Chapter One
Office of the Klingon Military Governor
Planet Organia
Stardate 3289.4
"Sir?" Krethal swallowed heavily, unable to continue, as Kor looked up from his desk, obviously perturbed at having been disturbed.
"Well, what is it, man? Speak!" the Klingon commander snapped.
"I have been trying to contact the ship, but am unable to raise her, Commander."
"It's probably just your handset, Krethal. Try a different one. Do I have to think of everything?" Kor blustered impatiently, dismissively, his attention focused once again on the mound of reports before him.
"I already have, sir, but none seem to be working. It's as if the ship's no longer there."
"What? You're a fool, Krethal. Of course she's still there," the governor said, grabbing his own communicator and flipping it open. "Kor to Klothos." His request was met with static.
At that moment the door to Kor's office was flung open, a junior officer entering in a rush, a small computer PADD in his hand. "Sir, we have just received word that the fleet was beaten back severely at Coridan, and all ships have been recalled – including ours. We have been ordered to hold Organia, and to safeguard the Federation prisoners at all costs," he announced, winded and out of breath.
Kor leapt to his feet. "Idiots!" he said, making purposely for the door, shouldering past the two subordinate officers blocking his path. "Without one of our warbirds in orbit, there's nothing to stop a Federation ship from locating them and beaming them aboard." He hurried down the dimly lit corridor, stopping outside the holding cell. "We need to move them at once, while we still have time. Their comrades are sure to start scanning for them at their last known location." He glared at one of the guards flanking the door. "Well, don't just stand there, open it," he growled harshly.
"Yes, sir," the guard replied, turning around and inserting the key into the primitive lock. But when the heavy wooden door was tugged open, the cell was empty.
oooOOOooo
"Kyle, report! What the hell's happenin'? Do ye have them or not?"
The reply was soft, low; virtually unintelligible.
"Say again, Kyle," Scott asked, unable to comprehend what he thought he'd heard.
"They're on board, sir…" came the hesitant reply. The transporter chief paused, the silence excruciating, "But they didn't make it."
"I'm not followin', lad – what do ye mean, 'they didn't make it?'"
"Doctor McCoy just checked them, sir, and he said they're…gone." The last word was choked out, barely audible, but the implications of that solitary syllable carried clearly over the open mike. Gasps of disbelief, interspersed with a few sobs, could be heard from all corners of the bridge.
"That can't be. We had a sensor lock on them not two minutes ago, an' the readin's showed they were still alive." Scotty cast a glance at the lieutenant manning the science station, who confirmed the acting captain's affirmation with a nod of his head.
"That may have been true then, sir, but not now." Kyle stopped, unable to say anything more. Scotty's eyes roamed over the bridge. Sulu had gone white, his gaze fixed on his hands, clasped tightly in his lap, shoulders trembling slightly. Uhura was sprawled across her console, face buried in her arms. DeSalle was pounding a fist softly on the navigation board before him, uttering curses under his breath, and Leslie, at the engineering station, was looking off into nothing, a blank, thousand-yard stare the only indicator of his complete and utter shock.
Scotty shuddered slightly, closing his eyes briefly. "Bridge out," he said softly, his voice tight, cutting off the connection to the transporter room. "Lieutenant Harabedian," he growled at the young man at Spock's station. The blue-clad back snapped to attention, the shoulders visibly stiffening. "Scan the surface. I want ye to locate all the Klingon beasties down there," the Scotsman ordered, barely-suppressed anger coloring his tone. The bridge fell silent again as the scanner whirred to life.
oooOOOooo
He simply didn't understand it. When he'd locked onto them the readings had been very faint, but there was no doubt they still lived. Was it operator error? Had he been the cause of this? Seized by a moment of sheer panic, of profound guilt, his eyes swept over the console before him, but all the settings were correct. It wasn't due to anything he'd done – or failed to do.
Kyle's gaze traveled to the only upright figure on the transporter platform. The doctor's shoulders were bowed, bent as if forced to support a weight much too heavy for his slight frame to bear.
Gathering himself, as if with a great effort, the CMO rose to his feet, a hand passing across his face before he turned to face the other crewmen in the room. Walking slowly toward the orderlies, he stopped before the gurneys.
