9.

Kirk sat down beside Spock on the edge of his bed. Suddenly all of the effort that both of them had put in to researching and investigating seemed to have coalesced into something worthwhile. The discovery of a person with telepathic ability involved in a crime about which Spock's mind seemed confused, at best, was like opening a door from a darkened room into a vista filled with sunlight. Possibilities were unfolding like new leaves in spring.

'Feel up to drinking your coffee?' Kirk asked the Vulcan. Spock was looking pale and tired even from these few minutes of discussion, but discussion was imperative. 'I put sugar in – I thought it might give you some more energy.'

Spock nodded, sitting up against his pillows and taking the mug that Kirk held out to him. It was rare that he drank coffee with sugar in it, but the strong, sweet liquid was very welcome to counter the exhaustion that he had brought upon himself.

'What was it that this girl said about Ankavites, then?' Kirk asked. 'Can you remember?'

Spock's eyebrow rose. 'Of course, Jim. She was quite vehement in her dislike of them. She said *they're a sect – a caste... They refuse to have the operation to shut off the telepathic nerve. Almost everyone has the decency to have the operation when they come of age.*'

'And she thought that was – wrong?' Kirk asked, intrigued.

'The Malkerians have shown themselves to be extremely attached to order and predictability,' Spock pointed out. 'It is perhaps not surprising that they would disapprove of as uncontrollable an ability as telepathy.'

'And this girl thought not having the operation was indecent?' Kirk asked him.

Spock's brows came together as he recalled the conversation.

'She said, *Being around one is like turning a tap on to their thoughts. They're dirty, unprincipled, greedy people.*'

'That doesn't fit what people seem to think of this woman at the Halbank Company,' Kirk mused, rubbing his thumb over his lip as he considered what Spock had said. 'I don't get the feeling that they *liked* her, per se, but they weren't disgusted by her…'

'You said that she was listed as an *approved Ankavite,* Jim,' Spock pointed out. 'I gained no sense of approval in the description that Hana gave.'

'We need to find out what that means,' Kirk murmured.

'Do you believe that it was generally known, or was it confidential information?'

Kirk turned to the computer that he had left beside Spock's bed and turned it on, slipping the disc into the slot.

'Here,' he said, accessing the relevant part of the information and pointing a finger at the screen. 'It's in her confidential file. *Not to be disclosed,*' he read in a low tone. 'It's in a section containing all of her medical details, criminal history – all of those kind of things.'

'Does she have a criminal record?' Spock asked, turning his head to try to see the screen.

Kirk shook his head. 'No. That section's empty. A brief bout of some infectious disease, and *approved Ankavite.* That seems to be the limit of her secrets.'

'Does it mention family?' Spock asked, as if he had suddenly remembered something important. 'You said before that she was rumoured to be related to a government minister…'

Kirk scrolled through the information, murmuring, 'Malis Arkania, age, twenty-seven. Family… Unmarried, no children… But – ' He turned to Spock with a smile of realisation breaking over his face. 'She's the niece of a Malkerian government aide, Spock. She's mentioned as a possible security threat, because she's an approved Ankavite.'

'And the aide's name?' Spock asked, although he suspected that he knew the answer.

'Achevian Sendar,' Kirk said triumphantly. 'The same man that sent Bones and me to that bar, and sent you down that alley.'

'Indeed,' Spock said slowly, one eyebrow rising. 'Jim, I think it would be beneficial to arrange a meeting with this woman. Where is her residence?'

'It's a town called Andaen.' Kirk said promptly. 'It's– oh – about fifty miles to the west of here. And she lives alone, as far as I can tell.'

'Then it will take only a few minutes in the aircar. We could be there within – '

'Hang on,' Kirk said quickly, his eyes shooting to the Vulcan's face. '*We?* What we? Do you realise what'll happen if she finds out you're alive? Besides, you weren't even fit to walk down the front steps. You're not up to this kind of stress.'

'Stress, Captain?' Spock asked archly. 'I am a Vulcan.'

'Physical stress, and emotional stress,' Kirk said firmly. 'The woman is implicated in framing you for murder – for exposing you to the death penalty. You can't tell me that there would be no emotions involved in a meeting like that.'

Spock seemed to be gazing inward.

'My emotions are under my own control,' he said.

