotto nodded at Danson. “Open the door, Lt. Danson.”

Every officer in the waiting room held his or her breath as Danson unlocked the double-set doors and eased one open. Beyond the door it was difficult to see anything except blackness and indistinct shapes camped on the horizon.

PADD in hand, Kirk said, “On my mark, Mr. Giotto.”

Giotto positioned himself to the side of the door.

The captain’s fingers danced across his device’s screen. There was no mistaking the quick, efficient movements as belonging to Mr. Spock. “Accessing shield protocol. Inactivation sequence initiated in five, four, three, two, one—now, Mr. Giotto!”

The shielding over the doorway rippled and faded. Giotto took a step back, wound up his body like a pitcher on the mound, and threw one communicator through the doorway. It sailed into the darkness and disappeared.

Kirk never once looked up from his screen. “Shields reactivated.”

The faint blue tinge of the shielding covered the doorway again.

The captain lowered the data padd and blinked. “Nice throw, John.”

Giotto shrugged one shoulder. “Thanks, Captain. My second career choice was joining the Leagues.”

McCoy’s shoulder brushed against Kirk’s. “Do you think they were watching?”

“Absolutely,” replied Jim. “Now we wait.”

And wait they did. For twenty minutes, the twin communicator in Giotto’s hand remained silent. Oddly, it was Kirk who stood still while McCoy paced. When the communicator crackled to life, everyone jumped except Kirk.

“Hm,” came an inquisitive voice over the channel, “most interesting. I apologize for the delay. I had to be certain this device was as it seemed. To whom am I speaking?”

“Giotto, Chief of Security of the United Starship Enterprise.”

“My good sir, put your captain on.”

“That isn’t an option, Governor. Kirk is unavailable.” Giotto paused. “Mr. Spock as well. I am the man in charge now.”

“I’m not certain I can believe you.”

“I don’t care if you do. I’m the only one willing to make a deal with you. You can have Kirk,” he said, “if you spare me and my team.”

Outside, the stirring in the dark could have been anyone, but it was Tappan who made the soft hiss of surprise. “Do I seem like a fool, Mr. Giotto?” he said. “A man like you would never give over his captain.”

“A man like me only serves someone he can trust—and a captain who tries to kill his crew is not someone I can trust.”

Tappan’s silence lasted so long, they thought they had lost the connection. Then they heard, “Perhaps there would be some benefit to doing business together. Let us meet in person.”

“Negotiations typically occur on neutral ground, but I don’t have the luxury of dropping our shields until I know if I should trust you. So you come to us, Governor,” Giotto stated.

“That hardly seems fair.”

“Remember, you’re the one with the army. If I thought I had the upper hand, we would be fighting, not talking. Your choice. I won’t wait long.” Giotto ended the call and looked at the people surrounding him.

“Good work, Lieutenant-Commander,” Kirk said. “Blanca, Sandeep, stay with Giotto. Danson, find a position where you can’t readily be seen. You’re their backup in case something goes wrong. Lt. Kolarski will man the control room.”

Olivares and Sandeep stepped in close to Giotto and saluted Kirk.

Kirk turned to McCoy. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Leonard replied. “Follow me.” He left the room with the captain on his heels.

All eyes were on Kirk and McCoy as they entered the patient ward. Leonard stripped off the top sheet of the last empty biobed, and Jim obediently laid down upon it. The doctor didn’t look at him as he began to bind the man’s limbs with old-fashioned bedside restraints.

Jim watched him in silence until the task was done. “Bones.”

Leonard straightened up without a word.

“Bones, I—”

“No goodbyes, Jim. I’m holding you to your promise.”

“Understood,” Jim replied. Closing his eyes, he murmured, “Let’s do this,” as if the phrase kick-started the process. Jim’s body relaxed a moment later, giving him the appearance of having fallen asleep.

Until, quietly at first, the man began to mutter. The nonsensical muttering became agitated jerks of his head, followed by the tensing of limbs. Then the man’s eyes flew open, and he snarled, “What is this? Why am I restrained? Who gave the order?” His glazed eyes landed on the doctor hovering over him.

“I gave the order, Captain.”

“McCoy, I am going to kill you once I’m free. I’m going to wring your neck!”

The CMO glanced at the other patients, taking in their expressions of horror. “This is not your captain,” he reminded them. “Never forget that.”

“McCoy!” cried Kirk as Leonard pocketed a hypospray and walked away. “You traitor! I’ll never forgive you!” His struggling became fierce, although futile. “Come back here! I said come back!”

