"Mister Spock! I am glad to see you."
"I have new information that is of some importance. Is there any change in Doctor McCoy's condition?"
"Not for the better." M'Benga turned and Spock followed him into the room. T'Phol stopped at the door. Spock studied the readouts as M'Benga pointed out several things and relayed findings from the latest battery of testing.
"What is the lowest frequency tested and recorded on the EEG?"
M'Benga touched the readout to expand the information.
"There has been no activity on any wave pattern. Delta would be the lowest. The machine is calibrated to test as slow as point zero two. Normally the slowest Human Delta wave would be point zero four."
"Can you calibrate the Delta sensor to look for even slower waves? Infra-low. Down to zero?"
M'Benga's brows drew together. "Well, yes, that would be possible. But Human activity would not be that slow outside of a basic cortical rythm."
"Never-the-less, I would like to see the lowest register."
The sensor went dark as M'Benga adjusted the settings. T'Phol held her breath as it lit up again. There was no change, the bar lay stubbornly at the bottom without moving. She heard M'Benga sigh.
"Can each hertz be scanned as a fraction?"
"I suppose the reading could be fed through a diagnostic tricorder..."
"Then let us do so."
Chapel, who had been standing by, silently handed the tricorder to M'Benga.
"Do you mind telling me what we are looking for?" M'Benga frowned as he worked at the tricorder.
"Not at all. We are looking for Doctor McCoy. He is hiding in the cellar."
M'Benga looked up. "Hiding in the cellar? What?"
Chapel's mouth hung open in surprise. She shut it so abruptly her teeth clicked. "What does that mean, Mister Spock? It doesn't make sense."
"The cellar is the lowest point in a house, Miss Chapel. The creature known as Little Birdy did not know the word, but understood the meaning. Doctor McCoy is residing under the lowest point of the brainwave, assuming Little Birdy can be believed."
"How would the creature know that?" M'Benga sounded skeptical. He finished the tricorder adjustment and recorded a portion of the readout.
"Because he helped the doctor go there. McCoy could not have accomplished that by himself. Little Birdy shielded McCoy's brain from the Mind Sifter and compartmentalized his 'Essence' away from harm."
"That sounds incredible," M'Benga said. "And dangerous. If he is indeed compartmentalized, as you say, how will he get out?"
"That is what I am here to ascertain. Little Birdy thought McCoy might respond more vigorously to me, because we have melded several times in the past, and I am more familiar with his mind and thought pattern."
"I assume you are intending a mind meld? And if you are not successful?"
"Then I shall ask for Little Birdy's assistance."
M'Benga handed the tricorder to Spock. "The reading is in there, set to split into one-hundredths of a hertz."
"Thank you, Doctor." Spock turned his attention to the tricorder screen, his keen eyes darting over the display. He watched it twice through, then froze the screen.
"I believe I have found him." He turned the screen so M'Benga could see. "Here, between point zero-zero-six and zero-zero-nine."
M'Benga studied the screen. "Well, there is definitely something there that shouldn't be there. But to think it's McCoy...To quote him, 'This is crazy.'"
"It is extremely likely that reading is indeed McCoy. The phenomenon is not altogether unprecedented. The being Sargon was able to transfer three of us into receptacles and then back."
"I remember. I also remember how that almost turned out."
"This is not the same situation."
"I profoundly hope it is not." M'Benga drew a deep breath. "When do you want to begin?"
"I shall notify the Captain of our findings. He wants to be here. If you will excuse me for the moment, I shall prepare."
Spock stopped just outside the door. "Would you accompany me?"
T'Phol fell into step beside him.
"Is your plan as crazy or dangerous as Doctor M'Benga thinks?"
"Doctor M'Benga is known to exemplify caution. The procedure to recover and restore Doctor McCoy's Essence to where it should be will be both painstaking and delicate, as is always the case when entering someone's mind. And, yes, to some extent, dangerous."
They stopped at the turbolift. It arrived and a crewmember stepped out and they entered.
"Deck five." Spock regarded T'Phol with his soft, dark gaze. She could see a measure of sympathy mixed with resolve in the brown depths, marveling how Spock could make a grave situation seem better just by being present. She had counted on his quiet strength and largely unspoken support when she visited Vulcan as a child, even though he was beset with his own struggles. By the time she returned to Vulcan to stay, Spock had already left for Starfleet, and the family suffered his absence like a raw wound.
Spock led the way to his quarters and they went inside.
