Welcome back. Are they closer to the solution than they thought? Is the answer to their questions one they might not want to hear?
Jim could not imagine a more boring shift. But Spock seemed to enjoy being there again after a week of absence, even if he was restricted to sit around and watch.
Officially, that is. Jim turned a blind eye to Chekov letting him do the course corrections, and Sulu handing over the helm to him for some minutes.
Of course, Spock would much prefer his post at the science station. Jim had noticed his fleeting glances towards his accustomed place. But they both knew that they were already acting against regulation by Spock's mere presence on the bridge while on official medical leave.
That being said, Jim did not regret this stretching of the rules in the least. It was great, having Spock on the bridge again, and having him be as much back in his element as he could be nowadays.
But when he came to stand next to the centre seat, Jim noticed that he was holding on to the armrest with an iron grip, his knuckles white from the strain.
"Spock," he whispered, getting his attention by touching his hand lightly. "Are you in pain?"
"Merely some muscle aches. It will pass," Spock answered in the same low tone.
"Not necessary," Jim said and procured a hypo from the little pouch he had attached to his belt this morning.
Spock relaxed visibly and nodded gratefully as Jim quickly injected the medicine into his arm.
The few junior officers around the bridge had turned a blind eye to this exchange, and Sulu and Chekov, at the helm and navigation console in front of them were completely oblivious to it, but not so Commander Uhura.
"Sir, can you come over here for a moment?" she asked Spock.
The Vulcan jumped at the opportunity to have something to do and Jim exchanged a grateful glance with Uhura as she pulled a second chair towards her console for Spock to sit on.
"What seems to be the problem?" he asked as he sat down.
"I am having trouble keeping a clear communications channel. At times, it is interrupted by static." She passed him an earpiece to listen.
He held it up to his ear and tried to monitor the ship's channels. Just as the Commander had said, they were interrupted by static at random intervals.
"I will check the wiring," he said and dropped down to the floor to open the access hatch. "Please continue to monitor the channels."
"Will do," Uhura said cheerfully and let go of the buttons she had pressed to purposefully disturb the frequencies.
Spock opened the access hatch, thrust his head through the opening and began to check the inner workings of Uhura's console for any damage.
"Is it still disturbed?" he asked after a while.
"Very much so," her voice came from above. "I think you'll have to keep looking."
He kept looking for a long while, but none of the wires he checked seemed injured in any way. This was a most puzzling problem.
A pair of boots moved into his line of vision, and a pair of legs clothed in medical uniform. But he remained concentrated on the problem at hand.
Chris Chapel dropped to the ground next to him.
"Looking for the hobgoblin?" she asked, from somewhere close to his shoulder.
"The hobgoblin?"
"Hobgoblin, ship's kobold or goblin, Klabautermann. Surely you're familiar with that myth?"
"Generally, yes," Spock said. "And if you asked McCoy, he would say that you had just found him."
Christine burst out laughing. "Yes, he'd say that." Sobering up, she asked, "What exactly are you doing down here?"
"I am looking for any damages to the wiring. Uhura is experiencing difficulties with her frequencies."
"Uh-huh," Christine said, unsurprised. "Found anything yet?"
"Nothing," Spock replied, then raised a brow at her. "What is it that you are looking for?"
"I've come to find the ship's goblin," she murmured and poked his shoulder. "For lunch."
"Of course, I will be up shortly," Spock said, let her slide back from under the console, closed the hatch and stood up himself.
"I did not find any damages to the wiring, Commander. Perhaps the problem is more complex."
Uhura seemed unbothered as she smiled sweetly up at him. "Oh, no worries, all frequencies are clear and free of static."
"But I did not do anything," Spock said. Then, he realised what had happened, fell silent and left Uhura to her own devices again, but not without shooting her a reproachful look as he left the bridge with Christine.
"I did not realise she was deceiving me," he said to her. "It was painfully obvious, of course."
"No need to be in a sulk," she said, grinning. "Didn't someone once say that there is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact?"
"Sherlock Holmes," Spock said. "I did not know you read Doyle's works."
Christine shrugged. "I didn't. Not all of it, anyway."
They left the lift for the officers' quarters.
