Achlar sat alone in the office, carelessly handling one of Baruk's chess pieces. His thoughts were of the man who had dominated him for so many years, of this planet - the only home he had known. He had been one of the lucky ones. In a civilization where paternity was the sole measure of one's place in society, he had dubious claim to a deep mine operator who could never decide whether to acknowledge Ach as his offspring. Several years earlier Baruk had taken a sadistic liking to him, an undersized teenager scuttling around in the mines, doing odd jobs and stealing food when no one was watching.
They were of a kind, Baruk and Achlar, but Baruk was dominant, and his Irish wit thinly veiled an underlying bitterness - cruel, coiled, ready to lash out at anyone and anything. Achlar had all the physical comforts in his new life, but what personal freedom he enjoyed in the old days was gone now. One did not go against Baruk.
But now Baruk was gone, disappeared along with that hulking Klingon renegade. Achlar had never liked K'tal, and as the years passed he became alarmed at the growing prominence of the Klingon as he became more and more Baruk's right hand man. To make matters worse, Ach was left alone to answer to that Scott person on the Enterprise. "May I be saved from men with accents!" he grumbled.
Lt. Commander Montgomery Scott had been tenacious and methodical in his inquiries; it was only a matter of time before he would find out what happened three nights ago. Then it would be he, Achlar ab'Nehrudt, who would have to explain to the Feds what had become of their precious Captain Kirk. May all outworlders be swallowed in the eternal vortex, he silently cursed. Echthra would be better off without meddlers, outsiders - always coming in with new ideas, wanting to change everything and order everyone about. But there was also the stark reality that Echthra, without outworlders, would be another empty, grey planet, and he would have no place to call home.
So, he was committed to this life, this political station, this responsibility. Or was he? How did he know that Baruk had not at the last moment dumped him, a classic scapegoat, into the hands of the UFP? How did he know whether he would be sent to some obscure penal colony to have his mind stripped clean to atone for the death of a Fleet officer? Was he ready to just accept that as his fate? Perhaps not. Perhaps it was time to take matters in his own hands again. Just maybe he could pull himself out of this one. Play the fool, the innocent bystander. But the UFP wasn't so easily persuaded. They would demand payment for Kirk's murder, and Achlar being second-in-command...
Achlar glanced about him, his eyes darting furtively like some hunted animal, his mind racing. What if Kirk were turned out into the Wilderness, the alleyways and ghettoes of the colony? Surely, if the man's mind wasn't totally destroyed, it was damaged beyond recovery. Likely he would perish there, unidentified, lost in the obscurity of nothingness - one of the No-names. And even if he were found, there would be no direct link to Achlar, no tangible evidence to connect him with Baruk's plans. Even if, by some wild chance, Kirk were to survive and recognize Achlar, the captain had no proof that the sub-commander was in any way responsible for the incident. A lot of what-if's, but Achlar knew what would happen to him if he sat back and let himself play into Baruk's hands.
He slammed his fist against the desk. Vortex take Baruk, vortex take K'tal...
"Vortex take them all!" he cursed, and made his way toward a certain hidden room in the crumbling mines on the outskirts of town.
Teah edged her way between two fallen spikes of masonry, using the twilight shadows to her advantage. She peered over a jumble of broken block and buckled polybild, then adjusted her position, settling in for a long wait.
She had been following K'tal off and on ever since he had disowned her, over a year ago. For days now, she had been following him into the Wilderness, waiting for an opportunity to catch him alone. So far she had been unsuccessful, and her impatience was growing. She pushed it down, using a simple mind technique her mother had shown her. Hard to do that and not think of her mother.
Teah was half-Romulan. Her mother, Salah, was an outcast from her home planet due to her brother's failure to follow the Praetor's commands. Her brother had been summarily executed, and her mother chose ritual suicide alongside her husband - leaving Salah alone, orphaned and penniless, to fend for herself. It was not long after that a Klingon trader, himself outcast, saw Salah in the marketplace and took her for his own. Teah was the only spark of light resulting from that union, birthed just four months after the unusually matched couple had settled here on Echthra. In Teah's twelve years of life she grew to admire Rihannsu loyalty, unwavering honesty, and meticulous honor. She had also learned Klingon th'argh'u, the fierce, brutish desire and ability to cast aside everything in order to win, or to die trying, and to die well. This odd combination of values had caused her to grow up quickly and was helping her to
survive now in a world totally unrelinquishing and alien to her - the Wilderness world.
Now that her mother was dead, murdered before her own eyes, and thrown aside like refuse by her father, Teah would have to live or die in the land of the No-names. She had no trouble acknowledging her fate - it was an accepted thing on Echthra. It was K'tal's prerogative to keep her or disown her. But her Rihannsu blood demanded justice and revenge for her mother's death... and her Klingon blood boiled for the opportunity to watch K'tal disintegrate in the flare of a disrupter.
She sighed heavily and leaned back against another sheet of polybild, resigned to the fact that she might go another night without catching her father alone. He was always with that foul Baruk anymore, with his horrible Standard accent, and his affected ways. They had been coming to this place for several evenings, now. Though her curiosity was piqued, she dared not go into the hidden room - there was too much chance of her getting trapped in a blocked corridor and being found out. That was the last thing she wanted to happen. No-names did not get a second chance for any transgression and the automatic sentence was immediate death. So she remained out here each night, biding her time.
Tonight she was a little early, so she closed her eyes to catch some sleep before they arrived. They moved like elephants anyway, so she could not possibly miss them. Her lids had barely lowered when a sudden sound near the room's entrance brought her head up, and she was surprised to see Achlar nosing around the small opening. He glanced around furtively before darting into the doorway.
Now what is he up to? she wondered. She would just have to wait - there was no way she was going into that cave - and besides, she was good at waiting.
