Summary and disclaimer see chapter 1

Summary and disclaimer see chapter 1

CHAPTER 5

"Cyclidic acid?" McCoy said incredulously. "What, exactly, do you think that'll do, besides kill us faster? You give that to Chekov and he won't have to worry about that disease anymore!"

"In it's diluted form," Spock corrected the doctor. "Were it pure cyclidic acid, you would be correct. However, since I do not plan on using pure cyclidic acid, were it even available, there will be less risk of immediate death. Now we must simply find a cure for you."

McCoy snorted. "Simply?" He started coughing up blood, as if to emphasize his next point. "In case you haven't noticed, I have about three and a half hours to live." The very thought made him feel weak, or maybe it was just the poison. He honestly didn't want to die, despite what the captain may think about his frequent sparring with Spock.

"I have. It would be most inconvenient to lose the ship's Chief Medical Officer," Spock agreed.

"Excuse me for being dense," McCoy interrupted, "but how, ex-actly, do you plan on saving that boy's life with cyclidic acid?!"

"If you will notice, the computer's diagnosis of your blood noted a complete absence of living bacteria. The disease affecting Ensign Chekov is composed of extremely deadly bacteria." He looked at the doctor meaningfully. "The cyclidic acid rids the body of the smaller, weaker bacteria before it fully effects the body. Of course, to effectively use in its diluted form, there must be longer exposure."

"How much longer?"

"I do not know. That fact depends on how much the bacteria have multiplied by the time we inject him with it. The reproduction rate is erratic at best, so I cannot tell you how much that will be."

McCoy sighed and remained silent for a moment. "Wait!" he said suddenly. "Lead! Computer, what are the effects of lead on sample B?"

"Working," it said. "Complete removal of cyclidic acid, reversal of cellular damage caused by cyclidic acid and all other side effects; lead poisoning."

McCoy disdainfully disregarded the resultant lead poisoning.

"See? Now we've got a cure." He could give himself the antidote for lead poisoning in his sleep.

"Computer, what are the effects of cyclidic acid on sample A," Spock requested.

"Working... unable to comply. Insufficient data." The Vulcan nodded slightly. The fact that pure cyclidic acid had been impossible to obtain until an hour and a half ago had made the computer's results not improbable.

"Unfortunately," was his answer to the doctor, "we do not know if the cyclidic acid will work."

"Well," McCoy drawled, "there's only one way to find out." He programmed a hypospray for the diluted cyclidic acid solution without waiting for Spock's reply. Spock followed him out of the office, not liking the situation but seeing no other options.

McCoy injected the solution into Chekov's arm and reprogrammed the hypospray for himself, just as he doubled over in a fit of coughing.

He heard the intercom as he straightened. "Kirk to sickbay."

Spock, closer, answered it first. "Spock here."

"How's it coming down there?"

"We are nearly finished. Doctor McCoy has found a solution to the problem of the cyclidic acid, which we are now using to cure Ensign Chekov."

"Great! I've got bad news, though; we've been ordered to return to Nodya and retrieve it from the Klingons."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "That is unfortunate, considering the nature of the Rodt'hir."

Kirk laughed, a dry, mirthless sound that expressed his feelings precisely. "That, Mister Spock, is an understatement, and we've got half an hour to figure out what we're going to do about it."

"Understood. I shall return to the bridge. Spock out." He turned off the intercom and left sickbay without a backward glance, knowing that McCoy had been listening to what was said.

The doctor didn't look after Spock, injecting himself with the contents of the hypospray instead. He fancied he could feel it working already, though he knew he couldn't. Placebo effect, he told himself.

He sat at his desk, listening to the lulling sound of the amplified laborious heartbeat. There was nothing left to do but wait.

"'Every minute we talk increases their hold on them'?" Spock mused. "Interesting."

"Know what she was talking about?" the captain asked him.

