Spock rose, chilled to the bone after an uncomfortable night. He had slept little, pain and cold keeping him wakeful and alert, towards dawn he had slipped into a feverish sleep from which he woke groggy, his limbs stiff and heavy. Despite the early hour, he was the last to rise. In the sunlit outdoors beyond the cave's gloomy dankness, there was still precious little warmth. Hunter was coaxing a fire to life and Spock, drawn to the emerging warmth of the nascent flames joined him, nodding in response to the man's cheerful greeting.
"Kort's gone to catch breakfast. For us, I mean. You'll have to make do with these." He handed Spock two large pineapple-like fruits,
"The flesh is nourishing and substantial." Spock accepted the offerings and ate, though his appetite was impaired. Kort returned with a small, limp furry creature dangling bloodily from a loop on his belt. Spock watched as the Klingon skinned the animal expertly and cooked it over the fire. Sensing their discomfort at eating animal flesh in front of him, Spock excused himself.
At a distance from the fire, he was again disagreeably cold. His clothes had dried on the rocks that he had warmed with phaser fire, but he had warmed the rocks once only, mindful of the need to conserve the weapon's energy, and conserving his own body heat was proving to be a constant challenge.
From where he stood, he could hear Kort and Hunter talking together, laughing. Their ease in each other's company reminded him of the way he felt when he was with Kirk and McCoy. He had been wary of both men in the beginning. Kirk had alarmed him with his self-assurance and reckless bravado. It had taken time for Spock to appreciate that his new captain was only ever a danger to himself; never in the time he had known him, had Spock seen Jim risk the lives of his crew.
Almost from the start, Kirk had looked to Spock for support and friendship. The captain and his CMO were already long-standing friends but Kirk seemed to find something in his relationship with his First Officer that was unique and inspiring. For his part, Spock had done nothing to encourage or discourage his captain's interest; he had responded to Kirk's overtures of friendship with polite detachment. After a while, perhaps Kirk's persistence had chipped away at his Vulcan reserve, for Spock found himself gradually welcoming and eventually seeking out Kirk's company.
At first he had told himself that he valued Kirk only as a worthy chess opponent; less predictable and therefore more challenging than the computer. Then, he found himself seeking the captain's opinion on matters relating to work. Finally, he found himself seeking Kirk out even when work was not the only motivation.
This, then was real friendship such as he had never experienced growing up on Vulcan where the human traits he tried so hard to suppress marked him out as different. Certainly, his human half had reached out to Kirk's repeated offers of friendship, but he felt valued aboard the Enterprise as a whole person in a way that he had never done before.
His relationship with McCoy was both simpler and more complex. Kirk's friendship with McCoy being what it was, it was inevitable that the Vulcan and the doctor would be forced to engage with each other. Unlike Kirk though, McCoy was not content to let Spock be. It sometimes seemed that exposing the limitations of Spock's Vulcan half helped McCoy to define what it meant to be human.
Or, maybe it was the physician in him, the urge to heal and make whole what he perceived as a disintegration of the different halves of the Vulcan's psyche that prompted the doctor to persist in goading Spock. His constant prodding and prying into Spock's inner life wearied the Vulcan – perhaps because the doctor made him uncomfortably aware of truths about himself that he had no wish to acknowledge or explore. To outsiders, it was not all that obvious that there was anything other than rancour between them – as Kirk often pointed out, perhaps they were not sure themselves. McCoy had the knack of leaving Spock feeling raw and vulnerable and Spock could exasperate or wound the doctor with a dispassionate stare or a single raised eyebrow. Despite all this, Spock was willing to acknowledge that his life had been enriched through knowing Leonard McCoy.
Spock thought back to the morning they had received the distress call from Skara. Jim had been edgy, uncharacteristically taciturn. He thought of his own clumsy attempt in the turbolift to offer his sympathy, of Jim's dismissive response. The doctor, completely different in his approach, had been similarly spurned. After a year, Jim was still hurting, still angry.