"Please excuse me while I change." He took a black robe from his closet and stepped into the bathroom.
T'Phol had seen his quarters in the background during video calls, so she was prepared for the appearance but the reality was deeper and encompassing in scope and feel. Richly woven fabrics and tapestries hung on the walls. Several Vulcan and alien artifacts were scattered about in niches and on shelves. In one corner, his meditation stone gleamed dark and obsidian amongst the predominating red tones. His lyre sat alone on a shelf, its warm, burnished patina a reminder of home. The desk held a couple of Vulcan succulants in hand thrown pottery. She could faintly smell the odor of his preferred incense, subtle but there as long as she could remember, smelling like Spock.
"Your cabin is beautiful. Spock. I could believe I was in your room at the summer estate."
"As I recall, you were not partial to the fabric hangings in your own room there."
T'Phol huffed, running her hand over the fringe on an embroidered piece depicting a rugged mountain landscape. "You remember correctly. I hated all those pre-Reform scenes, all that red and gold..."
"Grandmother was not pleased when they were discovered at the bottom of the old cistern." Spock exited the bathroom, dressed in a black meditation robe edged with the family tribal pattern in red.
T'Phol sighed aloud. "Indeed. Steely Matriarch or not, T'Pau was furious in her super-Vulcan way. I cannot blame her. They were pieces of heritage, worth a great deal in terms of history and money, a fact I had failed to consider at the time. Fortunately they were not damaged, only dusty." She turned to face Spock. "You did not bring me here to admire your décor."
"No. Please have a seat." He pushed a chair toward T'Phol and took a seat at his desk. "What can you tell me of Doctor McCoy's interaction and relationship with the birds? The entire landing party seems to be convinced there were things he kept hidden, but may have revealed to you."
"You are asking me to betray his confidence, Spock. Some things are not simply related to the mission, they are personal in nature."
"I do not ask from idle curiosity, nor from whatever impact such secretiveness might have had on the mission. This is not an official inquiry. Anything could turn out to be an important factor in the meld to restore his mind, particularly concerning his communication with Piasa. Whatever you can tell me shall be held in confidence."
T'Phol told him most of what she knew, including the dream aboard the Enterprise before they arrived at Aminta, but leaving out the night terror aspect.
Spock listened intently, fingers steepled. He was silent for a moment after she finished.
"It seems as though Piasa's communication with McCoy was vague, indistinct. Not at all like the communication between Little Birdy and myself."
"Yes, I believe it took Leonard some time to figure out what Piasa was telling him. Perhaps it was on a subconscious level. I am sure their communication was not actual telepathic speech, not like Little Birdy can do."
Spock stood. "Thank you, T'Phol. I shall meditate for a short while, then call Captain Kirk." He paused. "I shall endeaver to restore the doctor's Essence as fully as I can. But he has undergone a session, no matter how briefly, with the Klingon Mind Sifter. He has a surprisingly strong and resilient psyche, but there could be some changes, or damage, which may or may not be permanent. In general, Humans do not fare well when pitted against the device."
"Thank you for the warning, but he had Little Birdy's protection. I have to believe he is going to be all right. He must."
"You are not being logical, Niece," Spock said softly, his eyes warm.
"There is more to life than logic, Uncle. You should not be surprised. You wanted me to meet him and seek his counsel."
Spock allowed a smile to touch his lip in a small curl. "As usual, you have done a thorough job." He grew somber. "Sometimes crazy is all we have. I shall do my best. Go, now, so I can pepare."
The door shut behind her, and he took his usual position on the meditation stone and closed his eyes.
T'Phol returned to Sickbay where M'Benga allowed her to join in his vigil. They both were seated at bedside. T'Phol held his hand, gently stroking his fingers which lay nonresponsive under her caress. Ninety-four minutes passed before Spock returned, accompanied by Kirk. M'Benga got up. "Come on," he said quietly. "It's time."
They met Spock outside the door. .Kirk entered the room for a quick moment. T'Phol saw him squeeze McCoy's shoulder before he stepped out.
"Doctor M'Benga, I shall require your assistance."
"How long do you think it might take, Spock?" Kirk had circles under his eyes that bespoke his weariness.
Spock shook his head. "I do not know. That is one reason Doctor M'Benga will monitor his vital signs. Do not disturb the process, even if it is lengthy."
"Spock..." Kirk trailed off, raking his hand through his hair.
"Understood, Jim."
Spock and M'Benga entered the unit, closing the door behind them.