By the entrance to the ward, Dr. McCoy placed a hand against the wall and bowed his head. Several of the lieutenants shifted restlessly in their beds, some of them thumbing phasers hidden beneath their covers; others, counting with closed eyes.

The game had begun, and everyone was playing.

Augustus Tappan was a cautious man by nature. He was also patient. Both these traits had served him well in the past and did so now. He could easily tell a game was afoot, but something could likely be gained by playing along. That was the opportunity he did not want to miss.

With this mindset, he chose three men: two to accompany him as guards and the third to quietly await a chance to turn the tide in their favor. Tappan was hardly a fool, as he had plainly told Kirk’s man. He already held a wild card and so was entering the game at an advantage.

He pictured himself walking into a tiger’s den. He would return with the tiger’s head and be exalted.

When Tappan and his men stood before the complex, he contacted Giotto.

“Wait by the entrance,” Giotto instructed over the comm unit. “Don’t bother trying to force your way in elsewhere. You won’t succeed.”

“I am at your mercy,” Tappan demurred. “Ah, I should mention that I brought some friends. They will… see to my personal safety.”

Giotto made no reply to that. A moment later, a small section of shield over the doors wavered and disappeared. One door opened.

Tappan adjusted the glasses resting on his nose, smiled, and went in.

Immediately he was accosted by a grim-faced officer bearing a phaser.

“We come unarmed,” he announced, centering his gaze on the man standing slightly aside watching the proceedings. He recognized Mr. Giotto from the landing party.

Tappan lifted his arms and endured a body search in silence, as did his guards.

Giotto tilted his head in the direction of the two farmers. “It surprises me how docile they are.”

“We are not as violent as you assume.” Tappan’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “And these men take orders well.”

“Then I expect you’ll keep them in line.”

“To the best of my ability,” agreed Tappan in an idle tone. “Now, let’s talk about Kirk.”

The woman standing next to Giotto cried out sharply, “Lieutenant!”

The lieutenant who stood near Tappan’s group swayed on his feet and wiped an arm across his brow. A rash, Tappan noted, covered part of his face. The man had lowered his phaser in a moment of weakness and that was why the woman had barked at him.

Giotto ordered them to change positions.

If these were Giotto’s best officers, then the best was dismally poor.

But it might be that they wanted Tappan to believe they were as weak as they appeared, although he did not doubt the sickness had culled their ranks.

“I wonder,” he remarked, “what happened to your Vulcan commander.”

Giotto didn’t answer.

“Are you certain he is… unavailable?”

“If Mr. Spock was capable of command, he would never consider negotiating with you.”

Tappan laced his fingers across his stomach. “How fortunate for us, then.”

Giotto said, “I told you why I brought you here. I want to stay alive.”

The man’s acting was very good. Very, very good. Tappan could believe that he spoke with sincerity.

“Take me to Kirk, Mr. Giotto.”

Giotto nodded once and beckoned Tappan and his men to follow him. Tappan murmured to the man on his right, “Stay alert. Wait for my orders.”

The hollow-eyed man said, “Aye, Gov’nor.”

They walked with Giotto’s male officer keeping a close eye on them from up front and the female officer watching their backs. Their group pushed through the common area to the ward where the patients should have been kept under close supervision. Tappan, however, felt some surprise to note that Kirk’s Chief Medical Officer was not in attendance.

He forgot about McCoy when he saw Kirk.

Kirk lay utterly still, his breaths even, face slightly flushed. He was in restraints.

Giotto barred his path the man’s path when Tappan moved in that direction.

Kirk’s eyes popped open as if he had sensed the movement. His head jerked in their direction, and he bared his teeth as an animal might.

“Giotto,” Kirk coaxed, voice hoarse like he had worn it out screaming, “let me go and I’ll promote you—make you First.”

Giotto ignored his captain. “See for yourself how you ruined him.”

“I have no idea what you mean,” Tappan countered. Yes, it did look like the drug had been effective with Kirk. But he had to be certain. “Why is he restrained?”

Giotto stared at Tappan for a moment, then turned to Kirk and said, “You’re finished as Captain. I’m in charge now.”

That was all it took: Kirk exploded into a thrashing wild man. He howled, and he bucked, and if not for the restraints it was clear he would have run straight at Giotto and tried to tear him apart. One of the other patients threw his covers over his head to block out the sight. The rest seemed to be blissfully sedated, heedless of the raging beast that had become their precious captain.

