A/N: As always, thanks to everybody who has been reading. :-) If you're enjoying, please let me know!
Minister of State Yesha Dalir, a short, pale gray Chareni female, was the highest-level member of the Chareni government with no previous knowledge of the details of the planet-wide power production process. Her position was usually ranked fourth in the planetary government, following the President, the Vice President, and the Treasury Minister—all of whom had been disqualified from the negotiations by Kirk's refusal to treat with anyone who had known about the Federation captives. She was obviously nervous about the responsibility which had been thrust suddenly upon her, but even so, she was well-spoken and carried herself with a quiet poise of which Spock very much approved.
Minister of Intercontinental Affairs Delor Roshall, fifth-ranked, was a reddish male of somewhat medium height and paunchy build, as Spock understood Chareni physique. He rarely spoke, and when he did, the words came in short, forceful bursts. He seemed unable to sit still for long, and routinely glanced at President Kovarak whenever addressed—usually leading to the inquiry or comment being readdressed to Minister Dalir. The man was apparently extremely concerned regarding his standing with the president, and Spock wondered if he truly understood that any power Kovarak yet held on Charen was in name only. If the president had not yet been arrested in conjunction with the affair before them, he would be so shortly. Spock was pleased that Roshall's position was not reversed with Dalir's. Such a situation would, he was certain, have led to a very unfortunately different set of negotiations than the one they now faced.
Dalir, for her part, was aware of Kovarak's presence, but also seemed to fully comprehend the situation as it now stood. Once seated, she addressed her opening remarks to Kirk without acknowledgement of the president, who sat apart from the table, accompanied by a single red-shirted security guard.
"Captain Kirk. As Charen's chosen representative to the United Federation of Planets, I extend the deepest apologies of the Chareni people for the atrocities committed against Federation citizens on our planet." She hesitated, and her gaze flickered. "I do not know if it is appropriate, but I also wish to convey my personal loathing for what has happened here. It was my understanding … it has been the understanding of the majority of the Chareni people that the acts committed against your people had been left behind decades ago, at the insistence of our citizens."
Kirk nodded curtly. "The Federation acknowledges your apology." He paused, before adding, "Both planetary and personal."
Spock resisted an illogical urge to glance toward the captain. He knew already what he would see. The same withdrawn scowl had held Kirk's expression since their earlier meeting with the Rigelians had revealed Dr. McCoy's abduction at the hands of the Chareni. Kirk had not yet spoken with him about it, whether from lack of time or inclination Spock was uncertain. Even so, he knew Kirk far too well, both as captain and as friend, to not have some notion of what was going on behind that scowl. At this moment, he suspected that the professional in Kirk, who knew and did his duty even when it was not his first or even fifth choice, was warring with the fiercely loyal friend, who wanted nothing more than to transport immediately to the planet and begin an intensive search for the man they had all thought dead for nearly three months.
Who might still be dead.
He was certain it had occurred to Kirk that their current endeavor was the most logical next course of action in discharging both their duties as professionals and as friends. However, when faced with such situations, it had been his experience that humans not only tended to eschew logical thought, but often grew angry when confronted with it. Kirk, while duty-driven, was most assuredly human. That they were here now, rather than on the surface of Charen, was testament to Kirk's strength of will. Spock hoped that it also meant that Kirk would be able to approach these negotiations with the proper frame of mind. He usually had little doubt regarding Kirk's abilities at the negotiation table—the man's distinctive style served him well more often than not. Given the strength of Kirk's friendship with McCoy, however, he thought it wise to, for the moment, keep a close eye on his captain as well as on the general proceedings.
Dalir folded her hands. "Thank you." She took a deep breath. "Captain, I would also like to state, for the record, that I am fully aware of the enormity of the duty that we owe to the Federation, and I offer every assurance that we will discharge that duty to the best of our abilities. However, I also owe a duty to my people. It is my hope that whatever is decided here, the Federation will keep in mind that, whatever members of our society have done, our people have not been complicit in these actions."
Kirk paused, and Spock assumed that he was working out the appropriate phrasing before speaking—always a good sign. "Minister, the primary negotiations will occur with the Vulcan and the Rigelian ambassadors, who are, as you have been informed, en route to our location. However, I can assure you that the Federation is interested in justice. We are not interested in money, at least not in excess of a reasonable amount in the assistance of those who have been imprisoned here, or in labor. We have no intention of leaving your planet destitute, or of forcibly conscripting your people. I can tell you, however, that we will expect arrests and extraditions, as well as full compliance with whatever other demands are agreed upon in the course of these negotiations."
In his corner, Kovarak stirred. "Captain, as I have already—"
"President Kovarak." Dalir spoke before Kirk had a chance to respond, without turning or in any other way acknowledging Kovarak. "Your interruption does us no favors. Please remain silent." Kovarak subsided, muttering darkly. Dalir took another breath, and nodded to Kirk. "We thank the Federation for its consideration, and pledge that we will comply with agreed upon demands to the fullest extent possible. Please continue, Captain."
