Chapter Text
PROLOGUE
The Scot’s voice was loud but only slightly slurred.
“...And then she popped him in the stomach and said, ‘Surprise!”‘ Scotty leaned forward in helpless laughter at the punch line, while McCoy, seated next to him, wiped his eyes from streaming laugh tears. They had been listening to Scotty’s jokes for more than thirty minutes, and Kirk had passed the point of laughter. He just grinned, shook his head, and continued to balance his brandy glass on his stomach.
It was late in the ship’s night, and the three friends had gathered in Kirk’s cabin for a congenial glass of the captain’s finest. They had continued talking for hours. It was seldom that ship’s business allowed them so much leisure time and the emotional setting to enjoy it. But with no crisis to cope with or imminent mission to worry over, they were taking advantage of a most unusual lull. Their very relaxed state had quickly degenerated into raucous stories and sexual anecdotes. They were all enjoying the evening immensely.
Kirk’s legs had been propped up casually on his desk for the past half-hour, and he shifted one ankle over the other occasionally to ease the strain.
A silence, comfortable and warm, settled over the three as the laughter subsided. McCoy groped for a tissue, wiped his eyes, and blew his nose. Kirk smiled at his friend and felt somewhat contemplative. He focused on the pattern of shadows the subdued light made on the wall over Scotty’s head.
Scotty broke the silence.
“Now yon Vulcan, he’s the one who surprised me,” and he tilted his glass in the direction of Spock’s cabin before he swallowed again.
A short pause, and then as Scotty said nothing more but stared quietly into the amber depths of his glass, McCoy turned towards him and asked, “Surprise? How did Spock do that? Find the location of your department’s latest still?” They all knew Scotty turned a blind eye to some of the less traditional pursuits of his eager engineering techs, and Spock interfered as little as possible with the engineer’s domain. McCoy was only trying to provoke Scotty into an explanation. He succeeded.
“Ach, nay, Doctor.” Scotty spread his hand with the denial. His voice acquired a more distinct burr with each drink consumed. “He surprised me on Melkot with that damned meld. I wouldna have thought it of him, private as he is. I wouldna have thought it of him.” Scotty shuddered elaborately, knowing he had the full attention of the other two men, treating this tale like any other of the stories he had told earlier. He was pleased to be the center of attention still.
McCoy tilted his head, looked once at the silent Kirk behind the desk, then addressed himself to Scotty’s knee. “That was the first time you ever melded with Spock, wasn’t it, Scotty?” He glanced up. “You do know it had to be done. We could have all been killed by those damned imaginary bullets.”
Scotty now was sitting bolt upright in his chair, arms folded stubbornly across his chest, a set expression on his face. “Ah ken, Doctor, and I’m grateful he did it, but ah still doon’t hold with anyone amuckin’ aboot in mah mind.” The engineer turned his head accusingly towards McCoy. “I’ve heard you say it often enough y’rself.”
Before the doctor had a chance to agree or defend himself, the previously silent captain spoke. “What are you two talking about?” he asked. The front legs of his chair thudded to the floor as he removed his feet from the desk and leaned forward intently. “What’s so bad about melding with Spock?”
Kirk was used to McCoy’s grumbling. The doctor complained about everything from the transporter to the inadequate training of his duty nurses. It was just part of the man’s character. And Kirk had always taken the doctor’s slightly wary, challenging attitude towards the first officer in stride. He knew without discussion that McCoy had been uncomfortable the few times circumstances had required him to meld with Spock. But now Scotty was expressing reservations about the same thing, and Kirk was very curious.
Neither McCoy nor Scott spoke, so Kirk repeated, “Well, what’s so bad about it?”
McCoy exchanged a long look with the engineer, and then spoke first. “Jim, you know it’s hard to explain such a subjective experience.” He gestured widely with the hand not holding a glass. “We humans don’t have any frame of reference for something like a meld, or even our reactions to it. I’d be hard pressed to explain it to you.”
Kirk seemed undeterred. He remained in his leaning forward posture and encouraged, “Try.”
McCoy grimaced and ran a hand over his face. “You’re a persistent bugger, Jim, you know? All right, I’ll try.” The doctor appeared to spend a moment in thought.
“Each of the few times I’ve melded with Spock, I’ve had the same image in my mind. At first, I feel those hot fingers on my face, and it’s almost like my brain is starting to itch.” He squirmed slightly at the image and took a sip from his glass, trying to find the best words to describe a very exotic experience. “Then there’s this huge waterfall thundering all around me, and I’m about to fall right over it. I’m panicking, but Spock is there to catch me halfway down. He does it with a jolt, too, and it hurts a little to have me slamming right into him. And instead of being grateful that he’s caught me, I’m madder’n hell that he hurt me.”
McCoy cast an ironic glance at his two companions. “Real logical, huh? Anyway, there I am, kicking and heaving, trying to get away, I don’t know where to, and there’s Spock just holdin’ on, never letting go. He’s got me hanging there, suspended in space, with the water roaring all around me.”
