0Title: Difficulty Engaged (7/10)
Author: klmeri
Fandom: Star Trek AOS
Pairing: Kirk/Spock/McCoy
Summary: During leave, trouble thwarts a good plan and causes Kirk and Spock to accelerate the timeline of their McCoy-centric agenda. But true to form, McCoy is already playing by a set of rules they don’t understand.
Previous Parts: 1 | 2| 3 | 4 | 5 | 6
Flashy billboards bob in orbit just beyond the port’s outermost ring. A pilot navigates the nose of a sleek cruiser around the ads with apparent expertise until he is able to rotate the cruiser 180 degrees. Then he fires the rear thrusters, backing the vessel into an empty slot in the section marked for tourist crafts and minimally crewed ships. Giant mechanical arms reach for the sides of the cruiser, locking into place with a hiss of steam.
“We’re docked, Prime Zanceas,” announces the pilot. “Requesting the boarding protocol from the dockmaster now.” He mutters something into the comm in his console.
The man standing beside the pilot’s chair releases an annoyed huff. He flicks an unappreciative eye toward the largest, shiniest advertisement still glowing in the corner of the cruiser’s viewscreen. “Idealistic hacks,” he scoffs. “An arrogant lot, this Federation. Just look at that Terran. They’ve splattered his repulsive face from here to the Orion Beltway. Ridiculous!”
The pilot shrugs, detaching his seatbelt. “It is said he saved a race from complete annihilation and was awarded many honors.”
“I am sick of seeing him.” The Prime steps down from the platform with a scowl. “Make haste and deploy the Scavengers. I don’t want to spend another parsec than necessary in this cesspit.” He disappears into a passageway beyond the bridge without waiting for a reply.
In the most spacious cabin of the cruiser which Zan had chosen as his private quarters, he selects a bottle from his brandy collection, uncorks it, and pours a tumbler full. But after a sip, he flings the glass, liquor and all, against the nearest wall, feeling too little satisfaction as it shatters into tiny pieces. A soft-footed servant enters the room to clean up the mess.
The Prime rips open the first hook of his high-collar jacket, hot anger like a living creature writhing inside him. The farther he journeys from his homeworld, the stronger his emotions are and the more slippery his control over them. Confined to this small vessel for days with no clear outlet, bit by bit the anger has been building, melding with his power until the two are inseparable. Oh, he has been able to tamely siphon some of it away through petty outbursts; but that kind of release is not enough, never enough. He knows very soon he needs to let the heart of his rage loose; otherwise, it will simply burst free of its own accord and destroy him in the process.
He also knows who it wishes to target. If only he could find them, his traitorous wife and servant and the one who stole both from him.
A snarl builds in his throat at the thought of his cousin. “Bitch,” he hisses, remembering Ruti’s parting words: She could have never loved a monster like you.
The servant hunches inward, no doubt sensing his master’s deep anger and fearing it. Though of no psy-strength to be a real threat, all races of their species are born with the ability to gauge the depth of each other’s power. In the case of the weak and the low-born, it is a self-preserving instinct, lest they upset someone who can rip them apart with a single thought.
He gazes with disinterest at the servant now quickly disposing of remaining glass shards. “Get out,” he says abruptly, coldly.
The servant wastes no time obeying the order.
Zan throws himself into a high-backed chair, waiting with some impatience for news from the bridge. The Scavengers should pick up the trail easily once inside the station. After all, they are creatures native to his homeworld who hunt his kind, and the pack he brought along he raised and trained personally. They hunger for a taste of death, and the injury dealt to his wife at that last parting should be slowly killing her. The Scavengers will salivate at the scent of her dying.
But even without the trackers, he knows he has caught up to his quarry. His wife has little power of her own, making it difficult for him to track her without aid, but Ruti… Even from inside this vessel, Zan feels Ruti, an irritating pinprick at the periphery of his awareness.