Now, Spock did look toward Kirk. The captain seemed favorably impressed—at least, his scowl had shifted to a grudging approval. Kirk glanced down at the data pad on the table in front of him before continuing.
"The purpose of this meeting is to deal with certain immediate issues that cannot wait until the arrival of the ambassadors. We've been provided by your government with samples of your energy compound and of the science behind it. However, my science officer, Mr. Spock," he motioned to Spock, who inclined his head to Dalir, "indicates that the equations provided are incomplete. I would like a more accurate detailing of the process by which copper-based blood cells are converted into energy for your planet. Perhaps Mr. Spock could consult with one of your power engineers regarding the details."
"Of course." Dalir motioned to her assistant, who made a note on his data pad. "I might find power engineers reluctant to undertake such a collaboration. May I … assure whoever is chosen of his or her return from your ship?"
Kirk just avoided snorting. "Minister, I have no intention of snatching random people from your planet and throwing them in our brig, no matter what their job might have been. I assure you, when the Federation begins to require arrests, the names involved will be based on careful study, not on whoever happens to be on the Enterprise or any other Federation ship at the time."
"Very good. Thank you." She murmured something to her assistant, who made another note. "Someone will contact you regarding this matter as soon as possible, Captain."
"Thank you." Kirk glanced at his list again. "I also have a request from my Chief Medical Officer for any medical information gathered by your people since the inception of this process, for all species involved. Her search for a treatment may progress more quickly if she has all of the background data. She specifically asked for data regarding the half-life of the priming injection, I believe, and the entire range of known side effects."
"Of course, Captain. We will gather all relevant data and send it as soon as possible. In the meantime, we have this for you." Dalir's assistant handed her a data pad, which she passed across the table. Kirk took it, raising his eyebrows. Whether or not she understood the gesture itself, she gathered its intent. "Our initial investigations have uncovered a treatment only recently developed on the northern continent. It is directed toward Vulcans and Romulans, of course, and doesn't appear to be an actual cure for the effects of the injections—but perhaps it may be of some use to your medical officer."
"That's … very helpful, Minister. Thank you." Kirk passed the data pad to Spock, who glanced briefly at the screen.
And froze.
Given his own surprisingly strong reaction to the news that Dr. McCoy had not been killed in the explosion of the K'dina'Th, but abducted and brought to Charen for reasons as yet unknown, Spock had shunted both that information and his response to a highly controlled portion of his brain, locking it temporarily away until he found a more opportune time to process and fully manage the emotions involved. A meeting with the Chareni government was neither the time nor the place for such an attempt. For a moment, however, he suspected those emotions of leaking into and clouding his judgment.
Only for a moment. Further quick analysis of the equations, chemical structures, and general information lining the pad before him confirmed intellectually what his first glance had hinted—that this treatment had been developed by Leonard McCoy.
At least, the probability was quite high. As Science Officer and CMO, Spock and McCoy had worked closely on any number of projects over the course of the five-year mission. They had also published three papers together, and had been collaborating on a fourth when news reached the Enterprise of the doctor's death. He was exceedingly familiar with McCoy's thought processes, with his professional and medical judgments, with the quirks that flavored the whole and made a sharp intellect brilliant in its field. It was not the Vulcan way to bet. However, given the knowledge of McCoy's presence—at one time, if not still—on Charen, and the pattern and flow of the data before him, Spock would have considered this less a gamble and more an as-yet-unproven statement of fact.
The determination took seconds. He allowed another few seconds to process and control his reaction to this new development, then set the pad on the table, looked to Kirk, and nodded briefly. The time was not right to inform the captain—they were not alone, and in any case, the fact of the treatment's author had little bearing on the immediate discussion. If it became relevant at a later point, he would raise his suspicions. Unless that occurred, it was best to inform Kirk after the close of the meeting.
Kirk frowned, fully aware that something had caught Spock's eye. When Spock refrained from comment, however, he returned his attention to Dalir. There would be time later for the extra details.
"Now, Minister—to the safe return of the prisoners held in the power plant on your northern continent."
Kovarak snorted, and muttered something beneath his breath. Dalir winced, just visibly, and Kirk turned a sharp glance on the Chareni president. "You have something to say, President?"
"I said," Kovarak straightened, "good luck."
Kirk frowned at him, then pinned Dalir with a hard glance. "What is that supposed to mean?"
Dalir sighed, and rubbed at the back of her neck. "The situation on the northern continent is complicated, Captain. As you are well aware."
"I am aware. Please explain how this complication affects the return of our people."
"Since the power was lost, we have had no way to track most of what has been happening on the northern continent, and very little communication with anyone still there. Also, many of the governmental officials and high-ranking utilities Supervisors evacuated to our secondary continent immediately after the power failure. Even if communication was reliable, there is really no one left to communicate with."
"Hmph." Kirk's scowl returned. "Left the people to fend for themselves, did you?"