He grinned wryly, carefully placing his drink on the floor between his legs, and leaned forward with elbows on knees. He was warming to his subject and planned to finish his explanation. ‘Bout time somebody held the floor besides Scotty anyway. McCoy glanced at the engineer, then spoke directly to Kirk.
“Now I’ve thought about this before, Jim, and I think I know what’s going on. My mind’s doing its best to put an indescribable experience into images I can cope with. Falling off the waterfall is falling into Spock’s mind with the meld. Him catching me is Spock taking control of the meld so that only the necessary thoughts come through and the meld is shallow. And the itching is... well, Spock always does make me itchy.” He grinned again, pleased with Scotty’s guffaw and the way he had turned a personal, serious subject to a humorous conclusion.
But still Kirk was still leaning forward with a dissatisfied expression on his face. He said dryly, “Why Bones, I never knew you had such a poetic turn of mind.” Then he turned to Scott, and said quietly, seriously, looking directly into his eyes, “And how did you see your meld with Spock, Mr. Scott?”
For a moment Scotty was silent, regarding the captain cautiously. Kirk was the best of commanding officers, and a good friend to boot. He could be relied upon in good times and bad, and when it was necessary exercised his authority with compassion and consideration. Scotty had no complaint with the younger man as his captain. But it could not be denied that there was now a commanding tone to his voice, a certain set to his jaw, despite the brandy and the hours of conversation among three friends. For some reason, Kirk was serious about Scott’s reply. The engineer was confused, thrown off balance by the intensity that had not been in the room before.
“Well, Captain, I mean no disrespect, sir...” He trailed off uneasily, shifting slightly in his chair. He tried again. “And I certainly doon’t have the good doctor’s way with words.” He smiled for effect, hoping he could ease the sudden tension with his next light words. “...Robert Burns in me blood or not.” There was no visible reaction from his captain.
Scotty swallowed and decided to just say what he felt regardless of how it would sound. “The truth of the matter is, melding with yon Vulcan made me very uncomfortable, very uncomfortable indeed. ‘Tis not an experience I’d want to repeat, unless I had to.” He became earnest. “I do nae believe we humans were meant to have our minds tampered with, invaded. The good Lord gave me nae power to read your mind, sir, or yours, Doctor,” Scotty nodded to each in turn, “and I doon’t want anybody readin’ mine.” He nodded emphatically and folded his arms firmly over his chest.
Kirk was still hunched over his folded hands on the desk, and now creases appeared between his eyes and on his forehead as he frowned. “But Scotty,” he said softly, the commanding officer disappearing and the friend taking his place, “you said ‘tampered with, invaded’.... Surely you don’t think Spock….” Kirk left the sentence dangling in the air, implying the foregone reply, inviting none other.
The engineer drew back in amazement, only partly feigned. “Ach, Captain, I know Mr. Spock wouldna do anything he shouldn’t have, but....” His body suddenly sagged as the truth hit him. “Ah also know he could have, if he had wanted to.” He glanced apologetically at the two men in turn. “It’s the being in someone else’s power, you see, a power ah doon’t understand.” He stared at his boots and lapsed into introspection.
McCoy nodded slowly. No one reached senior officer status in Starfleet because they enjoyed helplessness. And he understood much of Scotty’s fear, because he felt the same way himself. Well, maybe not exactly. After all, he’d had that awful experience with the bearded Spock in the alternate universe. Anyone who had experienced mind rape would dislike melds! But he agreed with Scotty nevertheless, it was the hanging there, knowing Spock was in total control of the situation that also bothered the hell out of him, and accounted for much of his aversion to melds.
The doctor slowly fingered his upper lip. This conversation was becoming very interesting, very revealing for them all. McCoy had always thought Scotty was a Puritan at heart: so wrapped up in the mechanics of space flight that he had rarely had to confront the wonders it brought. His psych profile had never shown the extreme flexibility that, for example, Jim’s showed. Scotty’s reaction to the meld was actually quite predictable if he had stopped to think about it.
McCoy shifted his attention to the captain, who was looking at Scotty with mismatched expressions of sympathy and incredulity flashing across his face. Maybe this was the night for trading stories. Before the younger man could gather his thoughts to speak, McCoy decided to pursue that thought. “Well, Jim Boy,” he said in his best Southern drawl, a technique that he occasionally used to distract people, “you’ve heard from Scotty and you’ve heard from me. How d’y’all feel about your first officer’s mind in yours?”
Kirk looked up sharply at McCoy. The doctor saw Kirk’s eyes narrow in thought, saw him take a deep breath as his arm went up to run his hand over his forehead, tousle his hair, and then down to rub his neck gently. Kirk smiled slightly and said, “Well, I sure don’t feel like you two do,” then faintly derisive, “waterfalls and invasion. I like it! I’ve always liked melding with Spock.” He looked up directly into each friend’s eyes in turn, then returned his gaze to the floor, obviously a little embarrassed by this declaration. He had never before spoken of his feelings about the meld.
