Chapter Ten

Spock stared at the human, digesting the request in a very unVulcan-like way. He had felt Jim's nervousness and apprehension from the moment he had entered, but had attributed it to embarrassment. Despite McCoy's assurances, he had anticipated anger from Jim, resentment, perhaps even a formal complaint. He had not anticipated a request for a mind-meld – the very thing that had caused their conflict. He wondered if Jim truly understood what he was asking.

Jim turned his head and leaned forward slightly, as if searching. The vibrant blue eyes were unfocused and straining to see. Spock was aware that Jim's sight had worsened, and that the human was trying to hide it.

"Your silence is making me nervous, Spock," Jim said with a faint smile. A vein at his left temple throbbed rapidly. Headache.

"Jim…"

"I know it's…very personal." Jim seemed to struggle to find the right words. His breathing and heart rate were elevated, signs of distress. "I wouldn't ask, but…something's happened."

Spock narrowed his focus, tilting his head inquisitively. "Something?"

In such close proximity, he could feel the other's emotions – an unrestrained storm of sensations that he could not identify. It was impossible for him to single out any specific context from the maelstrom of emotions that poured forth. He was not accustomed to this in Jim who, while often unpredictable and reckless, had always maintained a strong hold on his emotions. Beneath the chaos, he was also aware that there was something the human was anxious to conceal from him.

"Some…one," Jim began, "something…touched my mind."

Spock went cold inside, a dead cold that went deep to his core, to his human heritage and thousands of years of Vulcan savagery, beyond the disciplines of Kolinahr and the prohibitions that must govern civilized societies. He recognized the coldness, had become intimate with it after his mother's death, and as he had raced to kill Khan. Now, in the stillness of the dimly lit room, he allowed it to settle, coiling tightly at his center. He looked at his friend – pale and weakened – and felt again the fragility of the human species and an overwhelming need to protect and defend this human.

"Are you certain?" he asked. His voice was as tight as the strange coldness inside.

Jim's expression softened as he nodded. "It was…noticeable."

Deliberate.

I am the gatekeeper.

Spock should have known of the possibility of an alien mind probe. The engineered toxin was advanced and designed to attack the memory centers of the human brain; there was the 'gateway' that only Jim could open, his bioelectric signature somehow captured…. Spock had failed to see the scope of the situation.

"I think it's been communicating all along, wanting something from me," Jim said. "That's why I need your help." He was staring at Spock with those disturbing blind eyes. "I need to remember what happened. And only you can help me."

"What was the nature of this communication?"

Jim took a deep breath, wincing as he did so. "It was…in words, but…not verbal. I could feel them. But that's not important. I—"

"What words?"

Jim's shoulders lowered and he shifted uncomfortably. "Be at peace."

"You were not at peace?" Spock studied the pale face, noting the stress around the eyes and mouth, the vein that continued to throb and pulse at the temple. What is it that McCoy had said? Jim's not at his best right now.

"No, look…." Jim rubbed his temples with both hands, his frustration growing. "It's not important what was said."

"If you were troubled and this … entity knew of it, that indicates that there is an established link."

The expression on Jim's face told Spock that this was not new information to him.

"Spock, are you going to help me or not?"

He regarded his friend with compassion. "It is not that simple, Jim. Your body has been under the influence of a powerful neurotoxin. You are still recovering. The human mind is complex and fragile and intrinsically connected to physiological responses. I cannot simply enter your mind and retrieve information."

"Why not?" Jim asked defiantly. The soft planes of his face had shifted into a mask of angles and creases, sharpening his features. At that moment he looked like the brash, indestructible captain who didn't believe in no-win scenarios.

"What you are asking me to perform is a deeply personal experience."

"I know."

Something in the way the human said it alerted him. He studied the youthful features, trying to decipher if it was bravado or knowledge. With whom would he have experienced a meld? It was not something humans would enter into lightly, nor would they seek it out. They were a race that fiercely guarded their independence.

"Spock…please."

Spock wavered. It was not a casual request, and not something any commander could order of his subordinate. It was something a friend would ask of a friend. "It would not be like…before. Our link was established during meditation. It was a light meld, barely perceptible. You did not recognize my presence and yet it still disturbed you." He paused. "This meld would be very difficult for you."

"I know what a meld feels like, Spock." Jim's brow furrowed as he inclined his head.

He gave the human a questioning look. For a moment, Spock felt something strangely akin to jealousy. Had someone melded with Jim, touched that dynamic mind and joined with him? It was illogical, he knew. Jim owed him nothing.

