Chapter 3

Commodore Kinsey lowered her sleeve over the bandage McCoy had placed on her arm after drawing blood. Several hours had passed while he performed his tests, and she still had her own work to do. "Thank you, Doctor. If you are finished with your tests for the moment, I will return to my quarters. I have much work to do before I meet with Mr. Spock this afternoon."

"I don't think so, Commodore. I think you need to stay here and rest, at least until the blood tests come back."

"I wish I could, but I can't."

"Medical orders, Commodore." So, the day came sooner than expected. Well then.

"Dr. McCoy, you cannot order me to stay here. I have as much authority on this ship during my mission as you do."

"We're a long way from Headquarters out here, ma'am. My authority on this ship is supported both by regulation and practice. Yours, even if it has been approved by Starfleet will take awhile to verify. Until then, as Chief Medical Officer on this ship, I will tell you what you need and what you don't, when it comes to your health."

"Doctor, I trust you understand the position in which you are placing yourself. I don't think you want to quote regulations to me, I wrote most of the medical ones. The only way you could order me to stay here would be if going to my quarters put the rest of the ship at undue risk. It doesn't."

"I'm not so sure about that, Commodore. In the first place, we don't know what you have. It could be contagious."

"It isn't."

"In the second, it could disrupt the normal flow of ship operations."

"It won't."

"How do you know?" She hesitated for just a split second, then decided against telling him how she knew, for the moment. She trusted him, she would not have chosen this ship first if she hadn't, but there was a proper time for these things, and this was not it. It should still be too early to show up in her blood, and if she told him, that would delay her mission considerably. Instead, she tried the argument from a different angle.

"Doctor, do you trust me?"

"You know the answer to that, but please don't ask me to put our friendship above my professional responsibilities. I just can't, Dee."

"I am not asking you to do that, Mac, and you know I wouldn't. You just expressed proper concern about whether my illness would endanger the rest of the ship. You know me well, both personally and professionally. Do you really think I would do anything to endanger this ship?"

"Not on purpose. You are asking me to trust you. I have to ask you—do you know what is wrong with you?"

"Not exactly. If it is anything more than fainting from an environment to which I am not accustomed, it can only be one of two or three afflictions that affect my people, and none of those pose a danger to anyone else. The classified part of my mission here is very important. I must talk to the Captain again, as well as to Commander Spock before the briefing. Plans have already been put into play—plans that could endanger the Enterprise if she isn't prepared for the mission. If you will allow me to go to my quarters, I promise I will rest between meeting with Kirk and Spock and the briefing. I don't know that this is anything serious. People faint for many reasons, and Andorians for more reasons than most. If it is, we will deal with it at a more appropriate time."

McCoy grumbled something about doctors making the worst patients, and then said, "all right, Commodore. I trust you. Please don't make me regret that decision. I will escort you to your quarters."

"I must see the Captain first."

"I'll walk you there, then." They walked out of sickbay and down the hall to the Captain's quarters. She stopped outside the door.

"Do you think the Captain will be well enough to participate in the briefing?"

"Well, that's hard to say. He was much better this morning, so maybe."

"I thought, with his permission and yours, that we might hold the briefing in his quarters, so that he could rest and be brought up to date at the same time. Would that be all right?"

"That's acceptable. You'll need to be sure it is all right with him."

"Thank you, Doctor."

Captain Kirk was sitting up, reading from the view screen in front of him, and making notes on a data pad on his lap. McCoy approached with his tricorder out. The Captain frowned, but said nothing.

"How long have you been working this morning, Jim?"

"Don't mother me, Bones," Kirk replied, irritably. Ah, someone was feisty. That meant he was feeling better.

"Answer my question. You may feel better, but that doesn't mean your body is ready for all that you usually throw at it. If I am to decide how to answer the Commodore's question, I need to know that you aren't over working yourself." The doctor turned his back and begin digging in his medical kit for the ampoule he wanted. He smiled to himself as he spoke. That ought to get Jim's attention.

"Explain."

"First, answer my question."

"For about two hours. What question do you have to answer for the Commodore?"

"I asked Dr. McCoy what your prognosis is, and whether he feels you are up to being involved in my briefing. If he decides that you are, I would like to hold the briefing in here, so that you can rest and be updated at the same time. You have an important part to play in this mission, once you are well, and I want you to have the information you need to immediately proceed once you are released from medical care."

