Chapter 10
McCoy was relieved when Kirk regained consciousness on his own, fourteen hours after the incident on 409-73. He hurried to the Captain's bedside as the latter's eyelids fluttered open and his gaze focused on the Sickbay ceiling.
"Oh, not again," he groaned.
It was hard for McCoy to look down upon his friend, so vulnerable – too discordant with the Kirk he knew. This spate of crises weighed on everyone on the ship, and the burden was about to become even heavier for the Captain.
What had Spock called it? The deterioration of someone so dear to me.
"It's alright, Jim," he soothed.
"What happened?" Kirk whispered, softly, as if he was afraid of the answer, but it was also a genuine question.
McCoy frowned.
"You tell me."
"I-I don't remember," Kirk whispered. Again, that painful glint in his eyes.
For a moment it seemed to McCoy that, lying on the bed were two Kirks, one knowing and afraid, the other ignorant, confused.
"You and Spock were on 409-73, taking samples of the Dilithium."
He stopped there and waited for Kirk. Nothing changed in his drawn face.
"There was some sort of volcanic eruption. The atmosphere became toxic and there was a tremor. Spock accidentally cut you with the incisor."
Confusion growing into a panic.
"I—I don't remember. He cut me? I don't remember, Bones!"
And then Kirk did an incongruous thing. He touched the exact spot on his cheek where Spock had injured him, a spot that McCoy knew was fully healed and could not be sensitive. But again McCoy dismissed it, for the Captain was fast becoming too agitated and about to set off the biobed alarms.
"Calm down now, Jim," McCoy said softly, laying his hand on Kirk's shoulder and effortlessly holding him down on the bed. "Calm down. Your memory might return-"
"Was it a seizure? A relapse?" Kirk said, fear in his eyes. He was already out of strength.
"I doubt it, Jim. It was just the bad air. And Spock didn't think-"
"-Where is Spock?" Kirk interrupted him.
Of course the Captain had become used, again, to the Vulcan being there when he awoke from unconsciousness. McCoy cursed inwardly, then broke the news.
"He left, Jim. He's gone."
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Getting from the small mining post where the Enterprise had dropped him off to Star Base 6 proved no great problem, and from there on to Xyla was even less of an issue, as there was a lot of traffic between the Base and the pleasure planet. Still, Spock knew that each day, each hour mattered. Though he could have hopped on a transport, he went to considerable expense to procure a shuttle for himself.
He had arranged for counterfeit papers so that on Xyla he would become Aster, a Vulcan trader in the precious stones that the Xylians were so fond of. The lady Amanda had supplied a small cache of those gems. Spock was grateful to his mother, who had not needed any persuading upon hearing Spock's account of Kirk's strange amnesia and his final, suicidal reaction to her son.
He had contacted Ambassador Zent and the Xylian High Council before leaving the Enterprise, inventing a routine follow-up inquiry. They had sent him detailed dossiers on the three adventurers and on the three bodies found in and near the van in the desert. The files indicated a positive identification of HazLia, LakFarn and his brother, LakTaurn. Spock had scrutinized the image of HazLia. She was without a doubt the female Xylian he had seen at the Captain's drop-off. Doctor McCoy too had identified her as the "witch" who had seduced Kirk away.
As McCoy had pointed out, it all seemed "on the up and up so ditch that crazy scheme of yours and be here when Jim wakes up 'cause he'll need you."
As Spock slotted his shuttlecraft into the landing line-up, he remembered his momentary doubt. Yes, Jim would need him. But though it grieved Spock that he had once again seemingly deserted the Captain, he felt more in control than he ever had, since Xyla.
He set his jaw. He really had no idea where to begin.
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/ Doctor's Personal Log, Stardate 3841.1. We are en route to pick up the next group of Delegates, a pair of quarrelsome Tellarites. Though he is poised and his most charming self, I am concerned about the Captain. The last months have been extremely hard on him, and Spock's departure just seems like an unnecessary kick when he's already down.