Tappan almost salivated at the thought of what he could provoke Kirk to do. So close. So close to having everything he wanted!

“We have a deal, Mr. Giotto. I guarantee your safe return. In exchange—”

A man came out of an adjacent room, saying, “Jim, calm down…” He skidded to a stop once he saw Tappan.

“Evening, Dr. McCoy,” greeted Tappan.

McCoy’s tired face turned sickly pale, creating a stark contrast with the dark circles under his eyes.

It was the doctor’s shock and his dawning realization of the situation at hand that captured and held Tappan’s attention.

The man shook his head slowly in denial. “Giotto, why is he here?”

Tappan watched Giotto make a subtle motion with his hand to his two officers. They tensed.

McCoy’s voice came at them swiftly, his voice growing stronger. “Why is that son of a bitch standing here?”

“Dr. McCoy, I—”

“How dare you!”

Kirk’s physician leapt at Giotto—and Giotto’s officers interceded, grabbing McCoy and locking his arms behind his back.

“Kirk is our captain!” McCoy cried. “You can’t do this! He’ll kill Jim!”

“We don’t have another choice.”

The doctor’s struggles intensified. “Damn your rotten souls, let me go! This is mutiny! Mutiny!”

“Stand down,” Giotto told his officers wearily.

The moment McCoy was free, he landed a punch on Giotto’s jaw.

Tappan made a noise of surprise. He couldn’t look away.

Giotto grimaced and rubbed at his chin.

McCoy turned on Tappan and spat, “Get out unless you want a taste of my right hook too.”

Oh, but McCoy’s temper was something else. “I was invited.”

The doctor snarled.

“Doctor,” Giotto interceded, implacable, “by rights I am in command. Kirk is useless, and we have to survive. I’m ordering you to stand aside.”

“Over my dead body!”

That can be arranged, Tappan thought. He commented to Giotto, “Clearly the decision was not unanimous.”

“It wasn’t up for vote.”

Tappan noted shame in the eyes of the other officers. Interesting. Were they truly going to hand over Captain Kirk?

He asked Giotto, “Do we have a deal or not?”

“We do,” the man confirmed, and commanded his subordinates to remove Dr. McCoy from the ward.

“Wait.” McCoy stepped back, his shoulders drooping in defeat despite the fury in his face. “Kirk is still my patient. He needs a doctor.”

Karen would be pleased. “Dr. McCoy, I’m a reasonable man. Arrangements can be made if you wish to stay with Kirk.”

The doctor’s eyes darkened. “I won’t be your hostage.”

Tappan smiled. “Thanks to Mr. Giotto, none of you will be hostages. You have safe passage to return to your ship, unless of course you have a reason to stay here, such as healing Kirk—and my son.”

“Who’s your son?”

Tappan waved a hand at the young man in a medical coma across the room. “Ramses’ mother informs me he has taken ill. As ill as the rest of my people. Help us, Doctor, and we will help you.” Yes, that sounded good. He made certain to offer up a benevolent smile.

McCoy glanced at Giotto momentarily before telling Tappan, “I have a second condition. You can’t kill Kirk.”

Concerning this Tappan could be honest. “I wouldn’t dream of killing him.”

Giotto nodded decisively. “Then the deal has been struck. Olivares, Sandeep, help Dr. McCoy with Mr. Kirk.”

Tappan cut a sly look at Giotto. “Mister Kirk?”

Giotto didn’t seem to be a man who ever smiled. “I am Captain now.”

Tappan wouldn’t gainsay that illusion.

It was McCoy who paused in depressing a hypospray against Kirk’s neck as if another thought had occurred to him. “Spock… I can’t leave him either. He’s in worse condition than Jim.”

Was that so? That was beyond interesting.

Giotto frowned. “You said there isn’t much chance he will recover.”

“I said I can’t help him,” McCoy corrected the other man indignantly. “I don’t have training in Vulcan biology, and the infection has weakened him beyond what little I can do.”

“Then there is no use in taking the Vulcan with us,” Tappan pointed out. “I’m afraid you’ll have to let Giotto carry him back to your ship.”

McCoy bit into his lower lip but didn’t argue. Given that Tappan had witnessed the depth of the pair’s affection for one another, he was somewhat surprised. He supposed that McCoy considered Kirk’s life of more importance than Mr. Spock’s because of his duty to protect his captain.

It was amazing how quickly he had Kirk’s men under his thumb. Thrilling, rather. His months of careful planning had paid off.

