The scent of burning and the taste of blood.

He is back in Rawlson's office. Tied. Helpless. The cold metal pipes leach warmth from his veins, strength from his arms. He cannot move. Even his eyelids refuse to co-operate so when the shadow fills the doorway for a moment he cannot look up.

But he knows. Even as he refuses to accept it he knows who it is. The presence that blocks the light from the corridor is more terrifying because what should be as familiar as his own reflection is now alien. Hostile. Malevolent.

Spock.

And when his eyes do find their target it is worse than the image his imagination supplied. The face set hard. The eyes indifferent. Kirk blinks, convinced for a moment he sees the shadow of a goatee beard, the glint of a belted sash.

"Spock... untie me."

He doesn't know why he makes the plea. It is obvious there will be no help here.

He's almost lost Spock before - to the darkness of a deep space amoeba with an appetite for starships, to a shuttle crash while investigating a quasar like phenomenon in Murasaki 312, and, in a memory that intrudes too often into the very worst of his nightmares, to the relentless self-destructive demands of Vulcan biology. But he is a starship captain. He's learned to deal with loss. He's had to.

But this is worse. This is mutation - of someone who, to him, has always embodied the very best of two worlds. This is mutilation - of a friendship which has become central to who he is. Its absence creates a vacuum that sucks the air he needs to form words.

The figure in the doorway stands motionless. Pitiless. A stranger.

He cannot move.

And then he's furious.

How dare you? How dare you sacrifice yourself? You... had... no... right.

Fear is ice and paralysis. Fury is heat and energy. An energy that burns through the poison in his veins, propels him through a fog of sleep and unconsciousness and brings him upright with a shout.

The restraints dissolve, the shadow in the doorway disappears in a retreating whirl of blinding colour and suffocating dust.

Silence.

When his vision stabilises he realises he's sitting against a wall and facing a defensive tangle of knees and elbows behind which a small boy eyes him with a mixture of suspicion and concern.

"What...?" His voice is a croak of dusty dryness. He coughs and tries again. "Jake. Are you ok? What happened?"

The knees and elbows shift enough to reveal a grubby finger pressed to lips. They're not alone.

They're sitting in some sort of cell rough hewn out of rock. The discarded packaging that litters the floor suggests a space formerly used as a storage bay. The blue glow from the unbarred doorway suggests a forcefield of some kind. And the glimpse of a red uniformed shoulder standing guard outside suggests they won't be going anywhere fast even if that forcefield fails.

Another cell, another impossible situation. But this time it's different. The hum of the transporter echoes through his brain like the worst headache he's ever had.

The dream image lingers at the periphery of his vision. Forbidding. Terrifying.

For a moment he thinks he's going to be sick. He heaves himself onto all fours and retches sending a jolt of pain down his left side. There's nothing in his stomach to bring up and after a few minutes he sits back on his heels, breathing heavily. Cold sweat prickles across his forehead.

An elbow disentangles itself long enough to produce the small miracle of a flask of water. Kirk drinks gratefully. He's dizzy. Tilting his head back makes the walls blur and swim.

"Thank you."

A nod. Another glance at the doorway. He moves closer to Jake and lowers his voice to a whisper.

"What happened, Jake?"

Jake's reply is hoarse."You fell over. Flat out." Pursed lips and a scowl at the memory. "They got really mad. He kicked you."

That explains the pain in his side. He'd put it down to the earlier contretemps with the guards.

"But what happened to Mr Spock? Did you see...?" He swallows hard. "Did you see him... on the transporter?"

"He never came back."

"Never...?" A flash of fear. Visceral in its intensity. Kirk fights it down along with another wave of nausea.

"I told you... they got mad. Shouting. I thought there was going to be right set to. Then that man - the fat one - he told the guards to get rid of us. They carried you here. Me too. Well, I walked. He made me." Jake tilts his head. "Figure they don't want to kill us though. Would have done it by now. And they gave me this." He points to the flask of water.

Bright lad, Kirk thinks, taking another swallow and a deep breath which isn't a good idea. He's had enough broken ribs in his time to recognise the symptoms. But somehow it helps. The sharpness cuts through woozy waves of sickness. Think. He has to think.

"We're not far then... Not far from the transporter room?"

"Far? No." Jake regards him with curiosity. "What are you thinking?"

Kirk doesn't reply. He looks across at the broad red back standing guard in the corridor and then at the litter on the floor, packaging and packing tape.

Sweeping the side of his hand through the dust on the floor, he clears a space to draw a circle with a fingertip. Keeps his voice low.

"Right - so we're here. Do you think you could draw me a map?"

Jake's face clears. "Yeah, easy." He leans forward and pulls his finger in a line across from Kirk's circle.

"That corridor outside runs crossways from the main tunnel to the control room. Transporter room is... well, you know, it's right next door. There are more mining tunnels going off thataway..." The artist sticks the tip of his tongue out in concentration, "Three of 'em I think - two are dead ends but one of them slopes up to the surface, up to the smaller warehouse, the one across from where you guys found me." He draws a square up and off to the right. "Most of Miller's lot are in there -"

"How many?"

"About fifty. Maybe more. But they're not in good shape. Your lot stunned a few before the shuttles arrived. Those ones were really out of it. Some of the others are just sitting around shivering."

The effect of the duplication process, thinks Kirk. Accelerating with each generation. So Giotto and McCoy had got as far as the shuttles. With the colonists. Good news.

Jake continues, "I thought Miller might have my mom but when I sneaked a peek there were only red shirts. I figure once they realised some of them took her off somewhere."

Kirk lifts his head at that. "Once they realised... Once they realised what, Jake?"

Blue eyes meet his, surprised. "Once they figured out who she was, of course."

Kirk has the distinct sensation he's missing something. He looks back at the map. He's had worse briefings from junior ensigns on his own starship. Slowly, "Jake. What does your mom do on the Demeter?"

Jake sits back on his heels and brushes the dust from his fingers. Even at a whisper there's no mistaking the pride in his voice. "She's the captain. Just like you. Didn't you know?"

-oOo-