Chapter 21
A/N: Based on the Dagger of the Mind episode.
Stardate 2715.1
I sit on the orange railing behind Spock and Uhura, my legs swinging beneath me. We've just finished exchanging cargo with the penal colony on Tantalus 5 and are currently departing its orbit without having stepped foot on the planet. Which is fine by me. A planet sized prison is a giant catastrophe waiting to happen, in my opinion. I overhear Kirk and Doc talking about Dr. Adams and penal colonies. Doc isn't fond of either.
Uhura announces an incoming message before switching it to speakers. It's the Tantalus Colony calling to notify us of a missing, potentially violent inmate who may have hidden in the box beamed up earlier. The Captain announces Security Alert 3 and all I can do is shake my head in response. How is it possible with all these modern gadgets we can't detect a stowaway? Aren't there security measures to prevent this from happening?
The siren blares from the intercom as Uhura's voice repeats the security breach. A few moments after the alert is aired a tip from Section C, Deck 14 comes in. A suspicious subject in an engineering uniform has been spotted fleeing. Spock gets in contact with Security before Kirk and reports the progress in calm monotone. I hop off my spot and lean against the cold back of Spock's chair as he relays information. Everyone seems more than surprised when Dr. Adams answers our call to Tantalus Colony.
I wonder how much danger we are in. At first I would assume not much, but then again I never imagined sneaking onto a Starfleet ship was as easy as slipping into an empty box and beamed aboard. When the doors to the bridge swish open everyone in the room gives a start. Doc's eyes nearly bulge and I hold my breath. To our relief it's the Security detail assigned to the bridge.
Doc slinks toward Spock and I slowly, as if to say something, but Spock beats him to it.
"Interesting. Your earth people glorify organized violence for 40 centuries, but you imprison those who employ it privately."
Doc's mouth is set in a grim line, his eyes spewing fire beneath a pointed brow. "And of course, your people found an answer."
"We disposed of emotion, Doctor. Where there is no emotion, there is no motive for violence." Spock replies smoothly.
I try not to think of what my emotions are screaming right now. Instead I smirk at Bones who is trying to drill a hole through Spock's brain with the intensity of his glare. The sound of the doors opening has Doc jumping out of his skin again. And this time we all have cause for worry because the snow haired man with crazy eyes in Engineering red knocks out the Security guard and takes possession of the phaser.
Spock slowly rolls to his feet and Doc takes a breath. My skin breaks out in goosebumps and my mind races to find a solution. We could rush him, but he's armed with a phaser which will likely result in at least one casualty.
The escaped inmate's wild eyes search the room as he growls impatiently demanding to know where the Captain is.
"I am Captain Kirk." Jim replies from his position behind the navigation console. He regards the intruder with more curiosity than fear and I respect the calm he projects for the crew.
The crazy-eyed man slowly makes his approach, like a feral animal pacing a cage, but stops beside the Captain's chair. Communicating with us is difficult for him, as if it pains him to disclose his name: Van Gelder. He demands asylum at gunpoint, implying he will relinquish the phaser only if the Captain swears he won't take him "back there," to Tantalus 5.
Doc turns to me and frowns as if he has been handed a puzzle piece that won't fit.
Kirk edges calmly toward Van Gelder like one would a cornered animal. "No promises. Give me the weapon," he extends his hand.
I cringe as the man shouts no. Spock moves from my side taking one careful step at a time, trying not to startle or alert Van Gelder of his approach. I return my gaze to the man threatening to destroy the ship, his voice growing louder and more frenzied. Unfortunately, Jim's eyes flicker toward Spock and Van Gelder takes notice. Before the frantic man with the snowy hair can turn the phaser onto our First Officer, Kirk is able to high-kick the phaser out of his grip allowing Spock a window to Vulcan Grip the daylights out of Van Gelder who crumples like a heap of laundry.
We haul the body of the deranged man to sickbay under the Captain's orders as he directs the bridge to reverse course back to Tantalus Colony. Doc dismisses Spock and me so he can perform an evaluation on the man.