"Please take them to sickbay. Put the bodies…," he paused, licking his lips, "in the morgue. I'll be there shortly, just have some business to attend to first," he finished softly as the men headed for the two, still figures crumpled on the platform. "And don't say a word to anyone about what you've seen here. That goes for you, too Kyle," the CMO said, turning to him. "I want the corridors cleared between here and sickbay. The crew doesn't need to see this," McCoy announced fervently, gesturing to the activity going on behind him. "See to it, Mister Kyle."
"Aye, sir," he acknowledged, a shiver passing through him. He'd expected McCoy to be furious, thundering away at all of them, at nothing, at the sheer surrealism of the moment. That made the quiet, measured voice all the more unsettling. Glancing at the doctor, he wasn't surprised to see the fire, the rage shimmering just behind the watery, icy blue eyes. The ship's surgeon was positively livid. Someone would certainly be feeling his wrath before this day was out. Dropping his gaze, a wave of relief washed over Kyle when he realized it wouldn't be him. He could only sympathize with whoever it was who would ultimately bear the brunt of the doctor's anger.
Movement drew his attention as the orderlies were gently placing the bodies on the gurneys. He glanced to his left in time to see the doors to the transporter room close on McCoy's retreating back, the surgeon's single-minded determination evident in his stride, the set of his shoulders. Only then did Kyle release the breath he'd been holding.
oooOOOooo
"Krethal, get all of our men inside this building. We know there's a Federation ship up there; it's just a matter of time before they start sending troops down. We need to take up a defensible position. The Federation has rules when it comes to war – they won't simply blast us into oblivion from space. If we can keep their troops at bay, we might be able to hold out until our ships return. Besides, if we're holed up here, we can take potshots at them; prevent them from using this planet as we had intended to do. I also want all the buildings in this general area but this one rigged with explosives."
"May I ask why, Commander? Would it not be more practical to disperse our troops over a wide area?" the lieutenant questioned, his confusion evident.
Kor answered with a harsh glare. "You really are a fool, Krethal. It's quite obvious it was only due to your uncle's influence that you have made it this far in the Empire's service." Krethal's blank stare only served to further incense him. "Their scanners will show that the outlying structures are empty. Odds are they'll then use those buildings as staging areas to launch their assault on our position. Once we detect their forces are inside, we can detonate them, taking out as many of their men as possible in the first wave. Besides, if we raze everything in the vicinity, it will leave them no cover; nowhere to hide when their second force arrives. Attacking our stronghold will then involve considerably more risk on their part. If we are to survive at all, to attempt to carry out Command's orders, then the surrounding structures will need to go. Why not kill two targ with the same d'k tahg and wipe out as many of them as possible in the process? If they're going to take us down, I want it to be as costly to them as we can make it. Now see to it, or I swear I'll offer you up as a hostage."
"At once, Commander," Krethal stammered, turning and bolting for the door.
"Kinash," Kor said, turning to the other man in the room, standing stiffly at attention. The junior officer had listened in terror to the last exchange, sweat glistening on a suddenly pale forehead. "I want a complete inventory of all the weapons at our disposal – total number of disruptors and spare power packs, types of munitions and incendiary devices, and total supplies, including food and water. I need to have an idea how long we can hold out based on what we have. Now move!"
"Yes, Commander," the young officer answered, already on his way out the door to Kor's office.
Kor smiled grimly to himself. There was still a chance he could be seen as a hero to this war. Unfortunately, the path to glory had just gotten considerably more difficult.
oooOOOooo
She was running blindly through the corridors of the ship, tears blurring her vision, unable to fully process what she'd heard. Gone. The word hung like a black storm cloud in the air, sucking the breath from her, an ominous indicator of what was to come.
Nearly a year had passed since she had declared her love for the Vulcan thanks to the loss of inhibition brought about by the Psi 2000 virus. For the longest time, things had been uncomfortable between them, but recently had started to improve. Not that it mattered now. He was gone. She wiped a hand across her face, startled to find that her feet had taken her unerringly to the doors to sickbay. She knew that her presence would be crucial here; that McCoy would arrive soon with the bodies and he would need her support – any support – in order to be able to complete the grim task that awaited him, not that he'd ever admit to it.