'You must have been terrified,' Kirk murmured, casting his mind back to the image of Spock at his last meeting with him before the failed execution. 'Alone…'

'I was not alone,' Spock said with great practicality, immediately understanding what Kirk was referring to. 'And I sensed – a certain amount of sympathy from the executioner, at least. It was the time before that…'

He trailed off, as if he had said too much, turning his head to gaze at the blank wall at the edge of the bed.

'Spock – were they – ' Kirk began hesitantly. He did not want to broach this subject, but the question had to be asked. He touched his hand to Spock's shoulder, and said earnestly, 'Spock, did anyone – do anything to you in that prison?'

Spock turned back to fix his dark eyes on Kirk's face.

'Do anything, Jim?' he asked curiously, then as if suddenly realising what the captain might mean he shook his head quickly. 'No, Jim. Nothing like that. Nothing was done at all…'

'You were lonely,' Kirk intuited, watching his face closely, reading the unspoken behind his words.

'I was – very much alone,' Spock said in a quiet voice. 'I was in solitary confinement. I was confined almost permanently to my cell. There was very little intercourse between myself and any of the prison staff. I was given very little information and understood very little about what had happened to me.'

'Spock, can I – ?' Kirk began, reaching out his hand towards the Vulcan – then suddenly snatching it back, and shaking his head. 'No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked…'

'You have not asked me anything,' Spock reminded him. 'Jim – do you wish to touch my thoughts?' he asked intuitively.

'I – guess I wanted to share your experience – to know what you went through,' Kirk said awkwardly. 'But there's no reason you'd want to share that…'

Spock's eyebrow rose. 'With you, Jim, there is every reason,' he said softly. 'You are not a stranger. You are not an acquaintance. You are the closest person to me at this time. If you are willing to expose yourself to what may seem an unpleasant memory, then you are quite welcome to share that memory.'

'Is it unpleasant to you?'

Spock looked away evasively.

'They are memories that I have had to examine closely, and deal with,' he said. 'It causes no pain to re-examine them.'

'Well,' Kirk said slowly. 'Then – I'd like to know. I'd like to be part of what you went through.'

Spock nodded solemnly, and touched his hand to the mattress beside himself.

'Be with me,' he said. 'It will be easier.'

Jim smiled, bending to take his shoes off before slipping into the bed, fully clothed, and laying himself alongside the Vulcan's hot body. Human and carnal as he was, he was unable to stop himself taking in the Vulcan's scent in a deep breath as he came close to him.

No such carnality distracted Spock. Concentrating on nothing but the meld, Spock raised his hand cautiously towards Kirk's face. At Kirk's slight nod his fingers touched, and Jim was suddenly surrounded by the sensation of living and breathing in two different consciousnesses simultaneously. There were no preliminary words or phrases to start the meld – just the hot touch of Spock's fingers, and an opening into another life.

Thoughts and memories teased at his mind, seeming to come close but then darting away before he could touch them. Spock was willing to share, but he was also enormously controlled, and fully capable of keeping the total sum of his knowledge and memory from overwhelming the captain. Then one of the thoughts came closer, drifting towards Jim's consciousness like a leaf on a pond. He reached out toward it. Spock seemed to be proffering it to him, as if to keep him back from falling into something deeper.

He fell into a scene of complete unfamiliarity, looking through eyes that were not his…

He sat on a sleek metal chair, with his hands spread before him on a dull grey table. The chair felt chilled and hard beneath him, just as the table felt to his hands. There was nothing on the table, and he was not so much looking at the surface, as through it.

He was, again, confused. He had felt confused for five weeks. His thoughts were surprisingly clear and logical, but he could not understand the memories in his head, and the results that had come from those events in his memories.

He had been in this small, bare cell for twenty-one days, after being transferred from the cramped, unclean cell in the local justice station. He had stared at the walls and ceiling until he knew them intimately. He had studied his thoughts until he knew them intimately. He was no closer to understanding exactly what had happened to put him here. There was the woman, dead, and guilt in his mind, and little else…

Spock carefully suppressed his personal feelings for now. In his mind, he let Kirk be aware of the cell around him…

The front of the cell, composed of vertical metal bars. Beyond it there was a corridor, and a blank wall. Guards passed sometimes, and gave him brief, disinterested glances. A man in a grey suit passed by, and stared at him with hard eyes, and sometimes a woman with him who came to the door and…

That thought faded away, and was replaced with mundane observation again.