She’s running like a fool when she should be facing him in a challenge. Should have challenged him if she had lusted for his bitch-wife enough to even dream of stealing her away.
He crosses his legs and closes his eyes, jaw ticking.
Well, he will deal with them both this time. Permanently.
The port security office is busier than it has ever been, in Wardyn’s memory. That’s less to do with his officers than Kirk’s, who have swarmed the place like paranoid little ants ready to defend their home territory. But this isn’t their ship, or even a planet, so Wardyn guesses this behavior is unique to the Enterprise crew and their perception that “home” is wherever their captain goes. Kirk doesn’t strike Wardyn as the type to be worried about his own safety, and so Wardyn suspects he didn’t summon this many security officers. Captain’s orders or not, it doesn’t stop them from clogging up the archways and guarding the exits like they expect another Big Bad Guy to pop up any second now.
Then there’s the captain himself.
Somebody must have brought Kirk a replacement outfit, which is just as well. Wardyn had doubted anyone could have taken Kirk seriously in such an unfashionable get-up. In Starfleet’s standard uniform (gold shirt and blank pants), the captain cuts a visually distracting figure in a different way. An intimidating way.
But that could also be a side-effect of the man’s flat, no-nonsense expression coupled with the hellfire in his gaze. Kirk is pissed off and not hiding the fact.
This is the week Wardyn should have taken vacation, like his wife had suggested just two days ago. He had grumbled at the thought of going to his sister-in-law’s house where her fifteen offspring would cling to him like burrs and demand Uncle Wardyn cart them around now. This might be worse than that.
No, it is. He is stuck between a rock and a hard place. The Port Chief is terrified of the bad publicity of them flubbing a kidnapping case and wants them to heroically save the day. Wardyn knows they simply aren’t equipped to handle it. Port Authority employs some smart, talented folks but in truth the team is better suited to stopping coolant leaks and busting up bar fights. When compared to Kirk’s whip-smart officers, it feels like they are a nuch of bumbling children among adults.
But he has his pride; so does his staff. He also has a strong sense of responsibility. A Starfleet officer was taken on his watch. So no matter what the truth may be concerning how unskilled and unprepared everyone is, they are going to help.
Kirk is talking in low tones with Mr. Spock. Wardyn had been introduced to Kirk’s First Officer after the Vulcan’s return from a medical examination. From the look of the commander, he took the brunt of the fallout from the failed recovery operation. But whatever his actual inquiries, the port’s chief medic had said Mr. Spock refused to return to the Enterprise while explaining in the same breath that Kirk’s medical staff had cleared the man to work. “I am functional,” as the Vulcan had put it when Kirk challenged Spock’s personal report. Kirk is obviously torn between wishing his second-in-command would look after himself better and being grateful he has the man around. These two trade opinions and suggestions on every minute detail, sometimes finishing each other’s sentences. Partners who have been working together for a long, long time.
The other injured officers were shipped back to the Enterprise and replaced by more grim-faced men. Not everyone was happy about staying out of the action, apparently, as Wardyn overheard a clipped conversation between Kirk and that Mr. Chekov they had had to request an emergency beam-out for. Based on eyewitness testmonies, Chekov is the one who tried to single-handedly strangle the giant now locked up in the central holding cell; he broke a forearm in the process. That bone is newly regenerated, Chekov had informed his captain, and he is cleared to come back down. Kirk denied the request. Chekov called his captain something nasty in Russian. To Wardyn’s shock, Kirk had disregarded the insubordination and said patiently, “I need you where you are, Pavel.” Then the conversation quickly turned to Chekov performing some complex procedures to scan for McCoy using the flagship’s latest technology.
Kirk is a well-liked captain, Wardyn surmises from that eavesdropping. Respected. There isn’t an officer in the room who looks as though he wished to be anywhere else. Wardyn might be slightly envious of that if he didn’t already know his own people had little qualms with his command.