Oh God, McCoy, she breathed silently, the doors parting with a whoosh before her as she stepped inside. He and the captain had become quite close during the first ten months of their five-year mission, and even though they were both loathe to acknowledge it, the doctor and first officer had begun a tentative journey toward mutual respect; dare she say even friendship, over the course of the time they had served together. Now both of those relationships had been prematurely snuffed out for the CMO. Dealing with the death of one of them might have been manageable for him, especially if he'd been able to lean on the other as a way to tackle his grief, but losing both at once was a blow from which it would surely take him months to recover. Putting her own feelings of loss, of sadness, aside for the moment, she considered how this turn of events would affect her immediate superior.
It would be brutal, of that she had no doubt.
Mustering a sense of control, of calm, from somewhere, she hurriedly scanned the room. Several pairs of eyes met hers, but what had happened must have been obvious; shown on her face and in her demeanor. They knew simply by the fact that she had returned here without McCoy and the medical team. The eyes flicked quickly away, bodies went rigid; others began putting back equipment that would certainly not be needed now. It was more than apparent by her presence, by her silent admission, that there would be no heroic efforts to save their command team, now or ever. She felt that something needed to be said; needed to be done to ease the despair of those who had assembled here, and to spare the doctor the pain of having to do so.
Clearing her throat, she began speaking, willing her voice to be steady: "I regret to inform you that we won't be needing your services. The captain and Mister Spock did not survive their time in captivity." Her voice faltering, she paused, swallowing her own grief. "You are all dismissed, but please, no word of this is to be spoken outside of this room. Our senior officers will decide when the time is right to do so." The corpsmen and junior nurses were looking at her, despondent and visibly upset. "Thank you all for your dedication to your duty," she remarked, wanting them to know that their unfulfilled efforts were appreciated nonetheless. "You may report to your quarters now, pending further instructions." She breathed a silent sigh of relief as the staff began filing out of sickbay. At least she could spare McCoy having to deal with that. She collapsed into the chair at the desk in the main ward of sickbay, trying unsuccessfully to come to grips with the last few, surreal minutes of her life.
oooOOOooo
The bridge remained eerily quiet, save for the beeping and clicking of various electronic devices and the steady hum of the scanner at the science station. The lieutenant manning Spock's position worked feverishly to fulfill his acting-captain's last orders.
Suddenly the doors to the turbolift opened and 180 pounds of Southern fury came pouring out, headed straight for the command chair. "Dammit, Scotty, I told you we needed to hurry," McCoy railed, descending into the inner ring of the bridge.
"An' I told ye we were pressin' our luck to begin with. If we'd tried to go any faster, we never woulda made it here," the Scotsman retorted defensively. "I had a responsibility to this ship an' crew too, as well as one to the captain an' Mister Spock. We both know the captain woulda wanted me to safeguard the Enterprise as my first priority."
The fire flaring behind the doctor's eyes was swiftly extinguished. "I'm well aware of that, Scotty, but it's still a bitter pill to swallow." The doctor paused, clearly struggling with the next question. "Why didn't you tell me they were already dead?" he asked quietly, his voice almost completely devoid of the anger that had marked it seconds before.
"They weren't when we found them. Readin's showed they were still with us. Did those Klingon monsters manage to kill them in those few moments it took for Kyle to lock on an' beam them aboard?"
McCoy swallowed convulsively before providing a soft, hesitant response, his frustration and helplessness etched on his face. "I don't know. Spock was a mess, but none of the injuries I could see were terminal, and there were no visible wounds at all on Jim's body." He stopped as a hitched breath erupted from the communications station. Lowering his voice, he continued in a harsh whisper. "At this stage, I don't have a clue what happened. Maybe a post mortem will shed some light on what those butchers did to them. All I know for sure is that we were too late, and there's not a damn thing I can do about it now."
"Well, there's surely somethin' I can do," the Scotsman announced decisively, turning once again to the science station. "Lieutenant?" he pressed.