Kirk hung limply from the wrist manacles, his knees brushing the ground beneath him. The bench was gone, but he was oblivious to it. His uniform shirt was torn and drenched with sweat, bearing the singe marks of repeated disruptor stuns at close range. Dried blood encrusted the edges of his frayed sleeves. He was barely conscious of the lights coming on, his reaction only a slight trembling in his body, when Achlar came into the room. His brain registered pain when Achlar freed him of the manacles, but he was unable to prevent himself from falling on his face when he was released. Dimly, he was aware that he was being lifted, manhandled, and somehow managed to stay on his feet. He coughed harshly, his battered flesh and bruised ribs making it difficult for him to breathe, and there was a deep ache under his sternum. Achlar turned off the light as they made their way out of the room, but Kirk didn't notice. His world was already black and growing blacker.
Teah craned her neck for a better look, wishing she had a hiding place somewhat closer. She shrank back when she heard footsteps, and soon Ach stumbled out, supporting another man who leaned on him heavily. Ach was having considerable difficulty supporting the stranger's weight, but he held on and doggedly led the man away from the area, further into the Wilderness. Teah, torn between her duty to exact revenge and her child's curiosity, hesitated a moment before skittering off behind the two men, her small frame swallowed up in the darkening shadows of encroaching twilight.
"How long has he been like that?"
"If you are referring to his rigidly prone position, Leonard, ever since he was beamed aboard; however if you mean this restlessness and the calling of your and Mr. Scott's names, approximately one hour."
McCoy darted a suspicious look at M'Benga. "You're beginning to sound like them, you know."
M'Benga shot the southerner a puzzled look.
"Like the Vulcans," McCoy explained. "And frankly, one on this ship is quite enough!"
M'Benga smiled but Scotty interrupted before he could reply.
"Beggin' your pardon, but what am I doin' here? He hasn't done anythin' but call our names - I want to help him if I can, but I've got to get back to the bridge."
M'Benga sobered and moved to the other side of the monitoring couch to speak to the Chief Engineer, the body of Spock between them. "I know how difficult this must be for you, Mr. Scott. Please wait a bit longer. I am convinced you will be needed."
"Well, what happens on Vulcan in a case like this?" queried McCoy. "Maybe he's waiting for us to initiate something. This restlessness... " McCoy rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "It reminds me of the last stage of a healing trance, just before it's time to smack the tar out of him. But up to now he's always asked for help himself, verbally."
"Perhaps he can't this time, Leonard. As I said, I've never had experience with a Vulcan under the influence of an hallucinogen. It may be that something has been blocked, whether self-induced I don't know, that prevents him from fully utilizing the healing techniques and disciplines."
"Well, we can't just wait around forever! We've got to do something!"
"What do you suggest, Doctor?" M'Benga was hoping to see the old spark in McCoy's eyes again. The man had been in a deep depression ever since he had been released from sickbay, though he staunchly denied it.
"Why are you asking me?" McCoy retorted, going on the defensive. M'Benga remained silent. Seeing he would receive no suggestions from the specialist, McCoy turned back to his patient and studied Spock's inert features for a long time. "I suppose Scotty and I could touch him - try to make contact in some way.
Spock is a touch telepath, after all."
M'Benga nodded and watched Scott and McCoy tentatively put their hands on Spock's shoulders and upper arms. Spock's restlessness decreased and his eyes moved under the closed lids, but there was no other response. McCoy looked at Scotty, who shrugged. McCoy, feeling totally out of his league, gave M'Benga a look of chagrin. "Sorta like the laying on of hands, ain't it?"
"I have heard it was not without its merits," M'Benga replied, solemnly.
"It is an historical as well as Biblical fact, Doctor," said Mr. Spock.
McCoy and Scotty jerked their hands away from the first officer as he were molten lava.
"Spock! You're awake!"
"Dr. McCoy, your inherent ability to state the obvious is, for once, very gratifying," the Vulcan remarked, as he sat up. McCoy, not sure whether to be offended or pleased, was a study of smiles and frowns.
"Mr. Spock, Sir! I dinna ken how you did it, but I'm glad you did!" Scotty was grinning from ear to ear and thumping Spock on the back before he realized just who he was thumping. Breaking it off hastily, he added: "Beggin' your pardon, Mr. Spock, but... well, I can't help it! It is good to have you back!"
"Quite all right, Mr. Scott. I can understand how human emotions can make one do or say completely illogical things. However," he continued, as Scotty's face fell, "I find your current expression of emotion strangely satisfactory."
Scotty's face cleared as quickly as it had clouded over.
"Mr. Spock, that makes two compliments you've made the human race in as many minutes," commented M'Benga, glancing at McCoy. "How can we humans stand it?"
Spock, not used to such wisecracking from the usually somber M'Benga, took a moment to realize that the man was trying to get a rise out of McCoy, who was currently studying his feet, his hands behind his back. Spock's brows lowered into a frown.
"Sir, are you able to take over command now? My bairns have not been properly looked after for over three days and I must see to them. I can brief you on the way to the bridge."
Spock's dark eyes grew unfathomable. "Isn't the captain there?"
The instant silence was palpable. M'Benga, Scott and McCoy exchanged uneasy glances, uncomfortably reminded that although Spock was back, major problems yet remained.
But at least Spock was back. "Sir, if you'll come with me, I'll fill you in."
Scotty squared his shoulders and escorted the Vulcan from sickbay, talking to him in an increasing brogue as he found voice to vent the frustration of the last three days and his inability to solve the mystery of their missing captain.
As they left, McCoy jerked out of his dark reverie. He had a thousand questions for Spock - what he remembered about that night... He started after the science officer and engineer but was stopped by M'Benga's hand on his arm.
"I don't believe now is a good time, Leonard."
"How do you know whether it's a good time or not, blast it! I just have a few questions... "
M'Benga gently interrupted him with an upraised hand. "I know you have unresolved matters on your mind, Len, but you must understand that he does, too. Don't let that calm demeanor fool you. He has simply pushed it all aside until he can deal with it in his own way - as you must deal with yours."