"Look here!" Roshall spoke for the first time since the meeting's commencement, pushing forward in his chair. "The police are engaged in crowd control. We discussed sending back-up from our other continents, but when word of this is released, it's likely we'll need them where they are. What could anyone else accomplish by staying? You certainly can't expect that the rest of us could have—"
"I could expect, Minister, that leaders might have the decency to stay and lead. To make your people feel safe—or, at least, safer. To answer their concerns. It seems—"
Spock inclined his head, ready to divert Kirk's attention from an unproductive rant of which Dr. McCoy himself would have thoroughly approved, but Minister Dalir beat him to it.
"Captain Kirk." The interruption was diffident, but effectively cut through the escalating tension. "We are even now discussing amongst our active ministers the most appropriate way in which to handle this situation. However, I believe your concern was for your people?"
Kirk glared at Roshall for a moment longer, barely managing to conceal his disgust, then released a deep breath and returned his gaze to Dalir. Spock's estimation of the Minister of State rose another notch. She was adept at diffusing pressure situations. It would serve her well in the coming days.
"Proceed, Minister."
"We have been scanning for the past hours, and believe your people to still be within the power plant."
Spock's eyebrow inched up. "You are able to effectively scan through the dilasantium in your building structures?"
Dalir gave an odd little shoulder jerk that might have been a shrug. "Marginally. Most of the current buildings on the northern continent were constructed during the days of our early space technology, before scanners became commonplace and we realized that the material rebounded scanning signals. Once it was discovered we found other building materials, but the cost to tear down and replace what amounted to nearly three-fourths of a continent was … prohibitive." To say the least. It was likely a highly vexing situation for the Chareni, as it had been for the Enterprise during the past days. "Scanning technology has, of course, improved to some extent over time. We are able to pick up … impressions may be the best word. In this instance, we scanned for copper-containing biological signals. Once we had ruled out the energy compound—which, in any instance, since the contamination is no longer scanning as it always has—we found that the highest concentration, and therefore the most likely to be your people, is yet within the confines of the power plant."
Kirk leaned forward. "Do you have any form of communication still with any of your people in the power plant? Is there a way to verify these readings?"
She hesitated. "Captain Kirk, we no longer maintain control of the power plant. It was completely overrun during the sabotage—the rebel group responsible has reportedly claimed it as their operational center."
The news was … disturbing. Kirk's eyebrows shot up, and he leaned back in his chair.
"So our people, assuming your scans are accurate and they are still within the power plant, are in all probability at the mercy of this rebel group."
"Yes, Captain. That is accurate."
Kirk rubbed at his jaw, and glanced at Spock. "Well." Indeed. Yet more variables in an already complex equation. The captain looked back to Dalir. "What do you know about this rebel group? They are against your power process on general principle, I believe. What are the chances they'd be open to freeing our people?"
Dalir looked to Roshall. He craned his head around to take in Kovarak, but the president had collapsed into an uncommunicative slump, and ignored him. Roshall turned back and finally spoke—just before, if Spock was correct, Kirk would have intervened.
"They're one of several intra-continental organizations that we've been keeping an eye on for some years. The Brolin Sak." Truth Huntsmen, according to the translator. Not an original moniker, but Spock supposed that it served its purpose well enough. "They aren't the most violent—they're willing to kill in furtherance of their goals, and obviously qualms about the overall ramifications of a continent-wide loss of power didn't stop them, but they don't leave a trail of dead bodies like some. They're also not the most communicative, either. We've attempted contact with them several times over the years, and at least three times since the incident at the power plant, and have never even received an acknowledgement, much less a response."
"Maybe they'll be more willing to talk to us." Kirk addressed Dalir. "I'd like to attempt communication with the Brolin Sak leadership after this meeting. Can you provide us with the proper channels?"
"We will give you what we have, Captain." Again, the shoulder jerk. "I can't promise that it is still correct, or that anyone will respond even if it is."
"Understood, Minister." Kirk looked to Spock. "In the meantime, I think we have to proceed under the assumption that we're dealing with a hostile force and that it falls to us to extricate our people. If we aren't able to open communications with this group in the next few hours, I don't want to wait any longer. We have no idea what kind of shape the prisoners or in, and how the lack of power has been affecting their situation."
"Agreed, Captain."
Kirk nodded, and looked back to the Chareni. "What about it, then? What would be the best way to go about this? We'll need to get into the building, of course, and we'll need to know where we're going once we do. I'd like blueprints, but I would also like a guide, maybe two, who are familiar with the premises. Is there anyone among the evacuees you mentioned who has a good working knowledge of the entire plant? The quickest routes through? Where the prisoners were held? Of course, by now they may be in a completely different section of the plant, but it's a place to start."
Dalir turned toward Kovarak, who remained silent. She uttered a brief, sharp whine, and Kovarak finally snapped, "The power plant Supervisors are who you'll want to see. Most of them evacuated to the secondary continent, they'll be easy to locate in the general offices."