For his part, Spock had compartmentalised his own feelings about the events at Deneva. He had suffered an extremity of pain that made his present discomfort pale in comparison – except that on that occasion he had been able to shield the agony for a time so that he could maintain his Vulcan control. Losing control was what he feared most, becoming less than Vulcan. He had feared it when he stepped out of the light intensive chamber and thought himself blinded, his sense of triumph at finding a way to defeat the deadly parasites down on the planet and within his own body conflicting with his anguish at losing his sight. He feared it now. Whatever was affecting him on this planet was eroding his very sense of self.
With a grim sense of irony, Spock realised that by the time McCoy came to his aid – assuming Jim and McCoy were coming at all – the good doctor might find him all too human. A sudden tremor shook his hand and he held his arm stiffly by his side to steady it.
"Spock!" With a jolt, Spock realised that Hunter was calling him.
"We need to press on. Are you fit to travel?" Spock answered in the affirmative. His foot was throbbing but he managed to cross to where Kort and Hunter were waiting, with only the trace of a limp.
Around midday, they came upon the wreck of the Klingon shuttle. It lay in a clearing caused by its enforced landing. By some miracle it had survived the crash more or less intact. A brief survey inside confirmed that there had been survivors and that they had stripped the shuttle of its provisions before moving on. It was Spock who found the body of the dead Klingon. It lay, abandoned in the forest, flesh torn away in parts by rodents, and, judging by the evidence, some larger mammal, perhaps a sardur.
"Klingons do not always bury their dead." Kort explained, perhaps sensing his companions' revulsion. "The body is disposed of by the most expedient means. In this instance, leaving his remains for the forest creatures to devour. No disrespect was intended."
They passed on, Kort taking the lead in tracking his fellow Klingons. They had not gone far before they discovered three distinct sets of footprints in a stretch of muddy ground. "Two males, one female. One of the males is injured." Kort asserted.
"We have been fortunate." Hunter answered. Spock nodded. At least they would not be outnumbered.
"Kravok!" H'Narth's voice. Kravok struggled out of a dreamless sleep, wincing at the pain in his burning shoulder. He hauled himself to his feet, his arm limp at his side. H'Narth was standing at the cave mouth holding something aloft in front of him but the sun was behind him and Kravok strained to see.
"While you were sleeping I was out hunting." Now Kravok could see that H'Narth held up a small, deer-like creature. He shook the animal and droplets of blood sprinkled from a slit in its neck, over his shoulders. H'Narth laughed, pleased with his kill.
T'Hana joined them and they made a fire and roasted the deer. All three were silent as they tore hungrily at the meat; they had not eaten much since fleeing their ship. Finally, wiping grease from his beard, Kravok asked the others.
"What do you know of our mission?" For a moment H'Narth was silent. Kravok and T'Hana knew that H'Narth had had their Commander's ear. In the chaos following the Enterprise's attack and the catastrophic effects of the storm, H'Narth had been ordered to the shuttle deck. He had been chosen by their captain to escape; it was only because Kravok, T'Hana and Varron had been in the science rooms located near the shuttle deck that they had been saved; H'Narth had needed their help to break through the wreckage obstructing his way to the shuttle bay and had had little choice but to invite them to accompany him. All three had been prepared to die when their ship self-destructed. H'Narth had instructed them that he was acting under orders from their Commander.
"The Commander entrusted me with his orders. He could not desert the ship." H'Narth said. Kravok nodded. To save himself before initialising the ship's self-destruct system would have brought shame and dishonour on the Commander's name.
"I guessed that we were not merely on a mission to gather scientific data on the planet Skara." T'Hana said, "We would not risk being so far into the neutral zone for such a purpose. Even though the planet lies in such a remote location." She was referring to the fact that the system of which Skara was the fourth planet, though just in Federation space, lay far distant from any other inhabited systems in the area.
H'Narth scowled. "Since when was Klingon High Command interested solely in such matters?" Kravok wondered if H'Narth intended to reveal more, but H'Narth did not answer and Kravok did not press him.
Kort signalled to Spock and Hunter that he had news. He had been scouting ahead and had picked up clues that the Klingon survivors were just ahead of them on the trail. When he spotted them, they were resting by a stream, where the injured one was bathing his wound.