McCoy scowled at a nearby biobed for some moments, arms crossed protectively, before raising his troubled eyes to M'Benga's. Nodding mutely, he left sickbay without another word.
It was a rather interesting way to wake up, with a leg hoisted unceremoniously in the air and a posterior view of a child trying to remove one of his boots.
Teah was so busy trying to remove the tall black footwear from the unconscious stranger she failed to notice he had opened his eyes. She continued to worry the unbudgeable boot, only slowly becoming aware of the stranger's curious gaze. She turned to look at him, dropping his leg. The man grimaced with pain at the sudden movement.
The child's rigid back and slightly bent knees sent off a silent alarm in the man's brain. She may be a child, but she was a fighter. And right now, judging by the trouble he was having with his sight (not to mention the aches and pains he felt throughout his body), she was probably very capable of overwhelming him, even killing him if she had the right weapon.
Kirk sat up slowly so as not to frighten her, but the sudden movement of his broken wrist brought on an involuntary gasp of pain. Immediately she was in a crouch over him, a club in her hand. Where did that come from? They remained frozen in their respective positions, not moving an inch, until Kirk's abused chest and abdomen complained of holding his half-sitting position too long. He spread his hands slowly and lay back, hoping she would back off and avoid a confrontation. After a minute, she also backed away and lowered the club, though she still held it loosely in her grip. She gazed longingly at the boots, shrugged philosophically, and turned to leave.
"Wait!" Kirk called after her, feeling suddenly cold and weak. He pushed himself up to one knee, unable to stand just yet, and held out his good hand to her.
"Where are you going?"
The child looked back over her shoulder and studied him a moment. He's dead meat, she thought. Nothing but trouble. She continued on, ignoring him.
"No, wait, please!" Kirk called again. The sight of the little figure leaving him alone in the encroaching darkness sent rivulets of fear down his back, like sweat. He struggled to his feet, swaying a little, and started after her, squinting to see through his double-vision.
As he attempted to follow, Teah turned quickly, brandishing the club once again.
"You stay away!" she shouted in Standard. "I don't want you to follow me!"
Kirk brought himself up short, realizing her aggressiveness was a sign of fear on her part. He took a step back. "I won't if you don't want me to," he said, quietly. He looked around at the mass of broken blocks and twisted polybild. It looked like a war zone. "What is this place? I don't... " He put a hand to his aching head. "I don't know what I'm doing here."
"Hunh!" she replied derisively. "Who does?" She walked away again, realizing this man was no threat. It was all he could do to stay on his feet, obviously.
What did she care?
"Don't go!" he called, but she didn't turn around. I'm not listening to him! I can't do this - what am I, stupid? She kept walking, expecting to hear him call out again, but there was silence. It was that silence that caused her to look back, despite herself. The man had stumbled to his knees and was trying to stand again, failing.
It would be easy for her to slip into the shadows and leave him far behind, but his helplessness stirred something deep within her. Compassion has no place here, she told herself, unconsciously reciting the mantra of the Wilderness, and she pushed the emotion away. She whirled around and pointed a finger at him. "Look, you. You're in the Wilderness. It's a place where we all come, the No-Names. You must have been cast out, too, cut off like the rest of us. You're a No-Name now, and you have to make your way the best you can, just like me." She found herself hating what she was saying to him, but it was necessary.
She looked up at the sound of distant thunder. A slight breeze kicked up, ruffling her tangled hair. "You'd better get to some shelter soon." I've already done more for him than anyone else here would have. "See? It's going to rain." I don't owe him anything!
She left him, then. Under the cover of shadow in the fast waning light, she slipped behind a fallen door and watched to see what he would do.
Kirk stood hesitating for a moment, then straightened. He jerked on a filthy shirt with his good hand and started off in her direction. As Teah prepared to run, he stumbled and fell, cowering on the ground like a beaten dog. He wasn't doing that a minute ago! Puzzled by this change in behavior, her innate curiosity drew her closer to see what he was up to. As she approached, he sat back on his heels and shook his head, trying to clear it. Again he tried to stand and was more successful this time, using a crumbling wall for support.
Something was wrong with this No-Name... he was reeling like a drunken man.
Sympathy welled in her once more, unbidden and unwelcome, as she remembered what her mother had said: Never be afraid to help someone who is weaker than you. Giving of yourself gives you strength, Teah. She heard her mother's words, and bounced them off the bulwark of self-preservation she had built around herself. Why now?
Why would I think of mother in a time like this?
Kirk had just about had it. He suffered from blurred vision and a rapid, painful heartbeat, and was faint and weak due to the hallucinogens which still wreaked havoc in his body. The torture he had endured for two days and three nights had done damage, too: his gut hurt; his chest was tight and it hurt to breathe; his wrist, swollen twice its normal size, throbbed in tandem with his pulse; the skin where the manacles held his hands was raw and oozing blood. The worst of it was a nagging, unreasoning fear. Like a bad dream, it taunted and harassed him as he stood there, trying to sort out his jumbled and confused thoughts. He was in trouble, and he knew it. Kirk fought to keep to his feet, hoping - praying that as he stood there he could once more get control, but it was almost too much for him. A sense of overwhelming fatigue washed over him, and he began to consider just letting go, sleeping where he fell. But there was a part of him that wouldn't give in, couldn't just 'let go.'
As he slumped against the wall, straining to see in the gloom, he saw a small figure walking cautiously toward him. A rush of relief went through him and his features lit up with a crooked smile. "You came back."
"Obviously," she replied sarcastically, raising one eyebrow. The gesture was familiar to him, intimately close. It brought with it a memory of dark hair, a blue shirt, but for some reason he couldn't see the face. The eyes, though...
An arc of lightning stabbed through the black night, outlining the area in an explosion of electric blue. Kirk cried out as the sudden flare triggered uncontrolled synapses in his brain. He threw his arms over his head and huddled against the wall. Teah watched in amazement for a moment, then knelt in front of him, calling out to him, but he didn't respond. She reached out tentatively and touched his arm, making the barest of contact.