"Thank you, President." Dalir looked to her assistant. "Balif, have the northern continental Supervisors located. Tell them that Captain Kirk will require a meeting." He nodded, and began punching rapidly on his pad. Dalir returned her gaze to Kirk. "I have never been to the power plant, I am the last person qualified to help you plan any incursion. However, I will put you in immediate touch with the Chief of Security for the northern continent. He will be instructed to assist you and your people in planning around any gaps in the information that the Supervisors are able to supply."
Kirk nodded. "Agreed. I—"
"Minister." Both Kirk and Dalir swung around, startled. Spock offered an apologetic nod. It was, admittedly, discourteous in the extreme to interrupt during a period of negotiation. His father, for one, would have solidly disapproved. However, given the opening that now lay before them, it seemed appropriate to abandon his resolution not to speak yet of the probable origin of the treatment compound. "Among those gathered to assist us, I believe we would be particularly interested in speaking to Second Supervisor Rashall UyaVeth."
She hesitated, looking to Kirk. The captain tilted a curious gaze at Spock. "Something we should know about, Mr. Spock?"
Spock motioned briefly to the Chareni pad on the table before him. "According to this data, Supervisor UyaVeth appears to have been primarily responsible for the proposal of and follow-through supervision involved in the development of the treatment protocol of which Minister Dalir informed us."
"Interesting, and I'm sure Dr. Trella will want to speak with him, but how does this help us here?"
Spock paused. It was, of course, not entirely relevant to the subject at hand. Still, as the Supervisors had now become a topic of discussion, it seemed rather inefficient to break into two conversations what could be covered in one. "I am uncertain whether Supervisor UyaVeth may be of any particular use for the purpose of rescuing the hostages, Captain. However … I believe you will find that he may be a person of primary importance in the final matter you had determined to bring before this group today."
Kirk's jaw tightened. Dalir, on the other hand, was simply confused. "What matter is this, Captain?" Kirk took a long, deep breath. She uttered a low, nervous whine and shifted her attention. "Mr. Spock? I am afraid that I don't quite—"
"Minister." Kirk straightened. His voice was still level, but had taken on a clipped, tight tone. Dalir obviously sensed the difference—her own posture straightened and stilled. Her expression, if Spock read her correctly, remained perplexed. "We have Rigelian witnesses to the abduction by your people of a human Starfleet doctor along with other prisoners roughly three months past. This is the matter Mr. Spock is referencing—why even a human, given the copper base of your energy processes, and what might be done to locate this man if he is not with the Vulcans and Romulans in the power plant."
"A human?" Dalir's brows dipped, and she turned to the other Chareni in the room. Roshall was frowning too, and even Kovarak seemed genuinely lost. Her assistant typed furiously onto his pad. "Captain." Dalir paused. "This is … I have not heard of such a thing. We have detailed records of Rigelian, Vulcan, and Romulan prisoners—you've seen them, you've been sent copies … but I know nothing at all about any humans."
Hard hazel eyes pinned Spock. "What makes you think this UyaVeth knows anything about McCoy?"
Spock nodded briefly toward the data pad. "Captain, it is my belief that Dr. McCoy developed, or was highly involved in the development of, this treatment compound."
A beat of silence, then, "Explain."
"I cannot, not in a manner which will convince. Suffice it to say, Dr. McCoy and I have collaborated often, and I know his work."
Kirk's eyebrows raised. "Intuition, Mr. Spock?"
Spock frowned disapproval. "Experience, Captain."
Kirk scowled for a long moment, then turned abruptly back to Dalir. "It's been my own experience that Mr. Spock is correct far more often than not, Minister. We will require Supervisor UyaVeth's presence." His tone was noticeably chilled.
"Of course." She nodded, Balif made a lengthy note on his pad, and Rashall exchanged a long look with Kovarak. Spock wondered what was involved in that glance—both had seemed surprised at the news of a human prisoner, if his limited understanding of Chareni body language was accurate, but there was definitely something else at work here. Perhaps UyaVeth himself was the cause. They had, of course, no background information on personal relationships within the Chareni government. It was difficult to speculate without further data. Dalir continued in the same hesitant manner. "Captain, I note that this subject appears to be of particular … importance to you. Forgive me … but, is there something about this human doctor of which we should be aware? Or is it because you are human as well? If there is anything more that—"
"Dr. McCoy was this ship's Chief Medical Officer." Kirk's voice had turned brittle, sharp-edged. "He was a colleague and friend, and we've been mourning him for months. It's been a … bit of a shock, to say the least, to discover that he's instead been a hostage all this time and we've been doing nothing."
It was illogical to suggest that they should have been searching for McCoy when they believed him dead. However, Spock knew better than to question this particular mood. Kirk would blame himself for what he would, and there was very little that anyone else could do about it—a black hole itself was incapable of sucking away guilt that Kirk was not ready to free. McCoy had, on occasion, found ways to battle this manner of useless self-recrimination; however, Dr. McCoy was most assuredly not at this moment present.
