Second Year

Second Semester — Late Spring

At the spaceport, the denouement of the Mackenzie situation came more quickly and quietly than imaginable several hours earlier.

Having abjectly failed at intimidating Spock, raping Uhura or destroying their reputations, Duke Mackenzie refocused his rage on Kirk for preventing access to the woman who ruined Duke's days, nights and life.

Uhura needed water for her meds. Instructing her to stay put, Kirk jumped the barrier at the VIP area and purchased two drinks. He'd finished his purchase, placing his second foot back over the braided cord separating the area from the main access way, when Duke grabbed and spun him.

Uhura's scream for Security alerted everyone to the trouble.

"That bitch can't save you, Jimmy. You picked the wrong side."

"LET JIM GO NOW! Ve waliopotea, wewe panya mwanaharamu! [You've lost, you pervert/bastard]" she screamed running towards Kirk, her mother tongue expressing her fury.

"Who are you yellin' at, bitch!? I am gonna fuck you until you bleed then I'm gonna kill you slowly!"

She caused this, his alcohol-soaked head insisted. He and Jimmy had no problems until she messed the farm boy's mind up. Beating Jimmy would feel great but wouldn't fix this — she was the problem and she was coming to 'Daddy'.

Duke Mackenzie's brain always operated slowly. Too slowly. Kirk yanked him over the barrier and onto the Persian carpet sitting on Vulcan soil.

Vulcan Security arrested Duke Mackenzie immediately.

"Randolph Jefferson Mackenzie IV, you are under arrest for the attempted murder of a diplomatic dependent of the Vulcan government"

"Get your fuckin' hands off me! I haven't touched Spock!"

"Miss Uhura is a citizen of Vulcan with diplomatic protection. You are also charged with assault on a Vulcan Security agent."

"What agent!? The only one I touched was Jimmy —"

Slow though he was, reality seeped in. Kirk worked for Vulcan Security. Protecting a Vulcan citizen — Uhura. Crossing the rope put Duke Mackenzie on Vulcan soil.

Kirk's cold smile communicated "Gotcha!".

Struggling to free himself, Mackenzie raged.

"The bitch set me up! I want my lawyer! Call my Da-"

The nerve pinch dropped the perp to the floor and facilitated restraint by the security agents.

"Thank you, Cadet Kirk. I believe the threat has been neutralized. Good evening Cadet, Miss Uhura."

Both cadets watched as Duke Mackenzie foot-dragged his way to the Vulcan security holding area.

Kirk's self-satisfied smile disappeared when his charge aimed that glare at him.

"Explain. NOW, Kirk."

"Can we at least sit down?"

She did. On the floor at his feet.

"Gonna make this hard on me, huh? Here's your water. Take your meds then we'll talk," and he folded himself, with much less grace, onto the floor facing her. He'd never understand this thing she had for floor-sitting. Watching her carefully, he spoke after she swallowed.

"Short or long version?" he asked wearily.

"You were waiting for this."

Fierce protectiveness inhabited his eyes as they met hers.

"You were never going to be safe from him. Especially on Earth. Matoskah and Rao knew you'd nail the presentation; shutting down the complaint wasn't the big issue. Shutting down Mackenzie was."

"And?..."

"We hatched a plan to get him to chase you. My job was to protect you on Earth. I needed to get you and keep you on Vulcan soil or foreign soil where Vulcan had extradition treaties. Vulcan agents have been tailing Mackenzie since you left the hospital. He wanted to get to you at the reception but we came directly here."

"You were bait!" she deduced, horrified. "You walked over that barrier on purpose!"

Kirk aimed those baby blue eyes at her before answering in a rough whisper for her ears only.

"It was bait him or hunt him down and gut him. He'll never hurt you again. I promise."

That buzz pulsated around him like a shield, stinging her skin with galvanic current. Except she wasn't touching him.

"Thank you," she offered, her words inadequate to his deed. Tears glistened and one escaped down her cheek. He delicately wiped it away with his thumb.