For a moment, Kort had watched them with a sense of curiosity and nostalgia, admiring the familiar military uniform with its metallic vest and the black trousers flecked with gold, that he had once thought it his destiny to wear.. They were his people and yet he felt no kinship with them, no sense of comradeship.
"They are three – two males, one female." He informed Spock and Hunter. "One of the men seems badly injured. We could overcome them easily but for their disrupters."
"We have the advantage of surprise." Hunter observed. "Mr Spock?"
"I agree."
Kort led the other two to the spot where he had observed the Klingons. As luck would have it, they were apart, the injured one still sitting where Kort had seen him, by the stream, the others standing some distance from him; they seemed to be searching through their packs. Spock, slower than the others because of his injury, crept up on the injured man, positioning himself behind him without being detected. Using the Vulcan neck pinch he immobilised the unsuspecting Klingon and deftly removed his disrupter from his belt.
Immediately, Kort and Hunter closed in on the other two, Kort slipping an arm around the man's neck and reaching for the startled Klingon's disrupter with the other. It was over in moments, the Klingon, felled by a swift knifehand strike to the back of his neck, had no chance to resist. Meanwhile Hunter grappled with the Klingon woman, first kicking her disrupter from her belt, then disabling her by grabbing her from behind and twisting her arm. T'Sorf, who had been warned to stay clear, ran forward and grabbed the woman's weapon.
H'Narth was the first to recover. His hands and feet had been bound and he glared at his captors in fury as he realised that he was helpless. Kravok lay near him, similarly bound. Looking Kort in the face, H'Narth spat, saying, "traitorous dog." Kort bowed low, "After so long in the company of humans, I begin to understand why they regard the Klingon race as one singularly lacking in good manners. My name is Kort. My companions are Mark Hunter and Lieutenant Commander Spock of the Starship Enterprise. And this is my son, T'Sorf."
"I know who you are." H'Narth growled at Kort, but he was looking at Spock. Spock bowed his head slightly in acknowledgement. H'Narth spat again.
Kravok groaned and stirred. "H'Narth?" he said, clearly disoriented. He opened his eyes and looked around in confusion. "Where is T'Hana?" he asked.
"She is unharmed." Spock answered.
Kort introduced himself and the others as he had done with H'Narth. Kravok nodded, "I am Kravok." He said, politely, with no hint of H'Narth's aggression. Spock regarded him with curiosity. Kravok seemed unlike the Klingons he had encountered previously, Kort excepted.
"State your intentions towards us." H'Narth said.
"You will remain on Skara with us until Mr Spock's Captain returns. You will then become the responsibility of the Federation."
"Captain Kirk and his miserable crew are dead." H'Narth snarled. Spock stiffened at his words.
"We do not know that H'Narth." Kravok said, quietly. H'Narth looked at his crewmate in disgust.
"Why did your ship come here?" Spock asked. H'Narth looked at Spock with loathing. He would die, Spock knew, rather than answer such a question. Kort pointed out that Skara lay well within Federation space.
H'Narth made a gutteral sound in his throat and spat again.
"That is an uncouth habit. You will refrain from doing it again or I will be obliged to gag you." Kort said. Spock was staring at Kravok. He was fighting an urge to sink to his knees, place his fingers on the Klingon's temples and force a mind meld, so urgent was his need to learn of the Enterprise's fate. He was ashamed of his urge – a forced meld was abhorrent to him and under normal circumstances the idea would not enter his head. He walked away, putting distance between himself and temptation.
The truth was, H'Narth's words had struck him with the force of a physical blow. Spock was shocked to discover that he was trembling. Not since he had believed himself to be the instrument of his Captain's death on Vulcan had he felt such abject misery.
"Spock!" Hunter was beckoning him back to the gathering. The captured Klingons, hands bound behind their backs were on their feet. Spock nodded, joining them. Hunter looked Spock up and down as he spoke but he did not comment on his condition, which Spock knew must look as grim as he felt it to be.
"What now?"
