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Chapter Nine: I Am Ran'Chaah
"All Denevan refugees transferred to Starbase 10, sir," Scotty called through the comm. Jim clicked the comm link on the arm of his chair.
"Good work, Scotty. Mr. Chekov, you have the trail?"
Their time spent transporting the surviving colonists of Deneva to Starbase 10 had not been spent idly. Chekov had been tracing the exotic matter trail as closely as was humanly possible, and reports of a ship popping into existence in a nearby system corresponded to the end of it. Traveling at warp 8, they could be there in several hours.
Spock stood passively at his station, but Jim was seriously worried about his First Officer. Although the sleep apnea seemed to have assuaged, his First still seemed a bit out of sorts. Dark eyes flicked up to his, sensing his gaze, and Jim offered a small smile. Spock accepted it, the corner of his lips turning ever so slightly upward.
"Course laid in?" Kirk asked, and Chekov nodded.
"Locked onto Exotic Matter trail, Kepten," the Ensign asserted.
"Sulu, maximum warp. Drop out with shields on full. We're going to keep these sons of bitches from hurting any other planets."
Once on course, there was very little for the Captain to do but pace. And pace he did; he meandered past Sulu and Chekov, making small talk about their work, their personal lives. He exchanged a fairly in depth conversation with the Yeoman currently on the bridge, the same Aenarian whom he had spoken to several days earlier about Spock's health. Several other Ensigns, Lieutenants and Security Personnel occupied the stations on the bridge, all of whom he dropped in on. Eventually, he wandered past Uhura's station, instructing her to attempt to hail the alien ship before they attacked immediately. He lingered there for a minute, and she folded her arms pointedly.
"Do you need something, Captain?" she prodded, and he glanced at the Science Officer, currently occupied with something on his monitors.
"So how are you and Spock lately?" he asked, and she made an extremely sarcastic face at him.
"Over," she replied shortly, "more than a month ago, actually. You're really quite perceptive, Captain," she teased, and he blinked in surprise.
"That long? I…guess I don't know my crew as well as I think I do," he muttered, and she took pity on him.
"We…like to keep our personal lives private. And you really think Spock would talk about something like feelings with anyone else?" her last comment had a bitter edge to it, and Jim realized that Spock's hesitancy to share his emotions with others may have played a role in their relationship's ultimate demise.
The object of their conversation was gazing at his monitor, but found himself unable to concentrate; his headache, a dull throb upon his waking, was nearly intolerable now. Despite attempts to subdue it, it returned full force the moment his concentration slipped.
Spock.
He clenched his teeth; that damnable voice again. He wondered for a brief, terrifying moment if he were going insane. But surely that verdict was an overreaction.
Brilliant flashes of light burst before his eyes suddenly, and he gasped, back straightening sharply as pain sizzled through his optic nerves. There was no source of light before him, and he pressed a hand to his temple.
HEAR ME
He jolted in shock as the voice roared at him, accompanied by a wave of colors that bled through his vision and nearly caused him to black out.
"No, I suppose not. I'm sorry for prying," Jim apologized to Uhura, and she nodded, getting back to work and indicating that he should really leave her alone. He glanced again at his First Officer to see him sitting rigidly, eyes wide. Jim frowned in concern.
"Spock?"
The Vulcan stood from his station, swaying unsteadily, and Jim rushed towards him. Was he going to faint?
Light and color and sound screamed in Spock's mind, and he found himself on his feet, attempting instinctively to flee. Get away, away from this pain, was all he knew. His logical mind cringed from this animalistic reaction, but it was no longer in his control.
Spock took a few staggering steps, his hand clutching at the surface of his station. He slid off the slick surface and tumbled down the steps, landing hard on the metal deck.
"Spock!" Jim dropped beside him. The Vulcan was convulsing, eyes rolled back in his head, a jumbled chatter emanating from his throat.
"Uhura, get Bones up here," he snapped, lifting Spock's head off the cold floor to rest in his lap. His First continued his seizing, violent and involuntary, and too many seconds later Bones burst through the door flanked by a pair of Orderlies bearing a gurney.
The doctor knelt with Jim with none of his usual sass, hazel eyes bright with focus.
"Support his head, keep his neck still. What happened before he collapsed?" he shot at Jim, taking Spock's vitals. The Captain shook his head, holding the Vulcan's neck with his fingers at his pulse and his thumb resting at the base of his delicately pointed ear.
"He just went very still, then stood up and started towards the door like he was going somewhere. Then he just fell."
Bones took out a hypo full of tranquilizer and pulled up the sleeve of Spock's science blues to administer it when suddenly the Vulcan's back arched violently, his hands tansing into claws, and from his mouth came a horrible cry, broken syllables and a painful shriek.
"I-I-am-r-ra-n-chaah!"
He screamed hoarsely and then fell completely limp in Jim's arms.