"It was my pleasure." His tender look laid bare his feelings on the matter.

"It was more than that…" she whispered in acknowledgement of his efforts.

She rose elegantly and extended her hand to him. He took it and stood up with more than a bit of gawkiness and gratitude.

"He has been successfully transferred by the court. His healer will contact you after his evaluation."

Kat's Vulcan-like countenance hid her special concern for this patient.

"To confirm: Randolph Mackenzie IV," the voice on Vulcan continued, "has reached the age of majority according to Federation law?"

"Yes," Kat answered, her manor professional and controlled. "He is… was a fifth-year cadet at Starfleet Academy until his arrest."

"As Mr. Mackinzie's senior commanding officer," the official continued with subtle meaning, "you have decision authority. Do you give permission to treat Mr. Mackenzie in lieu of incarceration in a Vulcan detention facility?"

Kat's eyes flicked upward to the other woman, whose consent mattered in this decision, for concurrence.

"I have his mother here —" and Kat twisted the device in Martha's direction, acknowledging the woman who'd fought to save Duke from the Mackenzie "curse".

"I'm Martha Mackenzie; my identity certificate should be on your screen —" she informed him as she shoved her ident card in the appropriate slot on Kat's console. "As co-guardian with Commandant Cornwell, I give my consent to the arrangements."

"That concludes our commitment requirements. Mr. Mackenzie will be processed and admitted within an Earth hour. As his legal guardians until he completes treatment and meets his probation obligations, you will be permitted visitation every 4 Earth days beginning five days after his treatment begins."

"Thank you," Kat spoke for both, Martha's quiet sobs preventing comprehensible speech.

"While the facility encourages visits, please understand: the Fal-tor-voh [Mind/Memory Wipe and Rebuild] procedure will result in substantial changes to the person you knew. This is necessary to correct the neuropathology that led to his arrest. If this will disturb you, it is recommended you not visit until notified that his treatment is nearing completion."

Familiar with Vulcan protocols, Kat spoke once more for both.

"Understood. Starfleet will require a safety inspection to ensure his accommodations are satisfactory. I've coordinated this through his lead Healer — Healer Sorrd, I believe is her name. She came highly recommended by Ambassador Sarek."

Amanda Grayson kept her word. Duke would get treatment — from mind healing experts — to finally break the cycle of predatory behavior twisted into his Mackenzie DNA. Duke's birth and adoptive mothers would wrest his future from the sociopathic hands of his father.

"That is satisfactory. Haler Sorrd briefed similar plans. That concludes this commitment hearing. Dif-tor heh smusma [Live long and prosper]," the Peacekeeper ended the hearing.

"Sochya eh dif [Peace and long life]," Kat responded.

Martha reached over to terminate the call from Kat's console, saving her co-parent from a shameful display of emotion.

"When are you leaving?" Martha asked.

Kat hastily pressed tears from both eyes with the heels of her hands, sniffing to regain control.

"Regs say I need to inspect his 'accommodations' within 48 hours, but as long as I'm enroute…" — she broke down, shoulders drooping with the weight of raising a man-child who'd never known her.

"Kat, he's safe — from a Vulcan prison sentence and from Randy. He'll get a real chance with us. We'll get it right this time."

The commandant looked up. Her eyes pleaded for an outcome different than the one in her doctor-educated head. Rewiring adult brains wasn't easy, even for Vulcan healers — "Promise?"

"Sure do," came back with that distinctive Alabama drawl.

Kat headed for the bar in her office and poured Andorian wine for both. Purposefully, she returned to her desk chair, handing Martha a half-full glass, before sitting.

"Find everything you needed?"

"Honey," Martha chuckled, "that Queen Anne 'castle' of yours gives Randy's 'plantation house' a run for its money. I'm settled in for the long haul."

"Randy know you're moving out here to be with Duke and me?"

"He's can't see past that new baby; got that spare heir he's been sleepin' around for the last 20-odd years."

