Traitor's Moon

by MidKnight Rider

When Spock's cousin is accused of betraying the Federation by selling a new super weapon to the Klingon Empire, Kirk, Spock and the crew of the Enterprise are called to action. AU,but I keep it as close to canon as possible

1Traitor's Moon

Timeframe: Shore leave, middle of the fifth year of the original five year mission. Daphne and Spock have been together for 2 years

Place: Somewhere in the wilderness, camping on the coast of Maine, until chaos and disorder ensues.

Character: Kirk, McCoy, Spock, Daphne, Sarek, Amanda, others

Rating: R D/S

"They are not out worlders. They are my friends"

Spock/Amok Time

Chapter One

Jim didn't know what had woken him up. It was nothing immediately obvious, only the sounds of the forest at night, the pale glow of a half moon through the trees, crickets, owls, soft rustling in the brush. He laid there in his sleeping bag, waiting for the source of his sudden alertness, hardly breathing, not moving a muscle.

Then he heard it again and realized it was movement from the double sleeping bag being shared by his First Office and his sister. He froze even more, wondering if he should tell them he was awake and could hear them. Then Daphne whispered in the dark and he stayed quiet.

"What's wrong?" she murmured.

Spock's deep voice, fogged with sleep, slurred and vaguely uncomfortable whispered back, "I..am... cold."

"Sh! You'll wake Jim," Daphne whispered, "He can hear a fog hit the ground. What happened to telepathy?"

"It was not my intention to wake you," Spock answered.

There was more movement, more silken rustling from the bag.

"Spock, stop. Come here. "

"What? …. Oh." More rustling.

"Better?"

"Yes. My ears at least."

"What else is cold?"

"My hands, among other things."

"Put your hands under my shirt," she urged.

"You mean my shirt." he corrected.

"I mean your shirt that I'm sleeping in. ….." There was a sudden sharp gasp as she inhaled. "Oh my gods, you weren't kidding about being cold. What happened to being able to regulate your body temperature?"

"Vulcans never 'kid'," Spock intoned, "and there is a limit to what even a Vulcan can do. It is at least 60 degrees Fahrenheit out of my comfort range."

Then there was more rustling from the sleeping bag and a few moments of silence.

"Better?" she asked, finally.

Still sounding sleepy, but less uncomfortable, his voice returning its more common stoic baritone, Spock replied, "Yes," he paused "It is more pleasant than a hat."

She made a single breathless sound, like a laugh she was trying to cut off.

"Go back to sleep, ashayah-mat," she whispered.

"Nemaiyo, k'diwa," he sounded as if he was already half way back to sleep. The only response was an equally sleepy "Mmmm" from her.

The soft steady rhythm of their breathing told Jim they had fallen asleep, innocently unaware of his eavesdropping. He settled himself into a more comfortable position and closed his eyes, trying to join them in peaceful slumber.

But his thoughts were whirling with the new impressions he had of a marriage he had always thought had to be more contained and sterile, more stoic and devoid of emotion than should make his human/empath hybrid sister happy. When they had first revealed their relationship to him, Jim had only demanded that it not interfere with their work and that he never saw it on the bridge or in front of the crew.

And he never had. Even in more relaxed moments on the rec deck, he had rarely seen them touch or demonstrate even the remotest affection for each other. Maybe, he thought, she prefers it that way. Maybe Spock is a welcome relief from constantly having to shield her empathic abilities from picking up every stray feeling that surrounded her.

But camping here, away from the Enterprise, away from everyone but he and McCoy, he had seen a side of them previously hidden, indeed scrupulously hidden.

Pet names. Who knew pet names even existed in the Vulcan language? Certainly he had not, considering that languages were not one of his strengths and what he thought he knew about Vulcan culture. K'diwa, a shortened form of a much longer phrase that Daphne had explained to him meant "the other half of me, of my heart, of my soul" but was usually translated as just "beloved." Ashayah-mat - my love. He stilled struggled with the idea of someone calling his First Officer that in a way that was both natural and clearly now so much a part of their way of speaking to each other that Spock hardly noticed it, simply responding to it as easily as he did to any of his other designations. Commander, she called him, or sir, or sometimes referred to him as Spock with an odd accent that had taken Jim a while to realize that was how it was pronounced in Vulcan – Spaahk - but now as her ashayah-mat, and sometimes an odd string of slurred syllables that sounded like she'd had too much to drink. This, she told him, was the beginning of Spock's actual entire "first" name.

And k'diwa? Spock referred to her as "beloved" with a certain resonance in his voice that was unique. Jim had never heard Spock call Daphne anything other than Lt., sometimes hanging her last name on it. He referred to her as his assistant, or sometimes in conversation with Jim as "your sister."

As the soft breezes and night sounds lulled him back to sleep, Jim rethought his plans for the morning. He had told them all to be ready for a pre-dawn hike to the ridge, to watch the sunrise over the ocean. Instead he decided to just get McCoy to go with him, let Daphne and Spock have some shore leave time alone.

Content with his new plan, and with the new idea that his sister was truly content in her marriage, Jim at last fell back to sleep.

Stumbling around in the foggy predawn light, McCoy grumbled under his breath about hiking into the wilderness before having even a decent cup of coffee or bite of breakfast. Jim shushed him.

"You'll wake up Spock and Daphne," he warned.

McCoy straightened up. "SO? I thought they were being dragged along on this great adventure too?"

Jim looked down at the lumpy double bag, from which only the top of Daphne's honey-colored head was peeking.

"No, let them sleep. They haven't had any time together since we got here."

McCoy muttered something else under his breath that Jim didn't catch. Then the doctor paused and looked back at the sleeping bag.

"Where's Spock?" he asked.

Jim shrugged and said nonchalantly, "In there. I imagine he's cold."

McCoy seemed to consider that for a moment. "Well you might want to think about that the next time you plan a camping trip for us. The coast of Maine in springtime is about 100 degrees colder than what a Vulcan would consider comfortable. He can control his body temperature, but only up to a point."

Jim hushed him again, but it was too late. Daphne stirred and lifted her head.

"Jim?"

Jim knelt down and said softly. "Go back to sleep."

She blinked, yawned, looked confused. "I thought we were all going hiking."

"McCoy and I are going. You stay here, sleep in, enjoy your husband."

She relaxed again, sunk back into the warm nest of the sleeping bag.

"Is that an order, Captain?" she asked, eyes closed, hint of a smile on her lips, her voice sleepy.

Jim grinned a bit. "Yes, that's an order, Lt. We'll be back around lunch time."

She nodded and then it seemed to him she was already fast asleep again.

He stood, hefting the strap of his day pack onto his shoulder and found McCoy waiting for him at the beginning of the trail through the woods that led to the coast. As they set out into the misty morning woods McCoy asked him, grumpily,

"Are you sure Spock is in there? Didn't get drug off into the woods by some wild animal in the night?"

"I'm sure, Bones," Jim replied, calmly. "Besides, I'd have heard something. You know me, I wake up when I hear the fog hit the ground."

"Well, that's true," McCoy conceded, but he continued to grumble about wild animals as they trudged away from camp, leaving Spock and Daphne curled up alone in their warm haven.

Spock woke up in approximately the same position as he last remembered falling asleep, tucked against his wife and – blessedly – warm. He was however stiff from the awkward angle and he stretched, lifted his head from the confines of the bag and into the chill of the morning air.

Fresh, crisp woodland air assaulted him, chilled him. Milky sunlight filtered through pine trees, birds sang softly –particularly one, a robin from the sound of it, who was entirely too cheerful for this hour of the morning.

Seeking warmth again he pulled Daphne tighter to him and she stirred. Eyes still closed, voice slurred, she snuggled into him and said, "What time is it?"

"It is early," he responded, his own voice still raspy with sleep," Beyond that I do not know."

Daphne yawned and stretched, her body moving against his in the tight confines of the sleeping bag. He took a moment to consider the situation, curiosity aroused. Daphne rarely woke up in the same position in which she fell asleep. On the rare occasion when their duty shifts and circadian rhythms allowed them to spend an entire "night" sleeping together, Spock had discovered that she was a very restless sleeper. It was as if the energy of her spirit, so confined by Thracian disciplines and Star Fleet Regulations during her waking hours, found on outlet while she slept.

His wife, frankly, slept like a sehlat cub trying to fight its way out of a sack. He was never quite sure where he would find her when he awoke – sprawled on top of him, curled up in the far corner, hanging half off the opposite side of the bed. He'd had serious doubts about the success they would have trying to share even something as large as a double sleeping bag. But for once she had managed to remain still during the night. The anomaly was most curious. He had fully been prepared to wake up with at least a few bruises after being subjected to what somehow passed for "rest" with his wife. How she ever woke up feeling refreshed, he had no idea.

"Weren't we supposed to go on a hike with Jim and the doctor?" he asked, "before dawn, as I recall? While I am not sure of the exact time, it is clearly past sunrise."

"Um-hum," she nodded, her silky hair soft beneath his chin, tickling the taut skin of his neck. "Jim ordered me to stay here, with you, to go back to sleep. I am surprised it didn't wake you."

Spock frowned slightly, trying to process what would have prompted his captain to change his mind in such a manner, and so abruptly. There was nothing immediately apparent, so he dismissed the problem to concentrate on trying to regulate his body heat. There were also far better things to contemplate with Daphne still lying beside him, pressed trustingly against him. His hands were still warm beneath the shirt she was sleeping in, resting on her smooth skin and drawing heat from her.

He was not sure why having her sleeping in one of his shirts would cause the flurry of mixed emotions, among them something vaguely erotic, all of them requiring an immediate use of Vulcan disciplines to control. Another thought to dismiss for another time.

"He ordered you to stay here?" Spock mused, wondering if she could supply him with further information.

"Um-hum," she tilted her head back to look up at him now, "He ordered me to stay here, sleep in and enjoy my husband."

Spock drew in and then let out a long breath, ordering his thoughts.

"Did he supply you with any specifics for accomplishing the last order?"

"No," she answered, sliding her hands under his shirt, "My impression is that I can interpret that to my own personal discretion." She paused, smiled with a hint of mischief, kissed the underside of his jaw, "I did bring the chess board and I brought that hypothesis from the Thracian Science Academy on the archaeological excavations of the lost Xindi culture that I wanted you to read."

Spock's voice was husky, though still calm, almost flat, matter of fact, belying the way he was really responding to her proximity and touch. "I suspect we will get to those eventually. It seems that biology is much on my mind at present." His hands wandered to make his point. She inhaled softly. "We find ourselves under orders, for you to enjoy me in some way. Since we are at present alone and I suspect becoming aroused, it would be illogical not to pursue an activity that would fulfill your orders from the Captain."

She tilted her head back, and he tilted forward until their foreheads were pressed lightly together. It was a Thracian touch, one she had taught him. It connected him to the empathic receptors that lay just below the soft fringe of bangs on her forehead.

The first time he had submitted to this touch energy, feelings, sensations had flared between them like a super nova, as an irresistible force racing along their mind link. Shocking, intense, thrilling, bordering on the madness brought on him every seven years by his Vulcan genetics. Violent emotions that should repulse a Vulcan, brought under control by her empathic abilities, tempered into shivering heat and need, lust soothed by love. Since that time she had taught him to enjoy intense physical passion with the same joy she brought to their scientific and intellectual pursuits, unflinching, as equals.

Spock had come to understand that Vulcan philosophy was built on controlling the destructive emotions – anger, violence, greed. It had been the driving force in their survival as a species. He knew now that those emotions were ridiculously simple to contain compared to love. Love, in the form of his bond mate, crossed the full spectrum of all his experiences, including the physical in a way that had been totally unexpected. Love was frequently unreasonable and demanding, as were loyalty and friendship. It had taken Spock very little time to acknowledge that this was one part of his life that could do without logic, though not without control. The fires of Vulcan's ruthless, violent past still burned too close to the surface.

Though reluctant to remove his hand from its current very pleasant location, his fingers instinctively sought hers in the intimate Vulcan touch, found them, pressed thumb, forefinger and middle finger to hers, using the sensitive receptors in his fingertips to find the mind-link, joining them together so that thoughts flowed now like a rushing river. Her other hand dropped between them, brushed almost accidentally against the physical evidence of his growing arousal. The control and reassurance of the first touch was nearly undone by the intimacy of the second.

//You are… ?//

Even his mind-voice was rueful. //It is a common reaction of most humanoid males in the morning; and I did wake up in close proximity to you, for once at least.//

Their breathing was starting to grow heavy, but synchronized, hearts melding as well as minds.

Teasing him with thoughts and fingers, her mind flowed into his mind //It might have been better had you reversed those two reasons, or eliminated the first one all together. It is much more appealing to think that I alone might be the cause of your current condition.//

Her mouth sought his now, open and willing. Who said Vulcans don't kiss, anyway, she wondered. Dark hair, disheveled from sleep, brushed against her forehead. The kiss deepened their connection until they seemed to merge, the drum beats of their hearts rose, love and lust and Daphne drank it eagerly from his mouth.

His voice in her head became subtle, erotic, willing to say the things in private thought that he would never say out loud. Thoughts seduced her as much as the long fingers that were now drawing sizzling firelines on her skin.

//I am aroused by the simple thought of you.// his mouth left hers and began to follow an aimless line across her face, down her slender neck. //I am aroused by the way the bridge lights hit the back of your neck when you wear your hair up. I am aroused when your body accidentally brushes against mine in the science lab, and when your hand touches mine across a chess board.//

Daphne trembled, gave herself to the hands and lips that roamed over her freely, lingered in the places that he knew drove her wild, cradling, teasing, admiring. The weight of his body became more insistent against her.

That weight, and pressure and a sudden flash of heat threatened to drive coherent thought from her mind. She withdrew only slightly, moved back from him, not unsympathetic to the pain that caused him, pain of sudden loss, of being asked to slow down.

A soft fall of honey blond hair brushed his chest as she opened his shirt and pushed it out of the way. Warm lips and hands moved over the hard contours of muscle under soft olive-gold skin. Sensations blurred together across their mind-link and Daphne forced herself to think through that blur, to slow down. She reached down, found him hard and waiting, wrapped strong fingers around him, claimed his glorious Vulcan strength and declared herself its master.

Spock was in no condition to argue with her, surrendered to her touch until his hardness ached from it. It was not in either his Vulcan or human nature to resist the tender advances of his bond mate. She looked up, her lion-gold eyes smoldering into his. Her voice in his mind was low, sensual, drawn out and coupled with visions and sensations. Her silky mind-whisper seemed to caress his skin in rhythm with the long slow strokes.

//I am aroused by the way your hands dance across a console, or the strings of your lyre.// She stroked him slowly, sending a stab of phaser fire racing to the outer limits of his body. //I am aroused by your voice saying my name. // Her intimate caress, combined with his own hands giving and taking wave after wave of pleasure, were becoming a blinding brilliance engulfing them both. //And it's never ever an accident when I brush against you…..//

Spock gasped then, heard his own voice fade away in a breathless moan. A heat, searing and dry, like the desert winds of his homeworld swept over him. Pressure and need built in them both, pulses climbing, pounding, and throbbing. They surrendered to it without hesitation and the morning went down in flame.

They may have both dozed again, neither was ever sure, still caught in the suspension of time and reality that had followed their early morning passion. She stirred slightly and finally turned in his arms to face him again.

"Are you all right?" she asked, though she sensed nothing at all wrong with him.

Resting on his back, dark eyes closed as if in meditation, chest rising and falling smoothly Spock replied, "I am functioning within normal parameters; and you?"

"Absolutely perfect, thank you," she answered, stretching her body like a contented cat. She paused, shifted a bit. "We made a bit of a mess of our sleeping bag," she commented.

"I'll take care of it while you shower," he answered, eyes still closed.

"You brought the solar shower?" she asked, with sudden interest.

He nodded, rolled over onto his side, looking at her finally, propped on one elbow. "You always take a shower in the morning, though your fascination with water still eludes me. I set it up yesterday on the other side of the shuttle craft, to get maximum sun exposure. It should have stayed hot all night."

"My hero," she murmured, sighing in contentment.

In spite of the temptation of a hot shower in the middle of the wilderness, Daphne was reluctant to leave the sanctuary of their nest. She rested there in a state of relaxation she could rarely achieve on the Enterprise, stroking his forearm.

"I wonder what Jim would say about the way I followed his orders," she mused.

Spock tensed, started to speak, stopped and relaxed. "Humor," he said, flatly.

She propped herself up on her elbows and shook back her lion's mane of thick hair.

"No," she teased, "I'm really going to write up a formal report to explain how his orders were carried out.

He laced his fingers into that mane of hair and pulled her towards him. His face millimeters from her, his lips lightly brushing hers he said, "I dare you."

She laughed, kissed him and then rested forehead to forehead, breathing with him. He combed his fingers through her hair, pushing it back, quoting from mythology, "He saw her hair flung loose over her shoulders, and said, 'If so charming in disorder, what would it be if arranged?"

"Bullfinch's Mythology," she said, instantly. "The tale of Daphne and Apollo. Are you my Apollo now? God of light and prophecy, song and the lyre?"

"Daphne ran from Apollo, in spite of the fact that he adored her," Spock reminded her.

"Then she was an idiot," his Daphne said, kissing him again. She sighed and stretched, looking up at the sunlight filtering through the trees. The morning was growing late. "We should get up before we have to explain to Jim and McCoy why we're half-naked in our sleeping bag still," she observed, fishing around in the bottom of the bag for their clothing.

"I doubt we would have to explain it," Spock replied, reasonably "The cause seems fairly obvious and is one I have no doubt your brother is more than passing familiar with. It would be awkward perhaps, but I doubt it would require an explanation."

Her response was to throw his pants in his face. She slipped out of the bag, stood and returned to a more modest state of dress as he clawed his way free of them.

"Are you hungry?" she asked, turning to face him again.

He, too had gotten out of the sleeping bag and she paused, breathless for a moment, watching him redress. His face was completely composed when he finally looked at her. Hers was not.

"If you make something, I will eat it," he agreed. "Shower first, while the water is still hot. I shall straighten up the camp."

She swallowed hard, filing away the image of him, shirt open, half-naked in the golden morning light, to enjoy later. As she went to the shuttle craft to find some clean clothes for the day she called over her shoulder, "Find the chess board, it's programmed to pickup our game where we left off."

Spock took a moment to watch her walk away from him, willing himself not to come apart in a clash of emotions. A look from her, a simple touch could do what nothing in the galaxy had been able to do before – make him lose himself, violate all his training, abandon the time-tested decrees of logic and his father's culture. But, as the founder of Vulcan philosophy would have said, "The cause is sufficient."

Memory flooded him, a thousand sensations connected to her and Spock willed himself once again to calm, dispassionate control.

She came out of the shuttle craft, carrying clothes and a towel, smiled at him and disappeared around the other side of it. Spock picked up their double bag and began turning it inside out to inspect the damage.

Suddenly he stood upright, eyes narrowed, eyebrows coming together until they nearly touched.

"Daphne!" he said, loudly, "Was that another one of my shirts?"

His only answer was a light, distant laugh and then the sound of running water.

McCoy stopped walking abruptly and Jim almost collided with him.

"Do you hear those voices? Who is that? Did we take a wrong turn?" he asked.

"No, that's Spock and Daphne," Jim said, stepping around him to continue down the trail.

"Doesn't sound like them," McCoy observed. "It's not Earth Standard at least."

"They're speaking Vulcan," Jim told him.

"Why?" McCoy asked, and Jim shrugged.

"They both grew up on Vulcan. At home in the consulate Daphne spoke Thracian. Federation standard isn't really native to either one of them."

Satisfied, McCoy followed him to the end of the trail and back out into the wilderness clearing where their shuttle craft was stopped and their camp was waiting.

Jim halted in his tracks, dropped his pack with a thud and said, "I leave you alone with strict orders to enjoy your husband and I come back to find you playing chess?"

Daphne and Spock were indeed faced off on either side of a camp table, the three dimensional chess board unfolded before them. Spock's concentration was fully on the board, fingers steepled in from him. It was Daphne who turned to regard her brother, eyes innocent, soft smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.

"What is it you had hoped to find us doing?" she asked, tilting her head inquisitively, the picture of innocence.

Jim was momentarily speechless, opening and closing his mouth soundlessly as he frantically tried to think up an answer, color rising in his face.

Spock didn't blink, move a muscle or take his eyes from board. But he spoke, "You made him blush, didn't you?"

Which made Jim's face flush even more and McCoy chuckled heartily as he tossed his pack into the shuttle craft and went to sit by the fire.

