"Jim!" McCoy's voice called to Kirk in his dreams. The Enterprise was under attack, its captain was barking out orders and his crew had no idea how to respond. Sulu was staring at his controls with his hands in the air as if trying to work out how to operate the navigation console; Bones was treating a crewman spouting arterial blood, with a sticking plaster, even Spock was gazing across at him from his science station with a vacant expression.
"Jim. Wake up!"
"Bones? Can't a person get some sleep around here?"
"You were dreaming, Jim." Kirk nodded, fully awake now.
"I was dreaming the Enterprise was run by idiots, like the Aurora. Captain excepted, of course." Bones smiled,
"Of course. " McCoy was worried that Kirk might blow their cover completely – a doctor was just a doctor but for Jim to come out as a Starship captain was not a good idea. And Jim was itching to take control of the Aurora. Foremost on his Captain's mind, McCoy knew was the Shadow, still on their tail, keeping its distance. What would Kirk do if he were in command? Jim could be impulsive, daring, but he was never rash – above all, McCoy had never known him to act in a way that would endanger the lives of his crew. He was, of course, excluding his Captain's recent attack on his helmsman, which had occurred under the influence of the Skarran toxin.
"I wonder how Spock's holding up? The doctor said, suddenly. It was a question never far from either man's thoughts. "In the absence of any experience of this toxin, I can't even begin to speculate about what course it will take in the Vulcan system."
"Now you're sounding like him."
"I'm a scientist too, Jim. I don't like mysteries."
"Spock's been resilient to things we've succumbed to in the past," Kirk said, sounding a positive, then spoiling it, "Then there's the possibility that he might be more susceptible – especially as a hybrid."
"Don't think I haven't considered that among all the other possibilities." McCoy answered, irritably.
"I've been thinking about Spock's 'feeling' that we were being observed." Kirk said, thoughtfully. This was not new ground.
"Spock's a touch telepath, Jim, but we know that he's an esper, too. He can sense things beyond our capacity to pick up on."
"Yes, and – as an esper, he'd be sending out signals, consciously or not, for a another telepath to pick up." Kirk did not need to be psychic to feel his CMO's scepticism.
"Psychic abilities are as natural to some species in the galaxy as they are unnatural to humans. We've seen this time and again in the past few years. It's not that I doubt the existence of telepathy or psychic phenomenon – hell, I've had that damn Vulcan messing around inside my head, remember? It's just that I'm more comfortable with what I can see and touch. Besides, those hairy Skarrans don't seem likely candidates for telepathy"
"Those hairy Skarrans may not be the only intelligent life forms on the planet." Said Kik. "What is it, Bones?" he asked, registering McCoy's look of concern.
"The effect of the toxin will be hard enough for him to deal with – if it's a hostile being making contact, he'll be more vulnerable."
"He can shield the effects." Kirk said, confidently, "He withstood the mind-sifter. No human could have survived that with their sanity intact."
"I'm not an expert, but I'd say a lot depends on what sort of shape he's in physically. Shielding pain and the intrusive thoughts of others is a learned response in Vulcans. It's not innate and it certainly isn't foolproof." McCoy's tone was cool. Sometimes Jim's faith in Spock's indestructibility irked the medic. Too many times McCoy had had cause to see just how vulnerable the Vulcan was under the skin.
Regarding the mind-sifter, McCoy made no further comment. He was thinking of the time, two weeks after his ordeal on Organia, when Spock had come to sickbay in the dead hours of the night, asking for his help. McCoy had heard the doors to his office swish open but had glanced up only fleetingly, from his computer screen. In the dimmed light, he had registered the Vulcan's familiar silhouette and felt mild surprise, "Hello, Spock. What brings you to my neck of the woods at this ungodly hour? Couldn't sleep?" He asked, without looking up.
"Dr McCoy…I…" Spock never finished his sentence.
"Spock?" McCoy looked up in time to see the Vulcan slump back against the wall, his face contorted in pain, only to crash land seconds later on the floor. McCoy leapt from his chair to Spock's side in a single movement.
"What is it, Spock? What's wrong?"
"I need your help." Spock stuttered, "Can…not shield." McCoy grabbed a mediscanner from his desk drawer and ran it over the Vulcan. He was alarmed at the results, "Spock, your vitals are spiking and you're displaying symptoms of extreme stress. I need to get you on a biobed straightaway." McCoy punched the intercom and yelled for help, but before anyone could arrive, Spock had gripped the CMO's arm, saying,
"It is the mindsifter. The Captain must not know." McCoy was shocked, both at the physical contact initiated by the Vulcan, and by the request.
"Spock, the Captain has to know if his First Officer is unfit for duty."