"I suggest that we make our way to the site of the Curie shuttle. If a search party does arrive, they will look there first." Spock did not admit that he had no idea in which direction the shuttle lay. He had not regained his bearings since being returned to the planet after the failed attempt at beam up. Hunter looked at a point in the far distance. "It is three to four days trek in that direction." He pointed, then looked at the Vulcan dubiously. Spock had the impression that his physical condition was being appraised.
"Mr Hunter, I assure you that I am quite capable of making such a journey." Hunter gave him one of those looks that Jim Kirk often gave him when he disagreed with his First Officer but knew better than to argue.
For what seemed like hours they made their way through dense forest. Spock was not accustomed to losing track of time, but on this world his internal clock did not function and he relied on the darkening of the sky to tell him when day was giving way to night. All five of Skara's moons were high in the sky when they made camp for the night.
"Rest awhile, friend." Hunter said to Spock, placing a hand on his shoulder. The sudden physical contact caused Spock to flinch. "Forgive me." Hunter apologised, "I forget you are a touch telepath."
"My shielding mechanisms are – compromised." Spock said.
"I'll take the first watch." Kort said. Spock volunteered for the second, assuring both Kort and Hunter that he would, in all likelihood, be awake anyway.
"Here." Kort said, throwing Spock one of the Klingon blankets, "Take this." Spock hesitated, but only for an instant; he had been cold all day despite his exertions and it was not logical to refuse a means of preserving some body heat.
Kort woke him after a couple of hours, from a troubled sleep. Spock started when the Klingon shook him gently. He was aware of Kort looking at him as he settled himself into an upright position, the better to stay awake. "Your captain and McCoy – is that right?" he asked, faltering on the doctor's name, "They are your friends as well as your shipmates, are they not?" Spock nodded, cautiously. He was aware that his sleep had been disturbed by visions of Kirk and McCoy and the fate of the Enterprise on the day of the ion storm. Had he been talking aloud? There was no other explanation for Kort's question.
"That is good. Every man should have friends." The Klingon asserted before pulling his blanket over his head and succumbing instantly to sleep.
Spock rubbed his numbed hands and feet, considering whether to use his phaser to warm a rock. Now that the Klingons had been captured, they were in no immediate danger. As he stared at the sleeping captives, Spock considered the impracticalities of their situation – a balance of captives and captors. It quickly became clear to him that this was untenable. Logic dictated that whilst they remained on Skara, they would fare better if they suspended their hostilities and worked together. He glanced at the disrupter fixed in his belt beside his phaser and wondered if he could suspend his own fears about the Klingons enough to entrust them with their weapons. Kravok perhaps – and the female who was, like him, not overtly hostile – but H'Narth?
He would put it to the others in the morning. Strange that they had never discussed what they would do when they encountered the survivors of the Klingon wreck. They had not expected to come into contact with them so soon. Under normal circumstances, Spock would have been evaluating all the possibilities, but he was acutely aware that he was not himself. Anxiety about the Klingons' proximity screamed at him from behind his fragile mental screening, threatening to break through. He was exhausted with the effort of maintaining control and because of this, his wounds were stubbornly refusing to heal. Worse, he was experiencing tremors and it was clear that something in his Vulcan make up was reacting unfavourably with the Skarans' toxin. A memory of McCoy decrying Spock's green blood popped unbidden into his mind. The doctor knew better than anyone the subtle nature of the differences between the Vulcan's hybrid blood and the pure human or Vulcan strain. What was relatively harmless to one or either of them could prove fatal to Spock. Without any equipment, Spock had no means of analysing his risk, no way of knowing the actual or potential danger.
The Vulcan's lips tightened into a thin line, a signal to those who knew him well, that he was troubled. Physical discomfort he could cope with, but this slow, insidious eroding of his mental stability was disquieting, unnerving. Spock rubbed his numb limbs, encouraging circulation, and sighed impatiently. The constant cold irritated him more than it should; he felt an irrational antipathy toward the Skarran climate and checked himself, deliberately readjusting the train of his thoughts. How many times had he pointed out the illogicality of complaining about the weather, to Dr McCoy? How did humans live with their undisciplined thought processes?