Dalir nodded, once. "I see." Her stance relaxed minutely, yet her entire posture suddenly radiated a determined air. It was an odd combination. "Captain Kirk." Kirk looked up from the conference table, drawn by the firm, compassionate tenor of her voice. "Although our society has more and more over the past years edged toward an independence, an isolation from others of even our own kind, Chareni have traditionally held the ties of family and friendship very deeply. Some of us still do. You have my word that we will do everything within our power to assist in this matter. If your friend can be found, we will do so."
Intriguing. They had, to this point, received the Minister's complete and willing cooperation. Somehow, however, the revelation of an additional, personal stake of their own seemed to have drawn out Yesha Dalir's strong personal interest as well. He must remember to research these traditional Chareni social ties, when a more opportune time presented itself.
Kirk studied Dalir for a long moment, conflicting emotions warring in his eyes. Finally, he returned her nod. When he spoke, his voice was businesslike once more. "Thank you, Minister. We have additional up-front questions regarding the security and possible police presence surrounding the power plant, if you wish to mark them down for your Chief of Security's reference before we meet."
"Of course, Captain."
She looked to Balif, who poised his hand expectantly over his pad. Kirk turned his attention to the assistant, and the meeting resumed.
The dimming light outside the near window signaled the coming of another night. McCoy pulled the several blankets up closer to his face, and relaxed into the soft couch cushions and the glorious warmth of the wood stove. The room itself was dim and quiet, the only noise the voices drifting in from the next room and the occasional street sound. He was full—at least relatively—and exhausted, and not cold for the first time in months, and by all rights he should have been asleep for probably a half hour by now. His mind, however, was moving too quickly to allow it.
Kiran and Gesill had been as good as their word. Immediately after bringing McCoy, Salin, and T'Pana inside their home, Gesill had led them to a room that seemed to serve as both kitchen and dining area, and provided large quantities of clear water for each of them.
"It's not cool, my apologies, but it's still clean at least."
Anything room temperature on this planet was more than cold enough for McCoy. He scanned it just to be certain that there were no variations in the Chareni water supply, explaining to their hosts as he worked. They didn't seem to offend easily, thankfully—while her guests drank their fill, Gesill brought a large quantity of food out of a cool-box in the wall and set it out on the counter.
"Perhaps you would like to scan it all. I don't know what will be appropriate for you."
McCoy took another long drink, happy that his still unsettled stomach seemingly had no plans to reject it, and wandered over to the laden counter.
"Ma'am, thank you, but we have no intention of eating so much of—"
"It's just as well shared," Kiran cut him off, guessing his protest before it was even voiced. "With the power out, this will all be perished in a couple of days. Might as well eat as much of it as we can." He settled into a chair at the table, pushed it back on two legs, and began the work of cleaning the phaser rifle. McCoy still hesitated, but Salin came up beside him and nodded.
"It is logical. We thank you."
Huh. Salin was usually the quiet one, in company. McCoy suspected that the kid was being driven more by concern for him and T'Pana than his own hunger, but in the end it didn't matter. What mattered was that they would all finally eat. McCoy leaned against the counter to keep the relief from dropping him straight onto the scrubbed tile floor.
"All right." He managed a smile for Gesill, who hovered again near the cool-box. "Thank you."
"It's really the least we can do, after what you've been through." She was already rummaging again. McCoy didn't want to think about what they'd been through. Right now, he didn't want to think about anything but food. He turned toward the counter and began the process of scanning the foreign food with one of their stolen tricorders, still drinking absently from his large water tumbler. He should definitely make it a point to replace as much fluid as possible while he had the chance-who knew what tomorrow might bring?
In the end, he settled on a round white root plant and some kind of leafy orange-brown vegetable for himself. It was a shame that the meat here wasn't high in either iron or potassium—he could do with something a little more substantial than turnips and glorified lettuce leaves in his stomach. The meat was, however, fairly high in copper—surprisingly so, actually, given that the animal life here had cobalt-based blood. He grimaced an apology at Salin and T'Pana.
"There's nothing else here that's even close to providing the level of nutrients you need. If you can't do it, I'll try to combine a few things for you, but—"
"No, Doctor." T'Pana viewed the meat with a barely concealed distaste, but her voice was calm and undisturbed. "In this instance, it is the most logical option. We will … adapt."
"Good." He quirked a half-smile. "In that case ... thanks for, you know, being good sports and all."
"Sports?" One of her eyebrows lifted, and she exchanged a glance with Salin. The young Vulcan simply shrugged.
"Much of what he says is utterly illogical. However, this does seem to be a compliment."
"Indeed." T'Pana folded her arms tightly. "It is a wonder to me that humans are ever able to complete a conversation, with all of the unnecessary—"
"Enough, you two," McCoy growled, but then allowed a brief chuckle. So, this is what it was like to be tag-teamed by a couple of Vulcans. It was a good thing Spock was solo on the Enterprise, he'd never have any peace otherwise ….