Spock sat in the chair at the head of the bed. "There will almost certainly be fluctuations in his physiological readings. Intervene only if they change to dangerously unacceptable levels."
"I understand."
Spock nodded, closing his eyes briefly. Then his fingers sought the familiar psi points and he stepped inside McCoy's mind.
Spock had not been surprised when Little Birdy said McCoy was hiding in a cellar. During the Enterprise's mission, he had melded with McCoy on several occasions, more than any other person, Human or Vulcan. Although the Doctor was outwardly disheveled emotionally, his inner self was eccentric, somewhat unpredictable, but organized in an odd way. Tidy clutter, if there was such a thing. His mind manifested as an old farm house. Spock had never been to McCoy's home in Georgia, but he suspected it provided the foundation for his mind's home.
The house normally had a soft, green lawn leading to a wide front porch, welcoming with flowers growing in planters beside the steps, and ferns and petunias drooping from pots hung from the sky blue ceiling. A selection of rocking chairs and a porch swing beckoned visitors to 'sit a spell'.
Now the grass was brittle, crunching as he walked to the steps. The flowers were bare stems jutting from dirt,the ferns hung like witch hair in stringy masses, the petunias shrunken, shriveled and brown. The swing hung askew, the rockers overturned. Boards creaked as he crossed the porch to the front door.
The door was slightly ajar. He pushed and it swung open. He stepped through.
"Doctor McCoy? Hello?"
The interior had changed, too. The bright and sunny front room was cloaked in shadow.
Furniture was shrouded with dusty sheets while cobwebs wafted in the stirring air. He left faint footprints in the dust on the normally polished and gleaming floor.
Spock went through the downstairs dining room and kitchen, calling for McCoy as he went but receiving no answer. He had never been so far in his previous visits. A stairway lay just off the kitchen. He climbed the steps to the upper story. There were two bedrooms, one on either side of a broad landing. Both doors were closed. He knocked, opening the first door. The parent's room, Spock thought immediately. It contained a large poster bed, a massive dresser, and woven curtains hung dingily at the dormer window. He closed the door without going inside.
The other bedroom was Leonard's. A single bed, covered with a multicolored quilt. Shelves filled with school books and novels, a few trophies mixed amongst them. A guitar leaned in one corner, a pile of baseball equipment in another. An old fashioned photo album lay open on the desk. Spock turned a couple of pages, looking at the family photos, Father, Mother, Son. An older lady who was probably Grandmother. Dogs and horses. Leonard playing baseball. Another of him behind a podium. Spock recognized the young person's expression very well on the older man he knew. McCoy still wore the same face during a discussion when he knew he was right.
As Spock turned a page, a loose photo fluttered to the floor. He bent to pick it up and stopped, staring. An adult McCoy, pressed against a wall by Mirror Universe Spock. McCoy's features were distorted with fear and loathing, his eyes glassy as Mirror Spock melded with him, one hand pinning his wrist while the other was clamped on the Doctor's face. Spock felt his stomach turn. He drew a deep breath, resisting the urge to rip the image into pieces. Instead he put it back in the book and closed the cover. He was filled with disgust and pity. Evidently McCoy had been mind raped by Mirror Spock while in the parallel universe and had never told. Spock remembered the official report well, and there was no mention of the event, which on modern-day Vulcan was a high crime, an almost unheard of occurrence.
Spock shivered in a sudden cold breeze and retreated from the room, closing the door behind him. The window at the top of the stairs was open, the source of the cold air. The sky had darkened with storm clouds. He could see lightning flashes in the distance.
On the opposite side of the kitchen, there was a short hallway leading to two more bedrooms and a bathroom. From the appearance, it was a later addition to the main house. One room was empty except for a table in the corner with a book laying on top. Spock moved close enough to see it was an old, worn Bible, King James Version. He did not touch it.
The other room was much brighter. A double window contained glass shelving filled with colorful glass bottles, vases, and some hanging ornaments which threw reflected color into the room, dancing over high quality furniture pieces, including a bed and highboy, both carved with a leaf and vine pattern. Spock ran his fingers over the detailed carving, the wood felt smooth, almost alive under his hand. Oddly, there was no dust at all. The bed was covered with a Native American blanket, woven in earth tones of rust, green, and gold. The walls were a soft green. One was covered with framed artwork, most were pencil drawings or watercolors of botanical subjects, barns, and a few landscapes. They were a pleasing group, well executed, although perhaps not professional. He was surprised to see about half of them bore the signature Len McCoy. Most of the others were signed Lydie McCoy. Here, he supposed, was the Grandmother, and this was a Grandmother/Grandson gallery.