"I know what I'm asking."

And so did Spock. There would be no barriers between them, no pretense. Their minds would be joined as one. "I must be certain that your request is of your own volition. If an alien has made contact with your mind, you may be under the influence of another's thoughts."

Jim made a face. "I think I know my own mind."

"Hallucinations only appear to be hallucinations to an observer."

Jim let out a harsh breath that closely resembled a growl. He looked tired in the low lighting and Spock wondered if such an undertaking would be a sound medical decision. A meld was not in and of itself stressful, but if either one of the participants resisted or became overwhelmed, it could cause great distress.

"Wonderful analogy," Jim said flatly. "How do you propose we validate my sanity?"

"I will initiate a very light meld. I will be able to determine if you are being influenced."

"Fine." Jim said it with authority and certainty and more than a little petulance, but when Spock reached to place his hand on the touch points of his face, he pulled away.

Spock lowered his hand and remained still. He could feel the fear and apprehension radiating from Jim, as if he were suddenly besieged.

"I…I wasn't ready."

"You will not be able to sense my presence. I will keep the meld light. You will only feel my fingers on your skin. Nothing more. I promise."

Jim licked his lips and nodded, then seemed to brace himself as if expecting a blow instead of a touch.

With the greatest of care, and moving slowly, Spock positioned his fingers on the warm face. In an instant he felt Jim's pain and exhaustion, and easily pushed deeper until he sensed the presence of the one called the gatekeeper. The presence was a coolness in the human's mind, a thin fiber that had woven itself into the tapestry of Kirk's memories. Spock recognized it, but made no attempt to contact the entity. As gently as he could, he withdrew and severed the link.

"Well?" Jim was blinking, a frown on his face.

"There is an invasive presence, an established link, much like the one you and I share. Only this one has been deliberately implanted."

The frown deepened. "Remove it."

"That would be dangerous without knowing its origin or purpose."

"Dangerous how? What is it doing?"

"I believe it is trying to communicate with you."

"Why?" He stared unseeing at Spock. His face paled and he asked in a voice that was barely a whisper, "Is it the gatekeeper?"

It was just a name to him, Spock knew, a thought planted in his mind without reference, drawing him to a place buried deep in his memories. "Yes."

Spock told Jim about the temporal fraction on the planet and his theory that Jim had opened a gateway somehow; his findings regarding the current status, and his concern that time was running out.

"It's…closing?" Jim asked.

"Yes." He waited, allowing Jim time to process, watching the thoughts play subtly across the drawn features. He had seen this before and was always intrigued by the speed at which the human deliberated, sorting information at a multitude of levels in the time it took to draw a breath.

"Then we're running out of time," Jim said. "I need to know what happened and why."

"There is a risk."

The heavy brows rose playfully. "Chickening out, Spock?"

"I am concerned," he said, not taking the bait. "Making contact with an unknown entity is dangerous and … I am not practiced at melding with humans."

"You and Uhura don't…."

"As I said, it is a deeply personal experience."

Jim nodded and seemed to retreat slightly. Spock hoped that he would rethink the meld, but determination settled on the young face. He looked at Spock with unfocused eyes. "I'm willing to take the risk."

Spock had calculated the risks, taking into account Jim's weakened condition, the effects of both the toxin and the alien entity, and he did not like the odds. There were too many unknown variables for stable results. He could be doing more damage than good. But there was another factor he could not ignore. The entity had established a link with Jim, and Spock did not know what that would mean for Jim if the gateway closed. He weighed the consequences before saying, "I am not willing to risk your life."

Jim frowned. "I'm not made of glass. Come on, Spock, we're talking about a mind-meld." His expression softened and his tongue ran over his bottom lip. "You can help me remember. You said it yourself – the gateway is closing. It's worth a little risk."

Spock wanted to say yes. He wanted to give this one thing to the only being he called friend, but he knew the dangers involved, even if Jim did not fully understand. "The risk to me is not near as great as the risk to you."

Jim stared at him and the reflection in the blue eyes mirrored that of not long ago in the Daystrom Conference Room at Starfleet Headquarters when Admiral Pike lay dead by his side. At that moment, Jim had looked both stunned and pleading.

"I need you to do this, Spock. You won't let anything happen."

Perhaps it was the level of trust Jim placed in him, the almost naïve way he lay his life in Spock's hands-Spock suddenly felt compelled to honor the request when all reason urged against it.