To the guard on his right, he commanded, “Proceed.”

Grunting in acknowledgment, the man strode for Kirk’s bed, shouldering everyone aside.

Giotto whipped out his phaser and trained it on Tappan. “We’ll move Kirk.”

With a second grunt, the farmer hoisted a limp Kirk over his shoulder.

Tappan said, “My time is quite valuable, Mr. Giotto, and yours is running out. Let’s end this game, shall we?”

Giotto’s phaser never wavered. “You’re not leaving the complex, Governor, unless we go with you.”

Tappan tilted his head in mock-surprise. “Don’t you trust me?”

“I never said I would trust you.”

“Then I will stay,” Tappan agreed all too happily. “Now, where would be the perfect room… Ah, yes!” He started for the exit, paused. “Do come along, Mr. Giotto. You’ll want to see where I’m taking Kirk, no doubt.”

For a second, something other than wariness flashed through the commander’s eyes.

The corner of Tappan’s mouth quirked.

Giotto’s two lieutenants started after Tappan. Giotto paused to talk to McCoy, who made as if to follow the group.

McCoy bowed his head, rubbed his hands against his uniform pants. He stayed where he was as Giotto came abreast of the man carrying Kirk.

“What did you tell McCoy?” Tappan wanted to know.

Giotto cut a sideways glance at him. “That he wasn’t needed.” He paused. “Unless you think you can hold him off while you… take care of Kirk.”

Tappan tended to agree. “No, you’re quite right. We don’t want him with us.”

They left the ward behind.

Andy listened to the steady beep of the control monitors with a nervousness that could be seen in the tapping of his foot and occasional restless shifting. He was beyond tired, having not rested properly since he left the Enterprise and been subject to too many adrenaline crashes. Honestly, he had no idea how any of them were still on their feet, let alone in proper condition to win against the tireless maniac who called himself Governor of Tassos III.

He had watched Tappan on the security feed: his reactions, his observations and sly remarks. Andy wasn’t an expert in body language but he found Tappan easier to read than he expected. The man had walked into the medical facility with a backup plan.

But the longer he kept his eyes on Tappan, the clearer it became that Andy wasn’t going to figure out what that plan was. So he began to scan the perimeter of the building. That was when Andy saw him—the third man, unaccounted for, skulking by the locked hatch of the maintenance shaft.

Tappan had someone positioned at their back door. That boded ill. The only way someone could make it through the shielding and the hatch was if their systems experienced sudden power failure.

He contacted Danson right away.

“Danson here. Andy, what’s going on? It’s dangerous to talk. I could give my position away!“

Andy insisted, “Take that risk. I think we invited in a Trojan Horse. Grab one of our science tricorders and set a scan for a circuit scrambler. The hardware is small and easy to hide under the clothes.”

Danson cursed. “I hope Kirk is prepared to hand out commendations like candy after this is over. Danson out.“

Andy turned back to the monitor and stared at the huddled figure hiding between the bushes and the building. Would Danson find a tricorder in time? Not likely. Tappan already had Kirk in his hands.

The young man made a decision that shocked him a little. Gathering up his communicator and checking the power indicator on his phaser, he left the control room in a hurry.

“It’s an office,” Tappan pointed out politely as Giotto prowled the corners of the room.

“Why here?” demanded the officer.

Tappan told him, “I like the view.”

Giotto stared him down for several seconds. Then he snapped to his female companion, “Let’s go,” and they left.

Tappan engaged the door’s lock, knowing it wouldn’t keep Giotto and his team out if they wanted to get in. Time to ensure they had other troubles to occupy their time.

He nodded to one of his guards.

The man removed a device from the lining of his jumpsuit. Prying back the small electrical panel by the door, he stuck the device among the circuits and wires. “Ready, Governor.”

Tappan grinned and threw his communicator to the second guard. “Excellent. When Kirk wakes up, turn the communicator’s dial counter-clockwise. It should light things up nicely.”

Olivares glanced upwards as the lighting fixtures flickered in the corridor. “What was that?”

Frowning, Giotto turned in the direction of the patient ward. “I don’t know.” He tried to raise Kolarski in the control room but no one answered. “Stay here. If you see or hear anything suspicious, get Kirk out.”

“He’ll… not do anything stupid, right, Boss?”

Giotto didn’t have the heart to answer that question. Halfway to the control room, he collided with Sandeep and Danson, who came around a corner at break-neck speed.

