32I need cookies or hugs or fluffy fic. Maybe all three. I’m finishing up the last chapter of The Oak Queen and… it’s not happy. ;_; I also realized I’m not going to fix what I’ve done. My muse thinks it needs to be this way.
On the other hand, the story will be completed in its entirety tomorrow.
…but I doubt that will be much consolation.
Related Posts:
- The Oak Queen (6/6) – from June 29, 2012
- The Oak Queen (5/6) – from June 19, 2012
- Epiphany is Great [Coda, The Oak Queen] – from June 17, 2012
- The Oak Queen (4/6) – from June 17, 2012
- [WIP] The Oak Queen – from June 12, 2012
I dearly wish I had time to write you something, but my schedule won’t cooperate. I offer half-finished WIP fic instead? It’s a story I began after a random dream and evolved into something I just never had the time or inclination to finish or do more than a cursory polish just now, so it’s rather rough – but maybe better than nothing. *crosses fingers* Oh, also – I can’t remember (or really tell, upon re-reading) if I intended it to be TOS or Reboot, but then again my characters seem to be a mishmash of both anyway so perhaps the difference is only obvious to me. Only other warnings is that this was set before Shore Leave. :) — Eidetic memory was an ability treasured by the Vulcan and Romulan races for centuries, and one that other races were ridiculously jealous of – but in this particular instance, whether by reason of his half-human nature or because even Vulcans were not endlessly patient, he considered it a less-than-desirable trait. Said eidetic memory’s annoyance lay in its persistent and periodic reminders of the increase in time since he had been first imprisoned; four days, seven hours, thirty-two minutes, and…seventeen, eighteen seconds now. While not an interminable time by any stretch, and while he could certainly remain functional for longer without food or sleep, nevertheless even Vulcans required hydration (though less so than humans), and the frustration lay in the knowledge that unless something out of the ordinary were to happen, he was not likely to be freed at any time in the near future. Ordinarily, by this point in a botched diplomatic assignment resulting in a command crewman’s abduction, the Captain would have decided that full phaser power was a better argument than diplomacy and would have thrown regulation to the winds of the cosmos, simply barreling into the compound and indulging in what Dr. McCoy referred melodramatically to as an ‘old-fashioned jailbreak with guns a-blazin’.’ While certainly lacking in finesse, the Captain’s methods had proven effective before, and Spock had been indebted more than once to the human’s brash attitude. Starfleet Command was slightly less enthusiastic about the incidents, but their pride and joy was too valuable to be discarded due to a propensity to place his crew’s safety above ‘Fleet regulations. The irritation with his situation lay in the fact that, on this planet, what appeared to be reality was indeed nothing of the kind; he had only just discovered that the compound, buildings, people, even the foliage, were mostly holographic, projected partially through machine and partially through power of will of the supposed deity that ruled this world. (Deity being an abstract term, and a self-appointed one, for whatever the deity was it was certainly not benevolent nor happy to see intruders on its native soil.) Its psionic power, however, was such that even he was unable to completely defeat, and therein lay the real danger for the crew of the Enterprise. McCoy would probably snort and call that the understatement of the eons, but the entity was possessing of a very vindictive spirit which delighted in pain and confusion – possibly, Spock conjectured in his currently all-too-abundant spare time, deriving its energies from the negative emotions; primarily fear, hatred, anger, and malice. His natural lack of response to it had weakened its power over the crew, but he had been stunned by holographic energy that nevertheless held the capability to dazed his unprepared mind long enough for capture. Unfortunately, if the creature preyed on fear and anger, then Captain James T. Kirk, whose First Officer had disappeared without a trace four days ago, was prime fuel for its flame. (He was not even going to start contemplating what the volatile Dr. McCoy was giving to it.)
One indication of the entity’s malevolence was in that Spock was literally imprisoned in plain sight; hidden from view solely by a partially holographic screen which projected the image of a blank wall. Had he been able to call out to the Captain, who had already stormed around the compound on three separate occasions, or had the Captain any sort of sensitivity to psychic influence, he might have been able to deduce that what he saw was not in reality an actual wall – but Jim was psi-null, and not overly imaginative in those areas which he could not tangibly see. Therefore, to all human perception, the wall was indeed solid, physically and visibly. One strength of the Captain’s was that, once presented with a new idea, he could follow it to its logical conclusion, and sometimes more than one brilliant alternative, with very little outside help – but he struggled at times to visualize that which did not naturally occur to his practical human mind. The idea of a holographic planet, controlled by machinery and the power of the mind, would not occur to him without an outside stimulus. Spock had realized, upon the third visit the captain made to the very room in which he was imprisoned, that Kirk’s human frustration and anger were increasing the thickness of the invisible and yet impenetrable wall between them – but he was powerless to change the fact, or to help his friend in any way, and so could only watch helplessly as the captain stormed about the room, fairly yelling at the elderly caretaker (who he had no idea was only a hologram), and finally beamed back to the Enterprise in a royal Kirkian fit. Originally Spock had been imprisoned in a fanciful contraption of chains and padlocks conjured up from the entity’s twisted consciousness. But once he had come to his senses and logically and calmly realized the restraints were entirely unreal, holographic images only, they had melted away – upon which the governing entity had become incensed and had used its projections to locate more durable natural restraints on the planet, mainly vines from the few native flora that actually existed. If he believed in Luck, he would have said this was pure bad, for the vines were thicker than even his strength could break and flexible enough to be tightened far beyond the point of allowing him to break free. He had spent the better part of these four days endeavoring to work the back of the corporeal chair to which he had been bound off its seat and legs, but to no avail. And now that he was prepared to attempt the feat yet again, he realized the lack of water was beginning to tell in his stamina and strength. After two straight hours of accomplishing nothing more than to drain his strength and further injure his left shoulder and wrist, which had been wrenched along with his ankle in his sole escape attempt three days previous, he saw the shimmering effect of the Enterprise’s transporter beams. Jim Kirk was back for the fourth time, and he was not happy.
As Spock was entirely powerless to do nothing more, and as frustration would only fuel the entity’s strength, he decided the logical thing to do would be to simply sit back and, as the Terrans would put it, ‘derive pleasure from the pyrotechnics.’ They soon started, and in fine form. “I assure you, Captain Kirk, that none of your crew are –“ “I’ve had about enough of your lies, Mister!” a red-faced Jim was bellowing, one finger pointed in the face of the towering projection of elderly caretaker. “My Science teams have each scanned this planet, and they all concur – you’ve got Vulcan life-sign readings, and they’re coming from this compound! Now I want that man found, and I want him found now!” “You have already searched the compound, Captain,” the kindly hologram placated, smiling vacantly. “Captain?” a Security man interjected in annoyance with the bland caretaker. “Every inch of the place, Mister Kyle,” Kirk snapped, gesturing with his phaser. Watching the red-shirted Security teams scatter through the room, he noticed suddenly that they all looked extremely preoccupied…almost worried. Illogical as it sounded, apparently he had been missed in the last four days, and not just by the two humans he allowed close enough to feel their somewhat embarrassingly human affection for him. It could have been the dehydration and exhaustion, or it could simply be because he was aware no one could see, but a small feeling of warmth flooded him at the sight of thirty or forty men scouring the compound (knowing the walls dividing the rooms were not real, he was able to see the entire area). He almost – almost! – smiled to himself as he watched McCoy stop, glare grumpily at his tricorder, and then bang it experimentally against his fist three or four times before using it again. Was it his imagination, or did the outline of the wall between him and the room thin ever so fractionally? “I told you, Captain, your instruments will not work down on this planet,” the caretaker was droning pleasantly. “I know that, you cold-blooded old coot…” McCoy growled, the accompanying profanity reaching Spock’s keen hearing despite its more quiet vocalization under the physician’s breath. “All right,” Kirk was saying, his voice in that deceptively quiet tone that spelled incoming disaster for anyone caught in its path. “You’ve been less than forthright with me, and I want some answers. You keep talking about this ‘leader’ of yours – and we haven’t seen him and you won’t let us. Now either produce my First Officer, or take me to that man so I can question him. And I am not leaving this planet until I find him, do you hear me?” Captain, you are talking to a hologram – he does not even register your words and gives programmed responses. He wished with more intensity than a Vulcan really should that Jim was telepathic and could hear him. The anger and worry radiating off the human was only fueling the deception and the entity was already feeding from it – the wall imprisoning him was thickening, and the hologram growing more insistent that nothing was wrong and that they needed to return to their ship. “Are you deaf, Mister?” Kirk finally lost his temper completely, glaring at the elderly man. “I am not leaving until I find where those Vulcan life-sign readings are coming from!”