"Well what did you want to find them doing?" the good doctor asked.

"Not everyone recreates the same way you do, brother-dear," Daphne said, turning her attention back to the board to find Spock had still not moved.

Imperceptibly, the Vulcan's hand moved to touch two fingers to Daphne's.

//Some of us have only one partner, for example.// he sent over their mind link, causing her to choke back laughter.

Without giving a hint of what he had just shared with Daphne, Spock sat back in his chair, stretched out his legs, crossed his ankles and then folded his arms over his chest.

"I cannot speak for earlier in the morning, Captain, but I can assure you she is enjoying herself immensely at the moment."

Jim had shed his jacket and was sitting down to remove his heavy hiking boots.

"Oh? And why is that?" he asked.

Spock sighed, shifted in the chair. "She will win this game in three moves. My only options at this point are to play it out, sit for days trying to see another option, or admit defeat gracefully so we can continue with our day."

Daphne grinned at him, golden lights dancing in her eyes, as Spock reached forward and knocked over his king. "Pash," she said softly.

"Checkmate," he agreed. Spock shook his head slowly as he dismantled the board. "Risking your queen and your knights was highly… illogical, k'diwa."

"She actually beat you at chess?" McCoy asked.

"Hey!" Daphne cried, turning to glare at Bones, indignation sparking in her expression.

Bones waved a hand at her as if to calm her down. "Take it easy now. Don't cold start your warp drive. I know you're one of the few on board that can challenge Spock, and that's no small feat. Makes me think you deserve some kind of medal for Intellectual Warfare or something."

"She wins against me quite often, Doctor," Spock interrupted, further soothing his mate's ruffled feathers. "Her style of play is as erratic, unpredictable and challenging as her brother's. I suspect if I ever let her into the computer chess program it would eventually cross-connect itself to the warp drive spiral circuits just to end its misery."

McCoy blinked at them. "Daphne's never gotten into your computer chess program?"

"He's set it out as a challenge for me. I'm working on it," she said, "Just give me time. I'm an archaeologist, not a computer genius."

"Well when you do break into it, let me know," McCoy implored her, "I don't think anyone has ever gotten into one of Spock's programs if he didn't want them to. I'd want to be the first to congratulate you."

To Spock Daphne said, "You're still a game ahead of me. Shall we set up the board again?"

Spock began dismantling the board, carefully putting away the pieces.

"No rematch now and I think when we get back to Enterprise, we should switch to klah-tow for a while." He said, quietly. "I fare better then, unless of course you cheat."

"How can you cheat in a game with no rules?" she asked him.

//As I recall, // he sent silently, //You were naked for the vast majority of the times that you defeated me, that may have caused some distraction. //

Standing up and slipping the game back into its case, Daphne said aloud, "That's not cheating, that's using everything at my disposal to defeat an opponent, which is legal according to the loose parameters of the game" leaving Jim and McCoy looking at each and wondering what they had missed.

"What is klah-tow?" McCoy asked, "Or am I better off not knowing?"

"It's a Vulcan game of strategy, designed to help the players learn to bring order out of chaos. It is to chess what chess is to tic-tac-toe," she paused, gave Spock a long hard look, "Spock is a formidable opponent." He inclined his head as if accepting a compliment. "It takes considerable effort to distract him enough to defeat him."

"I can see why that would be hard for you," Jim commented, "You are much better at bringing chaos out of order."

McCoy snorted and observed, "That's a Kirk family trait isn't it?"

"It certainly seems to be at times, Doctor," Spock agreed.

"Sounds like an interesting game. Teach me to play sometime?" Jim asked, his curiosity piqued now.

"I didn't bring it," Spock answered, "But if you would still like to try when we return to the ship, I will endeavor to show it to you."

Daphne turned her attention back to her brother and the doctor.

"Are you hungry? I made breakfast. An omelet southern-style for you, doctor and a Spanish omelet for you Jim, in the oven, waiting to be heated."

"You cooked?" McCoy asked eagerly. Everyone knew that stranded on an asteroid with only the most basic of survival gear, Daphne could make a meal that would be the rival of any state dinner. Usually when Jim hauled Spock and McCoy off on some wilderness hiking trip, McCoy set himself up as Mess Officer; and they ate - not well, but they did eat. Since bringing Daphne along this time, and encouraging her to pack the cooking supplies, their meals had been delectable.

She waved a hand in the direction of the solar oven and smiled when they both jumped up and raced each other to it.

Seated around the fire, later, watching them happily brunching on omelets and other delicacies not usually considered "camp food" Jim asked her, "So, did you two enjoy having time alone this morning?"

Daphne locked eyes with Spock across the fire, saw him pause ever so slightly in bringing the next forkful of food to his mouth. Mischief lit her face.

"Several times," she responded, lightly and McCoy choked on his southern omelet.

Features carefully schooled to utter calm, swallowing his last bite of breakfast, Spock intoned, "Once with whipped cream involved" which made Jim spew coffee for several feet, drops hissing into the fire. Spock glanced at him, "Daphne made hot chocolate. The whipped cream is in the cooler."

Jim set his coffee mug down, wiped liquid from his chin, patted the still coughing McCoy on the back and glared at his First Officer.

"I'm beginning to think she's a bad influence on you," he said, causing Spock to arch an eyebrow and look from brother to sister.

Daphne stood in one single graceful movement and held out her hand to Spock.

"Well if you gentlemen don't mind, I would like to continue this morning of enjoying my husband," to Spock she said, "I still have that hypothesis I wanted your opinion on? Would you like to take a walk to the lake to do some reading?"

"That would be acceptable," Spock agreed, standing.

"Leave the dishes," Jim said, "Daphne cooked, I'm sure you're the one that straightened up the camp. Bones and I will do dishes."

As they walked towards the shuttle craft, they heard Bones mutter "Cooking breakfast, chess matches and scientific hypothesis, no better idea of what to do with whipped cream than put it in hot chocolate, reading. Someone needs to show those two how to have shore leave."

Daphne glanced up at Spock and he down at her.

As they walked away, Jim suddenly called out, "Spock," he paused to make sure his First Officer was giving him his full attention, "this relationship you have with my sister …. It has my blessing…. Not that you ever asked me for it."

They turned back briefly. Spock lifted an eyebrow, almost smiled

His eyes did smile though as he replied smoothly, "Thank you, Captain."

"Aye. The haggis is in the fire for sure."

Scotty/A Taste of Armageddon

Chapter Two

Some hours later, Daphne and Spock were walking back to the camp down a shaded trail that linked the clearing to the nearby lake. In the midst of calmly debating the hypothesis on the biochemistry of the Xindi, Spock abruptly came to a dead halt. His head went up, every muscle alert, reaching out to grasp Daphne's arm and stop her forward motion.

Before she could ask anything he held up a hand, motioning her to silence. Along their bond he sent //Something is wrong. There's someone with Jim and McCoy.//

//What's going on? Who is it?// Daphne closed her eyes and stretched out with her empathic abilities, found Jim filled with tension, more alert than Spock. McCoy was awash in frustration and confusion and there were at least three more humans in the mix – determined, edgy, confrontational.

All this she passed to Spock in the space of a few heartbeats and in that short time they were no longer husband and wife on shore leave but Star Fleet officers in unfamiliar territory. Spock motioned her into the woods on one side of the trail and he vanished into the other, little more than silent shadows in their neutral shore leave clothing. Science department blue would have made them easy targets and as Daphne crept through the woods she wondered again who had ever thought that was a good color for a military uniform.

It briefly took her mind off wondering who on earth –literally who on Earth - was confronting her brother, and over what. She was having a hard time accepting the truth of the negative emotions flowing across her empathic senses.

She reached the edge of the woods and crouched down in the brush for cover. McCoy and Jim were faced off with two men and one woman all wearing Star Fleet Security uniforms. The men were quite large, formidable looking; the woman smaller but compact and giving off a cocky air given to her by Star Fleet Security Training. To her utter shock, at least one of them had a phaser trained on her brother and the doctor.

Silently Spock crept up to crouch beside her. He had doubled back, left their blanket and pack in a hollow tree and was now appraising the situation with a deep frown of concentration. Daphne's hand was on her hip, where her phaser should be. But who brings a phaser camping on the coast of Maine in the springtime?

"But you haven't told me what this is all about," Jim was saying, with typical bluntness; " and we aren't going anywhere until you do."

"Unfortunately, sir, we were not told what this is about. Our orders simply state that I am to escort you, Dr. Leonard McCoy, Commander Spock and Lt Daphne Caras to Star Fleet Headquarters, San Francisco, regarding an inquiry being issued by Star Fleet Command and the Federation Military Advisor Commission. Please, sir, if you do not come willingly we are authorized to place you both under arrest; and if you know the whereabouts of Commander Spock and Lt. Caras you should tell us immediately."

In his most authoritative command voice Kirk said, "My first officer and his wife beamed back to the Enterprise hours go. Vulcans aren't much for shore leave and she wanted to spend the remainder of her free time with him. If they aren't on board, I don't know where they are. Feel free looking for them while we break camp. I'm not going to risk burning down the woods because Star Fleet can't wait a bit before arresting us."

Spock touched her arm again and when she looked at him he was pointing upwards. She nodded and watched as he jumped high enough to snag the lowest branch of a giant oak and haul himself up. Straddling a branch, he reached down for her, clasped her arm, and lifted as she braced her feet on the trunk. With silent stealth they climbed up into the darker shadows and perched quietly in the upper branches.

//Maybe we should just go with them.// she sent.

//Jim clearly did not want them to find us. He most likely wants us to find out what this is about; and I am not going anywhere or answering questions until I know what it is about.// he paused, even his thoughts still as a security guard walked below them.

Then his deep brown eyes locked with hers. //Your choice in this matter is entirely your own.//

After a moment of hesitation, she responded //I'll stay with you.//

They stayed in their safe seclusion until a low familiar whine told them a transporter had been activated. After a few more moments had passed and the silence told them they were alone, Spock pulled a communicator out of a jacket pocket, set it to a secured channel and flipped it open.

//They may be monitoring transmissions,// Daphne warned.

//A chance we will have to take.//

"Spock to Enterprise."

"Uhura, sir."

"Lt, I am sending you coordinates. Please transport to that location. Out." Spock quickly shut off the transmission and began climbing down, assisting Daphne only in the final jump to the ground.

Still moving with extreme caution they made their way to the now deserted campsite and into the shuttlecraft. For some reason Daphne shut and secured the door, creating perhaps a false sense of safety.

The shuttlecraft Magellan was top of the line, recently delivered to Enterprise as part of an upgrade and being "shaken down" by a little camping trip. Spock moved to the controls and activated the single transporter pad. The image of Uhura shimmered and distilled into being. The phaser in her hand immediately dropped to point to the floor when she saw where she was.

"Lt," Spock said crisply, "Do you have any idea why the Captain and Dr McCoy have been taken to Star Fleet Headquarters for questioning?"

"Yes, sir, I do. But first we have to get you two out of here."

"There's still camping gear out there," Daphne commented.

Spock was already in the pilot's seat, long fingers running over the console for preflight check.

"Someone can return for it later. At the moment Uhura is correct and we need to go. Her transporter signature coming to this spot will explain the disappearance of the shuttle."

Daphne took the seat beside him to assist with the check, while Uhura strapped in behind them. No one said another word until they broke atmosphere into the cold stillness of space and Spock set a course for Enterprise. Only then did he swivel the chair around to face Uhura.

"And now Lt, will you please tell us what you know."

"Starfleet Security came aboard in the last hour, searched the ship for both of you and then left. By monitoring secured channels we learned that your cousin Dr. Soren has been charged with theft of Federation property and treason, along with Drs Marqkeith and Bray."

Any previous notion Uhura had that a Vulcan could not be stricken speechless were quickly dispelled. Spock held Uhura's gaze for a long moment of incredulity, running headlong into one of the downfalls of having chosen to follow a Vulcan path. Shock, borderline anger and denial flared, tempted him, arched one Pannish eyebrow, and set the line of his jaw taut and hard. He stared at the floor of the shuttle craft in a way that should have drilled a hole through the trillium hull plating.

When he looked up again his features were once more composed, which didn't stop his initial reaction from freezing the blood in Daphne's veins.

"Impossible," he said flatly.

"All we were able to determine," Uhura continued, "was that Dr. Soren has indeed disappeared and that transmission were made from the Enterprise during his time on board that Star Fleet believes were part of the theft of top secret information. Security is returning to put the ship on full scan. It's on official lock down. All the senior officers are being questioned. I suspect they will come for Scotty and me next. "

The Enterprise had been coming back to Earth for a standard "check up". Along the way they had been ordered to bring Dr. Soren from Vulcan to meet with his fellow scientists to complete a series of top secret tests for Star Fleet being monitored by the FMAC and the Vulcan Science Academy.

Spock's voice was rough. "Where transmissions made from the Enterprise, Lt, during my cousin's time on board?"

"None that are obvious. I was checking into it further when you contacted me. Mr. Scott and Chekhov and a team of my best personnel are continuing in my absence." She hesitated, wanting to give him more, but there was no more to give. "I'm afraid that is all we know at the moment, Commander."

Spock nodded, stared ahead at nothing for a moment. Daphne and Uhura waited. Both were used to long Vulcan silences. Finally he swiveled the chair back to face the console, stabbing the com system in a way that was not entirely gentle.

"Shuttlecraft to Enterprise."

"Scott here, sir."

"Beam Uhura back to the ship. Until you hear from the Captain, the ship is under your command."

"Aye, sir" Scott responded and Uhura was already shimmering and dissolving.

Spock closed the commlink, unwilling to keep any line of communication open too long. His long fingers danced over the console again, setting a course, preparing the shuttlecraft for warp speed.

"Where are we going?" Daphne asked him.

"T Valka'ain," he said softly.

"Vulcan," she translated, just as softly.

He turned to look at her, "Yes. We're going home."

Home, ha-kel, had different meanings in the Vulcan language. Having used the ancient name for his planet, and then the English word for home, Daphne surmised that he meant "returning to where they had both been raised." But moreover, he was returning to his clan.

It was not an easy thing for him to do. Spock was still considered a renegade on Vulcan, and especially within his clan; even more so than his father who had dared to marry an outworlder. Spock had rejected his acceptance to the Vulcan Science Academy, refused to follow his father into diplomatic service, lost the proper Vulcan bride his clan had chosen for him and then married not just an outworlder, but a half-breed like himself. He had been the first Vulcan to graduate from Star Fleet Academy, which at the time had been the Vulcan equivalent of running away to join the circus.

Of the members of his clan who had always given him unconditional acceptance, Soren had been his most staunch supporter. Though their relationship was technically "cousin", Soren was nearly 30 standard years older than Spock and had served as more of a mentor and uncle than cousin. He had even encouraged Daphne to call him "toz-ot", uncle, something that had sat ill with the more staid and traditional of Spock's family members.

Soren was one of the few members of his clan that Spock would defend with his own life. It was inconceivable that Soren would betray his clan, his planet, or the Federation and his disappearance was sitting heavily on her husband.

Spock had been utterly silent, elbows resting on the arms of the chair, fingers loosely laced in front of him, staring at the starlines as if willing the shuttle to a speed greater than warp four.

Daphne came up behind him and handed him a glass with a deep golden colored drink in it.

"I'm not thirsty," he said, shaking his head slightly.

"I didn't say you were, and you're not hungry, and you won't sleep. Vulcans can go for days without food, water or sleep and I know it."

She sat down in the copilot's seat again, took the arm of his chair to swivel it around to face her, breaking his concentration on the viewport. "The way I see this, at the moment, is that there isn't anything else to do but sleep, eat and drink. That way if you need to go for days without those things, while we find your cousin, you won't already be depleted."

Spock regarded her for a long drawn out moment. The tension in his face was still visible to someone who knew every sharp angle of it so well.

"That is flawlessly logical." He said finally. She nodded, but he continued, "I do not think I could sleep, but I will eat and drink if there is anything on board."

She stood, leaned forward and pulled his head towards her. Pressing her lips to his forehead she whispered in relief, "Nemaiyo. Thank you."

She watched him finish the gravelly ration bars she had found in the emergency packs, as well as the protein drink she had made from those rations. Then she stood, moved behind him and rested warm strong fingers on his shoulders for a moment.

"Why don't you let me help you relax while you tell me exactly what it is your cousin had been working on," he started to protest but she cut him off, "I know you know what it is, top secret or not. Now, do you want to take advantage of a wife who knows the Vulcan neuropressure techniques or do you prefer to continue to sit here tied up in a knot?"

Wisely, logically, Spock acquiesced. From the very first, her touch had surprised him. Never in his life had he been able to touch anyone, Vulcan or human, without experiencing a mental and emotional sensation that was most often unpleasant; until he had touched Daphne. When he had finally, bravely, reached for her he had been more than mildly surprised to find only the silky warmth of her skin, the supple muscle and bone beneath it. Of her thoughts and emotions, he experienced only what she decided to give him, only what he was prepared to accept.

Thracian emotional shielding, she had explained, was far superior to anything the Vulcans had developed. An entire planet of empaths would have simply gone insane from the constant bombardment of emotions had they not evolved a way of blocking both input and output until it was second nature. Of the many things Daphne had brought into his life, the simple sensation of physical of touch was high on his list.

"All right, now tell me what's so important that Star Fleet is willing to arrest Jim Kirk and his senior crew over it. No, don't talk. Close your eyes and breathe. Give me your thoughts." She deliberately kept her voice low and almost hypnotic as she made use of her training in Vulcan neuropressure to ease some of the tension.

Lulled by her hands and the soft vibration of the ship, the lighting she had dimmed, Spock did as she asked.

//Soren is working on a three-part hypothesis to make tri-lithium stable in its solid state, outside of a matter/antimatter flux environment.//

In spite of her training and control, Daphne was so shocked she almost broke contact with him. She willed herself back to calm.

//That would make it possible for the Federation to pursue….//

//Transwarp drive.// Spock finished the thought for her. //In the wrong hands it also allows anyone else to develop tri-lithium as a potential superior weapon. Soren's part has been to create the containment field for the experiments and he has recently been successful.//

Knowing the volatile and lethal potential of tri-lithium, Daphne realized that a containment field for the experiments was the most important part of the entire process. At the moment, the only possible application for trilithium was as an explosive weapon of incredible power.

//The containment field would have to create a matter/antimatter flux environment that would be shut down, to see if the trilithium remained stable, // she surmised.

//Yes, it is extremely dangerous. Soren's team was supposed to be taken out to an undisclosed asteroid for the experiments to even take place. //

//Soren would never give away something like that to a foreign government. He would barely be pleased about sharing it outside of the Vulcan Sciences.// Her agreement with his own assessment, plus the pressure of her hands up along his gradually melting spinal column continued to soothe him.

//No, he would not; which can only mean something else has happened to him.// Another long sigh escaped him as she reached the solid rock of nerve endings between his shoulder blades.

"There" he said, suddenly, "Between the third and fourth vertebrae. … harder."

"Spock, if I press on you any harder, I'll push you through the forward shields."

Nevertheless, she complied with the best of her training and ability and was eventually rewarded by his groan of relief and the softening of the solid mass under her hands.

Strong pressure began to drive conscious thought from his mind. He was silent for a while, his thoughts beginning to dissolve as if by transporter beam. Then, //Daphne, why did you elect to come with me instead of turning yourself in?//

She hesitated, //It seemed like the logical course of action at the time.//

It seemed that her empathic abilities caught a brief ripple of amusement.

//What is the real reason?//

//You won't like the real reason.// She stopped but knew he was still waiting and unlikely to surrender to sleep if she did not answer.

She leaned down to whisper into one elegantly pointed ear, "I had a feeling."

More amusement, then satisfaction, relaxation, every muscle softening as a haze of sleep overcame him.

The last message he managed to send was more feeling than clear thought as he stood and stretched out on the floor between the seats to sleep.

Sending her a flickering wave of love and gratitude, he dropped into a state of rest that was deep enough to satisfy her.

She covered him with another emergency blanket and then took up his watch at the helm, monitoring the sensors for the first indication that they had reached the 40 Eridani A star system, reached Vulcan, reached home……

Daphne touched his shoulder gently, "Spock. We're dropping out of warp."

He came awake as if the red alert claxton was blaring, instantly on his feet.

"Are there any other ships in the area?" His tone shifted to one of command and she automatically matched it.

"No, sir."

"Take us to one quarter impulse and hold our position."