“Shit,” Danson said when he saw that they had run into Giotto. “We’re in trouble!”

Andy’s stomach flip-flopped as the red emergency bulb over his head dimmed. He heard a buzzing that any engineer would recognize, the sound of power generators trying to accommodate for wildly fluctuating energy. Then the facility fell silent for about twenty seconds while his alternate generator worked overtime to maintain the basic operation systems—excluding shields and security—until the main generators rebooted and came back online.

In that small span of time, the hatch wheel at the end of the shaft began to turn. Andrew, lying on his belly in the tube, aimed his phaser directly at it.

The intruder crawled inside and pulled the hatch shut behind him.

Kolarski announced to his back, “You picked the wrong shaft to break into, mister!”

The guy barely had time to turn around before Andy stunned the hell out of him. Once convinced the man was out cold, the engineer wiped the sweat off his forehead and pumped his fist in the air. He had thwarted his first bad guy! Yeah!

Missions were terrifying to be certain, but maybe he was beginning to see why Captain Kirk had fondness for them. It was less exciting, of course, to drag the man’s dead weight out of the shaftwork, but Andy figured the looks on his colleagues’ faces would be well worth the effort.

Leonard was a nervous wreck on the inside. He had said he would die to protect Jim but turned around and handed his captain over to Tappan. He had done exactly what he had accused Spock of thinking about doing.

He shuddered as he recalled that Tappan had practically salivated at the thought of getting his hands on Kirk. They knew why. What Jim was about to endure could cripple him.

“Don’t let Tappan tear him apart,” Leonard said, laying his hand on the arm of his patient. “I’m counting on you, Spock.”

An ironic choice of words, he thought, considering that he had torn into Jim for putting the Vulcan’s life at risk. But those decisions had been made, the actions taken. Leonard could only encourage the pair to hold out as long as they could.

He had to hold out too. He had to solve this final puzzle in order for them to beat the odds. The pressure of it made him sweat.

“Geoff,” he called into his comm, “are these all my medical logs?”

“Every one, Dr. McCoy.“

He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I thought something was here, something I needed to remember.”

“Can I offer a suggestion?“

“God yes! Anything,” he said, desperate. “I’ll try anything!”

“Bear with me. I’m going to talk you through a calming technique.” M’Benga began to count, asking him to breathe steadily in and out. “Just focus on your breathing.“

Leonard tried. It was difficult. “This isn’t something Vulcan by chance?” he half-joked.

“It is.“

He jumped slightly. “Damn, should have known. It won’t work. Spock says I’m too emotional to know what calm is.”

“Then pretend you’re Mr. Spock.“

Leonard swallowed a laugh. He almost started to say something pithy but realized, as he glanced down at Spock and the hand he still had on the Vulcan’s arm, that he owed it to his friend to try. “Help me out, hobgoblin,” he murmured, stroking his thumb across Vulcan skin.

He closed his eyes and restarted the breathing exercise.

M’Benga’s voice had a naturally hypnotic tone. Soon Leonard’s mind began to clear.

“Analyze it clinically,” the doctor urged Leonard. “Emotions don’t exist here. What must you accomplish? Name the stages.“

“Treat, cleanse, restore.” Pieces of data floated to Leonard’s mind. He fit them together one by one to make a picture. “I can see the gap, Geoff. It’s so familiar.”

“Don’t force it. It will come. Let’s go back. You named three words. Treat—how and what?“

“Treat the psychosis by blocking the chemical reactions in the brain.”

“Cleanse.“

“Cleanse the body by eliminating the toxicity.

“Restore.“

“Restore normal functions of the body—of the mind.”

“You didn’t say how, Doctor. How can you restore the mind?“

“Scientifically no one can,” he said, feeling a swell of frustration.

“Think critically. Who has tried? What did they try? Why did they fail?“

Leonard had a list already put together: names, dates, results. Silence came over the line after he finished reciting everything he knew. On instinct, he almost opened his eyes. “Geoff. Are you there?”

“Thinking about what you just said, Doctor. What do those experiments have in common?“

“Besides their research topic? Nothing.”

“Not quite,” his second-in-command answered. “Weren’t their projects funded by a medical association?“

Leonard’s eyes flew open, then. “The missing part of the population. Geoffrey, you’re brilliant!”

He reread the subject lines of his logs with an eye for illegal experiments and one immediately jumped out at him.

“Tantalus,” he said.