Although, he thinks sourly, there is one who does prefer Captain Kirk, spying the very fellow trading elbow shoves with that storeowner who always finds something to complain about. Huido and Murtee appear to be egging each other on to interrogate their new cellmate.
The cellmate, while still ignoring the pair, does seem to be growing more and more irritated by their not-so-quiet whispers.
Waryn often wishes Officer Huido would go ahead and retire, but then he thinks about what that might mean and the end result is rather alarming: Huido, running that junk shop part-time with Murtee; or, god forbid, opening his own little business next door. The shop owner doesn’t take well to competition or the perception of it. Half of the weekly call-ins to the station are about Murtee threatening a fellow member of his vendor’s association or instigating a public shouting match with neighbors. They let Huido take those calls simply because Huido has a knack for scrapping right back with Murtee in a way that seems to calm the hot-headed shopkeeper down.
There is no doubt in the commander’s mind that while one of them alone is a nuisance, the pair together are trouble.
“Bring the new guy to the record room in five minutes,” he orders the officer on brig duty. “And don’t let Huido sneak out. I can’t deal with him right now.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Kirk!” Wardyn calls. “Ready to get started?” he asks when Kirk comes his way, the Vulcan in close attendance.
“More than ready,” responds the captain.
Wardyn shows him to the area where their interrogation will take place, and then calls in extra men to remain on stand-by, as is protocol when there is the potential for a violent outburst or an attempt at escape. He’s not taking any chances with this big guy.
Said guy is escorted by three guards into the record room in short order. Mr. Spock trades a look with his captain before moving to stand aside with the other officers. Kirk waits until his target is pushed into a chair before circling the table. The fellow’s name is Chee, Wardyn learns. For his part, he takes a seat as well, relaxing, hoping he looks almost friendly when in truth he feels nothing of the sort.
The tension in the room heightens with the silence.
Kirk stops midway between Wardyn and Chee, each at one end of the long table.
He activates a universal translator despite that, based on observation, the alien appears to knows their language fairly well. “I won’t mince words,” he begins, fixing his gaze on Chee. “You’re under arrest for kidnapping and assault. Normally I would give you a chance to deny these charges or defend your actions but a few men were injured because of you and we have plenty of witnesses.” He pauses to allow for an interjection, but Chee only keeps glaring at everyone in the room. “Keep in mind if the Starfleet officer dies, you will be held accountable. So, make this easy on yourself and us. Tell us what we want to know, Chee. Where’s McCoy?”
“Don’t know,” the alien grunts. “I’m not with him, am I?”
Great, thinks the commander. This fool wants to play word games.
Kirk already looks like he wants to strangle the guy. “You were moving McCoy to a location when we identified you. Where?”
Chee bares his teeth. “I forgot.”
Kirk slams his hands down on the table suddenly. A few of Wardyn’s men flinch but none of Kirk’s do. “I’m not in the mood of jokes.”
“Ha-ha-ha,” gurgles Chee, somehow managing to look doubly menacing while taunting them.
Wardyn doesn’t condone interrogation by torture but, in that moment, he can sympathize with the need to punch the guy. He looks to Kirk. “I think he’s too stupid to know anything.”
Kirk straightens up, still eyeing Chee. “Yeah. I wouldn’t rate his intelligence above a Denebian slugworm.”
Chee rattles his cuffed hands against the table. “Humans are the stupid ones.” He glares at Kirk. “Your healer walked right into our trap. Then he didn’t even offer a fight!”
“Why him?” asks Kirk. “Did you want his skill set or what he represents?”
Chee snorts.
Wardyn advises, “You should answer the question. Your actions have repercussions that go far beyond this station. A threat to one Starfleet officer is a threat to all—and to their institution.”
“We may not look like warriors to your kind but we know how to fight,” Kirk says softly.
Chee doesn’t appear to be getting the message. “You were too weak to defeat me, Captian.”
Kirk shows his teeth, the same way the other one does. “I was holding back. Want to go again?”