Persistent, your Captain, he heard the disembodied voice of the entity speaking inside the room with him, though invisible. He was silently grateful that the entity either did not know how, or did not care to, subject him to a fully mental invasion, as the prospect was highly unpleasant. He has always been so, he agreed calmly, knowing any reaction would only serve to strengthen the entity’s power. I sense great fear from him, and great worry. He speaks the truth; he will not leave until he knows your fate. Quite possibly, he replied the truth warily, not knowing what to say that would make the completely illogical situation any better. I wish him to leave; his affection for you and his selflessness toward his crew disturb my peace of mind and drain my resources; I have need of peace if I am to study your more interesting mind properly. I require solitude, and if he must ‘find’ you in order to leave me to such solitude… No! he had called before realizing the force behind the word, and now instantly quashed any reaction whatsoever toward the entity’s intent. The small but still entirely inexcusable flare-up of controlled panic had been noticed, however, and he heard mocking laughter ring soundlessly through his small prison. Oh, yes…Watch, the voice called back, leaving his mind once more in isolation.
— “How the devil do you expect to find him without bein’ able to use a tricorder, Jim?” he demanded, pulling the irate captain away from the poor innocent – or maybe not innocent, something about the old man creeped him out – caretaker. “We’ve already searched the place four times!” “I don’t know how, but we have to find him, Bones,” the younger man muttered, rubbing a hand over his tired eyes; from the look of him, he’d hardly slept other than the occasions the physician had forcibly restrained him in Sickbay the last week. “Starfleet’ll have my head if I just leave him here…violates the Prime Directive and regs about First Contact, and all that…” “We both know that’s not why you’re about to blow the planet to kingdom come, Jim,” he snorted, yanking open a closet door which had been hidden by a colorful tapestry. “What’re you gonna do if they order you to declare him lost and get on with the mission? We’re already two days overdue to rendezvous with the Tokyo in the next system for personnel exchange.” “I’ll tell them I’m not leaving, that’s what. Hey Johnson!” the captain shouted, waving at the Security man who passed in a cross-corridor. “Any sign?” “None, sir!” “Carry on, then! Bones, I’m not leaving him here, and if the Fleet wants to court-martial me for it then they darn well can! If you can’t be more helpful than telling me my duty when I already know what it is then go search with Scotty or someone else!” He sighed and counted as the younger man stormed off down the corridor. Two, three…right about now. “Sorry, Bones,” came floating back, in a tone laced with exhaustion and self-recrimination. “It’s not your fault, and I…I’ll just shut up now, okay?” He smiled, because it wouldn’t do either of them good to admit that he was actually worried about the Vulcan, and clapped the slumped shoulder. “C’mon. There’s nothing in this section, and you didn’t get any answers from Professor Strangeness back there. If you really think that room’s the key, then let’s double back and see what’s happening when they’re not expectin’ us.” “Why, Doctor. You, take the subtle approach?” “Move it, Jim, or would you like a very un-subtle kick in the pants?” He was glad to see and hear a small laugh at that, but a minute later wished he’d never tried to be uplifting, for an Ensign, his face white as a sheet and his words tripping over each other in their haste, came flying down the corridor shouting for them both. “Captain! Doctor McCoy – we’ve found him, sir,” the man gasped painfully, drawing himself into a rough approximation of attention stance when Kirk snatched at his arm. “Doctor…Captain…you’d better hurry.”
Spock amended his previous assessment that impatience was one of the most annoying of human characteristics or emotions that his human blood forced him to deal with; now he knew that the feeling of helplessness was far, far worse. And, sensing it despite his iron will, the entity was taking great pleasure in the drama it was enacting as well as in taunting his mental state, forced as he was to watch every moment as if there were no barrier between the scene and his senses. Why must you do this? he attempted to reason with the creature, though knowing it was most likely futile. Logic had no place in horror, and certainly not of this magnitude. Any being which literally lived off of and from emotion could, by very definition, not be swayed by logic. Is there no other way with which you can derive sustenance? Sustenance? Laughter echoed silently in the small prison. This is for amusement, now. And to get your captain off my planet so that I may turn my attentions to something more diverting even than this. He tried to block out the mocking laughter (and the implication that his own mental fate depended on Jim Kirk’s persistence), but his attention was suddenly arrested and riveted by the scene unfolding on the other side of the wall. The Captain and McCoy had just rushed into the room close on the heels of the slight young man who had darted out immediately upon finding the hologram supposed to represent him. His perfect memory would (unfortunately) never quite forget the look on Jim’s countenance as he skidded to a halt, all the color in his usually flushed face draining and leaving it a sickly shade of grey. White and shaken, McCoy pushed quickly past his shocked captain and knelt beside the blue-clad figure lying on the floor, half-hidden by a discarded tapestry and a small alcove that had been constructed minutes ago by the entity. It is not real, he pleaded silently for the doctor to somehow deduce that fact from the convincing image. It is an illusion, Doctor, a mirage only. It has no substance! Do you not think it odd that you searched this room four times without seeing the body until now? But the entity knew its playthings well, and was only growing stronger as the emotions in the room flared into a crescendo. Jim had shaken himself out of the initial shock and was dropping to one knee beside the physician, who was cursing his lack of a working tricorder and checking, less frantically now, for any sign of a heartbeat under the torn and green-bloodied blue tunic. Finally he looked up, met the golden eyes of his superior, and shook his head silently before dropping his gaze and closing his eyes. The Captain’s eyes widened in numb disbelief, and his lips parted slightly without making a noise. Behind them, the Security men stood stunned in varying stages of horrified shock, the expressions dismal enough that it surprised Spock – he rarely dealt personally with any of these men, and yet they all seemed to feel something amicable toward him. But this was in peripheral retrospect, for he was forced for his own control’s sake to look away from the captain; the naked grief, the lack of light in the usually animated eyes, was far too painful to maintain the sight of against his already battered mental shields. He will leave now, the entity spoke with complacent glee. He has afforded much amusement to me. He closed his eyes for a moment to collect his thoughts, but opened them when McCoy spoke, his voice soft and shaken. “Jim? Jim, look at me…put your head between your knees or somethin’ but don’t faint on me!” The Captain’s face had lost all color, but regained some of it at a gentle shake from the physician, and he started as if coming out of a trance. Uncomprehending eyes flicked upward, and McCoy shook him again gently. “Take a deep breath, Jim. That’s it…again…there.” The breaths were hitching, but functional, and the lines of strain on the physician’s careworn face lightened slightly. “There we go.”