“Dr. Adams’ Neural Neutralizer,” M’Benga said. “I read about that.“

“He created a neural emitter that he claimed at low frequencies calmed deranged minds. It was all lies, of course. He was trying to accomplish the opposite—break the minds of the criminally insane so he could control them. Should have been a breakthrough in neural science when it was a complete disaster.” He tapped his finger against the PADD’s screen. “The article that touted Adams’ device gave samples of the brainwave activity pre- and post-treatment. That’s why it looked like he had succeeded.” Leonard drew his finger across his lower lip in thought. “When I sedated Leta’s son and Kirk, their cortical monitors showed much the same thing. But sedation isn’t the answer.”

M’Benga sounded excited. “But could it be the key to an answer?”

“If we used a drug that did much the same—”

“—and allowed normal response to verbal stimuli—“

“—it would maintain the brainwave activity of a non-agitated state. It’s worth a try. Send me a list of what we have in supply that could do the trick.”

Minutes later, they had reviewed that list and agreed on which drug to add to the basis of the serum Leonard had begun to create earlier in the lab. He gave M’Benga instructions on the molecular tweaks to ensure the compound was quickly and effectively soluble in the bloodstream. Then he warned, “Gonna need it hot off the press,” and hurried from Spock’s room.

His harried appearance caused quite a stir in the ward. Joran and another officer sat up, their phasers at the ready, looking about for the threat that should have chased Leonard out of Spock’s room. The lieutenant who had volunteered for the initial treatment came out of his bed with fists raised.

Leonard snapped at them as he ran past, “Not yet!”

They didn’t lay back down.

With efficiency, Leonard removed Leta’s son from the sedation drip. He flipped open his communicator. “Geoff, you have just under five minutes before my patient wakes up and loses his mind.”

Joran shuffled over to the doctor’s side.

“What do you think you’re doing, Lieutenant?” Leonard questioned sharply.

“In case he loses his mind, sir, I can help you hold him down.”

Leonard cursed. Joran knew he couldn’t refuse the offer. “Fine. But if you have a heart attack in the meantime, you’re on your own!”

“I’m fine with that,” the pilot agreed in an easy tone.

Leonard had to admit the man had gumption. He sighed and said into the communicator, “Status report.”

“Synthesizer at seventy percent. I have our transporter tech on standby.” M’Benga commented wryly, “When I took this assignment, I never imagined I would be participating in on-the-fly medical innovation inside a transporter room.“

“Welcome to the Enterprise,” Leonard deadpanned.

“Eighty-two percent.“

Ramses’ head moved back and forth against his pillow. Joran took up a position on the opposite side of the biobed. Another lieutenant came to stand at the foot-board.

“Ninety percent.“

Ramses muttered something about Kirk and his mother then began to shake all over. The tendons along the sides of his neck stood out. The cortical monitor tripped the biobed alarm the moment his brainwave patterns became pulsating and erratic.

Leta’s son shot straight up to sitting, his eyes wide-open.

Immediately Leonard and Joran pinned him back down. The second helper grabbed his legs.

The man’s eyes rolled wildly from side to side. “Mother,” he screeched, “Mother!”

“Geoff!” Leonard snapped. “We need the dose!”

“Ninety-nine percent… one hundred! Ensign, take this!” Someone that sounded like Christine shouted, “Engage!“

The hypospray appeared in mid-air next to McCoy’s hand and dropped to the ground.

“Damn and blast! Joran, hold him!”

Leonard dove for hypospray as Joran flung his upper half across Ramses’ chest. Ramses began to pound on the man’s back with a fist. Leonard jabbed Ramses in the carotid artery with the full dosage.

Ramses fought them violently for another thirty seconds before he went limp. Leonard dragged Joran off the patient and helped him back to his biobed.

“Kid has a mean punch,” moaned the pilot, one hand pressed against his sore back muscles.

“If you get out of this bed again,” Leonard warned him, “you’re going to find out that my right hook is meaner.”

“Violence is not the answer,” mumbled Joran, face-down on his bed covers.

“Doctor!”

Leonard hurried back to Leta’s son. He was conscious, shivering—and terrified.

“W-What happened?”

Leonard felt tears in his eyes. He blinked them back. “Ramses, I’m Dr. McCoy… Kirk’s McCoy.”

Ramses swallowed. “Where’s my—” He shook his head slightly and whispered, “Never mind. Captain Kirk. Is he… alive?”

“Yes,” Leonard said. He had his answer. Into his communicator he said, “It’s effective.”