"Bones, how about it? I don't mind holding it in here at all, and I want to be involved in that briefing." Catching the look on both doctors' faces, he continued, in a less forceful voice, "I will rest, Bones. I promise. But this could be important to the ship. I trust Spock, but there are certain decisions that only I can make." Bones held the hypo to Kirk's elbow, and released its contents with a hiss.

"Dammit, Jim. One of these days, you are going to do something that I won't be able to fix. All right, you can be involved in the briefing, if you put that away right now, and rest until it's time. The medicine I just gave you will make you feel better. Don't make the mistake of continuing to work because of it. If you do, you will crash by the time the briefing takes place. Get some rest, Captain. Come on, Commodore. I will show you to quarters."

"Not so fast. I must know the Captain's prognosis. When will he be released from your care? Answer carefully, this is important."

"He has two broken legs, and I am having to regenerate the joints and cartiledge of both knees. In addition to that, he has one broken arm and a broken wrist, and a couple of cracked ribs. I would say a week, if he follows orders."

"I'm afraid I don't have a week, gentlemen. Is there any way to move this along any faster?"

"Bones, what about that blood escalator you gave Spock when you had to operate on the Ambassador? Would it do the same thing for a regenerative drug?"

"Jim, I don't even know if it will work for you, since it has only been tested and used with people of Vulcanoid physiology. It might be worth a try, but I'll need to do some research and some tests, both on you and on the drug. Are you sure you want to do this? It could be a risk."

"I will want to see the results of both sets of tests, and then I will make the decision of whether to call someone else in or allow the Captain to do this. As of right now, Captain, you are under medical quarantine for the next 48 hours, while Dr. McCoy does his tests and any treatment we may decide to do in conjunction with this mission. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good. I will inform Mr. Spock of the change in command. Now, I am going to my quarters. Are you coming, Doctor?"

They climbed into the turbolift and rode it up two decks to the VIP guest quarters located above officers' quarters. He palmed open the door to her quarters, and settled her behind the small desk, staying long enough to make sure she had what she needed to be comfortable there, and not have to move around too much. Then, he left.

Opening the bag on her bed, and removing a small box, she removed a data disk and placed it in the computer slot on her desk. She pressed several buttons in sequence, then removed the disk, placed it carefully back into the box, and placed the box back into her bag. With any luck, the program would mask itself as it worked, just as it was designed to do. Sighing, she settled back down to work. She had argued stringently against this part of her mission, but in the end, she had her orders just like everyone else. She comforted herself with the knowledge that she believed Admiral Komack's assurances that this was simply another test for the Enterprise crew, one of many, and it would not endanger their lives. He understood that she was a doctor first, and her oath to that was older than her oath to the fleet, and more important. She had made that abundantly clear. She had also made it clear that when the two were in conflict, she must be a doctor first. She could not take life in any form, not even to save her own, or those of her crew. Her Prime Directive was to sustain life, in whatever way she had to do so.

Spock sounded the chime outside the Commodore's door, and waited patiently for her to open it. "Come," she said. He went. Motioning him to a chair in front of her, the Commodore spoke as soon as the door whooshed closed behind him.

"Commander, I called you down here to discuss the unclassified part of my mission, and to give you your new orders. I will be briefing the senior officers at 14:00 hours in the Captain's quarters. Only those with top level security clearance may attend. I will require some research before the briefing."

"Understood, Commodore."

"All right. Good. My mission, as I said before, has a twofold purpose. Starfleet Command is researching whether psychiatrists and psychologists should be posted on starships, especially those undergoing five year missions. I will be inspecting your sickbay, evaluating your medical staff, and talking to whichever members of the crew I deem necessary, and then reporting my findings back to Starfleet Command. I will travel, over the course of two years, to all twelve starships, where I will perform the same function. Colleagues are doing the same thing with other, smaller ships in the fleet. I will be aboard ship for six to eight weeks, or as long as is necessary to complete my research. Senior officers only are to know anything about this, and then only on an as needed basis. Anything else would skew the results of the test. Do you understand?"

"Aye, madam."
"Good. Any questions?"

"Yes. You mentioned that you needed me to do some research. What would the subject of this research you require be?"