This breaking news cemented Kat's commitment to their joint decision to re-raise Duke right. A new baby boy would accelerate Duke's demotion in his daddy's heart. Kat silently berated herself for ever seeing something in the lecherous bastard.

"Bet you haven't eaten today."

The commandant's stomach growl bore witness. With a quick glance at her multi-planet chronometer, Kat grinned sheepishly.

"C'mon; mess hall is still —" she started; Martha cut her off.

"I'm not eatin' any replicated anything around here. I'm cookin'. Get your ass up and outta this office in two minutes, Doctor Kat, or I will lay an Alabama whoopin' on it."

"I'll get up for fried chicken — and okra."

"You got it."

With a gait straight from a catwalk, the former Mrs. Mackenzie sashayed her still shapely ass towards the door leading to the future.

Kat, full of fried chicken and tired as the wind after a Gulf hurricane, sprawled on the sofa, the perfect target for Martha's information gathering.

"You know… It's time you told me the real reason you ended up pregnant and how I ended up in that hotel — for damn near a year — waitin' for a baby I didn't birth."

The tale came easier with her eyes closed; in this way, Kat could let the memory play while she narrated the images.

"You married him, so I know you know how charming and manipulative he can be. I fell for both — separately. I loved him, let him talk me out of my lacy briefs without proof of that 'no-baby' shot, THEN I let him talk me out of terminating."

"You, 'Miss Thing', were always the one the rest of us had to live up to," Martha admitted with an Alabama pout and a touch of Southern belle jealousy.

"ME!? Hell, I was so far gone he could've kept me 'barefoot and pregnant' and I'd've loved him for it. I'd've married him in a heartbeat before I got pregnant; he never asked."

"He was your first, wasn't he?"

Kat gave a sardonic chuckle before answering a question with a question: "How'd you guess?"

"Randy's always had a thing for 'just this side of legal' and 'barely broken in'. He likes 'em as close to virginal as you can get without being a virgin. Hates gettin' there first, says it's too much work."

"i bet," Kat huffed, silently seething at her own stupidity.

"How'd I end up with Duke?"

"Randy said he had to work on his daddy or he'd lose his inheritance. Apparently, my working-class heritage wasn't good enough. He convinced me that a bastard Mackenzie — especially a boy — would be enough to push his old man to our side and we'd be 'man-and-wife' before I delivered."

"Honey, you are beyond naive. I wouldn't have fallen for that one in Kindergarten."

"Were naive. Not that stupid anymore. Anyway, Duke came and Old Man Mackenzie sued my parents into their graves. I had to give him up... They couldn't earn enough to defend themselves; there weren't enough hours in a day…"

"How'd you pay for med school?"

"My parents took out multiple mortgages, on the house and their business. That's why the lawsuits blindsided them; they were tapped out paying my way through the local med school. I'd taken a leave of absence from the Academy when I realized Duke was coming."

"I'm sorry, Kat. Really. I'd like to think I'd have done something if I knew all the shit they put you through."

"How'd you end up with a baby you didn't deliver?" got queried after a large swallow of wine.

It was Martha's turn to let out that sardonic chuckle; both got it from Randy.

"A series of stupid choices with my eyes wide open. I was shopping for my "Mrs" degree at an exclusive finishing school in the South. Never much interested in schooling but I had plenty of brains. Met Randy at a cotillion — a fancy name for a marriage 'meat market'. We got engaged summer before his final year at the Academy..."

He'd lied to her. The year Kat had given her whole heart and body to her classmate, her classmate was engaged to marry someone else.

Martha went on – "Made the same mistake you did but I got the shot. Had a bad reaction; couldn't get pregnant. Ever."

Kat sat up. Martha swirled her bourbon, dry-eyed with a sad smile.

"Oh, Martha… I didn't know…"

"You musta wondered. Randy's a hound dog; doesn't miss a night sowing his oats. You musta said 'Why's she only have my baby?'."

"Did you see anyone?"