For a brief second, the alien actually looks intrigued by the offer. Then he seems to catch himself and bangs his cuffs loudly onto the table. “I say no more.”
“Don’t be a fool,” Wardyn says. “Even silence can precipitate a war—especially silence. Right now, you are the voice of your people, as I speak for mine.”
“He doesn’t understand, Commander. He is that much of a fool.”
“You’re wrong,” growls Chee. “I speak for no race, nor any master. And I’m not part of any stinkin’ Federation like yours.”
Kirk presses his palms against the table, leaning into Chee’s face. “Mister, right now, it doesn’t matter to me where you come from or what your laws are there. You’re in my territory, and you took my officer. So we play by my rules.” Kirk looks Chee over like Chee is lacking in some way. “Not I care, but you seem well-acquainted with this kind of interrogation. A guy like you, all muscle and no thought, always on the wrong side of the law. Oh yeah, I’ve seen your kind before.”
Wardyn who had been silent until then breaks the tension following that accusation. “Mr. Chee, your crimes here are enough for us to throw you in a prison for a long time. If your people want to make a fuss over it, we’ll deal with that when the time comes.”
Kirk snorts softly. “And if those people like you as little as you like them, I don’t imagine they’ll come to your rescue. You could be in prison for decades.” He smirks slightly. “Possibly permanently. I mean, truth be told, the conditions aren’t too bad… but the food? Oh, the food is the absolute worst.”
Chee snarls at that, but he also looks disconcerted.
Wardyn is impressed. Somehow Kirk knows the exact right spot to aim for with this thug—in the stomach, apparently. For those who take the quality of their meals seriously, prison food is more damning than a death sentence.
Chee doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t appear happy either.
Kirk pulls back and sits on the edge of the steel table, crossing his arms over his chest without taking his eyes off the other guy. “Your move,” he says lightly. “Cooperate and we can set you up with your favorite snacks all day long.”
Chee glances between them then flicks a long look toward Spock and the guards in the observation gallery. “Want a deal,” he says at last.
Kirk and Wardyn simply wait.
“A deal for me and—” Chee quiets, rattling his cuffed hands. His pause indicates some inner turmoil. “—the Lady,” he finishes.
Anger tightens Kirk’s face. Wardyn has a moment of alarm, thinking Kirk is about to toss all their progess out the airlock, having finally snapped, but Kirk’s jaw pops once and nothing else happens.
However, strangely enough, it’s Chee who sits back, amused at the loaded silence. “My Lady,” he rumbles, “is not Ruti. Lock the chit up. I don’t care.”
“There’s someone else?” presses Wardyn, straightening up. “Who?”
“Not the mastermind,” guesses Kirk, turning his head toward Wardyn. “Ruti was operating as the brains and the power.”
Chee narrows his gaze. “I have brains.”
They ignore that.
“Captain,” Kirk’s First Officer chimes in, “earlier today you suggested there must be an injured party in Dr. McCoy’s care.”
Kirk’s gaze widens slightly. “Of course! The Lady,” he repeats to Chee. “She needed medical aid, and that’s why you took McCoy.”
Chee grunts. “Yes, the Lady needed a healer.” He eyes them shrewdly. “We both need protection. You protect us, and I’ll show you where your McCoy is. And Ruti.”
“Protect you. From who?” Kirk asks sharply.
Wardyn stands up and pulls the captain aside. “We can’t give a kidnapper safe harbor.”
Kirk’s gaze darkens. “Agreeing is the fastest way to McCoy.”
“It’s a bad idea.”
“I don’t care.”
“Kirk, I understand your concern. I even sympathize with it. But this deal will never fly with your superiors.”
“I’ll repeat myself only once, Commander,” Kirk states softly. “I do not care.”