"Ow!" She recoiled abruptly, feeling a pain that radiated from her fingers up into her forearm. She wiggled her fingers, the twinges receding. Thunders!! Teah knew that she was beginning to develop the same abilities her mother had, but because she made it a policy not to touch or be touched, she had been unaware of how far these abilities had already developed, until now.
This was going to make things difficult.
Carefully, she touched the man again, prepared this time, and the discomfort was manageable. Slowly, he responded: his breathing slowed and he focused on her, the lopsided smile returning briefly as he recognized her. Teah stood up and surveyed him, hands on hips.
"Well, I can't leave you here, can I? You can't take care of yourself, can you? You're a mess!"
The man nodded absently, cradling his damaged wrist with his good hand. Teah's face softened a fraction.
"I'd better do something about that hand, at least. Come on, you," she said, helping him to stand. She brought his undamaged arm around her shoulder and gripped him around the waist as best she could. This physical contact was different from the touch of his arm; she was shocked at the onslaught of
physical pain that racked his body, and at the harried mental activity in the man. She had to shield to protect herself from some of the strange thought patterns he was emanating. She was too young to understand the physiological and psychological effect mind-altering chemicals had upon the brain, but she knew instinctively that he was on overload and was incapable of coping with the flood of signals he was receiving. And he was afraid, terribly afraid. He was trying very hard not to show it, but it gripped her own heart like ice. Again her mother's words came to her. It wouldn't hurt to give him a little reassurance, surely? As she guided him along, stumbling often under his sagging weight, she gently lowered her shields.
It's okay, No-Name. I'm going to take care of you, 'til you're better. You can rest soon.
I can't. There's no rest for me.
Teah was surprised to receive communication from the man in the same fashion she had sent it. She had never communicated this way with anyone but Salah and had never wanted to try after her mother's death. Now here she was, reaching out to help someone other than herself, and in a manner she had herself rejected. K'tal would not have approved. Good! she thought to herself. I'm not looking for his approval, anyway. Resolved, she reached out to the stranger again.
There's always rest in the company of a friend. My name's Teah, and... She hesitated, weighing her words, her heart. And I am your friend.
Kirk was strangely warmed by these thought-words and the pressure in his mind eased a little. He realized he was putting too much of a strain on the child and shifted his weight, which made walking a little better. She kept his arm over her shoulder, however, and that was a comfort.
"Thank... Thank you... Teah." The man was having difficulty speaking. "I want to be your friend, too."
"What's your name?" the girl asked.
"I'm..." Kirk frowned, reaching for something - couldn't find it. "My name... uh, my name... "
Teah felt the confusion and frank surprise in the man, that he couldn't remember something as simple as his name. She reassured him through the touch link she shared with him, and he looked down at her.
"It's Jim."
"Just Jim?"
"I... yeah," he replied with some humor. "Just Jim."
"All right, Jim. Welcome to the Wilderness. Are you hungry?"
"Not really." Just now the thought of anything on his stomach subjected Kirk to waves of nausea.
"You will, soon enough. I can see now I'm going to have to teach you how to take care of yourself here. Somehow I don't think you're used to this kind of living."
Kirk just nodded, the world descending upon his shoulders. He was in the middle of nowhere, with no memory of who or what he was, injured and sick, and quite possibly out of his mind. He was completely dependent upon this girl, at least for now, as they made their way deeper into the jumbled maze of the Wilderness. They were alone - cast out.
But they were together.
"Lt. Uhura, how long until we receive Starfleet's reply to Mr. Scott's message?"
"Approximately three days, Mr. Spock."
"Lieutenant, if I want an approximation I will so specify."
Uhura's eyes lowered under Spock's gaze. His tone was almost peremptory. Naturally he would never admit to that, so she chose to ignore it. "Of course, Mr. Spock. We are expecting a reply in exactly two point nine-four-seven days.
"This does not take into account any subspace interference, Sir," she added, not wanting him to call her on the carpet again in front of the bridge personnel.
"Satisfactory." Spock toggled a switch on the captain's console. "Mr. Scott, have you completed the desired maintenance on ship's engines?"
"Aye, Mr. Spock, we're just finishin' up here. The engines are purrin' like kittens, and I... "
"Very well, Mr. Scott," interrupted the Vulcan, knowing Scotty's predilection for discussing his beloved engines. "Meet me and Dr. McCoy in the transporter room. We will be beaming down to Echthra immediately. I'll brief you in transit."
"Aye, Sir."
"Uhura, inform Dr. McCoy to meet me and Mr. Scott with all haste in the transporter room - standard landing party medical kit." He handed her a tape. "This is my last entry in the ship's log, Lieutenant. Please send it by subspace channel to Starfleet. It will bring them up to date on the latest developments, including my intention to interrogate one Mr. Nehrudt. There is also a prearranged code that you are to employ should any of our landing party request beamup. No transport is to take place without the code. Understood, Lieutenant?"
"Why, yes, Mr. Spock," she answered, leaning back from the towering nearness of the science officer.
"Mr. Sulu, you have the con. You will maintain this orbit until you receive orders from me or Starfleet. Lt. Uhura will brief you on the other details you will require from the log tape. I am somewhat pressed."
Spock turned and practically marched off the bridge, his usual cat-like stride gone.
Sulu and Uhura exchanged glances.
"Why are the hairs standing up on the back of my neck?"
"Believe me, Sulu, I have known Mr. Spock for quite some time, and I have never seen that look in his eyes before. I wouldn't want to be that Nehrudt person for anything!"