"Tell him I am sick. I came to you in confidence." Spock's eyes were as close to pleading as the doctor had ever seen them. Reluctantly, McCoy agreed,
"Okay, Spock. You have my word – for now." McCoy had never broken his word. From the First Officer he learned that the only way for Spock to be helped was for a skilled Vulcan healer to establish a mind link with him and work with him to block the deleterious effects of the mind-sifter. There was one big problem with that; the Enterprise was nowhere near Vulcan.
Fortunately for Spock, they were not too far distant from Lorimus II, a Federation colonised planet with a scientific research centre specialising in medical research. Not just one, but two Vulcan healers were stationed there. All McCoy had to do was persuade his Captain that Spock was suffering from a severe recurring bout of a parasitic infection that he had contracted on Vulcan as a child, and that his condition, which was critical, required specialist care from a Vulcan healer.
The detour to Lorimus II was in the bag the second the alarmed Captain set eyes on his heavily sedated and obviously afflicted First Officer. After all, hadn't Jim once defied a direct order from Starfleet Command, to save Spock's life? By contrast, the slight detour to Lorimus II required only a perfunctory mention in the Ship's log. McCoy had been puzzled at Spock's insistence that the real reason for the stopover at Lorimus II be kept from the Captain, but in time he had figured it out. Spock knew that the Captain needed to be able to count on his First Officer, to the point where Jim almost needed to believe that Spock was invulnerable, for Jim could no more afford to contemplate Spock's mortality than he could his own. For Kirk to be the best that he could be in command, Spock had to be by his side, and Kirk needed to believe that nothing could threaten that dynamic – to believe otherwise would be at best a distraction, at worst, catastrophic. More than that, Spock knew that were Kirk to be made aware of what the mind-sifter had cost the Vulcan, he would never forgive himself for failing to protect his First Officer, for not having been the who had endured its torture.
McCoy had been uniquely placed to observe the way the relationship between these two men, on the face of it so different, had established itself over the past few years. For his own part, McCoy had long been Jim's friend and confidante – the one the Captain came to when he needed reassurance or advice, or to let off steam, or to share a good bottle of bourbon and an easy conversation. There was warmth in their relationship, genuine affection.
A lesser man might have felt threatened by Kirk's fascination with his seemingly unapproachable Vulcan First Officer, but McCoy had never felt any sense of rivalry with Spock. Truth to tell, it had been fascinating for him to watch these two essentially lonely characters connect. Now, he thought, all three of them were connected in so many ways – by their respect and liking for each other – by the experiences they had shared since their mission began – by…
"McCoy?" The doctor started. He dragged himself from the past to focus on his Captain. "We're going to get there in time, Bones." Kirk reassured him.
"He can't allow himself to look into the abyss." McCoy thought. "Spock understands that. I should be reassuring him." But when he responded, the best McCoy could muster was an unconvincing, "I hope you're right, Jim."
Another day passed, the Shadow remaining an ever-present threat. Kirk had stayed on the Aurora's bridge long enough to satisfy himself that it was keeping its distance. In another day, they would reach the outermost edges of the Menges Belt, where the size and maze-like structure of the asteroid clusters would offer less protection. Kirk was considering the options, but another matter was also occupying his thoughts.
"I spoke with Blackstone yesterday. He told me that the Westons, Hag and Nyreea have been together for a long time but that their extra hands are normally only with them for a couple of months. One or two expeditions tops. Then there's us. By his own admission, Weston never takes passengers."
"He did it as a favour for Diana King." McCoy reminded him. Kirk smiled.
"How big would he have to owe her to break his own rule?"
"Hell, I don't know, Jim. Maybe they had a fling and he didn't want Nancy to find out."
"Oh, they had a fling alright. I don't doubt that for a minute, but that's not what I had in mind."
"What are you thinking, Jim? The Westons are transporting illegal goods? They hardly seem the type. And I can't see Diana being involved in something so undignified as blackmail. Besides, what if they are making a bit on the side carrying illegal cargo? It's hardly a matter for us to become involved with."
"Depends what they're transporting." Kirk pointed out, "And for whom."
"If you're suggesting the Westons are running arms for the Klingons, I'd have to certify you completely crazy, Jim. Incompetent they may be, but that doesn't make them villains." McCoy said, watching Kirk pace the room. He sighed, "Something tells me I'm not going to like what you're about to say next."
"Like it or not, Bones, we need to know what, if anything, the Westons are transporting." McCoy sighed deeply, "What do you need me to do?" Kirk patted his CMO on the shoulder.
"I'm going to need you to create a diversion."