Wardyn stares, taken aback. Kirk may be young, the youngest captain ever in Starfleet and commanding their flagship no less, but the man is obviously not stupid. For reasons he is not willing to disclose to outsiders, to Kirk his career isn’t nearly as important as the safe return of this Dr. McCoy.
Wardyn can almost respect that kind of foolishness. And it’s clear Kirk and his team will do whatever they want with or without Port Authority to back them up.
Just what this place doesn’t need more of, cowboys and their lawlessness running rampant over the docks.
He sighs through his nose, knowing he’s lost this battle. “Captain, to be clear: if I’m asked why I didn’t stop you, I will say you didn’t give me an option.”
“I’m not, sir.” The corner of Kirk’s mouth twitches with humor. “Although, if you think it would add flare to the explanation, I can punch you.”
“You seem a little too eager to use your fists.”
Kirk loses all signs of good humor. “If I had used them when they would have made a difference, maybe we wouldn’t be here. Maybe McCoy would.”
“Maybe things would be worse.” Wardyn gives Kirk a sympathetic look. “You’re a captain. You know how to gamble—but gambling with other lives never makes for an easy choice.”
“Yeah.” Kirk glances toward his First Officer. Then he refocuses his attention on Chee. “We need him and he knows it. But it sounds like he needs us too.”
“Don’t worry. He’ll definitely try something. I recognize his type too. We’ll be on guard.”
“We all will,” agrees the captain, beckoning Mr. Spock to come over. “Spock, an idea crossed my mind. If Chee and Ruti were in a rush to move Bones, is it possible they already have an escape plan in place?”
“A means of escape which either could execute without the other. It is something to consider, Captain.”
Kirk turns back to Wardyn, but Wardyn says without having to be asked, “I can grant you access to our departure rosters. But, Kirk, are you sure about this?”
“I know what’s been bothering me this entire time,” Kirk says, lowering his voice to be heard by the three of them. “Ruti had us at her mercy… so why leave her henchman behind when she could have used her power to help him escape? Because, to her, he’s not a threat,” Kirk determines, “even knowing his loyalty isn’t a certainty. But he is stubborn.”
“And therefore a suitable distraction,” Wardyn supplies.
“One that buys needed time. And the only thing that requires time around here is coming or going from the station.”
“Very logical, Jim,” Mr. Spock says approvingly.
A smile flickers at the corners of Kirk’s mouth, just briefly. “Thank you, Mr. Spock.”
The port commander waves the guards toward Chee. “We’re short on time, then.”
“I should like to look that roster as soon as possible, sir,” Mr. Spock says.
Wardyn agrees. Then he and Kirk study one another as the large alien is led past them, back to the detention center, with Kirk ordering Spock to keep an eye on Chee.
He wants to know, “What comes next?”
“Recover my Chief Medical Officer.”
“After that,” Wardyn presses, sensing something brewing behind Kirk’s eyes that makes him uneasy. “Do you have a plan to subdue the person who took him?”
Kirk’s expression tightens. “I’m working on it.”
Wardyn says, “I trust that you will, Captain—and that you will share it when the time comes. Don’t forget, we both have officers’ lives at stake.”
Kirk nods shortly, then moves past Wardyn to catch up to Security.
“When will she wake up, Doctor?”
Leonard wipes sweat from his brow, feeling worse than all those times he had been dragged across grueling terrain by Jim during that first-year survival course for cadets at the Academy. Not that that had been his requirement; no, his friend had volunteered him to go along as a field medic. He should have known then that was merely a taste of the adventures to come if he stayed partnered with James T. Kirk.
“She shouldn’t just yet, I’m afraid. Damn idiots, whoever you paid to transport her.” He eyes the scuff marks on the outside of the container now pushed aside. “They weren’t gentle. I re-stabilized her but I’m worried, Ruti. If her fever builds any more, I won’t have enough medicine to treat it.” And I’m only winging it now, with the basic medicine you gave me, he doesn’t add. Ruti is so tight-lipped about where her group comes from, and there are any number of humanoid species Leonard has heard of outside of the Federation whom he has never seen in person, and probably many more he is unaware of. But there is no point in arguing with his captor for more information. Ruti is as intractable as a Vulcan when it comes to sharing personal details.
