Title: Long Day's Journey into Night

Author: Nemo the Everbeing

Chapter 7

James T. Kirk pressed the chime to Leonard McCoy's quarters. When no one answered, he overrode the lock and walked in. He found the doctor sitting in front of his computer terminal, staring at the screen and chewing on the end of a stylus.

"There was another murder," Jim told McCoy.

The doctor didn't look up. "Christ."

"Lieutenant Rogers. Linguistics."

McCoy's eyes closed. "I know the girl. She slipped a disc about three months back. I was in charge of her physical therapy."

"M'Benga says it was the same MO. Torture and a slit throat in public. And no one saw."

"Mental influence. The killer convinces everyone that they didn't see anything, even if they did." McCoy finally looked up and met Jim's gaze. His eyes were red from staring at the computer screen too hard. There might be other reasons for the redness, but Jim didn't presume to guess at that. "That's my guess after seven hours of research."

"What about your telepathy? Any leads?"

McCoy looked back to the screen. "Do you know how many Vulcan mental disciplines there are?"

Jim took a wild guess. "Ten?"

McCoy snorted. "Try ten-thousand. And each of 'em are a little different than the rest." Finally, he looked up at the screen. "And not a one of 'em that I've looked at yet apply to me."

Jim sat down in a chair across from McCoy. "So what do you know?" he asked.

McCoy leaned back and sighed. "Well," he said, "I know that I have some sort of mental ability which packs a hell of a punch. I know that I can't control it and I don't know exactly what it is or where it comes from. It doesn't look or feel Vulcan, but I can't think what else it could be. It's not on the books, but it gave fifty-two people on this ship a splitting migraine."

"And you didn't even have to talk to them."

McCoy glared at Jim, and the captain smiled innocently. "Don't you start," the doctor growled.

"Why fifty-two?" Jim asked.

"What do you mean?"

"You said that you gave fifty-two people migraines. Why just fifty-two?"

McCoy frowned. "I don't know," he said. Slowly, he straightened in his chair and met the captain's gaze. "Do you think it's important?"

Jim's mind was rushing. Finally, he thought he had a lead, perhaps it was a bit unconventional, but he considered it solid, nonetheless. Now, if only he could piece it together, figure out why only fifty-two people had been affected . . .

"I had a migraine," he said. "So did Nurse Chapel."

"Jeff didn't," McCoy remembered. "Maybe he wasn't affected because he knew about Vulcan abilities, or spent time on Vulcan or some such."

Jim shook his head. "That doesn't account for everyone else unaffected. Besides, I know about Vulcan abilities, and I've been to Vulcan. It doesn't track."

"Well, what else was different, Jim?" McCoy demanded.

The captain thought, letting his mind go back to the incident. He remembered the strange sensation of - not invasion, but pervasion. A gentle suffusion of another presence in his mind. And then, a jolting pain, falling to the floor, opening his eyes and seeing the Sickbay. Seeing the nurse . . .

"Christine and I were near the door," he said. "M'Benga was on the other side of you." Something in his brain finally clicked. "It only affected one side of the room." His eyes widened and he stared at McCoy, who met his gaze in rapt attention. "Bones, it was directional!"

"Only fifty-two people affected . . ." McCoy said, staring at him and jumping to his feet. "Jim, it's a path!"

"A direct line between you and Spock." He stood, too. "We need to get up to Sickbay and get Chris to give us those records. We'll call Sulu and interview everyone, find out exactly where they were when they were hit. Hopefully, when we cull the information we'll get a pattern."

McCoy thought for a second and then said, "You go. I'm staying here."

"What? Bones—"

"Jim, don't argue. Even if these migraines form some sort of line. Even if we find Spock, we've still got to get him out of there. We have to get him past a telepath that knocked me on my ass and can block a fully-trained Vulcan's mental emanations directed to his bondmate."

"That's hard to do?"

"There's a reason they call 'em bondmates, Jim. It's a mental bond that refuses to break. For something to interfere with a bond like that, it suggests . . . well, it suggests something I don't want to mess with."

Jim nodded grimly, wondering not for the first time how something as powerful, dangerous, and most importantly, something as psychotic as this had found its way onto this ship. Onto his ship. He could accept the fact that terrible being existed in the universe. He had met many of them. But this thing was on the Enterprise, his girl, his love, his ship. That was unacceptable. "What will you do here, Bones?"

"I'm going to read up on Vulcan mental disciplines. Every single one Jeff supplied me with. I find out what I've got, how to use it, and when we find out where Spock is, I go in there and do my thing."

"That's it?" Jim asked, feeling dismayed. "You 'do your thing'?"

McCoy rubbed the bridge of his nose. "You got a better idea, Jim? I'm flying by the seat of my pants, here. Got no idea what I'm doing, but I know I have to do it."

"Bones—"

"Jim, you got interviews to do! Go do them and let me work. Every second we waste arguing is another chance for this bastard to kill Spock." The doctor turned away from him deliberately. Jim stared at the tensed back and then left.

As he strode through the halls, Jim found himself thinking about Spock and Bones. It was something he found himself doing often, of late. He supposed that was to be expected. It wasn't every day you found out your two best friends went planetside and came back psychically married. He wondered if there had been signs over the years and he had just ignored the indicators. All he could think of was the arguments, though, the insults and the glares. Were those the signs of love? Was that why . . .