Odd, how he felt so out of place on the Aurora's bridge when he felt so at ease on the bridge of the Enterprise. McCoy looked around hoping to catch Weston's eye, but the Aurora's skipper was engaged in a conversation with Hag and their voices lowered noticeably as the medic approached, then stopped abruptly as he drew within hearing range. "What can I do for you, Dr McKay?" Weston asked.
"Well," began McCoy, hesitantly. Hell, if he was going to lie, he had to sound more convincing, "I was wonderin' if either of you gentlemen would be interested in a good ol'-fashioned game of poker." His best Southern drawl worked wonders with the ladies, but how it would go down with Weston and his surly navigator, he could only guess. "You see, I'm mighty partial to the game myself and it would seem a shame to drink that ol' bottle of bourbon I've got tucked up in my cabin, alone."
Weston looked interested, but Hag's expression remained neutral. "See, my travellin' companion, Mr Hopkirk – he's a good friend, but he's not really a gambling man and as for bourbon – well between you and me, he's a man who can't hold his liquor."
"Count me in." Weston said. "And Nancy – but I warn you, doctor, we're formidable players."
"And you, Mr Hag? You in?" Hag looked at Weston, who nodded.
"Stephen's on duty this evening – we're monitoring the Shadow. How does nine o'clock suit you? My quarters."
"That suits me fine, Captain Weston. Make sure you've got three of your best whisky glasses ready."
"Nine o'clock." Weston reminded McCoy as the medic turned to leave.
A game of poker to keep everyone distracted while he searched the lower decks had been Kirk's idea. No matter that the captain was the better player of the two, it fell to McCoy to occupy Hag and the Westons so that Jim could have free rein to check out the Aurora's cargo. The ship's security system was pretty basic and Jim was confident that he could disable it without being detected. All the same, he felt a little uneasy to be prowling around the lower decks of an unfamiliar ship and he was not about to waste a moment of the time that was at his disposal.
Lucky the Aurora was a small vessel. Most of its cargo was stored in crates in a sizeable holding area; Kirk moved between the crates, choosing one or two at random to check. He had come prepared with an assortment of tools to prise open lids and break locks but for the most part he hardly needed them, the crates being shut securely but not locked. Their contents were singularly uninteresting – engine components for the most part, as far as Jim could tell, that only Scotty might find exciting.
Feeling frustrated, Kirk looked around. Two doors led off the main storage area – perhaps they might yield more interesting results. The first was unlocked and held more crates. Kirk stepped inside and immediately noted the drop in temperature - whatever was being stored in here must require refrigeration. It did not take him long to realise that he had stumbled on the ship's store of fresh food – he remembered Weston boasting that his crew ate mostly freshly prepared food – no replicated rubbish.
The second room was sealed and a sign on the door read, "Authorised Personnel Only." This had to be it. Kirk fingered the phaser that he had kept concealed in his cabin. No one had even bothered to search him or McCoy for weapons, when they boarded, another staggering breach of security protocol. Using it was risky, but how else to force the seal? Kirk set his phaser and aimed it at the door. In a moment, he was stepping inside warily, watching his back. Soft blue light activated by a sensor lit the room with an eerie glow. Bare shelves lined the walls. The deck was clear. Kirk frowned. There was nothing here. He had blasted the door and risked detection for nothing.
Reluctantly and unable to believe that a sealed room contained no secrets, Jim returned to the main cargo hold. Did he have to open every crate? He would be there until morning. With a sigh and hoping that Bones was holding his own in the poker game, he turned to the task.
As it turned out, he had to look no farther than the next crate. Why hadn't he noticed before? It was the oldest trick in the book and he'd missed it. Kirk lifted out the engine parts that accounted for only half of the crate's volume to reveal, under the lid to the false bottom, the Weston's other, secret cargo. And it wasn't what he had been expecting.
McCoy staggered into their quarters at two in the morning clutching an empty bourbon bottle. "Two hundred credits." He muttered. "I lost two hundred credits and I'm going to have the mother of all hangovers in the morning. I hope you found what you were looking for." He never heard Kirk's answer. Jim knew better than to rouse his CMO from a drunken sleep and he settled back on his own bunk, considering his options.
With any luck, the damage his phaser had inflicted on the storeroom would not be detected immediately – why check on an empty room? What was troubling Jim the most was the implication that Diana was involved in the Weston's dishonest trade. By turning a blind eye to the Weston's activities in return for favours – Kirk was convinced that his and McCoy's passage to Skara was not the first favour that she had demanded – she was engaging in blackmail and implicating herself in their crime. Why would she take such a risk for what seemed a small return? It didn't make any sense. Unless Diana was also taking a share of the profits. That she had an unscrupulous nature, Kirk had suspected from his academy days, but to discover that she might involved in something illegal still came as a surprise.