"I'm scanning approximately fifty personnel in all, sir, most in a central location, a handful dispersed throughout the buildings surrounding the main square."
"Can we stun them?"
"Negative, sir. We could get some of them, but not all. The vast majority are in a building with stone walls too thick for the ship's phasers to penetrate on a stun setting."
"Then I guess we'll just hafta go down an' get them," the chief engineer muttered under his breath. "Signs of the Organians?" Scotty asked, louder this time, mindful of the primitive inhabitants.
"No sign of them at all, sir."
"None?" Scotty was shocked.
"The only life-forms I'm scanning are the Klingons, sir. No others within a hundred kilometer radius."
"What the hell did they do, kill off all the natives, too?" McCoy asked, clearly furious.
"I dinna ken," Scotty replied, a finger brushing his lower lip, "But I intend to find out." He thumbed the switch on the command chair. "Bridge to security."
"Security, Giotto here."
"Mister Giotto, meet me in Briefing Room Two in five minutes. We've got some plannin' to do."
"Aye, sir. Giotto out."
Scott closed the channel, looking askance at McCoy, but the doctor shook his head. "I'm a doctor, not a military strategist, Scotty; I wouldn't be much help anyway." McCoy lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "It's probably not my place to say, but shouldn't you also get input from the tactical team or something?"
"If I were to do that, I'd have to clue them in on what's happened. For now, I'd like to keep the people who know the captain an' Mister Spock are dead to a minimum. I dinna want our actions to be fueled by revenge. Despite the personal impact on this ship an' crew, we have to remember that there's so much more at stake. Those personnel down there could provide a wealth of intelligence for our side."
"Well, whatever the two of you decide to do, just make sure it's not gonna cause an inordinate number of casualties among the crew. I've already got quite enough waiting for me in sickbay," the doctor finished, his eyes suddenly hollow, empty.
Scotty's look softened. He certainly didn't envy McCoy that job. "All right, Doctor, but let me know as soon as ye find out anythin'." The acting captain climbed to his feet. "Mister DeSalle, ye have the con, an' no word of what any of ye have heard from Kyle will be passed on to anyone outside the bridge." He looked around sternly, lending weight to his words. "I'll make an official announcement once we get everythin' sorted out. Mister Harabedian," he said, approaching the science station, "I want ye to locate all those Klingon monsters down there. I want an exact count of how many of them there are, what they're doin', an' where they're located. As soon as ye have all that information, pipe it down to Briefing Room Two. They'll be made to answer for what they've done." He turned on his heel and headed for the turbolift, McCoy a step behind him.
oooOOOoo
She'd been hunched over the desk, face buried in her arms, when the doors to sickbay parted, admitting the orderlies with the gurneys bearing the bodies of the command team. She snapped her head up but the men ignored her, disappearing into the bowels of the medical section with their grim burdens in tow. They emerged a minute later, both exiting into the corridor without a word or a backward glance.
Initially she was concerned that McCoy had not been with them, but soon came to understand that the doctor would need to vent some of his anger and frustration before undertaking the nearly insurmountable task that loomed before him in that small, sterile room. Maybe he was yelling at Scotty, maybe he'd stopped by his quarters first for a good, stiff drink or a cleansing cry. Regardless, the job that awaited him was sure to exact its pound of flesh. She could make it a little easier for him to bear by getting everything prepped ahead of time, ensuring he had to spend the least amount of time possible completing what was sure to be his final responsibility to them. She got to her feet, heading decisively for the ship's morgue.
The room was dark when she entered, the space dominated by the two wheeled beds, their contents hidden beneath thin sheets. Autopsies nowadays were not nearly as primitive as they had been a hundred years ago. Highly sensitive, specialized equipment had done away with the need to cut bodies open in order to discover their elusive secrets.
Studiously avoiding the two still, silent figures she began turning on machines, knowing they would require a few moments to warm up. Gathering the necessary scanners and other diagnostic equipment, she placed them on a tray perched snugly atop a wheeled, metal pedestal. Dragging the stand over to the main diagnostic panel she looked around the room, satisfied. Everything was now in place for when the doctor arrived.
