Chapter Eighteen
"Jim! Are you okay? What is it?" McCoy's concerned face hovered over Kirk as he straightened up from the shock that had just made him bend over as if he'd been struck a physical blow.
"I'm alright, Bones," Kirk answered, shakily, not at all sure that he was. How to explain to his CMO that Spock had just been inside his head sending a distress signal like a bolt of electricity through his brain? Of course, he didn't need to.
"It was him, again, wasn't it?" The medic asked, grimly. Kirk nodded.
"Same as before?"
"No."
"Is he…" McCoy faltered on the word.
"He's alive, Bones." McCoy nodded.
Spock had explained it to them once. Sometimes a mind link between individuals left them with a permanent connection that was unbroken even when they were apart. An awareness of another's mind that was usually dormant, but which in moments of extremity allowed telepathic communication sometimes over vast distances. Spock had melded his mind with Kirk's on more than one occasion – intensely enough for the connection to become permanent.
Distressing as it was to know that his friend was in pain, crying out for help, at least Kirk knew that he was still alive. Spock had once told him that though he would be, for the most part, unaware of the link on a conscious level, he would feel its absence keenly. Kirk had had no notion of what the Vulcan meant by that, never having made or lost such a connection before, but he trusted Spock's word. Only later had the truth of what Spock meant dawned on him – he would feel Spock's death as keenly as losing a part of himself.
McCoy was referring to a few days ago when Kirk had buckled under a similar sensation. He had felt that he was suffocating, drowning, and had alarmed the doctor by gasping for every laboured breath until as suddenly as it had struck him down, the sensation had abruptly ceased. McCoy hadn't batted an eyelid when Kirk told him that Spock had almost drowned, only muttered, "Time that damn fool Vulcan learned to swim."
This time it was different. This time Spock was not going under, he was being torn apart from within.
McCoy did not know what to say. He had been described as a cynic in his time, but those who knew him well knew him to have an open, searching mind, a great scientific intellect that was not closed off to the possibility of phenomena beyond rational explanation. And besides, Spock believed mind links to be an integral part of the mysterious Vulcan psyche. If Spock could vouch for this peculiar brand of psychic mumbo jumbo, then who was an old country doctor like McCoy to argue?
"What now, Jim? Every hour we delay brings Spock closer to meltdown." Kirk shook his head, exasperated. "Sorry, Jim. I know that you know that, and I can only imagine what it's like for you hearing him cry for help like that." The doctor reached into an inside pocket and brought out a bottle of bourbon; it was the best comfort he had to offer his friend under the circumstances. Kirk took the bottle and swallowed a good slug, grateful for its burning comfort.
Blackstone was already asleep. It was a pitch black night, Skara's multiple moonlight blotted out by heavy cloud. The dense, unforgiving forest pressed in around them, intensifying the sensation of gloom affecting the two Starfleet officers as they sat beside the dying embers of what had been a roaring fire. Neither stirred to poke its last remains back to life and presently they were in total darkness. McCoy roused himself and flicked on a flashlight, which he used to find his weapon and aim it at a moss-covered mound that he hoped was rock. It glowed white hot then cooled rapidly to a comforting orange glow.
"I've lost count of the number of times he's saved my life." Kirk said.
"Saved my ass plenty times too." McCoy drawled, adding, to balance things out, "Patched up his bony Vulcan ass too a time or two." Kirk grinned his lop-sided grin, cheered by the whiskey and McCoy's exaggeratedly elongated vowels. There was a direct correlation between the amount of liquer his CMO consumed and the purity of his Georgian accent, but Kirk knew that McCoy was also making a deliberate attempt to lift their mood.
"Tomorrow's another day, Jim. I'm going to get me some shut eye."
McCoy succumbed quickly to sleep but Kirk lay awake, frustrated that he could not plan for what lay ahead. Blackstone was convinced that the trail he, Hunter and Kort had been following since Ravik, ended here, on Skara.
It seemed incomprehensible to Kirk that a high-ranking Federation admiral could be a Klingon spy. What could have been his motivation? How had he cheated the raft of psych evaluations he would have undergone at the Academy? How far back did his association with the Klingons go? Kirk hated unanswered questions.
He thought back to what George Woodhouse had told him about his near death experience on Vascus, right back at the beginning of his – and Caton's – career. The two men had passed through the Academy together, had served together. Woodhouse had trusted Caton once; more, he had regarded him as a friend. What had happened to make Caton betray a friend and turn against everything that he believed in?
Uncomfortably, Kirk considered that he had only George Woodhouse's suspicions to go on – what if the man were wrong? Blackstone and his associates had not identified who in Starfleet was involved in the conspiracy. Except time and again, Caton's name kept coming up connecting what were otherwise a series of coincidences. If Blackstone were to be believed, Caton had been to Ravik days before the attack; he had been in the vicinity of the Curie and he was involved in the top secret research being carried out on Skara. Kirk tossed and turned.
"Captain Kirk." Blackstone's voice. Kirk sat up and looked over at the young Vulcan. In a whisper, he apologised for waking him up.
