Chapter Five

The planet's terrain was lush with vegetation. The landing party materialized in the designated target area – a small open spot thick with ground-dwelling plants. The Starfleet officers shifted uncomfortably, their boots rustling the chaotic tangle of plants beneath their feet. It was eerily quiet, as if the vegetation had cocooned them into a protective dome, but in reality, the planet itself was silent. It had not progressed to the evolution of animal life forms, and so the only sound was of the air moving through the foliage.

"Which direction, Mr. Spock?" Lt. Perry asked. He was the archeologist who was most comfortable in a jungle-like setting, a bone-digger about to embark on a dig. A large case hung loosely from his fingers as he studied the terrain with a mixture of excitement and curiosity.

"I have fed the coordinates into your tricorder, Lieutenant."

The four security guards who circled them looked like hungry predators about to strike. Spock could sense their anticipation and very human nervousness. Everything was too quiet for them, too isolated. They had relaxed their defenses before, on first landing; lulled into a false sense of security, the planet had betrayed them. Their duty was to protect and secure. They had failed on both accounts with Kirk. They were determined not to fail again.

"Lt. Vogt, clear a parameter," Spock ordered.

Immediately, the guards fanned out as Spock and Perry began to move toward the selected site—the exact location where Kirk had been found—to conduct the deep-surface scan. It was their best hope of finding evidence of an intruder. Spock did not believe that all traces of such evidence could disappear. Even transporters left an energy trail to follow.

Perry set up the equipment, using a laser drill to set the scan deep in the planet's surface. The ground rumbled as the drill skewered into it. "This should show us anything buried. Man-made or natural."

Spock stood to the side, scanning the area around the site. What had drawn Kirk to wander so far from the landing party? The terrain around him was not distinguishable from the beam-down site. There was no path or break in the vegetation that would entice him into the jungle. If there had been a noise, the landing party would also have heard, and they had reported none. This area was too thick with plant life for a visual cue, unless whatever had drawn Kirk this far into the jungle was something only he could see.

"They were waiting for me."

The Vulcan eyes narrowed and focused with intensity into the jungle.

Spock acknowledged the guard at Kirk's door as he entered the dimly lit room. Kirk lay sleeping, motionless, head turned to the side on the soft pillow. The monitor display dominated the space above the bed, the screen a moving exhibit of lines and charts. He stopped at the foot of the bed and watched the sleeping man.

There was something undeniably peaceful in the way Kirk slept, as if he hadn't been attacked and poisoned by an unknown assailant, as if he weren't responsible for the lives of hundreds of beings. That was what fascinated Spock, the human's ability to appear unscathed even while lying wounded in a Sickbay bed.

"If you wake him up, I'll make it my mission in life to make you regret it," McCoy said.

He hadn't heard the door open or the doctor enter, but he remained steadfast and still. Then he drew his hands behind his back and turned just his head to face the visitor with a haughty raised eyebrow that he had learned infuriated humans.

McCoy stood with his arms crossed over his chest, eyeing Spock with an uncompromising, icy stare.

Without a word, Spock looked at Kirk one more time, than turned away and walked quietly out of the room with McCoy close behind.

"When are you going to get rid of this muscle in my Sickbay?" McCoy asked as they passed the silent guard.

"If you are referring to Lt. Ress, he will remain posted until the Captain is well enough to leave Sickbay."

McCoy snorted as they walked into his private office. "He'll remain until Jim finds out you posted a guard to protect him."

Spock ignored the remark. McCoy's office was small with little space to receive visitors. Several PADDs littered the desk, reports waiting to be signed and filed. On the computer screen was a video display of Kirk's room. A second screen showed the vitals monitor. Spock had never entered the private office, conducting any necessary business with McCoy in the Main Bay. He knew Kirk often occupied the room after a shift on the Bridge, and he supposed that patients appreciated the privacy of the office when discussing a medical matter. He found the room…confining.

"You cleared the crew," McCoy said. "Why keep a guard on the door?"

"I cleared the landing party, Doctor McCoy. Until we discover who attacked him, the Captain's life is still in danger, a fact I encourage you to remember."

McCoy sat in the chair behind the desk, folding his body into it as if he owned the space. "You haven't told Jim we're in lockdown."

"You instructed me not to upset the Captain."

