The emergency report Jim and Sudarto send to Starfleet gets a terse response: they're to remain in orbit over Treyessa until the Admirals back on Earth can assess the threat. He expects that to take at least until the next day Earth-time, which leaves them waiting the night both ship-time and on the planet. It's typical Starfleet bureaucracy that leaves Jim feeling useless and impatient. While those spies could be doing anything, plotting anything, he has to wait around doing nothing. It also doesn't help that he's never slept well when there's unfinished business or something threatening him, a leftover trait from working long nights to pass too many classes with top scores, and long before that, from keeping out of his stepfather's reach when things got dangerous. And it usually comes in handy in situations where he can do something useful, when there's paperwork to be done– not that he considers paperwork useful, but Starfleet Command won't take that for an answer.

Working usually helps with the stress. But here, he's done all he can before the bigwigs back home in their comfortable safe offices get to it.

At least if he's not sleeping it means he can't fall back into the nightmares.

With sleep clearly not an option, he tries to find something else to do. Maybe a few years ago he would play computer games or read some guys' magazine to pass the time, but he doesn't feel like doing any of that, and even the old books he kept hidden in his room at the Academy– McCoy never got tired of laughing at him for reading centuries-old classics and on paper– can hold his attention for any length of time. He considers porn for a moment, but, well, he'd rather not be doing anything like that if they get a call earlier than expected. And it'll feel sort of wrong to be jerking off while his friends might be in danger.

He runs over the situation in his head for what feels like the millionth time. Telepathic spies just happened to be at that meeting? Or were they following him? Somehow they saw that he knew about a parallel universe, used mental influence to trap him, and tried to take the information. Spock stopped them, but they got away and are probably looking to learn more. So they're probably going to try to capture him again, because the only other person who knows about the other Spock is the old Vulcan himself– Fuck. If they capture the Ambassador, they could learn everything. And there's nobody else he can talk to, not with his Spock out of commission for the time being. He'd been a bit surprised to learn that his Spock had met his counterpart, and more surprised when the universe didn't suddenly cease to exist because of it.

But there is no one else who knows. Well, there is Scotty. His advice would be as good as anything else Jim can find at this point, so he goes down to Engineering to find the man. Scott tends to work odd hours, as the ship needs it, and Jim knows he'd never in his life give up the chance to run some experiments while they were stuck in orbit. With any luck, he'll find some way to increase their efficiency or warp speed and impress the shipbuilders back home. Jim loves when that happens. It makes him feel like the flagship really is on the cutting edge of science and exploration.

The ship never sleeps, so even though the 'night' shift is quieter than the rest, there's still constant activity. He passes a group of scientists and engineers working together on a half-dissected computer console, giving them an approving nod and smile. A few of the newest crewmembers salute him before going back to their project, causing the people who know Jim a bit better to laugh quietly.

It takes a while, but he eventually finds his Chief Engineer examining some sort of robotic device that's obviously been built out of spare parts, arguing loudly with Keenser and Chekov about it, gesturing emphatically with a reel of wire.

"Ah, Captain!" Scotty calls out in greeting. "Would you mind explaining to the lads why their project here isn't nearly ready for testing?"

Chekov begins to protest this, but Jim interrupts. "When have you ever tested things properly? I need to talk to you." Scotty nods and tells the other to "run along," earning a pouting glare from Chekov and a vaguely annoyed look from Keenser as the two gather their robot and leave, probably to go to on of the labs to continue building. For a moment, Jim wants to tell Chekov that he should go to bed instead of working all night, but he figures he really has no right to.

"Aye Captain, what's on your mind?"

"You remember Delta Vega?"

"Of course I do. You don't abandon a fellow on a ice planet without any food without leaving an impression." Luckily, he doesn't go off on a rant about Admiral Archer and dogs and unfair punishment.

"Those spies. They want information they can sell. I think they're going to go after the Spock from the future."

"That's a risk. But I think the old man can take care of himself, Captain. And he wouldn't want you to worry about him, I can tell you that. But if you're really all that worried about it, you can drop him a message."

Yes. That's exactly what he should do— why didn't he think of it before?

"You're right. I'll do that." He turns to leave, and then looks back. "And, Scotty, what is that thing they're working on?"

"Automatic sandwich transportation!" Scotty declares, grinning. It's far from the strangest thing the man's ever come up with, so Jim leaves it at that.