"Yes, sir. Do you want me to find a secured channel?"

She took the pilot's seat and left him to attack communications. "No," he said, shortly, "I'm sending a message on my father's public channel."

She looked at him in surprise, controlled it but asked the question before she had time to think, "Is that safe?"

The console chirped and lit up under his hands. "Completely. It is a message from a contractor to my mother concerning the remodel of my father's apartments on Earth. There will be nothing remarkable about it."

Daphne considered that. "A code."

"Yes," he nodded, sitting back and watching the console with hawk- like concentration, waiting the response. Almost absently he explained, "My father's work in the diplomatic service puts him at risk. My family has always had ways to communicate in times of danger."

"How often does it change?"

"Every few days. This one has an encrypted message telling how to contact us here," he paused, and then added, "Even when my father was barely speaking to me my mother made certain I had the most recent codes. Where I am concerned my mother is ….."

Spock paused, searching for the right words. But it was Daphne who supplied them, "Like a sehlat with only one cub?"

Spock suppressed a sigh. "Yes," he grumbled.

As if on cue the comm chirped at then and Amanda Grayson's face appeared on the monitor. She made no attempt to hide the strain of the last few days, particularly the last few hours when she'd had no idea where her son was.

"Spock," somehow that single syllable was drawn out into a long sigh of relief, "Are you all right? Is Daphne with you?"

"We are both undamaged," Spock replied, "Requesting landing instructions, under current circumstances."

"No," Amanda said, with a titanium thread in her voice that made Daphne blink. Silver-haired, slender, dressed in shimmering grey and white, Amanda Grayson looked like a delicate piece of tinsel. "Your father said that if you were a free agent this would be one logical course of action. We have preparations in place. Send me your co-ordinates and stay there, wait for further instructions."

The communication shut off before Spock could say another word. Struggling once again with an emotional reaction, Spock dropped back in the chair, his eyebrows making a sharp triangle on his furrowed brow. Daphne suspected that whatever plans he'd had, they had all just been changed.

Hesitantly, Daphne said, "Not what you expected?"

Spock shook his head, ruefully. He struggled to keep the annoyance out of his voice and expression. After a moment to steady himself he said, "My mother is never what I expect. You are far more predictable than my mother."

Long moments passed, tested the patience and the resolve of the Vulcan beyond any of his boyhood training. He stood, went to find his jacket and Daphne wondered if he was actually cold or just searching for something to do.

"We're being hailed," she said, "The Vulcan ship Sa'awek-vel. The Lone Star?"

For the second time that day she watched him struggle with being thunderstruck. His eyebrows disappeared under his hairline.

"Lone Star to shuttlecraft. Please shut down engines and prepare for tractor beam."

"Is that your mother?" Daphne was making no attempt to hide her surprise and confusion, though she was trying to block it from rushing headlong along her bond with Spock and further rock his Vulcan disciplines. Rapidly she flipped switches and pressed buttons to power down the shuttlecraft.

"Yes," he said, with the resigned look of a man who could simply not be stunned any more that day. "The Lone Star is her personal vessel, a gift from my father. It normally has a four man crew, under the right circumstances it can be handled by one."

Daphne could now see the elegant Vulcan craft, blocking the stars like a triangular sliver of obsidian. She whirled to look at Spock. "That was a gift from your father?" she said, clearly impressed, "You haven't even gotten me a ring!"

"My father is extremely generous when it comes to my mother," Spock said, in a noncommittal tone. Then he looked at her seriously, "I thought you wanted to wait until we had the official ceremony on Thrace before getting a ring? You know it isn't a symbol Vulcans use."

Daphne wrinkled her delicate nose. "I am not exactly anxious for us to endure a week-long Thracian wedding celebration."

Spock's eyebrows climbed again. "A week?"

Daphne shrugged lightly. "Thracians rarely 'marry'. Contracts between individuals can be from a few months to several years. When a couple truly decides to try the 'forever and ever' type of marriage it is cause for a week-long celebration that can involve the entire family and the surrounding towns."

Spock absorbed that for a moment, trying to imagine being surrounded by a joyous celebration among empaths for more than a Thracian week. "You will not be able to resist the wishes of your family for much longer," he observed at last.

"I can try," she answered, with grim determination. "You resisted the wishes of your father for the last twenty five years. I can hold out against mine for a little longer."

Spock watched the play of emotions reflect in subtle ways across his wife's beautiful face, like the shift of sunlight and shadow on the ever changing seas of her birth planet. Growing up on Vulcan had taught her control. That control, the strict mental training required of Thracians to shield themselves from their emotions and the emotions of others, and the discipline of Star Fleet determined that there was always a certain reserve to her behavior, the hot blood of her heritage -part Earth/Scottish and part Thracian/Aetonian – was publicly distilled.

Their ship rocked like a boat on a wake and then began moving forward again, being drawn towards the Lone Star. Daphne kept her eyes on the console to check Magellan's status. Carefully it was pulled inside a cargo hold, bay doors sliding silently closed behind it. They waited until the lights in the cargo bay came up and signaled the pressurizing of the atmosphere and then stepped out onto the deck.

A door opened and the slim figure of Amanda Grayson came dashing in, looking for her son. Daphne managed to keep her expression completely under control as Amanda hugged Spock, scolded him, hugged him again, scolded him some more, until Spock finally freed himself by taking his mother's forearms and gently moving her backwards. His discomfort blazed across his bond with his wife.

//She's been worried sick, Spock. She's just expressing her relief to see you alive and whole.//

Spock's entire demeanor spoke of long-suffering tolerance with his mother's demonstrations.

Amanda turned then and hugged Daphne, perhaps not as effusively and without the scolding. In fact she was positively delighted that Daphne was with her son. Daphne knew Amanda saw her as a fellow-protector, someone who would help keep Spock well and whole, breathing and walking around.

"I am glad to see you again as well, mother," Daphne said, "Though I wish circumstances were more pleasant."

Amanda steered them towards the corridor and towards a lift that would take them to the bridge.

"It could hardly be less pleasant. Spock, the clan is in what amounts to an uproar for them, even T'Pau is having trouble maintaining order. They are refusing to cooperate with the High Council. The High Council is refusing to cooperate with the Federation."

Daphne was so stunned by the last sentence that she stumbled as she stepped out onto the bridge. Vulcans had founded the Federation, and now they weren't cooperating with it in a serious investigation? It was too much to take in.

She lost the thread of the conversation for a moment, shook herself out of it and then looked around her surroundings.

The bridge of the Lone Star was, in a word, breathtaking. Top of the line, state of the art, sleek, gleaming, beautiful. For a people who had embraced a path of nonemotion, the Vulcans nonetheless had a deep appreciation for that which was aesthetically pleasing.

Spock caught her eye and she glared at him, waving her hand around to encompass the bridge and then pointing to her naked ring finger, raising both eyebrows in question. He raised an eyebrow in reply, looked slightly amused and turned back to his mother, taking the pilot's seat and studying the information from the nav-computer.

"May I inquire where we are going?" he asked her. "This course ends in deep space."

Amanda sat down in the center chair, ostensibly the one reserved for the commander of the vessel. "Of course, Spock," she said," We're going to meet your father."

Unlike Amanda's sleek and jewel-like vessel, the diplomatic craft used by Spock's father was large and imposing, with all the aesthetic appeal of a prize bull. The Solkar had been named for Spock's second forefather and from what Daphne knew of the man, the ship was as efficient, masculine and no-nonsense as he was. It hung waiting patiently in space for the Lone Star, which shut down and submitted to the tractor beam from the bigger ship without so much as a chirp from the comm-system.

Daphne and Spock exchanged glances, making mental note of the communication blackout, but said nothing. It appeared the Vulcans really had closed ranks.

Sarek met them on the flight deck, striding towards them, leonine and purposeful. The folds of his russet colored robe snapped at his ankles. His head was up, the hawk-like visage he had passed to his son was sharp and intense.

Compared to his reunion with his mother, the greetings exchanged by father and son could not have been more austere. After reuniting with Amanda in what passed for extreme public affection in Vulcan culture – the pressing together of fingers to reestablish the mind link – Sarek turned to Spock.

Brief and clipped, accompanied with the traditional Vulcan hand gesture, each said, simply,

"Father"

"Son"

However, Sarek did turn his attention to Daphne and appeared to soften a bit. Daphne wondered if that had more to do with his years of immersion in human culture, including a marriage to an Earth woman, or her father-in-law's actual feelings concerning her.

Daphne returned his hand gesture and replied in flawless Vulcan, "Sochya eh dif, Kevet dutar."

"Peace and long life to you as well, daughter," Sarek replied, then shook his head at her and chided, "But what will it take for you to call me 'father?"

"Time, Ambassador," she answered, with honest sincerity.

"One can hardly argue with that," Sarek admitted, "I should inform you both that your Captain and all of the senior crew are back on board the Enterprise, though the ship is on stand-down and confined to space dock."

Daphne looked up at Spock horrified. The idea of what her brother would do "confined" was more than slightly alarming. What course of action Jim might take, when told that he could take no action whatsoever, did not bear thinking about for too long. Spock gave her another resigned look, spreading his hands in a helpless gesture. Jim would do what he would do and they would scramble to keep up with him, as always.

"Come, "Sarek urged, "We have much to discuss in a very short time;" and then they were simply swept up in his wake.

It was then that Spock and Daphne became aware of the other ship in the hangar deck. Dwarfed slightly by the Lone Star, a Vulcan science vessel waited for them with an air of elegance and efficiency. Daphne was so stunned by the ship that she stopped walking for a moment.

Matte black on black, it would be little more than a silhouette in space. Wealth and power was evident in every logical sweeping curve of its design. Wings spread out in filigrees of sensor arrays, two needle thin nacelles streamed behind.

Designed to be manned by two people for a considerable amount of time and for long distance travel, she knew it would be fast and maneuverable. Daphne read the named printed on the side with interest as they walked up the ramp. Mor-gril.

She hurried to catch up with the others, and mindful that she was now on a ship full of telepaths, she sent a single thought to Spock on a very tight thread.

//Wolverine? //

//That would be the closest translation. You're familiar with the mor-gril of Vulcan, small, fast, capable of being quite vicious under the right circumstances. I believe my father intends us to use this vessel in our attempt to discern where my cousin is and what has happened. It's science class, but it is armed with cutting phasers and drilling torpedoes; and it is fast.//

Daphne studied the ship with new interest and Sarek spoke, confirming Spock's suspicions.

"Your mother and I are continuing to Earth, to see what we can make of this …situation," Sarek told them, "Everything you should need is already on board. Everything we could find in Soren's research lab has been downloaded into the ship's computers. We will of course send you regular updates and there is also this." Sarek paused and pulled a small personal computer notebook from the depths of a robe pocket. He passed it to his son. "Much of it is encrypted," Sarek sounded vaguely annoyed by that," But I trust you will be able to get around that in some way."

Daphne felt Spock flinch again and wondered how many shocks in one day a Vulcan could take. Praise, no matter how subtle or logical, from his father was not something Spock was used to or took for granted.

At the top of the ramp, Sarek paused. "We will take our leave of you now," he stated simply. But then he turned and speared his son with a look of burning intensity. "Find him, Spock. Find out what all this is about. Your clan is depending on you for this. Your people are counting on you. If we do not find Soren and secure his work, the Federation itself may be at stake."

//So no pressure,// Daphne thought, sarcastically, glancing at her husband again.

//No, none at all, // Spock responded with equal dryness.

They exchanged the V-hand sign and the traditional farewell wishes for peace and long life. Spock endured another of his mother's embraces with stoic calm but Daphne hugged Amanda tightly.

"I'll keep him safe," she gave a whispered promise, hoping two sharp sets of Vulcan ears didn't hear her. If they did, neither showed it. Louder she asked, "Get word to my mother and sisters, that I am well? Please?"

Amanda assured her that she would; and then Spock's parents had gone back down the ramp and Spock was closing it behind them. It sealed them in with a soft hiss and then they made their way to the bridge.

Daphne paused to take it in. The Lone Star had been impressive. The Wolverine was simply astonishing. She started towards the copilot's seat, almost in wonder…

But abruptly was caught up in two strong arms. Spock's mouth came down on hers, kissed her until she was dizzy, until her soul stood breathless, and all her realities collapsed until there was only him.

When the need for air forced her to break away, she stood gasping, clinging to him, knees trembling.

"Wh-what was that about?" she gasped.

He began speaking with typical Vulcan calm. "The events of the last day have reminded me…." He paused, drew in a slow breath, "how much I do cherish you." He pulled the clip out of her hair, fluffed out the silky strands of it, looked down at her with traces of great tenderness flowing between them, if not evident on his face. "Now, when was the last time you slept?"

She leaned against him as if he were the foundation of her world, rested her head on his chest, suddenly feeling overwhelmingly weary, wondering if he was helping along her lack of sleep by planting the strong suggestion in her mind that she was utterly exhausted.

"I think I was camping, on the coast of Maine," she whispered, legs buckling, "Spock…. Are you…."

She never completed the thought. Everything around her faded out. She was vaguely aware that he was picking her up, effortlessly, as if she weighed no more than a feather. She laid her head against his shoulder and simply let exhaustion take her.

Sarek and Amanda stood at the view port, watching the Mor-gril leave the hangar deck and then disappear in a blur. Amanda sighed sadly, worry returning.

"Amanda," Sarek said, "Has Daphne been ill?"

She looked at her husband blankly, momentarily distracted by the discordant question. "Not that I am aware," she replied," I could see that she was very tired, but Spock would tell me if she had been ill, and he would never allow her to go with him in these circumstances if she was sick now. In fact, he assured me they were both 'undamaged'."

Sarek processed that. "No of course he would not risk her health. I simply noted that she appeared very thin. Did you notice her clothing? It was hanging on her."

Amanda stared at him again, wondering if he was really that obtuse, that innocent of certain things concerning his son, that unaware his son was now a grown man with a wife who adored him.

"The shirt was Spock's, Sarek," she said lightly.

"Ah," he said." That is a relief, to know she is well. They must have left Earth in quite a hurry."

Amanda tried not to laugh, shook her head ruefully as she regarded her husband. "Yes," she said, quietly, "That must be it."

"I should be able to resolve this problem logically."

Spock/All Our Yesterdays

Chapter Three

Spock was seated at the science station on board Wolverine, his cousin's Delta 3 personal computer notebook linked to the ship's computer, still asking him to specify an identification code for authorized access. Spock stared at the small computer, the way someone stares at a beloved pet that had suddenly starting growling.

"Computer Delta 3," he said and a bland female voice responded, "Working."

"Begin primary interface Delta 3 with ship's computer and download."

The computer whirred and chirped happily and then said, "Not possible."

"Why?" Spock's tone matched the computer's for calm blandness, but his jaw was set tight.

"Current programming includes a preempt security encoding which prevents downloading unless authorized access code is entered by original programmer."

Spock rested his elbows on the arms of the chair and steepled his forefingers in front of him. It had been like this for hours. He had tried quite literally everything he could think of to break into his cousin's computer and it simply would not co-operate. Over the last twelve hours he had driven himself to his mental and intellectual limits, even taken the notebook apart and put it back together, running down every circuit for a way to get the little computer to give up its secrets. He had done everything he knew how to do, every computer trick he had ever learned and some he had just invented.

He'd tried everything but voodoo witchcraft.

His control was slightly frayed, emotions threatening an insurrection.

"Computer," he said.

"Working."

"Identify original programmer," Spock said, even though he knew the answer and had already done this dozens of times.

"Dr. Soren, Vulcan Science Academy."

Spock wanted to grind his teeth in frustration but schooled himself to serenity. Tossing the annoying little thing into a bulkhead would not help, though he had found a certain deep satisfaction in having it in pieces earlier.

"Did it bite you?" Daphne's voice from behind him was a surprise, so deeply immersed had he been in the puzzle of his cousin's computer.

He looked up at her, assessing her appearance. She no longer looked like a pale shaft of foggy sunlight, color having returned to her face. She was alert, dressed in a dark green jumpsuit, a color that suited her better than the pale gray of the shirt she had worn for far too many hours the day before. It fit her like a second skin and he had to sternly remind himself that it was illogical to be disturbed by that when he was the only male on board around to appreciate it. Her tawny hair was once again coiled at the back of her head in that way that always looked like it was about to fall but never did. He assumed she had found the clip he had left on the sink in the bathroom.

"You slept well." It was a statement, not a question.

She walked over to him and stood looking down, hands on her hips, her expression displeased. "You tricked me," she said, bluntly "Distracted me and then planted the suggestion that I was exhausted."

He met her graze with unwavering frankness, "You were exhausted, k'diwa, it was no suggestion. You were running on pure Kirk adrenaline. I've seen both of you do it before. It was time to sleep. There was nothing else you could do. It was not a trick, although I will agree it worked as a distraction. The kiss and what I said were genuine. "

She held his gaze, feathers still ruffled but she was mollified for the moment. She leaned down until her face was barely inches from his, eyes locked. "The next time you carry me to bed," she said softly, "I better be awake."

"Agreed," he said, "Now, have you eaten?"

"Have you?" she shot back.

"No," he admitted. "I have been here wondering why Soren would design a completely impenetrable system."

"You can't get into it?" she seemed startled. She had felt his frustration but hadn't realized it was due to being locked out of the notebook. It never occurred to her that he would still be unable to access the information all these hours later.

"No, I cannot." The words were ground out between his teeth.

Daphne sat down at the communications station beside him. There were many things she knew Spock could be told – new ideas, past history, that you vehemently disagreed with him, that a lab test had failed to produce the expected results. But you should never ever tell him "no, you cannot," especially about a computer.

"Spock," she said, drawing his eyes away from the offending computer. She leaned forward and laid her hand on top of his. "It's a machine. It's a wonderful tool, but it's stupid. The reason we don't put wheels on them is that someone would have to tell them not to roll right off a cliff. You aren't in a battle of wits with this machine. You're in a battle with its programmer. It's a game of klah-tow. Soren has, willingly or not, created chaos and you have to find a way to bring order. This machine is only the block he has put in place to keep you from your goal. Soren is your opponent and he's a brilliant scientist. But he isn't the computer genius you are. That is your advantage over him. Think like your opponent. What would he forget to do that you would not? What possibility would occur that he would not see?"

It made him sit back in his chair, eyebrow arched, and drawing one deep breath after another, rethinking everything he had just spent hours doing. Daphne unfurled from the chair, squeezed his shoulder and quietly left the bridge.

When she returned a short time later with a tray of food and drink, Spock was in the exact same position.

"Spock?"

"I have an idea," his voice was level, but she heard the hint of anticipation.

"Have you tried it?" she asked, handing him a drink.

"No," he paused, admitted with some hesitation, "I am almost reluctant to discover it will not work."

"Only one way to find out," she said with a sympathetic look.

"Computer," Spock said.

"Working." The main ship's computer responded this time, as Spock had powered down the notebook to standby.

"Identify my voice."

"Commander Spock. Current posting First Officer USS Enterprise NCC 1701. Star Fleet Identification number…''

"Identify the commander of this ship."

"Commander Spock, command status authorized Star Date 3374.2 as per Vulcan High Command….

"Verify my authority to engage Grade 1Alpha priority override command to any system on this ship."

The computer whirred for a moment. "Verified."

"Establish Grade 1A priority override command to all ship's systems, computers and auxiliary personal computer Delta 3."

"Working. Priority command established."

"Is there a way to download information from computer Delta 3."

"Negative."

No surprise there. Spock took a breath, waited and then said, "Computer, I now declare critical emergency computer reactivation and override to all ship's systems and auxiliary systems, according to Vulcan High Command Regulations Z-13, Section 9 subparagraph 2B. Download command, create permanent link from Delta 3 to ship computer and download. Execute."

He slipped a disc into the ship's main computer and waited without moving for the two machines to finish clicking at each other. Words flashed on the screen.

"Reroute circuitry through DMB bank section 52, arrange file location as follows….." A long list of numbers and commands followed and Spock's fingers flew over the instrument panel of the notebook as he entered the information. Long moments passed. Spock gazed without moving at the screen of his cousin's computer.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Rebooting the entire system from the beginning, making the Delta 3 a part of the system that must obey my commands and overriding."

"Will that break the encoding?" Daphne said.

"It can't be broken," Spock admitted, "It can only be overridden, and only under the right circumstances." He looked up at her, " The circumstances Soren would never consider – the possibility that his notebook would be tied to a starship in an emergency. The computer now has no reason not to over ride the programming. According to its own programming it is required to do whatever I tell it, all previous commands nullified, once emergency activation has been declared."