"So, what do you think is going on in there?" I cock my head toward the infirmary door shutting close, concealing Kirk and McCoy's conversation.
Spock takes a deep inhale – essentially a shrug though he would never admit it – and raises his brows in a speculative gesture. "The Captain will brief me on the details when relevant," he declares eventually as he sets course to the bridge.
A thought gnaws at my mind continuously until I give it voice. "What's your opinion of penal colonies?"
He casts at me sideways glance before facing forward once more, his gait turning pensive. After a moment of though he responds, "Complex." His torso adjusts at a slight angle toward me without breaking his pace, "and yours?"
"Same," I nod.
He remains silent for a few more steps still angled toward me before asking for elaboration.
"Well," I worry the inside of my cheek. "From what I've gleaned within the past half-hour is that penal colonies are somehow akin to extended vacations, and incarcerating criminals is still common practice." He nods and I continue. "I find it not only odd but unsettling and disgruntling that criminals live such a relatively comfortable existence considering what they've done to end up there. I'm not saying they should be living inhumanely, but their lives should, at the very least, be more difficult than the average person's. Their life should not be comparable to a vacation. Secondly, I think I secretly hoped that many of the stem sociopolitical problems that lead to crime would have been solved by now. Or more realistically, addressed better so entire planets didn't have to be colonized with criminals."
He makes a hummed sound of acknowledgement but nothing else.
Moments after our arrival at the bridge, Kirk alerts Spock of the stowaway's alleged identity from sickbay over the intercom located on the Captain's chair. At his station, Spock scans the ship's library. "There must be record of Dr. Van Gelder if he is who he claims to be." Spock mutters and swivels to face me. "We just need to find it."
"If anyone can track down information in the library, it's you, Spock."
He's looking rather pleased with himself before returning his attention to a screen on his station. He pulls up a file. "Interesting."
"What?" I hop off the railing and peek over his shoulder.
"An identification tape." He plays the digital file titled: Dr. Simon Van Gelder.
Sure enough, the face of the manic man reciting his identification and qualifications for the record pops on screen. He had not been admitted to the penal colony, rather, he was assigned there six months ago as Dr. Adams associate. Short of the stowaway being a shape-shifter, the man contained in sickbay is who he claims to be.
"Shit." Something is not right.
Spock affirms gruffly.
Kirk joins us on the bridge shortly after and the First Officer quickly fills him in. He looks at us, to the screen and back again before stalking back to his chair in calm, measured steps. He has Dr. Adams hailed. Before he can reveal our acquired knowledge of the manic man's identity, Dr. Adams interrupts, inquiring about Dr. Van Gelder's state with a heaping dose of faked concern. Or at least, that is what it sounds like to my ears.
I arch a brow at Spock whose own brow arches in response. We're on the same page.
Doc steps through the turbolift as Dr. Adams continues to explain some sort of experiment Dr. Van Gelder was supposedly conducting. A troubled cloud looms over Doc's face and he stealthily makes his way next to the captain. "Jim, that doesn't quite ring true." He keeps his voice low though I'm near enough to overhear.
Disconcerted, Kirk places Dr. Adams on hold and prompts further explanation from our Chief Medical Officer. The rest of the crew returns to their tasks but Spock and I remain attentive to the ongoing conversation. Kirk is visibly irked at Doc's inability to substantiate his gut feeling, which I find endlessly amusing considering our captain's heavy reliance on his own. I say as much to Spock, leaning subtly toward his ear, making sure my hushed tone doesn't wander further than necessary. A rumbling in his chest which ends with the clearing of his throat is all the acknowledgement I need.
We return our focus to Kirk and Doc's ongoing debate. Spock leans more on Dr. McCoy's side of the argument, though he'd be hard pressed to admit it. He has to cut in eventually to keep the discussion from escalating, or rather, to keep Doc's temperament from escalating the argument. "Gentlemen, I suggest you ask Dr. Adams if he wants Van Gelder returned."