She turned to leave, but as she did so her eyes were inexorably drawn to the two sheeted figures once again. Against her better judgment, she took a step toward the bodies, knowing instinctively which was Spock's, and which was that of her captain. Coming to a stop before the Vulcan's form she caressed his face through the lightweight fabric, feeling her eyes begin to burn, hot trails tracing down her cheeks. Her fingers had grasped the edge of the sheet, preparing to lift it, when a hand on her forearm stopped her. Guiltily she turned and found herself staring into McCoy's eyes, alive with compassion and overly bright and moist.
"Chris, please don't do that. You don't need to see – I don't want you to see – what those murderous barbarians did to him." This only caused her to well up once more, and the doctor tugged her into an awkward embrace. "I know what Spock meant to you. I may not have understood it, and I certainly ribbed you enough about it, but I don't want your last memory of him to be this." He swiftly diverted the course of the conversation to a less painful route. "Thank you for getting everything ready, and for clearing sickbay for me. You're excused from duty for the time being. Go to your quarters, the observation deck – wherever you need to – to clear your head and make peace with things. Scotty and Giotto are planning a retaliatory strike, so in all probability we'll have more casualties than we can handle soon enough. If something happens and I need you before then I'll page you, but I'll need you focused; need you to have your head in the game."
She disentangled herself from his arms, meeting his eyes. "Then I'd prefer to stay here and get things prepped if that's okay with you, Doctor. I'd rather be busy; keep my mind occupied instead of being forced to dwell on what's happened."
McCoy's look softened and he reached out to brush the moisture from her cheeks. "Okay then, if that's what you want. Don't recall the rest of the staff until I hear from Scotty. I'll be out to help you as soon as I can…as soon as I'm done here," he said, his face darkening.
Knowing there were no words she could say, nothing she could do that would make this easier for him, she simply squeezed his forearm before departing.
oooOOOooo
Giotto was already seated at the table when Scotty arrived. Slipping into a vacant chair, he drew a steadying breath, opening his mouth to speak, but Giotto beat him to it.
"They're dead, aren't they?" he asked grimly, his voice low, angry. It didn't matter that it hadn't been officially announced yet. Scott knew a good number of the crew had already surmised the truth. That his order of secrecy to the bridge crew would be followed to the letter was a given, but the fact that no one had seen the captain and first officer in the flesh since they'd arrived at Organia was a pretty good indicator of what had happened. It was the mark of an astute security chief that Giotto had already guessed the nature of this meeting.
"Aye. We did find them an' beam them aboard, but we were too late. McCoy's doin' autopsies right now in order to determine the exact cause of death."
"And those responsible?" the man across from him growled, his words short, clipped.
"They're still on the surface. Apparently, the Klingons deserted them. There's no ship in orbit but a whole pack of them are still down there. More'n likely it was recalled to reinforce their fleet after the rousin' beatin' they took at Coridan. As to why those members of their crew were left behind – beats me." He paused as another idea came to him. "Unless they were hopin' to get vital information about Starfleet from the captain an' Mister Spock, given the recent turn in the war. They musta figured it was safer to leave them there rather than risk tryin' to transport them off world an' have the ship carryin' them be destroyed."
"Then why kill them?"
"They musta known we were here an' wanted to prevent us from rescuin' them."
Giotto nodded agreement. "How many of them are there?" he asked at last.
"Lieutenant Harabedian's gettin' me the exact figures now, but estimates around fifty, all within a quarter-kilometer radius at the moment."
The intercom whistled shrilly, interrupting the conversation. "Harabedian to Mister Scott."
"Scott here, go ahead lad," the chief engineer replied, activating the three-sided viewer located in the center of the table.
"Total count is fifty-three, sir, all ensconced in one building. There had been a flurry of activity in the surrounding structures, but all personnel have returned to a central location, groups of eight to twelve personnel scattered throughout the building."
"Aye lad, thank ye. Keep track of them, an' keep me abreast of any new developments. Scott out." He turned to Giotto. "Well now, what do ye make of that?" the Scotsman asked.
