The scream that resounded through the corridors of the north wing of the ambassadorial complex was horrifying and bone chilling. It was the kind of sound that came from the worst nightmare of any and all of the species in the galaxy. The sound echoed around the hallways and bounced from door to door, followed closely by the thuds of running feet and doors that opened with a soft swish.
Andorian, Tellurite, Betazed. Ionian, Klingon, Human and even Vulcan; all stood at the doorways of their respective suites, in various states of undress, pulled from their individual evening pursuits at the terrifying scream. They glanced warily at each other and sensing no imminent danger, started to congregate in the hallway to discuss what they had heard and what could have possibly caused it.
All but two. Commander David McFey watched the others carefully. He had learned long ago that unless someone was coming at him with a weapon to sit back and observe the situation, make assessments and then take whatever action was necessary. With this group, the scream could have had little more meaning than a sexual encounter gotten out of control.
So he hung back, his shirt hanging loose, his feet bare.
He was an unimpressive man when he wanted to be. David knew how to blend in and disappear, even with the head of dark auburn hair that he sported. There was nothing special about the human. He was of average height, muscular but trim, had acceptable good looks and a firm jaw, and was blessed with green eyes that could cut a man in half with a single look. He knew who he was and he made sure, when needed, that others recognized it. He could just as easily become just one of the boys, relaxed and jovial, while ferreting out information. His comfort at switching from one personality to another, at developing characteristics that garnered confidences that would otherwise remain secret, was what gave him such a value as part of the ambassador's staff.
Beside him, hastily closing a shirt pulled on with speed, stood a Vulcan male. He was typical of the race, tall and slim, with dark brown eyes and even darker brown hair kept clipped and neat. He had been meditating when the scream had interrupted, so he carried with him as he joined his comrade the cloying scent of incense. One of St'van's eyebrows rose as he also perused the company in the hallway, but he followed David's lead by not joining in the general uproar.
Though they were the ambassador's Chief of Staff and personal secretary, respectively, it did not give them the privilege of a room to themselves. Thus the two men were sharing a suite, each with their own bedroom, but with a single living room area.
Though the ambassador's quarters were large enough, there technically was more room in his subordinates' suite and that is where they typically met at the end of each day's meetings to share a meal and discuss their viewpoints.
They'd been on Thesius Six for three days now. The meetings had not been ones of negotiating, but more a conference on sharing thoughts and ideas for the Federation. If some 'back alley deals' were made and all parties were amenable to the terms, then everything was well and good. But this was not a meeting to discuss impending disaster or to make specific trade agreements. It had been planned for six solar months and would last only a week. Thesius Six had been chosen for its neutrality. There was nothing they hoped to gain from the meetings, except possibly the good will of those ambassadors who were part of the conference.
"Commander?" St'van questioned softly.
"Don't know," he replied, just as softly. "That did sound like someone was in a hell of a lot of pain, but everyone seems fine."
From the left, at the end of the corridor, three Thesian guards came running at the summons of one of the representatives, weapons at the ready just in case. "Gentlemen," a Thesian captain said, "what is the problem?"
"Someone screamed," the Klingon answered harshly. David hadn't noticed at first, but now he saw that the Klingon held a dirk in his hand, spinning it around within his grip as a man who knew well how to use it. The Klingon was obviously keen on shedding the last three days of tedious meetings and looking for a way to work off some pent up energy.
"Screamed?" the Thesian asked in disbelief.
The sibilant voice of the Andorian cut in. "There was a horrible cry, as if someone was in great pain." He had folded his blue hands within his tunic sleeves and was the epitome of calm, cool, and collected even in the face of unknown danger.
"Are any of you hurt?" the Captain questioned, looking them all over. They each exchanged glances then shook their heads or answered in the negative. The Thesian noticed the human and Vulcan standing separate from the others. "You gentlemen all right?"
"We are unharmed," St'van replied with a slight dip of his head. Tensions began to visibly relax. The Tellurite, looking disgusted at having been disturbed, went back into his room. He would have slammed the door if he had been able.