He sighs. She’s afraid. First, of her Lady dying and, second, of her cousin. Under normal circumstances, Leonard would be more sympathetic, but he’s a peace-maker at heart. Nothing good ever comes of forcing others to do one’s bidding. Just look at what happened in that bar, to Jim and—
He shuts down that line of thinking, almost scared. Ruti is still connected to him somehow and she has already picked up on private feelings he thought he had buried deep enough in his heart they wouldn’t surface again.
But damn it, he’s apparently no less in love with Jim Kirk than he was years ago. And the fact that, lately, his reactions to Spock have been embarrassingly un-platonic… What a mess. When it comes to his love life, he cannot ever seem to have a normal one. It’s his fault. He knows that.
As if lifting weights are strapped to his arms, he reaches for his patient’s wrist again to count her heartbeat. He has that old scanner to do it for him but there’s something about feeling a pulse with his thumb. It keeps him personally invested in the well-being of his patient. Some doctors think of their patients as a series of trends and stats on a PADD. Are the stats performing well, or aren’t they? He never wants to be that clinically detached from saving lives.
“You should reconsider taking her to the local ward,” he says. “They can do more for her there than I can with antiquated tools.”
“You underestimate your abilities, Dr. McCoy. My Lady was on the verge of death before placed in your care.” Ruti lays her hand against the woman’s cheek. “Now my hope is restored. I may hear her voice again.”
McCoy says nothing of the longing in her voice—or that, accidentally or not, he can feel it too. Ironically, it seems like a reflection of his own longing.
Ruti retracts her hand and sits back on her haunches. “But we must survive what is to come, or all your work will be undone.”
Oh, he is not a fan of the sound of that, even knowing what she means. “Tell me again why we can’t go to the authorities and say you have a psychopath on your tail?”
Ruti shoots him an amused look. “I never told you the first time.”
He mutters something unpleasant about her under his breath and feels her amusement grow. “Well, how long can we hide here?”
“Are you capable of fighting, Doctor?”
That is an abrupt change of topic, and not a welcome one. “Capable? Yes. But I prefer only doing so in self-defense.”
“I do not speak of fighting with the physical body.”
He pales.
She goes on, as if unaware of the sudden, subtle trembling of his normally steady hands. “I sense an untapped strength in you.”
“I have no psychic abilities. I’m practically a negative on the esper rating scale,” he says, voice harder, clipped, as fear stirs in the back of his mind.
“You do not possess the ability to attack another with your thoughts, that is correct. But I have learned through my travels that many species in this galaxy are not unlike mine, however limited their natural talents are. You, Dr. McCoy, can protect yourself if you are properly schooled. And you will need to,” Ruti adds gravely.
She means her cousin is going to kill him. By saving this woman’s life—no, by simply being here—his life is forfeit like the rest. Oh hell, he thinks. His mouth, the traitorous thing, says, “If I have to train to keep the bad guys out of my head, it’s not you I’m gonna learn from.”
“Ah.” Ruti studies him briefly. “You consider your Vulcan companion be a sufficient teacher?”
Leonard nods. “Not that he’d like the idea, but I trust him.” Would Spock be gentle in his instruction? Undoubtedly. Patient? More patient than Leonard himself would be. They could set it up like a collaborative experiment, take notes, review his progress together. There would be valuable results to share based on his rate of adaptability, and there cannot be many instances of humans learning the art of mental shielding, especially from Vulcans. Did Spock’s mother ever learn from his father?
Oh yes, Spock would be the perfect teacher.
Leonard realizes he is flushed, perhaps a bit excited by the prospect. Damn, he must really be ill (and possibly out of his mind). Being tempted to take a mental joyride with Spock must be a side-effect of Ruti running roughshod over his mind to control him.