"Not for sure, though there are numerous possibilities. The Rodt'hir could be holding the Klingons; the Klingons could be holding someone; the Alliance could be held by the Klingons; she could have been referring to the unwilling members of the Alliance; the Alliance itself could be under the control of an unknown third party; or the rebels may have taken over."

"That's our second problem at the moment," Kirk told him, dismissing the subject to the back of his mind. "First we have to oust the Klingons from the system, then deal with the Rodt'hir themselves. And I am out of ideas." He looked as weary as he sounded, and felt as if he was nursing a headache big enough to swallow the ship along with the Rodt'hir. It would solve quite a few problems, anyway.

Spock looked thoughtful. "The two problems may be related. If the Klingons are being controlled by the Rodt'hir, we may simple have to break that control to remove the Klingons. We must find out how they are doing it first."

"You're talking like it's definite that they're being controlled."

He nodded. "In my experience, Klingons do not so easily take orders from some one not their commander, or even their comman-der, as Doctor McCoy descri-bed, nor do they as easily give them-selves away as the commander did in his conversation with you."

Kirk considered the facts given to him, then conceded. "Okay, but what do you mean by 'Find out how the are doing it'? I'd assumed that they were controlling them telepathically, if at all."

"The chances of that being the case are abysmally small. Klingons are not known to have any telepathic rating at all; they are, for the most part, esper blind."

"Their rating would be zero?" the captain paraphrased incredu-lously. "A whole race, esper blind!" It was hard for him to believe. Even humans had some telepathic rating. He thought for a moment. "Hypnosis?" he suggested.

Spock considered. "Possible, but there would have to be a visual stimuli. I do not know of anything which could hypnotize the Klingons at this such a distance from the planet."

"Approaching the planet." Sulu informed them.

"Standard orbit," Kirk told him absently. He glanced at the planet on the screen. It swirled orange and green below them, the faint shim-mer of the sensor-shield overlaid on the desert.

"Spock," he said suddenly. "What, exactly, does that shield do?"

"It reflects sensors and almost all other energy, except light and heat," Spock told him easily.

"But we can transport through it."

Spock raised a considering eyebrow. "That would seem to be unusual," he admitted. "Though we cannot transport through all sec-tions of it. The major cities seem to be shielded."

"Could it enhance some form of energy?"

Slowly, Spock nodded. "It could, if it were calibrated to the exact frequency. The power consumption would be enormous, of course, but if there were some way around that..." He seemed lost in his thoughts of the engineering marvel that was the Rodt'hir shield.

"Scan it. See what kind of energy it might amplify. I want to know what's controlling those Klingons."

Spock returned to his science station and began scanning.

Half an hour later he was still scanning. He had figured out what it couldn't be; light, heat, electricity, gravity, magnetism, or any form of radiation. That left precious few options. In fact, it left one, which he had no test for. He hesitated to present it to the captain without proof, but he had what Kirk would call a "hunch". Spock had found that hu-man hunches tended to be accurate more times than not, but he had never had enough to make an accurate assessment of his own "gut feelings". However, since they had four point six one minutes before entering into orbit around Nodya, and no other leads, he submitted his findings.

"Really?" Kirk asked when he was finished. "Amplifies thoughts?"

Spock nodded. "A hybrid of telepathy and mass-hypnosis, and a very powerful weapon. Now we must simply find the shield-generator and disable it, which could possibly drive away the Klingons."

"Good work," the captain praised. "Where's the shield the thick-est?"

"At the poles, presumably where the generators are."

Kirk nodded. "We both look passably like Rodt'hir. You'll take Lieutenant Teckur from engineering to the north pole, I'll take Mr. Scott to the south. Disable the generator in any way possible. Beam back when you're done." Spock nodded and headed away.

"Scotty, you're with me. Sulu, you've got the conn." Kirk was followed by Scott as he walked into the 'lift and headed for the transporter room.

"Kirk to sickbay," he called from the 'lift intercom.

