A/N: Thank you for the reviews, ladybrit and TFT! I truly appreciate when people take the time to tell me about what they liked, and they are honestly very encouraging for someone who's new to writing. This chapter is for both of you!
It is early on Vulcan—the sand is still milky white under moonlight. A half-Vulcan rises from his seated position to greet Master Sivek with the Ta'al. Once the salute is returned, both flow smoothly into meditative positions on the platform of the highest point on Gol. It is a sacred area, one which Spock is allowed to enter only for this final stage of attainment of Kolinahr. Master Sivek gently rests his fingers on Spock's psi points. It is time to unravel the bond.
The bond is what brought Spock to Gol, and took Spock away from Jim. Spock remembers the day he discovered the unintentional connection one afternoon after the Enterprise had returned from her five year mission. It had already been half formed by then, the signs of telepathic communication were showing, the emotional transference clearly felt by Spock whenever Jim spotted him in a crowd. Spock remembers feeling an unbound sense of joy, but he no longer remembers the feeling itself. He also remembers experiencing a rush of panic upon that realization, because inexperienced hands like Spock's would not know how to hold onto a flame that bright without reducing it to embers.
Spock and Jim were two polar opposites—there was no logic to their compatibility, and even less logic to the emotions that ravaged Spock for the next two months after. A friendship of five years, a conflict of identity of forty years. It was odd how the years came out to be of almost equal weight in Spock's consideration. It will take but one day to take apart what took five years to build. Spock feels the bond begin to fray.
-SOAH-
Monday crashes into Starfleet like a hurricane without grace. It is highly unfortunate that it is the start of the week, because after the lull of casual Sunday news and gossip columns, the reporters are only too hungry to sensationalise another attack of a Federation planet. It is also unfortunate that the Chief of Starfleet Operations was not informed of this before entering the Fleet Ops building, and while Jim maneuvers around microphones stuck into his personal space, he makes a mental note to push forward his recommendation for a review of Starfleet's information communication system, because the current one is clearly inadequate.
He brisk walks the last stretch to his office, quickly signaling his new Yeoman in. A thin lipped lady well into her forties, she gives him a nod to indicate she will be with him soon and proceeds to prepare his coffee.
"Jones, what do we have this morning?" Jim mutters distractedly while pulling up his unread communications. Yeoman Jones sets a steaming mug on his desk before checking her planner.
"Sir, there's an emergency meeting with the Admiralty at 1000 hours on the attack on Coutarie, a conference with Chief Engineer Kyle of the USS Farragut on refits at 1400 hours, and a lunchtime engagement with the governor of Picult, but I'll have to get back to you on the timing of that appointment. Engineering is calling for some approvals for materials to prepare for the Farragut refit," Jones systematically relays the schedule for the day.
Jim pinches his nose with a groan, because a meeting with the Admiralty before lunch means lunch isn't actually going to happen. He instructs Jones to reschedule his midday appointment and thanks her for the coffee. Glancing at the chronometer, he lets out another groan, because he has slightly less than an hour to prepare his report to the Admiralty and has not even been briefed on the details of Coutarie. It doesn't help that he already knows what to expect for the rest of the week after the gigantic mess that was Tolia. Jim considers actually submitting to that physical Bones has been nagging him about, because after another week of sleep deprivation, he could legitimately need it.
"Computer, patch me through with Commodore Robert Wesley of the USS Lexington," Jim instructs while turning to the side to pull out some folders on the Andorian system. He takes a big gulp of coffee and rifles through reports and charts, finding only a short two page reference on Coutarie. It appears to be a small planet on the edge of the system, which makes it hardly a likely target for an attack, and Jim cannot help but consider the connection between two attacks on small insignificant planets, made within ten days of each other. The instinctive jump in logic, originating from his Starship command days, encourages the gut feeling that the attacks are somehow linked.
Commodore Wesley's weary face appears on-screen. Jim takes another drink from the coffee mug before setting it down and greeting the Commodore with a salute that is swiftly returned.
"Commodore, report."
"Oddly enough sir, there is not much to report. An unknown vessel entered the system under heavy cloaking technology. The Farragut was alerted to unauthorized entry to Coutarie's Infernite wells at 0500 hours. When we arrived to the site of the distress call, the intruders had already made off with a barrel of Infernite. There were no witnesses—patrol guards claim to have had no impression of the fifteen minutes between when the alert was sent out and when we arrived. The Farragut's Science Department suspects psychic activity was involved. That is all," says Commodore Wesley.
Alarm bells begin ringing in Jim's head—he knows deep down there is no denying that the attacks on Tolia and Coutarie are related, but he has no solid evidence for this. One barrel of Cabrodine and one barrel of Infernite, two attacks with no witnesses, no casualties, and seemingly no clear motive. A sneaking suspicion creeps into Jim's mind, and he recalls snippets of a particular approval request.
"Chemical safety data sheet: Infernite (65% composition, explosive, class 7 substance), Cabrodine (35% composition, explosive, class 8 substance)…"
"Hold the line, Commodore."
It is familiarity with similar situations of making connections based on intuition that propels Jim to automatically call up multiple information sheets, research articles, and scientific journals. He scans the various documents, eyes darting quickly between different pieces of information, focusing in on the details that will lead him to a conclusion that he already knows is correct.
Synthesis requires highly complex procedures…
A single ounce is sufficient to cause significant neurological impact…
Exact amounts of Cabrodine and Infernite…
Involves high levels of radiation…
Extremely toxic to Vulcans…
It takes a disproportionately long time for Jim to pull any coherency out of himself. Five years of being the Captain of the Enterprise, and Jim knows about keeping a clear head in the face of utter chaos like the back of his hand, but this isn't chaos, this is knowing about chaos without being within it, and Jim doesn't know the appropriate instinctual response for a situation like this.
One name tears through Jim's mind, his thought processes a mess of pure adrenaline and intense fear, and Jim knows for the first time, how helplessness feels like.
-SOAH-
In the burnt orange of Vulcan desert, cracks from the edge of a platform of Gol move in towards the two forms seated in the centre. A Master of Kolinahr experiences a psychic attack like none he had ever known before, and this extreme psionic activity will become an anomaly so well known in the academic world that it will capture the interest of Vulcan experts for decades to come. Master Sivek tears his hands away from Spock's face, his fingers tinged green and tingling with the remembered memory of what felt like electric currents.
Spock's eyes snap open, a light of desperation clear in their depths. His voice is hoarse with lack of use, and thick with emotion when he whispers the one name that wiped clean his efforts of the past year.
"Jim."