“We have a compromise,” Ruti says as though Leonard needs the reminder. “I must return you, yet the task seems impossible to execute.” She stands up and turns to him. “What if I bring the Vulcan to you? Would that satisfy my debt?”
“Not if you intend to harm either of us or steal us away,” Leonard says carefully. “And is Spock in any condition to face this powerful cousin of yours?” Why did he say that? But it’s true. He’s not comfortable with the idea of luring Spock into a desperate, deadly situation. Not simply to save his own life.
Ruti says nothing for an oddly long moment.
Leonard presses his mouth flat. “What? Did I offend you? Did I just shoot down your best idea?”
“No,” she murmurs at last. “You gave me an idea, Doctor.”
He springs to his feet—and instantly regrets it as the room spins a bit. While steadying himself against the wall and trying to ignore his vertigo, he snaps at her, “Whatever your bright idea is, forget it!”
She cocks her head curiously at him. “Why are you upset?”
“Because you’re going to use somebody, I can tell, and it’s probably Spock. Well, leave him alone!”
She nods, satisfied by something. “You are surprisingly intuitive. I was thinking of your Vulcan. With his strength added to mine, it would be possible to stop my cousin.”
“No!” says Leonard, more alarmed than before. “By ‘stop’ you mean murder. Spock won’t help you do that.” And I won’t let him.
She finally looks irritated. “Our people are not so different. Violence is inbred in us to a degree. Why do you pretend otherwise?”
“It’s not pretense, Ruti. There are better pursuits than aggression. Your way leads only to death.”
“Then should we die instead?”
“Life takes precedence over death. Ours and his. We fight if we have to, but we don’t kill when there’s another way.”
“I do not understand you,” she says, “or your beliefs but I respect your intellect. You said the Vulcan will not agree to help. Then he is of the same mind as you are.”
“He’s a pacifist,” Leonard confirms, “like most of his people. More so than mine. It’s wrong to ask him to go against that.”
Ruti sighs softly. “Whatever his policies, yours, or your Federation’s, I do not share them. My only concern is the strength I can bring to bear against my cousin Zanceas. He is the greater threat, therefore it would be senseless to waste myself in battle with any other.” She says then, “Without the Vulcan to help you shield yourself and because you refuse my offer to teach you, you will likely die, Dr. McCoy.”
“I was going to die someday anyway.” Leonard drops his arms to his sides. “If we’re done here, back to my original question: how long are we hiding out?”
“We are not hiding. The captain informed me of a malfunction that prevents us from departing. He is lying, of course. We will go nowhere in this ship.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Zan will find us here soon.”
Leonard hesitates a moment, then takes a seat again beside his patient’s bed. “So we’re waiting for him to show up and wreak havoc?”
“No,” she answers, “those we wait for seek you.”
McCoy’s stomach drops.
Chee will lead them here, her mind whispers to his, and my promise to you shall be fulfilled.
But what is she going to do with Jim and the others?
The doctor meets her gaze and shudders.
Rest. The suggestion floats to him, unbidden. Rest now, Dr. McCoy.
His eyes close of their own accord, and faintly he feels his body slide sideways off its chair and slump to the floor. Then he senses Ruti retreating from the room until even that sensation, too, fades.
Floating in darkness, he waits for fear and loneliness. But he is not alone, discovering instead unexpected comforts: A hand on his shoulder. Jim. Fingers lightly pressed to his cheek and nose. Spock.
He doesn’t know where these feelings come from or why he is able to conjure them. Leftover memories, perhaps?
It doesn’t matter, he decides. He exists with the ones he loves in a place where no one can keep them apart.
Spock stops talking mid-sentence and stares blankly. A thousand red alerts go off in Jim’s head. He catches the Vulcan by the shoulders, giving Spock a slight shake. The other officers in the utilitarian van snap to attention.