Sleep was elusive. Searching the Aurora's hold had been a momentary distraction; the Shadow plagued Jim's thoughts. Kirk wanted, needed, to act. This enforced inertia was contrary to his nature. He was not the reflective type. He was used to thinking on his feet, being proactive, asserting himself, trusting his instincts and acting on them. Unlike Spock. Inevitably his thoughts turned to his Vulcan First Officer.
Spock rarely acted without thinking, weighing up the consequences, applying logical analyses of every possibility. Fortunately he did all this in the time it took most people to form a single thought and he was always ready with advice for Kirk, right when he needed it. How many times had Kirk, in a vital moment on the bridge, pumped up with adrenalin and ready to act, looked across at Spock's station to see his First Officer, calm, composed, ready to temper Kirk's gut reaction with his cool logic? How many times had he stepped back and rethought a strategy after a single word or look from Spock? True, Jim did not always take Spock's advice; but he relied on his contribution, needed it to counterbalance his own take on things; trusted it.
Where was Spock now? Jim looked over at McCoy snoring none too softly on his bunk. He knew that the doctor thought him hard on the Vulcan at times, insisting on him being there even when Spock was unfit. Like at Deneva.
Never far from his thoughts over the past year, the nightmare of Deneva still disturbed both Kirk's dreams and his waking thoughts. He had lost Sam and Aurelan and watched, helpless, as his nephew, heavily sedated, fought for his life. McCoy had urged him not to send Spock back down to the planet's surface, but as the commanding officer, Kirk could not afford the luxury of compassion. Spock had turned everything on its head by convincing the doctor that the kindest course of action was to let him go – admitting that he could not control the pain for much longer. Looking at the Vulcan, seeing the muscles in his face twitch as he fought to maintain control, it felt like they were doing him a favour. It was the only time Kirk could think of when Spock had come close to an admission of vulnerability and it had shocked the captain to the core, but like Spock, he had striven to stay in control, had behaved as a captain should.
With a jolt, Kirk realised that what he feared now was the loss of another brother, for that was how he had come to think of the Vulcan. He had known all along, without really analysing the nuts and bolts of it, that the pain of Sam's death had been bearable because Spock was still there, at his side. The question that Jim would never allow himself to ask, was, how would he have coped if it had been Spock instead of Sam? There were some places Kirk would not permit himself to go.
He looked over at McCoy again. The medic had shifted his position and was lying straddled across his bunk, one leg dangling over the side – if he moved again it would be onto the floor. With a sigh, Kirk manoeuvred his friend into a safer position and was rewarded with a groan; then McCoy, still asleep, looked directly at him and asked, "Spock, is that you. Are you hurt?" Jim smiled. Same old Bones. Thinking of others, even in his sleep. "I know, Bones." Jim said, quietly, "I'm worried about him too."
McCoy whistled softly. "That's some cargo, Jim. I may have underestimated the Westons' capacity for villainy." Kirk nodded. McCoy winced as he spoke; if only he had refused Weston's Saurian brandy when the bourbon ran out. Jim shaking him awake had not helped his hangover, but the hypo he had just prepared would do the trick. He ignored Jim's disapproving look as he pressed it home. "Extenuating circumstances. I need to be fully alert." He said by way of apology.
"That will be my excuse next time you refuse me a quick cure for a hangover." Kirk remarked, wryly. McCoy nodded. He understood his Captain and his need to be 'busy.' He had not expected Jim to find anything sinister concealed in the crates in the Aurora's hold, but he did understand Kirk's need to go looking.
McCoy looked at Jim with concern. Like Jim, he was of the opinion that Weston would not offer much resistance to the Shadow's crew, but he was less sure of his own captain – passivity wasn't Jim's nature. Then again, he knew that Jim's interests were conflicted – balanced against the urge to act was the necessity of ensuring that nothing jeopardised the success of their present mission. And McCoy also knew where Jim's priorities lay – still, if Kirk could find a way to have his cake and eat it…They were interrupted by a loud rapping on the door.
"Hopkirk!" The panic in Weston's voice was evident despite his obvious attempt at concealing it. Kirk leapt to his feet, guiltily. "What is it, Weston?"
"It's the Shadow. She's closing in again. I'd…" he paused, "I'd appreciate your advice since you seem to be a man who knows what he's about." McCoy suppressed a smile. Weston seemed oblivious to the criticism of his own abilities inherent in his statement. McCoy looked at kirk, already pumped up with adrenalin, and sighed. Guess he hadn't signed up with Starfleet for a quiet life.