Spock rode the lift in brooding silence. He knew his behavior on the bridge was inexcusable, but he would have to deal with that later. The one immutable thing fixed in his mind was locating and rescuing his captain and friend. While in the catatonic state, he had envisioned an incident over and over: an area of broken walls and tumbledown buildings, his coming around the edge of a crumbling foundation and sighting the familiar gold of a command uniform, the approach in nightmarish slow-motion. Finding his friend, Jim's body broken and battered, face white and still. Kneeling beside his captain and pulling him into his arms, reaching out with the link and finding only emptiness. Sorrow and loneliness enveloping him, then finding himself back among the ruins, looking for his friend, the loop repeatedly playing itself out: search, discovery, loss and grief. Over and over again.
Back in the dining hall on Echthra, when the hallucinogen began to take effect, Spock had reached out to Jim in panic, a totally undisciplined and human reaction. What he encountered within his friend was a mind in turmoil, drenched in anxiety, disorientation and a myriad other emotions. Jim evidenced a faint
recognition of the contact, but it receded as Kirk bent all his will to get to Baruk. As the chemicals systematically broke down the barriers in the Vulcan officer's mind, the old disciplines fled and he found himself wanting to howl in fury, to throw anything he could lay his hands on, to pick up the carving knife nearby and decimate the barbarians who surrounded him. His self-control ebbing away, Spock had called upon every ounce of reserve and will he had left and slammed the door on the chemical insanity, shutting down his physical processes until they were practically non-existent. His last conscious thought was that given the state he was in, he may not be able to even initiate a healing trance, much less complete it. So he had formed a mental key to sanity - the one hope of returning. The thread between him and Kirk was so frail it was in danger of snapping, so he thought of two other prominent people in his life: Scotty and
McCoy. They were the tie-in. The key. Then, for a while, his mind had known only darkness.
Somehow the healing state had been initiated, despite the slowing of the process by the repeating nightmare. As Spock began to come back, reaching new levels of consciousness one by one, he had called out to Kirk. Each time, at each new level, he met pain and horror, and each time he despaired of finding Jim.
Until two nights ago.
Spock had been resting, not moving between levels, not dreaming – only aware. Suddenly he had heard Kirk repeatedly calling his name, the captain's fear and panic spilling over into Spock's heart. He had struggled to answer, ripping at mental barriers and partitions, but had been too weak to break through. His friend's cries had turned into hysterical laughter before the tenuous link finally snapped. It was then Spock knew that, though he was not ready, though all the learned disciplines, locks and safeguards were not yet fully in place, he must come out of the healing trance. He must call on the key.
And they had responded, McCoy and Scotty, in the puzzling, emotional manner of humans.
The lit doors opened. Spock drew a deep breath and pushed down all extraneous thought. A day had been wasted with continued scans and search parties, and now, as he exited the lift and made his way to the transporter room, Spock knew he must find out for himself whether the link was buried in Jim's subconscious or truly severed - and his best friend dead.
Scott and McCoy were waiting as he entered the Transporter Room, and without a word they mounted the pad. As the first tingles of the beam sparkled around them, Spock was surprised to feel McCoy's hand on his arm. He looked into the doctor's eyes and saw understanding and encouragement in their blue depths.
"We'll find him, Spock," the doctor said.
Spock inclined his head in agreement and thanks. "We have made a beginning, at least," he replied, his voice echoing hollowly as the beam caught them away.
"Would you please... explain... what we're doing up here?"
"Hush! You want the man to hear you? Just shut up and watch, and you'll know soon enough."
Teah and Jim, along with several other No-Names of dubious acquaintance, had scrambled to the top of a ridge late at night. Silhouetted by stars, they looked down the other side to a refrigeration warehouse, its back lot littered with trash and shipping cartons. Its perimeter was patrolled by a sleepy-looking guard, whose harmless image was ruined, however, by the weapon he carried. Jim stood a little to the side, drawing breath after the long climb.
Today was his first 'outing' since Teah had found him two nights ago. She had taken him to a small cave beneath a former mine office where he had been able to sleep, eat a little, and slowly overcome the effects of the drug in his body. Sudden sensory input still affected him, but less than before, and he was gaining some control over his reaction to it - at least his emotional response. The physical reactions were something else.
Like his loss of memory.
His chest still bothered him. Teah had put an ointment on the burns and found him another shirt to wear, but there was a tightness - a heaviness, as if a weight were on him, when he exerted himself in any way. Just now it was all he could do to draw breath. Teah darted a look of warning at him and he tried to slow his breathing. He crouched low and moved beside her to look at the scene below. His eyebrows drew down in a frown.
"We're going down there? That's a phaser-rifle, in case you hadn't noticed," Jim hissed. "They've been outlawed. The lowest stun setting has been known to take off a man's arm if mishandled!"
"Yeah? How come you know so much?" mouthed one of the gang, a surly 17-year-old who called himself Dex and achieved dubious status by bullying. All but Teah - nobody bullied her.
"I said shut up!" Teah gave each of them a shove, her hidden Klingon strength knocking them off-balance. "Men make more noise than a kilo-crusher," she muttered.
"There he goes," called the lookout, a tall Andorian girl with a deformed antenna. Sure enough, the guard was disappearing around the corner of the building.
"All right Jim, you listen, and you listen good. You'll be lookout while we go down."
"Why can't I go down?"
"Hah!" snorted Dex, "you'd just fall down, stupid, and mess everything up again. You could hardly make it up here."
"Quiet!" Teah stared Dex into submission, then looked back at Kirk. "We're going to create a diversion and when the guard calls the fire crew, we'll go in the window and take the food. If you see that guard coming before we can start the fire, yell like crazy. Can you do that?"
Teah was looking at Kirk like she wasn't certain what he would do. He knew she was thinking about how he had bungled a simple shoplifting in the square that morning. He hadn't felt comfortable taking something that didn't belong to him. And it was true that later on he did almost fall off the roof when they hid there, firing rotten tomatoes at a vendor while some of their gang stole fruit right off his stand. But this was all new to him; he would get the hang of it - sooner or later. After all, it was a matter of survival, and survival was the basic tenet at the aca...