A moment later, the small screen flashed, "Access granted. Begin download."

Daphne gasped and Spock finally began to breathe again. "Brilliant," she said, sitting back to gaze at him with frank admiration. "It's a good thing you're as familiar with High Command Regulations as you are with Star Fleet's." She bowed her head to him slightly, "Well played. Now eat something. From the look of those files that download is going to take a while. After that I'd strongly suggest you shower and find a change of clothes. I'll stay here, monitor the computers, find my way around the bridge and see how things work."

"Perhaps when the files are complete we'll have a destination," Spock said, "I had never realized how fruitless it seems to be crawling through space at sublight."

"Let me get to know this ship a little bit before asking me to handle it at Warp 6?" Daphne asked. "I'm a scientist, remember; and an archaeologist at that?"

Spock nodded, "One of the best I know," he said, which may have helped soothe the last of her ruffled feathers.

He continued to watch, with a very un-Vulcan sense of satisfaction, as the flashing words on the screen showed the smaller computer happily divulging its internal workings to the ship computer. The klah-tow match was now Spock 1, Soren 0 but how the game would play out remained to be seen.

Spock had initially eaten just to make Daphne happy and because it was logical to supply himself with nutrition when the opportunity presented itself. At some point he had actually begun to taste the food and realized it was delicious. The ship was stocked only with foods to make customary Vulcan meals, and Daphne had made an extremely basic meal but it was extraordinary.

Having bowed now to the wisdom of eating, he went to get cleaned up, found a drawer full of dark blue jumpsuits and put one on. He was putting on a pair of boots he'd found in a closet when Daphne's voice came from the comm on the wall. Star Fleet crisp and professional, there was still no mistaking the frantic urgency.

"Commander to the bridge!"

He slammed his foot into the last boot and was striding for the door when her voice came again, not at all professional this time.

"Spock! Hold onto something!" she screamed.

The cabin tilted violently, as if the ship had just been set abruptly on its side. The ship shuddered. He could hear the engines shriek and then groan as the ship shifted again with equal suddenness. The room corkscrewed around him, throwing him first to port and then to starboard. The artificial gravity lost its center of balance, adding his own weight to the centrifugal force that threw him up against a bulkhead. Things flew off shelves, barely missing his head, but he was pinned against the wall, unable to move until the ship righted itself.

Spock knew, clinically, that the ship was being tossed around like a child's toy. The only remaining question was whether some external force was doing it, or if Daphne was taking extreme evasive maneuvers on a ship she was barely familiar with. The ship wasn't shaking as if with phaser fire, it simply twisted in space, straining the hull integrity, wrecking the artificial gravity. Spock struggled against the crushing pressure to grasp the leg of a desk and hold on.

Then, with a mighty shudder, he felt the ship "right" itself. Gravity returned and he was up and flying out the door to the bridge.

"Report!" he shouted, dropping into the navigation seat, fighting a deep rush of relief to find Daphne clinging to the helm and not lying in a bloody heap.

"Computer, aft view!" Daphne commanded, but her voice trembled, almost numb with gratitude that she had not inadvertently killed her husband. A dark cut on his forehead, trickling malachite blood, made a jagged reminder of what might have happened, further jarring her nerves.

Spock looked up. On the forward screen could see the normal view of black space and dots of stars; and something else. There was a circular ripple, a wave distorting space, undulating outward and away from them. Spock judged it to be several thousand kilometers across.

"That shockwave, that distortion" she said, breathless, nodding her head towards the view screen, "….. came out of no where. If I had been monitoring the science station I may have seen it sooner….When the ship finally alerted me to it I took evasive action. I've never seen a wave like that, one that could get so close without setting off alarms."

Spock was replaying the ship's documentation of its last maneuvers. Daphne had simply wrenched the ship on its side, started it into a spiral and "dove", letting it practically free fall out of the way of the oncoming wave. The movement had put the two of them in danger, but they were alive; which they would not have been had the wave hit them.

"Damage report," he demanded calmly.

"The hull developed a small tear just above the port nacelle. The automatic seals have already repaired it. Aft shield are down 15 %. Port shields are down 10%. They both seem to have brushed the leading edge of the wave. Nothing of any further consequence. Internally I am sure there are things that fell all over the ship, but that would take a room to room visual search to determine the full extent," Daphne answered, hands moving to pull up reports from all over the ship.

"You're bleeding." he noted, and she was, having slammed her hand on the console trying to get to the helm.

She spared him a glance. The cut on his forehead had just missed bisecting his eyebrow and was still welling emerald green drops.

"So are you," she replied, "You hit your head?"

"Daphne, I hit just about every part of my body on something during that maneuver." He didn't appear concerned about his physical condition however.

He crossed to the science station and examined the readouts the scanners were rapidly downloading. Daphne found an emergency med-kit and applied bandage salve to her hand. Then she joined Spock, wiping blood from the considerable cut and using the salve sealant on him as well.

"Are you dizzy? Double vision?" she asked him, running a small medi-scanner around the side of his head. No concussion, no subdural bleeding. Checking the rest of him revealed only rising bruises that would no doubt be black and yellow in a very short time.

They were both damned lucky to have escaped that with just cuts and bruises and she knew it.

Spock was looking at the computer screen as if he barely wanted to trust what it was telling him.

"They are trying to stabilize it," he said, quietly.

"IT? They?" Daphne stared at him, wondering how hard he had really hit his head. Then realization hit her, "Soren and the others? The trilithium? They have attempted the experiments outside of a Star Fleet lab?" Disbelief and denial kept her from being able to form a coherent sentence.

"Yes, they did - or whoever has the data from the experiments has tried it. Nothing else but unstable trilithium can create a shockwave like that. You already know that Soren's part in this was to create the considerable housing needed to contain the energy. That shockwave can only be the result of an accident."

Daphne stared at him, not trying to hide her horror, still stammering. "That much power, uncontained, unleashed … an energy flux of that magnitude……"

"Could easily have destroyed whatever planet they are hiding on," Spock finished; "or at least a great deal of it, certainly whatever area they are occupying. Soren would know how to deflect it into space, but it will destroy whatever it contacts."

"They could all be dead, or worse," Daphne breathed. She closed her eyes, trembled, "Spock…."

She put her hand on his shoulder to steady herself, imagining planets that might have been hit with that shockwave as it had traveled out from its center.

Its center. She was perhaps only a heartbeat behind Spock in realizing that if they could find its point of origin, they would find whoever had triggered the accident. Spock was already demanding data from the science station.

After long moments spent in calculation, Daphne and Spock sat back and looked at each.

"Carillon," Spock said, flatly.

"On the edge of the neutral zone, barely still in Federation space, " Daphne said, "Which means that shockwave went into Klingon space; and if it did to a Klingon ship what it nearly did to us…"

Spock finished somberly, "We now have an interstellar incident."

Personal Log, Captain James T. Kirk. Star Date 3374.6

The Enterprise is free. That should be better news. We are being sent to the Carillon system to investigate a mysterious explosion. This may be linked to the recent disappearance of three of the Federation's top scientists, though all information concerning their work is still classified. Fortunately for us, we were the only starship close enough to get to the Carillon system in any kind of time. The Lexington will be joining us there, but more than a day behind us.

Carillon borders the Neutral Zone and I expect to find a Klingon presence already in place when we get there.

At the moment Enterprise is making best speed, but without my First Officer and Assistant Science Officer. Spock and Daphne are still technically on shore leave and have not been recalled. But I am disturbed by their disappearance and wonder where they are.

"Ma etek natyan teretuhr lau etek shetau weh-lo'uk do tum t'on"

"We have differences. May we, together, become greater than

the sum of both of us."

Surak/The Savage Curtain

They had "made love' – an odd term as far as Spock was concerned, one he did not entirely understand in its literal sense. At least one Vulcan term was no better –az'ir'kh'ar was too clinical. He preferred kaunshau- to bring together so as to be whole.

After hours of pouring over computer files and learning more about trilithium than either of them had ever wanted to know and nothing at all about where Soren had gone or with whom, Spock had ordered her to get some rest, at least "take a break", something he knew humans needed. The fact that she had not argued with him spoke volumes.

But Spock already knew that Daphne was shaken deeply. The thought of what they might find when they reached the Carillon system was not something on which either of them wished to dwell. For his empathic wife, it must be more daunting to consider rushing at Warp 6 towards a place where millions might be dead, dying, injured or missing.

He also knew that she was wrestling with a command decision that could have killed him, going over it again and again in her head, trying to see what else she could have done.

When the pulsing psychic vibrations from her reached a level where he knew she was no longer able to control it, he had powered down the computer station and gone to find her. Tens of millennia of evolution had driven Vulcan males to the understanding that ones bond mate must be protected at all costs. A "distress call" from her was not something he could ignore.

She was in the room reserved for physical exercise, a "gym" the earthmen called it. It was small, but there were several pieces of exercise equipment. Distantly he noted that the cardio machine had been pulled from the wall and would need repairs.

Daphne was standing in the center of the room, moving through a series of graceful, slow movements - a combination of movements similar to tai chi, traditional yoga and the dances of places like the middle east on Earth and the center island of Risa. It was Thracian "fah-rel" – the calming – designed to bring the empathic Thracians to a state of peace in the midst of strong, negative emotion. He watched her for a moment, dark blond hair loose again, her body gliding in the sinuous, sensual, feminine movements of the dance.

The very first time Spock had ever met Daphne Kallista Caras, she had only been four years old – six years his junior. The daughter of the newly placed Thracian ambassador to Vulcan, she too had been dragged along on another endless diplomatic function, the kind that had filled too many long hours of Spock's childhood. He had taken little notice of her, beyond the fact that her golden skin, honey colored hair and light brown eyes set her sharply in contrast to the dark-haired, dark-eyed and sometimes even dark-skinned children he was used to.

He had seen her on and off over the years of diplomatic events, spoken to her on several occasions through the awkward teen years when the six year age difference between them had made a difference. As a Star Fleet cadet he had even been assigned to pilot her and her mother to a diplomatic conference on Rigel when Daphne had been about fourteen.

Then at his request she had been assigned to the Enterprise, not just in his department but as his direct assistant, to help him with the double duty of being both First Office and chief Science Officer. He knew her record, was not displeased when Star Fleet agreed to her appointment.

Then his Captain had let him in on a little secret. Daphne Kallista Caras was James T. Kirk's half sister, a fact known to a small handful of people in the entire galaxy. The end result of a brief stormy affair between her mother and Jim's father, her birth records listed her father as "unknown", which was not an issue for the Thracians. Relationships could be a fleeting thing in the empathic Thracian culture. Alliances could be made and broken over night; or kept for lifetimes.

When they had met again, as Star Fleet officers, as adults with the six years between them dwindled to making no difference at all, Spock had found himself in a constant battle to keep his equilibrium. She challenged him on every level, intellectually, mentally, physically …. emotionally. She was in many ways as alien to him as rain. She had become as familiar as his own pulse; and as necessary.

If there had ever been a war of "one ups manship" between and his father, Spock had clearly won the battle of bond mates. He had chosen a woman who was not a Vulcan, not just human, but one who was an empath – someone from whom no Vulcan in the galaxy could hide his emotional state.

Oddly, his father had accepted Spock's choice without a word of protest or a hint of disapproval. Spock had felt only relieved that his actions would not be a wedge between his parents again. He had resisted telling them for months, until Amanda had discovered their relationship quite by accident.

Jim had recently remarked that they had his blessing, though they had never asked for it. To himself Spock observed that asking for Jim's blessing on their relationship would have been much like a sun asking Jim's blessing before going supernova.

Some things simply could not be stopped. Spock had bowed to the logic of that and plunged headlong into the most illogical, fascinating, and at times maddening relationship of his life.

Long association with humans from a variety of different worlds, and with her in particular, had given him a skill many Vulcans still lacked. She was not the only one who could read someone else's emotional state. It was obvious to him that, for Daphne, today, the fah-rel wasn't working. In spite of the composure and rhythm of her dance, the almost reckless casual grace of it, she was brittle, wire-strung. On the Enterprise, she would seek out one of the ship's psychologists, or even Dr. McCoy whom he knew she valued as a trusted friend, confidant and counselor.

But they were alone. He was all she had. He was her k'hat'n'dlawa – the other half of her heart and soul. It was time to act like it.

Spock crossed the short distance between them, came up behind her and stopped her movements by putting his arms around her. He pulled her back against him.

He had not expected this part of their relationship. The ease of physical contact was not something he had ever enjoyed with anyone, at any point in his life; especially with humans whose carelessly unshielded emotions could bombard him mercilessly. Already an unusually sensitive telepath, even for a Vulcan, Spock's long association with aliens of all types had caused him to develop even stronger barriers. Daphne's ability to contain even the most volatile of emotions added to that ease.

Then for twenty three years he had been mentally bonded to a woman who had blocked and rejected him. To be fair, he had blocked and rejected her as well. He had assumed that was what it meant to be bonded and resigned himself to that life. He felt more from Daphne when she was unconscious that he had ever felt from T'Pring, even in the throes of Pon Farr. His union with Daphne was strong and … joyous, though he used the word tenderly even to himself.

Touching her only amplified the union. It had become something he sought, almost eagerly – and far more often than he had ever imagined he would.

"Talk to me," he said, a request not an order.

He could feel the effort she made to conceal it from him, the titanium resolve, and the quiet vigilance she used on her empathic abilities lest they disturb him.

"Daphne," his resonant voice rolled her name as if it had a private meaning that existed only for him, "Don't fight it, ashayam. You'll go mad before we even get there. Don't second guess your decisions. You did what had to be done in the split second you had time to do it; and I am not dead. Whether you have faith in me or not, I am capable of holding onto something when instructed to do so. "

His voice, his solid presence, cut through her resolve. He felt her relax but only slightly.

"I'm frightened," had he not been blessed with Vulcan hearing, he may not have heard her at all. He was trying to process the correct response to that, when she sagged against him, " I'm sorry."

He frowned. "Why would you be sorry? Have you decided to abandon your empathic abilities now that you have married a Vulcan? This will be a daunting task as your empathy is part of your genetic makeup. Are you going to hesitate now before making any kind of decision? If you do then it may very likely costs lives."

His words were Vulcan calm, but she could feel along their mind link that he was both teasing and chiding her. He went on more seriously, "You are an empath, Daphne. You should never apologize to me for what you are feeling, or what you are."

She turned around in his arms and tilted her head back so she could see him. He stroked long fingers down her spine to further ease her tension.

"I'm also a Star Fleet Officer," she said, "I have to be prepared for any situation."

"Did you take an oath to never be frightened? Never to make a decision you thought twice about? I do not recall having to do such a thing before becoming an officer, but perhaps that is a formality they skip with Vulcans?"

The pressure of his arms tightened around her, made her more secure in spite of the tremendous bone-crushing strength contained in them.

Spock's voice that could either tilt her world or give it firm foundation, continued, "My attachment to you is not predicated on the idea that because you were raised on Vulcan you must BE Vulcan. You have a far superior understanding of my culture than I do of yours, but I do understand who you are and from where you came."

"What will we face at Carillon, Spock?" she whispered.

The intensity of the question weighed heavily on him and he abandoned the idea of giving her a logical Vulcan assessment of the situation. Another Vulcan would have begun a recitation of all the possibilities that may or may not exist at Carillon, a list of odds of each possibility and then finished with the greatest probability. Instead he reached into his long experience with humans, their needs, their fears, and gave her the answer maybe no other Vulcan would have the courage to,

"I do not know."

Though she should have found that alarming, it caused an odd sense of relief. A strange weightlessness overtook her, suspending her, binding her to him. Memory took her back to the moment all those years ago when she had reached out for the impossible – the love of a Vulcan. Looking up at him, knowing him the way she did, she caught the quicksilver flash of emotion in his dark eyes and knew that she had attained it.

Daphne abandoned words as words could be treacherous, less than honest. She simply opened the mind link to him and sank inside his soul. She fed him her emotions in slow motion. He felt those emotions flowing to him as if through a kaleidoscope, scattered feelings, in shifting patterns, regrouping and breaking apart. His wife was in pieces. But he knew what she needed, what they both needed.

Kaunshau- to bring together so as to be whole.

Vulcan logic told him it was the appropriate path. They would need to be a team when they reached Carillon, flawlessly in sync with each other, the mind link strong enough to function over great distances, able to draw strength from each other. Only in the burning of kaunshau that flared through flesh and spirit alike could Vulcans truly give themselves to their bond mates, when there was no halfway point, no compromise between passion and caution, no hiding in protective shadows of Vulcan philosophy; when all pretense of control was gone and katras fused.

His human half responded on another level entirely. After the shock and stress of the last day and half they simply wanted each other.

Spock reached down and swept her feet off the floor, lifting her into his arms, making good on his promise that the next time he carried her to bed, she would be awake.

"Risk... Risk is our business. That's what this starship is all about. That's why we're aboard her."

Kirk/Return to Tomorrow

Chapter Four

The Enterprise had not exactly just been given its freedom. While it was true that the ship was the closest one to the Carillon System, Star Fleet Command was still reluctant to let it go. Something about the explosion had everyone on edge however and Jim had used that to his advantage, to get his ship and crew back "out there." The Enterprise was the flagship of Starfleet, keeping it in Space dock because of "suspicious transmissions" was like keeping your prize race horse in the barn because someone misspelled its name.

His conversations with Star Fleet Security had been less than productive, usually ended with him having a drink in McCoy's quarters and calling Commander Taylor of Star Fleet Security less than complimentary things. He had held his temper when talking to Taylor directly. Being flippant with the head of Security was unlikely to get his ship back in space.

Finally he'd had enough and tracked down Admiral LaGraf, who was in charge of starship deployment. Unable to get an appointment with her, he had simply gone to her house. After listening to Jim arguing at the gate with a security computer for some amount of time, the admiral had finally let him in just to shut him up.

She had listened to his impassioned reasons for letting the Enterprise go to Carillon patiently, perhaps even more patiently than he deserved.

"I'm not sure how much I can do, Jim," she said, uncertainly, "My hands are very much tied."

"Admiral, "Jim said, adapting the charming tone and brilliant smile he reserved for diplomatic functions and stunning brunettes, "With all due respect, you're in charge of Star Fleet deployment. You can do anything you want with the ships. We can get there a full day ahead of the Lexington. If there are injured people, that has to be a consideration. Carillon is a Federation ally on the edge of the neutral zone. Do you want the Klingons to get there first? They may already be there. "

She had studied him sympathetically, sighed, and tapped a long fingernail on the arm of her chair.

"There might be a way," she said quietly, and Jim seized on that like a life rope. Seeing his eager hope, LaGraf put up a cautionary hand. "You won't like it."

"Does it get the Enterprise out of space dock and heading towards Carillon?" he asked, leaning forward.

"Yes," she said slowly.

In the end, he had not liked it. The Enterprise was deployed to Carillon, without its First Office and assistant science officer – which Jim had expect – but with four Star Fleet security personnel assigned to continue questioning the crew and investigating the ship. His vigorous protests had led to naught.

"Jim, I told you, this is bigger than both of us," the admiral reminded him. "It's bigger than all of Star Fleet. You're only going at all because I need my best and brightest out there now. It's the best I can do to unleash Enterprise. Accept it and move on. Do your mission. If nothing happened and your crew wasn't involved, all you have is a few extra passengers who might come in handy in a crisis."

Jim had brooded in silence for a moment, willing her to change her mind. LaGraf watched him for a moment and Jim could tell she was thinking still, weighing him, trying to come to a decision. She leaned forward and dropped her voice even though they were the only ones in the house.

"I shouldn't tell you this, but there is another reason we need Enterprise now and I'm willing to take this chance," she stopped, sighed, closed her eyes and shook her head. "We're short a starship. The Endeavor suffered a containment breach of her antimatter chamber….."

"My….GOD," Jim burst out, too horrified to let her continue, "How many….." he swallowed, "How many crew …."

"Seventy five, " she replied, tightly, "Captain Zende lost seventy five of his best, and so did Star Fleet," she leaned forward and speared him with a look that dried his throat, "So you listen to me, Jim Kirk. Take your ship, do your mission, keep your nose clean and your crew out of trouble and stop acting like having a few extra security guards on board is the worst thing that could happen to a starship. Do you understand me, Mister?"

Few things could leave Jim Kirk stone sober. He was caught in the stabbing, burning image of antimatter leaking into his ship, reducing his crewmen to dust and shadow.