The echoing silence that followed held a sickly pregnancy, but Bones' declaration of, "he's still with us," gave the cue for a collective sigh of relief. Uhura sat down; she hadn't even consciously decided to get up, but had sprung from her station in concern.
"Let's get him to Sickbay," Bone murmured, and the three medical personnel loaded the Vulcan onto the gurney and floated him away.
Jim watched them go, the silence following the closing Turbolift enveloping him like a stifling blanket. He paced to his chair, resting a hand on the back of it and turning it on its silent tracks. He strode to the front of it, then back to the other side, hands clenching and flexing fitfully.
He was needed here on the bridge, he knew that. But the link between himself and his First felt almost like a physical bond tugging him below decks. He couldn't just sit here idly while Spock fought whatever it was that he was fighting.
"How long until we reach the rendezvous point?" he asked softly, and Chekov recalculated quickly.
"Thirteen hours, twenty-two meenets Kepten," he reported, and Kirk was halfway to the door before the young Russian had finished.
"Sulu, you have the conn!" he called over his shoulder as the turbolift closed him in with a soft swish.
Spock drifted in the gentle embrace of unconsciousness. The darkness which enveloped him, usually a starry black streaked with deep blue, was shot through with many unusual colors. They were brilliant, many, foreign. Another mind?
Leonard McCoy was very frustrated. He was a doctor; he found the cause for pain or bodily harm and he fixed it. If he couldn't, he still gave it all he could.
But how the hell could he fix something he couldn't find any cause for?
"Nurse, get me another shot of sedative! His damned Vulcan metabolism keeps over compensating and trying to wake him up!"
As hard as he was trying to even out the Vulcan's vitals, Spock just wouldn't have it. His brain activity was off the charts, and his other systems kept spiking and dropping from Vulcan norms to...something very far from normal.
Yes...Spock was almost certain it was another intelligence occupying his mind with him. This made him nervous. Had a strong telepathic force really overpowered his mental shielding so easily? Was this a hostile action? He did not sense any ill will from the presence which surrounded him, but that did not mean it did not exist. He would have to investigate further.
Jim's mother hen presence did very little to assuage Bones' stress.
"Someone get this goddamn fool out from under my feet!" he snarled, and the Captain took a startled step backwards. He was used to McCoy's unpredictable mood swings, but had never seen him quite so agitated. Despite the way they bickered, Bones really did care for the Vulcan. He would not let Spock die.
Spock reached out for that flicker of intelligence, brushing his mind against it curiously, and suddenly the small streaks exploded into fireworks inside his mind, knowledge and wisdom and experience beyond his imagination dancing before him.
"Alright...he's steadying," Bones declared, watching the screens above Spock's head. Jim looked up from where he was sitting; he didn't know it, but it was the bed where Peter Kirk had lain just days before.
"Will he be alright?"
"He should be," Bones decided, surveying the Vulcan uncertainly. "Although I still can't for the life of me figure out what caused it.
Greetings, Spock expressed to the intelligence, and felt it swell with pride. It was very happy to be communicating with him.
I am with you, S'chn T'gai Spock. After many months. This brings me great satisfaction.
Spock paused at the use of his full name. The intelligence had obviously delved deeper within his mind than he had previously believed, and it made him uncomfortable.
I seem to be at a disadvantage, he quipped. You know my name, but I do not know yours.
You will.
"Jim, you pacing at his bedside isn't going to do any good."
The Captain sighed and dropped into one of the hard visitor chairs in recovery room B. Spock's vitals had dropped to comatose and leveled there. That had occurred almost two hours ago with no signs of change, and Bones heaved a sigh. Once Jim got it in his head to do something, he was rigid as stone and twice as hard to budge.
So the Southern Doctor just clapped his friend on the back and left to attend to his other patients.
Jim gazed at his unconscious First Officer, hands tightening on his own upper arms. Spock's expression was peaceful, but his eyes roved beneath his lids, as if he were searching for something there inside his head.
Jim hung his head, clenching his arms so hard it almost hurt. He needed Spock right now; his emotions were in turmoil and he had no grounding. He usually went to the Vulcan for that kind of thing. Spock was a constant in his world, as steady and reliable as Polaris and twice as bright, and without him...
Jim was struck suddenly with the thought that Spock may not wake up. What would he do if his North Star blinked out of existence...forever?
It made him almost physically ill and he shook his head, standing abruptly and staring down at the prone form.
"Don't you dare give up, Spock. Our ship needs you. I need you."
And with that he strode from the room to make sure their ship was in top condition in her commander's absence.
Who are you? Spock declared again, and the presence sighed almost audibly.
Patience young one. You will not understand until I explain. And I have many things to show you. The presence reached out a golden thread, touching Spock's forehead and psy-points, and the Vulcan understood. He understood everything.
I am Ran'Chaah.
Spock is not possessed by a Demon, I promise. Thanks for reading!