"I am not in a sulk," Spock said when they had reached his cabin.
"Of course, you're not," she returned as they entered.
Inside, he found two plates of food already on the table, an assortment of sandwiches constituting their lunch.
"I didn't know what exactly you'd want so I just selected a couple I thought you'd like," Christine said.
"You are most kind," Spock murmured as he sat down to eat with her.
"How are you feeling?" Christine asked cautiously.
Spock noted that she had not asked if he was alright, but the look on her face told him that was what she meant.
"I am feeling better," he said, truthfully but skirting around the subject matter.
"Any emotional outbursts? Pains or aches? Nausea?"
He knew that, as one of his medical professionals, she had to ask, but he was not above letting her know of his disapproval.
"Muscle aches, but I took my medicine for it," he murmured with a long-suffering sigh.
"Alright then, so nothing to worry about. You're doing well, Spock," she said, licking the tips of her fingers after finishing a slice of sandwich. "What?" she asked as she realised he was staring at her. "Did you think I was gonna do a full medical exam on your work desk? No, thanks!"
"I did not think that," he said and paused, realising that this could be one of those moments where the truth should be kept to oneself.
But Christine fixed him with a questioning gaze and he found himself obligated to answer the implied question.
"I was merely marvelling at your appetite. I have barely touched my sandwich while you have already finished one."
To his relief, she chuckled lightly. "That's your problem, not mine. You should eat more than just the couple of bites you did."
He had to agree with her judgement, and returned to eating, eventually finishing his plate at the same time as Christine.
"Desert?" she asked, keying in something to the food synthesiser.
He shook his head. "No, thank you."
"Well, don't mind if I do," she said and sat back down with the Mousse au Chocolat the synthesiser had prepared.
"Do you have high hopes for the cure?" he asked after a while.
"I have realistic hopes," she said.
"And those are?"
"That it will help your body heal as well as possible," she said simply, "without too many side effects."
Spock had just opened his mouth to inquire about those side effects when the door to his cabin swooshed open, and Jim Kirk came in, looking flustered and out of breath.
"Captain! I thought you were on duty! You're earlier than expected!" Christine exclaimed, setting down her empty bowl.
"I am, aren't I?" Jim said, smiling forcibly. "I'm taking over now, Chris."
"Oh. Alright," Christine murmured, looking from Kirk to Spock and back. "Well, I'll continue working on the cure then. The sooner the better."
"Yes, the sooner the better," Kirk echoed and she left after saying goodbye to Spock.
"Jim... Is everything alright?" Spock asked after a moment of silence.
"I've come to take you to Bones' office. We have to make a decision." He paused, looking at the deserted bowl and plates, the remnants of the Doctor's presence. "Concerning possible suspects," he said.
Spock raised his head with a curious raise of his eyebrow. "You have someone in mind already? Who?"
It was an uncharacteristically rhetorical question; Jim's glance at the deserted dishes and the door had already answered it, and Spock fell silent.
McCoy was already waiting for them in his office and came straight to the point.
"We have to start questioning people," he grumbled after Spock and Jim had sat down, "to find out who did this to you."
"Starting with Doctor Chapel," Jim said, looking like he would prefer to be anywhere but here.
"Quite logical," Spock murmured. "The perpetrator has to have been someone working in the lab, someone having access to all the necessary information and equipment."
Dr McCoy's frown deepened. "Logic! Chris Chapel is a suspect in your poisoning and you talk of logic!"
Spock seemed unfazed. "Naturally. If she is innocent, questioning her is for her own good." He hesitated before he went on. "Or we will find out that it was her standing over my bed that night, after all."
"You can't honestly believe that!" McCoy hissed at him.
"You thought it was her as well," Spock said. "It is logical to question her. What I believe is irrelevant."
McCoy had gotten the answer he wanted and leant back, pacified for the moment, but largely uncomfortable about the whole situation.
Pavel Chekov, having been called in his function as security chief, arrived some minutes later. He had been briefed beforehand by McCoy, judging by his grim look.
With no more time to stall, Jim pressed the intercom button. "Doctor Chapel, please report to Dr McCoy's office."