“I don’t think I can explain it though.” How to explain rising refreshed after a deep sleep, or finally arriving home to see his family, or utter repletion after wonderful lovemaking? The soul-deep satisfaction his melds with Spock entailed was indescribable. He just couldn’t do it, or even attempt it. It would come out sounding a lot sillier, and infinitely more personal, than waterfalls. Kirk had never even discussed this with Spock, and he had the uncomfortable feeling that if he continued this conversation, he would be betraying an unspoken confidence with his Vulcan friend. Better to try to end this session gracefully and get some sleep. It was getting late.
Kirk drained his glass as if in summation. “No, I can’t explain it any more than you two can. A meld is apparently indescribable, at least to mere humans. All I can say is, where Scotty feels uncomfortable, I feel comfortable. I don’t know why.” He carefully placed his glass back on the tray and rose in a not-so-subtle message that the evening was over.
But McCoy was unwilling to end it at that. He had easily followed Kirk’s withdrawal into introspection and his quick suppression of his feelings. He’d observed it all too often in both his commanding officers. Maybe it was time to poke a little at the captain’s facade, crack it open to some expression of what was inside. And why the hell, McCoy thought in a rush of annoyance, would Jim want to deny the obvious affection he felt for his first officer? They were all friends here, weren’t they?
“Well, I think I know why you like melds,” McCoy declared as he also rose and put his empty tumbler next to Kirk’s. “You’re friends. Simple as that, right? You and Spock are best friends who are as compatible as fried chicken and mashed potatoes.” He shrugged. “Not too surprising that you’re mentally compatible, too.” He turned to Scott and plucked the glass from his hand as the engineer stifled a yawn. “Come on, Scotty, I prescribe sleep, or you won’t be able to find your engines tomorrow. Good night, Jim. You can drink my liquor next time.” With a smile he left, with Scotty right behind him.
Kirk moved quietly about his cabin, putting it to rights for his duties tomorrow. He felt curiously on edge, Bones’ final words still resonating in his ears with a discordant warble. His mind skittered away from the sound and focused instead on his movements. He put the tray and glasses to one side to clear his desk, deposited the liquor bottle back in its upper cabinet, moved the chairs his friends had been using to their proper places. His movements were smooth, mechanical. Kirk thought briefly of his schedule for the next day, visited the bathroom for clean up, and then neatly turned down the bedspread. It was only when he lay stretched out on his back, one knee bent and one arm stretched over his head, that he gave himself up to thought.
Why had he been so insistent on hearing Scotty’s and Bones’ reaction to their melds, when he had known they couldn’t possibly be anything like his own? But the brandy and the easy camaraderie had loosened his inhibitions and dulled his judgment, so that he had initiated a discussion on something he couldn’t possibly talk about.
He felt a little guilty that the evening had ended on a somewhat dissonant note. Scotty really was funny when he got going with his stories, and it was good to see Bones laugh so hard after the depression that had followed Yeoman Lin’s strange accidental death. The letter to her human mother alone among the Belurians had been especially hard to write. They had all needed to unwind....
Kirk recognized the tactics his own mind was using and re-routed his thoughts directly back to the subject. Spock. No need really to ask himself questions. He knew he was still coming to terms with that last meld on Melkot a month ago, still turning it over and over in his mind.
That meld had been different, very different. Although he and Spock had melded before in the line of duty, it had been a while since they had done so while Kirk had been in his right mind, not suffering from amnesia or a life-threatening injury. In fact, Kirk mused, it had probably been more than a year since his last “normal” meld with Spock. So much had happened in that year. That awful trip to Vulcan. Spock’s smile. Being stabbed by the fake Andorian Thelev. Sargon and Henoch. How alone he had felt in Tholian space. How wonderful it had been to be back.
And then Melkot. Talk about compatibility. Kirk grinned at the ceiling. Bones didn’t know the half of it. Melding with Spock on Melkot had been one of the easiest things Kirk had ever done. And one of the most startlingly joyful. Wonderful. Fulfilling. All the feelings of their friendship ripened by time, the satisfaction in being Starfleet’s best team, the knowledge they had of each other’s support, had fused in that meld and been seen by them both.
Turning over on his side and pillowing his head arms, Kirk basked for a minute in the glow, in the memory of what had passed between the two of them that had been so intimate, and yet so fleeting. As always, duty had forced them to business. But Kirk remembered the seconds in Spock’s mind as if they had been an hour. The natural, easy assumption that he and Spock had grown to be friends as their five year mission progressed had been highlighted to brilliant clarity by the experience on Melkot. It was just too personal to reveal to anyone else, even to Bones.
Kirk turned over on his stomach, punched the pillow and prepared to sleep. If no one else shared his affinity for melds with Spock, that was their problem. He knew when he had a friend. A very special friend with good old Bones’ “mental compatibility.” As he drifted off to sleep, he thought Closer than Sam ever was. Sleep smoothed his thoughts and he assimilated the idea.