"I understand that this ship is currently on a medical mission to Lugubria, which is the reason I chose this ship as the first. Dr. McCoy will need all the help he can get on the planet's surface. I cannot tell you why I am asking, but I need to know if there is a way to record outgoing messages, which are using devices other than official ship's communications. I know the computer automatically records messages using the official ship's channels."

"It is possible, Commodore, but it is against regulations."

"Explain."

"It would involve recording all conversations in specific areas of the ship, and that is an invasion of the crew's privacy. However, it is permissible if we tell the crew what we are doing and why, first."

"Mr. Spock, I can't do that. That would defeat my purpose. I guess we'll just have to find another way to do what I am trying to do."

"As you wish, Commodore."

"All right. Your orders are to rendezvous with the USS Liberty at 12:30, at which time, the Enterprise will bring Ambassador Sarek of Vulcan aboard, and render all aid and assistance on a mission of utmost importance to the affairs of the Federation. He will inform you of the specifics of his mission when he comes aboard. Clear?"

"Aye."

"Good. Dismissed." Without a word, Spock turned on his heel and left the room.

(0o0)

Sarek had settled himself in the back of the shuttlecraft while his pilot and some of his staff manned the controls. They were three hours from their rendevous with the Enterprise, and he had still not been able to reach Amanda. Slowing his breathing, focusing on her image, concentrating with all of his considerable strength, he reached out as far as he could go with that tenuous, incredible mind link that joined a bonded Vulcan couple. He had wondered once if the link might be diminished because she was human, but they soon determined it wasn't. If anything, the link was enhanced in some ways, simply because she was not embarrassed to love him.

She was the keyholder, the one who could take the brief discomfort he felt when their fingers touched and make it something beautiful and pleasant. She was the keeper of the truth, or that which was their truth, anyway. She spoke the words of wisdom and comfort, the only one who could bring the small smile into play on his lips. Amanda, where are you? He asked the question silently, in his own mind, waiting for an answer, and when he didn't get it, allowing for a moment his stoic Vulcan persona to slip the slightest bit, knowing that he would be among Humans later, and that he musn't allow them or his son, Spock, to see this side of himself. His mind betrayed then what his heart felt, and that which was usually so well controlled, so carefully concealed in a special place inside him reserved for such things. His spirit screamed, if indeed a Vulcan spirit was capable of such things. Amanda! He was sure he would know if she had died, and he allowed himself to take comfort in that thought. At that moment, he didn't care one little bit whether comfort was logical or not. He knew himself to need it. Still, the idea that she was injured and in pain was almost more than he could bear, and not being able to contact her to be sure she was well was making it worse.

(0o0)

At 12:29 precisely, Spock waited quietly in the transporter room. Scott was operating the controls himself, at the Vulcan's request. There was an unease to the Vulcan that worried Scott. A moment later, Dr. McCoy walked in. Spock nodded to him, and McCoy nodded back. He was uncharacteristically silent, watching Spock carefully. Apparently, he noticed something as well. The comm. link whistled at that moment, and Scott toggled the switch to answer it.

"Transporter room. Scott here." He heard the voice of Lieutenant Uhura on the other end of the connection. "U SS Liberty reports ready for transfer, sir."

"Thank ye, Lieutenant."

"Energize, Mr. Scott." Scott's hands worked the levers on the transporter console, and a moment later, an austere and regal looking Vulcan was coalescing in a column of sparkling lights. As soon as the lights disappeared, Ambassador Sarek of Vulcan stepped off the transporter platform, as Spock stepped forward.

"Ambassador," Spock said, raising his hand in the salute.

"Spock."Sarek inclined his head toward his son, returning the salute. The word hung in the air for a moment, and then Sarek continued. "Is there somewhere we can speak privately, my son?" Nodding once, Spock turned and walked through the transporter room doors and into the hallway beyond, his father keeping stride with him.

"I don't think so, Mr. Spock." Sarek turned and looked at the doctor as though he'd never seen him before.

"Explain, Doctor." McCoy looked at Spock, not really wanting to make an issue in front of his father, but unable to justify allowing him to go looking like he did. Spock inclined his head slightly, as if giving his permission to discuss this in front of his father. Sarek had asked for the explanation, but McCoy addressed Spock.

"Mr. Spock, I am concerned about you. You've not slept in over fourteen days, and you've not eaten at all today. Now, I know Vulcans do that sometimes and it may be perfectly normal, but judging by the looks of you, I think it is wearing on you."