The reminder sent a shudder through him, and his stomach churned. He moved quickly away from those thoughts, before he was forced to actually deal with the fear and the dull despair he'd been so successfully burying since their plan had collapsed and they'd left the power plant behind. Gesill had gathered the indicated food near the stove and was putting the rest back in the cool-box, but she frowned suddenly at him.
"You are shaking. Why is this?"
He wasn't about to go into physical reactions based on emotion. In any case, there was a much simpler answer—and probably the one she was really asking about.
"It's my body's way of trying to warm itself. We're not …" He rubbed his hands, colder just thinking about it. "Our planets are very much warmer than this. Theirs," he nodded toward the Vulcans, "especially."
She exchanged a glance with Kiran. "You're cold?" McCoy nodded-a gesture that, he had discovered some time ago, the Chareni seemed to share. "It is the moderate season now. Very comfortable for us." Kiran was already standing even as she spoke. "My husband will light the wood stoves."
McCoy frowned. "It won't be too warm for you?"
"Not at all." Gesill laughed, reminding him very much of the light, self-deprecating sound his mother had always produced in her own final years, when discussing her various ailments. "We're old. We don't notice the heat like we used to."
"As long as you're not uncomfortable." Already, his chilled body was relaxing. The thought of huddling up next to a wood stove was right up there at the moment with a mint julep on a hot Georgian afternoon …
No. He couldn't think about that.
Another, more unsettling thought occurred to him. "If it's the moderate season, will people question the smoke?"
"Have to cook somehow." Kiran snorted, and moved off into the other room.
Right.
They heard a banging and a rattle, and then a door slammed near the back of the house. Gesill laid a light hand on McCoy's arm, and he jumped.
"Sit. It will be well."
There was really nothing else for it. McCoy returned to the table and fell into the chair beside T'Pana. The sight of her ugly bruise reminded him that there were other issues at hand beside their empty stomachs, and he was on his feet again before he had even settled his full weight into the chair.
"Ma'am?" Gesill looked around. "I'd like to take a look at my friend's injuries. Would you have a first aid kit somewhere?"
He was prepared to explain, as the term 'first aid' wasn't quite universal, but there was no need. Gesill hurried into another room, and returned a few minutes later with a large box.
"If you need anything more, we have other supplies in the sleeping rooms."
"No, this is … this is great, actually." The kit contained gauze, a cleansing agent that the tricorder registered as near enough to alcohol, and a long, heavy length of material that would serve as a far better binding for T'Pana's arm than the torn machinery cover that now held it in place. McCoy was in the process of unwinding the makeshift sling when Kiran reentered with an armful of wood.
"We're low, didn't think we'd need so much for a while. I'll have to go down later on and see if Lansk has some I can buy."
Gesill nodded. "Be careful. Take the rifle." McCoy was about to protest that there was no need to send anyone wandering in the streets for them, but the woman shifted her attention to their clothing before he could so much as speak. "I wish we had something else for you to wear. I just gave away all of my son's old clothes, and I don't think Kiran's would fit you, he's quite a bit bigger …"
"Thank you, but it is unnecessary." He didn't like the slurring in T'Pana's voice. She needed to warm up, and eat, and sleep. Hopefully, that was all coming in short order. "You have done more than enough for us. This clothing will suffice."
The elderly Chareni tsk'd softly. "Maybe we can at least find coats for you. We won't miss them, we rarely need them in this area." She looked around. "Kiran …"
"I'll take a look when I'm done here." He spoke without turning, continuing to poke wood into the small covered black stove in the kitchen corner. Gesill wandered back off to the meal preparations, and McCoy returned his attention to T'Pana, raising an eyebrow.
"How does this feel?" He held the new binding tight. "Too much? Too loose?"
"No, it is …" T'Pana blinked, and took a long breath. "It is good. Better than it was."
"Okay." McCoy fastened the sling, then turned her face toward the window, squinting at the dilated pupils. Concussion, at least. It must have been some blow—Vulcans were, as a rule, pretty hard-headed. "How is your head? Does it hurt any, other than this bit?" He indicated the bruise. "I don't like how—"
"It aches." She straightened, and her voice took on that abrupt, controlled tone to which she so often resorted. T'Pana was, apparently, finished being coddled. "Considering our circumstances, it could do nothing else. You need not hover, Doctor."
"Ha. There she is." McCoy offered a weak smile—the most he could manage, given his own lightheaded state, but T'Pana relaxed, minutely. "You need to sleep."
"I understand."
"As soon as we're done eating."
"Of course, Doctor."
"And I don't want to hear anything about—"
"Doctor." The dark eyes narrowed. He dipped a piece of gauze in his water cup and began carefully cleaning the wound edges. "I will comply."
"Good. Now, hold still."