Five days later, Kirk felt no reluctance at all in telling Garth of Izar that he and Spock were brothers.
CHAPTER ONE
Lieutenant Dawson sighed as he took the report chip from the computer, then sighed again as he looked in the direction of his superior’s office door. The Old Man wasn’t going to like this. It would wreak havoc with the schedule.
“Sir?” He poked his head through the doorway and was answered by a preoccupied grunt. Although he had arrived for shift only ten minutes ago, Scotty was already deep into the pod schematics they would be needing today. The engineer waved one hand in a beckoning gesture as he marked his place on the comp screen with the other.
“Sir,” Lieutenant Dawson started again. “Looks like we’re in trouble. Only eight techs and four officers have reported in for this shift. The rest have all come down with this flu. And I don’t think there’s any way we can finish flushing the coil today with so few of us on duty.” Scotty’s assistant left it at that. It was perfectly obvious to Dawson that they would need to ask for help, but he also knew Scott well. His superior would need a little time to get used to the idea.
Scotty threw up his hands in disgust. “How are we ever goin’ to get this ship in shape for the inspection with half the crew malingering?” His eyes narrowed at Dawson. “Are ya sure they’ve all really got this bug?”
Dawson handed him the report. “All sickbay certified, sir. Except for M’Tubu. She has the Arcturan measles.”
Scotty shook his head at their misfortune. Did the flu have to strike right in the middle of a delicate recalibration of the matter/antimatter pods? He had heard McCoy growling about the sickness last night at dinner. And the captain had hoped it wouldn’t interfere with the compilation of the Mid-Mission Review reports he was expecting from all departments. The Enterprise had only a month to go before they were scheduled for the MMR inspection, and the captain was intent on getting the ship into perfect shape. Scotty had obliged him by scheduling the engine work during a leisurely trip to an agricultural colony. He hadn’t counted on the flu.
Scotty finished his contemplation and slapped his hand on the desk with resignation. “Well, laddie, don’t just stand there. Let’s look at the roster and see who’s fresh enough to pull the duty. I don’t want an overtired crewman a-fouling up the system.”
Despite their best efforts, Dawson and Scotty still did not have a full roster after reviewing available personnel. The flu had hit the ship hard, seeming to attack the older, more experienced techs. Many others of those available Scotty rejected out of hand for lack of experience. Beta and gamma shifts were adequate for the routine functioning of the ship, but he was reluctant to trust most of those still healthy with this most delicate operation.
Scotty had just started to get desperate enough to consider other alternatives when the intercom buzzed. He slapped the button in irritation. “This is Scott.”
“Spock here, Mister Scott. I have reviewed the shift report and see that you are seriously understaffed.”
“Aye, that we are, Mister Spock. Even pulling Everett and Holden from their beds and picking up a few other techs I trust, I’m that reluctant to continue the coil work so undermanned.”
“Would it be possible for you to postpone the recalibration?”
“Aye, we could do that, but ah couldna give the captain anything over warp two until we’re finished, and who knows how long this flu will keep my best lads and lassies in their beds?”
“Then you have no choice but to borrow competent officers from other departments. Lieutenant Chen and Ensign Kraus from Astrophysics each have engineering backgrounds and are available now. Have you considered pulling Maintenance personnel?”
Spock’s voice was even, but the phlegmatic Vulcan knew the emotional content of his question. As he awaited Scott’s reaction, he quickly reviewed the situation. Although technically under Lieutenant Commander Scott’s jurisdiction, Maintenance operated fairly independently under Lieutenant Commander Fraser. There had been a significant “running feud,” as McCoy had colloquially put it, between Engineering and Maintenance for quite some time. Of course, Engineering staff traditionally looked down on Maintenance crewmen in a most illogical manner, but Spock was aware that the feud between the two sections on the Enterprise had grown beyond the Starfleet norm.
Spock would have considered himself a grossly incompetent first officer if he had not known of the subtle friction, despite the complexities of the human emotions involved. He saw it as a challenge and monitored the situation to ensure it did not impair ship’s functioning. Jim had laughed when Spock had told him of the rivalry, and said that a little more competition might produce a tighter ship. Spock was less sanguine and contemplated possible causes. There was a certain incompatibility of temperament between the engineer and Fraser, who was a nervous, humorless individual of great stubbornness. And the altercation on Centaurus on Stardate 2787.2 between the parties of both sides….
Spock ceased his speculations as Scott finally replied. He sounded reluctant.
“Aye, I’m sure you’ll be telling me it’s logical to use them.”
Spock was in no doubt as to whom the emotionally charged “them” referred to.
“Many Maintenance technicians are skilled in the same disciplines as your own Engineering staff, and there is no critical task currently occupying that section. I would recommend Shinswani and Walls in particular, but you may of course make your own arrangement with Lieutenant Commander Fraser. Alert me when you achieve final crew dispositions or if you require further assistance. The current viral infestation is creating scheduling difficulties ship-wide. Spock out.”