Wardyn twists around from the front passenger seat. “Kirk?”
Kirk blocks them all out, including the staring Chee and one of the prisoner’s guards who nervously lays a hand on the phaser on his belt.
“Spock?” he calls quietly, tightening his grip on his second-in-command’s shoulders.
Spock blinks. “Captain?” Then, “Jim, I felt—” He falls silent, blinking again, and lifts a hand to Kirk’s face.
Jim freezes at first, then realizes Spock is moving slowly enough to give him time to dodge the touch. Then when Spock’s hand hovers a moment to allow Jim more time to decide, he relaxes his grip on Spock, a tacit agreement to proceed. If Spock needs to communicate with him in this way, then what he needs to share must be important—and only remain between them.
Cool fingertips align to his face. Jim has a fleeting apprehension, not because he worries about what Spock is doing (or is capable of doing) but out of instinct when at the precipice of something very outside of normal for him. And no matter how many times Kirk and Spock connect through the mind-meld, it will always feels a bit strange.
This isn’t the unusual push of information, Jim quickly comprehends. This is… Bones?
Spock’s voice follows. Yes. I felt a… calling.
Bones can call to you telepathically? Jim is both shocked and bemused. Since when?
Amusement flows from the Vulcan. You worry needlessly. Leonard has not gained the ability to read minds. A pause, then. The moment Ruti attacked, I knew she intended to take him from us. I had but a moment to react, to connect with him. It was done in haste, so that link is merely a thread. When conscious, he would not be aware of it and therefore she would not detect it in his mind.
You’re telling me you created a way for us to track Bones?
Unfortunately not. Such would require a stronger link. However, I can monitor his well-being and provide strength if needed. Hope. More hesitation, a surfacing of doubt. It would have been proper to ask permission first.
McCoy would understand. Jim feels certain of that.
The doubt vanishes, after which Spock informs Jim gravely, This is why I cannot return to the ship. Over that distance, the thread would dissolve.
Understood. Jim feels Spock’s amusement again. What?
We have attracted an abnormal amount of attention, Captain.
Jim works that out and becomes slightly embarrassed. Next time, ensuring there’s a little privacy first would be best, Mr. Spock.
I quite agree.
Anything else?
Negative, Spock replies, but some part of Kirk recognizes Spock’s mind analyzing new information and drawing a conclusion he would like to share. Why Spock holds back, Jim does not know.
The Vulcan withdraws his mind and then, in view of everybody else, his hand from Jim’s face. The silence afterward inside the van is notably awkward.
“Kirk.” Commander Wardyn clears his throat. “Care to share with the class?”
There isn’t much Kirk can tell them except, “Mr. Spock thinks McCoy is nearby but unconscious.
No one asks how Spock would know that, or why he had to express it to Jim in such an unusual fashion. Jim gets the feeling that no one dares to ask—and that makes it easier for everyone, himself included. He couldn’t explain it without admitting to a few other truths.
But now he is convinced he needs to more deeply consider the possibilities inherent in what Spock can do and offer. Threads and links, varying in strength and capacity. New, intimate ways to unite alike minds. Yes, very interesting possibilities, indeed. In the near future, Jim has some homework to do discreetly on the various Vulcanian telepathic bonds. M’Benga might know something useful.
After Bones is safely returned to where he belongs, Kirk promises silently. When his head turns to Spock, he is unsurprised to see the reflection of a similar promise in Spock’s dark eyes.
Satisfied that Spock has his own reasons to pursue a new facet to their relationship, Kirk faces the others, mentally steeling himself for the likely hostile reception awaiting them at their destination.
Related Posts:
- Difficulty Engaged (11/11) – from June 29, 2020
- Difficulty Engaged (10/11) – from June 28, 2020
- Difficulty Engaged (9/10) – from June 21, 2020
- Difficulty Engaged (8/10) – from June 12, 2020
- Difficulty Engaged (6/10) – from September 19, 2019