David frowned as he glanced to the left of where they were standing. "Where's the Ambassador?"
St'van now also looked to the left. The ambassador's room was right next to theirs. Everyone had heard the noise, yet he had not appeared, even if out of curiosity. His door remained closed.
"He was meditating," St'van recalled as David moved to the closed door. When it didn't open automatically, he punched in the code to override the lock. He was always permitted access to the ambassador unless otherwise specifically told.
The door slid open with a near silent hiss.
The interior was dimly lighted and smoky from incense. David waved his hand across his face to dispel some of the smoke as he tapped the ventilation switch to clear the room. "Lumens," he ordered, "one hundred per cent." The lights immediately brightened. All appeared to be quiet, until the sound of breaking glass came from the bedroom area of the quarters. Quickly, David, St'van moved into the bedroom followed by the three Thesian guards.
It was in a shambles. Chairs were turned over, the linens from the bed pulled and dumped on the floor. A pillow was shredded, its contents scattered on the bed, the floor, and the table tops. The mirror over the dresser was smashed. A vase that had been on a night table lay shattered next to the left side of the bed. From the right side of the bed a loud groan, a sob, could be heard and the men went over to stare down in disbelief.
Spock lay curled up on his side, his hands fisted to his temples, still for just a moment until his body writhed in agony and he cried out in unendurable pain. 'NO!"
"Spock!" David yelled, going down on one knee to grab at the stricken man. "Spock!" The Vulcan fought David, twisting to free himself and it took both he and St'van to subdue him as agony ripped through him again. "Spock," David called again, gripping the Vulcan tightly until he stilled. Taking him by the shoulders, David forced Spock to straighten, turning him so they could see him, to see if he had been injured. His face was a mask of horror and desolation. His hand was cut from broken glass.
St'van knelt down and lightly touched the temple of the ambassador, withdrawing quickly as he was flooded with images of pain and sorrow and loss. He gasped as his breath caught and he sank to the floor, dread filling his expression. From just that brief connection, tears filmed the Vulcan secretary's eyes. "Shakiak," he muttered, before turning his gaze to David. "His marriage bond is broken. His wife is dead."
"What do you mean?" David asked harshly.
"Madam Spock has died. He feels it through his marriage bond and it is driving him insane."
"How…wha…?"
St'van rose to his knees, cutting off David's questions. "Hurry, Commander. If he is not given a reason to live, he will die. It is what happens when a marriage bond is abruptly severed. You must meld with him."
"What do you mean, I must meld with him?"
"You are his friend, you have melded before. I have not. You are the only one who can save him, keep him alive until we get to Vulcan. He can be helped further there. But you must do this now, or he will follow his wife into whatever realm the katra goes when it dies."
David sat still for a heartbeat, his thoughts whirling. Spock's wife, dead? The possibility of it was unthinkable. They had just started out, their life together young and new yet. Spock had finally found his soul mate and now she was dead? He couldn't believe it, he would not accept it. And Spock. To lose him as well? To have that brilliant mind torn apart to go insane, to die because he could not live without his wife? David would rather the Federation fall before he would let that happen. But his aduna, dead? It simply could not be true!
But Spock knew it. And it was tearing him apart. He cried out again, screamed. "No, no, NO! C'thanae!" he cried piteously, struggling again to shake off David. The human held on tighter. Held on for dear life. For both of them.
"Commander!" St'van ordered sternly.
"What do I do?"
"Place your hands on his face as you have seen him do. I will connect you. Fight him, do not let him give in to the sorrow. It will be terrible, for you both, but he will let himself die if you can not make him want to live." David laid Spock flat on the floor and bent over him. St'van spared a glance to the night table long enough to locate the comm switch. He punched it with a finger as he leaned towards David. "Arkansas," he commanded, "beam us up with a medical emergency. Beam us up now!" He changed one finger of one hand and positioned the other hand completely differently, then settled his own hands over David's. His eyelids fell as he created a link between the two. David choked then gasped as he was sucked in. The three were already shimmering out of sight.