Scotty felt a momentary sympathy for the first officer faced with what must be a gigantic manpower headache, then grimly contemplated the necessity of working with that reprobate Fraser. What he wouldn’t do or his engines.
*****
It was so hot! He could feel his shirt plastered to his skin by the sweat trickling down his back. It was a strange sensation. Since leaving his people to serve with the humans aboard the Enterprise, he had rarely been warm enough to be comfortable. And the pounding in his head! By the Great Mother, he wished he could just lay down and rest. But the Old Man wouldn’t like it. No. The Old Man needed him. Time to go.
He put one foot in front of the other with an effort. The hall spun crazily for a moment, then steadied as he took a deep breath. No one could know he was sick. They’d find out what he’d been doing if they discovered he was sick. He’d lose everything, never be able to come back. Lose….
Engineering was busy. There were unfamiliar faces there, and for a moment he was disoriented. Was he hallucinating? Dawson was there, the bastard. Always around, always snooping. Did Dawson know? About…. No, no one did. He’d been clever. No one had to worry about him. He knew how to hide it, and how to do his duty. Even the duty the bastard gave him now. Monitoring. He could do more than monitoring. The Old Man knew that. He was good, even though…. He was good.
The sweat was beginning to bead on his forehead now, and he tried to wipe it off on his sleeve. Monitoring was boring. Wished he could go back, take just a little. No! No, never on duty. What was wrong with him? He knew, never on duty!
He wrestled with the craving, won, and for a while was able to ignore the aches in his muscles, too. It was quiet here now, just an unfamiliar crewwoman sitting at the secondary monitoring station. The others were up in the tubes or in the coils. He could make it, he was gonna be able to get through this shift. Halfway through now.
The pounding in his head grew worse. He concentrated on the display before him, watching the shifting readout follow the actions of the techs in the tubes. It was hard to, with the pain. His chest hurt now, too. But he could do it. He was good, wasn’t he?
The woman across the room moved suddenly. She seemed to be saying something, but nothing made sense with this roaring in his head. She shook his shoulder and pointed to his board, mouth open. What, was there something wrong? He felt himself moving in slow motion. He’d fix it. The chamber. Red filled his vision. For the Old Man….
*****
After three and a half hours Spock finally rose and switched off the computer in his lab office. The days when administrative duties claimed his attention over scientific efforts were thankfully few. Such duties were usually unrewarding, but Spock still gave them his usual meticulous attention.
Not, he thought as he walked through the corridor and entered a turbolift, that scheduling around the flu had been without its small challenges. But now he was free to join his captain in his quarters. Jim was reviewing the first of the personnel lists submitted by department heads for the Mid-Mission Review. Each crewmember’s performance and function on the ship deserved careful consideration, and this took much time. Some would be promoted, possibly to another ship or a ground assignment, others had requested transfers, and Spock himself intended to request several additional crewmembers for the sciences departments. Mid-Mission Review was a time of much change.
Spock knew that the captain dreaded the paperwork and tedium that accompanied their normal quarterly reports; now much more would be associated with the MMR. It pleased him that his input as first officer would be most helpful at this time.
Without conscious intent, Spock’s footsteps quickened at the thought of spending so much time one-on-one with his captain…Jim. Although they would be immersed in ship’s business and not one of their pleasurably stimulating chess games, it was always satisfying to be in the company of a mind so well-matched to his own. It had taken Spock a long time to acknowledge this fact to himself, but once confronted, he had realized that it would be illogical to ignore the friendship he shared with his captain. It filled certain psychic deficiencies which he had long felt. He had lived for so long without the benefit of a friend…. But now there was Jim, and even a Vulcan was permitted to enjoy companionship.
Spock entered Kirk’s quarters to find the captain seated at his desk already hard at work. He looked up at Spock and smiled his welcome.
“Good morning, Captain. I am now free to join you in personnel review.”
“Still just morning? I feel as if I’ve been going over these tapes for a lot longer than that. Come on, have a seat.” Kirk gestured to the chair at the other side of the desk, then reached back to the credenza behind him. He picked up some covered thermal containers and placed them on the desk after shoving the tapes to one side.
Spock looked at the dishes and then up at Kirk, amusement in his eyes. “And what is this?” The first officer knew that Kirk never missed a meal if he could help it, a fact McCoy had commented on many times.
“You know damn well what it is, it’s lunch. I had my yeoman bring it up half an hour ago and I’ve waited for you. Mine should be pastrami and cheese on rye,” he lifted one cover and eyed the substantial sandwich with favor, “and yours should be some of that squash soup you’ve been devouring the past week.” Kirk took a hefty bite of his sandwich.
“I did not know you were familiar with squash soup,” Spock commented as he picked up his spoon.
“I noticed that it didn’t smell as bad as plomeek.” Kirk teased, then paused for another mouthful of pastrami and a swallow. “How come you switched?”