"With all due respect, Captain, I have a cure to work on," her voice answered.
"I know." Jim took a deep breath. "This overrides that for the moment, Commander. Report to McCoy's office, please. Now."
"Aye, sir."
Minutes later, Christine Chapel arrived, as flustered as Jim had looked earlier, and stopped in her tracks as she saw the four officers facing her.
"What's going on here?" she asked.
Jim indicated the seat opposite to them, and explained, as carefully as he could, why they had to question her, and why she was a suspect. She deserved as much.
She nodded briefly and slumped down heavily in the chair, looking straight ahead.
"When Spock was admitted to sickbay the first time, you knew exactly what medication to give for his symptoms, before McCoy told you," Jim began.
"Yes, of course," she replied, folding her arms as she looked at him. "I saw the same scans as Leonard and so I anticipated the treatment he would advise, the same that I would have chosen."
The Captain nodded. "Do you think you could have worked faster at finding out the cause of Spock's affliction? Or do you think the cure could be finished already?"
She shook her head. "No," she said forcefully and turned to the other Doctor. "Leonard, do I have to explain? You know as well as I how delicate these procedures are, that they take time and care. And half the time I didn't even know what I was looking for."
"I don't like this either, Chris," Leonard mumbled, shamefaced. "But you have to acknowledge how this looks. And you and your team did research genetics lately."
"Talking about looking," Christine said and shot Jim a perhaps too reproachful look. "Why don't you check the video records of the lab?"
"The night log of the day of leaving the last space station is conveniently missing," he said, with a gesture of despair. "It ends with you alone in the lab that evening."
Spock raised an eyebrow. So this was news to him as well. Not surprising, considering how much he missed nowadays.
Jim sighed and accessed the computer. He selected the last entry of the day they had left the station, that time from which on Spock's supplements had been poisoned. He let Christine watch the log, and watched her reaction. But he was tired of having to question his deputy CMO about the poisoning of his second-in-command. Questioning Christine Chapel if she had poisoned Spock. It sounded absurd. But Spock had been right when he had said it would be for her own good as well. If they could exonerate her quickly, they could move on from this, and continue looking for the culprit elsewhere than among their closest friends.
The log showed Christine working at something in the lab, then ended abruptly at 2000 hours. The display returned to the overview of logs.
Jim selected the next entry, and the second day's log began with the timestamp at 0500 hours, showing an empty laboratory.
He ended the recording and sighed. Christine was looking at him, waiting for what he would say next. He had the creeping feeling that she was no wiser than anybody else. This was getting embarrassing.
It was Spock who spoke next.
"Where were you during that time?" he asked calmly.
Christine stared at him. "You know where I was. I was with you."
A spark of realisation lit in Spock's eyes. But it was too late.
"Well, that can be easily proven," Jim said, eager to get this over with. He had already started to give the computer the appropriate codes and proof of his authorisation, and accessed the video records of Spock's whereabouts during that time, beginning with him alone in his cabin. He watched for a couple of seconds as Spock on the monitor walked around his cabin, extinguishing candles.
"Jim, perhaps…" Spock next to him began, but Jim motioned for him to wait with anything he had to say.
He could have done something like this before, checking Chris Chapel's records for instance, but he felt decidedly uncomfortable with peering into the private life of his subordinates. It felt a little less like the invasion it was because he had instructed the computer to show him what Spock had done during that time. And if Christine had been with him…
She had been. Unmistakeably.
Jim quickly turned off the computer and managed to feel even more embarrassed all of a sudden.
Christine noticed that he wasn't looking at her. Spock was, apologetically. And if Vulcans could blush, this one did.
"Well, I guess you've got an alibi," the Captain said. "Even if I'd feel insulted it took him a moment to remember," he added, throwing Spock a stern look. "Back to square one, it seems."
"It doesn't have to," Christine murmured. "Your suspicions might be right, just directed at the wrong person." She huffed bitterly. "It must have been someone from my staff."
"It could also have been one of my people," McCoy said.
"I don't think so, Leonard. My team and I did research genetics lately, remember?" She nodded to herself as at least some of this began to make sense. "We had all the authorisations for accessing the medical inventory, patient data, all the lab equipment, and most chemicals. Yours didn't."