The chuckle came again. "You know Randy and his 'potency'. He wanted proof you weren't the only woman he could knock up. When the doctors cleared him, he cleared our marriage outta his memory. My 'job' was to raise his only boy. His job was to find a woman who could give him a busload of boys."

"You figured out I was Duke's biological mother. How did Randy explain that?"

"Supposedly, Duke belonged to a 'cousin' who got herself in trouble. Once my fertility bad news came, I'd have done anything to hang onto that man. Randy is Southern 'royalty', has a looooooong pedigree and more money than Gawd."

The word "god" lingered in that Alabama twang.

"I let myself believe it was the perfect fix for my problem. Hell, I had plans to keep his cousin knocked up so I could raise a rugby team of boys. When Randy let me, I really enjoyed being a mama."

The story wasn't done yet…

"When did you know it was me?"

"Rugby reunion. Duke was six; first one I let Randy bring him to. Didn't want my baby around all those drunks and lechers. You were on duty, to keep the Academy's VIP legacies from killing themselves with boutique bourbon or female cadets who Kung-Fu'd there rapin' asses."

She stopped the narrative to wet her whistle, this time with a wine refill, then went on.

"Duke cut himself playing under the tables and came cryin' to you for some sympathy and a plas-band. Seeing you together… it all made sense. Duke's got Randy's build and coloring but his face is all yours. If he hadn't put on so much weight for rugby, everyone on this campus would be jawin' about the commandant's 'dirty little secret'."

"I'm surprised you wanted to meet after that."

This time an easy laugh, genuine in humor and affection, escaped Martha.

"I was already the 'ex-' Mrs. Randolph J. Mackenzie III twice over. Plus, I was curious. You weren't Randy's type — you know: buxom, saccharine sweet, manipulative but not book smart and chasing his money. You were, and are, an enigma."

"Have to say: our friendship doesn't make much sense." Both exes laughed.

"Yes it does! Randy has more exes than Alabama has cockroaches. They keep gettin' pregnant and keep havin' girls — until Miss Annabelle."

"Older men produce more female sperm; Randy got lucky."

"You, Doctor Kat, are assumin'," Martha countered, Machiavellian smirk in place as her nearly-empty wine glass dangled from her French-manicured fingers, "that baby is Randy's,".

Kat gaped, incredulously — "He'd let her get away with that?" She'd thought Randy too territorial and prideful to raise another man's son.

"He would if Annabelle kept it in the family. I think it's Duke's baby. They were keepin' company before Randy 'noticed' her."

That speculation siphoned all levity from their conversation.

"What do we do…" Kat asked tremulously, "if it's true?"

Duke's recovery, for years to come, would prevent quality fatherhood from him.

"We raise the boy we can save. It's all we can do, hon'. Randy's claiming this one, just like he claimed Duke…"

The Federation shuttle landed at the Vulcan spaceport with a single passenger; Commandant Cornwell. Through Amanda Grayson's efforts, Kat exited the spaceport for a chauffeured hovercraft that sped through Shi'Kahr to Dahhana'Kahr and the mountains of L'langon. Near its foot sat a small village, isolated, with ancient stone houses and a renowned medical institute whose facilities were built into the base of the hills themselves.

Closeness to the building did not shield the visitor from the Vulcan environment. Wind and sand played havoc with the formerly neat bun at her nape. The temperature during her short walk quickly raised perspiration under her Starfleet uniform; she dressed for today in her Chief Medical Officer togs, not her Starfleet Academy ones.

Pneumatic doors efficiently slid open as reverse airflow kept the outside — heat, wind and sand — outside. Just within stood two tall Vulcans, both young-looking for their reputations, waiting to greet their "guest".

"Dr. Cornwell," Peacekeeper Sepek [Sef-Pelq — "Dune Captain"] greeted, noting the uniform and rank. "I trust you had a pleasant trip."

Professional Kat took over for emotional Kat. She'd come to act as Duke's mother for the first time since his confiscation as a newborn.

"It was safe and satisfactory," she replied, giving a suitably logical assessment.