"My god," he said again, quietly. Then he realized something and looked up at her, "Didn't Soren invent the technology that makes those containment chambers possible?"

La Graf had sighed again, as if she wished he had not made that connection.

"Yes," she said, but it was the last thing she said on the matter.

His requests for more information on the "Soren Incident" had also been fruitless. It was "need to know" and even though the Enterprise was being sent to investigate a violent explosion that may be linked to the incident, Star Fleet in its infinite wisdom had decided her captain didn't "need to know."

Even the generous helpings of bourbon that McCoy kept pouring for him after they had left space dock didn't help; and he had Scotty and his crew crawling over every inch of the containment fields currently making it possible for Enterprise to warp through space on her way to Carillon.

McCoy was the only person on the ship who knew the extent of Kirk's conversations with La Graf. After letting everything he'd said sink in, Jim said,

"Let's keep this filed under doctor/patient confidentiality, okay Bones?"

Bones swallowed a mouthful of bourbon and said, "Why? Is it keeping you up nights? Giving you nightmares?"

Jim hesitated as he brought his glass up for another swallow. Staring at a spot on the floor, eyes unfocused, he said, somberly, "Not yet."

He drained the glass, said with an air of nonchalance that was entirely forced, "Spock and Daphne are keeping me up nights."

McCoy couldn't argue with that.

"Spock would never betray the Federation," he said, "I don't care if his whole damned clan is involved in whatever this mess is; and he would never allow any harm to come to Daphne."

"No, as long as they are together I know they'll keep each other safe," Jim said softly, "And I don't care if their disappearance looks 'suspicious', they didn't have anything to do with whatever it is Soren did." He had told Star Fleet that, repeatedly, until they had finally stopped asking. His officers were still on leave as far as he was concerned. "But that doesn't mean he wouldn't go to the aid of his clan if they called, or that they aren't now caught up in whatever happened with Soren."

"They'd walk through fire for each other, Jim," McCoy said, "You could see that. Hell even I could see that and I used to think Cupid's arrows would kill a Vulcan. That camping trip was an eye opening experience."

"You can say that again," Jim replied, holding out his glass as McCoy refilled it, "But where are they, Bones? Where in the blasted galaxy did they go?"

Whatever McCoy may have said, Jim would never know, they were interrupted by Chekhov's voice on the intercom,

"Chekhov to Captain Kirk," the unmistakable Russian accent said.

"Kirk here, Chekhov," Kirk responded without much enthusiasm. Whatever Chekhov wanted, it was going to drag him out of McCoy's quarters and away from that appealing bottle of Kentucky bourbon.

"I found something I think you should see, sir. Request you meet me in the briefing room."

Kirk stifled a sigh, "All right, Chekhov, on my way."

He stood, stretched, cocked a look at McCoy and said, "You got time to tag along?"

McCoy shrugged, nodded and followed his captain out the door.

Kirk had given the science station to Chekhov temporarily. No one was acting as temporary First Officer. If he had to he would call on Scotty or Uhura, but for the moment, Jim preferred pretending that Spock and Daphne would be back any second.

Chekhov was waiting for them in the briefing room, just as promised. Kirk spun a chair around and dropped into it.

"All right Chekhov, let's have it," he said, as Bones took a seat next to him.

Chekhov appeared hesitant for a moment, then sighed as if he'd made a decision and said, "I have information on the explosion at Carillon, sir. I think I know what it was."

Kirk was instantly alert. "More than we already know?"

"Aye, sir," Chekhov may have flushed slightly before continuing in a very soft voice, "I got into the Star Fleet Security files. Sir."

Kirk looked stunned for a moment, then pleased. It was exactly the kind of thing he would have kept trying to do. "Chekhov," he said, like a proud parent. "How did you do that?"

"Mr. Spock taught me a few things about the Star Fleet computer system. Sir," Chekhov told him.

Spock. The name made Jim's stomach clenched. Even absent his First Officer was still having an effect on the Enterprise, on their mission. He had become aware that he was missing something he'd not even been aware he had – a slight awareness of a telepathic support from Spock, a slight 'nudge' behind his own thoughts. He didn't know if it was normal for Vulcans, whether it was intentional or not (though it was hard to imagine Spock doing anything unintentional); but once he got it back he would never take it for granted again.

"Spock taught you to illegally hack into Star Fleet Security?" McCoy could not have sounded more incredulous.

"No!" Chekhov said. His accent was even thicker with indignation, "Mr. Spock would never do anything illegal. He showed me how the system works. It was certainly not his fault if he discovered flaws in it."

Kirk stifled a flutter of amusement, in spite of the situation. Calm, composed, highly unlikely to ask about their lives or interests or families, the crew still responded to Spock for some reason, defended him, and would follow him just as quickly as they would follow Kirk.

"Then let's have it Chekhov. What is so special about this explosion that two starships have been dispatched to deal with it?"

His junior officer seemed uncomfortable again, as if he had news he did not know how to deliver.

"The explosion sent out a shockwave that could only have been the result of unstable trilithium breaching its containment," he said as calmly as he could.

Jim stared at him in shock, not realizing that he was gripping the arms of the chair so hard that his knuckles turned white.

"My god, Chekhov, are you sure?" he asked.

"What?" McCoy asked, "What does that mean?"

His acting science officer called the information up on screen and showed it to them.

"Trilithium in its gaseous state is quite stable, Dr, "Chekhov explained, "In its solid state it is highly unstable and deadly, but if it a solid trilithium crystal could be created, it could be used in warp drive systems. When its solid state begins to degenerate it does not create forward thrust but a shockwave of outward warp. Not truly an explosion, but just as lethal," he paused to see if McCoy understood and then went on, "You can see the wave has moved through Federation space and destroyed several comets and asteroids," Chekhov was fighting to keep his voice steady. "But it has also moved into Klingon space and we have no information pertaining to any damage it may have done there."

McCoy snorted angrily, "Nice of Star Fleet to tell us we may be running into a few angry Klingons along the way."

"It's nothing to joke about Bones," Kirk said, his voice low with emotion, "That's a force that may have obliterated Carillon. It has enough force to stop the nuclear reaction inside a star," Kirk hit the intercom on the table, "Engineering," he snapped.

"Scot here, sir."

"Scotty, I want every inch of this ship checked and checked again. Back up systems, shields, warp drive, every auxiliary system we have; and the weapon systems. I want those at 110%. Understood?"

"Aye, sir. You planning to take us into battle?" there was an edge of concern under the Aberdeen accent.

The Captain sighed, "I hope not, Scotty. Kirk out." It wasn't a very military response to his Chief's query, but he wasn't going to start talking about solid state trilithium explosions or Klingons on an open comm channel. He would bring Scotty into the loop later, in private.

He turned back to the awful split screen image of the undulating wave. One side showed the red, blue and green representation of the wave; the other was the wave itself, distorting the stars, warping them in unfamiliar ways.

"Chekhov," Kirk began, "Is there any information about debris in that wave. Anything that might have come from any of the planets in the Carillon system?"

"Nothing conclusive, sir," Chekhov said, regret coloring his accent, "It has been noted that the shockwave destroyed several insignificant space bodies. Whatever debris it contained is most likely from those," he paused and swallowed, "There is a 98.2% chance that any debris from a planet would be caught in its sun's gravitational field, thereby creating an asteroid field in permanent orbit. However, the force of disintegrating solid trilithium does not work like a normal explosion. It is more like …. " The Russian hesitated, looking for an analogy, "Like pouring water on a construction of wet duracrete. The duracrete would remain, but the original form of the structure would be unrecognizable."

Absently Kirk noted that Spock had Chekhov well trained. This was not an easy conversation, but the young ensign was handling it well.

McCoy on the other hand was muttering under his breath.

"Also, sir," Chekhov went on, "The wave itself is losing energy and should be completely gone in 2.5 hours. There are no other obstacles in its path."

In other words, Kirk thought with some relief, it wasn't going to destroy anything else.

He sat back, demonstrating that he had come to a decision. "All right gentlemen," he said, "No word of this to anyone. Don't even note it in your personal logs. Star Fleet doesn't know we know, and I'd rather keep it this way. Chekhov, keep monitoring that wave in any way you can without getting caught. Keep me informed."

"Aye, sir," Chekhov said, cuing down the screens and putting an encryption on the file.

As Kirk started out the door, he turned back briefly. "Oh and Chekhov?"

"Aye, sir?"

"Good work."

"Thank you sir," Chekhov answered.

"Each time your arms hold me is as joyous as the first."

Miramanee/The Paradise Syndrome

Chapter 5

Coming up from engineering and stepping onto the bridge, her eyes immediately sought him, rested on him adoringly for a moment. She knew he was aware of her, even though he didn't look up or change position.

Spock was once again intent on Soren's files, trying to find something with an encrypted message that might tell them where he had gone. The bridge lights cast a soft glow over his olive-gold skin, highlighted the sharp angles of his aquiline features, and made his dark hair shine like deep space. He was alert, but had lost the tension that seemed to have been with them since lifting off from Earth in the shuttlecraft. The energy she felt from him was usually peaceful, composed, ordered. Until a few hours ago, Daphne had sensed that he was unsettled, even when he did not appear to be. Serenity softened him now, composure once again sat lightly on him.

He really is beautiful, Daphne thought, and amazing, miraculous…

And he could set a stone on fire. Her body shivered involuntarily with the memory.

At this point he looked up at her; and the air between them shivered too.

"The shields are functioning at maximum once again," she reported, "The repaired seal on the hull is holding at 100%. I shut down life support in the unused areas of the ship to conserve power. If we need to divert it to other systems, it will be instantly available."

Spock nodded. "Warp drive?" he asked.

"All systems are functioning normally," she responded, "Including the warp drive and weapons systems. I also double checked the inventory to make sure it matched what is actually on board. I sent it to you at that console."

She crossed the short space between them, came up behind him and crossed her arms around his neck, letting her hands fall lightly on his chest. Wordless, he placed a hand over hers.

"Amazing, am I?" the words seemed to glide on his resonant voice.

She laughed softly, bent to kiss the top of his head, and then trailed feathery kisses downward, over the exquisite point of his ear, the tender skin below his earlobe.

"You were not exactly shielding your thoughts just then, k'diwa," he told her.

"The cause was sufficient," she quoted Surak, "and in the cause of truth, you ARE amazing…And wondrous," she murmured, between kisses, "and astonishing, and ….." he could feel her lips smile as she kissed him, "exhausting."

He turned his head so their lips could meet and part, slowly; then he took her hand and pulled her around to indulge in the utter luxury of having her sit in his lap on the bridge of a ship. Decadence, sheer decadence, an indulgence that would impossible on the bridge of any other ship; and one he had never thought he might indulge in at all. He kissed her again, devotion spilling across their mind link.

"How do you feel?" he asked, needlessly.

"Whole," she replied, and then ran out of words. But she felt Spock acknowledging the sensation with her and knew no further words were needed.

She kissed his forehead, beside the fading jagged green wound, lingered there for a moment as if she hoped her kiss alone could finish the healing; then she moved to his eyelids, then the space where his elegantly slanted brows almost met. He pressed his forehead against hers, eyes closed.

"If we continue like this," Spock's throaty whisper told her, "I shall have you on the floor soon."

The corners of her mouth twitched in a smile, mischievous, perhaps even a little hopeful. But he had spoken with both desire and regret, and once again no words were needed in a bond that was shared so closely. She knew they had much to do and the Wolverine was racing towards Carillon at warp 6. With a reluctant sigh she slipped from his lap and into the second science station chair. He watched her like an eagle, hungry but willing to wait.

"What do you want me to look for in the files?" she asked.

"As before, anything that looks like an encoded message, anything out of place," he replied, leaning forward to his own console and calling up another file.

She was quiet for a moment, and then spoke without looking up. "You've never done that before."

His brows slanted together in a frown. "If memory serves there was that time after the incident at Tau Ceti, on our way to Space Station 11 that we barely made it inside the door of your cabin before we were on the floor."

She laughed. "No. I meant this time, just now…. You've never done a full mind meld with me during an intimate moment, not like that."

Spock nodded, his eyes resolutely on his screen. "A mind meld with someone who is not Vulcan, or a telepath, not trained in the technique, requires a great deal of control to achieve. When I am with you, my control is …..uncertain."

After a moment of quiet contemplation she said, "Your control was not uncertain."

His space-dark eyes met hers of burnished golden brown across the small distance between them, both still smoky from the fire of their recent passion.

She was going to continue speaking when something in a file seized her attention. "Spock, there is something here."

"Send it to me," he said.

She complied and then went once more to stand behind him. This time she was all-business, hardly daring to breathe much less touch him.

"What is this?" she asked, pointing to an odd phrase, which seemed out of place in the long dissertation on spatial relationships. "That's not a Vulcan word I've ever seen. I'm not even sure it is a Vulcan word."

Spock was alert now, poised again for action as his hands flew over the console.

"It's my clan name," he said, absently, "My last name, human cultures would consider it."

"How in the name of gods do you pronounce that?" She wondered aloud, still staring at the baffling combination of letters and symbols. "Spock, that can't possibly be something that can be said aloud. I grew up on Vulcan. I've spoken the language all my life and I wouldn't know where to begin."

"I will try to teach you when we are done with this mess," he promised. He glanced at her, "My mother has barely mastered it."

"Your mother is the one who gave you a name that is an entire sentence, S'chn t'gai Spahk," she reminded him,"and then shortened it and changed the spelling to a distinctly 'earth' manner."

He paused watching the computer screen suddenly come alive with information, like an excited child wanting to tell a parent what it had found. He glanced at her, "Our language has always been easier for the Terrans if we adjust it for them. Thus, Vuhlkansu and Ti'Vulka'ain, become known to Terrans as Vulcan. It is fortunate we are on this ship. I am not sure a Federation vessel would have the capabilities to see this file at all and would have dismissed the word as gibberish."

She only nodded, not bothering to point out that to a non-Vulcan it was gibberish. She concentrated on trying to make sense of the heavily encoded Vulcan characters being spewed rapidly across the screen.

"Oh my gods, Spock," she whispered, sounding as if her breath had frozen in her lungs.

Spock closed his eyes, swallowed. Soren's heavily encrypted message, which seemed to be aimed straight at Spock, as if he had known it would be his cousin who found and read the message, told of his fellow scientists hatching a mad plan to sell the technology they had developed to the Klingon Empire. They had gone to Carillon to finish the work because of its proximity to Klingon Space and were going to alert them as soon as they had a successful trilithium crystal existing outside of the flux environment. Soren explained he was going with them only because he could not risk the number of lives involved if Marqkeith or Bray tried to create his containment field on their own and failed. His message ended by warning that there was a chance the Romulans had gotten word of the deal and that under no circumstances was the Enterprise to attempt to follow them. Marqkeith and Bray believed they could get more for the technology if they demonstrated that a solid trilithium crystal could be installed in a starship warp drive. The message began to explain something about another 'accident' but ended abruptly, in mid-sentence, if he had been interrupted.

Spock stood sharply and walked to the command chair. Gripping the back of it, he supported himself on it, eyes closed.

Daphne sat in numb shock that anyone could even consider betraying the Federation in such a manner. Her hands were ice cold and she was trembling. Waves of fury washed along the mind link, solid now, unable to block the deep sense of outrage, rolling back and forth between them with more force and fire than either could control. How could anyone conceive of the idea that the Klingons would use something like this only for warp drive technology? With such a weapon at their disposal, the Klingons would slowly destroy the Federation, one star system at a time.

The bridge was stone silent, the atmosphere charged and brittle. Daphne sat without moving, trying to breathe. Spock held onto the command chair until he had dug permanent finger marks into it. He won the fight for control. Daphne could feel his ire dissipating but several long moments passed before either could speak.

"Enterprise," she whispered.

He turned to look at her, eyes locked with hers as if to draw her thoughts with more clarity than their tangled emotions would currently allow.

"He didn't just say any starship. He specified Enterprise. That Enterprise should not attempt to find them, according to him, not just a warning to keep the entire fleet away. Just Enterprise. Why? Could he be trying to protect you?"

Even as she said it, she knew it was wrong. A Vulcan would simply say that Spock was not to come to Carillon, if that was the concern. Soren had only singled out Enterprise.

Spock was shaking his head. When he spoke his usually fluid voice sounded harsh.

"No. There is some reason he does not want Enterprise there, but was unable to finish explaining."

Daphne was still staring at the floor, at nothing, her mind working frantically with this new information.

"How could they possibly think that they can overpower a Constitution class starship?" she said, slowly, "Jim isn't just going to hand over the Enterprise to them, not without some extreme form of coercion."

"It would have to be sabotaged in some manner," Spock observed. Something in his voice made her look at him again, reluctantly, fearful of whatever new horror he was about to reveal. The words were ground out between his teeth. "My cousin was recently on board the Enterprise."

If he had dropped the floor out from under her, she could not have been more stunned.

"No," she said, "NO. Spock." She paused to inhale again, feeling lightheaded, "I refuse to believe that a Vulcan, much less one that is a member of your clan, would sabotage a Federation starship."

Spock seemed to have already processed the possibility and somehow moved on.

"It would have to be something that would incapacitate 400 crewmen, and for a considerable amount of time," he was talking as if to himself, "but leave the ship in tact. Even if the Klingons are interested in gaining this technology they won't be willing to risk any of their ships in the experiment."

"There are any number of poisonous gases, biological hazards, that would do such a thing," she said, "But the fast acting ones can be deadly, and have lasting side effects. I still refuse to believe your cousin would do something like that. Going along with some mad scheme to give the Klingons a tactical advantage over the Federation, in the interest of saving lives, perhaps. Deliberately endangering over 400 people? No, I still can't believe he would do that."

"Daphne, when all the information is assembled and analyzed, whatever you are left with, no matter how distasteful or illogical, must be the truth."

"This passed 'distasteful' a long time ago," Daphne told him,"And it is beyond illogical. It is unfathomable."

The weight of the situation lay heavy in the room.

"Do we risk contacting Star Fleet? We can't be the only ones who made note of that trilithium wave. By now Star Fleet has been apprised of it as well. They must have dispatched a ship."

"If they did, it is well behind us and we should have the situation in hand by the time it arrives. I would still prefer to maintain silence. Star Fleet may not be the only ones listening for a subspace message," Spock spoke with calm assurance. Daphne did not ask him exactly how they were supposed to get the situation in hand before the arrival of a starship. "Also," Spock continued, "The Enterprise is confined to space dock at the moment. My cousin may also have faked a transmission from the ship to ensure that she would be detained indefinitely."

"So whatever ship is on its way to Carillon, it isn't Enterprise," Daphne breathed.

Spock raised one eyebrow slowly, "Unless of course your brother has performed some miracle and gotten her cleared."

Daphne felt a sick sensation in the pit of her stomach, swallowed hard against it. They both knew, short of stealing it, Jim would be doing everything in his power to get Enterprise free.

"Oh my god, Spock, "she whispered, horrified anew, "What if he did?"

"I object to intellect without discipline. I object to power without constructive purpose."

Spock/The Squire of Gothos

Chapter Six

Daphne could not remember ever being in so horrid a place in her entire life. Their search for Soren and his missing team had brought them to a deserted science outpost on Bregon, a small moon that orbited the outlying planet of Hepsilon, in the Carillon system. Its only positive aspect was its distance from the inhabited planets in this system. She had been very relieved to find those planets still peacefully occupied, spinning in their orbits as the Universe intended.

But both Daphne and Spock knew that distance would be no factor at all in a true uncontrolled trilithium degeneration.

They crept slowly through the falling dusk, phasers drawn, through a section of abandoned buildings that dripped with mold and rusty water. Gripping her phaser tightly, staying as close to Spock as she could, Daphne examined her surroundings. She expected almost anything, eyes and ears sharpened to every small noise in the echoing in the dark places, every sight in the gloom and moving shadows. She was surrounded by debris overgrown with moss and rust and climbing tendrils of thick vines. Fluorescent fungi clung to the foundations of massive structures, spreading eerie light in erratic patterns. She heard small feet scurry out of the way ahead of them. The smell of mold and rot lay over everything.

It was an area that even the heathen and the misbegotten had abandoned.

Following Spock was made difficult by the slippery puddles and the cracked pavement beneath her feet. They kept to the shadows in the alleys, making their way between crumbling, lightless structures. Trickles of oily fluid flowed down the walls and the shiny carapace of palm-sized beetles caught the light, scurrying away from them into the shadows. From the gutted remains of some forgotten vehicle, a nest of furry creatures stared at them with glowing eyes as they passed.

