They climbed carefully over deadfalls of overturned furniture and metal debris, some of which looked as if it had been used as sad attempts to make barricades against the aliens. As they approached the hall that contained the Science Labs, Kirk felt Spock suddenly stiffen and falter. He glanced first at Spock, then followed his gaze around to the door of Science Three.
It had been wrenched apart by force and was now blocked by the bodies of two invaders. They crept towards them on high alert and found them relatively unscathed. One had a knife buried to the hilt in the breathing slit on his neck. The other had a similar knife hilt sticking out of his eye. They had died instantly but had not been alone.
The room was sprayed with bullet holes and blood. Bodies had been left where they fell. Some of the machinery was smashed and the displays ripped open. Liquids and powders from shattered containers covered the surfaces and dripped onto the carpet to mingle with the blood. Kirk and Spock stepped over the bodies in the doorway slowly.
Kirk stared into the silent abomination. Beside him, Spock took two steps forward and then stopped as if struck. Kirk had to step around him to see what was wrong, but then he, too, stopped.
For a moment, the room faded, suddenly shrouded in white mist as his consciousness simply fought to escape reality. Jim swallowed hard and it cleared. He no longer felt faint, but had gone cold inside, as if his heart and soul had been frozen by an Iowa winter.
Daphne lay on her side against the computer console on the floor. Mercifully, her eyes were closed. Her bloodstained hands were lying limp on the floor, one still clutching a knife. She might have been sleeping except for the hole in her midriff and the stain of blood across her blue uniform. The perfect beauty of her lovely face was marred by the hole in the center of her forehead. The carpet beneath her was soak almost black with blood. A belt hung with knives was tied around her waist. Three of them were missing.
Jim tried to imagine it - the sound of the invaders forcing the door, the science team bracing and taking what cover they could, Daphne waiting to take out the first two coming through the opening. Something inside his head was screaming but the room remained silent. He wrenched his gaze away from the impossible imagine of his sister lying dead in the Science Lab and looked at Spock - at his brother-in-law, though he hardly ever thought of him that way. He and Spock were bound by friendship and loyalty and mutual respect. The bounds of law seemed superfluous in the face of that.
But they were also bound by love for this one lovely woman; the one who had been taken from them both by an implacable foe. Daphne - whose beauty had been like the dawn bursting over the sea, whose smile had captivated every man in the room, whose independent spirit, intelligence and scientific curiosity had been enough to ensnare his Vulcan First Office- was lying motionless on the floor in a pool of her own blood.
Spock seemed carved from glass, strong but ultimately fragile. His eyes were lethal and fixed, cold and black as stone. He was barely breathing. Jim was once again suddenly, sharply aware that Spock was Vulcan, and could be very dangerous. He had known Spock long enough to have seen the Vulcan in two kinds of stillness: one when he was calm and at ease, and one when he was fighting the need to attack. It was not the same as preparing to fight, to defend his ship - or his Captain - with his own life if necessary. It was a stillness that meant the Vulcan was willing and ready to tear something into very tiny pieces with his bare hands.
Swallowing the irrational fear that Spock would shatter if he touched him, Jim took him by the forearm.
"Spock," he said, urgent and commanding. When there was no reaction, Jim gripped him more firmly and shook him slightly. He softened his voice until it was full of shared pain and empathy, "Spock."
Spock's intake of air was harsh and short. He blinked and lowered his eyes to the floor, his head bowed. As Jim watched, he closed his eyes and shivered.
Spock…..shivered.
Jim was suddenly terrified.
He could feel the thundering Vulcan pulse beating beneath the hand that still held tight to Spock's forearm. An ancient power was throbbing through the Vulcan, demanding that Spock now seek out those who had done this and wipe their existence from the galaxy. Unless Spock could tap into disciplines instilled him from the cradle, he might descend into the violent madness that had nearly destroyed his race.
"Spock," Jim said again, trying to pull his friend back from the edge of an abyss, "She took your Bridge rotation. She should have been on the Bridge. What was she doing in here? What were they doing?"
Spock looked up, dazed, glancing around the Lab and assessed the shattered containers, the dripping liquids and scattered powders.
"She had them…." He paused and swallowed. His voice burned, "making explosives."
Jim's hand fell away in shock. It meant most of the damage to his ship had been done by his own crew, in an attempt to defeat a foe impervious to phasers.
"Explosives! She's an archaeologist!" He protested."Archaeologists don't blow things up."
Spock looked at him finally and Jim could see the horrible, wretched pain in his eyes - pain that could not be released and could not be endured.
"She is a scientist," Spock paused again, thinking of his brave beautiful wife, "and a Kirk."
Jim heard it for the compliment it was. If he closed his eyes he could see her - at the science station, on the Bridge. He could see her the day he had been privileged to perform the ceremony that married her to his best friend. He remembered the way she had looked the day Sam had introduced them and announced - to his shock and delight - they had a little sister.
Sam…. And now Daphne. He had lost both his siblings and was alone.
The pain was so intense it made him feel ill.
If Spock went berserk and started destroying that which was already destroyed, Kirk might join him.
But Spock moved forward, almost normally, and went to kneel beside his wife. He lifted her gently in his arms, stood effortlessly and carried her into his office.