My main problem is that Spock persuaded me to keep the truth about what happened on 409-73. The Captain is struggling with too many contradictions and gaps in his mind already, and I agree that knowledge of his suicidal response to Spock would just add to the chaos and possibly send him over the edge.
So the official story is the one that Chief Geologist Selk witnessed: Spock accidentally injured the Captain with the incisor and that and the poisonous air and stress in the cave made him lose his balance and consciousness.
Of course this also means that Spock's departure is unexplained. Jim refuses to call it a betrayal. His generosity, I shamefully admit, greatly surpasses my own. I am still convinced that Spock is pursuing a cockamamie hunch. Hunches are for the Kirks of the world, not for Vulcans.
But the Captain has been symptom-free and swears he is not suffering from nightmares, headaches, or any of the ailments on the exhaustive list I put to him. He absolutely refuses to discuss the issues now and has thrown himself into the preparation and now execution of the delegate transport to Babel.
I hope Spock finds whatever he's looking for soon, because though I see Jim pulling off his important mission with flying colors, I doubt that, once it is accomplished, there will be anything left. /
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"Yeah, I know 'er," snarled the Xylian. He jutted out his chin, showing Spock his rotten lower teeth. Spock steeled himself. All Xylians were somewhat reptilian in appearance, but the older and more decrepit, the more prominent the resemblance. "So? Whazzit to you?"
Spock slid the representation of HazLia's image into his jacket and was once again jostled by another "client" at The Crow, the crowded bar that was really only a front for a brothel.
"Can we move our dealings outside?" he suggested to the Xylian, wondering if the man could even walk – he could barely stand.
"Yeah? Dealins, huh? " he perked up. "Wha you got?"
"Plenty for your information," Spock answered in a low voice. He doubted he'd get anything out of this swaying addict, but he followed him outside anyway.
The brothel was situated in a slum at the heart of the city and the lineup of characters frequenting the curb were no less shadier than those inside. But at least there was more space, and the air was somewhat fresher. And in the triple moonlight he could scrutinize the Xylian better. He was obviously not in good health, his skin a dull and scaly grey. He remembered the inner, pulsing glow of HazLia's skin. How would this person know her?
Spock's discrete inquiries among Zent's disgruntled aides had soon revealed that the Ambassador was an incompetent gambler who had been uncharacteristically flush with credits since the Enterprise shore leave. But the Ambassador had managed to keep the source of his newfound riches carefully hidden. Spock had entered a streak of dead-end tips and shady informants. This dealer in narcs was his last resort.
He was also aware that time was running out, that the longer he nosed around, the more conspicuous he became. Any more of these wasted opportunities and he would jeopardize his cover and lose whatever prey he might be hunting.
"She no longer 'ere," the Xylian said after he had pocketed Spock's measly bribe – the more he descended in the underworld of the pleasure planet, the cheaper his information became.
Spock gave the old Xylian his most withering look. Among these dregs of a people, Vulcans with their steel discipline and mysterious abilities were held in awe.
"Is she still alive?" he intoned.
"'live?" the Xylian repeated fearfully. Then he burst out laughing. "As 'live as a pokash flea on a pokash hoss!"
It took Spock a moment to recall that pokarish fleas had the ability to revive after even centuries in a deathlike state, and that pokarish horses were their favorite hosts.
"Where?" he asked, feigning indifference.
"Wrong questin, mista Vulcan. How much?"
Spock gave him twice the amount of scrip he had already handed over.
"Lives in the X quadran, that girl does, in the castle- thanks mista Vulcan-"
In a second he had slipped back into the bar. Spock could see him slithering through the crowd, then disappear out the back. He sighed. Thrown-away money. But he knew of the quadrant, the most affluent suburb of the city. "The castle" didn't ring a bell, but he could check it out. There was nothing else to do.