Both men quiet instantly. He encourages Kirk to make the call when the other man hesitates undecided with a sassy nod and upturned brow.
I lean into him again once Kirk turns to execute his suggestion. "Your sass is showing." And with the sassy upturn of a brow now directed at me, I grin back. "Still there." I turn back around to find Doc and Kirk going at it again. I lean against the railing and continue my own tasks.
Stardate 2715.2
Standard Orbit
Planet Tantalus 5
Dr. McCoy and Spock both openly agree that Van Gelder should remain aboard the ship's infirmary until the conclusion of the investigation into the incident. The both of us follow the Captain off the bridge to the transporter room at a brisk pace. While he confirms the coordinates, I turn my attention to the doctor already standing on the transporter. She is adjusting her medical tricorder when straightens up to introduce herself. A smug smirk dances along the upturned corners of her mouth as she addresses Kirk. It's comically obvious something has happened between them but I stifle my own knowing smirk when she mentions they've met. Spock, on the other hand, doesn't bother to hide his amusement.
Kirk takes his place on the transporter beside Dr. Noel. She's whispering about the science lab Christmas party but her voice still carries over. I turn my back to them, no longer able to contain the grin overpowering my face. Both of Spock's eyebrows rise in amusement at my lack of control. I shrug at him, passing along the message that this is too funny to pretend to ignore.
"Problem, Captain?"
The little shit is enjoying this as much as I am and isn't doing any better at concealing it. Kirk, however, is too engrossed in his dilemma to register this.
Kirk turns to Dr. Noel before stepping off the transporter to stand before his First Officer. "Mr. Spock, you tell McCoy that she had better check out as the best assistant I ever had." He grumbles and swivels back to his place on the transporter.
Helen seems to be completely enjoying the situation and not at all offended by the Captain's obvious disgruntled behavior. In fact, she looks rather pleased with her teasing.
On the Captain's signal the transporter energizes and the pair is beamed planet side.
"Well, that's that." I turn to Spock.
He acknowledges my shit eating grin with amusement dancing in his eyes.
We remain in the transporter room awaiting Kirk's check-in on his and Dr. Noel's safe arrival. It comes a few moments later. With nothing apparently amiss quite yet, he returns to the bridge while I head for the cafeteria. Spock and Uhura would have joined me but the mess with Dr. Van Gelder keeps them on the bridge. I find Doc passing through the corridor and hook my arm in his, essentially commandeering his presence for lunch. He chuckles, amused, though the shadow of worry lines on his forehead remain present.
"So," I take my seat and Doc mirrors me across the table. "What's eating at you?" I stab at the gravy drenched chicken and broccoli on my plate and watch him intake deeply.
"Something just isn't right," his eyes are out of focus as he frowns. The tip of his fork taps at his tray producing a rather grating ding. "Dr. Van Gelder," he pauses. His eyes come back into focus as he looks me in the eye. "His symptoms," he pauses again, "they're reminiscent of something having been done to him. Not him having a self-inflicted accidental injury." He is resolute, his jaw set as if anticipating a rebuke on my behalf.
"I agree that something seems fishy about all of this. It doesn't sit right."
Appeased that I don't dismiss his suspicions as the ramblings of a paranoid old country doctor he eases into casual conversation. He asks how classes are going and offers his help. He listens with the practiced attention of a good doctor and friend. He pats my hand reassuringly when I whine about hating the gym, though he can't help chuckling at my expense. We part ways at the door of the rec room with him shouting a reminder to do my homework after me.
Of course he doesn't need to remind me. I haven't needed anyone's prodding to do my school work since . . . ever really, if my mother's and my memory are credible sources. Time passes smoothly with my nose buried deep in my PADD as I work through lessons and assignments.
Warmth buzzes and tingles from deep within my chest. I'm elated, euphoric, and demanding. I latch onto the heat enveloping me, pressing me closer, nearer, taking as much as I take. We're mirror images entangling, receding, drawing nearer, pulling closer and falling back. The warmth is familiar. The heat has a name. The presence rumbles and keens and I buck in response.