“As you know, Lieutenant Everett is also a vegetarian. He took the time to program the synthesizer with recipes sent to him by his mother, and I have sampled most of them.”
“Why not ask your mother for some Vulcan recipes, Spock? Bet even you’d appreciate some home-planet dishes instead of just plain fruits and vegetables. Now that you’re corresponding with your parents again.” Kirk had even sent Sarek and Amanda a tape himself, congratulating Sarek on the successful negotiation of the Coridan entry, and inquiring after his health. The captain and Amanda had become well-acquainted during the ambassador’s convalescence.
Spock paused with the spoon halfway to his mouth, then replaced it carefully on the rim of the bowl. “I am sure my mother would comply if so requested, but I question our synthesizer’s ability to duplicate Vulcan flavor and texture. It has a decided bias towards Terran cuisine. However, I believe I will so experiment. The idea has merit.”
“Yeah, well, I wish I could taste my mother’s home cooking again. She makes the most incredible waffles…. I got a tape from her the other day.”
“Is she well?”
Kirk paused a moment, then resumed pouring them each a glass of iced tea from a carafe. “As well as can be expected, I guess. She’s still grieving over Sam and Aurelan. She wants to take Peter to visit Deneva during school vacation, and was wondering if she could see me then too. I wish I could just tell her where and when, but with our schedule….” He shook his head.
“Your mother is to be commended for taking responsibility for her grandson.”
“Yeah, she’s great. I wish you could meet her, Spock.” Kirk leaned back in his chair while wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Maybe you can if we manage to get together this time. You’d like my mother.” His tone softened. “And she would appreciate you. She’s led such a simple, ordinary life on Earth, but she’s always been able to understand what attracts me to my life in space. She would understand why we’re friends.”
“Such acceptance is a precious gift.”
The two men locked eyes. Kirk thought of the eighteen years Spock had been estranged from his parents, and the unvoiced sorrow that had caused his friend. But the brown eyes gazing into his were not sorrowful, and Kirk knew Spock was not thinking of the past, but of the present.
Acceptance. Is that what had occurred between them? The captain had been acutely conscious of the changed status of their friendship since Melkot. Their open feelings of affection for one another in the meld had spilled over into their everyday relationship. Everything had changed, but nothing had. Spock was as willing to seek Kirk’s company as ever, but now there was a more genuine warmth to their time together, a subtly acknowledged pleasure not present before.
Like being able to look into his friend’s eyes and receive thanks for an acceptance that Spock had never known before. And knowing exactly what Spock meant, without words. He wondered at how easily Spock had adjusted to their silent emotional communion. So different from the stiff Vulcan of a few years ago. He wished he could give something in return for that change, in response to this rare gift of friendship.
Kirk cleared his throat and resumed the conversation as if the small silence had not occurred. Another gift, comfortable silence.
“Did you get around the scheduling problems all right? I saw that Engineering was really hard hit.”
They conversed amiably on the difficulties presented by the flu, and the talk naturally flowed to the crew evaluations. They were halfway through Security when the intercom sounded. Kirk hit the button and the image of his chief engineer appeared on the screen.
“Scott here, sir.” Scott’s expression was distracted, and his hair a bit disheveled. Kirk traded a concerned glance with Spock, then returned a tense gaze to the screen.
“What’s happened, Scotty?”
“It’s all fine now, sir, no damage done,” Scott hastened to reassure, “but I thought I’d let you know before mah report hits your desk. We had a little trouble here in Engineering. Ah…. Ah doon’t quite know why it happened, but ah suppose we could blame it on the flu.”
Scotty looked to the side for a moment, then caught sight of his captain’s frustrated face. He squared his shoulders and resumed the report in more military tones, his accent clipped and almost non-existent.
“We were flushing one of the coils, sir, and as you know that involves rerouting the energy flow through the secondary chamber.” Kirk saw Spock nod once out of the corner of his eye. “I had one of my better techs, Cr’tur, monitoring it. But the chamber was only partially polarized and receptive.”
Kirk swallowed hard. Even though his knowledge of how the warp engines worked couldn’t compare with Scotty’s, he did know the situation described was a serious problem. Overload in the intermix chamber could have easily occurred. Though automatic safeguards and computer controls would probably have prevented a catastrophic explosion, Kirk did not relish the vision of limping in to a starbase on impulse power alone.
Scotty continued, “Thank God Shinswani noticed a fluctuation on her magnetic monitor board and went to check it out immediately.” He took a deep breath and became formal. “Captain, ah’ll nae let my pride get in the way of mah judgment. Shinswani prevented serious damage to the engines, and Maintenance tech or no, I’m putting in my request for an official commendation for her. She deserves it.”
Kirk was more concerned with rooting out the cause of the mistake than he was in noticing Scotty’s self-sacrificing gesture. “What about Cr’tur? How could he have made such an error?”