"Honestly, I smell a trap. Odds are they've retreated to what they think is the most defensible position. The fact that their troops are widely dispersed within the structure indicates they're probably waiting for us to attack and probably hoping to ambush us when we do." He paused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "It's almost as if by vacating those buildings, they're asking for our people to come down and occupy them. Why? I wouldn't put it past those sneaky bastards to have booby trapped them somehow. If you want my professional opinion, I think beaming troops down to the planet would be a huge mistake, putting our people at risk unnecessarily. Without one of their ships in orbit they're trapped; have nowhere to run; are at our mercy. You know, we could simply use the Enterprise to take them out," he suggested, leaning forward, elbows on the desk, eyeing Scott carefully.
"Aye, that we could, but that would deprive us of prisoners. We'll need to find out what, if anythin', the captain an' Mister Spock told them about the inner workin's of Starfleet. We need to look beyond our own loss an' discover the potential ramifications for this war if the Klingons have inside information about our strengths, weaknesses, an' capabilities. Besides, whoever's in command down there may wind up providin' a wealth of intelligence for our side."
"I didn't mean annihilate them, but rather stun them. If we were to do so, and then beam down with a security force, we could round them all up before they came to. It would certainly be the best way to prevent any more of our own casualties."
"Aye, I had the same idea, an' asked Harabedian about it before comin' here, but he says the stone walls of the fortress are just too thick for a wide-angle stun from the ship's phaser banks to penetrate."
"What about transporting them up, then?"
"That's certainly possible. We beamed up the captain an' Mister Spock no problem. But we'd have to use the cargo transporters then, an' bring each lot aboard together. We'd only be able to beam six aboard at a time usin' the main transporter. Beamin' them aboard piecemeal would give the ones who come later the chance to warn their comrades about what's goin' on, or to beam up with live grenades, or disruptors blazin'. That could land a world of hurt on our personnel as well as the ship." Scott paused, his mind racing. "Can your lads rig up a temporary holdin' facility on the hangar deck? We could keep them all there. It's the only space large enough to hold the whole kit an' caboodle together. I can provide ye with all the engineers ye'll need."
"That shouldn't be a problem," Giotto answered momentarily, doing a quick calculation in his head of the manpower and equipment that would be required. "Give me about half an hour."
"That should be fine, lad; it'll give me just enough time to let Command know what's happened."
Giotto shook his head, unsure of who would have the tougher job.
oooOOOooo
She was prepping surgical packs when McCoy came staggering blindly out of the morgue, brushing past her without a word, headed for his office. She hurried after him and found him pouring several fingers of bourbon from the bottle on the shelf behind his desk. He swallowed it in one mighty gulp, collapsing into his chair. Much as she wanted to ask, she held her tongue, waiting for him to speak.
Finally, his eyes met hers. "I don't know, Nurse," he supplied, answering the question hovering unspoken in the air between them. "Jim hadn't been touched, at least not physically, and while Spock did have some severe injuries, none of them were fatal. Near as I can tell, their brains just shut down and I haven't the first clue as to why."
She sank into a chair as well, willing herself to keep it together for McCoy's sake. He rolled the empty glass between his fingers, dropping his eyes. "I have to inform Scotty," he said at last, meeting her gaze. "It's not something I want to broadcast over the ship's comm system. I need to talk to Scotty in person. Will you be okay here until I get back?"
"Yes, Doctor. I've got a dozen surgical packs prepped, numerous trauma kits ready, stores of O negative blood and all the plasma we have on board easily accessible, bone knitters on station, and portable ventilators and cardio stimulators handy. All we need to do is recall the staff and we're prepared for any contingency."
McCoy's look of gratitude was instantaneous. Normally not the most effusive of bosses, his eyes conveyed his appreciation of her taking charge of the situation. "Very well, Nurse. I'll be back as soon as I can," he said, climbing to his feet and disappearing into the corridor beyond. Rising from her chair as well, she returned to the main ward to await the inevitable flood of wounded, unable to spare herself a moment's thought for the Vulcan's fate, not to mention that of the captain. That grief, that release, would have to come later, when she was alone in her quarters.
oooOOOooo
Giotto had left several minutes ago. Scott had placed a call to the engineering section, dispatching half a dozen of his best people to the hangar deck with explicit instructions to assist the security chief and his men however possible. He'd put it off for as long as possible, knowing that he no longer had an excuse to delay the unavoidable. Thumbing the switch on the comm unit, he contacted the bridge.