Though the area appeared to be inhabited only by vermin and decay, there were sentient beings here too. Daphne could feel them, sense their edgy emotions, aggression and violence simmering on the edge of something even more sinister. Spock's tricorder registered them as four Klingons, two humans and a Vulcan. Daphne's empathic gift registered them as something dangerous. Only the Vulcan registered as simple determination and resignation.

Spock's tricorder readings led them into a passageway that eventually led to a system of tunnels. The tunnels led further underground, angled slightly downward and the footing was treacherous. The smell of stagnant water was choking. The tunnel was cluttered with broken machinery, scrap metal and other equipment that had been hauled in there, stripped for parts and left to decay. Water oozed down the cracked duracrete walls and the sound of dripping water echoed loudly.

Startled by their passing, a huge centipede ran through the puddles and slithered into a crack in the wall, carrying the body of some hapless rodent. Daphne forged on in silence, comforted by the now constant psychic presence of Spock supporting her, swallowing her claustrophobia and general dislike of large multi-legged insects.

Spock stopped moving and crouched behind the remains of a dented computer console, under what remained of a long breezeway with a high ceiling, sliding over so Daphne could join him.

// Two of them. Klingons, // Spock said to her over their mind link, a tactical advantage now instead of a simple bonding between husband and wife. A slight nod of his head indicated hulking movement in the shadows ahead.

Also ahead they could see faint lights coming through windows. Those buildings had most likely been set up as their lab, probably in a hurry, most likely with only passing regard for safety measures. There has already been at least one accident.

The weight of what they needed to do hung in the air like a cloud. Spock carried that weight with perfected Vulcan assurance.

Light oozed through cracks in a battered set of double doors hanging resolutely on their hinges, warped by desertion and the elements.

// Phasers? // she asked him.

// The noise will alert the others. // Spock answered, // and Klingons do not stay stunned for long. //

She nodded. Her knowledge of basic biology among the species that inhabited known space told her that was one reason the Klingon disrupter had a "heavy stun" setting.

// Hand to hand, could you deal with one of them? // he asked. // A neck pinch would keep them down longer, but I can only do one at a time. //

// I'll do what I have to, // she answered, with grim determination. With atmosphere and gravity close to Earth-normal, Spock would have an advantage of strength and agility over the Klingon. But each one of those Klingons outweighed Daphne by at least 150 lbs and towered over her, fully armed and ready to kill.

But as she was readying herself to join Spock in physical combat, a movement on the ceiling above them made her look up. Her breath caught.

Bats, or at least something that closely resembled a bat. An entire colony, making the ceiling writhe and shiver with movement as the descending dark of night woke them.

// Spock? // she said, pointing up, letting him look and take in the sight, // A diversion? //

Thoughts flowed between them in images too fast to give words. Spock nodded to signal her, they each grabbed an abandoned piece of metal, stood quietly ….

And waved a colony of bats into a frenzy. Ducking out of their cover, crouched below the frantic swarm and hugging shadows they made their way towards the shouting Klingons.

Daphne had a fleeting thought that is was hilarious to see 2 enormous Klingon guards in full battle dress, reduced to screaming and slapping by a swarm of creatures smaller than her hand. At the moment her only concentration was on the guard Spock had assigned her, getting to him and bringing the full force of her strength to bear on his cranium, at the tricipital lobe – the only weak spot Klingon biology had – and on not getting tangled up herself with a bevy of angry bats.

Then she was leaping on nearly 7 ft of enraged Klingon. She heard the surprised rush of air leaving him just as she brought both hands and her phaser down on her targeted spot. The Klingon went down like a wounded buffalo and she hit him again.

Standing, looking frantically for Spock, she found him standing over the other fallen guard. Together they dragged both unconscious guards into a building across the street and disarmed them. Rummaging through the ruins they found some cable and bound them, well away from each other. For good measure, Spock pushed a huge, heavy appliance up against the door on the outside.

Quietly, phasers drawn, they went through the creaking double doors and began creeping down the hallway against the walls.

Only then did she sense the presence at the end of the hall, standing in shadows. They froze as the figure stepped out into the dim light and stared into the barrel of a Klingon disrupter.

But it was not a Klingon who confronted them. It was a Vulcan.

"Spock, "Soren's voice was lightly rimmed with admiration and with despair. "Why did you have to come?"

Daphne stared, caught between the familiar image of a Vulcan and the jarring image of that same Vulcan holding a weapon that was pointed at her.

Soren, in spite of the phaser, faced them with classic Vulcan dignity. A slash of gold fabric encrusted with small glints of semiprecious stones in cool shades of green rode from his shoulder to his hip. The elegantly upswept ears made him seem even more alert and jet black canted eyes, striking under slanted brows held a cool composure that belied the turbulence Daphne sensed within. His hair was worn in soft ebony strands that fell nearly to his shoulders, barely brushing the magnificently sculpted russet colored tunic.

"Soren," Spock rumbled, "I believe you have a weapon pointed at my wife."

"Had I revealed your presence to the others, they would have sent the Klingons," Soren replied, "And both you and your wife would either be dead or writhing on the floor as the stunning setting over took you." He paused, "You did an admirable job of shielding yourself from me, cousin. The family bond is too strong however. The psychic connection between all Vulcans cannot be defeated so easily, not even by a Vulcan who has trained as much as you have."

"You can lower the weapon," Spock told him, "We will do whatever you ask."

"Oh I have no doubt you will do as I ask," Soren said, "The Klingon disrupter's stun setting can be agonizing to a Vulcan, quite unbearable to a human. I know you will want to spare your wife that pain."

He gestured to a hall leading off to their left. "That way please," he said.

In stony silence, Spock and Daphne turned down the hall and were unceremoniously herded into a brightly lit room where the science team and Klingons were waiting.

Their arrival caused a ripple of shocked reactions, including two Klingons who immediately had more weapons drawn and pointed at them.

"Put those away!" Soren snapped, "These are my kin. I'll deal with them."

One of the scientists, a whip-thin little man with unruly brown hair and narrow eyes, whom Daphne recognized as Arthur Bray, gestured at the Klingons, "Go find out what happened to the guards. We'll handle this."

The Klingons glowered but stalked out, the ground shaking as they went. Soren held the disrupter rifle on Spock and Daphne and disarmed them with one hand. He tossed the confiscated arms and communicators onto a table with a loud clatter.

The other man, a Deltan with a shock of thick white hair and skin the color of cocoa, Dev Marqkeith, speared Soren with a look. "The starship has come?"

"No, they must have arrived in something smaller, something we could not detect. Even Spock cannot sneak a starship into a star system without being seen," Soren replied. He paused, sighed heavily, "But it will come, especially now that we have them."

Daphne ground her teeth together, saw Spock's eyebrow rise nearly to his hair line. The implication was clear. James Kirk would not let his officers be held in a volatile situation, he would not abandon his sister and his brother-in-law. He would come now, even if he had to steal the Enterprise to do it.

"Put them in there," Bray growled, pointing to a door that appeared to have once been the opening to a sizable refrigeration unit.

Soren herded them inside. They found a square room of gleaming metal, rusted shelves hanging askew, and nothing else.

"You will remain here," he told them, "I'd advice you strongly against trying to escape. There is several rather sophisticated security systems that you managed to avoid on the way in. I cannot promise you would avoid them on the way out. We must hold you, of course," his voice appeared to soften, "but I have no wish to see you injured."

Before he closed the door, Spock said, "Soren. Why?"

Soren lowered his eyes, seemed to contemplate his answer and Daphne thought he had the grace to look uncomfortable.

"I was needed," he replied.

Spock's voice cut like a scalpel. "Needed to betray the Federation and give the Klingons the means by which to destroy us?"

Even through his Vulcan shields, Daphne felt Soren flinch. "You know what our experiments entail. I and I alone know the nuances of the containment system and its back up systems," he paused, his eyes locked with Spock's, pleading for understanding. "They had already stolen the entire experiment and set it up here. The space station designed for us by Star Fleet was empty when I arrived. There was only a Klingon waiting there to bring me to Carillon. Had I not come with them there could have been an accident that would have endangered millions of lives in this system." Reluctantly, he added, "There was already a minor slip, but I managed to deflect the result into deep space."

"A slip?" Daphne spoke for the first time. Compared to the Vulcans, Daphne was fairly seething.

"Only my wife's piloting skills prevented us from being caught in the shockwave from that slip, cousin," Spock told him.

Soren stared at them. His face went pale, lime green as if he would be ill. He struggled against it. Then he straightened again, resolve returning.

"The experiment is too delicate for me to ignore, Spock. Surely you know this," though his tone betrayed nothing, Daphne could feel how much Soren wanted Spock to understand.

S

pock answered him only with silence, raven eyes narrowed like a predator's.

"There was something else," the older Vulcan's voice had dropped to barely audible; "The Klingons who were waiting for me told me that if I did not come, there would be another accident, like the one on the Endeavor."

Spock and Daphne exchanged startled looks, at least Daphne looked startled.

"What accident?" Spock sounded almost lethal.

Soren took a moment to compose himself, straightened his shoulders. "The Endeavor suffered a breach of her antimatter containment field."

Daphne sagged against Spock, horror once again slicing through her shields like a cold fine blade. Spock could no longer speak. All he could do was draw in air slowly and deliberately.

S

ilence hung heavily between them.

"Just stay here, Spock," Soren said finally, "I could find a way to face the clan again after this, if I have to. If I allow harm to come to you, I will never be able to explain it."

The door closed then, with a thud first and then a click that sounded quite final. A small overhead light flickered uncertainly, promising they might soon be left in darkness.

Daphne felt her claustrophobia clawing its way up from the pit of her stomach and fought it down.

"What do we do?" she asked him.

"You won't like my answer," he replied. She watched him, drawing calm strength from him. "We wait," he said softly. "We wait because, whether we like it or not, Jim Kirk is on his way."

Daphne was like her mother in many ways, but when it came to temperament and an inability to remain motionless, she was a Kirk. She had chafed under the constraints of his plan, which she considered no plan at all. She prowled the room like the lioness she resembled, looking for anything that could be a way out until she had finally sat down beside him in a frustrated heap.

"How can you not do something," she demanded.

"I am doing something, k'diwa," he replied. "I am waiting."

"That isn't what I meant," she groused.

"I know it is not. But I can wait because I already know what Jim Kirk would do in this situation and you are still trying to figure it out. You maybe related to him biologically but I have known him much longer."

She looked up at him in the dim and flickering light. "You know what he would do to get out of here?" she sounded doubtful.

Spock reached for her, pulled her into the shelter of his arms and she rested her head in the hollow below his shoulder. His soothing voice murmured in her ear, "I know exactly what he would do, if the situation was reversed."

"What?"

"He would sit, "Spock said, with tranquil certainty, "and wait for me."

His assurance as much a factor as the sheer truth he had just expressed, Daphne finally acquiesced to the situation and tried to relax. Hours passed in which Spock meditated and she finally dozed off with her head in his lap, still curled into an awkward ball on the cold hard floor.

She woke with a splitting headache. Stiff, cramped, getting cold and no doubt picking up the discomfort of the extreme cold Spock must be feeling, her head simply felt like it had been replaced with a boulder.

She sat up, winced, moaned, and dropped back into his lap helpless against the pain.

"Daphne, sit up," Spock told her, instantly feeling her pain.

"I can't," she groaned.

"Yes you can," he said, assisting her. Even in the light from the still flickering bulb, Daphne had to keep her eyes closed. He knelt behind her, put his palms on either side of her head, lightly and said, "Breathe with me, just as I do."

In spite of her throbbing head she tried, and finally succeeded in matching him. Just as she was falling into the rhythm of his deep even breaths, Spock pressed into the base of her skull with both thumbs.

Sweet, blessed deliverance flooded over her. The pain dissolved like a rain cloud before the sun. A cry of relief left her in a gasp, left her sagging back against him to seek an anchor against the lightness that overcame her.

"Oh my gods, Spock," she inhaled, "That was a neuropressure technique! That's what neuropressure feels like? Gods, that was better than sex."

Spock frowned, trying to make the same mental leap as his wife, searching for some logic to what she had just said.

"Are you being serious?" he asked, finally, "You know the nuances of humor often elude me."

She laughed for what seemed like the first time in decades, turned to stroke his face. "Only partially……"

She stopped when he suddenly became alert, turning to look at the door and holding a hand up to silence her. He stood in one lithe movement and went to the door, Vulcan hearing concentrated on what was happening beyond the thick metal barrier. Daphne remained still, hardly daring to breathe and disturb him.

He looked back at her. Something in his expression brought her to her feet in anticipation.

"Jim is here," he said.

*^*^*^*^^*^*^*^^"

"I suppose most of us overlook the fact that even Vulcans aren't indestructible."

Kirk/Amok Time

Chapter Seven

Seconds later the door was pulled open with a jerk and Jim Kirk was roughly shoved inside by an angry looking Klingon. Behind him came the science team. Behind them were three more equally angry looking Klingons, one of whom glared at Spock and Daphne with particular intensity.

"Jim!" Daphne cried, rushing to him and stopping his forward momentum. "What are you doing here?" She couldn't quite keep the dismay out of her voice.

Jim caught his balance, straightened and smiled at her sardonically. "I might ask you the same thing," he said, "Don't you recognize a rescue when you see one?"

"Next time bring the cavalry you mentioned on Capella," she said, still clinging to him.

Jim winced. "The cavalry is unconscious," he said, grimly. "I barely got to the transporter room and down here as it was. They are holding Scotty and McCoy."

"What?" Daphne asked the one question she didn't really want an answer to.

"The whole ship, except for Scott and McCoy, was knocked out by a gas McCoy tells me can be deadly," Jim ground the words out between his teeth, cold fury.

"How?" Spock demanded.

Jim opened his mouth to answer but Dr Bray shouted him to silence. "Enough!" The nervous little man had a wild-eyed look. His mouth was set in a determined line though his hand trembled around the disruptor he had aimed at them.

Spock moved cautiously around to flank Daphne, so that she stood between him and Jim. He never took his eyes from Bray, the way one would keep watching a rabid dog. Waves of unsettled emotion flowed from him and Daphne felt them as the sea feels an oncoming storm.

Beside Bray, in sharp contrast, stood Soren. The tall Vulcan appeared glacially calm, only Daphne could sense the doubt, the internal struggle warring within Soren. The Deltan scientist simply shifted his weight from foot to foot in abject misery, tense, ready to flee.

Bray tossed a communicator at Jim and it landed at his feet with a clatter.

"Contact your ship. Tell the engineer we are coming aboard. He is to give us his full cooperation or we'll be telling the Klingons what to do with the three of you."

Jim stared him down, jaw set and eyes hard. "No," he said, simply.

Bray opened fire on them. Abruptly Spock pushed Daphne so that she was thrown into Jim and they both staggered sideways, leaving Spock to take the full brunt of the disruptor fire. Distantly Daphne heard someone screaming and only later realized it was her. The cold jet of energy hit Spock, sending him catapulting backwards into a wall full of metal shelving. Convulsions wracking his body, Spock hit with the force of an asteroid impact. Jim plunged forward and caught him, just before Spock would have hit the floor, easing him down, trying to hold him against the violent seizures.

Spock was now a tangled, twisted, groaning testimony to Bray's willingness to use violence to get what he wanted.

Daphne dropped to her knees and Jim carefully laid Spock's head in her lap. Fighting her own terror and his agony as it blazed across her bond with her husband, Daphne struggled to remain upright and hold him tight. In mute despair she looked at her brother, begging him for an answer.

Soren came to her side, knelt down and it was all she could not to scratch the serenity from his Vulcan features.

"You did this," she spat at him.

The communicator slid across the floor and landed by Jim's knee. He looked up and saw Bray still training the disruptor on Spock and now, by virtue of proximity, Daphne.

"Contact your engineer." The words were icy cold, lethal.

Reluctantly, Jim stood, stepped away from Spock and Daphne and signaled the Enterprise.

Spock was shutting down. His Vulcan biology demanded a sleeping trance after such an assault. There was nothing Daphne could do but let him. She was gazing down into the pain-filled face of the man she loved when an odd touch made her look up at Soren. He was stealthily slipping a communicator into the side pocket on her jumpsuit. Without warning his fingers landed on the side of her face and a single thought came to her across the briefest of mind melds.

// Get out of here. //

Then Soren was gone, standing in a single smooth rush, returning to stand by his colleagues.

Jim finished talking to Scotty and had the communicator abruptly wrenched out of his hand by Bray. With a single order to the Klingons to post a guard on the door, they all marched back out and the door slammed.

Jim returned to them. "How is he?" he didn't try to keep the fear out of his voice.

"He's going into a coma, self-induced," Daphne answered, but she was listening to the sounds on the other side of the door, straining her ears and wishing for Vulcan hearing.

"What can we…?" Jim stopped, stared at her as she pulled the communicator from her pocket. "Where did you get THAT?"

"Soren, just now. Hush." She held the device against her body to stifle the small chirping noises it made as she keyed in the sequence that would contact the Mor-gril and transport them to safety.

Jim was still staring as the familiar whine of a transporter beam came and dissolved them in to safety.

"Where are we?" Jim asked, glancing around at the unfamiliar setting. He and Daphne leveraged Spock upright so Jim could lift him over his shoulders.

"The Wolverine. It's a prototype Vulcan science vessel. You'll like her, she has 'teeth'. Help me get him to sickbay."

"Why would a science vessel need 'teeth'," Jim asked, trying not to stagger under Spock's considerable mass.

"It's meant for long term, long range exploration," Daphne explained, "The Vulcans may be peaceful but they aren't stupid about what's out there."

Slowly they eased Spock onto a bed. Jim anxiously looked at the readings, but they meant nothing to him. The fact that the little arrows were barely registering anything did not look good, however.

"Can you help him? Shouldn't he be coming out of that now?"

Daphne ignored him, double checking readings. Finally she said, "I'm an archaeologist, not a doctor. I only know about his particular anatomy because I am motivated to. You can raise our shields from there," She waved a hand towards an array of computers along the port wall. "That's an auxiliary control console. You can access anything from there."

"Why does sickbay have an auxiliary control?" Jim asked, running a hand over the sleek instrument panel with something like admiration.

"The ship is designed to be manned by two people. There are control consoles all over the ship," she answered him absently, laying aside the medical tricorder and simply resting her hand on Spock's. She stopped and looked at him. "Can you make it out? The labeling is in Vulcan."

"Enough to get by," Jim said, very lightly. Then, more soberly, "Can you wake him up?"

She stared at him in horror. "I have no idea what that disrupter did to his central nervous system, much less the impact with all that metal shelving. McCoy might be able to tell you but he isn't here. I can only tell you that it was bad enough to drive him into a healing trance," a thread of panic wound through her voice, "You can't ask me to bring him out of that. It might cause more harm than the disrupter."

"How long will it last?" Jim demanded.

Daphne gave him a helpless shake of her head. "Minutes. Hours. Days. I have no way of knowing."

"Daphne," Jim looked grim with the weight of command decision, "Right now there are three mad scientists aboard the Enterprise, installing a crystal into her warp drive that may be unstable. After that they are going to take her to warp. Provided she doesn't explode and take this solar system with her, we will most likely never see her again as she sails off into Klingon Space. We have to stop them."

He moved around to Spock's other side and faced her across the prone body of their fallen companion. "We can't do that without Spock. You know it and I know it."

"Jim, he's a trauma patient at this point!" Daphne pleaded. "You don't force a trauma patient to wake up! I'm not even sure I can. Everything on this ship is designed for Vulcans. Every medication in every hypo is for Vulcans."

Jim gave her a frustrated and blank look. "I don't understand," he said, "Spock is Vulcan."

"And human," Daphne reminded him, "Nearly everything needs to be custom mixed for him. Most medications make him violently ill. I've never given him a stimulant. I've never even talked to him about what he could be given."

"Daphne," he said, quietly, "The last time Spock was injured and fell into one of these trances it took seventeen people from the science division two hours to finally give me an answer he could have given me in minutes."

She hated what he was asking, hated him more for asking instead of ordering her to do it. Somehow that made it worse; made it different, as if she was now helping him possibly cause permanent damage to the man she loved.

She hated that he was right and that Spock would be .. displeased… with her if she did not wake him. But if she did wake him it could cause permanent damage along his spinal column, light-years away from any surgeon who would know what to do about that.

But ultimately, without him, the Klingon Empire could potentially warp away with a Federation starship and all her secrets, as well as a potential super weapon; or the Enterprise would be lost in a warp explosion that would take billions of Federation lives with it; and ultimately both she and Spock had sworn an oath to protect the Federation.