Inside the cell the place was humane enough for an individual awaiting execution. There was a bed with pillow, sheet, and extra blankets in deference to his higher body temperature. There was a shining metal toilet and basin behind a waist-high screen. There was the chair, and the slim table affixed to the wall, and a book in a language he could not read on an otherwise bare shelf on the wall. Presumably it was some kind of religious text, there to give comfort to prisoners in their final days, but the symbols on the pages were incomprehensible.

In his mind, Spock allowed his attention to drift back to the table, just as he had on that day that he had chosen to show to Jim. The striations in the metal provided him with some interest as he tried to work out of exactly what amalgam of metals the table was fashioned, and what the melting temperature and cooling speed had been to produce the smooth, undentable surface.

He was not allowed out of the cell now the trial was over, and he was allowed very little communication with the prison guards. That was to be expected, since he was being held for no other purpose than his impending execution. He spent every day largely in silence, examining his thoughts. He ate and he slept at regular intervals. The rest of the time, assured of the finality of his sentence, he spent in meditation, reconciling himself to the fate it was certain he would suffer. And he was lonely…

The certainty of that fact crashed over Kirk like a wave. He wanted to sob the uncontrollable tears that Spock could not release. He was alone, and bewildered, and without help. There was no abuse from the guards, no abuse from other prisoners – there was simply – nothing…

Spock's hand fell from Jim's face, and the clarity of contact faded away, leaving Kirk with nothing more than a dim residual awareness of the Vulcan's thoughts and feelings. There was no need to show Jim his thoughts as the execution had drawn closer. It would only upset him further.

'Ah, Spock,' Jim murmured, nestling closer to the Vulcan's warm body. 'I'm sorry.'

'I am alive,' Spock said quietly. 'And I am no longer incarcerated. The outcome has been more than satisfactory so far.'

He wrapped his arms around Jim's lithe body, cradling him against the emotional release that the meld had provoked. Odd that *he* was comforting Jim because of his own emotions. Melds often worked that way, though. Humans found it difficult to separate the thoughts and feelings of each mind. Jim, no doubt, as an emotional being, had a fair amount of his own emotions to deal with now, intermingling with Spock's own.

'All will be well,' he murmured into Jim's hair. 'We are working to that end. We will locate that woman, and extract the information that we need from her – by whatever means necessary.'

******

It was the comm unit beeping that woke Spock. He blinked sleep from his eyes, realising that Jim was asleep next to him, his dark eyelashes shadowing his skin and his face slightly flushed with the warmth of slumber.

Spock slipped out of bed with great care, aware that Jim had probably spent a large amount of the previous night awake, worrying about him. There was no sense in waking him now. He carefully turned the comm screen away from the bed then sat down in front of it and pressed the button.

'What are you doing out of bed?' McCoy said in an accusatory tone, the instant that the screen came to life. 'I called to ask *Jim* for your next set of readings. I didn't expect to see you sitting up…'

'The captain is asleep,' Spock said in a level tone, but he could not help his eyes drifting briefly to the bed behind the screen, and saw the split-second reaction in McCoy's face as he understood why Spock was distracted.

A moment of awkward silence ensued…

'All right,' McCoy said finally, in a tone rough with awkward embarrassment. 'I know it, and you know I know it – so let's never, *ever* discuss this unless there's some pressing medical reason to do so!'

Spock stared stoically at the screen for a moment, before saying, 'What are your conclusions from my latest readings, Doctor?'

Relief washed over the doctor's face, and he turned to a sheaf of read-outs.

'You had a stint of unwarranted activity earlier in the day,' he said pointedly.

'You cannot know whether or not the activity was unwarranted,' Spock pointed out coolly.

McCoy scowled at him. '*Any* activity is unwarranted in your condition – and some more than others.'

Spock sighed. 'I stepped outside for a few moments. That is all. You have often mentioned the restorative properties of fresh air.'

'Hmm,' McCoy said. 'Well, apart from that, you seem to be steadily improving, with that green-blooded knack you have for ignoring all medical predictions and going it your own way.'

Spock nodded, ignoring the insult that packaged the medical assessment.

'When may I resume normal activities?' he asked.

McCoy appeared to choke for a moment, before he recovered himself, and said, 'By normal activities, you mean…?'