I fall and wake from the dream with a startling yelp as I nearly tumble off the edge of my bed. It's only then that I realize I had been dreaming and the startled cry had been my own. I stumble out of bed, senses still heightened as I shove aside any lingering tingling sensation. I hop out the door in obvious need of distraction. I do not expect to see Spock in the infirmary. McCoy spots me. It would be too odd if I ducked out so I plow through the doorway trying to ignore the way my body reacts to the subject of my latest fantasy so nearby.
Spock is clearly agitated and Doc frowns worried. Clearly something is amiss, and if Spock's questioning of the Captain is anything to go by, it has to do with Dr. Adams. After a prolonged silence, Kirk's comm comes back to life. He confirms Dr. Adams has left the immediate vicinity. Only then does Spock continue his earlier concern over the neural neutralizer, going so far as to implicitly warn the Captain of possible danger. I lean against the back of the chair between Doc and Spock.
But, once again, Kirk refutes any suspicion held against the penal colony doctor. This time with Dr. Noel's professional opinion as a reference. With both his Chief Medical Officer and First Officer clearly dissatisfied with his findings Kirk informs them he'll be staying the night planet side.
"No!" The shout startles me out of skin. The three of us turn to Van Gelder's panicked pleas. "No. No."
Even Spock is ruffled by the adamant persistence of looming danger coming from the former associate doctor. "And you will continue to check in every four hours?"
"Affirmative. Kirk out."
Van Gelder is still panicking, shouting not to allow the pair to stay. I wince, the yelling pounding painfully against my sensitive ears. Doc begins preparing a hypo, Spock on the other side of the man to assist in restraining him when Van Gelder forces himself to calm.
"Please, don't hypo me. I'll try not to fight." This is the first time – in my presence at least – that the man demonstrates and intelligent consciousness, albeit still alarmed, but not manic panic. But again, he offers very little tangible information before staring into the distance, horror stricken and silent.
The two men fall back to where I sit at Doc's desk when it becomes obvious the man has fallen back into some sort of traumatic catatonic state.
"What's wrong with him?" I probe but Doc shakes his head in defeat.
"I don't know." His thumb rubs over his chin as if trying to eradicate a stubborn smear of ink. "I just don't know. If only there were some way . . . some way to reach into his mind. Find what it is he can't seem to say."
"If he really is suffering from neural synapse damage, could that explain his aphasia?" I wonder aloud.
"Yes," Spock replies. "Assuming that is what afflicts him."
"Although it really isn't manifesting as aphasia but more like he is afflicted by physical pain whenever he attempts to tell us what he perceives as relevant information. His brain seems to have no trouble finding the words he needs to say. He only struggles to vocalize it, and not because he can't, but because it pains him." Doc sighs then clenches his fist, "If only there were some way." He mutters again, visibly racking his brain for answers.
Spock worries his lip, looking to me then to Doc before making up his mind about something. "There may be a way, Doctor."
McCoy and I share glance before returning our attention to Spock for explanation.
It's been an hour since Spock mentioned a theoretical possibility to Doc and me. It has taken all of that time for Doc to convince Spock to give it ago. Van Gelder is most eager to try. Me? I'm not too happy about it at all. But the Captain may be in danger and his safety is high on the ship's priority list.
Doc rounds in on the First Officer again. "Spock! If there's the slightest possibility it might help–"
"I've never used it on a human, Doctor." His voice is grave, clearly still unsure if using the Ancient Vulcan technique on Van Gelder is wise.
"If there's any way we can look into this man's mind . . . if what he's seeing is real or a delusion–"
"My biggest concern is the safety of your own mind, Spock. If he is truly mad or delusional, are you certain that won't cause any damage to your psyche?" I interject extremely irked at the apparent lack of concern over this major issue.
"My mind is trained and equipped for this." He continues to face forward "However, it is a hidden, personal thing to the Vulcan people. Part of our private lives."
