T'Lia had been right about one thing – Chrissie was absolutely exhausted, so much so that it had been a struggle to wake her, and when she had woken, she'd been disoriented and not completely aware of her whereabouts and what was going on around her. In the end, deciding that she was in no fit state to go anywhere, let alone cross the starbase to the nearest shuttle bay or transporter pad, Moragh had arranged for mother and son to be beamed directly from sickbay to their home. At the same time, he sent orders to the planetside security team to watch out for them and offer any assistance necessary. Grateful for Moragh's help, and belatedly wondering what his uncle was even doing there, Antonio wrapped a supportive arm around Chrissie's waist and nodded his thanks before the transporter beam activated, and they were gone.

With the exception of Moragh, the room was finally empty, allowing T'Lia to approach her patient. The Vulcan took several deep breaths to centre herself before spreading her fingers and laying her hand across the psi points on the unconscious Klingon's face.

"My mind to your mind. My thoughts to your thoughts." It had been many years since she had needed to speak the traditional words out loud, but they formed an essential part of the Vulcan mind meld ritual, and out of long habit she allowed herself to recite them silently.

Cautiously, T'Lia opened her mind, allowing the neural link to form. She was an expert at this procedure, having carried it out more times than she wished to count, but this… this was nothing like anything she had ever experienced. The mind neither welcomed nor rejected her; it was simply... dead.

Concentrating, she dug a little deeper, slipping through the shields and into his private mind. Almost immediately she recoiled, unable to suppress a cry of pain. The dark void where memories should have been, was agony, like fingers of fire and ice probing into her via the link. The intense pain that Krang had experienced during the weeks of unrelenting torture hit her all at once with the force of a sledgehammer. Screaming, she broke contact and fell back.

Shocked and not a little frightened by her reactions, Moragh caught hold of her, preventing her from falling. "Healer! What happened, what is wrong?"

Gasping for breath and momentarily unable to speak, T'Lia could only shake her head.

Not knowing what else to do, Moragh helped her to a seat and fetched a glass of water. She accepted it gratefully, her hands trembling so much she was barely able to hold it. "I cannot meld with him," she whispered eventually. "I must call in someone with more experience of mind-sifter damage." With some effort, she raised a hand to her combadge. "T'Lia to Solkar."

"This is Solkar."

"Healer Solkar, I require your immediate assistance with a mind meld."

"I am on my way," Solkar responded without hesitation. Just as T'Lia had known, her son would drop everything to come to her aid.

Carefully she took a sip of water and tried to centre herself again. Truly shaken by what she had experienced in Krang's mind, it took some effort, and she was not completely successful.

When Solkar arrived moments later, it took only a brief glance to see that his mother would not be capable of continuing her duties for several hours. He would insist that she took some time off, he decided, and if she refused, he would override her on medical grounds. First though, he needed to know what was required of him. Speaking in his native Vuhlkansu, he voiced the question. Federation Standard simply did not have the vocabulary to deal with his work, and it was a question of practicality rather than rudeness, and glancing at Moragh he was pleased to see that the Klingon did not appear offended.

Haltingly, answering in the same language, T'Lia explained what had happened and what was required. Under normal circumstances, as she was the patient's physician, Solkar would have had her enter the meld with him, but he did not even consider that option. With the state she was in, he had no intention of putting her at further risk. Carefully preparing himself for what was to come, he approached the patient.

This time, the link was entered into more slowly and tentatively. Solkar did not place his hand in the usual spread-fingered position that allowed access via the nerve clusters around the eyes. Instead, he rested his palm on the ridged forehead, his fingers settling themselves around the cranial ridges. Entering the mind in this way was a very advanced technique, one of which only the most powerful telepaths were capable. It was a harder, slower route but one that would allow him not only deeper access, but better control.

Solkar did not allow himself to plunge straight into the injured Klingon's mind, instead attempting to soothe the damage layer by layer as he passed. He could see the signs of his mother's abortive meld... faint traces of footprints in the dust. She was skilled and there was little evidence of her passing, but to one such as him, they stood out as though painted with neon. Following his healer's instincts, Solkar lowered himself to one knee and reached down to brush his fingers through the dirt. The fluorescent dust swirled at his touch, revealing tiny, violet-coloured stains. It puzzled him at first, the splash of colour in such a desolate place, but then understanding dawned. Klingon. His patient was Klingon, and this was his blood. A mind meld, at least one initiated by a qualified, experienced Healer such as his mother, should cause no harm. That Krang's mind was so damaged that the passing of a Healer caused it to bleed, even if the blood was not literal, was concerning. He glanced back the way he had come, but there was no sign of his own passage. That was good; he had caused no damage… yet.

Walking with care, Solkar continued, making his way through the desolate, empty wasteland that represented the outer layers of the Klingon's mind towards the wall that had become visible in the distance. As he came closer, the way became harder. Every step became an effort, the hard, rocky ground giving way to shifting sands which spilled around his feet, pulling him downwards. A gust of cold wind kicked up sand, and the air thickened, dust choking his lungs. Despair and panic rose. The land itself was fighting against his presence, and he could neither breathe nor move without damaging both himself and his patient. He did not belong here. His efforts were futile, and he should retreat…

Solkar stilled, recognising that he had almost fallen into a psychic trap laid to ensnare intruders. He was not physically here, and his body was safely in a medical room on Starbase 24, not mired in harsh sands. He was Vulcan. He had walked through the fires of the Forge and passed the Kahs-wan ritual. The desert held no fear for him and this one was nothing more than an illusion. It could not harm him.