“Captain, by the time we had secured the process, he was collapsed on the deck. Doctor McCoy says he’s got this damned bug and hauled him off to sickbay. But what ah doon’t understand,” Scotty’s tone became aggrieved, “is why he didn’t tell me he was feeling ill and report off duty. He knows how important that monitoring is. That’s why ah put one of my own on it.”
“We’ll find out as soon as McCoy lets us talk to him,” Kirk said grimly. The captain hoped for Cr’tur’s sake that the flu had made him delirious and distorted his judgment, but whatever the reasons for his error, Cr’tur would hear from his captain.
Kirk continued, “Let me have your report on it, Scotty, and I’ll talk to McCoy. And Scotty,” Kirk paused while a small smile flitted over his lips. “Thank God for Maintenance techs, huh?” He closed the channel over a frustrated sigh.
The captain fiddled with the stylus on the desk for a moment and then looked up at his first officer. He spoke softly. “Makes me feel so helpless, sometimes, knowing that we almost lost warp power, maybe even the ship, all because of one inexperienced technician. Incidents like this tend to put the captain in his place.” He was silent for a moment, then brightened at another thought. “Still, Scotty will never live this down. And Fraser will never let him. How much do you want to bet that Scotty will be requesting Shinswani be transferred to Engineering?”
A smile touched Spock’s lips for just a moment, long enough to register with his companion, and then was replaced with a bland expression. “You know I do not gamble, Captain.” One eyebrow was raised. “In addition, the odds are most definitely in your favor.”
Kirk grinned back. “You bet they are, Spock. I know a sure thing when I see one,”
When McCoy buzzed for admittance a few hours later, his senior officers were still sifting through the evaluations.
Kirk called, “Come,” then stood, yawned and stretched as his CMO walked in. His muscles felt stiff and achy from the hours of inactivity. Other than one trip to check on the bridge and set Sulu to beta shift scheduling, he’d been sitting all day.
“You boys have really been at it, haven’t you?” Bones commented, surveying the wreckage of Kirk’s cabin. Comp slates, tapes, printouts, coffee cups and the remains from lunch littered every available surface.
Kirk followed the doctor’s gaze. “Yeah, well, we only have about twenty more to go, another hour maybe, and then we’ll be finished with this batch.” He cleared his throat. “And there is organization here in all this chaos.”
“The captain does have a generally orderly mind, Doctor,” Spock said mildly. “Do not allow appearances to deceive you.”
Bones snorted. “Right. Well, while you two have been hibernating up here with your reports, I’ve been dealing with a flu epidemic in sickbay.” He moved to a chair, tiredly flopped into it, and rubbed his eyes. Then he straightened and continued. “Darn near twenty percent of the crew is sick in bed, but that’s not the worst of it. The worst is that we’ve already had one casualty, from a virus strain that isn’t really that serious.”
“A casualty? Who is it?” Kirk, suddenly concerned, moved back to his chair.
“Cr’tur, from Engineering. And do you know why Cr’tur died from the flu, Captain?” McCoy paused, but Kirk suddenly felt tired and irritable.
“Come on, Bones, don’t play games,” he snapped. “It’s been a long day and I’m not up to it. Why did he die?”
McCoy’s eyes narrowed but he continued evenly. “Because, Captain, Cr’tur was a TNT addict.”
There was a lengthy silence.
Predictably, Spock was the first to recover. “That explains his reluctance to report his illness to Engineer Scott. He was fearful that his addiction would be discovered.”
For a moment, Kirk felt sorrow at a crewman’s death war with fury. Then the anger won, and he felt a hot flush creep up his face as he clenched his fists. A litany kept repeating in his head, Not on my ship! A moment later he realized how naive that sounded. Drug addiction was an age-old problem that was no respecter of a strong-willed commanding officer.
He said in a deceptively calm voice, “I don’t know much about TNT, just the name. What kind of drug is it?”
“TNT is a strong drug, Captain.” Spock spoke before McCoy had the chance. “It is habit forming, both physically and psychologically. It is completely manmade, presumably in Orion laboratories, and its distribution is primarily near the Orion sector of space. It made its appearance in the Federation within the past year.”
“The past year?” Kirk queried. He rubbed his chin in consideration. “And we haven’t been anywhere near the Orion sector for longer than that. How did Cr’tur get it? It couldn’t have been easy. And Bones,” he turned towards the doctor, “why did he die? An overdose?”
McCoy shook his head. “An overdose of this drug would definitely be fatal, Jim, it’s a nasty hallucinogen. They call it TNT because you get quite a rush on inhaling it. But no, Cr’tur didn’t overdose. His immune system had been weakened by use of the drug. It’s one of the side effects of the addiction. He had an especially bad case of the flu. His D’L’Akat physiology didn’t help things any, either.” The doctor paused and looked pensive.
Kirk had moved to the divider between office and bedroom as McCoy spoke, and now he turned to the two men. “The question is, is this an isolated incident, or do we have a pattern of drug use on board my ship?” His voice rose with the question.