The damage wasn't as bad in the office. The computer was smashed but the walls were free of holes and phaser burns. Spock slowly lowered Daphne to the floor and arranged her so that she was lying peacefully with her hands crossed over her waist. He knelt beside her for a time, resting the tips of his fingers on the back of her hand.
Jim watched from the doorway. It hurt to breathe but he forced himself anyway. For the first time since this whole nightmare had begun, he had lost the strength and support of his First Officer.
Spock needed him now.
"Spock," Jim said, and then waited until the Vulcan turned his head enough to look up at him. "When we came into this time, you reacted to having your bond with her severed."
Spock nodded and drew in a long hard looked back at his wife's body. His eyes were a cold, dark litany to the loss he was experiencing. "I can maintain the bond over vast distances. We lose our ability to communicate effectively but are still aware of each other," he shook his head then, very slowly, "But I cannot maintain it when the distance is time."
Jim almost smiled sadly. Spock made it sound like that was some personal failing of his. Jim noted that he had also not stopped speaking of Daphne in the present tense. Some part of the Vulcan was resisting the idea that Daphne was gone.
"She must have felt it too," Jim said, "What would she had thought, in that moment when you were first suspended in time? When she lost contact with you?"
"That I was dead," his voice was rough, as if forcing the words, "Occam's Razor would dictate it. There would be no other logical conclusion, nothing on which she could base any other hypothesis."
Jim absorbed that. He went and squatted down beside Spock, offering him the comfort of his presence. He avoided looking at his sister.
"Pick the most obvious answer. When you hear hoofbeats, think horses and not zebras," Jim paraphrased.
Spock considered that, glad to have something else to occupy his mind.
"Essentially," he said, finally, not quite up to a discussion of the law of parsimony with his Captain.
"She would have reported that to Scott," Jim concluded. "They would all think that you, at least, were dead. When I didn't answer the hails either, they would have concluded the same thing about me."
Jim sat down on the floor and let his knee barely brush against Spock's leg. I'm here.
Spock was unmoving, silent as snow on a moonless winter night.
What are you doing right now, Jim wondered, What Vulcan discipline keeps you from screaming? What comfort can I offer that won't make it worse?
"They knew where we were," Jim went on, his voice calm and reasonable as he reconstructed the actions his crew must have taken, "Thomson's security team was looking for us in the cargo bay when they were attacked."
"Logical," Spock agreed. He was holding Daphne's hand now, not just touching it.
Jim kept his eyes on the Vulcan's stone-carved profile, hoping to draw him further into the discussion.
"How much time could have elapsed, Spock, between Daphne reacting to the loss of your bond, telling Scott, and a security team being dispatched?"
Spock turned like an owl, moving only his head.
"She would have known immediately," he said, "Uhura would have tried to contact me, and then you. Scott would have dispatched a security team within seconds of finding a lack of response from us."
"Seconds, Spock," Jim repeated, urgently, "Only minutes for Thomson's team to arrive at the Cargo Bay."
Understanding was chasing the black shadows from Spock's eyes.
"That explains how the invaders got on board," Spock said, "As we surmised earlier, whatever held us in time, must have also been holding them as well. Perhaps it was preset, or is normally activated by the one they were looking for. Logically, the ship could have been manned by a single individual while the rest were held in a time suspension."
"It had to be that cylinder, Spock, and we didn't really do anything to the cylinder, prior to it activating," Jim mused, "It must have been preset. We were there when it activated and it held us within that same preset time, like a cycle. Perhaps they need this one they were looking for to set it for them again. For all we know, it isn't even their technology. They may be a mercenary force in the service of some more technically advanced race."
"They escaped the destruction of their vessel," Spock agreed in a flat dull tone,"Only to come back into the time stream to find themselves apparently captive of a destroying enemy."
Jim raked his fingers through his hair in frustration.
"It's all so damned stupid, Spock," he growled, "The whole thing is a giant misunderstanding and they all died because of it."
"Risk is our business. You said that," Spock reminded him, "It's why we are out here. They died as Star Fleet officers, defending their ship, and showing extraordinary courage under fire."
Their eyes met again and Jim knew he had his First Officer - his friend - back. He had lost his siblings, but not yet the man who called him a brother. He was humbled that Spock - who had just suffered a devasting personal loss - could say something like that.
They would both mourn, later. For now they would keep searching for answers.
"We have to find Bones," Jim said, insistently.
Another shadow of pain flickered across Spock's face. The hand that was holding his wife's trembled slightly. Jim wondered again what the Vulcan was thinking. He and McCoy fought like brothers - ready to rip each other's hearts out and defend each other to the death all at the same time. Maybe the loss of Daphne and the loss of McCoy would be too much. It might be too much even for him.
"May I ask why?" Spock asked.
Jim shook his head and attempted a lopsided grin. "You won't like the answer."
Spock sighed. "You have a feeling," he guessed.
Jim cocked his head. "How did you know?"
Spock's only answer was a long steady stare. Jim had known Spock long enough to have often seen warmth, humor, even affection deep in the Vulcan's eyes. At the moment there was nothing but the cold, dark emptiness of space. He wondered if either of them would ever truly feel peace again.