"That's where we should continue our search," Spock said immediately. "Everyone of your team, anyone who had access to the lab during that time, should be questioned immediately."
"I can start now!" Pavel, who had been silent until now, jumped up eagerly.
Outside the office, unnoticed by anyone inside, quiet steps retreated as someone who had been eavesdropping moved away.
"Not so quick, Pavel," Jim said. "We don't want to jump to conclusions. Not again. Let's continue to collect evidence before we start the Spanish inquisition."
With those words in mind, they left the office to return to their usual activities. A problem presented itself. Spock. The two Doctors were eager to return to their work at the cure, and the next phase was better off with two people there. Both Jim and Pavel had interrupted a hectic phase on the bridge for this and there was no way they could take Spock there again.
"I'm sure we can leave him alone for a while, now that he's a bit better," McCoy answered as Jim voiced these concerns. To Spock he said, "I want you to stay in your cabin, lock the door, and not do anything stupid. Is that understood?"
"Understood," Spock said, and let himself be led away by Pavel.
At his door, then, Pavel said goodbye and left for the console waiting for him on the bridge, while Spock went inside.
Before he did anything else, he walked through the dim room towards his bed and lay down. It felt like the answer to his case was tantalisingly clear, but just out of reach. And then he remembered the night someone had stood at his bedside, with a raised hypospray. He had thought it had been Christine. And when he had first been admitted to the infirmary, someone had been there who had reminded him of her.
It was a small detail, but something in the muddled mess of his mind, perhaps his human instinct, told him it was an invaluable one.
He propped himself up on his elbows and began to get up, intent on reaching someone over the intercom.
For an instant, quite suddenly, the room was flooded by the light of the hallway as someone slipped in through the unlocked door. The door. He had forgotten to lock the door.
The figure rushed towards him, he felt the pressure of a hypospray against his arm and fell back into bed as the tranquiliser incapacitated him. This was a much higher dosage than he had taken before. He felt his thoughts slow down just as he lost control over his limbs.
A shadow was looming over him. And just as that one night in sickbay, he could not recognise who it was. But back then he had thought it was Christine. So, it was clear who it had to be now.
The figure stepped into the dim light around his bed. It was Jenkins.
"You haven't been quite successful in killing me," Spock mumbled. It came out less articulate than he had wished.
"I never tried to kill you," Jenkins said and shrugged. Her friendly demeanour was gone. "I tried separating your human side from the Vulcan parts."
Spock sighed deeply. "It doesn't work like that. It may, partially. But you've been misguided." And so have I, often enough, he thought. "There are no two sides to be separated, it's all one whole."
"How touching," Jenkins sneered. "Believe me or not, I've noticed. That's why I'm taking it a step further. The way to surely eradicate one half is to kill the whole."
While she was speaking, she began to prepare a second injection.
"What have the Vulcans done to you?" Spock asked, his curiosity surfacing even now.
"Oh, nothing. I just don't like them," Jenkins said casually and finished drawing up the hypospray. "Are you surprised? You always think there needs to be a motive, a tragic backstory. Well, I have none, I just find you Vulcans repulsive. Unnatural." She leant over him, coming uncomfortably close. Spock could smell her rosy perfume. "You're barely able to feel yet are victim to a fixed, intense mating cycle. Your life span is hideously long, no humanoid should live for two centuries. And don't get me started on copper-based blood." She paused to lean even closer, dangling the hypospray over him, as she smiled viciously. "And an abomination, a mongrel, like you, sir, should not exist. The genetic makeup should be incompatible. You are infesting the galaxy and pure human genetics with alien abnormalities."
"You have chosen the wrong career, nurse," Spock muttered, barely able to talk through the exhaustion.
Jenkins was still smiling. "And so have you," she answered cheerfully. "The bridge is no place for you. A lab would be better suited. For dissection."
She raised the hypo and jammed it into his arm.
As Spock slipped into darkness, the hissing sound of the lethal dose being injected into his bloodstream accompanied his last moments of consciousness.
To be continued...
Now that we know who it was, will Spock's friends reach him in time?