"Sickbay. McCoy here," the doctor answered. He was utterly surprised that he'd had to wake himself before answering. he fed a sample of his blood to the computer to see if the lead had done its work.

"How's the patient?"

McCoy yawned. "Depends. Which one?"

"Both."

"I'm tired but fine. Chekov is-" he had been about to say fine, until he looked at the displays, and he ensign. "- not fine," he finished lamely. "I'm gonna have to call you back. McCoy out."

"Computer, analyze blood sample," he said as he took another from Chekov. He was pale and sweaty, twitching every few seconds. Even on life support, the readings for his respiration and heartbeat were erratic.

"Human," the computer said. "Type A positive. Excessive a-mount of lead." It stopped.

He fed it Chekov's newest sample. "Analyze this blood sample."

"Human. Type AB negative. Mutation caused by and containing cyclidic acid of disease analyzed earlier."

"What does to disease do?"

"Disease replaces white blood cells with infected cells, kills red blood cells."

So, McCoy thought, he's going to suffocate in perfectly breath-able air. After quite a bit of suffering.

"Off," he said wearily, then tried to call Kirk.

"McCoy to bridge."

"Sulu here."

"Sulu, where's the captain?"

"Down on the planet. No calls allowed."

"This is an emergency."

"What is it?" he asked warily.

"Your friend is dying down here, so are you gonna put me through or not?" He knew he would be sorry he'd said that tomorrow, but right now he didn't care.

Sulu gulped. "Right away, sir."

"What is it, Bones? I told Sulu 'no calls unless it's an emergency'."

"So he said. This is an emergency. The disease Chekov had has mutated and I don't have a cure. If anything, it's worse than be-fore. He needs a Starbase."

"Well, I'm sorry I don't have one on hand. We can't leave without shutting down these generators, or they'll just use the Klingons to conquer the galaxy."

"I don't have a clue what you're talking about, but I disagree with it on principle. This boy is dying, and you want to stay play engineer!"

"Not quite. These shield generators are what's hypnotized the Klingons who've claimed the system, and we need to get rid of the Klingons. Instant mission. We'll head back to Starbase Two as soon as we're done here."

"We'd better. You won't be the only one on the hot-spot if he dies, and neither will I. McCoy out."

"Computer, compile a list of possible cures. Evaluate the effects of each." It was going to be a long night.

* * *

Chekov wandered in deserted hallways which were flashing between light and darkness like a strobe light. He couldn't figure out why the Enterprise was empty, deserted except for the screams. Screams and moans of pain reverberated and echoed through the ghost ship. Low human voices were almost but not quite drowned out. They were too far away to help him. He heard Klingon guffaws and low Rodt'hir voices. He heard them in his head. He knew all he had to do was find them and they would go away, leaving him with blessed silence, but part of him didn't want to find the Klingons, or the Rodt'hir.

Remember! it screamed. Remember the agonizer! Remember the zapstick! They'll do it again!

NO! he screamed back. Please no! No more... He trembled in a corner, surrounded by tortured screams and memories of horrible pain. He couldn't move; they would find him if he moved...

* * *

Jim Kirk and Scott finally got the shield generator disabled. The computer's light blinked and died, the humming faded away, and Scotty crawled out from underneath it. His red uniform shirt was coated with grime and his beaming face was smeared with it.

"That should do 'er," he said in his thick brogue. "I think we won the race."

"You had a race going on?"

"Oh, aye, sir. Just a wee wager between meself and Lieutenant Teckur. People gen'rally work faster under pressure," he said conspiratorially.

"I'll... take that under consideration," Kirk told him. He flipped out his communicator. "Kirk to Spock."

"Spock here, Captain."

"How's your work coming?"

"Admirably well, sir."

"Have you encountered any problems?"

"No."

He heard an odd undertone (of emotion?) in the Vulcan's voice. "Where are you?" he asked suspiciously.

"On the Enterprise."

"Oh. Done already?"