~o~

He returns to his quarters to find a call waiting for him. For a second, he hopes it's the old Spock, but of course there's no reason why it should be. He taps the screen and leans back in his chair to watch. And sits back up again when a white-eyed figure appears on the screen. It's not the same person who attacked him, but certainly the same species, maybe even the same family.

"Greetings, Captain Kirk. I am Mela Keset, chief agent of Freedom of Thought."

Well, now they have a name to their opponents. Typical terrorist self-flattery. Jim glares, but he's not about to be caught off guard. He keys in the sequence to track the transmission—and nothing happens. Keset looks at something off-screen.

"No, Captain, that's not going to work," he says, in that quiet tone made all the more disturbing by its apparent nonchalance.

"What is it you want? I'm not going to let you hurt my crew, or anyone on the planet, you got that?"

Keset goes on as if he hasn't spoken. "While I'm afraid our first meeting may not have been under ideal circumstances, I believe we can offer you something to your benefit."

"No. I'm not working with you." Do they really think he's just going to agree?

Keset makes a sound that might be a laugh. "No, Captain, you misunderstand. You have already played your part. All I wish to do is repay you, an exchange for your most generous assistance. My associates can offer you any knowledge you seek. The battle plans of your enemies, perhaps. Or-"

He's had enough. "You're crazy if you think I'm going to bargain with you." There's no way he's going to fall for this.

"Your superiors apparently do not hold the same opinion." What the hell?

"My- you know what, I'm not listening anymore. I'm not going to agree to anything. Threaten me if you're going to, or get out."

"I will give you time to reconsider, Captain," Mela Keset says simply, and the screen goes blank.

Jim does a quick search on the computers for Mela Keset and Freedom of Thought, but gets nothing. Odd, for self-proclaimed information traders. But then, if they would go to such measures as stealing thoughts from his mind, they're obviously some sort of underground terrorist organization.

He wonders if this happened in that other universe, and remembers what he was going to do. He sends a call to New Vulcan, hoping he's not catching the Ambassador in the middle of the night.

Fortunately, when the old Vulcan appears on screen, there's enough light coming through the windows behind him for Jim to judge it's somewhere around mid-morning.

"Jim. This is unexpected. Are you well?" It still feels strange, sometimes, to know that people care about him.

"I'm fine. Thanks to you. You're fine too, just a bit out of it…" He decides to get right to the point. "Listen, we ran into some telepathic creeps calling themselves Freedom of Thought." There's the eyebrows, and Jim almost laughs at the familiarity. "They didn't get much, but I think they know about you and-"

"They accessed your mind without your knowledge, without your consent?" Spock asks, in a tone so serious it chills.

"I-" and he does not like that implication, or the feeling it brings up, the feeling that he's been trying to ignore ever since they got back on the ship. "That doesn't matter. If they come after you…"

"I assure you, I am safe. Do not concern yourself. There are more pressing matters at hand. Jim, if you experience any ill effects from this interference, you must promise me you will seek out a Vulcan healer." Typical Spock. It does nothing for Jim's patience.

"Fine. Sure. Yes, I will. Look, do you know these people? Did this happen in—you know, to you? To him?"

There is a long pause, the silence stretching out almost long enough for Jim to begin to wonder if he's said something wrong.

"Understand me when I say I cannot tell you your future," the elder Spock says, a faint reproach in his voice, "for to do so would risk not only the integrity of this universe, but would compromise your free will, take from you the powers of choice and self-determination."

Jim sighs; he doesn't want to deal with philosophical complications right now. "Just tell me if you know these people." And stop looking at me like that, he thinks, even as he hates himself for the sentiment. It's bad enough I have to live up to one dead man.

He's expecting another subtle reprimand, but a familiar gleam comes into the old man's eyes and he says, "Our universes have diverged far enough that if I did know of this organization, my knowledge would be of little help."

If I did know… so he's never heard of them.

"Thanks. We'll… get through this. You always did, so, I mean, we've got a pretty good chance." It's a lame line, but if Spock doesn't know anything and wouldn't even tell if he did, there's little else to say. Spock inquires a little more about the mission and they talk for a while before signing off. As the screen goes blank, Jim leans back and wonders what in hell he's going to do next.

~o~

Yes, I still exist. If anyone's still reading this, thanks for staying with me. And please comment if you're interested in the story so I know people are actually reading. It would help me get new chapters out at a reasonable pace! Now that I've gotten over the block that trapped me in this chapter, I should be able to keep going. (Oh, and don't worry about Spock. He'll be back in action next chapter)