Chapter Thirty-Six

U.S.S. Dracone, in stable orbit over Aeternus
Stardate 3957.2

McCoy had contemplated performing the necessary surgery on the sedated detective while he was basically confined to Sickbay, but decided against it as he had no competent nurse nearby in the event of emergencies. He did perform the preliminary procedures to release part of the pressure building on the Englishman's brain, but with the trauma present did not dare do more than that until he was back with familiar equipment and familiar surroundings.

He did, however, spare the time to haul the two unconscious guards to beds (nearly threw his back out doing it, too) and ensure that the drug they had been given would keep them out for another hour at least; he placed the bed restraints on the men but wouldn't feel safe until they were locked in the brig. When he dumped the first man on the bed with an expressive grunt, he was slightly alarmed to see the indicators above the man's head show far too low blood pressure – the drug should not have dropped it that much. Obviously there was another factor involved, something far less tangible.

He lost no time in hauling the other one to the next bed, thanking half a dozen deities under his breath that the man was no heavier, and ran the scanner over both of them.

Though stable, the life signs were extremely low, and there were clear indications of neural and brain trauma.

What in the world…

Shaking his head, he made sure the men were stable but could do no more for them until he knew what had caused the attack; besides, Holmes's life-signs were jumping about erratically, alarms beeping for his attention.

After seeing that the detective was in no immediate danger due to the heavy sedation to slow the brain's functions, he puttered aimlessly about the ward, wishing Jim would hurry up with whatever-the-heck was he was doing.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when the communications whistled for ship-wide attention.

"Attention all hands of the Dracone. This is Captain James T. Kirk of the Federation starship Enterprise. Your shields and weapons have been disabled, your Bridge crew rendered unconscious, and your ship is now under my command. Commander Morbus is no longer in command of this vessel nor of any crewman's mind. Any available personnel who are undamaged from recent events please respond; cooperation is your only option."

Kirk told McCoy later that he believed the physician's whooping could be heard on Aeternus's surface.

I was attempting to gather my wits, an interestingly terrible sensation – not being fully in control of one's own mind – when the comm-unit went off, ringing with the Captain's glow of triumph.

The officer kneeling behind me, apparently absorbing or blocking the influence Moriarty was hurling at me, slumped against me for a moment at the sound of the familiar voice; I felt his fingers clench in the back of my coat, either in relief or for support. His concentration wavered enough to send a stab of pain back through my throbbing head, but then I could sense that he was gathering all his waning strength to hold the shield in place.

Moriarty's attack ceased momentarily as Kirk's voice detailed quite calmly the fact that the crew was mostly or completely unconscious and that the Dracone was no longer under the Professor's control. With a shout of uncontrolled fury, he turned instinctively toward the droning communications unit on the wall as if it solely were responsible for his defeat.

Now, Doctor. The command was very faint in my mind, but unmistakably desperate.

Somehow my hands were released from their previous paralysis, the ice melting on the instant at the command, and before the Professor could turn I was drawing myself up on my knees, my hand already in my coat pocket closing upon my faithful, if outdated, weapon.

But the emotional tension I must have been displaying to anyone versed in this strange ability must have re-attracted the deadly attention of our opponent, for a sudden surge of utter hatred swept ahead of the man, heralding his whirl back toward me, a hand raised as if to physically claw my mind apart.

I did not even wait to pull the weapon from my pocket, but fired through the layer of cloth; a dangerous action, but one I had used more than once in the company of a man in a most dangerous occupation.

His concentration broken by the sickening impact of lead on bone just below the knee, Professor Moriarty shouted in agony and folded to the deck, hands spread to break the force of impact. Mr. Spock had been correct, for during our conversation he had conveyed the impression that the only way past however Moriarty was shielding himself was to take him completely by surprise. The icy wall that had been beating down upon me melted into slush; the phaser skittered across the floor toward us. His concentration had been completely broken by the unexpected agony of a shattered tibia and fibula.

I could not find it in myself to pity him.

He has another in his belt, Doctor! came the faint warning.

Phaser in hand now (for it was more reliable than my revolver), I yet hesitated, for it was still set on Disrupt. I could kill him, and probably in this military would be decorated for the act. He would cheerfully have murdered Holmes all over again, as well as harming myself and Mr. Spock…and he was too dangerous to be allowed to live.

But Moriarty did not belong in this timeline, and we were not the only ones who had been harmed by his actions. If there was a chance that the entire timeline could be restored so that his entrance never occurred in the first place and caused all the pain and death he had here, then it was my and our duty to see that chance taken.

Doctor!

I rammed the setting over to Heavy Stun and fired before the Professor could raise his head, holding the brilliant beam true to target.

And as I released the trigger, Moriarty collapsed.

My sigh of relief was muffled by the man who had so incredibly protected my mind and sanity doing the same behind me.

U.S.S. Enterprise, in stable orbit over Aeternus

"Mr. Scott, we are being hailed," Uhura reported, having resumed her station now that they knew there was no enormous rush to get systems back fully functional.

Scott's face was wreathed in smiles. "That'll be the Captain, I'll wager," said he happily. "On screen."

"Let me clear some of this residual interference, sir…" The woman's hands flew nimbly over the console as the voice transmission crackled through the system.

"Kirk to Enterprise, come in. Enterprise, do you read me? …How do you work this thing anyway…ah." The words briefly preceded the flickering of the screen, and the Bridge crew hastily wiped the grins from their faces at the muttering going on from the other end of the channel.

"Enterprise here, sir," Scott responded, seating himself in the command chair as the static cleared and the visual came into focus. "Captain, are ye all right?"

"I'm fine, Scotty, fine." They saw a weary smile, though the movement never reached the Captain's eyes. "And McCoy's all right, too…but the others, I don't know…Scotty, I need teams over here immediately; the whole ship's crew is unconscious from something; psychic trauma, I think."

Glancing back, the Scotsman saw that the Lieutenant was already making the necessary calls to the various departments.

Suddenly Kirk moved back to the command chair as on screen they faintly heard the squawking of ship's communications. After a moment of speaking the Captain looked up again, not bothering to hide his weariness. "McCoy says Mr. Holmes can't be transported back without endangering his condition," he reported tiredly. "Have Nurse Chapel and any spare medical staff beamed over with full supplies for brain surgery; he doesn't trust all the labels in the Sickbay."

"Right away, Captain."

Kirk nodded, punching buttons on the navigational console. "Word from the two vessels Starfleet was supposed to be sending?"

"Nothing as yet, sir, but our communications only just cleared completely."

"Good. Contact the planet, tell them to keep up their guard until the other ships arrive. And Scotty," he added, shoving the chair back up to the console and stepping over an unconscious yeoman with only a minimal glance, "make sure there's enough Security and Medical on those boarding parties. This is no picnic over here."

"Aye, sir." Scott opened his mouth, about to ask about the others, but one look at the unusually controlled, rigidly frozen expression on his superior's face was enough to cause him to fall silent in recognition.

Kirk nodded, smiling briefly. 'Hurry, Scotty. Kirk out."

The screen went blank, and the Scot turned slowly to glance at the rest of the crew.

"But what about…" Sulu trailed off as the other shook his head.

"I dunno, laddie. But one thing I know, we need to get our men over there and fast. Lieutenant, put me on ship-wide."