"Yes. We completed the task thirteen point eight two minutes ago."

"Why didn't you tell us?"

"Your orders were to return to the ship when we had completed the assignment, which we did."

Yeah, right he thought, smiling. You just wanted to gloat. "We'll be right there. Two to beam up."

He flipped close the communicator and turned back to a frow-ning Scotty as the first tell-tale humming began. "Looks like you lost."

Onboard the IKV Terror, Commander tlq'woQ stared at the federation ship that had the audacity to return. "Prepare to fire," he told the gunner. She responded in the affirmative.

Suddenly, every Klingon on the bridge wagged their head, clearing their minds. At the same time, the blue shimmer of the planet's shield disappeared, and a cloud seemed to lift from their thoughts. They realized how hopelessly outgunned they were simul-taneously. The commander stirred. "Belay that order. Warp five, out of this system." What had they wanted with this lifeless planet, anyway? The helmsman readily obeyed.

"What's the status on that shield?" Kirk demanded as he stepped down to take the center seat.

Spock turned toward him. "It is gone. The Klingons have also vacated the system."

"At roughly warp ten," Sulu said, loud enough for everyone to hear. Lieutenant Uhura smiled.

Spock nodded. "I believe the term is 'beat a hasty retreat'."

"Great. Have the Rodt'hir done anything... adverse?"

"Negative, Captain. They have done nothing at all pertaining to us."

A deep, male voice boomed into the ship, heard by everyone from engineering to sickbay to the bridge. Ensign Chekov heard it through his coma and covered his ears in terror on the deserted ship. A startled technician tripped in his quarters. A yeoman's datapad clattering to the deck went unheard.

"YOU ARE CLEVERER THAN WE GAVE YOU CREDIT FOR," it announced. "YOU WILL MAKE WORTHY OPPONENTS." It stopped; the ensuing silence was deafening. A rebellious console gave a single plaintive bleep and succumbed to the stillness. Though lights, gravity, and air remained functional, it gave the feeling of being in a void.

"Who are you?" Kirk demanded politely after a second.

"I AM THE GIVER, THE TAKER, THE HELPER, THE HINDERER. I AM EVERYTHING YOU WANT, I AM EVERYTHING YOU NEED, I AM EVERYTHING INSIDE OF YOU THAT YOU WISH YOU COULD BE. I AM EVERYTHING YOU FEAR, EVERYTHING YOU SHOULD FEAR. I AM MANY THINGS."

"I was looking for a name, or a species." The captain was not renowned for patience with riddles.

"I HAVE NO NAME; I AM MY OWN SPECIES. I USE OTHER SPECIES, FOR THEY ARE BUT TOYS AND THE UNIVERSE IS MY PLAYGROUND."

"Why are you here?"

" I AM PLAYING WITH THE RODT'HIR."

"How long have you been playing?"

"ONLY SINCE THEY EVOLVED."

Kirk gawked. "Spock, what does he mean by 'Only since they evolved'?"

"It is possible," Spock conceded, "that there are life forms to which millions of years may be but an instant."

"I HAVE BEEN PLAYING SINCE BEFORE YOUR SUN WAS CREATED. I WILL PLAY AFTER YOUR RACE HAS BEEN FOR-GOTTEN IN THE MISTS OF TIME."

Kirk stood. "Are you saying that you're only a child?"

"I WAS NEVER A CHILD. I WILL NEVER GROW OLD. I AM IMMORTAL, INDESTRUCTIBLE. I AM SUPERIOR."

"Come aboard our ship."

"I WILL NOT."

"Are you too large?"

"I CAN FIT ANYWHERE."

"Are you afraid?"

"I AM AFRAID OF NOTHING."

"Then join us. Don't you ever look upon your 'toys'?"

"LOOK ABOVE YOU, CAPTAIN." Kirk, and everyone else on the bridge, tilted their heads upward. Against a backdrop of the stars seen through the clear aluminum "skylight", a glowing, pulsing red ball floated in midair, no bigger than a fingertip. Red light eminated from the center, making it appear a thousand times bigger. It still looked the size of a volleyball. "NOW YOU SEE ME."