"Now look, Spock. Jim could be in real trouble." Doc growls, "Will it work or not?"
Spock's gaze falls to floor, his mouth twitches in thought before he braces himself and stalks purposefully to Van Gelder's cot. I follow and stand opposite him on Van Gelder's other shoulder, Doc beside me.
"It could be dangerous. Do you understand?" He seeks the wild-eyed man's permission, informing him of potential peril. He is solemn, more so than usual. "It requires I make pressure changes in your nerves, your blood vessels."
"You must." Van Gelder stares back with a ferocious intensity. "Open my mind. Let me warn and explain to you."
Resignation registers in Spock's eyes though his shoulders remain firm. He addresses Dr. McCoy and me. "This will not affect either of you. Only the person I touch. It is not hypnosis."
I nod and Doc vocalizes his acknowledgement. Without further ceremony, Spock places this fingertips on Dr. Van Gelder's jaw and cranium. His fingers positioned, Spock looks to Dr. McCoy who confirms a steady reading level on the man's vitals. Spock returns his attention to Van Gelder, slowly inclining nearer and nearer.
"You begin to feel a strange euphoria." His shoulders twist and as he positions his head nearer the man he is attempting to mind meld with. His hands move delicately, with intent and purpose as he settles them upon new pressure points. "Your body . . . floats."
The room is stifling, a symptom of my own anxiety. Although I too suspect a posing danger for Kirk and believe in the grains of truth in Van Gelder's spotty testimony, I'm also quite sure he isn't fully there in the head. His mental instability combined with the fact that Spock is actually going to touch, feel the other man's mind – if I understand Spock's brief explanation correctly – is thoroughly unsettling.
I watch disconcerted, the edges of my mind buzzing, stomach clawing up my throat. Spock is calm, methodic in his ministrations. He addresses Van Gelder and himself as "we" – as a singular being. Van Gelder responds similarly. Everything seems fine, going smoother than I expected. But then Van Gelder begins losing himself in a description, a memory. Emptiness. A painful, hungry abyss. And Spock's eyes begin to lose their focus, no longer searching.
"Emptiness." He repeats, a suitable adjective for his own tone.
My head whips over my shoulder to Doc standing beside me. He has his concerned-physician face on. "Should we do something?" I whisper furiously, unsure if my voice could cause some sort of interference. "He doesn't look okay." My lip catches between my teeth. I don't notice the pressure until a metallic tang punctures my consciousness followed by sharp pain. I release the offended appendage but suck at the outer edge until the blooding stops.
Spock's eyes flicker. It looks like he's struggling with something. Van Gelder is eerily silent. Spock's eyes are seeking again, open, peering, groping at something only he can see. His gaze steadily becomes clear once more until he looks back into Van Gelder's eyes and dislodges his fingers from their position.
"We must contact the Captain immediately." He's at Doc's desk in three quick strides. "Captain. Captain, do you read?"
Silence.
"The jammers must be back up again."
He nods before spinning on his heel and charging out of the room. I don't spare a second thought before hurrying after and neither does Doc. Spock is already barking orders when we burst through the transporter room. The crew members at the controls are fiddling furiously at their station. Dissatisfied with the lack of progress Spock intervenes. However, the jammers remain in place as does the force field which inhibits anyone or anything from being beamed to or from the planet's surface.
"Goddammit. What is it, Spock? Is Jim in trouble?" Doc's eyes are wide and wild, the way they get when one of us is in peril.
Spock locks on to Doc's elbow and steers him to the far corner. "Yes, Doctor. He is." He looks to me, then to Doc again. "We must find a way to breach the force field and retrieve both the Captain and Dr. Noel before any permanent damage can be done to them." His tone is calm and his eyes intense, but there is no panic. Only the certainty of necessary action.
Doc nods, steeling himself, forcing the calm of an officer and a doctor onto himself.
"It doesn't seem likely we'll have any luck on our end." Both men direct their attention to me and I cross my arms over my chest, continuing. "It's a penal colony. I'm assuming they're built to resist exactly the kind of thing we're trying to do now."