Jim shook his head. It was no good thinking about that sort of thing. When something ended, you couldn't dwell on it, you had to move on. Carol had gone her way and he had gone his. It was a mutual agreement which had to be made for both their sakes. Still, it was strange to recognize that same volatile chemistry in his first officer and CMO.

He felt conflicted. As a captain, he knew he should worry about the marriage of such high-ranking officers. It was possible that it would affect their performance, redirect their thoughts away from the business of the ship. Or, even worse, make them hesitate to send one another on dangerous assignments. Then again, it was better than marrying a junior officer. Lord knew what sort of scandal that could cause.

What about his opinion as someone other than a captain? As a friend? That was something he usually staved off thinking about, but now he forced himself to do so. He supposed that he should be happy for the two of them. It was hard enough to get by in this universe, let alone find someone else you could love enough to marry.

Maybe that was the problem. Maybe he had become so cynical after so many failed love affairs that he didn't believe in anything more permanent than dalliances. He worried for both his friends, should this not work out. How did Vulcans divorce? Could they divorce? Would it destroy the working relationship of his two most valued officers if they realized that it was nothing more than the heat of the moment? Where would Jim fall between his two friends?

He walked into the turbolift and hoped for the best. During the ride, he tried to concentrate on the case laid out before him, on the tragic murder of two of his young officers, but his mind continually strayed to his friends. What would happen to Bones if Spock died?

The turbolift came to a stop and Jim hurried out. That was what it came down to: none of his worries and fears mattered if Spock died. He wasn't about to lose his friend over something like this. Not on this ship. A person couldn't abduct the first officer and kill him, not when it was Spock, and not when the captain of the ship was James T. Kirk.

He walked briskly through the doors to the sickbay, calling, "Nurse Chapel!"

There was no answer, and Kirk walked into the office, thinking she might not have heard him. "Nurse Chapel?" he asked again. "Doctor M'Benga?" He looked around, wondering why the Sickbay would be so vacant at this time. Had there been another death? The thought seized at his gut, but he pushed it aside. He would have been called if that were the case. So why were they not answering?

"Nurse?" he called. "Doctor—" Captain Kirk stopped and stared. Protruding from behind the desk was a dark-skinned arm, the fingers of the hand curling limply. Jim dashed over and caught up Doctor M'Benga, who lay, bleeding out of a cut on his head and in his chest. Jim slapped the intercom on the desk and pressed a hand against the chest wound, trying to stop the blood. "Medical emergency in Sickbay!" he shouted. "Bones, get down here now!"

Turning away from the console, he said, "M'Benga. Jeffrey, talk to me. Who did this? Where is Nurse Chapel?"

The doctor's eyes fluttered open. "Took Christine," he gasped.

"Who? Who took Christine?"

"Couldn't see . . . had a . . . mask."

Jim quelled the urge to grill the doctor further when he saw the trickle of blood leaking from the corner of his mouth. "That's fine, Jeff," he forced himself to say. "That's just fine."

The doctor shook his head. "No! It's got Chris. It's got . . ." he fell limply back in Jim's arms.

McCoy came running in. "Jim, what in Sam Hell . . ." he saw M'Benga. "Oh, my God." He dropped to his knees next to Jim and Jeffrey, feeling for a pulse and then running a medical tricorder over him. "Punctured lung and a glancing blow to the head. Get him up on the table, Jim, I've got to operate."

"He said that the killer took Christine."

McCoy spared a second to close his eyes before saying. "I have to operate on M'Benga or he's going to die. Help me, Jim."

They hefted the other doctor to an operating table, and McCoy said, "You get Sulu. The migraine reports are on the red disc on my desk. You work that while I work this."

Kirk nodded, his gut clenching. Now the killer had two victims, and Lord only knew what would become of Jeff. He pressed a hand against the comm. channel and said, "Lieutenant Sulu to the ward room. We've got more interviews to conduct."

He glanced back at McCoy standing over the still body of M'Benga. "Bones," he said.

"Go, Jim."

"Do you need me to call one of the other nurses?"

McCoy shook his head. "I've got it. Chris," he choked, then cleared his throat and glared hard at M'Benga, trying to think the pain away, "Chris always keeps this place in perfect order."

Kirk nodded, and then left, praying for the best.

Sulu was waiting in the ward room, and looked up as Kirk walked in. "Captain, what—"

"The murderer has Nurse Chapel and critically injured Doctor M'Benga."

Sulu's mouth fell open.

"There are a string of people with migraines on this ship which developed about the time McCoy made psychic contact with Spock and was stopped by Spock's attacker. We're hoping that by tracing their whereabouts, we'll pinpoint Spock's location and rescue him."

Now, Sulu looked confused. "The doctor is psychic? Where was I when that happened?"

"I know the feeling, Mister Sulu." Jim shrugged. "Just accept it and move on. We have fifty-two people to interview and fast."

Sulu nodded and dropped McCoy's red disc into the data reader, calling up the list of names. "Aye, Sir," he said and called up the first name on the list.

Jim sat at the table and tried not to fidget. Spock was somewhere on this ship, and now Christine Chapel was with him. And both of them would be dead if he couldn't figure this out.