The chirp of a communicator reached them; the channels had been sporadic and only worked once every few minutes due to some irregular atmospheric fluctuations. The Captain was apparently too stunned to take the instrument, and so the physician reached out and removed it from its holster. “Enterprise, what is it?” he snapped into the instrument. “Doctor…is zhe Captain there?” “I’m…here, Mr. Chekov,” Kirk finally managed through tightly compressed lips. “What is it?” “Sir…” heavy hesitation, and a small burst of static before the young Russian’s voice came through again. “Ve…ve just lost the Vulcan life-sign readings, sir…about three minutes ago. Keptin, I –“ “Understood, Ensign,” Kirk snapped, and all but threw the communicator down to the discarded tapestry. His shoulders began to shake as the realization set in in a slow, chilling wave. Hands descended on his arms, then slid around him as the doctor moved closer. “Jim, not in front of your crew –“ Watching helplessly, straining to free his hands which had been unconsciously clenched tightly this entire dialogue, Spock winced without even attempting to hide the motion as his captain seemed to crumple into the physician’s arms, shaking violently enough to be seen across the room. He looked away, unable to continue watching as the Security men fanned out to form a protective circle around the two – three – in the center… …and then he saw it. As they moved, forming a ring and turning their backs on their captain to let him grieve in McCoy’s support without being watched…the wall shook, shimmered visibly for a full two-point-three-one seconds before returning to its transparent opacity. But it was noticeably thinner than before. Spock stared at it, ensuring his calculations were correct, and then his eyebrows drew down in a frown. Interesting. Before he could test his theory with his own actions, Jim was staggering to his feet, angrily raking his gold sleeve across his eyes and snatching up his communicator. McCoy turned after trying to say something and failing, and examined the holographic dead man more closely while the Captain tried to raise the ship. You see, they will leave you to me, and never know you are still here, the entity’s mocking voice floated closer to him in the small prison. That is yet to be seen, he returned calmly. You do not know James Kirk as well as you think…and if I am correct, you do not know me either. Sharp, pained swearing drew his attention on the other side, and the wall thickened another eighth of an inch. The Captain slammed the communicator shut. “Communications are out again,” he growled, pinching his forehead with one trembling hand. “We can’t beam up to the ship, Captain, until they’re restored, unless we use the emergency pattern boosters,” a subdued Lt. Kyle reminded them all gently. “What are your orders in the meantime, sir?” “Even if we could beam up, I’m not leaving here until I find out who ki-who’s responsible for this,” Kirk said in a fierce whisper, obviously grateful that no one commented on the break in his voice halfway through. As I said, you do not know Jim Kirk, he took a slightly human pleasure in reminding the entity, whose surprised consternation was palpable in the silence. But his eyes were drawn back to McCoy’s lined face, old beyond its years from too many missions like this one, for the eyes had widened into two blue blurs and then narrowed again. “Jim,” he snapped, pulling absently at the captain’s trouser leg. “Come down here a minute.” “Bones, I – I can’t –“ “Do it, Captain!” the physician snapped with surprising force.
He raised an eyebrow and listened, aware of the growing unease of the entity that persisted in torturing them. Kirk bent down, hesitantly placing a gentle hand on the dark hair and then drawing back as if unable to do more. “What is it, Bones?” he whispered dully. “Jim, don’t you see something very wrong with this picture?” McCoy asked quietly. “My first officer and closest friend is dead, and you ask that?” the man demanded furiously. He blinked, startled at the free admission – he had not realized the captain held him in such obvious high regard… The CMO was glaring murder. “Don’t take your anger out on me, Captain! Answer the question – look at him!” “I…wait…” A frown line formed between the sandy brows, and he settled into a more comfortable position, cradling the limp head on one arm as he looked. “Bones…the position of that wound…” “Exactly, Jim,” McCoy replied, folding his arms and looking over the body at his captain. “This is a wound from a sharp, wide-bladed knife, and it’s penetrated the chest cavity. On a human, it would mean instant death; no cauterization, bleed-out in ten seconds if death wasn’t instantaneous from the heart being impaled.” “But…his heart’s not in his chest cavity, Bones,” the captain whispered slowly, and Spock suddenly felt the small ray of hope that had lingered in the human half of his mind burst into light – he had been correct; this entity was not all-knowing. While he had somehow known of Spock’s copper-based blood, he had not been aware of his physiological makeup. That might just be their salvation. “Precisely, Jim. This wound would have killed a human, but it wouldn’t have killed a Vulcan because their hearts are God knows where,” the physician stated, frowning darkly. “With rigor mortis setting in so fast, as you can see from the lack of blood around him, that means death occurred in a matter of seconds.” “But…that wouldn’t be possible,” Kirk protested blankly. “I am aware of that, Captain.” A pointed look across the limp form. “This wound didn’t kill him…or else it couldn’t have killed him.” Yes, McCoy! Follow that thread to its logical end, he begged silently. The entity had fled, no doubt driven away by the power of the hope he had permitted into his mind and therefore his prison. If he could use that to his advantage, and couple it with his earlier conclusions… Jim was lowering his hologram’s head back to the floor, rolling up one end of the tapestry to place under it. “If…if that wound didn’t – couldn’t – kill him, then what the devil did?” he whispered. “I’m not certain he is dead, Jim,” McCoy muttered, checking further on the body. “I’m…I’ve got a weird feeling that this is human anatomy, not Vulcan. Have to have a scanner to make sure, but…isn’t it fishy to you that none of our equipment will work here despite there being no reason for it?” The dull, dazed eyes flicked into life, angry life. “As if someone doesn’t want us analyzing anything?” “Convenient, isn’t it?” “Too convenient.” The Captain scrambled to his feet, looking angrily about. “What do you mean, you’re not sure he’s dead – you think he’s still alive and you just can’t tell without a scanner?” McCoy glanced up. “No, this body is dead all right.” He looked back down, and then apparently decided something and reached for his medikit. “What’re you – Bones!” “Shut up for a second, Jim,” the physician muttered, making use of the laser scalpel he’d removed from the kit.
“You can’t just mutilate –“ Yes, Doctor, yes! Spock caught the smile just in time before it became visible and eternally shamed him. “Just as I thought,” McCoy harrumphed loudly, standing to his feet and squaring off against his captain. “What?!” the man nearly shouted. “That’s not Spock – it’s not even a Vulcan body, Captain.” A grin broke out across the rugged features, glowing like sunshine after a hailstorm. “The organ placement of the poor devil is human, not Vulcan. I oughtta know, Jim. It’s not him.” Kirk’s eyes were wide. “It’s not?” “Definitely not,” the physician assured, cleaning his hands off. “The blood’s green all right, but that anatomical structure is 100% human. No chance in the universe that…thing, is Spock. I dunno what it is, but it’s not Vulcan.” The hazel eyes fluttered closed for a moment, hiding their owner’s emotions from the room – but the wall suddenly wavered again, as it had before, and shook slightly as if being blown in a high wind. He raised an eyebrow, and projected a test thought against it. It fluttered once more, and still again at the huge overjoyed smiles that broke out on the fifteen Security men’s faces, mirroring the one radiating from the Captain himself. Fascinating.