“Thank the gods,” came M’Benga’s reply. “We’ll start batch production right away.“

“I don’t feel very good,” Ramses moaned.

Leonard laid a hand on the boy’s arm. “You’ll be all right.” Kirk’s plan took precedence but he told M’Benga nonetheless, “I need one more vial.”

“You’ve got it, Dr. McCoy. Stand by.“

Captain Kirk was a pathetic creature. After he shook off McCoy’s tranquilizer, he charged Tappan twice. Each time, Augustus took great pleasure in zapping him until he could barely crawl across the floor. The men dumped Kirk into a chair in front of a window, but Tappan stopped them from tying him down.

He bent to Kirk’s level and said, “I can be reasonable, Captain Kirk. I only want to help you.”

Kirk shook as he muttered the word “never” over and over again.

“Never what?” Tappan pressed.

Kirk lifted his face and fixed a hateful stare upon him. His explanation had no coherency.

Yes, Kirk was truly lost in his mind. He was hallucinating.

Tappan circled behind him and whispered in his ear, “You’ve lost control.”

Kirk shuddered.

“They’re coming for you, Kirk. Do you see them?”

The man dragged his hands down the sides of his face.

“Look,” Tappan urged. “Look at them!” He forced Kirk’s head up, made him face the writhing darkness outside. He had noticed this little side office during his earlier escape and thought it had the perfect vantage point, which was why he had ordered the camp to be set up on this side of the building.

“They’re restless,” he whispered. “They want their revenge. And you know why… don’t you?”

Kirk growled, tried to pull away.

Tappan squeezed the man’s jaw painfully hard and said with more force, “Don’t you—” He put his mouth against Kirk’s ear. “—Kodos!”

“—Kodos!“

The landscape of Jim Kirk’s mind shattered. He fell through the shards, helplessly frozen by his grief. He saw the thin, starving faces of relatives, strangers, friends; saw the crushed bodies of men and women who had been trampled during an attempt to flee when the soldiers opened fire; watched his uncle’s happy face twist into a grotesquerie by sudden death. Sightless eyes, everywhere.

Jim was not the Executioner. Jim was not Kodos. …Was he?

He fell and fell. The fall was endless and agonizing. When he reached the bottom, if he did, he wouldn’t be anyone. There should not be anything except reprieve for a soul that had been in pain for far too long.

Little by little, the falling slowed down until Jim was gently floating in nothingness. It was neither cold or warm. It just was.

Where is this? he wondered.

The nothingness had a voice, and the voice knew his name: Safety. Jim.

Jim, yes. My father called me James. How could I be Kodos?

James Kirk. The voice spoke the name like a caress. Remember.

The images came, then, memories of a man with tawny hair and kaleidoscope eyes. The man laughed as he moved a pawn across a chessboard. The man pressed his face atop another man’s shoulder, looking stunned, gutted, as somewhere close-by a horn blared and people cried out. The man sat in a chair built for a captain, his expression pensive. Then he turned and looked directly at Jim. The hard line of his jaw softened. He smiled and said—

Mr. Spock. Jim remembered. Spock!

Yes. I am here.

Spock… I’m not sure what happened.

White streaked across the nothingness like a flash of lightning. It was anger, although Jim himself did not feel it.

Tappan, was all the voice said.

I don’t understand. I remember… McCoy, the shot… A stimulant, I think. You took control again—then, together, you and I were in control. I played along while Tappan taunted me, but he said… I…

Jim, there are some scars against which I cannot protect you.

Yes, Jim knew he had scars. They ran deep. But what Spock said wasn’t quite the truth.

Maybe you couldn’t protect me in that moment, Spock, but you did save me. Thank you.

You must return.

Show me how.

The nothingness grew bright, then long and narrow, stretched thin like a tunnel of starlight when traveling at warp speed. As Jim felt the tug from the anchor in his own mind, he also felt sadness at leaving Spock behind.

Then Spock’s awareness joined him, Jim realized he wouldn’t go alone.

Kirk roused at the slap to his face. He had cut out like light at the mention of Kodos’ name.

In that moment Tappan had feared he had ruined his plan by pushing too far. But his source couldn’t be wrong. James Tiberius Kirk was a survivor of Tarsus IV. History proved that no one lived through genocide without survivor’s guilt and, in some cases, severe mental derangement.

The captain lifted his head up and stared at Tappan for five full seconds, eyes blazing furiously as they had during the confrontation in the silo, before his chin suddenly dropped back to his chest.