"This," and the Peacekeeper acknowledged the statuesque woman to his left, "is Healer Sorrd." Subtleties in facial structure and coloring gave the doctor pause. Could Sepek's lineage be more than Vulcan? Inter-species marriages were still rare on the homeworld, IDIC and Ambassador Sarek notwithstanding.

"Dr. Cornwell, you honor us with your presence."

The formality from the healer, caught Kat off guard. Surely, more relaxed Federal Standard courtesies were used here; she'd heard them in her contacts with Peacekeeper Sepek.

"Th-Thank you. Your reputation and skill have come to my attention."

The healer, noting the compliment, nodded in recognition.

"If you are ready, we will conduct the inspection. Peacekeeper Sef-Pelq, we will return at the start of the evening meal. Please schedule ground transportation for the doctor."

The Peacekeeper paused, an enigmatic look replacing his more formal expression, before taking his leave with a personal parting in Golic Vulcan.

"Lesek, T'Rytemk, mok nash-veh [Thank you, lady radiating healing (Sorrd — Fed. standard), for reminding this one]. Mok, adun'a, tu k'nash-veh trasha [Recall, wife, you will be leaving with this one]. Healer; Doctor." He left, his agile strides removing him quickly from the antechamber.

Kat looked away during the exchange. She spoke no Vulcan, but the infinitesimal quirk of the peacekeeper's lips, followed by the flash of color in the healer's cheeks, told her this was none of her business. Her initial hypothesis — definitely more than Vulcan DNA — rippled across the diagnostic part of her brain.

Moving unhurriedly through white hallways unadorned by any decoration or delineation, Duke's commandant noted the absence of visible security measures.

"Identity-based security cannot ensure patients remain safe in our facility. Most present remarkable intellect; traditional measures would be defeated."

Kat wondered if the healer read those thoughts, and prior ones, directly from her mind. She chose to trust Vulcan ethics regarding telepathy (or she'd be too embarrassed to engage with Duke's healer).

They stepped through an opening that appeared out of nowhere — a turbolift. No handprint or identification device stayed their progress. An explanation came without a question asked.

"All within the facility are tracked using continuous mind scans. Yours was registered upon entry to the Institute. Without that, you would have been blocked."

"I'm guessing you compared it to my Starfleet medical records," Kat deduced.

"Yes; the commitment agreement included your consent as guardian."

Not in Kansas anymore ran through Kat's mind as the turbo-lift's inertial dampers hid any directional movement. At their destination, the doors separated silently.

"This way," Healer Sorrd indicated with a sweep of her delicate hand, deferring to Dr. Cornwell.

Mere steps away from the turbolift, one in a line of undetectable doors swooshed open and they entered. The room blinded them with whiteness — white walls, white work surfaces, white seating and a white floor. The place reminded Kat of an ancient space vid — "2001: A Space Odyssey".

Once seated, the healer wasted zero time plunging into the medical situation.

"Randolph suffers from serious untreated neuro-pathologies. It would be illogical to waste your time describing the Institute's diagnostic methods; you are a physician so we will proceed. Our tests indicate Randolph suffers from a conjunction of neurological symptoms: alexithymia, IED —"

In her head, Kat translated the acronym into "Intermittent Explosive Disorder". That absolutely meshed with Duke's history (as related to her by Martha) over the last decade or more. How ironic, she reflected, that the acronym for the devastating mental condition mimicked that for "improvised explosive device" — a simple yet deadly weapon that lay in wait to maim its victims.

"— which is co-morbid with impulse control disoder, advanced conduct disorder and moderate borderline personality disorder. He also exhibits extreme narcissistic personality disorder."

The doctor leaned forward, hands together with index fingers steepled, to focus on the mound of bad news she'd just absorbed.

"Your treatment recommendation?"

The healer looked directly at Kat before speaking. Kat found that unblinking stare unnerving.

"Treat the underlying medical cause of his illness: imaging confirms repeated Traumatic Brain Injuries dating back 13.84 Earth years."

Kat required no thinking to peg the date, thanks to Martha's frequent comms.