He closed his eyes, concentrating, and when he opened them again, the wind had dropped, his footing was firm, and the wall was significantly closer. Just as the blood had not been real, nor was the wall, for all it appeared to be built of solid bricks and mortar. Rather, it was a visual manifestation of the mental barrier, the shields which protected the inner sanctum of Krang's mind.

Carefully, Solkar probed it, testing the strength and enquiring of Krang's subconscious what he hid behind it. The barrier was incredibly strong, resisting all his attempts to pass through it, or even to see what lay beyond. He stopped to consider the problem. From what he understood, his mother had passed easily through the barrier – it was she had encountered inside that had defeated her. But then, he acknowledged she had come in a different way, and she was familiar to the Klingon. Krang knew and trusted her, and so, he had not attempted to prevent her entry. In contrast, he, Solkar, was a stranger, and hence, not to be allowed in.

Surveying his surroundings, Solkar encountered traces of another meld, which on investigation turned out to also be his mother's, but one undertaken many years before. He paused to study the evidence, understanding that if he was seeing it now, then it was of importance.

She had, it seemed, taught the Klingon how to shut off his mind to prevent the nightmares he had been suffering from at the time. How interesting! That degree of compartmentalisation was advanced even for a Vulcan, and he was surprised that the Klingon had been able to learn it to any degree of usefulness. Making a mental note to discuss this with his mother at a later date, he focussed his attention back on what he needed to do.

Turning back towards the wall, he encountered the image of a Terran woman, standing between him and the barrier. An eyebrow raised in surprise; she had not been there a moment ago. Faintly transparent, she flickered slightly as though she were a hologram, or perhaps had not finished materialising, but as Solkar watched, she solidified into something real.

Recognising the woman as Krang's wife, Solkar studied her carefully, sensing that she was the key to this. In the real, waking world, she was an ordinary woman, slightly overweight, with lines about her eyes and grey roots in her hair, since of course, going to the hairdresser had been the last thing on her mind for some time. In Krang's eyes, however, she was something special. Strong and beautiful, she was his defender, his angel, guarding his mind against harm. Taking a moment to appreciate her and to pay his respects, Solkar started to move around her in an attempt to find a way through the barrier. Not completely unexpectedly, the woman moved to prevent him, keeping herself between him and the barrier. Solkar stopped. This was something new to him and he was momentarily unsure of how to proceed. Considering what to do, he became aware that she was studying him in return, waiting to see if he was a friend, here to heal, or an enemy with intent to destroy…

Slowly, he held out his hands, demonstrating that they were empty. She was not real, simply a construct of Krang's mind, but Solkar was experienced enough to know that he should not just dismiss her. The mind had power and this construct had been strong enough to protect Krang against a Romulan mind-sifter. "I am Solkar," he told her. "I come to heal. I must ask that you allow me to pass."

For long moments, Solkar waited patiently as she considered his request, and just as he was beginning to think that she would refuse him, she turned slightly, gesturing towards the barrier, a small region of which faded into nothingness as he watched, and stepped aside.

Inclining his head in gratitude, he moved past her, and stepping through the now insubstantial barrier, he became a witness to the torture Krang had undergone. Solkar was forced to raise his own shields to block the pain and was only partially successful.

Almost collapsing under the onslaught, the Vulcan made himself continue, step by painful step. Krang was, he began to understand, using his agony as another layer of protection. That was both ingenious and imaginative, not to mention completely unheard of. The image of the desert was gone now, and other than the pain there was nothing else here, just a dark, yawning void. Krang's essence… his consciousness… was not here, and without his patient's cooperation, he could see no way to cross the emptiness. Frustrated, he turned and found the construct standing nearby watching him. She offered him a faint smile that he thought indicated gratitude, for certainly it was not one of happiness.

There was an intruder… another one. His defences had worked and the first one was gone, chased away empty-handed by the intensity of his pain. He'd thought that would be the end of it. No one should be able to get past the outer wall – it was guarded by his angel.

This intruder was different, travelling along different neural pathways, and unlike the first one, leaving no signs of its passing. Was this some new trick? A new way of hunting down the precious information that he had locked away. He had little energy to expend but what he had, he used to strengthen his walls. The guardian was there, and he relaxed at the sight of her.

Bruised and battered, her clothes torn and bloodstained, she stood over the fallen body of one who had been his enemy. There was a knife in her hand, and unlike the vivid scarlet that stained her clothing, the blood on the knife was violet. The corpse at her feet had once been a large, powerful man, and the expression forever frozen on his face was one of contempt mixed with shock. Whoever he was, he had not expected to die at the hands of this small human woman.