“Look up, Kirk,” he commanded.

Kirk slowly raised his head—and howled like a madman, rocking in his chair with laughter. “They’re here,” he cackled.

Tappan stepped back from him, unnerved.

“But they won’t get me!”

Tappan licked his lips. Yes, this was the instability he wanted from Kirk. “One of them is already inside the facility. The lights flickered, remember? He slipped in and now he’s coming for you.”

Kirk leapt from his chair, crying, “Where?!”

The man started towards the door, stopped, backed up. He went for one of Tappan’s men, tackled him. Kirk gained the upper hand and knocked him out. He staggered to his feet, but before he could charge the other man, Tappan raised a hand.

Then, smiling, he tossed a communicator at Kirk’s feet. “How will you stop the man coming to kill you, Kirk? How will you stop all of them?”

Kirk fell to his knees and scrambled for the communicator, fumbled it open in rage and panic.

“Scotty,” he panted harshly, “get me out of here!”

The comm hissed.

Kirk twisted the dial to another dial and shouted, “SCOTTY!” beating one fist on the floor.

“Capt’n?“

“Get me out! Now!”

“Capt’n, the transporter is nae operable—“

Tappan flung out an arm towards the window and backed up as if in horror. “I see them!” he cried.

Kirk froze for a second then yelled, “Fire!”

The officer on the opposite end of the channel gasped, shocked, “Captain?“

“I order you!” Kirk screamed. “Fire on the planet! Fire at will! GET THEM ALL!”

Tappan’s face split into a victorious grin.

On the Bridge of the Enterprise, Scotty looked at the others on duty and winked before he said, “You heard the Captain, Mr. Chekov. Launch our little surprise.”

Chekov grinned. “Vith pleasure, sir!”

Augustus hurried to the window, “I tried to stop you. I tried and failed. And you won’t remember any of this, whether it’s true or not. All these people, Kirk, slated to die at your hands.”

Jim Kirk had backed all the way across the room to the far wall. There he stayed, slumped over, head cradled in his hands, muttering.

An utter mess.

Tappan gripped the sill of the window.

The Enterprise wouldn’t fire like their captain had demanded, but that was hardly the point. He had what he needed. All of the colonists did. They would come to thank him, to treat him with the respect he deserved rather than with suspicion and distrust as they had done since the colony’s inception. If loyalty had been willingly extended to him, he wouldn’t have had to go this far. He wouldn’t have had to twist their minds, make them believe lies where there should have been truth.

Well, such regrets mattered little now. Freedom was upon them. And his dream to rule.

Crazy Kirk made a snort. His shoulders quivered. “Fire!” he whispered.

Tappan chuckled. Kirk was useless now, but he should at least be tied up and presented to the investigators who came to address the charges he would make against Starfleet. As he turned from the window, a flash of light in the clouds caught his eye. The pinpoint became a streak, like a star falling from the sky.

The star slowed down and made a controlled landing. A drone detached, leaving behind a glowing pod, and flew off into the night.

Augustus pressed his face close to the window in order to see what it really was.

As he looked on, panel by panel the pod opened and exhaled a strange fog. The colonists in the camp simply stared—until one of them began to choke on the gas and dropped to the ground. The thought of attack snapped their tenuous hold on reality. En masse they ran for the pod, screaming and brandishing various farm tools as weapons. None of them made more than halfway across the lawn. Within minutes, their enraged screams turned to whimpers and crying.

“What is this?” Tappan shook as he backed up from the window. “What’s happening?”

Kirk’s head came up. His shoulders, Tappan realized belatedly, had been quivering because he had been quietly laughing. He had the look of a man who had been to hell and back but had become stronger for it.

When he met Tappan’s eyes, he ceased to laugh.

Kirk lifted the communicator still clutched in his hand, flipped it open, and said in a voice at odds with his disheveled appearance, “Mr. Scott, prepare to beam three aboard. Coordinates seven mark nine-two-six-one. Transport directly to Decontamination on my orders.”

Tappan stared. “Kirk… It isn’t possible. You’re sane!”

“You are almost correct, Mr. Tappan,” said the man. “I am not Captain Kirk.”

Tappan’s mouth dropped open but he could think of nothing to say.

“Now, Mr. Scott.”

Kirk closed the communicator as Tappan and his men faded away. He lowered his head to his chin. Sounding infinitely weary, he said to the empty room, “Tell Dr. McCoy… the promise… was kept.”