And yet, the two men he admired most were not ruled by the principles of logic and control. He had seen Leonard McCoy, the most emotionally mercurial individual of his acquaintance, transformed in an instant into a man of science, his mind sharpened and focused, brilliant in his field. And Jim, who blew hot and cold but seldom failed to find the solution that defied plausibility. Had he not even created his own, unique solution to the allegedly irresolvable Kobarashi Maru? The more time he spent with these men, the more Spock was required to re-evaluate his own certainties. Was that in itself a bad thing? The Vulcan way of being was never intended to be static, inflexible. Such a philosophy would quickly outlive its usefulness.
In the half-light before dawn, with Skara's moons fading to a trace in the reddening sky, Spock became conscious suddenly of a presence nearby, the same that he had felt on his first morning on Skara before they found the crashed shuttle. Reluctant to wake the others, he stood up and turned slowly in a circle, surveying the immediate area. In the pale dawn light everything was hushed, still.
On a sudden impulse, Spock sent out a tentative question with his thoughts, "Who are you?" He opened his mind to contact. The response was immediate, a whisper that might have arisen from his own mind except that Spock recognised the familiar probing? of a skilled telepath. Skilled, yet gentle, respectful. Spock felt no sense of intrusion, no attempt at breaching the barrier of privacy that he had erected to protect his innermost thoughts.
"Take care, Spock. They come." The whisper cautioned and, as suddenly as it had arrived, the presence withdrew, leaving Spock in a heightened state of alert. His hearing was keen, but he heard no sound. Unsure again, whether what he had just experienced had arisen from his own anxiey, he nevertheless woke Kort and Hunter, putting a finger to his lips to ask them to be silent and listen. Kort moved quick as a cat, to a tree and shinned up its trunk, agile despite his heavy Klingon frame. From his vantage point he scanned the area closely before sliding back down speedily, skinning his palms on the jagged bark.
"A group of Skarran hunters!" He said, "About half a mile away. They're heading in our direction. I suggest we rouse our guests and make a hasty retreat."
"Your hearing is acute indeed, friend." Hunter said, hastily covering evidence of their camp.
The Klingons had roused now and immediately picked up on the sense of urgency to move on. H'Narth rose to his feet slowly, helped by T'Hana. Kravok was alert, watchful. Kort had bound their hands and feet the night before and now he untied the bindings around their feet. "There are Skarrans nearby." He said, "Trust me, you do not wish to meet them."
"I would rather keep company with them than with a traitorous dog!" Kort rolled his eyes, weary of H'Narth's predictability.
"Technically he is not a traitor." Spock said, "He has merely chosen a different path from that of his peers."
"What would you know, Vulcan half-breed?" Spock felt a prick of irritation at the familiar insult. It was a favourite of Dr McCoy's when he was particularly riled by Spock's behaviour. Irritation was not the word for it. Spock felt a surge of murderous anger that nearly caused him to strike H'Narth. The poison in his blood was making him more susceptible to primitive emotion. He would need to be on his guard.
"They will track us easily if that is their intent." Hunter observed. "Kort and I have managed to keep out of their way but we have had one or two encounters. It doesn't help that they are constantly on the move, hunting and gathering, but at least their numbers seem small. We are fortunate that your ears are sharp." Hunter said.
Spock said nothing of the warning that he had received. He could not be sure of its origin in his present condition, but he was becoming convinced that the hairy Skarran natives were not the only inhabitants of this planet. The telepath's contact had been benign enough, but Spock had no knowledge of its true intent. His experience on previous missions had taught him that things were not always what they seemed. And, besides, Spock was not a man who indulged in speculation without the facts.
"I do not trust H'Narth." Kort asserted, hours later when they stopped to rest. "Kravok is injured – he is also, I sense, of a different nature to H'Narth."
"What of the female?" Hunter asked, "Have you noticed the way she looks at Kravok, how protective they seem of each other? Is there something going on there, Kort?" Kort smiled,
"I suspect they would like something to be going on."