No! The entity screamed suddenly within his prison, as the wall shook again under the force of what Spock now realized was the opposite spectrum of emotion: love, hope, and joy. Evidently, those were far more powerful a force than fear and hatred; and their power reacted to the entity as anti-matter to matter – producing an explosive anti-force, and a formidable weapon. As I said, you know neither of us as well as you believe you do, he answered quietly, calmly. I believe, if my calculations are correct, that in a very few minutes your energies will have been entirely neutralized by the emotions these humans are radiating. You will not be able to keep up the façade of this compound and all it contains indefinitely. The entity gave a wail of answering dismay, and he caught the fleeting impression of its retreat to regroup and regain its strength before it vanished again from his prison. A small scream from a yeoman slanted his attention back to the room beyond. “Captain!” The blonde young woman pointed at the floor, one hand over her mouth. Kirk and the CMO whirled round, and stared – for the body which had lain there was gone, as was the alcove and the tapestry. “…Yeah, I don’ think that was Spock,” McCoy drawled after a moment of stunned silence. “Then I want to know what it was, and what the devil is going on here,” Kirk snapped furiously. “This kind of prank is the sickest, most twisted thing I’ve ever encountered, and –“ It is no prank, Captain, he endeavoured experimentally to project the thought, but it struck the wall and rebounded, as the barrier had been thickened by the flare of anger from the incensed human. Control, Jim…calm him, Doctor. “Calm down, Jim,” the physician growled in his usual fashion after recovering from a crisis – snapping like a Thoracian jumping turtle at anyone brave enough to so much as look at him. “Gettin’ mad isn’t going to get us anywhere. We need to figure out what that was, first.” “A dummy, do you suppose, like the ones on the shore leave planet?” a Security man offered timidly. “No, because it just vanished without a trace; there’s no trap door here or anything.” “More importantly, why would someone…want to create a dummy or whatever it was, of our missing First Officer?” Kirk was back to his usually controlled self, pacing in a tight circle with one hand cupped over his chin in deep thought. “Why would they want us to supposedly find him, dead?” “You said it yourself, Captain,” McCoy pointed out. “You said we wouldn’t leave until we found him.” “And that crazy professor guy kept trying to get us to leave!” Kyle interjected, his eyes lighting up in remembrance. Yes, gentlemen, yes! Spock felt a surge of pride in the quickness of the humans’ deductions. If they would only follow that to its conclusion!
But Kirk seemed to be still fixated, somewhat understandably, on the apparition that they had been subjected to, and he suddenly halted in his pacing, frowned in deep concentration, and then whirled to face his men. ”If that wasn’t a dummy, and it wasn’t really Mr. Spock, gentlemen…then the only other explanation is that it was some sort of image – a hologram, if you will, or someone able to twist our thoughts into reality, with or without outside help. Do you remember Trelane?” “Ugh, how could we forget the little brat,” McCoy muttered, rolling his eyes ceiling-ward. “If he could create that scenario, then who’s to say whatever the sentience is on this planet isn’t doing the same?” Kirk demanded eagerly, his mind firing on all thrusters now. “That would explain the odd readings we got from the planet, no life-signs and supposedly uninhabited but the Science team finding this compound when they beamed down.” Yes, Captain, good! Continue that thought… “Then…we just thought we saw Spock’s body – or what this…entity, thought we would recognize as Spock’s body?” McCoy asked incredulously. “Exactly!” The Captain stabbed a finger at the air. “I said we wouldn’t leave until I found him, and so this…force, whatever you want to call it, conjured him up for us to see! It knew what he looked like, either from our minds or from seeing him before, even got his blood type right – but it didn’t know his anatomical structure because even your mind doesn’t hold all those details because he’s never gotten a full physical in your Sickbay, Bones!” “So it was an illusion, you mean, Captain?” Kyle asked, cocking a head to one side. “It’s possible, isn’t it?” the man spread his arms, gesturing at their surroundings. “For that matter, none of this might really exist!” That is it, Jim – now concentrate upon that theory, Spock pleaded silently, exhaustion and dehydration entirely forgotten, and he renewed his efforts to free himself of the flexible vines that had bound him in that position for so long. We are fast running out of time before the entity can return with the fading of the emotional euphoria you were projecting… “Um…but how do we figure out what’s an illusion and what’s not – and how do we find where Mr. Spock really is, Captain?” an Ensign asked. “If stuff is an illusion, then not believing in it will dissolve it or at the least neutralize its physical effects, right?” McCoy asked, remembering their run-in with the Melkotians. “Yes, but we’ve no way of fully disbelieving what we see. We’ve got to figure out what this…intelligence is, though, and why it wants us to leave Spock here,” Kirk replied pensively, resuming his pacing.
“We’ve already seen that it’s not a nice entity,” McCoy drawled. “Making a guy think anyone – even that pointy-eared walking database – is dead isn’t very sporting, to say the least.” Kirk smiled thinly. “No, it’s not a benevolent entity, and it would take both machinery and incredible mental strength to conjure up what we see here, as well as to block transmissions when it feels like it – like our communicators, and our tricorders not functioning. I’ll wager that whatever it is can control the atmospheric conditions – something we’ve encountered before,.” “And it was able to mask Spock’s life-signs when we finally found a body,” McCoy supplied. “Exactly. It must operate on some sort of psychic level…but what?” Ironic, he thought, slumping back and closing his eyes to gather his waning strength, that those emotions they prize so highly should be the last that those emotional beings would suspect from a malevolent force. The chirp of a communicator broke the silence, and Kirk pounced upon it. “Captain, Scott here,” came the voice of their Chief Engineer, accompanied by a burst of interference, “Kin ye clean that up a bit, Lieutenant? Captain, when we finished searchin’ the compound we beamed back aboard in the window we had – but there’s a heavy atmospheric storm buildin’, and the ship canna withstand the ionic bombardment that’s shure t’come up! Y’have to return to the ship now, sir, or ye may not get another chance for days!” “Beam up the landing party immediately with the exception of myself, and get the ship out of danger,” Kirk snapped, business-like on the instant. McCoy tapped him on the shoulder, and ignored the glare of death. “Make that two exceptions, Scotty.” “Sir, you canna stay there; the storm could verra well maroon ye there with no contact and Lord knows what else waitin’ for ye – and with no provisions –“ “Energize, Mr. Scott, and get my people out of there!” the captain barked sharply. “Aye, sir…energizin’ now, Captain,” came the resigned whisper. Kyle protested, as per regulations, but was promptly overruled and was still spluttering when the transporter took him, leaving only one group. Spock watched, still trying desperately to free himself and only succeeding in further damaging his wrist, as the last group of six disappeared. “Tha’s it, sir,” Scott’s voice traveled loud and clear through the wall, which had thinned perceptibly. Interesting. “Please come up, Captain – ye know Mr. Spock wouldna want ye to stay in a danger zone like tha-“ “Scotty, I’m not leaving here until I find him; even if he’s not hurt it’s been four days and he’s bound to need attention when we do find him,” Kirk replied softly. “Now get my ship out of there, Mister. That’s an order. Return for us when the storm clears.” “Aye, sir,” came the reluctant answer. “Scott out.” “And if the storm doesn’t break, Captain?” McCoy asked quietly. “What if this intelligence is causing it, and it won’t let us go?” The captain folded his arms. “Then we’ll probably starve to death along with Spock…if we can find him in time. You should have gone back, Bones. I did order you to.” “So put me on report, why don’t you, if we survive this?” the man shot back flippantly, and watching their interaction Spock felt a surge of pleased surprise that the physician had chosen to remain. Suddenly in front of him the wall shimmered again –and as the Captain clapped the physician warmly on the shoulder and said something too low for Spock to overhear, it shimmered again. But this time, both humans had been facing the wall.