Breakfast—or lunch, or whatever it was they were eating at this point—was like a little slice of heaven. Besides being the first real food he'd tasted in months (Romulan dietary rations definitely didn't count, as far as he was concerned), Gesill had prepared his vegetables in a light, bland broth that had a soothing effect on his stomach. He was glad. Not only did it make everything far more likely to stay down, but it just tasted good. That in itself was a simple pleasure that he had very well thought he might not experience again.
The Vulcans were far less pleased with their repast, being animal-based, but since they were Vulcans they didn't complain. They gamely worked their way through the generous portions, cutting off small bits and swallowing quickly to mask the taste. McCoy wondered how their systems would do with the meat, given that it wasn't something generally included in the Vulcan diet, and determined that he would need to keep an eye on them.
After eating, they followed Kiran into the next room. He had pulled several long, deep couches close around a larger version of the kitchen's wood stove. McCoy's entire body nearly buckled at the sight. He held a quick, whispered conference with the Vulcans, and they decided that T'Pana and Salin would sleep first, followed by McCoy. He was proud of the victory—winning an argument against not one but two Vulcans wasn't exactly a piece of cake, and here he had managed it twice in the same day.
He kept that little bit of triumph to himself.
There were enough couches and blankets—McCoy drifted over to the extra couch and snagged a blanket off of the pile, reveling in the soft texture against his cold fingers—for all three of them, of course. It seemed their hosts didn't go in for partial hospitality. Still, despite believing that Kiran and Gesill were trustworthy, McCoy also agreed that it was illogical—yep, there I go again—for all three of them to sleep at once. They had to stay vigilant. Too much could go wrong too quickly. The Vulcans settled, and added several extra blanket layers even with the heat radiating off of the stove. Kiran shook his head, but merely exchanged a glance with his wife before they strolled back out into the kitchen. McCoy pulled his new blanket around his shoulders and joined them.
It was a long afternoon. He was exhausted, and even real interest in Gesill and Kiran's stories about their family, and the old neighborhood, and the days before the planetary government couldn't keep him focused enough to retain or even hear much of it. Fortunately, they didn't seem to require much in the way of response—they simply waited for him to nod at appropriate times, and moved on to the next topic. Somewhere in his sluggish brain, he experienced a strong regret that he would likely not remember anything they were telling him here. Some of it was probably important to their current situation, and even if not, it was the kind of thing that he usually loved to do—sit around and shoot the shit about the old days. Even if they weren't his old days. His body was too close to crashing, though, and the best he could manage was to not fall asleep as Gesill detailed the exploits of their daughter's youngest son in his primary years.
Salin had apparently set that peculiar internal alarm that all Vulcans seemed to have. He reappeared in the kitchen as the blue-tinged sun began to edge behind the buildings, looking far more refreshed than he had any right to be after such a short time asleep.
Darned Vulcans.
"T'Pana is still asleep."
"Good." McCoy struggled out of his chair. "She needs it." He squinted into the next room, at the motionless lump on the near couch. "Hopefully she'll stay that way for a while."
"Indeed."
Salin would probably remember everything Kiran and Gesill said to him, too …
"Well … night."
Salin nodded, briefly. "Sleep well, Doctor."
Except that, once he was buried under a pile of blankets on Salin's abandoned couch, sleep proved elusive. He lay on his back, and stared at the darkened ceiling, and let it all crash in on him—the months of anger and fear, the failed plan, the desperate flight and dirty, freezing hiding places. The hunger. The injuries. The increasing unrest—the shouting and breaking glass and sirens that even now drifted occasionally through the closed windows, so loud after the months of silence in the power plant's lower level. The knowledge that people were dying from the lack of artificial power, and would continue to die in the weeks ahead, and it was all from his blood.
The fear that they wouldn't be able to stay here for long, that they would be on the run again soon because it just wasn't going to be safe for them to stay in one place.
The fear that they would be caught and killed.
The fear that they would be caught and not killed.
The fear that they would not be caught, and they would spend the next however-many years hiding in sheds and ravines, cold and hungry and completely alone …
McCoy was beginning to shake in earnest, and not from the cold, when a knock on the outer door jerked him back to his senses. He froze, and sank down beneath his cocoon of blankets. T'Pana didn't stir, and he felt a twinge of alarm. It was unlike Vulcans to sleep so deeply that they didn't note what was happening immediately around them. Then again, she was exhausted and injured and hypothermic. Her body had likely just determined that it had finally had more than it could take. Kiran crossed to answer the door, and admitted a single, tall Chareni male. He motioned for silence, and led the visitor into the kitchen.
"Granpara, I—"
The voice broke off almost at once, and a flood of invectives filled the little room.
"Tilar!" Gesill snapped. The voice broke off, then resumed with only slightly more calmly.
"Apologies, Granmara, but … what is this?"
"This is our guest. His name is Salin." It was difficult to say whether Gesill's disapproval was for her grandson's words or for his tone. Honestly, though, McCoy couldn't blame the kid. How often, on a planet like Charen, did you walk into your grandparents' home and find an alien sitting in the kitchen with them?