He sighed softly and bowed his head in agreement. He reached out his hand and, as gently as he was able, he entered Jim's mind. The only other human he had ever melded with had been his mother. Her mind had been surprisingly controlled, warm and flexible. Jim's mind was focused, affectionate and resilient. Spock controlled the strength and depth of the link, establishing a mild connection. The skin beneath his touch was cool. He could feel the tightness in Jim's lungs, the ache in his injured knee and the pain behind his eyes. For a moment, the sensations overwhelmed him: the pain and exhaustion of a body that was being pushed too far.

He moved swiftly past the distracting sensations to locate what Jim needed in the flow of memory, while staying removed from the entity. As he approached the memory of the landing party, he could feel the splitting pain in Jim's head, shared now in his own. For a moment, he almost retreated, then felt Jim's pull, a faint tug that encouraged him to continue. He pressed forward, easing into the scene.

The landing party was at ease, gathering samples, conversing quietly. Kirk stood back and observed with a mix of pride and contentment. The environment was warm, the air heavy with humidity, and he enjoyed the feel of it on his skin, so different from the recycled air on Enterprise. He let his mind wander as he surveyed the thick vegetation. A sense of utter peace submerged into every muscle, and he drew a deep breath, inhaling the rich earthy scent of the planet.

For a moment, he remained relaxed and content, his mind open and unguarded. Then a strong sensation pulled at him, turning him away from the group….

-A soft moan sounded from far away. Someone's fingers curled around Spock's wrist.

And Spock sensed it immediately, the other mind entering Jim's, drawing him with skill and ease away from the others. Then, suddenly, he made unintentional contact with the alien link he had been trying to avoid.

In the distance he heard the harsh sound of rapid, labored breathing. The fingers tightened on his wrist – cool and strong.

Instantly, Spock deepened the meld, wrapping his own mind around the link to shield Jim from whatever danger would arise. He was aware of the pain the link was causing Jim, now shared with him, and the entity's determination that bordered on possessive.

'I-will-not-allow-this!' He could feel the other, the intruder, tighten its hold. It was unbending, apologizing. 'Release-him!'

No longer distant, pain radiated between the two of them, vibrating through the meld, setting every nerve and cell on fire. The fingers on Spock's wrist weakened, trembling.

The link was secure and unassailable before him. He used all his Vulcan skills to protect Jim while maintaining contact with the entity. He tested the link, probing insistently, then with more force when it did not give. 'What do you want?'

Someone tugged insistently at his shoulders.

Without warning, the rigid, impenetrable barrier before him yielded. And the world exploded-

A strangled cry echoed as Kirk collapsed, Spock's fingers slipping from their position as he shielded himself from the backlash of Jim's pain.

"Jim! Christ!" McCoy's voice.

Spock became aware of the doctor's presence, overlaid with a sense of urgency, but perception was muddled in the slowly receding haze of shared pain.

"Jim, can you hear me?" A light slapping sound.

Gradually Spock's vision focused, the grey haze lifted, and he came back to himself, his mind once more shielded. Jim was on the floor, eyes closed and sprawled on his side. McCoy was kneeling beside him, medical tricorder whirling.

"Doctor…" Spock's voice was thick with worry. He eased off the sofa to kneel opposite Jim, trembling from the emotions that had vibrated between them through the meld.

He had failed.

"What the hell were you thinking!" McCoy demanded, not looking up from the tricorder. His lips were drawn into a thin line as he studied the readings. "I told you to talk with him, not have a goddamn mind-meld with him!"

Spock could not take his eyes off Jim, who lay unmoving and pale. "Is he all right?"

McCoy scowled and reached for a hypo in his medical kit, which seemed to appear from nowhere. He pressed the hypo home against Jim's neck and gently clasped the limp wrist, taking a pulse.

"Doctor?" He wanted to touch Kirk the way McCoy did, to reassure himself that the man he both admired and cared for was well, that he hadn't caused more damage to the vibrant and unique mind, that he hadn't betrayed the trust Jim had given him. He thought of this, and felt the very human need to comfort, and yet he held himself still.

McCoy looked at him, not releasing his hold on Jim. "What the hell happened in here? Jim's vitals were going off the chart."

"As you have already ascertained, we shared a mind-meld. There were… complications. Will he fully recover?" He had felt Jim's pain, the pain the alien link had caused as it sensed Spock's presence. It was in control now, deeply imbedded into the human's mind.

"No thanks to you." McCoy released Jim's wrist and took another quick scan, his scowl deepening. "His O2 sats are in the sink. Did either of you stop to consider his medical condition? He's supposed to be resting." Despite his terse tone, he gently rolled Jim onto his back to ease his breathing and, with practiced efficiency, loaded another hypo.