The nightstand held a collection of arrowheads in a shadowbox, and a framed photo of Lydie and Leonard. He was in cap and gown, decorated with several award cords and a stole. His smile was broad, not yet tempered with grief and whatever life was to bring. She was slight, her hair a striking mixture of black and white. Pride and love shone from Lydie's eyes as she smiled up at him. Her hand rested on his arm, on her finger was the familiar ring he wore.
The thought came to him that Grandma Lydie made delicious molassey biscuits.
"Leonard, are you here?"
There was no answer. He closed the door carefully behind him.
A short while later he had tried every door inside the house. None led to a downstairs of any sort. He went back through the house and out the front door. A stiff, cold wind was gusting, he heard a faint clink of a metal chime in the distance. He walked around the house looking for a door in the foundation. He remembered seeing an old fantasy film where a family sheltered in the root cellar, accessed from a set of double doors near ground level. But there were no such doors at the McCoy house.
The thunder was rumbling ominously closer as the first fat raindrops began to fall. Spock went to the back of the house, where the wind was banging a door back and forth on the screened porch. He mounted the steps, fastening the latch on the door.
The porch was about twelve feet square. There was a small storage room containing shelves of glassed jars of fruits and vegetables, bounty from the farm. There was a small wicker table and two ladderback chairs, and a simple cot. Spock imagined sleeping on the porch, safe from mosquitoes and bugs, enjoying a warm Georgia night.
The storm was growing in intensity as a lightning strike sounded uncomfortably near. Spock started to go inside when a strong gust lifted a corner of the straw rug covering much of the porch floor, revealing a seam in the flooring planks. Spock quickly pulled the rug back. He slid his fingers into the cut notch and grasped and lifted the door. The opening was about three by four feet. He went down the ladder into the gloom, landing on a hard dirt floor.
"Doctor McCoy?" He had to duck his head slightly to step forward.
It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim light. The walls were hand hewn earth, the area was narrow, about eight by twelve feet. McCoy lay at the far end, his head resting on his arm, knees pulled almost to his chest.
"Doctor McCoy." He hurried across the space and crouched beside him, feeling for his pulse. McCoy opened an eye, jerking his wrist back.
"What are you doin'?"
"I am checking to see if you are alive."
"Of course I'm not alive. Who the hell are you?"
Spock's eyebrow raised. He sounded like McCoy when he was strongly irritated.
"I am Spock. Do you not remember?"
McCoy closed his eyes. "You can't be Spock," he stated flatly. "Spock isn't dead and he wouldn't be here."
Spock sat back on his heels. This was unexpected.
"I am Spock. I am not dead. You are not dead. Where do you think we are?"
"Hell."
"You believe you are in Hell?"
McCoy unfolded with surprising speed and sat up. "Yes, Imposter Spock. Hell. Hades. The Underworld. Sauron's Tower. The Chinvat Bridge. Bardo. Hel. Annwn. Does Vulcan have one?"
"In antiquity, yes. No modern version exists on Vulcan."
"Enlightened, I'm sure. Why are you here?"
"I am here to bring you home."
"Home?"
"Yes. I hope to restore your mind to its correct place."
"Heaven?" McCoy sighed. "I didn't believe in Heaven or Hell when I was alive. But here I am. Here we are."
"You are not in any version of Hell, Doctor. You still live. Do you remember anything that happened prior to your arrival in the cellar?"
McCoy's brow furrowed.. "Yes," he said hesitantly. "I remember being in a laboratory in a cave. Trying to decipher some formulas." Pain shaded his eyes and he winced. "I don't think I want to remember, Spock."
"You are doing fine. It is important. Can you try again?"
"I'm afraid." He said it simply, as he might say he was cold or hungry.
"I am here, Leonard. I will help you."
McCoy closed his eyes. It was a few moments until he spoke again.
"I remember Aminta. Piasa. Treating Little Birdy. Something happened, the others were away. I woke up in a cave. They took me to a secret lab inside a mountain. They wanted me to help them formulate some sort of mind control drug. Uboq..."
His eyes flew open. "The Klingon, Uboq. He had a Mind Sifter...When I wouldn't cooperate he was going to use it...He put it on my head...I...I..."
Spock could see the pulse jumping in McCoy's neck as his eyes turned glassy. He took McCoy's hands, squeezing firmly.