Recognition stirred, taunting him. He knew the fallen male. A ruthless enemy, he had been… No, that memory too was locked away, but the emotions associated with the image were vivid. Hate. Anger in the form of white-hot fury. Fear, not for himself but for the woman who had just saved his life… and then satisfaction, followed by shocked pride as he'd realised what she had accomplished. And over all that, an intense wave of love for her. The almost-memory was too much and resolutely he shoved it back into the locker where it belonged.

He trusted her. Oh, how he trusted her. And yet… she was helping the intruder, had opened a gap in his walls to allow it through. He did not understand. Had his angel betrayed him? Even the thought of it was terrifying. If she was no longer protecting him, then it meant his own mind had turned against him and his situation was hopeless. Without her, there was no more reason for him to remain alive.

Reaching out with his awareness, he could feel the machines compressing his lungs and expanding them again, pumping oxygen into them. The same equipment forced his heart to beat, pushing blood through its chambers and into his arteries… providing his body with oxygen… circulating through the capillaries, into the veins and back again… keeping him alive regardless of his wishes on the matter. He was a prisoner still, unable to control his own body. Without his permission, his chest rose and fell. He could not die. The machinery would not allow it. For the moment, he had no choice but to trust the angel and continue to live.

Here in the inner sanctum, there was nothing but pitch-black, stygian darkness. Not even the faintest shadow existed here, but he knew every inch of this space. It was purely imaginary, modelled on an old-fashioned bank vault, deep underground where no light could reach. Ahead of him was the entrance, the weak point, which he had sealed with a massive door of solid duranium. Around him were rows and rows of safety deposit boxes, each one filled with a memory and securely locked. To make them even more secure, he'd filled them randomly and then scrambled their locations… not technically possible but this was his imagination, not reality. He let out a heavy sigh. Some of the memories he would be happy to never see again, but there were others that he would have liked to retrieve.

Outside, in the void, he sensed movement. His angel was guiding the intruder along a hidden path that would eventually bring them to this place. Fear and hope warred for supremacy. Either she had betrayed him… and that was a possibility he was no longer willing to consider, or she was bringing help. Trusting her was no longer a conscious decision, it was instinctive, and so, he gathered together what strength he had left and sent it to her. Then he settled down to wait.

The construct stepped onto a narrow, winding path that had not been visible a moment ago, and raising a hand, she gestured for the intruder to follow. He was not an intruder, she reminded herself, but someone who had come to help. Solkar, he'd called himself, and although the name meant nothing to her, she nevertheless believed in his good intentions.

The first intruder had been known to the mind, even if it did not truly remember, and therefore had been allowed access through the wall. Oh thank God! That had been the construct's first thought when she'd seen the approaching figure. But she had been summoned too late and had not arrived in time to do anything more than watch from a distance as the one she was convinced had come to help, was overcome by the field of pain and vanished back into the real world. Come back… please, come back. Her forlorn call had been unheard, or so she'd thought, but she'd waited anyway, praying and hoping that the intruder would return.

The intruder… or at least, an intruder had returned, and hope flared at the sight. But his one had been a stranger, unrecognised by the mind and so the barrier had remained impenetrable, until the construct, having gone to investigate, had decided to take a risk and allow him entrance.

The second intruder… healer, she corrected herself – he was no longer an intruder if she had invited him in… did as she had instructed, and as soon as he stepped onto the path, the landscape began to change around them, the blackness taking on a reddish glow that was reminiscent of smouldering embers. The temperature rose a little and the scent of smoke hung in the air.

"Wait… What is this?" Solkar asked, looking around him with perplexed interest. "What does it mean?"

He surely knew that all this was symbolic, not to be taken literally, but it was obvious that he did not quite understand what he was seeing. The construct paused and turned back to face him, not sure if she could answer. Speech was not something she had previously attempted, although she was self-aware and able to think independently of the mind which had created her. That had not been the case at first. She had begun life as a mere image, a reminder of a loved one, something for the mind to focus on as it fought for survival. The very intensity of the emotions associated with that image, and the mind's belief that she was something very special, had caused her to develop something that resembled, but was not quite, sentience. Chrissie… that was the name of the woman on whom she was based. Created by a mind that knew Chrissie better than she knew herself, many of the qualities the human woman possessed – and quite a few that she did not but was perceived to have – had been instilled in the construct. In many ways, she was that woman, although she would not claim the name.

The construct was not confident of her ability to explain, although she would try. "Fire." With some effort, the word, her first spoken word, slipped out. "Klingon fire… Life…"

"You can speak?"

He sounded surprised and she offered him a little smile but realising that her guess about energy expenditure was correct, she decided to save her words. Instead she held up her hand, thumb and forefinger very close together.

"A little? When you need to?" Castigating himself for stating the obvious, he thought about what she had said, turning it over in his mind. "Are you saying that the fire is related to his life?" He stared again at the field of embers and finally understood. The barely glowing coals were a representation of Krang's life force, and maybe, his will to live – and perhaps understandably, given that his physical body was so gravely ill, there was very little fire.

Pleased that he'd understood, the construct nodded, before gesturing for him to follow her again. Obediently, he fell into step behind her, and in single file, the two unlikely companions made their way along the narrow, treacherous path.