Spock's eyebrow rose.

'By normal activities I mean walking up and down stairs. Taking my meals at the table instead of in bed. Venturing out of doors without risking collapse. What is your definition of normal activities, Dr McCoy?'

'Oh – just that,' McCoy answered, a little too quickly. 'Exactly that.'

'More pointedly, Doctor – when may I leave the house for a short journey to meet with someone?'

'To meet with someone?' McCoy asked, suddenly intrigued. 'You mean you've actually got somewhere? You're making progress?'

'Slowly but steadily,' Spock nodded. 'I require the opportunity to meet with a person who may actually be guilty of this murder. The captain will oppose my intention to meet her, but I believe my presence to be vital. In your medical opinion, when may I do so?'

'Hmmm,' the doctor considered, looking at the readings again. 'It could be stressful… Maybe Jim's right. It could be best for him to go alone…'

'I am Vulcan,' Spock said. 'I am quite capable of controlling myself.'

The look that McCoy gave him spoke volumes about his opinion on Spock's Vulcan control, especially in light of what had provoked the heart attack.

'Doctor,' Spock prompted him.

McCoy sighed, his eyes flicking between the readings and Spock's face.

'I don't like letting you get up so soon. Why is it so vital for *you* to be there?' he pressed. 'Can't Jim ask the same questions and get the same answers?'

'There is a very high likelihood that the woman is a telepath,' Spock said steadily. 'If this is true, I believe it to be quite vital for a person with similar telepathic skills to be present at the interview. If she could persuade me that I was guilty of murder, then what thoughts could she implant in Jim's mind, unskilled as he is at blocking mental impulses?'

'You think that's what she did?' the doctor asked in a fascinated tone. 'She – brainwashed you somehow?'

Spock shook his head.

'Brainwashed is a crude term. I cannot be sure whether she implanted thoughts in my mind to make me believe that I had committed the murder, or whether she is powerful enough to deceive me into actually committing it. That is one of the reasons why I must meet with her, face to face. That is the only way to tell the extent of her powers – and to protect Jim from becoming prey to them himself.'

'But what's going to stop her from just brainwashing you again?'

Spock closed his eyes briefly at the doctor's persistent use of the imprecise term.

'Forewarning, Doctor,' he said. 'Previously I had no idea that telepathic ability existed on Malker, nor that it would be used to implicate me in murder. This time I will be prepared. I will guard very carefully against any telepathic assault, either on me or Jim. Were he to go alone – as he surely will if you forbid me to accompany him – I would have very real fears for his return.'

McCoy shook his head with a sigh.

'How do you feel?' he asked. 'Honestly, and remembering that your readings are filtering through to me all the time.'

Spock's eyebrow lifted. 'Doctor, you give me the distinct impression that you do not trust me.'

'To tell the truth about your medical condition? Hell no,' McCoy said, shaking his head. 'Now tell me, how do you feel?'

Spock exhaled slowly. 'I feel – tired, and weak,' he said. 'I seem to have very little energy. But I do not feel incapable of a small amount of exertion. I have every intention of being careful.'

McCoy nodded, glancing over the latest feed of readings.

'At a push, knowing that you're stubborn enough to just go anyway if I say you can't – then tomorrow - *provided,*' he said firmly, 'you do nothing more than step up into the aircar at one end, and step out and sit down at the other. But I want to see your readings just before you leave, and I want you to accept that if I say you can't go, you *don't* go, because your stubbornness could kill you at the moment, and there's no logic in dying for this.'

'None indeed,' Spock said gravely.

He had already died once – or at least, believed himself to be dying. He had no intention of dying again in the fight to prove his innocence.

******

Kirk jerked out of sleep so fast that for a moment he had no idea where he was. He was trembling, flushed with hotness, grasping about wildly before he started to regain control. He saw Spock lying beside him, staring at him anxiously, his lips parted as if he was about to speak.

'Shit, Spock,' he gasped. 'Shit – '

'Jim?' Spock asked with deep concern. It was unlike the captain to swear, especially in front of him. 'Jim, I believe you've had a nightmare,' he said in a reassuring tone, reaching a hand out to touch his forehead. 'You are warm. It's easy for a human to become overheated, sleeping next to someone of my temperature – especially after the disturbance of a meld.'