"Leonard, listen to me. I am here, you are not alone now. You are correct. He did put you in the Sifter, but only for a short while. Do you remember what happened?"
McCoy swallowed, choking back terror, trying to control his respiration. He finally was able to speak again, his voice sounding reedy and thin.
"Yes. It started, the Mind Sifter. 'Uncalennie! No, No, I will help!'
"I tried to push him out, I tried. Alien machine, Little Birdy was a child, a child!" Tears were coursing down his cheeks, but he continued. "He wouldn't leave. We were both falling together. Suddenly everything went white and silent and Little Birdy was gone. He fell. He fell. I killed him. So I ended up in Hell. I killed him" McCoy drew his hands away and buried his face in them.
Spock gently took his hands again.
"Leonard. Look at me. Little Birdy is not dead. He is not dead. You are not dead. He sent me here to find you. He told me you were in the cellar. Doctor M'Benga and I looked for your brainwaves. In your body, you are currently residing beneath the Delta wave, between zero-zero-six and zero-zero-nine Hertz."
McCoy met his eyes in disbelief. "That's crazy. Humans don't have standard brainwaves that slow."
"Doctor M'Benga said you would say that."
"Spock..." McCoy shook his head. "I don't know about all this. You sound sincere..."
"Have I ever lied to you?"
"Lied? Perhaps not. You've certainly kept silent plenty of times. Misdirected and omitted."
"You exaggerate my propensity for deception."
"Humph. If all this is true, what is happening on Aminta now?" He pulled out of Spock's grasp. Spock let him go.
"There is a lot to tell. In a nutshell, the laboratory has been found by the unit of Federation Intelligence that was based secretly on the planet. Most of the criminals have been located and secured, including Vartheb, but not Kelan. The lab will be dismantled, the data relocated or destroyed. We are now in a first contact situation with the Bird Tribe. Jasso is recovering from an attempt to poison him by as of yet unknown parties." Spock paused. "The Klingon is dead."
"And the landing party?"
"Everyone is safe. There were no serious injuries."
"No thanks to me. I've really screwed up the entire mission. In fact, I've kinda made a clusterfuck of everything. I guess Jim is pissed about it all."
"He is too worried and concerned over your safety to be pissed."
"No. He's angry. I'll probably be court martialed. I'm a wreck, Spock. I don't think I can go back. You shouldn't have come."
"Not coming after you was never an option, Leonard. You have many people who care. Mister Scott. Miss Uhura. Nurse Chapel. Captain Kirk. Myself. They are waiting on you. They need you. T'Phol is there, too."
"I've done wrong by her. I can't forgive myself. I'm sorry, Spock. I never meant to hurt her. Everything is such a mess," he said miserably.
"You are suffering effects from the Mind Sifter. Although I am not a clinician, I would also guess you are in a depressive state as well. Therapy will help you when you return. And I can help you with the secret you have been keeping, the thing that happened in the Mirror Universe."
"How do you know about that?" McCoy's voice was sharp.
"I accidently found the memory while looking for you. I did not intend to pry. But I know now. Such a violation cannot be ignored."
McCoy seemed to deflate, whatever tension that was keeping him together dissipated and he slumped against the wall. He closed his eyes.
"I'm tired, Spock. Do what you want. I can't."
Spock picked him up, laying him across his shoulders. His body was surprisingly light, he climbed the ladder without much effort. He laid him on the cot while he shut the cellar door and replaced the rug. The storm was moving past, the rain was a drizzle rather than a downpour and the thunder was a rumble in the distance.
"Smells fresh out here," McCoy said. "There's a word for that smell. Petrichor."
"It is an agreeable odor."
Spock carried him through the house to the front door.
"Wait," McCoy said. "I think I need to go the last part of the way by myself."
"Very well." Spock put him down. He swayed a bit, but stayed on his feet.
"So what now? How do I know when I'm back? What do I do, click my heels three times?"
"That may be the method," Spock said. "Let us step out onto the porch."
Outside the sun was breaking through the clouds, and the grass that had been dry and brittle was turning green, sparkling with the fresh rain. McCoy walked slowly across the porch and down the steps, holding to the rail. He could smell gardenia in the air. As he watched the sun rays, one broke through shining on the lilac bush just in front of him.
He stepped forward, extending his hands until the light filled his palms. Spock watched as the golden color enveloped him. Then he was gone.
Spock took one more look around. In the planter beside the steps, a green shoot was pushing its way upward to reach the sunlight. He smiled as he left McCoy's home and returned to his own body.