McCoy’s eyes bugged for a moment, and he squinted at the tapestries hanging there. “Did you see that, Jim?” “Mm? I saw nothing other than your insubordination,” the captain teased, grinning. “I would’ve sworn that wall there…it moved, just now,” the doctor declared, glaring at it – unwittingly looking straight into the helpless dark eyes which were willing him to examine it further. It did, Doctor; it did. If only they would realize! “Moved?” Kirk’s eyebrow rose in a fair approximation of Spock’s you-are-such-weird-humans-I-have-no-idea-why-I-bother look. “Like…moved, how?” “Like a…dang it, what does it remind me of…” They moved toward the wall as the physician growled under his breath, thinking hard. Suddenly he snapped his fingers and jabbed one of them into the gold shirt. “Like a cloaking device when it’s being disengaged – that rippling effect after it’s cloaked, you know? How the stars are distorted behind the field?” Well done, Dr. McCoy! Spock’s pleasant surprise at the physician’s unprecedented brilliance caused another ripple in the wall, and both humans stared at it wide-eyed. “Yeah…I saw it that time, Bones,” Kirk breathed slowly, walking toward it with his hands outstretched. “If this whole place is an illusion…and all this time I thought this room was somehow the center of everything…maybe I can – oof. Ow. Well, it’s solid enough, apparently.” Spock sighed tolerantly through the gag that had been placed around his mouth days ago by the over-compensating entity, frowning at the dilemma before them. However the wall is constructed, it is most definitely solid to physical touch until it is destroyed, he mused as the human rubbed the heels of his hands where they’d smacked solidly into the wall. Do not give up, Captain. “If whatever the force is that controls this planet can create a lifelike Vulcan hologram, then I wouldn’t be surprised if half the stuff we see isn’t real,” Kirk was saying, placing a cautious hand on the wall, unknowingly only ten inches from his First Officer’s drawn face. “Think a phaser’ll cut through it?” McCoy offered practically. Before Spock could register the slight dismay at the idea of their destroying the wall in that manner and most likely hitting him with the phaser beams, the captain shook his head. “We don’t know what’s back there – and for all we know the projections could be protected. Phasers might only be reflected; we might get hurt or hurt someone else. There’s got to be another way!” There is, Captain, if I am correct, he tried once more to project the suggestion but it rebounded again from the barrier, obviously reinforced on his side against telepathic persuasion. And then he heard it – the derisive laughter that signified his malevolent captor had returned, no longer held at bay by the emotions of affection and protectiveness that had driven it from the room during the last few minutes. “Jim, look!” McCoy suddenly shouted, spinning around as the entryway to the room filled with what Spock knew was another holographic image – again, of himself.
Dismayed, he felt the entity’s presence wrap around his small prison in amusement at the situation. Do not believe, Captain, he pleaded silently through the barrier. It is unreal! He felt a sense of loss as the Captain, eyes alight, bounded across the room toward the tall figure. “Spock! Are you all right? We’ve been looking for you for four days!” Kirk exclaimed, grasping the blue sleeve in his relief and joy. Producing these particular emotions will not strengthen you, he observed to the entity as the wall shimmered again. McCoy, who had still been frowning at it, endearingly mystified, raised his eyebrows and scowled in concentration. A small sacrifice for those which are to come, the entity returned with an unaffected and malicious aura of amusement. The hologram of his own body looked down at his captain and nodded slowly. “I am perfectly functional, Jim…though slightly disoriented. I have only slight recollections of anything past the beaming up of the science team.” “You never materialized; Scotty said your pattern was muted suddenly, and he left you on the planet rather than trying to beam you up and only getting half of you,” Kirk replied, releasing the hologram’s arm and rubbing his perspiring forehead in utter relief. “Do you have any idea where you’ve been?” “Impressionistic memories only, Jim; there is a force here, an entity, which has been communicating with me…” “Wait just a darn minute,” McCoy snapped, folding his arms and staying a safe distance away. “If you’ve been awake enough to talk to this…entity, then why didn’t we find you the four times we tore this place apart? Jim practically hazed it to its foundations and we never found you.” “Perhaps I did not wish to be found, McCoy,” the hologram said with a small shrug. “And since when do you refer to Jim as anything other than ‘Captain’ when making an official report of your whereabouts, or in front of me?” the physician demanded shrewdly, and this time he did not bother to restrain the small smile that twitched at his lips. McCoy’s suspicious nature was paying off for them all, now; the entity’s dismay was increasing around him. Spock was further surprised at the human’s perception, for it was entirely true; there was an instinctive reversion to respectful title anytime they discussed ship’s business even unofficially, one which even he did not consciously realize he adopted until the physician spoke just now. Kirk took a cautious step back, suspicion suddenly hardening his eyes. “Yes…” he mused slowly, “and…I’ve never heard you call Bones anything other than Doctor…” The false Spock took a placating step forward, hands outstretched in a gesture of peace. “I…have not been myself these last few days, sir,” it said quietly. “The lack of sustenance no doubt has impaired my –“ “That tears it,” McCoy snapped, drawing his phaser and aiming it over his superior’s head. “Four days isn’t that long for a Vulcan to go without eating, and even if it were, that particular fool Vulcan’s too blamed stubborn to ever admit it in front of me or you, Jim – and we both know it. Back away from him, Captain.” As I said, you do not know us, he pointed out to the entity with a touch of forgivable wicked amusement. “Spock?” the Captain asked softly, searching the angular features for some sign that his gut instinct, rudely awakened, was wrong. One hand clutched his phaser, but had not yet brought it into firing position. “Get back, Jim!” McCoy snapped, louder this time. “It’s another hologram!”
The barrier between him and his friends shook visibly, and he felt a surge of satisfaction. Their disbelief and desire to protect each other do not suit your purposes, he observed. They will regret defying me, as will you! The entity screamed loudly enough in his mental communication to give him a ringing of the ears, and swirled out of the prison in a malicious display of anger. “Captain,” the hologram remonstrated, following the shorter man’s movements as he began to back away, advancing step for step “It is not logical to doubt the evidence of your senses.” “Stay away from him, I’m warnin’ you!” the physician called, glaring at the two figures retreating toward the wall. “You have no reason to be afraid of me, Jim,” the calm voice was his, and yet not – but the difference was so subtle it was of no wonder that the humans could not detect the slight indication of non-sentience. “Oh, I’ve got plenty of reason,” the captain managed to laugh slightly despite being backed up against a wall. “You killed me once, remember?” He winced at that memory, though he knew it was uttered as a test of the image rather than from any real desire to bring up the past they had agreed never to discuss after the events on Vulcan. “I have no wish to harm you, Captain, but you must understand about this planet and its inhabitants,” the hologram stated calmly. There was a small clatter as the captain’s boots hit the side wall, and he glanced semi-panicked from side to side as the figure advanced. Tightening his lips, he finally drew himself up straight, radiating authority – every inch the Starfleet captain and nothing more in that moment. “Back off, Mr. Spock – and that is an order,” he snapped in the only tone that would make even McCoy shut up instantly while on duty. “I cannot, sir,” the hologram replied coolly. “You must be made to understand.” A flash of pain shot through Spock’s damaged wrist as he fought the restraints with more strength that he could truly afford to expend, as the entity’s intentions became quite clear. One hand reached toward the captain’s pale face in obvious intent. The amber eyes widened in disbelief and a flash of instant terror. He struggled desperately to free himself, despite knowing that even getting free of his bonds would never allow him entry into the room in time even if he could pass through the barrier – this despicable horror could not be permitted! It was unthinkable! “Don’t…” Jim was gasping, shaking, trying to turn away but unable to move. “Please…” Spock gave the vines one last desperate wrench, and succeeded no more than he had before. Slumping down in utter defeat, he hung his head and could only watch the unspeakable happen, nausea rising in his deprived stomach. But he had not counted upon the presence of mind, or the sympathetic and empathetic horror, of Leonard McCoy. A blinding flash of green, and the hologram cried out in simulated pain before dissolving into nothingness.