Spock was puzzled. He was uncomfortably aware of his own prejudice in assuming that all Klingons were of a like persuasion. He expressed his thoughts to Kort. "Think of your encounters with members of the Klingon race, Mr Spock. You could be forgiven for thinking that all Klingons are alike. Unfortunately the ambassadors for our race with whom you clash on other worlds, or meet in battle, are all of a type. But there are other types of Klingons. They too are warriors, but to them the code of honour has a different meaning."
Spock understood what Kort was saying, but the memory of his innermost thoughts spilling through the evil filter of the mind-sifter was hard to dislodge, linked as it was with the grinning face of his Klingon tormentor as he turned his instrument of torture slowly to the highest setting.
"You alright, Spock? You're looking kinda greener than usual." Hunter said.
"Quite alright, Mr Hunter." Then, all three turned to the Klingon captives, who had been speaking among themselves. Now their voices were raised in anger.
H'Narth said, "I warned the captain against bringing you aboard." He spat, "Scientists! Treacherous dogs one and all." Spock looked at Kort, questioningly and Kort translated.
"If the captain brought Kravok and T'Hana to Skara against H'Narth's counsel, could it be that their scientific knowledge is required for some purpose here? I would be interested to learn their areas of scientific expertise."
"I order you to remain silent." H'Narth said to Kravok and T'Hana, overhearing the Vulcan.
"You have no authority over us, H'Narth." T'Hana's response was quick, scornful, "You do not outrank us on this planet." H'Narth glared at her in disbelief,
"You would choose them over one of your own kind?"
"You do not even choose to reveal the real nature of our mission here."
"I would die before revealing it to traitors and humans." T'Hana seemed enraged. She flew at H'Narth and Kravok stepped forward to restrain her. With her hands bound behind her back, there was little she could have done.
"Do not waste your energy." Kravok said. T'Hana glared at him as though she would attack him too, then she backed down. Spock and the others watched in surprise.
"What are your plans for us?" Kravok asked turning to face them.
"As I said earlier, Mr Spock's captain is returning to Skara. He will decide your fate." Hunter said, quietly, looking to Spock, who nodded soberly. H'Narth swore in Klingon and looked about to spit when a glare from Kort made him think again. "A Klingon ship will also be coming to Skara. We will see who arrives first and how our fates will be decided." He said, mockingly.
"All our fates will be decided by the Skarrans if we do not make haste." Spock said, with a sense of urgency. We must move on."
Sometime before noon, their trek brought them to a wide, unfamiliar expanse of river, "We have wandered off course, somewhat." Spock said, bewildered. He was aware of the effect the Skarran poison was having on his mind and the effort at controlling it meant that his other mental faculties were being compromised; on this world he felt dislocated, severed from his usual precision in judging time and place.
"Father!" T'Sorf pointed at a small craft run aground by the side of the river.
"Looks big enough to take us all." Hunter said, smiling at Spock, "Let's navigate by river for a while. This endless forest is disorienting."
It was little more than a canoe scooped out of a huge tree trunk but it was fit for purpose, with paddles of sorts; Kort unbound H'Narth's hands and handed him a paddle taking the other himself.
After an hour, the river narrowed slightly and their small boat was pulled into its centre despite the best efforts of the rowers to stay close to the bank. Spock, who had been scanning the banks on either side, suddenly sat upright, "Over there!" he pointed. Another canoe had appeared, seemingly from nowhere and was approaching fast.
"Skarrans" Kravok cried, straining backwards to see.
"Affirmative! Get down!" A shower of arrows soared over their heads. No sooner had they ducked than another shower assailed them - this time the boat was pierced by hard, sharpened arrowheads and water began to flood into the canoe. T'Hana and Spock began a frantic attempt to plug the holes and bail them out as H'Narth and Kort continued to row, pointing the canoe at the opposite bank, fighting the incessant centrewards pull of the now fast-flowing current.
"It's no good!" T'Hana cried in alarm, "We're sinking!" Spock felt the chill of cold water around his ankles. He looked back at the Skarran craft – it was not gaining on them as fast as before, the current having changed again, must be working against them also, dragging them back towards the opposite bank. Even in his present danger, Spock found himself contemplating the forces at work beneath the surface of the water.