McCoy stared at him. He was the one human Spock had difficulty reading. The penetrating hazel eyes saw right through him in a most unnerving manner.

"How is the Captain?"

"Resting. Finally. His fever's down, but his vision is still impaired. I should be able to get him on his feet tomorrow. He's getting restless." He eyed Spock with barely concealed amusement. "How was the dig?"

There were few secrets on a ship and even fewer when the subject was the captain. "Inconclusive."

"Uh huh." A small smile curled the corners of McCoy's mouth.

"You find amusement in that?"

"Amusement in trudging down to the planet to search for something that doesn't exist? Why would I find amusement in that?"

Spock studied the contradictory human for a moment. He had become good at deciphering the underlining meaning of words that humans used so carelessly. But with McCoy, he was never certain if the sarcasm was real. "You believe Captain Kirk is compromised?"

"Of course he's compromised. His entire system is under the influence of a powerful neurotoxin. It's affecting the part of his brain that controls memory. Why do you think he doesn't remember what happened?"

"He remembers enough to warrant an investigation."

McCoy scowled. "You can't trust what he's saying, Spock. He doesn't know what's real and what's a dream. You've got this ship in lockdown, the crew is paranoid, and now you're now excavating the planet for signs of past life. Do you know how crazy that sounds…even for a Vulcan?"

Spock kept his hands tucked behind him, his shoulders straight. Yes, he knew how irrational it sounded, how illogical. Their search had not produced results. All data indicated that the planet was uninhabited and had never been inhabited. It was a new planet, burgeoning in the early stages of life, not yet ready for intelligent life forms. And yet someone had attacked the Captain, and Spock believed that that someone was still there, somehow remaining shielded from their scans. And yes, he would dig into the planet's surface if that is what it took to find the assassin.

McCoy's eyes narrowed. "Christ, you think whoever did this is still on the planet."

He was careful and disciplined when it came to revealing his thoughts. Most humans could not read his stern features. But McCoy was different. The doctor was skilled at interpreting signs and reading people's subtle behaviors. Spock had been taught to think meticulously before drawing conclusions and executing any form of action. The teachers on Vulcan were strict in following curriculum, and they had been twice as strict when it came to his tutelage. Perhaps it was the human part of him revealing the 'gut feeling' Kirk often talked about, but he knew Kirk wasn't compromised. He knew the Captain had been speaking the truth.

But he would say none of this to the doctor.

"I want to be informed the moment the Captain is awake," was all Spock said.

McCoy secured the light brace in place on Jim's knee. "How does that feel?"

Jim was sitting up in the bed, fidgeting to get out. He stared in the direction of the brace, frowning. "Fine."

"It'll adjust to the shape and condition of your knee, so you shouldn't feel any discomfort. It's designed to compensate for any weaknesses it detects, but it can be a little difficult for patients to get used to." He studied Jim, waiting for an indication that his words had been heard.

Still pale and gaunt, the fever had been reduced enough so that Jim was more comfortable and sleeping better, though the long stay in bed had stiffened his muscles and caused a new series of aches. Even the therapeutic massage McCoy had given him had not completely eliminated the soreness. If all of that was not enough to shorten Jim's temper, his vision still had not improved, and McCoy was getting worried that maybe there was something else going on besides the toxin that was affecting his vision. Jim had developed terrible headaches the past two days, but McCoy had attributed that to primary eye-strain. Now, noticing the tension around the blue eyes, he wasn't as confident in his diagnosis.

"Are you listening to me?" he asked Jim.

"Yes." Jim shifted restlessly. The central line had been removed as promised, and a new IV catheter had been inserted in the peripheral vein in his arm. "Are we doing this or not?" He bent his right leg, poised to get out of the bed.

"Hold on," McCoy said and nodded to Chapel.

Chapel had moved the IV line to accommodate Jim's excursion out of bed. She now stood on the opposite side of him, ready to assist.

McCoy put a supportive hand on the injured leg, just at the ankle and gently guided it off the bed. "Don't put any weight on it at first. Give your body a chance to adjust."

Still sitting on the edge of the bed, Jim reached out as his other leg followed the first. As his bare feet touched the hard deck, he swayed slightly, struggling to adjust to the vertical position and lack of sight that provided no markers for his perception. The color of the world was the same for him whether he was lying down or standing.