"How old is it, Spock?" he asked quietly.

"At least as old as the Guardian of Forever, Captain. Even the ship's sensors do not go back that far."

He addressed the ball. "What do you mean when you say that you play with a species?"

"I MEAN WHAT I SAY. THEY DO AS I WANT. BUILD WHAT I WANT. ACT HOW I WANT. EVOLVE HOW I WANT. I AM THEIR GOD, AND THEIR DEVIL. IF I DO NOT WISH IT, IT DOES NOT HAPPEN."

Kirk thought fast, and jumped on the best strategy he found. "Then it's because of you that I have a dying crewmember in sickbay."

"YES."

"Heal him."

"NO."

"I don't believe anything you said. Heal him."

"I WILL NOT."

"Can't you play with humans?"

"I CAN DO ANYTHING."

"I don't believe you. Prove it."

"VERY WELL.... IT IS DONE. HE WILL COMPLETE IT HIM-SELF, OR NO ONE."

Suddenly, the ball trembled. A high pitched shriek, painful to the humans and Spock, filled the ship. "YOU CANNOT! I AM INVIN-CIBLE! YOU CANNO---!" The ball shrank, and with it its wail. The sounds re-turned to the ship.

"What the hell was that? Where'd it go?" Kirk demanded of Spock.

"I do not know. It would seem to be dead, injured, or banished from the context of its last words."

"By what?" Sulu's words hung in the air.

* * *

Chekov saw the glowing ball and heard It talking, but from a mental distance. It only terrified him more, until it acknowledged that It was the cause of his pain. It had put him on this empty ship with the screams and the Klingons and the Rodt'hir. The fear changed to fury.

It refused to help him, and he stood up, challenging It. I hate you he thought. For everything. The Rodt'hir, the pain, the Klingons. Every-thing. You're nothing. I hate you. They came with a calmness that he didn't even possess when he wasn't confronted by an immortal monster.

Suddenly, though he had hurled nothing more substantial than thoughts at It, the ball recoiled from him, shrinking and fleeing all at the same time. "YOU CANNOT!" It tried to scream at him. He ignored It. You caused it all. Everything has a price, and it's time to pay the piper. He just threw whatever came to mind at It, and as long as it came from the heart, he didn't really think it mattered. Go away. Die. Just never come back. It went, wailing all the way; "I'LL GET YOU, HUMAN-"

The screams stopped. The Rodt'hir and Klingon voices stopped. All that was left was the voice of Dr. McCoy, still far away, but reachable now. He went for it.

* * *

"Calm down," McCoy said, as if Chekov could hear him. He wasn't thrashing anymore, but his body was as tense as a banjo string. The disease had vanished, courtesy of the glowing ball, he supposed, but he was still in a coma.

He suddenly went limp, then gasped for air like a drowning man who breaks through to the surface. His eyes shot open and he struggled against the restraints.

"Whoa, whoa, calm down. Hold still." McCoy started unfastening the straps. Chekov's eyes lit on him and he leaned back, relieved. With a flourish, the doctor undid the last one. "There, you're free. Not out of my clutches yet, though," he said as Chekov tried- and failed- to move his right arm. He was still pretty messed up- in pieces would almost have been more accurate- but lucky to be alive. "Don't try to walk, either."

"Don't worry about that." His Russian accent was so thick his words were almost incomprehensible, but the meaning was clear. "Did I beat It?" he asked axiously. "Is It gone?"

"Is what gone?"

"It. The glowing, red," here he muttered something in Russian and gestured one-sidedly, "...ball thing."

"Yeah, it's gone." McCoy still couldn't figure out what he meant, but he knew the thing he was talking about.

Chekov sighed deeply. "Blogodaryu vas," he said, and it sounded like a prayer.