"I …" The young man's voice faded, then, "But Granmara, how did this happen? How did you …" He broke off again, and McCoy heard the scrape of a chair. "Apologies, I don't mean to—"
"No offense is taken." Salin's voice was calm. "Your surprise is entirely understandable."
"Maybe." Kiran's rough voice broke in. "But that's no reason for you to be rude, Tilar."
Rude. McCoy almost laughed out loud. Rude was the least of their troubles …
"Apologies, Granpara. I only …" A long, deep breath, and then, "Please, though. How did this happen?"
Salin's voice intervened. "My companions and I were—"
"Companions?"
"Tilar!"
Shadows fell in the doorway, and McCoy felt eyes on him. He closed his eyes, and breathed deeply—he wasn't quite ready to take on this conversation.
"How many are there?"
"We are three." Salin's unruffled voice continued. "Your grandparents found us in a … situation on this street earlier today. We—"
"Two men were tracking Kolenn Trisal down the road." Gesill's voice shook. "She was fortunate that someone saw, it's not safe to—"
"After the situation had resolved," Salin continued, "they offered us food and shelter." He paused. "Your grandparents have been very kind to us, their aid is much appreciated."
A long sigh drifted into the dark sitting room. "So, they were right."
"Who were right about what?" Kiran growled.
"Did you know that there's a bounty out on these aliens?" A bounty? McCoy's heart sank, and it was all he could do not to swear aloud. Couldn't everyone just leave them alone? "At least, on one of them. I heard—"
"A bounty?" Kiran's rough voice dripped anger. "We haven't done enough to these people? We've already imprisoned and tortured them, now we have to drag them back to …" He trailed off, muttering unintelligibly. Then, "And just who is after them, anyway?"
"The Brolin Sak. They've put out the word that a particular alien escaped during their raid of the power plant, one that is important to their plans. They say he is different than the rest, they called him a human. No one cares about the others—at least, no one's offered to pay anything for them—but the Brolin Sak has offered a large sum to see this human returned."
Blast it. Double blast it. Suddenly, McCoy couldn't breathe. They were after him? What could he possibly have to do with their plans?
"Dr. McCoy?" Salin was as close to alarmed as McCoy could ever remember hearing him. "For what purpose do they wish his return?"
"I haven't heard, I don't know if they've even said." Footsteps again, near the door. "The human is here then too, isn't he?" Tilar began to swear again. "I came to warn you that people will be coming to search this area soon, perhaps many people. A couple of men claimed to have seen aliens nearby …"
Probably the bastards from that morning. McCoy sank back onto the couch, and fighting the horrified nausea and his whirling thoughts. They were after him.
What do they want with me?
Wait.
With him. They weren't after the others, not Salin and T'Pana. They were after him.
Cold fear gripped his gut and his throat. If this Brolin Sak—Chiya's group? probably—if they were after him, and if they were paying enough, his odds of escape had just fallen drastically. No matter what, he couldn't stay in Kiran and Gesill's home any longer. He couldn't put them in any more danger than they already were.
And he couldn't stay with Salin and T'Pana.
McCoy's stomach lurched again, but he managed to keep everything down.
If he stayed with the Vulcans, it put them in far more danger than they would be on their own. Without a bounty on them, his friends might be curiosities, but people would eventually forget about them. Maybe even help them out from time to time, like Gesill and Kiran had done. No chance of anyone forgetting about him, though, not with good money riding on his capture. And if the Vulcans were with him he was found, there was very little chance that Salin and T'Pana wouldn't get dragged back in too.
Or killed trying to fight their way free. Or worse, trying to fight his way free.
No. This was it.
Voices drifted in again from the next room. The conversation was softer now—probably, McCoy realized, on purpose, in an attempt to avoid waking him. It was now or never. He eyed T'Pana, and found her still asleep. He glanced toward the kitchen doorway, and found it clear. Whatever conversation was taking place out there, he hoped that it would be enough to hide any noise from those sharp Vulcan ears. Taking a deep breath, he rolled off of the couch, gripped his discarded phaser and tricorder, and crept across the room to a rear window. He gripped the sash and pushed gently. Luck was with him—it slid smoothly, noiselessly. Kiran and Gesill took good care of their home. A quick peek out showed him that the ground was well within reach. He ducked his head under the top pane, stepped carefully over the sill, and settled gently onto the soft dirt below.
He crouched for a few minutes beneath the window, breathing carefully, trying to build up the courage to go. Knowing this was for the best was one thing, but actually doing it was completely something else.
"Doctor. Your fear is understandable, but your choice is logical. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the one."
Back, are you? He blew out another long breath. And with some Vulcan philosophy for me, too. That's … that's just fantastic, Spock. Thanks. Just what I need.
Maybe it was, though, because he finally worked up the guts to creep away from the rear of Kiran and Gesill's home, into the Chareni darkness. He stopped on the next street to throw up into the gutter, then wiped his mouth and picked up his pace. The more distance he put between himself and anyone who could be in danger because of him, the better.