"Ah, then you feel it, too," Sarek said, quietly, looking at his son. Spock nodded once, but said nothing. He turned to continue walking down the hall, his father next to him and the doctor trailing a bit behind. When they reached his quarters, Spock ushered them both inside and motioned them to seats. He sat behind his desk, long fingers steepled in front of him, lips pursed, eyes burning more than usual. Finally, he said, "Doctor McCoy, I must speak with my father privately, in regards to what we were just discussing. I cannot share it with you, nor can I explain it in a way you would understand it. Please excuse us, Doctor."

"No dice, Spock. I am not letting you out of my sight. If you can talk to your father in front of me, I will allow the discussion, but if not, I am sorry Spock, Sarek, I just won't take the chance." A flare of electricity seemed to pass between the Vulcans, and Spock raised his hand as if he would meld with his father, but halfway to Sarek's face, a large hand closed on his arm in a vice like grip.

"No, that would not be prudent. We do not know what is wrong. I think, in this case, we might safely speak in front of an outworlder. I understand this man stood with you at your kun-at-kal-i-fee. He knows something of Vulcan mysticism. Also, he has a duty to be concerned about your health. You must not deny him his duty. Spock remained impassive for a moment, and then spoke.

"Doctor, what do you know about telepathic contact?"

"I understand the concept, but the only firsthand experience I've had has been on this ship."

"Describe the experience for me."

"You know the experience better than I do, Spock."

"Humor me."

"All right. It is difficult to describe. I feel a presence in my mind that is different from what is usually there, and then I experience thoughts that aren't mine, as though I am the one thinking them. I see images clearly—and I know they belong to someone else. That's how it is at the beginning. At the end, it is as though the thoughts and images and the presence really are mine, and yet, not. I don't know how else to describe it."

"Sufficient, Doctor. That's precisely the way I would describe it as well, normally. Now…it seems that the thoughts and images have a veil over them, or are coming through a room filled with smoke and noise."

"Spock, are you saying that your telepathic radar has gone haywire?" McCoy asked, alarmed.

"Crudely expressed, but essentially correct." McCoy noticed that the Vulcan was not quite meeting his eyes.

"Do you know what it means, Spock?"

"It usually signifies interference of some kind, either on my end or the other. This time, it is illogical that it would be caused by something I did, since by my father's comments, I am inclined to believe he is experiencing precisely the same event."

"I have only seen it this strong in the presence of alien life forms."

"Could we be causing it somehow, Spock?"

"That is illogical. Interaction with your people has never caused it before."

"Some kind of different technology on the ship, then?"
"Unknown at present, Dr. McCoy."

"What do you need, Spock? I will help you if you tell me how." It was Sarek who spoke.

"The logical first step would be to check the ship for the presence of alien life forms."

"Agreed," Spock said softly. He toggled a switch on his desk. Lieutenant Uhura's face came up on the screen. She started to smile, and then smoothed her face to neutral once again, since she knew it was not necessary to smile at Spock, nor would it be returned. "Miss Uhura, please ask two members of the security team to meet me in my quarters."

"Yes, sir."

"Thank you, Lieutenant. Spock out." He turned to McCoy, but was interrupted before he could speak by the intercom's whistle. Opening the channel again, he fully expected to see Lieutenant Uhura telling him something she had forgotten. Instead, Commodore Kinsey looked back at him.

"Commodore."

"Mr. Spock. Is Dr. McCoy there with you?"

"Yes."

"Please meet me in Captain Kirk's quarters as soon as possible. I have something of some import to discuss with you. Bring your father and the good doctor with you."

"I am on my way. Spock out." He closed the channel, and turned once again to Dr. McCoy, who acknowledged him by holding a hypospray to his upper arm. One eyebrow quirked upward, and the look was reciprocated by McCoy, who answered the unspoken question. "Stimulant shot. Your readings are bad, Spock, even for you. I really want you to rest, but this will do, for the time being."

"Doctor McCoy, sometimes I am forced to wonder whether you might have some latent powers of telepathy that your file overlooks." Whatever McCoy had expected Spock to say, it certainly wasn't that. A dozen or more retorts ran through the doctor's head, but they all seemed wrong somehow. Finally, he said, "you never know, Spock. You just never know."