As expected, Dr. McCoy is waiting for him when he steps out of the room. Jim submits to the examination, offering only a few sarcastic comments that the doctor returns with equally sharp replies.

"Scan's come up clean," the doctor finally declares, "You got lucky, kid. Whatever happened hasn't left any traces I can detect. Hold your horses, I'm not done yet!" he adds, as Jim tries and fails to walk away. "That's physical. I'm suggesting that you–and by 'suggesting' I mean I'm gonna make sure you do–talk to Spock and M'Benga, 'cause I don't know much about the mental side of things. Telepathic voodoo's not my area of expertise."

"Yeah, that's what I'm concerned about. It felt like they wanted something from my mind, and whatever that attack was, Spock looked pretty shaken up. I told him to go see M'Benga."

McCoy snorts. "I doubt he's going to. Half the time he doesn't even come in for regular examinations, what makes you think he's going to get help when he needs it?"

"Bones, you know I can't force him. Well, I could, but he'd be offended… I'm not going to do that. I was planning on checking up on him after I'm done with Minister Yonda." It's as good a time as any to change subjects, because for some reason Jim really doesn't want McCoy asking about anything going on between him and Spock. "I hope she knows something about what the hell happened down there."

"Just don't be too accusatory, Kirk," And that's Uhura. When did she get here? "Most likely, it was some splinter group or unaffiliated terrorist organization, not insiders. The Treyessa have never caused the Federation any problems before."

"And I'm supposed to feel better because it was terrorists who messed with my head, and not politicians?"

She gives him a look.

"Fine. I'll play nice. Get the Minister on the screen." He puts on his best Captain face and heads for the bridge.

~o~

"I assure you, Captain, we are putting our every effort into investigating this unfortunate and unforgivable incident. Those responsible will be found," Minister Yonda says, her calm and professional image only slightly hampered by the view of people working franticly in the background.

"I have a security force at this moment working with your people to ensure that, Minister." He'd sent them down right before Uhura connected the call.

"We regret any harm done to you. This will not be allowed to happen again." On the screen, another aide steps into view beside the Minister, and leans down to whisper something in her ear.

"Please excuse me a moment, Captain," Yonda says, turning to listen to the assistant. Jim drums his fingers on the console, waiting. This is going more smoothly than he had expected, which probably means something's going to go wrong before long. Yonda is handling the situation competently so far, at least. Jim's sick of having to go through uncooperative aides to reach hostile leaders when crisis strikes, or even worse, leaders who play at simpering and apologetic yet are equally as unlikely to offer any help or reparation.

Yonda turns back to face him. "Captain, I have received an update. The identification codes of a number of the presenters and attendees have been found to be either falsified or newly registered. Our security agents are currently tracing them. They will be questioned, and I will contact you as soon as we learn more about their identities or motives. We are also questioning all those who may have associated with the suspects."

"Thank you, Minister," Jim say crisply, and cuts the call. He comms his team down on the surface, hoping they're having more luck actually catching people.

"Have you found the assholes who tried to attack me?" This gets him a half-hearted glare from Uhura for the unprofessional language, but he doesn't really care. The junior officer who picks up the call makes a hesitant sound, then says, "Captain, you're not gonna want to hear this, but they've vanished!"

Shit.

"What do you mean? How have they vanished? You can't find anything?"

"We think they beamed away. There's no trace of anything out of the ordinary."

"Keep looking. The Minister found some bad ID codes, maybe you can figure out what ships they came in on."

"On it, sir,"

Now they've just got to wait. He hates this, the not knowing right after a crisis. when the bad guys–Uhura would roll her eyes at him for using that term–could be doing anything and he doesn't even know what they want, much less who they are. He stares out at space for a few moments, thinking. In the calm, he begins to register a growing headache. But there's not really a lot of pain, almost as if he's imagining it. And he's certain he's not as tired as he suddenly feels. Damn, if those thugs screwed up his brain… He's dealt with worse. Gotta focus on the situation, make sure his ship and crew are safe. There's a message on his padd from Scotty, timestamped from a few minutes ago, saying that they've gotten everybody back onboard and accounted for. No sign that anyone else was targeted, now that's another bit of data to add to the "figuring out what the fuck just happened" pile. But if nobody else was harmed, that's good news for sure, and he could always use good news. If only Spock was there to make some comment on the relative success of the mission, things would feel normal. He should make sure Spock's not doing something stupid, like working instead of actually taking a break because he was just telepathically attacked. He should update Spock on the situation anyway, and with that thought, he leaves the bridge to Sulu.

~o~

After nearly fifteen minutes of being lectured at by M'Benga regarding Vulcans and delicate neural pathways, with an additional rant from McCoy about mental pain control being no substitute for actual treatment and how his job would be so much easier if people stopped thinking they didn't need to take care of themselves, he's heading to Spock's quarters with a hypospray of something he can't pronounce but that should help, and a firm warning that Spock should rest for the remainder of the day or risk permanent damage to his mind.