"That is true."
"Don't count your chickens until they hatch," Doc warns.
Spock tosses his annoyance at Doc's metaphor.
It feels like hours when the penetrating silence of the anxiety ridden room is suddenly punctured violently by an exclamation. "Mr. Spock, the force field is gone! I can send you right to the source of the interruption."
The First Officer turns to Doc. "Get some security people and follow me down." He lunges at the transporter. "Energize."
"Be careful!" I call after him, unnecessarily necessary. I catch a glimpse of a quick nod before he dissipates in a swirl of gold. Not a moment later his communicator chirps to life.
"Enterprise, this is Spock." His voice crackles. "The force field has been eliminated."
Doc's back in the transporter room a minute later. I call the same warning after him when he's beamed down along with a ragtag motley group of security personnel.
I hate waiting. The damn fiasco lasts the better part of the day. There's a lot of shuffling and Starfleet is contacted, filled in, and they dictate the following course of action. I overhear just about everything going on from my undisturbed corner of the room. Starfleet is having a cow trying to organize a press release before the media outlets catch on and start up a circus.
There was only one casualty – an electrocution – during a skirmish between Dr. Noel and one of Dr. Adams' security personnel. She's hailed a hero seeing as her actions led to the downfall of the penal colony's force field and enabled the successful rescue.
We remain in orbit a few more days in which time Dr. Van Gelder receives a clean bill of health from Doc and his team. When sound of mind and body, Dr. Van Gelder is an amicable man, though still thoroughly eccentric. As his position dictates, he will now be in charge of the prison-planet. He is adamant that his first official order will be to dismantle and destroy the control room which houses the neural neutralizer.
And he is true to his word.
I'm on the holodeck when Spock finds me a week later. He's been holed up in his room every spare second he has had. When I had confronted him about it a few days into his self-induced isolation, he'd answered with a very brief – if excited – explanation. There had been major headway in his project. So I am a bit startled a few days later to find him settling down next to me on the warm grass under a tepid rain.
"Hello." His legs are pretzeled underneath him and he peers over at my splayed form.
"Hey, Spock." I shut my eyes again returning my focus to the glorious pitter patter of raindrops bouncing off of the lush green forest. The grass is soft, the breeze is a caress of warmth against the cool air and rain falls like heated tears. Its bliss lying under a clearing in a grove of trees, gray skies shedding the elixir of life. I can't remember the last time I felt so at ease. I inhale deeply, the unique aroma of wet grass and soaked earth instill me with great calm. When I finally turn my head and open my eyes once more, Spock is still studying me. And he's as drenched as I am.
"What were you thinking?" He ventures, his eyes yet to leave my face.
I pause. "I wasn't really thinking. Just feeling. Sensing and enjoying the senses."
He nods, as if in understanding. I giggle and he arches a brow at me.
"You look like a drenched cat," I explain. "Drenched to the bone and grumpy about it." I still refuse to pull away from my little spot of heaven, though I entirely expect Spock to take his leave. Not that I want him to, but because I'm enjoying this too much and he doesn't seem to at all. Clearly I'm taken completely by surprise when he shrugs – shrugs! It's about a quarter of an inch, but it's a goddamn shrug!
"And yet I am not entirely averted by it."
"By what exactly? Being drenched to the bone or being a grump?"
He fixes me a glare before extending his frame against the damp earth, an elbow propped under his head. "Both."
My jaw falls open. The longer it stays that way the greater the danger my jaw will unhinge itself or I'll drown with the droplets accumulating at the back of my throat. "Did you just–" I search his gaze for an answer. "Did you just crack a joke?"
"Unlikely," is his stern reply though his eyes dance like starlight. His gaze is open and friendly and I suddenly feel like I'm being pulled into a cinnamon ocean, drowning . . . and I don't think I want to be saved.
A/N: A special thanks to Sephraim Annatau for beta'ing and catching a few of my typos. Hope you all enjoyed that ending as much as I did xD