"That's the year his father moved him up a division in youth rugby, because of his size."

Jabbing a cardiac needle full of epinephrine into Randy's chest — and watching his heart beat itself to death — played on repeat inside Kat's rage, Hippocratic Oath be damned. That multigenerational testosterone obsession with rugby destroyed her baby's brain and landed him in Vulcan's "enlightened" form of prison. Guilt rotated in between replays; she should NEVER have given him up.

"What are his treatment options?"

"Vulcan researchers have made extensive progress with Fal-tor-voh – mind reprogramming. Our inborn telepathy is hypothesized to derive from plasticity of pre-Surak Vulcan brains to accept and adapt neurologically and behaviorally to Surak's teachings through Fal-tor-voh."

None of this was completely new information to the xeno-physician. Healer Sorrd paused, giving time for the knowledge to settle before continuing.

"The Institute has had success with its multi-treatment process. Using neural microsurgery, injured portions of the patient's brain are identified at the cellular level. The injured cells are removed with technology similar to Federation transporters. This reduces further damage and accelerates healing. The surgery is followed by cell replacement with neuronal and mesenchymal stem cells. I will oversee the cloning of neuronal stem cells using healthy ones harvested from the patient."

This pause prompted Kat to look up. The "other shoe" would "drop" in moments. The healer lowered her gaze before resuming.

"We find the mesenchymal stem cells that work best come from the patient."

Sorrd deliberately stopped again.

"Is there a problem, Healer?"

"Randolph's medications include a number that make his mesenchymal stem cells unsuitable for use. When this was… discovered, I sought a better source. His father is not an optimal match; he has used similar medications. Randolph does not share his mother's DNA. The screening did identify an unexpected DNA match, Doctor…"

No sense in beating around the bush.

"I am his biological," — and future, she thought, "mother. When do you need to start harvesting?"

"Immediately. His procedure takes 3.14 Earth hours. You can visit him in recovery. Prepare yourself; he will exhibit a rudimentary personality. If you have engaged with —"

The speculation got terminated.

"I haven't spent any extended time with him," Kat corrected. "But his mother and I will visit frequently — until he's discharged."

"That will aid his recovery." The healer rose elegantly. "A technician will come to retrieve the necessary samples. I will open the observation window for you."

With a hand wave, portions of the white expanse gave way to a translucent opening, On the other side, Duke attacked the walls and hurled anything not bolted to the floor, shrieking his innocence, his hatred of all Vulcans, his particular hatred of Spock and his pet bitch Uhura and his assured expectation that his daddy would whip all their asses to restore him to his rightful place in the universe.

Repeating the hand wave closed the portal, sparing Kat from further witnessing Duke's descent into homicidal madness. She'd wait to engage with him; her relationship with the child she'd surrendered would be grounded in his new mind and new personality. This would be harder, though, for Martha — who raised this violent version. Caught up in her own head, she missed the healer's exit…

Retrieving her comm, Kat placed a call to Earth to prep her co-parent for the worst, as she would for any patient's loved ones.

"Martha? It's serious, worse than I expected. This will be hard on all of us…"

Four Earth hours later, the world moved. Sepek informed Kat that a diplomatic hovercraft had been placed at her disposal, accompanied by a handwritten invitation from Amanda Grayson to spend the long Vulcan night in the guesthouse at their home. Martha called for updates every half-hour and held up despite the paucity of medical outcome information. Healer Sorrd eventually returned, the archetype of successful exhaustion (Kat knew the signs, being in the club), to escort her to Duke.

"Just a brief visit. His brain should rest. You can visit again in the morning before the Fal-tor-voh begins."

This time a door — not a window — opened, leading to Duke's room.

He lay quietly with eyes closed, moving his fingers in some repetitive pattern Kat had no clue about. She came to stand next to his pallet, smiling through the effort to control her emotions and tears.

Duke's eyes opened, still beautifully full of the Uranian blue color they'd been at birth. He smiled his question to her:

"Mama?"…