Kirk blinked hard, trying to remember, and failing. The partial memory was gone again, slipped away like a leaf on a stream.
Dex laughed harshly, a hoarse bark in the night. "Hah! I told you, Teah, he's no good for us. He's got no guts. Do you, stupid?"
Jim ignored Dex and drew himself up. "Yes, Teah, I can do that."
Teah nodded. "Okay, let's go. Stay alert!" Teah and the others scrambled down the hillside, and it was soon quiet.
Jim peered into the starlit night, watching for signs of the guard. As he stared, his peripheral vision picked up a falling star and he watched it burn up in the planet's atmosphere. He looked up into the sky, saw the galaxy's edge arching through the night, its white purity trembling there. Kirk's heart leaped and he began to shake uncontrollably. That was where he belonged. Up there. This - he dragged his eyes downward to the rock-strewn hillside and trash-laden yard below - this was all wrong.
I don't belong here.
A noise from below brought him out of his reverie and he jumped to his feet, guilt smearing over him like glue for having broken his watch. The noise was soon accompanied by a muffled whump and a spire of flame shot up ten meters into the air. Dimly, he could see dark figures scurry under cover, waiting for the guard. He came soon enough and whipped out his comlink to call a fire crew. In the ensuing confusion - alarms blaring, searchlights flashing, fire crew and the curious milling around - Jim saw two figures dart into an open window, given a leg up by two others. After what seemed like a lifetime, they came out, laden with boxes.
"Come on, come on," he whispered, watching them go back in for another load. How long before they would be found out? He felt useless standing there on the hillside; they certainly didn't need him to watch for the guard now. But they probably could use an extra hand with that food. His mind made up, he went down to meet them.
Clearing the last tangle of low shrubs and outcropping rock, he was almost run over by Teah and the others as they scrambled madly for distance. The Andorian, Nystar, brought up the rear, carrying a particularly awkward and heavy box. Directly behind her was the guard, phaser-rifle aimed.
Kirk reacted without thinking. He dove for Nystar and knocked her to the ground in a flying tackle, the phaser whining over their heads just inches away. They lay there for a few seconds, Nystar in his arms. Kirk was trying so hard to breathe he saw sparkles in his vision. The guard had temporarily lost his target in the dark and was moving erratically on the hillside below them. Kirk sat up. "Let's get out of here!"
He grabbed her by the hand and started for the ridge, but she wouldn't go with him.
"No. I have to get the box." Her voice was soft, whispery, like all her kind, but it was hard with determination.
"You can't go back - you'll be killed! You want to die grabbing a box of food?"
Nystar looked at him then, catching his eyes with hers. "That is what you have not learned, yet. Life is food. Only that." Her eyes faltered and she looked away, back toward the box lying just a few feet away. It may as well have been a few hundred feet. "You are lucky to have Teah take you in," she murmured, then looked back at him again, shaking her head. "It is unprecedented." Her lip curled. "I would have left you to the rats." With that, she jerked her arm free of Kirk's grasp and made her way to the box. Struggling to lift it, she knocked loose a cascade of loose gravel which clattered down the hill. The sudden noise alarmed her, she straightened, and before Kirk could call out she was briefly enveloped in a blue halo before she collapsed. Kirk started toward her but was brought up short by a muscular arm around his neck.
"She's dead, No-Name. Just like you'll be if you don't get out of here." Dex looked back over his shoulder at the sound of the guard struggling up the hill.
"Run like hell," he whispered, and shoved Kirk in the general direction of the others. He turned and grappled with the guard as he appeared over the rise.
Kirk turned in mid-stride, a hand on his chest, hesitating as he watched the young gang member and the guard fight, the rifle between them. This is crazy! We can't leave him to fight alone! Kirk made to start down the hill, but Teah grabbed him by a shirt sleeve and held him back. Jim pulled away, moving back down toward the struggling men, but the blue halo erupted again - much brighter this time - revealing both the guard and Dex in its field before they disappeared. Kirk stopped, staring in disbelief. "It was set for kill... It was set for kill, for God's sake! For what? Some lousy vegetables?!"
Teah grabbed his sleeve again and guided him up the hill. Kirk didn't realize he was crying as they struggled toward the rise. He only knew the pain that enveloped him every time he moved or breathed; he only felt the old vertigo and weakness return again as he looked over his shoulder at the smoke and smoldering embers of a contained fire. He no longer saw or cared about the stars above him. He only saw the disembodied blue shadows of Dex and the guard, and the crumpled form of the Andorian girl left behind like the rest of the cartons, broken and discarded.
Teah sat on a crate, munching a piece of stale bread. Her knees were drawn up to her chest for warmth and she leaned against the wall behind her, struggling to stay awake. Kirk lay asleep across the cave from her, just visible in the soft light of her lantern. He had refused to eat anything after their warehouse raid and wouldn't say much, just that he was tired.
It was more than fatigue, she knew. Teah had seen what a disruptor could do at close range; the murder of her mother had taught the daughter well. Jim suffered the same burns, but it looked like the attacks had been spaced apart and of shorter duration, not all at once like K'tal's attack on Salah. Probably that Baruk. He was a vicious man, like K'tal, but the Klingon was of a warrior race, and preferred dispatching his enemies quickly. Baruk, on the other hand, would have enjoyed seeing Jim stunned again and again. There was probably some internal damage; a man of Jim's stature and build should have easily carried himself on their errands today but, though he was willing, he was tired, off-balance, and obviously in pain.
But what really bothered her was his constant searching for something - something he had once known or experienced. She had seen him try to remember and grow frustrated when he could not. Several times he had seemed on the verge of remembering, even speaking it, only to have it fade away. He never said anything, but his eyes showed the emotions he tried to conceal.