Spock watched silently. As McCoy tended Jim, he turned his thoughts inward to the meld. He had felt the strength of the alien link, its fierce intention to defend itself from removal. What then would it do if the gateway were closed? What would it do to Jim?

A soft moan drew his attention. Jim's eyes fluttered and he stirred weakly.

McCoy put a hand on his shoulder to steady him. "You're in your quarters, Jim. You're okay."

Slowly, a faint hint of color returned to the pale cheeks. His breathing had evened somewhat, but he still seemed to be laboring, as if drawing in air were an effort. He frowned as his eyes opened. "Spock?"

"I am here, Jim." He laid an unsteady hand on Jim's shoulder, drawing an assessing look from McCoy.

"That didn't go too well," Jim said with a slightly slurred tongue and lifted his hand to rest it on his forehead and closed his eyes again with a low groan.

"Yeah, you've got a granddaddy of a headache," McCoy said, running the scanner over him again. "I need your blood pressure to come up before I can give you anything more. Just lie still."

"What caused that attack?" Jim asked a little breathlessly.

Spock knew the question was directed to him. "A defense mechanism, I believe. Clearly, this entity is unwilling to release you."

That brought McCoy's head up from his scanner. He stared at Spock. "What entity?"

"An alien being has established a mental link with the Captain." He removed his hand from Jim's shoulder. "I gravely miscalculated the depth of the situation. We must get the Captain onto the planet before the gateway closes."

"Wait a minute. When did this…this link happen?"

"The very first moment the Captain materialized on the planet."

McCoy narrowed his eyes as he fixed them on Spock. "What's going to happen if this…gateway closes?"

Jim dropped his hand from his forehead and opened his eyes. "The link will be severed."

"And that's bad?" McCoy asked no one in particular.

Spock looked at Jim, who stared unseeing toward the ceiling. His eyes were dull and unfocused. Spock felt a coldness spread from deep inside his core, and he quickly contained it. "Yes, Doctor. The link was established for a very specific purpose, and the being already feels the gateway closing. It will have an adverse effect on the Captain."

"And you know this how?" McCoy challenged.

But it was Jim who answered. "Because I'm completely blind."

Everything stopped – the air in the room stilled and sound disappeared. Even the beat of McCoy's heart was muted to his ears. He stared at Jim as if to confirm the young man's statement. The blue eyes stared unseeing, the pupils dilated. McCoy's scanner was heavy in his numb hand. His other hand rested on Jim's chest. The gentle thud of Jim's heart pounded softly against his palm.

"I'm completely blind."

No. Jim couldn't be blind. He was just having difficulty seeing, the optic nerves misfiring. The toxins had cleared. He'd been getting better.

"Computer, lights eighty percent," McCoy commanded, then gently laid a hand to the side of Jim's face. Jim flinched at the touch, but kept still as McCoy examined the dull eyes.

The scanner whirled as the doctor pulled himself out of his reverie and quickly began a list of diagnostic possibilities, going over every test result. What had he missed? The scanner showed preliminary results: low blood-pressure, low oxygen saturation levels, increased pressure in the temporal lobe, but not enough to cause blindness. Medically, Jim was in the same physical state he'd been in for the past few days.

McCoy set the scanner aside and reached for a penlight, keeping a hand on the side of Jim's face. With the pad of his thumb, he gently lifted a lid and shined the light into the blue eyes. "Is the light bothering you?"

"No. I can't see a damn thing."

The sensitivity to light was gone, but the pupils still constricted. He removed his hand from the side of Jim's face and rested it on the young man's chest, more to steady himself than to comfort his patient. Jim was so composed, eerily calm. Even his heartbeat had slowed to a steady, normal pace, as if this were an ordinary exam with routine questions.

"There's no medical reason he should be blind." He looked at Spock. "The link is doing this?"

"Yes."

Jim pushed off from the deck, rising up on his elbows with a grunt.

"Are you saying this is some sort of anchor line?" McCoy asked.

"I am saying that whoever is trying to get Jim's attention, they are highly motivated to lure him to the planet."

"Then let's not disappoint them," Jim said and sat up, swaying slightly. "How about something for a headache, Bones?"

McCoy administered a mild analgesic and moved a supporting hand to the back of Jim's shoulder. "Why the hell don't they open the damn gateway themselves? Why poison and blind Jim?"

"That, Doctor, is the question we must seek to answer." Spock looked at Kirk. "And very soon."