When he steps into the darkened room, he's a little startled to see that for once he doesn't have to tell Spock to stop working on something and go to bed. If it weren't for the fact that he had unlocked the door at the buzz, Jim would almost think he was sleeping, at first glance at least. It's not until he gets closer that the tension and pain become clear.

"Please do not turn on the light," Spock says wearily, "I am finding the sensory stimuli… increasingly unpleasant." That's an understatement if anything, judging by the way he's lying with an arm curled under his head, looking tense and miserable and exhausted. Jim wonders briefly how much of this could be considered his fault, and mentally recoils from the sting of guilt that thought brings with it.

"Hey. How're you doing?" he asks, as it the pain wasn't obvious.

"I will be well in time. The effects are more severe than I had anticipated." A pause. "My focus is disrupted. Meditation, and thus control of the symptoms, has proved impossible."

"You didn't go to Medical," Jim says, keeping his voice low; M'Benga had said that migraine and weakened shields are the most common results of telepathic overload, and the last thing he wants to do now is make Spock's condition worse.

"I found it more convenient to return here."

"I figured." He doesn't have it in him to chastise Spock at the moment. "Hold still, I'm going to hypo you." He does so, telling himself that he's not a bit jealous of the way Spock doesn't even flinch at the needle. A few moments later, and he's rewarded when Spock finally relaxes, some of the tension draining away.

"That is… a significant improvement. Thank you, Jim."

He smiles. "It's not actually a good idea to totally ignore a doctor, okay? Pisses them off. Trust me, I know." Ignoring his own health is also dangerous and doesn't seem at all logical, but Jim's not going to argue now. At some point he'll bring it up, but not now.

"Doctor McCoy has a habit of interpreting an undue number of my actions as antagonistic."

"He does that for everyone." After three years at the Academy with him, Jim is used to the doctor's gruff treatment of almost the entire universe. He knows it's mostly well-meant, a way of showing affection with the added benefit of scaring away idiots.

"What is the status of the investigation?" Spock asks. Of course he'd be right back to business.

"We don't know much yet," Jim tells him, trying to reign in his frustration. "They got away, but the Minister found some phony ID codes and they're questioning people."

"I regret that I cannot be of more assistance…"

"Stop that, you did a lot today. Saved me, for a start." The last thing he needs is Spock feeling guilty about any of this, or worse, trying to work in his current condition. "We just have to wait." He'd like to complain about that, but he's not selfish enough to bother Spock about something they can't change. "You need to actually sleep, got it? Meditation isn't enough."

"Understood, Captain."

Yeah, he probably deserved that one. But Spock recovering his interesting sense of humor is a very good sign. Jim only hopes the rest of their problems can be solved as easily.

~o~

"Any news?" Jim asks, dropping back into his chair. A quick scan of the alert console reveals nothing.

"Not yet, sir," Sulu reports. "We're still waiting on the Minister."

They only have to wait a few minutes before the call comes through. This time, it's not the Minister but another Treyessan wearing a uniform that would be recognized as military on any planet. She introduces herself as the head of the security force, and in charge of the investigation.

"We have not yet found any of the criminals, however, one of their accomplices has come forward," she says. The crew on the bridge exchange hopeful looks.

"What have you learned?" Jim prompts.

"The criminals are information traders who were looking for industry secrets. They promised the Polar Metals Board insider information on their competitors in exchange for allowing their agents to enter today's conference in disguise, and bribed the organizers to schedule a last-minute presentation. Many of their agents are telepathic and the attention gave them the opportunity to look for targets among the attendees."

Certain things are starting to make a terrifying sort of sense.

"And for some reason they found me interesting."

"That appears to be the case." The Treyessan falters a moment. "Again, we apologize for the incident-"

"I've heard it." It's not the time for that. "Does your suspect know anything else? And who is it?"

"An assistant to the Polar Metals staff, who handled the records for the illegal meetings and overheard several other discussions. He offers this information in exchange for leniency from the charges that will no doubt be brought against the conspirators. I have told you all we know."

"Do you have these illegal records?" If there's any chance they could learn who their enemy is, that would be it.

"No. They were destroyed by the criminals' allies when we started our investigation into the Polar Metals group."

"And the people who made this deal with the criminals?"

"Escaped alongside them. We have no other leads."

It's not much to go on, but it's a start, Jim thinks after he ends the call.

"They got away. We could still be in danger," he says, thinking out loud in the hope that a solution will come to him. What do they want? Something in his mind attracted them. If he had to make an assumption as to what spies like that would want, he'd think it was the usual Starfleet intel, classified missions and technology. Starfleet is no stranger to spies. But there wasn't any of that in the images they pulled from his head. Cheating on the Kobayashi Maru, the mission at Nibiru, that's old news. Those might once have been secrets, but they're not anymore, so they can't be of any use to spies. The older Spock from that other universe…

And then he realizes. They want to know about the future.