"Bridge, Uhura here," came the immediate response.
"I need you to get me Admiral Komack at Starfleet Command, and pipe it down here, lass."
"Aye, sir." Her tone left no doubt that she understood the nature of the call.
Komack's face soon appeared on the desktop viewscreen. "Commander Scott. I'm assuming you have something to report?"
"Aye, Admiral, an' I'm afraid the word's not good. Captain Kirk an' Mister Spock did not survive their time in captivity, but we did manage to recover the bodies."
"I see," Komack said, pausing briefly, his brow crinkling in consternation. "And what's the status of the planet?"
"No sign of the Organians, an' the Klingon ship that was in orbit apparently fled the scene, leaving a contingent of about fifty personnel stranded on the surface."
"We need them taken alive at all costs. Only they know what information, or lack thereof, Captain Kirk and Commander Spock provided."
"Aye. That was our thought as well, sir, an' the security chief an' I have already come up with a plan to capture all of them." Not that there aren't a great number of crewmen here who'd rather see them all dead, he supplied silently.
"See to it, Commander. The Enterprise is to remain on station and secure Organia for the Federation. We'll be dispatching support in the form of two additional starships. They should be arriving in fourteen hours, at which time you will depart and deliver the prisoners to Command." Komack's look switched to one of grim determination. "We'll inform the next of kin, and contact you with instructions regarding the handling of the remains."
"Aye, Admiral. Enterprise out." He switched off the comm unit just as the doors to the briefing room opened, admitting McCoy. The doctor slipped into a vacant chair, the man visibly pale and shaken.
Scotty's look softened into one of compassion for the CMO. "Ye have news then, Doctor?" he asked quietly.
McCoy started, reluctantly meeting the Scotsman's eyes. "My autopsy showed there wasn't a thing wrong with Jim, aside from a touch of malnutrition, slight dehydration, a well-healed cut on his lower lip and a bruise at his temple. No other wounds or signs of blunt force trauma or internal injuries.
"Spock was in far worse shape," he said, pausing, his eyes going vacant as he remembered the state the Vulcan's body was in, "but as horrible and inhumane as his treatment was, as I said before, it didn't cause his death.
"Nearest I can figure, they were beating up on Spock, trying to get to Jim; using their friendship against them. It must have been unbearable for Jim – Spock had to have been in excruciating pain." He stopped, meeting the Scotsman's gaze squarely, blue eyes blazing. "Those animals…even…gouged out…one of Spock's eyes," he added in disgust, the words catching in his throat. He swallowed grimly before continuing. "I figured maybe Jim had finally snapped, went berserk or something, but there was no evidence that he met a violent end. Neither of them died due to physical trauma, in fact."
"Then what killed them? A disruptor on stun at close range, maybe? That would make sense if the Klingons got wind of the fact that we were on our way to rescue them."
McCoy shook his head. "That would have left telltale signs. It just seems like their brains shut down; stopped working."
"Somethin' the Klingons did to them?"
"I really don't know Scotty. Unfortunately, we may never know," McCoy finished dejectedly.
"Well, odds are whoever was in charge down there will know. They're dispersed in several rooms throughout one of the buildin's, an' Giotto an' I have decided to use the cargo transporters to beam each group up all at once. Ye'll be glad to know this should mean no casualties on our side."
"Thank God for that," the doctor answered, a sigh of relief puffing out his cheeks. "When are you going to tell the crew?"
"I just finished speakin' with Command. We've been ordered to capture all the Klingons on the planet, an' stay on station until reinforcements arrive so we can maintain control of Organia. I'll tell the crew after we get them all aboard; even though it was never officially announced most of them have probably already guessed the command team's fate. They're a good crew; they have the right to know." Suddenly, the acting-captain looked much older than his forty-five years.
"I'm sorry, Scotty," the doctor said, climbing to his feet and clapping a hand on the slumped shoulders for a split second before exiting the briefing room. Gathering himself, Scott followed a few moments later, headed resolutely for the shuttle bay.