“That question is simpler to answer because we have approximately one-quarter of the crew already under medical surveillance, due to the virus outbreak.” Spock sat with steepled fingers as he thought. “Testing of those with the flu, and then accelerated examinations for others under the guise of the current medical emergency, would answer for the remainder.”
McCoy groaned. “Just what I need! Physicals on top of an epidemic. Give me a break, Spock. My staff and I are only human.”
Kirk joined in. He was still leaning against the divider, looking flushed. “And that will still only answer part of the question. Even if the rest of the crew were clean, we have to face the fact that a supply of that stuff may be on board. Cr’tur got it somewhere.”
“Yes, a starship would make an excellent courier for small packages. And smuggling is not an unknown activity, even for Starfleet personnel. Doctor, what is this drug’s typical form?”
“A white powder. But it could be dissolved in a liquid, mixed with some other inert substance, even dyed for all I know. It wouldn’t take much to make one of our crew a fortune, either.”
Spock stood and moved to the intercom on the captain’s desk. “I shall alert Security to discreetly begin a search for the substance in Cr’tur’s quarters.”
He paused with his finger on the intercom button and looked for a moment at Kirk. The captain straightened and returned the gaze. Mind apparently made up, Spock abruptly turned to McCoy. “And perhaps while I do so you would examine the captain for flu symptoms. I would be unsurprised to learn that he has the virus.”
Ten minutes later Kirk was firmly tucked in bed after enduring a lecture on patient behavior from the now-departed McCoy. Spock was moving about the office quietly, retrieving a tape when needed, attempting to finish his portion of the evaluations at his captain’s request.
Kirk closed his eyes. The soft slide of tape against desktop, the quiet body sounds Spock made were comforting and not intrusive. He let his mind wander. Damn, what a day! The pressure he felt from the upcoming MMR forcing him to spend a day at his desk, then a flu epidemic striking the crew, the warp engines almost blowing up, and then a crewman dying from a drug addiction. He thought for a while about Tech Cr’tur, wondering what he could have done to prevent his death. Kirk’s sense of responsibility ran deep, and although he knew that realistically he had no hand in the crewman’s demise, he still felt that somehow, someway, he might have been able to avert it, if he had only known. These thoughts led to consideration of the TNT on board ship, and various actions they could take depending on what Security reported.
He glanced at the chronometer. He should hear from Security soon. Better put a robe on then to maintain his captainly dignity. He grimaced; it was hard to feel dignified when your muscles ached like hell and you were under orders to stay in bed.
He wished he could have finished the crew evaluations, but Spock would flag anything that needed his special attention. Kirk glanced over at the desk, taking comfort from his friend’s presence. He knew that Spock would give him all the help he could on the evaluations. And there were plenty more to do. Departmental. Programs. Systems. Weaponry. They would keep him more than busy. Thank God he had Spock to help him and they had started early. It hadn’t been that bad, today. Actually, kind of…pleasant. Not really fun, of course, like a planetfall where he and Spock could stretch their legs under a new sun. But it was a good feeling to be working together, on anything.
He looked again over at the blue-clad back intently bent over the computer screen. Even though the day had been boring, frightening, and worrisome in turn, his main impression of pleasure came from the quiet hours he had spent with Spock, exchanging commonplace comments about the crew. It was a little hard to assimilate, but Kirk knew it was true. He wondered what Spock would say if he told him his thoughts. “Captain, devote your attention to the MMR,” or maybe, “It is illogical to waste your time on your emotions when there is a serious problem on board.” No, Spock wouldn’t say either of those things, now, although he might have a year or two ago.
Kirk’s shoulder muscles twinged and he wondered briefly when McCoy’s analgesic would take effect. He rotated his arms a bit to try to relieve the aching and returned to his contemplations. The Spock who would have said those things seemed to belong to another world, long ago. From the first moment of their first meeting it seemed to him that their relationship had been constantly changing, constantly moving to a better understanding. Now it was impossible to imagine a ship without Spock, a life without his first officer, his soul without this deep feeling for his friend.
Kirk turned onto his side. It was almost uncomfortable, to feel so much. He hadn’t for very many. Couldn’t afford to and be a good leader. His family, of course. Captain Garrovick, but that had been a kind of hero worship. Edith, dear Edith. Bones, with all his grumbling, the best friend anyone could have.
And then there was Spock, somehow apart from the rest.
Kirk remembered a few hours ago, when they had booked into each others’ eyes. Damn, that was what lovers did.
It was also, he slowly conceded to himself, what he and Spock did, especially lately. And then he’d find himself breathing with a tightened chest and dealing with a sudden onslaught of gentle feelings. It felt right, too, to see the Vulcan expression softening, and knowing it was just for him. All the rest of the world saw only the stoic facade.
Then where did that leave him? Kirk turned onto his other side, wishing he didn’t feel so restless. Left him with a fixation on his first officer, that’s where. A distinctly unusual feeling, but a rewarding one too. Should he….
The buzzer sounded and he reached for his robe. The captain moved to hear the Security report.