The Captain’s eyes were wide with shock and fear, but they calmed at the sight of his CMO, holding the unfamiliar weapon at arm’s length, an expression of dismay on his face. “That was set to heavy stun, Jim, I swear…not to disrupt,” he whispered, the idea of killing a man – even one they both knew was unreal – abhorrent to him. Sweat stood out on the younger man’s forehead, and he took a long, shuddering breath. “It wasn’t real, Bones…you just dissolved a hologram I think,” he managed, pale and shaken. “And…thanks.” “Sure,” the physician muttered, eyeing the weapon distastefully; while he had the necessary training, he rarely had used one for obvious reasons. Relief suffused Spock’s mental pathways, pushing out all semblance of logic for several moments; the unspeakable had narrowly been averted…if it had happened… These humans are more stubborn than I had anticipated, the entity’s voice admitted from somewhere nearby. His attention was grasped by the sudden shaking of the barrier between them, but when he concentrated, pushing the relief to the back of his mind, it regained its solid state again. But this time both humans had seen the wavering, and in an instant were back continuing their examination. Kirk’s face was still pale as death, but his brows were knitted in angry determination. “Do you suppose when we destroy these holograms, stop believing in them, it weakens whatever the force is that controls this place?” he pondered aloud. “No idea, but we’ve got to do something – I don’t want to have to keep trying to figure out if the Spocks it’s throwin’ at us are real or not!” the CMO grumbled. “One is bad enough for any man…we don’t need three of ‘em.” “Especially ones like that,” Kirk agreed with a hint of a rueful smile. “I think we need to concentrate on getting this wall down; everything seems to hinge on it and we did see it flicker. Something has to weaken it…but what?” McCoy’s face scrunched up in thought, one hand cupped over his chin and the elbow resting in his opposite palm. “Well…if the whole shebang is controlled mentally, then I’d guess everything’s attuned to brain-wave patterns,” he ventured hesitantly; making educated guesses about alien technology was Spock’s forte, not his. Good…good! “Brain-wave patterns,” Kirk repeated thoughtfully. “As in…one man’s pattern frequency?” “Nooo…” the physician drew the syllable out, frowning. “Every man’s brain patterns are different, and we’ve been able to make this thing weaker at least. It has to be something else…something common to both of us, and whatever’s behind this. But still a mental state.” “Just general thoughts, then?” “Possibly. Have you tried thinkin’ real hard about it coming down?” was the reply, accompanied by a smirk. Hazel eyes rolled ceiling-ward, but a nod followed. “Let me see if I can remember those meditation techniques Spock tried to beat into my head months ago,” he muttered, rubbing one hand over his eyes and then closing them. Giving up on freeing himself for the moment, the corners of Spock’s mouth twitched at the human’s words; teaching a man of James Kirk’s dynamic and slightly spastic personality to meditate in the Vulcan fashion was more difficult (and as potentially explosive) than containing anti-matter without a force-field. It had been the first time in his life Spock had ever actually considered a goal entirely hopeless – but even he must admit, it had been amusing at the same time. The captain’s eyes remained closed, and to his surprise the wall in front of him thinned fractionally; small progress, but progress. Evidently the desire and determination to accomplish the feat were more effective than simply wishing for it. However, the actual wall itself remained stable and motionless, despite a good five minutes of Kirk’s attempts to ‘think’ the wall down.
“Any progress?” the captain asked through clenched teeth, cracking one eye open a slit to peek at the wall. McCoy tried not to laugh at the disgruntled expression. “Nope.” Kirk swore, a rare explosion that made both him and the physician jump in surprise. Spock sighed inwardly as the wall regained an eighth of an inch of its previous thickness with the expulsion of frustration. “What is it then, Bones? Thinking at it doesn’t work…what made it waver before?” “I dunno…I wasn’t paying attention.” “Not good enough, Bones! We have to find Spock before more of those holograms come after us,” the captain snapped determinedly, standing back to glare at the wall with his hands on his hips. “I’m not leaving this room until this thing comes down!” You can do this, Jim. You can do it…Think carefully… “Maybe I should take a look around, see if I can find that ‘entity’ the hologram was talking about,” McCoy was saying uneasily, casting a glance about the room as if expecting holographic Spocks to come flying out of every corner. “No,” Kirk replied decisively. “I’m not taking any chances on losing you too, Bones. We stick together.” He nodded in pleased relief as the wall shimmered again; surely they could see the solution now – and none too soon, as he was noticing an increasing disability to fully concentrate from combination pain and dehydration. He had been unable, or rather unwilling, to enter even a light healing trance to deal with his injuries, for the simple reason that while in one his mind would be unprotected as well as his body from the entity; he could do nothing to help himself until they returned to the Enterprise. “Jim…” “I saw it,” Kirk replied, frowning as he recalled exactly what he’d said just before the wall wavered. “What’d I do?” “You said we were gonna stick together. But we’ve been doin’ that and nothing’s happened so far.” The physician scowled, trying to think. “No, that’s not what I said!” Kirk suddenly exclaimed, turning to his friend. “I said I wasn’t about to lose you too, Bones!” “While I appreciate the sentiment, what the heck does that have to do with it?” the doctor demanded irritably. “And before, when it did it before – wasn’t it right after you refused to return to the ship?” “Yeeesss…but I don’t see –“ “I have a hunch, Bones,” the captain said excitedly, and Spock felt a streak of hope at the sudden fire lighting in the man’s eyes – he had seen that look before, and it was the reason the crew of the Enterprise would follow James Kirk to hell and back – and had, several times – because it signified the type of wild hunch that pulled victory out of bitter defeat all at the last moment. “You and your hunches. Look, one time the thing shook and neither of us had even said anything!” “Don’t you see, that means someone else was trying to get the thing down too??” Kirk expostulated, the words spilling out so quickly in his excitement that they blurred together. Blue eyes widened to twice their normal size. “You don’t think Spock’s back there, do you?” “He might be! And if my hunch is right, he’s legitimately not capable of getting himself out of there,” Kirk answered with a fond smile. Ruefully, Spock was forced to agree; he simply was incapable of producing the necessary positive emotions that could break down the barrier – not unaided, at any rate. Jim was in fine form now, on semi-solid ground which was rapidly growing more solid as he warmed to his ‘hunch.’ “Bones…what were you and I feeling at those two times we mentioned a minute ago?”