"We're going to have to swim for it." Hunter's voice. The canoe was listing dangerously, filling up with water. Quickly, he leaned forwards and cut H'Narth, Kravok and T'Hana's bonds. A moment later, they were catapulted into the river as the boat capsized.
Spock gasped at the coldness. He was not an experienced, or a strong swimmer. Few Vulcans took to the water with enthusiasm, disliking the wet and the cold. For several moments he floundered ineffectually, then, he went under, water closing over him, tugging him down. Spluttering and filled with an unfamiliar sense of panic, Spock struggled to keep his head above water. He saw the others making strong strokes shorewards before going under for a second time. This time, his Vulcan shields came crashing down with him, fear and water engulfing him. He thought of Jim, always a confident swimmer, ploughing with ease up and down the pool on the Enterprise's recreation deck, entreating Spock to join him.
The memory was strangely comforting, then overwhelmingly sad as he realised it would be his last vision of his friend. So much he had never said. Then, suddenly, his head was above water again, his voice yelling, "Jim!" Then, he was under again.
"Jim." He said again, in his mind as he felt the heaviness in his limbs, the terrible weight of water pulling him down, down, down into its depths. Too exhausted now to fight, Spock stopped struggling. He was calm now and very tired and the water was no longer cold, but all enveloping, comforting almost, and it was logical to drown quickly instead of struggling against the inevitable.
Then, suddenly, he felt hands gripping him firmly under the arms and he had the sensation of being pulled upwards. In a moment he was thrashing and spluttering in the current again, his head above water, his lungs burning for air.
"Keep still dammit, you crazy Vulcan or you'll drown us both."
"Jim?" Spock said, confused.
"Hunter. Why in god's name didn't you say you couldn't swim?" Spock suspected this was a rhetorical question and in any case, he lacked the energy to reply. He willed himself to stillness and allowed Hunter to slip an arm around him and swim with him. A few moments later, he felt another arm around him and he realised that Kravok too had joined in the rescue.
Hunter and Kravok assisted Spock ashore, then all three collapsed on the sandy riverbank, where they lay for long moments, spent. Then, gasping, Hunter hauled himself to his feet, "Kort! T'Sorf!" he yelled, scanning the river and the short stretch of yellow-sanded riverbank that ended less then twenty feet away in a tangle of trees reaching to the water's edge.
T'Hana had reached the sandy bank and lay, recovering a short distance from Spock and his rescuers. "Where are the others?" Hunter cried, running to her, his feet dragging in the wet sand.
"They were carried farther downriver by the current. The boy was in trouble, but I saw his father assist him." Hunter looked at the fast-flowing water. It had taken all his strength to swim ashore; without Kravok's help he might not have brought the Vulcan ashore at all. Kort was strong, but T'Sorf was still a boy and Hunter had no idea if he could swim "What of H'Narth?" Kravok asked.
"He was near them in the water." T'Hana answered. Shivering, she added,
"They could be miles downriver." Hunter stood up and extended a hand to Spock, asking,
"Can you walk, friend?" Spock nodded, hesitantly accepting Hunter's hand. In the water, with Kravok and Hunter both assisting him, something of their emotions had been communicated to him through their touch. A mixture of alarm and response to danger, adrenalin and anxiety. Now, safe on the shore, Hunter's touch conveyed an impression of warmth, compassion, concern, that was vaguely familiar. Spock remembered suddenly where he had experienced this mixture before and an image of the Enterprise's CMO leaning over him in sickbay flashed in his mind. As he steadied himself, standing alone, Spock released his grip on Hunter and the sudden withdrawal of the man's emotional support made him gasp, as though it had somehow been as necessary as Hunter's physical assistance.
"We will find them." He said, meeting Hunter's eye and holding his gaze just long enough to communicate that he understood Hunter's fear.
Hunter nodded, his eyes scanning the river again as if in some insane hope that his friend and his son would miraculously emerge unharmed from its swirling depths.