Her brother continued to look at her closely. The truth – the logic of what he was asking – charged the air between them. Bending to the will of Jim's plea, feeling helpless and terrified, she filled a hypo with a Vulcan stimulate and applied it to his arm.

Consciousness seeped back slowly, contorting his features as his body resisted being pulled from its instinctive trance. He spoke before he could open his eyes, taking two deep breaths that held the syllables of his wife's name.

"Daph….ne!"

"I'm here," she whispered.

He struggled to lever himself up on one elbow, blinking to restore his sight, reached for her. Threading long fingers through her disheveled hair he pulled her towards him, held her close, and pressed the side of his head against hers. He closed his eyes again, perhaps to block the light, perhaps to block anything that would distract him from the feeling of having her against him, warm and solid.

Perhaps he just needed something to help pull him the rest of the way from the self-induced coma his body was demanding. She felt him drawing strength from her, felt the rush of relief that she was alive.

Daphne's voice broke in a small choked sob and she threw her arms around him, face contorted in a mixture of fear and relief. She hid her distress by burying her face against his neck.

"I thought I lost you," she had a catch in her voice that dried Jim's throat with its poignancy.

Then they kissed and Jim could not have been more shocked if they had sprouted wings and flown around the room. Something hot and bright flared between them; as if their feelings for each other would scorch the room, fuse them to each other.

If Jim ever had any doubts that they loved each other, those doubt shriveled in the presence of that one searing kiss.

They broke off, gasping for air, just as Jim was beginning to feel remarkably uncomfortable.

"How did we get back here?" Spock still sounded weak, but Jim thought after that kiss who would blame him.

Daphne ignored the question. She put her hands on either side of his face and looked at him closely, "How do you feel? Are you going to be sick?" which Jim thought had to be the oddest question he had ever heard anyone ask after such an ardent kiss.

Spock took a moment to consider that. "Not right away," he said, finally. "What did you give me?"

She showed him the hypo. "But not all of it."

He nodded. "I should be able to handle that."

"Do you want something for the pain?" she asked anxiously.

He shook his head, slowly, resigned to the limitations of his hybrid anatomy,

"Then I will be sick," he turned, again very slowly, and regarded his captain, "Jim?"

"I'm fine, Spock," Jim said, "How we got here is thanks to your cousin."

Spock's eyebrows lifted in the manner that indicated he had just heard something 'fascinating.'

"I'll explain later, "Jim promised, "Can you stand? We need to get to the bridge."

"It is gratifying to see you alive, Captain, "Spock said. The self-assured placidness of his Vulcan training settled on him again, in spite of just surviving a Klingon disrupter blast, a potentially nausea-inducing stimulant, and a soul-searing kiss.

Jim snorted. "It's gratifying to see you doing anything," he observed, then demanded sternly. "What were you thinking? Jumping in front of that disrupter beam?"

Spock looked puzzled, his eyebrows knitted. "I was doing my duty as a Star Fleet Officer to protect my Captain and a fellow officer; and as a Vulcan to protect my wife. There was no other logical course of action." He hesitated a moment. "It was also not my intention to 'jump in front of' anything. My intention was to remove the two of you from danger. Only my own clumsiness prevented me from getting out of the way myself."

Jim glared at him, doubting that Spock had ever done a clumsy thing in his entire life. He said, gruffly, "Well if you do it again I'll have you demoted" which made

Spock arched a skeptical eyebrow.

Jim sighed, feeling the weight of command again. "Can you stand? I need you on the bridge, "he repeated; then paused, "wherever that is."

Daphne was scanning him again and frowning. "You still have 25.8 % of your central nervous system compromised. You took the force of that blast almost to the dead center of your lower back and then hit a wall. I know you have all those redundancies and built in self-healing, but….."

"I can function," Spock interupted her. They locked eyes again. Spock brought his hand up to cradle the side of her face again, not in a true mind meld position, but Jim sensed he was enhancing whatever he was trying to communicate to her.

Spock's expression remained poised, fixed in unrelenting control, in direct contrast to the near panic and disquiet on hers. He held her gaze intently, exhibiting an extreme stoicism that was now incomprehensible to Kirk, having seen the passion that existed between them, the one that simmered just below the surface. How strong was the Vulcan Discipline that kept such emotion under control?

He waited, driving down his own impatience. The thought of Enterprise in enemy hands clawed at his very being. Spock and Daphne were his best asset at the moment however. Whatever they were doing to be the team that he needed, he had to grant them that time.

As long as they hurried up and got it over with.

After what seemed like an eternity to the captain, Spock swung his legs over the side of the bed and prepared to stand.

They both hovered over him as he got to his feet, supported him until he was steady.

Jim was sufficiently impressed by the state of the art Vulcan bridge that he actually paused a moment to take it in. It was small, but efficient in a way that he knew was entirely logical.

Daphne stayed by Spock's side until he was seated again, at the science station and then she took the helm.

"Restoring full power, Commander," she said, falling into 'bridge' mode, "Engines coming back online."

The Wolverine had been anchored to a large asteroid by tractor beams. One of her functions was the study of asteroids in the far reaches of space and Spock had taken advantage of her considerable tractor power to keep her hidden.

She swiveled the chair around. "Orders?" She looked from Spock to Jim, waiting. It was technically Spock's ship, not even a Star Fleet vessel, but Jim was now the senior Star Fleet officer among them.

"Find Enterprise," Jim said, knowing it didn't matter who was in charge at that point. Spock would have given the identical order

"Aye, sir," Daphne replied, "Releasing tractor beams. Coming about."

"I have Enterprise," Spock said, his hands working to transfer the information from his screens "Lt, feeding coordinates to Enterprise into navigation."

"Aye, sir."

Jim walked to the center seat and let his crew work. Absently he noted the damage to the back of the chair, which oddly looked like a hand print, and wondered how it had gotten there.

Then the image of Enterprise, hanging like an ivory jewel in space, filled the view port and Jim lost all interest in anything else. His ship. His ship. She called to him. She knew he wasn't on the bridge, felt helpless without her crew, with strangers crawling about her insides.

"Spock," he said, with a brief glance over his shoulder.

"She is running with full shields but her warp drive is still offline," Spock answered the unasked question.

"They haven't finished whatever they want to do to her then," Jim said, more to himself.

"Captain!" Daphne snapped, "Two Klingon warbirds, coming in from port and starboard."

"On screen," Jim barked.

As they watched the two ships moved together, sitting between Wolverine and Enterprise as if protecting a prize, taking up space as if they owned it.

Kirk studied the ships, noted their similarities and differences.

"Their phaser banks are powering up," Daphne reported, she turned her chair around again to face her brother. "Captain, you're a much better pilot than I am, and this ship handles like a thoroughbred."

"Take the weapons," Kirk said, switching seats with her and quickly taking in the console. "Spock, tell me this thing has enough fire power to take out two warbirds."

"I'm afraid I cannot do that, Captain," Spock was very final about it. Phasers were not going to protect them from this and that would not change. "We can wound them, but not fatally, unless by extreme chance; and provided they do not destroy us first."

One Klingon ship moved with sudden decisiveness, flashing by them at attack angle and firing. Kirk simply spun Wolverine out of the way, dodging those flashes of red phaser fire easily. The ship leapt at his touch, responded to her helm and weapons commands with a breathtaking ferocity and Jim finally understood her name. She might not be able to take out the Klingon cruisers but that would not stop her from nipping angrily at their heels.

"Aft phasers!" he shouted needlessly to Daphne and she sent a burst of energy spitting at the Klingons.

"Direct hit, Captain, but little effect," Spock reported. "Their shields are holding."

"Commander," Daphne said urgently, drawing Spock's attention. "There are two escape pods on board."

Kirk looked at her in shock. He couldn't believe she would consider cutting and running.

But they had stopped talking, and Jim knew some form of telepathic communication was happening between them. Why they could suddenly do that without touching he didn't know, but he knew they were talking to each other in a way that he could not hear, and probably at a speed mere words could not match.

"It will work," Daphne said at last, still holding Spock's gaze steadily.

Spock stood, gingerly, and Daphne knew he was taking care not to twist or move too quickly. It set her on edge again. "Captain," Spock said, "we have a plan. With your permission?"

Jim nodded and Spock left the bridge. He wanted to ask more but he was too busy spinning Wolverine through space, avoiding Klingon fire. The lone Klingon ship was firing fast and furious now. Angry jets of annihilation burst around them. Kirk could only imagine they were being laughed at by the crew of the other ship as the sleek little Vulcan vessel simply eluded their attempts to destroy it. The idea of being used as target practice and a dare between two Klingon ships made Jim's temper flare.

He wanted to ask Daphne what Spock was doing but she was too busy returning fire and he was too busy flying by the seat of his pants. Spock returned to the bridge just as Daphne was shouting, "Escape pods launched!"

She and Spock watched the forward screen expectantly. Two small pinpoints of light appeared on the screen and the warbird broke off its attack. The other warbird moved finally, tracking the pods and moving in.

To their complete shock, the second warbird fired a warning burst of phaser fire across the bow of the other cruiser.

Kirk and Spock exchanged meaningful glances.

"One of those ships is Klinzhai," Jim mused, taking the chance to breathe while the Klingons concentrated on shooting at each other and trying to gain the pods. "One is unfamiliar to me."

"Kamorh'dag," Spock supplied. "The Emperor's race. One rarely sees them this far from the Homeworld."

Jim continued to hold the gaze of his First Officer. "The Empire is not as united as they would like us to believe," he mused quietly.

"So it would seem," Spock agreed.

"This is a good diversion, Spock but it isn't going to last long."

"It is far more than a diversion, Captain. Those pods are set to self destruct in sixty seconds, and they are each carrying detonators designed to blast samples from the hardest asteroid. It was Daphne's belief the Klingons would think we were trying to escape with the data for the trilithium experiment, or at least send the data itself back to Star Fleet as the Klingons are jamming our transmissions."

She spoke up quickly. "Loading them with explosives was Spock's idea."

Kirk stared at his First Officer. Then his eyes blazed with satisfaction, with the sense of triumphant that came from having a crew that could out maneuver an enemy in the face of overwhelming odds.

"Remind me recommend the two of you for some serious commendations for this," Jim murmured. They were all anxiously waiting; watching the Klinzhai ship reach the pods, begin pulling them in, tucking them under a wing and warning the Kamorh'dag ship off with a spatter of phaser fire. The Kamorh'dag ship kept closing anyway.

It seemed none of them dared to breathe.

And then the view screen lit up with a flash of blue-white light that made them shield their eyes.

"Shields!" Spock ordered as Wolverine rocked with the turbulence and Jim took evasive action.

"On full, sir!"

The flaring explosion doubled, then tripled, as a matter/antimatter explosion ripped the Klinzhai ship apart, leaving nothing but glowing scraps of material spinning through space. Kirk spun the Wolverine out of the way.

Spock checked his scanner. "One Klingon ship completely obliterated," he reported, "The other has damage to its port nacelle, shields down 80%, weapons off line and minor damage from debris fall out to other parts of the ship. It is backing away."

"Good, Spock, excellent," the Captain murmured.

Daphne interrupted their moment of triumph. "Captain, Enterprise is powering up! They must have finished installing the trilithium crystal."

"She's moving out of orbit, Captain," Spock reported, "on impulse power, heading of point four-five."

"Out of the system," Daphne whispered. "Towards the Neutral Zone."

Jim's teeth set on edge. "Spock," he drew out that single syllable in a way that told them their Captain's mind was racing, "How good are these mega-tractor beams of yours?"

Spock's eyebrow lifted. Once again he and Kirk simply looked at each other.

There was no telepathic bond between them, not even remotely like the one that existed between he and Daphne. But Spock knew what his Captain was thinking.

"To hold a mass greater than our thrust ability….." he began, slowly, thinking carefully. He was looking 'inward' now, calculating.

"You would need a planet to anchor against," Jim finished, starting to sound excited. "Hepsilon is a giant ….."

Daphne was shaking her head. "I hate when you two finish each other's sentences."

Jim spared her a glance. "You and Spock don't even use sentences any more," he reminded her.

But Daphne had finally caught up with the two men. "You want to hold a Constitution class starship against her own warp drive?" she was incredulous; her eyebrows disappeared under her fringe of bangs, "With just Wolverine? Spock, even if we reroute all the power from the unused systems, we could possibly tow her…."

She stopped, since neither of them was paying the least attention to her. Kirk was back to sharing a long hard look with Spock. Nothing more it seemed, just a look.

"We don't have to hold the entire ship…" Spock said, slowly, still computing the effects of this madness on both ships.

"Just a piece of her, enough to disable the warp drive," Kirk finished. "Lt, maintain a parallel course with Enterprise. Let me know if her warp drive is coming is online."

Daphne set her teeth against an argument and fell back on Star Fleet training. Privately she decided that she was in the hands of madmen and wondered just exactly when she had pledged her life to following them. "Aye, sir. Moving at one-third sublight, parallel heading with Enterprise," she checked her board again, "Sir. The damaged Klingon ship is moving towards the Neutral Zone."

Kirk gave a short nod to acknowledge her report. Spock was rapidly keying in information and Jim leaned over his shoulder, watching carefully. A schematic of the Enterprise filled one screen.

"The warp nacelles are the most vulnerable," Spock said.

"Not the nacelles if we can use something else," Kirk told him. "We're not sure what the backlash on the Enterprise will be. I don't want to blow up the ship while trying not to blow up the ship."

"The main pylon beneath the saucer section gives us the greatest area."

Jim was looking at his ship in an entirely different way. "Spock," he said, slowly as if still thinking. "Can you wrap a tractor beam around the center of the starboard pylon"?"

"Wrap it, Captain?"

They shared another look.

"Yes," Spock said, finally. Only that, just 'yes.'

Daphne shook her head. Jim was, in effect, asking him to pick up a specific rock from an asteroid, to wrap an invisible "hand' around the starboard pylon of a starship about to go to warp, and Spock was simply telling him yes.

"Computer," Spock continued.

"Working" came the female voice.

"Release all safety features, monitors, overload fail safes, and limitations to tractor beam, Level 1 Alpha priority emergency command per my authority. Execute."

The computer whirred. "Verified."

"Reroute tractor beam manual control to this console," he instructed.

"Working. Verified."

"Daphne," Jim said, "Power our warp drive. No thrust. Just power. Move us in closer to Hepsilon. Divert everything you can to warp drive and tractor beam."

He'd reverted to "combat speech' – tight, short phrases delivered quickly.

"Forty seconds to tractor range of the Enterprise, Captain. Planet Hepsilon in forty eight seconds, as close as I can get without being caught in the planet's gravity," Daphne reported, holding the helm. The Wolverine hummed softly with growing power.

"Steady as she goes, Lt," Kirk moved to the command chair but did not sit.

His eyes were glued to the image of Enterprise, sailing through a sea of stars, without him. His crew sat frozen, watching their monitors, waiting….

…. Preparing to die. The Wolverine could very easily be torn to bits by this, the hull breached, precious atmosphere bled out into space.

"Tractor range forty seconds," Daphne counted, "thirty……twenty……ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two…"

"Now, Spock!" Kirk shouted.

A massive jolt shook Wolverine to her core. No strength Vulcan or human could hold against it and they were tossed abruptly to the floor. Wolverine trembled with the effort, caught between a stationary force and warp power. Every seam and seal, support and strut was tested to the limit of Vulcan engineering. The ship was now on a sickening tilt, the artificial gravity strained to its limit. Spock hauled himself back into the chair and fought to find a way for the ship to hold against the killing pressure. The engines roared and then faded to a constant tense whine beneath the rattle of the ship. Lights flickered and electric sizzles could be heard in all the electronic components. The sound of grating metal echoed across the bulkheads, groaning and stretching. The artificial gravity shifted. Inertia pinned Kirk and Daphne to the floor, slammed Spock back in his seat, as Wolverine began to spin like a cog on a taut string.

It seemed to last an eternity; and yet to be over much sooner than any of them had hoped. The pressure stopped. The force from Enterprise ended and Spock slammed down the manual control that stopped Wolverine from being dragged forward and imbedded forever deep inside Hepsilon.

All eyes sought the forward view screen, seeking the ivory essence that was Enterprise. The image hanging there made Jim stare, Daphne gasp and Spock say,

"Fascinating."

Daphne turned to her brother, who was lying on the floor beside her, staring up at the main screen with a stunned expression.

"I'd avoid Mr. Scott for a while if I were you," she said, quietly.

The Enterprise was still there, dead in space and in one piece – for the most part. The starboard support pylon was …wrinkled. It was not bent. It looked as if a giant hand had left the imprints of fingers along the structure. It was a deformity that would make warp speed impossible.

Enterprise wasn't going anywhere. Her swanlike grace was marred, her wings had been clipped.

Daphne wrenched her attention away from the screen and looked at Spock, studying him carefully for any signs of further damage. She loved him, he was the very air that she breathed. With her own life, she trusted him. But he would block her to the best of his ability if he was in any kind of pain. She could see that he was holding his body stiffly and moving with deliberate slowness. But he was moving, and there wasn't a flicker of discomfort on his face. As she could feel nothing from him at the moment, she got back into the chair at the helm, stifling a frustrated sigh.

"Warp power down to 35 %," she reported, "Tractor beam at 16%...... hull breach opened again and self-sealed……life support 69%……our atmosphere is thinning, diverting power from the warp drive to compensate….impulse power and helm responding…."

"Captain," Spock interupted, "Enterprise' shields are down. Lt, set Wolverine in orbit around Hepsilon."

As horrified as he was by his wrinkled starship, Jim couldn't let a chance like that slip by. He was already on the way to the transporter pad, but Spock and Daphne were hard on his heels.

They stopped long enough for Spock to break open the cabinet containing phasers and communicators and set the code to beam them back to Wolverine. Then they were shimmering into existence in Jim quarter's on the Enterprise.

Daphne swore she heard the ship sigh with relief to have her captain aboard; and her captain seemed to stretch and come alive again, as if he had been wearing the wrong skin.

Kirk checked the charge on his phaser and then nodded to his officers.

"Let's go get our ship back," he said.

"My world….is my vessel, my oath, my crew."

Kirk/Bread and Circuses

Chapter Eight

Daphne watched her captain flex his hands as if they had just been unshackled. He caught her eye, nodded almost imperceptibly to Spock. His meaning was clear "How is he?" Daphne could only shake her head and shrug. As far as Spock's physical condition, she could get no reading from him at all. She sighed internally. If she could ever find the place where Spock kept all his stubbornness, she would seriously consider getting McCoy to remove it.

Spock certainly looked fine, but he was extremely skilled at hiding pain. When accused of this, he had told her that he didn't hide it, he managed it. If his control slipped at all she would see it in a brief crinkle at the corners of his eyes. So far she had seen nothing.

Daphne clenched her teeth in contained frustration. Spock would look controlled and composed with fire ants crawling up his leg.

Cautiously they crept into the corridor.

It was littered with bodies. Crewman were collapsed where the gas had caught them and then piled on top of each other against the starboard bulkhead, no doubt due to the tractor beam. The ship was as silent as a tomb, the stillness broken only by the sounds of the Enterprise herself, soft creaks, groans, sighs as the ship protested the breaking of her delicate pylon/nacelle balance and the absence of her crew.

"Daphne," Kirk said, knowing a tricorder would be useless in determining where anyone was on a ship where the vast majority of beings were unconscious, "Where are they?"

She had to close her eyes to concentrate, reach out with all the control she could manage. She felt a slight psychic pressure moving beneath her empathic abilities, boosting them. Spock.

// Can you keep Soren from knowing we are here// she asked.

// No, // Spock answered. //I am sure he already knows we are here, or at least that I am here. //

Daphne sought through the jumble of emotions that assaulted her empathic sense, finally told them, "I can find four Klingons, two humans and a Vulcan, above us, most likely on the bridge. Towards Engineering there are two Klingons and two humans. One of the humans in Engineering is Dr. McCoy, who is furious. The other is Commander Scott, who is ….. beyond furious."

Kirk nodded in acknowledgment. Somewhere his opponents had gained two Klingons. Given their placement on the bridge he had no doubt they were sitting at his helm, audaciously thinking they were going somewhere with his ship.