'Meld…' Kirk faltered, staring at Spock wildly. 'The meld, Spock! That woman…'

'Jim, try to calm yourself.' Spock said softly. 'There is no woman.'

'Like hell there isn't!' Kirk said vehemently, rubbing his hands over his eyes. 'Spock, in the meld – that woman. Don't you remember?'

Spock shook his head slowly.

'There was no woman,' he said confidently. 'Only the guards.'

'No,' Kirk insisted. 'Malis Arkania – the woman who caught you in the alley. She was *there,* in your head. She'd walk down the corridor with a man – Sendar! With Achevian Sendar! And she would come forward to the bars, and put her hand on the lock, and – '

` 'And what, Jim?' Spock asked curiously. 'I have no conscious memory of the woman.'

'And – nothing,' Kirk shrugged. 'She put her hand on the lock, and it all faded, as if someone had forgotten to finish the plot… But – in my dream – '

Spock's eyes narrowed. The mind was a strange organ – even Vulcans admitted that there were facets of it that they did not understand.

'What happened in your dream, Jim?' he asked.

Kirk shook his head. 'It was just a dream, Spock – a nightmare. It didn't have any meaning. It wasn't something I saw during the meld.'

'Jim,' Spock said in a low voice. 'It is quite possible for information to be passed between our minds of which we are both unaware. If someone hands you a bag, and there is an apple within the bag, hidden amongst all the other contents – whether or not either of you were aware of that apple, you still have that apple.'

'Spock,' Kirk said flatly. 'Are you saying that you gave me an apple without my knowing?'

Spock almost allowed himself to smile.

'I am saying, Jim, that a meld is rarely a logical, ordered process, even if you perceive it as such.'

'Like a dream that makes sense when you're dreaming it, and makes no sense at all when you wake up,' Kirk murmured.

'Precisely,' Spock nodded. 'It is entirely possible that your mind received a memory of which I was unaware, and of which you were unaware until it was released in a dream. Now – is it possible for you to tell me what occurred in your dream?'

Kirk closed his eyes, turning until he was lying flat in the bed again.

'I was you…' he said slowly. 'I was you, and I was sitting in that cell, at that table. And I looked up, and I saw that woman coming down the corridor, walking with Achevian Sendar. And he said …' His forehead creased as he tried to remember. 'He said, *you're sure you'll be safe this time?*, and she held up a – I don't know – some kind of stun-gun, I think, and said, *I have this. He won't be able to do anything.* She looked through the bars, and said, *Stand against the wall. You know the procedure.* So I – you – got up and stood against the wall. I was – afraid, but – I couldn't remember why… And she – cuffed my hands behind my back, through the bed frame. It was uncomfortable, and she laughed at my discomfort… And then she – '

Kirk visibly winced, his face paling.

'Jim?' Spock asked. 'What did she do then?'

'I – don't know, Spock,' he said, his eyes opening. 'It was – like she was reaching into my mind with – a hook, or a whirling blade, or – I don't know. She mixed up my thoughts, and – I don't know what she was doing. I just know it was – horrible.' He stared at Spock. 'It was really horrible, Spock – and it was *your* mind she was doing it to… Your thoughts…'

Spock closed his eyes briefly.

'I have no conscious memory of such an event,' he admitted. He touched a hand to Kirk's face. 'I am sorry, Jim, that the memories were made to surface in *your* mind. I did not mean to cause you pain.'

'It was her, in your mind again, making you forget,' Kirk said slowly, staring at him. 'Her, messing with your thoughts, making you think you were guilty when all along…'

'Jim,' Spock said steadily. 'It is imperative that we go see this woman. Dr McCoy has given me permission to come with you, as long as my readings continue to improve. You cannot go alone. You would have no protection whatsoever against her mental assault. You *will* allow me to come.'

Kirk smiled. 'Trying a little brainwashing of your own, Spock?' he asked. At Spock's look of puzzled concern he said, 'Never mind. I never could refuse you when you were determined to do something, Spock. How do you think we ending up kissing that first night? You're the one who made the move on me, you know?'

'Did I, Jim?' Spock asked, humour glinting in his eyes. 'I really don't remember…'

'Here,' Kirk said with a smile, turning over onto his side and cupping a hand behind Spock's head. 'Let me jog your memory. It happened like this…'