Why she had taken this No-Name in, she still didn't know. Then again, maybe she did. The Klingon in her considered her kindness toward the man a weakness which would only bring her down in the end. The Romulan in her regarded her act as questionable, not having been weighed carefully. But the things she had learned at her mother's knee were what really drove her now. Teah, at the young age of 12, already knew that though the world was hard, there was more to life than managing to eke out another day of existence in it. Underneath her shell, her physical strength and shrewdness, Teah was still a little girl, and her mother's little girl, at that. She had only tried to forget, because that made it easier for her to hate her father, and to go on wanting to kill him.
Finding Jim had changed all that.
She sat up, brushing crumbs off her shirt. Though it had been awkward, even painful, for her to hear the man's thoughts when she first came in contact with him (and why she now grabbed his sleeve to get his attention), she knew their immediate and clear communication through the crude link was rare between different species. In fact, her own acuity was rare, given her mixed heritage and the subjugation of such abilities in the Romulan culture. Teah hoped that by touching him again she may be able to see past the walls he could not broach, maybe help him to find out what he was looking for.
Because that was the difference, she saw, between real No-Names and Jim. He was not a cast-out, not in the true sense of the word. Baruk had sent him here, but he still belonged - somewhere. And she wanted to help him find out where that was.
"There's nothing I can do for him, Spock. His neck is broken."
Spock and McCoy looked upon the body of Achlar ab'Nehrudt, seated primly in a chair, his head at that strange angle that tells you all you need to know. This was the final blow to a day's futile search.
"My guess is that he's been dead for several hours," sighed McCoy, straightening from his examination. "There goes our last link with the captain," he muttered.
"Not necessarily, Doctor," Spock advised. "Mr. Scott, what are the results of the most recent scans?"
"Just about what we thought, based on what we've found in talkin' to the general public, about the subculture here. There are groups of people, children mostly, who live out in what they call the Wilderness. They pretty much take care of themselves and are considered outcasts by the citizens we talked to. Not a lot of empathy for 'em, either. I expect it's a pretty hard way to live."
Spock's communicator came to life.
"Spock here."
"Mr. Spock, this is Chambers. President Baruk has not been seen by anyone in the main offices for days, Sir. K'tal is supposedly with him, since they were practically inseparable when he was in his office. Nehrudt was his office assistant, so the three of them were constantly together."
"Until now," McCoy commented, looking down at the murdered clerk.
Lt. Chambers signed off and Spock closed his communicator.
Then Scott's communicator chirped to life. "Scott here."
"Lt. Rivers, Sir. K'tal has been spotted about half a click from here. We have a team going after him now."
"Don't lose him, Rivers, and don't harm a hair on his head! Give us your coordinates; we'll join you directly."
Spock closed his communicator; McCoy and Scott followed him out of the room.
Teah timidly edged up to the sleeping commander. She wanted to help this man, but she was afraid, not only of what she may have to endure during the contact, but what else she might find out about herself. There was another side to her, a softer, more resilient side, more like her mother, that served no purpose in the Wilderness. At least that was what she had convinced herself. But so far helping Jim hadn't hurt her. In fact, she rather liked having someone to look after. It recalled the days when her mother looked after her. The family had been flawed, but Salah's love for her daughter was not. She wanted to help him, Teah realized. What did she care what the other No-Names would think?
Teah reached out and touched Kirk on the shoulder, a feather touch, so as not to wake him. He stirred briefly and coughed, but soon settled down again. Teah sat cross-legged beside him and began to open herself to him...
Spock, Scott and McCoy were nearing the coordinates Rivers had given them when they saw the lieutenant coming toward them, frowning. This doesn't look good, McCoy thought.
Rivers spread his hands. "He got away from us, Sir. One minute he was there on my tricorder, the next he was just - gone!" The young man blew out a gust of air in frustration.
Spock nodded. "Not unusual given the nature of the planet, Lieutenant. Is this were you last saw him?"
"Yes, Sir, or at least Ensign Dahmers did. He's over past that old building there, trying to pick up another reading."
As Spock checked his own tricorder readings and got more information from the lieutenant, Scotty and McCoy wandered around aimlessly, or to all appearances. Actually, Scotty had spotted movement over to their left and motioned for McCoy to help him corral their uninvited visitor. McCoy created a diversion, dropping his medikit and making a great show of picking up the contents, while Scotty skirted around the perimeter as quietly as he could.
In a flash, he reached under a block of polybild and pulled out a scrawny child, kicking and yelling, her tangled hair straggling into her eyes. She fought hard to free herself, but Scotty's grip on the back of her collar prevented her from clawing or kicking herself loose.
"Now, now, lass, You'd best settle down. We're not goin' to hurt you."
Spock approached the struggling girl and looked carefully at her for a moment before addressing the doctor. "Dr. McCoy, what do you make of this brow ridge?"
"Klingon, obviously,lthough not as prominent. The rest of her bone structure isn't right for that species, either. Note the upswept eyebrows, too, and the greenish hue of her skin."
McCoy stopped, hesitated a moment, then impulsively pushed her hair away from an ear to reveal the classic pointed auricle of Vulcan ancestry. Spock's eyebrow went up. So did Teah's.
"A Vulcan girl on this planet?" Scotty looked incredulous.
"Rihannsu, fool!" spat the girl, still struggling.
"Now wait a minute, young lady. It's very bad manners to address your elders in that way. So I'm a fool, am I? Just who is holdin' who, here?"
Teah saw the futility in continuing to struggle and relaxed a little. Scotty loosened his hold but grabbed her arm for insurance.
"Mr. Scott, did not Mr. Chekov pick up a Klingon/Romulan life form reading when he was searching for me?"
"Aye, Sir, that he did; he thought he was misreadin' his instruments."
"What was the location of that life form?"
"Near to where you and Dr. McCoy were located, Mr. Spock." He turned a wary eye to the girl. "Very near," he added, suspiciously.
"Young lady," began Spock.
"Teah," she snapped back.
"Teah, I believe you may have some information which will enable us to locate our... locate someone we know who is lost, possibly injured or ill."
"Why would I want to tell you anything? Do you think I'm crazy?"