"Take your time," McCoy said easily. He offered a hand beneath Jim's arm both as support and a means of awareness. "Shift your weight to your right leg."

Jim's respirations increased as a hint of color flushed his cheeks.

"Are you okay?" McCoy asked. His eyes quickly scanned the monitor as his hand protectively tightened on Jim's arm.

Jim nodded and braced himself to stand. He pushed off the bed, staggering as he reeled to one side. McCoy's fingers sunk into his arm as Chapel lent a supporting hand at his waist. He grunted and leaned heavily on McCoy's hand, trying to find his equilibrium while keeping weight off his injured knee.

"Breathe, Jim."

Jim stood listing to one side and drew a shaky breath. He stared at the floor, just a few feet in front of him, looking confused and determined.

"Think you can take a step?" McCoy asked, watching him closely.

He nodded and picked up his left leg, wincing as he did so. It wasn't quite a step. His foot barely cleared the deck as he dragged it forward.

"Good," McCoy said. "Take your time."

Jim was breathing heavily and sweating from the effort. His fingers clutched at McCoy's arm as he clumsily and cautiously put some weight on the injured leg, drawing his right leg parallel. A soft grunt escaped his lips.

McCoy's eyes flickered to the monitor that showed an increase in vitals. Nothing that he hadn't anticipated and there were no alarms or warnings to warrant concern, just Jim's fingers digging into his arm with a steel grip. He wasn't sure if Jim was clutching him for balance or because of pain.

"How's the pain?" McCoy asked, studying the man's face and the thin rivulets of sweat that ran down his temples.

Jim nodded, his eyes still staring at the colorless deck. They were unfocused.

"Jim, answer me."

Jim took another staggered breath. "Fine," he said thinly.

McCoy scowled, eyeing Chapel, who was equally alert. Getting a patient on his feet for the first time was always unpredictable – for both the patient and the medical staff. Jim wouldn't be the first patient to collapse simply from the change in position when blood pressures suddenly fell. But Jim seemed to have steadied somewhat and his grip on McCoy's arm lessened. He seemed to be pulling away.

"Not too much weight," McCoy said. "Those ligaments are new."

The moment Jim shifted his weight to the injured knee McCoy knew it was a mistake. It was as if an electric jolt tore through Jim's body. His spine straightened and his body convulsed. He didn't have time to cry out. The blood drained from his face as he gasped.

"Jim…." The muscles beneath his fingers were rock hard and trembling. He quickly wrapped an arm around the slim waist. "Okay, I've got you. Lean on me. Just keep breathing."

They stood unmoving, Chapel and McCoy on either side of the unsteady man who looked about ready to drop at any moment. Jim was breathing heavily and trying to stay on his feet, but he did not make any attempt to move. Instead, he stood like a man on thin ice, fearing the very breaths he took would cause him to plummet into the icy depths.

"Do you want to get back into bed?"

Jim didn't answer. He stood on unsteady legs, trembling and sweating, blindly staring ahead.

"Christine." McCoy made a motion with his head. If Jim couldn't answer him that meant he was ready to lie down. They maneuvered him back onto the bed, carefully lifting his leg as he settled back onto the mattress.

Chapel fussed with the IV lines and blankets, while McCoy positioned the injured leg onto the pillow. He felt the muscles of Jim's calf drawn tight and contracting. The leg jerked and Jim cursed through clenched teeth as the cramp intensified.

"Okay, try to relax." McCoy skilfully massaged the new muscle, his fingers pushing into the hard flesh. "It takes a while for the new muscle to get flexible so that it doesn't cramp up every time it's used. That should go away in a few days. Unfortunately, until it gains some flexibility, you're going to have some cramping."

Chapel offered a cool cloth to Jim's flushed skin, but he pushed it away in irritation, his face tense.

"I don't care about the cramping. Damn it, Bones." Jim was rubbing his temples with one hand. "I wasn't done."

McCoy eyed Chapel and a silent thought passed between them. She was an experienced nurse and knew how pain and immobility affected patients' moods. One moment they were docile and appreciative, the next bitter and vindictive.

"You looked done to me," McCoy said, finishing the massage and moving up toward the front of the bed. "Head hurt?"

"No," he said shortly.

But McCoy knew he was lying. The increase in blood pressure and swollen temporal arteries was evidence enough. "Your electrolytes are low. Christine, can you get him some T-lyte."