“Feeling? I dunno about you, but I was worried.” “No, no, we were worried before that and nothing happened. Heck, I’ve been worried sick for four days and nothing ever happened before.” “Well…I think I was feeling…loyal, I guess, when you wanted me back on the ship,” McCoy ventured hesitantly. “And I was feeling determined to protect you, the second time,” the captain agreed, eyes alight. “And I was remembering how much I’ve missed Spock these last few days.” McCoy was, in his own words, an ‘old country doctor’, but he was also a brilliant xenobiologist and those qualified for the degree were anything but slow; for this Spock was immeasurably grateful. “Emotions…positive emotions,” the physician breathed suddenly. Kirk beamed. The entity fled.
I haven’t lifted a finger to work in over an hour. This is your fault. BUT give me more, please!
“Okay, think positive emotions, Bones,” the captain said with a lop-sided smile. “Um…yeah. Exactly how do y’think we can accomplish that, Captain?” came the dry rejoinder. “What, I have to hug you or something?” Light laughter sent a wave of relaxation through Spock’s tense muscles, and he allowed himself the luxury of ceasing his struggles; they were on the correct path now, and his strength would be better conserved for the event of the entity’s return. In the meantime, he would do what he could; though insufficient emotionally, it might augment his friends’ efforts (for that they were, and it was illogical to deny the truth) just enough to dissolve the barrier. As if in agreement with that, the wall shimmered slightly, just a ripple. “There, see that?” Kirk exclaimed. “Spock, if you can hear me, I need you to let loose whatever you can that can help us, okay?” He raised an eyebrow; Vulcans did not, most certainly, ‘let loose’ with any emotions. Yet, there were a few permissible to the race, and it was those to which he turned his mind and all his remaining strength, what little there was left. His thoughts, categorized neatly and succinctly in separate mental compartments, were quite easily located; he headed straight for the area of his mind which he reserved solely for those humans with which he had decided to defy Vulcan custom and live – and particularly a select few of those. This part of his mind was a place he cherished far more than a Vulcan should, but so secretively that even Jim rarely caught a glimpse of it, and only then if a mind-meld had been necessary for either a mission or simply to understand something in a short period of time. Here he fastened onto the section of memories he most treasured – shore leave spent on Earth’s Rocky Mountains, Jim teaching him how to ski and laughing when he broke the record at the resort by calculating trajectories and following them accordingly; the first time they had played chess in Rec Room One, and after four intense hours had looked up to find nearly the entire ship’s company watching in silent fascination; one away mission where McCoy had fallen into a puddle containing iridescent blue mud and his face had matched his shirt for days afterwards; the look of amazement in the captain’s bright eyes as his First testified stubbornly – and under obvious and illogical bias – at the court-martial years ago; the night after they returned from the Vians’ experiments, and all three of them had somehow ended up in the privacy-locked Observation Deck, spending two hours talking quietly and then falling asleep under the starry windows. All these and a few more he carefully extracted from their securely-locked compartments and gathered them in preparation to lend his efforts toward the battle being waged outside his invisible prison. The sacrifice of secure mental shielding was necessary, and while he would most likely regret the sudden emotional upheaval, certainly it was only logical to make such concessions when one was attempting to break free of a prison. “I don’t get it,” McCoy was grumbling. “’S too much like Peter Pan – think happy thoughts of faith and trust an’ pixie dust and all that.” “You got a better idea?” Kirk retorted. “Um…no.” A resigned sigh. “Okay, I’ll think happy. How, exactly?” The captain smiled, taking charge as easily as if he were on the Bridge, plotting strategy. “Think of your daughter, Bones…remember that first shore leave you let me tag along with you to Georgia?” A gentle smile softened the worry-lines in the older man’s face. “And I had to remind you she was barely eighteen and don’t you dare get any ideas, yes I remember Jim.” He laughed softly. “I think it was Spock she had the crush on, anyway, Lord knows why.” Kirk grinned. “And remember last year when we found that uncharted planet where the plants changed color? And Sulu kept staying up nights to figure out how until he fell asleep at the helm a week later –“ “And his nose hit the controls, almost piloting us into a supernova? Yeah, my blood pressure remembers that one real well,” the physician chuckled. “I’ve never seen Spock move so fast to switch control to manual override.”
They were both laughing now, and Spock nearly smiled himself as the wall thinned noticeably. Almost unconsciously, the captain had drawn closer to his old friend, and put a hand on his shoulder. “Remember when you saved my nephew’s life, Bones, and forgave me for yelling at you all those times I did when you didn’t deserve my temper?” The physician’s face sobered, his eyes a soft cobalt. “You didn’t mean any of it, Jim, and we both know that…I wish I’d have been able to do more.” “You did what you could, and more than anybody else would have, for Peter and for Spock,” Kirk replied, smiling wistfully. “I don’t know what we’d ever do without you, Bones…other than have some peace aboard ship come full-physical exam time…” The captain ducked a swat to the back of the head, and laughter rang through the empty room. The wall shimmered visibly, weakening under the strain, and Spock took a deep breath (as deep as he could manage, tied as tightly as he was to the chair). Emptying his mind of all caution regarding the sudden barrage of memories – for that was as close as he could get to emotions – he gathered them up and opened the door, so to speak, throwing them with all his formidable mental might at the barrier in an attempt to augment the strength from the other side. Both humans could see the thing shaking now, fluttering weirdly like a banner ripped about in a high wind, and with one hand on McCoy’s arm the captain instantly closed his eyes and drew on every thought he could conjure up of his time aboard the Enterprise – the loyalty of his people, the lives they had saved under extreme circumstances, the reconciliations he had been instrumental in accomplishing, the friends he had lost but the ones who had been made to surpass their places and dull the pain of loss. The protectiveness of his crew, the efficient teamwork of his command chain, the affection of his Bridge crew. The prickly tenderness of a crotchety country doctor, and the incredibly intense loyalty of a mysterious half-Vulcan – both of which completed his command and his life in a way he had yet to understand but was eternally grateful for. Still hidden behind the weakening wall, Spock felt the presence of the entity lurking, furious at its banishment due to the emotions waging war against its hold, and knew their time was short. Gathering his thoughts, he concentrated on the few emotions that were permissible to Vulcans – loyalty, foremost, to one man and one ship; and after that, friendship, of the deep and abiding kind that was the only acceptable form of a non-marriage relationship in Vulcan culture. Only those two, but the power and force behind them a thousand times stronger than a mere human’s would have been. Throwing his entire mind behind the force of those thoughts, Spock reached out and mentally felt Jim doing the same. With one final surge of his waning mental strength he met the force of the captain’s determined power and the two merged in a dynamic flash of gold and blue light. McCoy threw up his free arm to shield his eyes, from somewhere they all three heard an outraged scream – and then the barrier broke, shattered into a hundred invisible fragments before their astonished gazes. Spock found himself blinking placidly at his two fellow officers.