"Look here, Miss, there's no use in going on that way. We were looking for a Klingon in this area, lost him, and then you show up, half-Klingon... " McCoy held up his tricorder which confirmed their captive's assertions. "... and half-Romulan."
Teah looked away. McCoy could swear she was trying not to cry. "As far as I can tell, you and K'tal are the only Klingons on this planet. I call that a lot more than coincidence."
Teah bit her lip and held her head up defiantly.
Scotty, watching the emotions play out on her stoic features, felt sympathy for this girl, recognized her attempt to show her fearlessness in front of these strangers.
"Teah," he began, moving his hand from her arm to her shoulder. "If you talk to us, you may make it possible for us to help someone who's in trouble. Have you never been in trouble, Lass?"
Teah didn't answer, but she didn't have to.
"Wouldn't you like knowin' that if it was you who needed the help, someone would lend a hand?"
"No one helps anyone here," she said, her voice thick. She ignored the little voice that said, You did.
Scotty's heart went out to the girl with her tough exterior - outcast, certainly, by the looks of her, and probably consigned against her will to this Wilderness they'd recently learned about. She was so young, but life had already dealt out more than she needed. Mixed parentage, orphaned probably, hardened by the way she must make her existence. What kind of place was this colony, anyway?
He squeezed her shoulder gently.
"Listen, Lassie, where I come from there's just a few who do care about the likes of us."
She cut her eyes toward him, gazing at the engineer intently. "What do you mean, 'the likes of us'?"
"Just what you're thinkin', Lass," said the Scotsman, his eyes crinkling with compassion. "I'm an orphan, too."
McCoy glanced at Scott with surprise, but Spock stood, unmoving. All his life, despite having a father and mother, he too had felt orphaned at times. Child of mixed heritage, at home nowhere but in space, he was friends with no one but a few aboard the Enterprise, betrothed to no one but the now forbidden T'Pring, and looking forward to a future that was empty. With no heirs to succeed him, he would age more slowly than his circle of friends. Eventually he would watch them grow old and die, if they weren't killed in the line of duty first. The mental trauma he had so recently suffered, waking up to find Jim gone, brought that realization home to him harder than ever before...
McCoy interrupted Spock's thoughts.
"Miss Teah, the man we're lookin' for is - or at least was wearing a gold shirt. He's about my height, with light brown hair."
Teah studied McCoy a moment, looking him over. Her eyes rested on his feet.
"Does he have boots like yours?"
"Yes," was the drawled answer. For the first time, McCoy noticed Teah's bare feet. "He'd be dressed like us, only the shirt is gold. Oh, and his right wrist might have been bandaged."
"It was." Suddenly Teah smiled, and though it was a small one, it wiped years off her face. "He said McCoy would be mad." McCoy looked puzzled, and she continued, "He broke it again - actually Baruk probably broke it for him - but I know some first aid. My bandage probably isn't as pretty as yours was, but it's healing well."
"Not that I disbelieve you, young lady, but I'd like to make that determination myself."
"Teah," said Spock, "would you please take us to this man? He is likely suffering from more than a broken wrist."
Spock's and Teah's eyes locked, and she picked up a sense from him - sadness, and loss. This Vulcan is suffering, too. But did she really want to tell them where Jim was? That was why she had come here, following K'tal from the room where Jim had been kept and tortured to this location. She knew K'Tal was her only hope in running into some of Jim's friends, the people she had learned about through her link with the man as he slept. But did they need Jim as much as he thought he needed them? She glanced over at McCoy. Was his heart as heavy as Spock's?
Still, if she told them where Jim was, they would take him away, and she would never see any of them again. She would have to go back to the life she had been leading before Jim came. Which was no life at all.
Despair was in Teah's eyes. "You want to take Jim away with you, don't you?" The landing party exchanged looks when she said their captain's name, hope rekindling. But with the hope came new anxiety for Spock. He reached out for Jim with the link. There was something, but he couldn't connect. He felt an increasing urgency to find his friend - he sensed that Jim was in imminent danger, and time was short.
"Teah-Lass," said Scotty, gently, "we must take him back to the ship; there's not much Dr. McCoy can do for him here."
"But he's all right," she protested, her fear of being left alone growing. "He just can't remember things and he gets tired a lot, and sometimes his chest hurts him, but... "
"Teah, he's not all right," said McCoy, growing alarmed at Teah's description of Kirk's symptoms. "Haven't you noticed anything strange about him, other than his loss of memory? You said he got tired - that his chest hurt. What do you mean by that?"
"He... he falls down sometimes. He has trouble breathing and coughs - it hurts him, but he doesn't say anything about it. His head gives him trouble, too, but that's getting better," she hastened to say, wanting to reassure these people, to let them know Jim had been in good hands, that he was doing fine in the Wilderness with her watching over him. "He'll be all right," she pleaded. "He's learning how to live here! I let him stay with me. You can't take him away! He... he needs me."
Her features registered acknowledgement of her recent discovery, cemented now that she had finally brought herself to accept it. Here, at last, there was someone who needed her, depended upon her, and she had grown to like it. The thought of giving that up now... Oh, Mother, how I wish you were still here with me. Tears welled in her eyes, the first she had shed since her mother's death.
She felt a strong arm slide along her shoulders and looked up into the engineer's face.
"Oh, Lass, you're too young to carry the burden all by yourself. Let us help you, then."
Teah stood stiffly for a moment, then found herself leaning into the Scotsman's embrace, amazed and bewildered that she could find such expressionless comfort in the arms of a stranger. It was the same comfort that her mother had given her during the days of her life. Teah cried noiselessly, realizing that though love may come in many forms, and from strange sources, it was still the same love.
"I'll take you to him," she said, her voice muffled in Scotty's shirt.
Spock and McCoy followed Teah out into the Wilderness, Rivers and Dahmer in tow. Teah's hand was clasped fast by another orphan-child. To McCoy, who walked alone behind them, it seemed only right.