"Yes, Doctor," she said and left the room.

"Okay, we're alone," McCoy said, looking down at Jim who was still rubbing his temples. "What's bothering you? I told you that the first time putting weight on your leg was going to be difficult. It'll take a little time."

"I don't have time. I need to get on my feet and I need to be able to see more than a half a meter in front of me." He dropped his hand from his temple and glared at McCoy. "I want to try again."

McCoy put a hand on his chest to keep him from rising. "You're done for now. Your blood-pressure's up and so is your pain – even if you won't admit it. I just got your temperature down. I'm not going to risk you tearing tendons or that new muscle just so you can prove a point."

Jim pushed his hand away and he noticed Jim was trembling.

"This isn't about your leg," McCoy said flatly. "This is about your meeting with Spock. You've been in a foul mood since he returned from the planet. What did you expect him to find, Jim? Some long lost civilization lurking in the shrubs? The planet's uninhabited."

"It's inhabited enough for someone to have put an arrow into my leg." A shiver passed through him and he shifted, grimacing.

McCoy glanced up at the monitor and frowned. "Jim, I know this is frustrating for you. You don't like being sidelined. I get it. But have you considered that whoever did this is long gone?"

Jim was shifting restlessly in obvious discomfort. "This brace is too tight."

"It's supposed to be tight and don't change the subject."

Scowling, Jim settled back onto the bed, still shivering. "They're not gone."

"How do you know?" he asked, pulling the blanket up to cover Jim.

"I just know." His respiration was increased and the slight flush to his cheeks had faded, leaving him pale. "It's not something I can explain, Bones, but I know where to look."

He stared at Jim as everything suddenly came together for him. "Jim, if you're thinking you're going back down to that planet – think again."

"Why not? I'm the only one who knows what happened down there."

"You don't remember what happened. Let Spock do his investigation. You're staying put."

"I'll remember if I go back there." Jim closed his eyes.

"Are you out of your mind? You can't see. You can barely stand and you're still fighting off the effects of this toxin. I'm not letting you go down to that planet in your condition so you can satisfy your curiosity."

"I don't have a condition and I didn't ask for your permission."

"Well, you're gonna have to because I haven't released you for duty." He paused a moment to get control of his temper. He felt his pulse slow as he let go of his anger and frustration. In the intermission, a new thought came to him. "Are you remembering something?"

It took a moment for Jim to open his eyes. Despite the intensity of their blue color, his eyes appeared dull and unfocused. The gentle lines in his face relaxed into an expression of sorrow, confusion…uncertainty? He looked like a man on the verge of discovering something important, or a man who had just been shown something impossible. Whichever it was, it held Jim in place.

McCoy laid a hand on his bicep. "Jim, you've always been able to tell me everything. What aren't you telling me now?"

He looked at McCoy. When he spoke, his voice was a whisper. "I feel like…I was someplace else."

A dozen things went through McCoy's mind. The medical doctor in him was diagnosing and evaluating. He knew that the toxin was affecting Jim's memory. He also knew that the real memory was locked inside Jim's head and that nothing was ever really forgotten. The human brain was complex; it found ways of functioning at levels that medicine still had not mapped. Jim wanted answers, and it was possible his subconscious was providing those answers through images or feelings that could easily be misinterpreted. After all, Jim had first suspected it was one of the guards who had shot him.

Before he could come up with a response, Jim's body suddenly stiffened and he pressed back into the pillows, his face contorted in pain. In an instant, Jim's hands went to his head as a gasp escaped his tightly compressed lips.

"Okay, Jim. Try to relax." McCoy quickly lowered the bed just as Chapel entered.

She quickened her pace and retrieved a loaded hypo, anticipating McCoy's orders.

"My head-" Jim ground out.

"I know. Hold on." Chapel slapped the hypo into his hands and he pressed it against Jim's neck. Within seconds, Jim went limp, his hands falling from his temples to lie motionless on the pillow.

"Those are getting more frequent," Chapel said, taking back the empty hypo.

He nodded and studied the monitor for a long minute, and then he carefully repositioned Jim's arms to lie at his sides. "Run another toxicology, Christine. And let's schedule a neuroscan for tomorrow. I want to know where these attacks are coming from."

"Yes, Doctor."

When she had left, McCoy pulled a chair to the side of the bed and sat.