For a minute they both gaped at him, staring around the room in disbelief at the small paradoxically transparent and yet opaque cage in which he’d been imprisoned practically in plain sight. Finally he raised a pointed eyebrow, and the captain jolted into action, dashing across the shattered barrier (they could all three see the shards of what looked like glass lying on the floor now) with an exclamation of relief. “Spock!” “Spock, are y’all right?” McCoy demanded, showing remarkable common sense in removing the gag before asking. He coughed briefly as his airway was cleared, and decided a nod would be sufficient for now. The sharp whine of a phaser on low power reached his ears just before the smell of burning vine filled the room; he felt a flash of amusement at Kirk’s utter impatience with anything and everything obstructing his path. “What happened, Spock?” The demand was quick, imperative, but he could feel the relief and worry emanating from the man as he finished slicing through the vines around his hands and moved to the front. He started to speak, and paused to clear his unused vocal chords. “There is an entity on this planet, Captain, a malevolent one – it creates most of what you see solely through the power of its mind alone. It…took me by surprise, just after the Science team beamed aboard, and has imprisoned me here. I was unable to free myself of its power,” he finished calmly, but with a touch of ruefulness. McCoy was examining him closely, handicapped only slightly without the aid of his tricorder. “Shoulder and wrist?” he asked pointedly. “They, as well as my left ankle, but are perfectly manageable, Doctor.” “There,” the captain grunted, gently tearing the last of the vines away. “Why vines, Spock?” “They are the only flora native to this planet, Captain,” he explained tiredly. “Anything the entity could conjure from its imagination I was able to discount as unreal and escape from.” “Right, let’s get you out of here at least,” Kirk said briskly, hesitating a fraction of a second before making a to-heck-with-it gesture and taking one thin arm over his shoulders. “Could you hear us?” “Affirmative. I have no doubt the storm necessitating the Enterprise’s leaving orbit was caused by the entity; it is at present held at bay by your rampant positive emotions but it is quite angry,” he managed before turning all his concentration to his legs not giving way beneath him due to stiffness rather than physical weakness. “Watch that ankle!” McCoy yowled from behind them. “And he’s probably really numb too – and dehydrated, and Lord knows what else!” His shorter captain was red-faced and perspiring with the effort of keeping him on his unsteady feet, but staunchly held his ground. “Can you walk, Spock?” “Affirmative…with your assistance, if you would,” he finally admitted, wishing his head would not reel quite so dizzyingly from a lack of fluids and the mental strain of the last few minutes. “Bones…see if you can find some water, there were a bunch of containers and stuff in the next room,” Kirk said quietly, jerking his head in the opposite direction. “Doctor, use your phaser if you have to, and don’t hesitate,” he called after the physician, who nodded and hurried out. “Right, then let’s get you over to that couch-thing, Spock.” “I believe, from the shape and apparent era of the furnishings, it is the ancient article known on Terra as a ‘divan,’ Captain.”
“Whatever it is, I hope it’s real enough to sit on,” the other replied cheerfully, moving slowly into the main room. “Watch the shards from that wall…whatever it was. Spock, I’m sorry it took so long for us to figure it out. If that thing’s been after you this whole time I can’t imagine the mental strain, and I sure didn’t help things by broadcasting my anger all over the place, did I?” Spock concentrated, for it was taking far too much effort to do so, on moving his feet rather than giving in to the unaccountable urge to just collapse into Jim’s fully welcoming grip. “You performed admirably, Captain,” he managed between a quick inhalation of breath. “The entity is quite powerful. I…” The floor rocked slightly, and he closed his eyes, staggering against the shorter man. A strong arm wrapped tighter around his waist, and the grip on his undamaged wrist clenched. “Easy…almost there,” he heard the worried murmur before they reached the furniture. “There we go.” The furniture appeared to be real enough, though he knew the soft cushions probably would not last once the entity could return to the room; possibly Jim’s open concern could keep it at bay for a few more minutes. He felt a pillow being pushed under his head and something warm and soft flopped hurriedly over him, and opened his eyes to see the hovering features of his captain, drawn and worried. “I am well, Captain,” he assured stoically. “Merely dehydrated approximately 12.5 percent below the average for a Vulcan; my wrist and ankle appear to be sprained but not fractured, and I have been under considerable mental strain from the contact with the entity. Other than that I am perfectly functional.” The human’s face was darkening with anger at the list of injuries, and he hastily reached out to place a hand on the gold sleeve. “The creature feeds on anger, hatred, rage, Captain – you must calm yourself if we are to hold it at bay!” he insisted earnestly. Kirk’s eyes widened in realization. “I was right then – positive or negative emotions.” “Affirmative.” Weary, he laid his head back on the pillow and allowed his eyes to close for a moment only. “That’s why you couldn’t break yourself out, being Vulcan as you are,” he heard the sympathetic whisper. “What a horrible prison.” “It was unpleasant, but not especially horrific,” he returned without opening his eyes. “Merely…exasperating.” He heard a small chuckle. “Are you warm enough?” came the soft question. “Quite, thank you.” Pounding footsteps caused his eyes to flick open in time to see the captain scrambling to a standing position, phaser at the ready; but it was only McCoy, rushing back with an ornate decanter of some liquid. “I dunno what it is, but it’s not alcoholic,” he said dubiously. “I don’t trust the water on this planet, not with a highly magnetized atmosphere like this. I think this’s fruit juice of some kind; tastes like it anyhow.” “Well, we’ll give it another two minutes to see if you keel over and die, and if not then you can have some, Spock,” Kirk said with a small grin. McCoy rolled his eyes. “How’re we doin’, Spock?” he asked, crouching down close. “I am as well as can be expected, Doctor, with your face hanging so close over my head,” he returned with a small not-truly-smirk. Jim stifled a laugh into the nearest cushion and attempted his communicator again, out of force of habit. Naturally, there was no response. “Still out of range,” he sighed. “Okay, get some of that juice down you, Spock, and let McCoy wrap that ankle and wrist – and then we’ve got to figure a game plan to survive until the Enterprise can come back for us.”
“Jim, that would mean we must defeat the entity,” he said tiredly, accepting McCoy’s offer of a small cup. “It will not permit the ship back into orbit; therefore our only means of getting off this planet is to defeat it permanently.” “Not too much, and not too fast now,” McCoy said briskly, wrapping a hand around the cup when it shook slightly. “That’s it. Now what hurts worse, the ankle or the wrist?” “I –“ “Dang it, just answer the blasted question, will ya?” “Bones!” Kirk exclaimed, holding out a placating hand. “You can’t go at it with him right now – that thing feeds on negative emotions!” “What negative?” the CMO demanded. “I only yell at people I like, you know that.” “Yes, Doctor,” he found the strength to drawl pleasantly. “But I doubt the entity can sense the intricate and complicated workings of your…unique emotional outlook.” “You are so lucky I don’t have a hypo of your favorite pain meds with me…” “Gentlemen!” Completely unrepentant, he closed his eyes and made less of an effort not to smile than usual, since the emotion would only serve to further keep the entity at bay, and McCoy grumbled something rather crude under his breath and began to wrap his injured ankle with strips torn from the nearest tapestry. — Annnd unfortunately that’s as far as I got. :[ Sorry it’s not much but hopefully it’s better than nothing. :) *hugs you*
*HUGS* You are wonderful, this fic is wonderful, and I’m really grateful to you for sharing it. It’s exactly what I needed right now!
*is not crying* ….or maybe so. I love these three so much.
Dhyjxk%$/bagjhalkcj”-$5#xjjsla;;& Epic cellphone key smash. Nuff said.
…And why isn’t this finished?!!!! ;____________; I love you, KCS, but now I need the ending. 4REELZ.
Spock caught the smile just in time before it became visible and eternally shamed him. I AM eternally shamed, it seems. I can’t stop grinning!
:) I’m glad – working on the rest now. Stupid hmtl coding is what’s taking so long.
AM FLAILING RIDICULOUSLY.
Can’t edit the comment – I meant this takes place after the Shore Leave planet. *facepalm* That’s what I get for rush posting. Sry.