They slowly wound their way through a ship that was now a labyrinth of blocked hallways, turbolifts that were shut down, jammed doorways. Either Scotty had put the ship on automatic emergency repairs or someone else had. Neither Daphne nor Spock asked where they were going. There as only one place Jim Kirk would seek – the bridge. They got there slowly, climbing ladders, crawling through ductwork, creeping down corridors hugging the walls, until they found a 'lift to the bridge that was working.

They rode with their backs flattened against the sides of the 'lift.

"You two, phasers on stun, "he said, "Your targets are Bray, Marqkeith and Soren." He adjusted his phaser to the maximum setting and said grimly, "I'll take the Klingons. Daphne can you tell where they are on the bridge?"

She stretched out again but shook her head. "Just that they are there. There is a great deal of ….frustration." She looked at Spock.

Spock observed, "It is most likely, Captain, the Klingons were brought on board to man the helm. They would be trying to find a way to move the ship in her current condition." He didn't bother saying that moving Enterprise with anything but another ship was now impossible. Unless they had contacted their government and another Klingon warbird was currently on its way, they had no hope of moving Enterprise.

Daphne was holding Spock in her gaze as if that alone was holding him up.

Bluntly she asked, "Are you all right?"

Jim was rather alarmed by the fact that she asked him out loud. Was Spock blocking her that much?

Spock's eyes narrowed as if he had been threatened. "For the moment," he said, slowly.

Spock knew he could not easily fool either of the people staring him down across the tight confines of the 'lift. He could not give them a casual dismissal, a hollow reassurance that of course he was fine. Daphne was no doubt well aware that he was blocking her more than he had since their relationship had first started. Instead he told them a version of the truth that implied he was aware of his injuries, possibly suffering, but would tell them if he could no longer function.

He probably wouldn't. Kirk and Daphne both knew it.

But there was nothing more they could do about it as the doors to the bridge hissed open.

Kirk burst out onto the bridge with a feral cry, followed by his officers, and led by a phaser lancing deadly fire. The two Klingons at the helm vanished in sparkling light and smoke. A third raised a disrupter to fire point blank at Kirk but was just as swiftly dispatched by the captain. The bridge erupted in chaos of shouts, flashes of phaser light.

Daphne and Spock took down the two startled scientist, watched them crumble to the ground much as Daphne imagined her crew had done when the gas over took them, much as Spock had done in their jail cell but with far less pain. It gave her no small sense of satisfaction.

Spock advanced on Soren. In spite of the phaser in his hand, his expression was almost too dispassionate, too disinterested. They may have been two Vulcan scientists meeting to discuss a new hypothesis for all that their body language betrayed. Only Daphne knew the tension that hummed between them like a building explosion.

Soren held his empty hands out in a symbol of surrender and Spock stopped moving forward. He simply stood and regarded his cousin, holding him at the point of a phaser and trying to think back over the series of events that had brought them to such a place.

In the meantime, Kirk had closed with the final Klingon. Charging him low and hard, like a maddened bull, Kirk barreled into him and chopped the disrupter from his hand. Using the forward momentum of his charge Kirk hammered the Klingon's chest with the hilt of his phaser, hooked his right leg around the Klingon's right leg and dumped him on the ground.

He didn't stay down long. Roaring in fury, the Klingon erupted off the floor at light speed, slammed himself into Jim's midsection and drove him into a wall. Kirk's breath went out of him with a loud 'off!' His face contacted the thick Klingon skull and blood gushed from his nose.

Spock caught Daphne's eye, nodded towards the phaser in her hand and raised an inquisitive eyebrow. Daphne gave him an enigmatic look in return.

"Let him work it out for a minute," she said softly, "He's doing okay," which only made Spock's eyebrow lift all the higher.

Jim recovered quickly. The feral glint returned to his eyes. Shoving the Klingon backwards he leapt and kicked with both feet into his opponent's side, doubling him over. Standing he slammed his right shoulder into the Klingon's chin. His head snapped back. They could hear the sound of the Klingon's teeth clicking together. Kirk dropped to a crouch, whipped his left leg through the Klingon's. Bashing the man's ankles together he dropped him on his back and finished him with a sharp blow to the back of his head.

The Klingon slumped and did not move again. Jim stood over him, panting and looking very satisfied.

In the meantime, Daphne had grabbed an emergency medical kit and begun doing a triage of the fallen bridge crew. Like the crew people in the hallways, the bridge crew looked as if they had simply collapsed and then been abruptly tossed to starboard. Uhura was prone, on her side, up against the science station. Chekhov was on the floor against his side of the navigation console, which must have stopped his drop to starboard. Sulu was lying in a tangle of twisted arms and legs against the rise in the floor that marked the step to the upper deck. The rest were all in a pile against the starboard bulkhead, breathing but looking lifeless all the same.

She wanted to scan Spock but knew that would only annoy him and nothing she learned would make a bit of difference right now. Either Spock was going to stay on his feet or he wasn't.

Jim stood, wiped blood from his nose. "How are they?" he asked her.

"Alive," she said, sounding helpless, "I don't know how to bring them out of it, or even if I should try. Sulu has a broken wrist. I can tell by the angle. Chekhov has a bad bruise on his forehead and may have a concussion. So does Ensign Riley. But we don't dare move anyone." She looked pointedly at Spock and Jim had a twinge of guilt over it.

Her report broke off abruptly as the 'lift doors opened. She and Jim went into a crouch, phasers drawn.

"Nobody move!" A strong voice with a heavy Aberdeen accent demanded.

Scott and McCoy came onto the bridge, business end of their phasers pointed forward.

Star Fleet training kicked in immediately. Phasers all went up to aim harmlessly at the ceiling. But the senior crew of the Enterprise did take a moment to recover as they stared at each other, as Scotty and McCoy looked at the bridge strewn with bodies and took in what must have happened.

"Bones! Scotty!" Jim could not have sounded more delighted, "There are two more Klingons aboard…."

"Aye, there are, sir," Scotty seemed to purr, "They had a wee bit o' trouble with the doctor and I. Ye'll find them cooling their heels in the brig, tied up for good measure. I've no idea what will suddenly stop working around here." He paused, looked at Jim with a pained expression, "Captain. The pylon….." The Engineer stopped as if speaking of it was just too much for him.

"We'll talk about it later, Scot," Kirk said sympathetically. "At the moment, the choices were a wrinkled pylon or the Enterprise in the hands of the Klingon Empire."

"Aye, sir," Scot grumbled, still sounding miserable.

"Take the helm. Get me a damage report. We might as well know the extent of it," Jim sounded resigned to sweeping up the aftermath.

Scotty stepped gingerly over Chekhov. He and McCoy had gotten used to stepping over bodies in the last few hours. He slid into Sulu's vacated seat and set to work checking on Enterprise, muttering under his breath.

Daphne told McCoy what her findings on the bridge crew had been. The doctor's features were more gruff and forbidding than normal. Scotty might love the Enterprise and consider her engines his personal responsibility. But McCoy took responsibility for the health and well being of every single member of this crew and now he had 425 unconscious and injured patients.

As Daphne spoke he scanned her with his medical tricorder. "At least you're on your feet," he groused, "a little fatigue, a few bruises, but you'll do for now."

He stopped talking when he noticed how intensely she was staring at him, drawing his attention. Not daring to say it out loud, knowing full well how sensitive Spock's hearing was, she mouthed 'Check Spock.'

He frowned. Then, not wanting to alert Spock, he went to Jim, scanned him, and grunted. "Your nose is broken," he said, "Probably not the first time."

"Nor the last," Jim remarked, still wiping blood with his sleeve.

Daphne thought Spock stiffened, once again looking threatened as McCoy approached. Stoically, his eyes unwaveringly on his cousin and the phaser steady in his hand, he endure the intrusion of the medical scanner.

"What the bloody hell happened to you!" McCoy burst out.

Jim was instantly alert. "Klingon disrupter on heavy stun. Threw him backwards into a metal wall and some shelves," he supplied, "What's wrong with him?"

"He should be in bed," McCoy answered, unhelpfully, frowning at the readings coming from his instrument. He pinned Spock with an ice blue stare, "Since I know that isn't going to happen, I'll have to make do with ordering you there at the first possible moment." He whirled on Daphne, "I'm going to make it your responsibility to make sure he goes there and stays there."

Daphne nodded tightly. Jim was about to demand more information on the exact condition of his First Officer when Scot suddenly shouted,

"Captain, Klingon ship coming in from the neutral zone! Mark 2 point 3!"

"On screen!" Kirk barked.

The image of a hawk-shaped Klingon border patrol cruiser finished shimmering into being.

"Scotty, what do we have?" Kirk demanded.

"Not much," the engineer answered, not looking up from his board, "Weapons offline, warp drive useless, there's some impulse power but she'll handle like a mammoth in tar."

There was a flat thread of finality beneath his professional tone. The Enterprise was broken and she wasn't going to be fixed soon.

The ship rocked, nearly knocked them over as a tractor beam laced out and caught Enterprise, anchoring her to the enemy ship. She shifted again as the cruiser began hauling her towards the Neutral Zone. As they watched a second cruiser shimmered into existence and moved to flank the first.

Kirk turned to his First Officer. "Spock," he said, only that, nothing more than his name.

After a moment of locked eyes, Spock said, "Wolverine could buy some time. Beyond that I do not know."

"All right, you and Daphne, go," Jim started, only to be cut off by Scotty's jubilant shout,

"Captain! USS Lexington coming out of warp."

All eyes went to the screen, where the ivory shape of a Constitution class starship could be seen dropping out of warp. Almost immediately two more smaller shapes dropped in on either side of her.

"Federation destroyers K'riBrax and Atlantis, sir, "Scot said,

"Daphne, check communications," Jim ordered, not daring to take his eyes off the screen. He needn't have bothered with the order. She was already on her way to Uhura's station, practically vaulting the red railing to get there.

"Confirmed sir!" she said, paused, "Commodore Wesley says greetings and sit back to enjoy the show."

The stunned remnant of the Enterprise' crew watched as the three starships dumped the uneasy treaty between Federation and the Klingon Empire and moved into position to blast the two cruisers.

The K'riBrax moved into position between the Klingon ships and Enterprise, prepared to protect them with her own shields. Atlantis peeled off in pursuit of the second Klingon ship, the space before her lit with phaser fire.

Lexington bore down on the ship that remained resolutely tethered to Enterprise. Their screen was filled with the familiar ivory disc, immense and majestic, black lettering proudly proclaiming her name.

A breath later the Enterprise jerked sharply and pitched over on her side, gravity struggling to hold, as the tractor beam dissolved. The bridge occupants were tossed about roughly. Only Jim, riding the bridge with his hand on the rail stayed on his feet. He moved to help Daphne stand and then they both looked for Spock.

To their horror he was down, on his side, up against a console. There was pain on his face now. He was holding his body stiffly, lying prone, shoulders and arms tight. His green-gold complexion had gone to the color of sea water. Soren was kneeling beside him, urging him to remain still.

McCoy got to him before anyone else but Daphne was hard on his heels. Jim held the rail to steady himself, concentration now half on the screen and half on Spock.

The Lexington and K'riBrax were chasing both badly damaged Klingon ships back across the Neutral Zone. They stopped just short of crossing over into it but neither could resist sending a few blasts of angry red phaser fire into the Zone after the fleeing ships.

Watching the ships gracefully wheel around to return to them, Kirk said, "Bones, how is he?"

"Anterior hairline fractures of his spinal column. Nerve damage, already compromised by the disrupter blast," McCoy answered him in a clipped tone. He fixed Soren with a stare, "Are you on our side now or theirs?" he challenged.

"His, "Soren replied, glacially calm, "He is my younger kin, of my clan, the son of Sarek. I will not see him come to more harm because of me."

McCoy grunted, still displeased. "Then help me get a field splint on him. Daphne, hold his head in line with his spine; and you," Spock came once again under the full force of that cold blue stare, " if you move or make a sound I'll have your stripes, do you understand?"

Spock opened his mouth to speak and abruptly stopped, choked silent by a spasm somewhere along his injured back. Daphne, holding his head tightly between her hands, bent over and whispered something to him. McCoy was muttering under his breath. Kirk knew that the doctor would put Spock back together one molecule at a time if he had to, complaining about it all the while.

Jim was trying to unclench his teeth. A light flashing on Uhura's console caught his attention and he moved to put it on screen. The grinning face of Commodore Robert Wesley appeared.

"Jim!" he said, cheerfully, "Do you know your starship is wrinkled?"

"It's good to see you, Bob. I wasn't expecting you for hours. You must have pushed it hard," Jim observed. He was still too worried about his crew, his ship and his First Officer in particular to join in the celebratory mood.

Some of the animation left the commodore's face. "A little. I'm going to have to do something to placate my chief engineer. According to him a starship can't sustain Warp 8.5 as long as we did."

At the helm, Scotty snorted. Jim glanced at him. "Mine may not be on speaking terms with me for a while either," he admitted.

"What do you need, Jim?" Wesley asked.

"Medics, lots of medics, or anyone you have that can serve as a medic. I've got 425 sick people; and send engineers that can help me get systems back online and remove that abomination these traitors put in my ship, " Jim listed out. He looked over at Spock and Daphne. "We've also got a Vulcan science vessel that will need to be manned or towed. Your brig is probably more secure, if you wouldn't mind beaming a few prisoners directly there, I'd appreciate it."

"Send their coordinates to my transporter room. I have people standing by."

Jim nodded at Scotty, who happily complied, muttering something about vermin as their unconscious prisoners, and Jim presumed the Klingons tied up in their own brig, dissolved away.

"Anything else?" Wesley asked.

"I think that about covers it, "Kirk said.

"You got it. I'll have my Chief and my Medical Officer start forming teams and sending them over. They'll coordinate with your department heads if that is possible. Have someone get the science ship within tractor range of K'riBrax and we'll tow her. Wesley out."

The screen returned to being filled with space and stars.

"Scotty," Jim said, "Get back to Engineering and coordinate the transfer of personnel." He turned on his heel and faced Soren. His voice was hard, his eyes bored into the placid face of the Vulcan scientist. "I want you to stabilize that trilithium and get it away from my ship; and then I want you to tell my Medical Officer exactly what was in that gas and how to counteract it."

Soren's face was ashen gray but composed. He nodded, spread his hands in a gesture of surrender before tucking them in the sleeves of his tunic. He gave his cousin one more look, for reassurance; and then followed Scotty into the 'lift.

"Daphne," Jim's face softened, not unsympathetic to her anxiety over Spock's condition. He paused until she looked up at him. "Commander," he said.

Daphne stared at him blankly for a moment. "Begging your pardon, sir?" she said.

"Congratulations, you just got a field promotion, lt. commander. I'll make it official as soon as I can. I've got no idea who Wesley is sending over here and I need you to have as much authority over them as possible, "he paused, "Besides, you earned it."

"Thank you, sir," she still looked stunned, and very un-commanderlike in her current disheveled condition, hair undone, nonregulation green jumpsuit covered in dust and torn in places, cradling Spock gently in her hands while McCoy finished the field splint.

They eased Spock into a more comfortable position and McCoy ordered him, gruffly, "Stay there. Don't move. Don't even blink or I'll give you a sedative that will shut you down for a week and then have you vomiting for hours when you wake up."

Everyone found it mildly disturbing that Spock did not quickly come back with a ready barb and in fact still seemed reluctant to speak. His eyes drifted closed and Daphne thought that he would now probably sleep on his own for a week. Vulcan sleep, a trance, healing, deep, impenetrable. She watched him for a moment, knowing it might be along time before she looked into his eyes again.

"Daphne," Jim drew her attention again, "Go get Wolverine. Deliver it to K'riBrax…" he stumbled over the unfamiliar pattern of letters.

"The Fast One," she said, absently translating it, "It's the third month of the Vulcan year."

"Fine," Jim said, "Spock isn't going anywhere for a moment. Get over there and retrieve that ship so the Vulcans don't get upset with us for losing their prototype. Deliver it to ….The Fast One… and get back here ASAP. I'll watch him." He nodded towards Spock.

Reluctantly she stood and pulled the Vulcan communicator from her pocket. She keyed in a quick sequence of code and shimmered away to the familiar whine of a transporter beam.

James Kirk rested a hand on his command chair and surveyed the bridge. At least the chaos was organized now. It was time to start the repair. All that remained was the slow process of piecing it all back together.

"The heart is not a logical organ."

Dr. Janet Wallace/The Deadly Years

Personal Log, Captain James T. Kirk. Star Date 3376.2

The Enterprise is currently home, Space Dock 1, Earth, having been towed here by the Lexington. I told Wesley I owe him one. He said to take it off the half dozen he owes me.

The crew is back on their feet and the vast majority of them are on extended medical or personal leave. There were several serious injuries and side effects, but fortunately no casualties. The crew seems just as anxious to have Enterprise back to normal as I am.

Spock was down for six days, in which time Daphne served as my acting First Officer. He seemed pleased with the idea, probably because he knows she has everything exactly the way he will want it when he returns to duty. They are currently on their way to Vulcan to return the science vessel, Wolverine. Spock is still technically on medical leave and I know they intend to remain on Vulcan for several days.

Wolverine rested on a landing pad adjacent to the summer home Sarek had built for Amanda. Sitting close to the planet's northern pole, temperatures in the summer rarely went above 120 F. Currently it was a quite comfortable 115.

The ramp door opened and settled with a soft hiss of hydraulics and the heat roiled up and inside. Daphne took a step back from it, gasping as the first breath of hot air entered her lungs. Spock touched her elbow for support.

"All right?" he asked, eyebrow quirked.

She swallowed and shook her head ruefully. "One forgets what 'hot as Vulcan' really means," she said lightly.

"It will be cooler in the house," he assured her.

They started down the ramp, towing an anti-grav cargo sled loaded with crates behind them. Sarek and Amanda waited at the bottom for them. They exchanged greetings that once again involved hugs from Amanda; and Daphne stoically insisting on calling Sarek 'ambassador.'

"What is all this?" Amanda asked, a graceful wave of her hand indicating the sled.

"Supplies, mostly fresh food," Daphne said, "from Earth." She handed Amanda a PADD with an inventory list and watched her mother-in-law's face light up.

"Cherries?" she said, delightedly, "Cheese? Brie? Eggplant, grapes, white wine … oh my goodness, Daphne, chocolate?"

"Ghirardelli," Daphne smiled and Amanda sighed dramatically.

"This is why you are my favorite daughter-in-law," she said, "Spock may have thought of everything else, but I am sure you got the chocolate."

"Actually mother, most of the list is Daphne's doing," Spock corrected, "She knows of your fondness for cooking and fresh foods from Earth."

Amanda linked her arm through Daphne's. "Shall we take all this to the kitchens then? I can already think of a wonderful feast we can make tonight."

Spock handed off the sled to Daphne and she left with Amanda. He watched her walking away with his mother, their heads bent together over the inventory list, talking animatedly.

"They get along well," Sarek remarked, lightly.

Spock straightened, clasped his hands behind his back, ignoring the slight twinge from his recent injuries. "Yes," he said, drawing out the single syllable thoughtfully. "They are becoming good friends." He glanced at his father, "Should I be concerned about that?

Sarek hesitated. "No," he said, finally. He turned to face Spock squarely, gave him a frank look and said, "You should be very concerned about it."

Spock's eyebrows came together at a point as he frowned. "When you say 'very'……?" He let the question trail off.

"I mean 'extremely'. I mean that we should probably … 'tag along' I think the earth expression is, before your mother pulls out all those holos she took when you were a baby."

A trill of alarm coursed through Spock, though nothing showed on his face. They started after the women a bit more quickly than may have been necessary.

"I still cannot believe you let her take all those holos," Spock remarked, trying not to sound annoyed.

"It is an Earth custom, Spock," Sarek defended himself; "It certainly seemed harmless at the time."

Spock resisted the need to sigh. "Does it ever occur to you to simply tell Mother 'no' Father?"

After a short hesitation, Sarek admitted, "Unfortunately, it does not."

Spock looked ahead of them, at his wife. She was laughing. Even from here he could see her eyes lit bright with humor, loose hair catching the sunlight in a dozen different shades of gold. Their mind link hummed with the incandescent energy he had come to associate only with her – a mixture of joy and self-assurance, devotion and pure love.

He remembered the night before, alone in his father's recently renovated apartments in San Francisco, gasping, falling backwards onto soft heavy quilts with her above him, hands in feather-light touches everywhere, sweet fire that had swept across them both……

Her breathless voice in his ear….. oh gods, Spock….

As if she could sense his thoughts she glanced back at him. The hot Vulcan air sizzled between them.

With a sigh that was part resignation and all serenity, Spock said, "Father, I understand."