"I have been resting, not sleeping." Blackstone assured him. "I heard you and Dr McCoy talking. Please understand, Captain, that as a Vulcan, Mr Spock has vast inner reserves to call upon to keep him sane. From what you have told me about him, I feel sure that he is strong enough to survive both the Skarran poison and whatever assault his ememies may throw at him."
"Spock is half human." Kirk said, mindful of McCoy and how angry he seemed to become when Kirk took Spock's resilience for granted. Blackstone was trying to reassure him in the way that Kirk would McCoy. Hearing these words from Blackstone put Kirk strangely out of kilter, as though he were seeing Spock suddenly from McCoy's point of view, and he was far from reassured.
"Goodnight Blackstone." He said, ending further conversation, no doubt offending the young Vulcan with his abruptness.
They found the hoverplane undisturbed where they had left it under its camouflage of leaves. At least it seemed undisturbed until they opened the door and climbed inside. Kirk saw him first and drew his disrupter, instinctively responding to the Klingon features of the figure crouched in the hold. But there was something different about this Klingon – he was slightly built for one thing and he was not in uniform. Still aiming his weapon, Kirk walked towards him and commanded, "Get up!" The Klingon stared at Jim, his face fearful.
"Why he's just a boy, Jim." Said McCoy with obvious surprise. "I don't think he's armed." Slowly and with some reluctance, Kirk lowered the disruptor.
"Who are you?" He demanded. The boy was still staring at him.
"Your name is Jim. Are you Jim Kirk and Dr McCoy, Mr Spock's friends?"
"Who are you?" Kirk asked again, impatiently, "What do you know about Spock?"
"Easy, Jim. He's just a kid, and he's hurt." McCoy cautioned.
"My name is T'Sorf." The Klingon boy said, struggling to stand.
"Take your time, son." McCoy said, instinctively moving closer to him, mediscanner whirling. For a moment it seemed that the boy was too overcome to continue; fear and the desire to regain control played out in the contortions of his face.
"We were captured by the Morana. Mr Spock said to look for you, that you would come. He was right. You must help them. Piklamer means to kill Mr Spock, I am sure of it."
T'Sorf's words poured out in an excited torrent. McCoy noticed that the young Klingon was shaking, "Easy son," but T'Sorf swayed on his feet, then fell forwards to be caught, unceremoniously by Kirk's disruptor-free arm.
McCoy knew something of Klingon physiology and he administered a hypo to the boy's arm, which brought him round. "I'm Dr McCoy." He said, gently, and this is Captain Kirk. We are Spock's friends. What can you tell us about him?"
They listened as the boy told his story, McCoy frowning as T'Sorf described Spock's physical condition. When he had finished, McCoy offered him some food, suspecting that he had fainted half from hunger.
After he had eaten and before Kirk would let him rest, T'Sorf told them how he, Hunter and Kort had found Spock, unconscious in the forest, how they had captured the survivors of the Klingon wreck and in turn been made captives of Piklamer.
As T'Sorf ate, Kirk paced and quizzed the doctor. "Sounds like Spock's managing to control the effects of the toxin, Jim, but it must be an enormous drain on his resources. From what the kid says he's in more immediate danger from his captors." Kirk nodded.
"Can you take us to the encampment?" he asked T'Sorf, fighting back his frustration as the boy stood up and turned in a slow, uncertain circle, scanning the forest, his face shadowed with doubt. Other than a vague sense that he had followed the direction of the river since abandoning his boat, he seemed to have no idea where he had come from.
"Nothing looks familiar." T'Sorf said, in despair, "Everything looks the same, trees and clearings, it's all alike."
"Don't pressure him." McCoy warned in a whisper as he saw Kirk's impatience mount, "He's trying his best." Jim nodded in frustration. He needed to move on, to act. When the boy's hunger had been satisfied and McCoy had treated his wounds, which were superficial, the doctor certified him fit to walk.
As they walked, Kirk found himself thinking of Sylviana and her two daughters, if daughters they were. If they were natives of Skarra, they could help, but they had quite literally vanished into thin air. "Blackstone." He called to the young Vulcan who was striding ahead, setting a pace. Blackstone slowed and waited for the others to catch up. "When we first arrived on this planet, Spock was aware of a presence close by, which may or may not have been Sylviana. I know Vulcans are touch telepaths, but can you reach out to her somehow, make her understand that we need help?"
Blackstone looked amused, though his lips did not form into a smile. It was a look that Spock often adopted and which sometimes signalled his patient and amused indulgence of his human counterparts' ignorance. "That's not quite how it works, Captain Kirk." Blackstone answered, "Sometimes, as you have experienced yourself, individuals may reach out to each other over a distance, but I have had no previous connection with Sylviana – and if she is a skilled telepath, she may block my attempts." Kirk sighed,
"Indulge me." He said. "Put out some feelers."
"Feelers, Captain?" Blackstone asked, quizzically, his expression stonily Vulcan. Then he did smile, and Kirk realised that he was being teased. Come back, Spock. He thought. At least his First Officer was reliably easy to read. Blackstone was a new variety of Vulcan.
"I will do my best, Captain, but please don't expect too much." Kirk nodded. At that moment, his expectations were pitched somewhere between zero and a place far below.
They carried on, Blackstone frowning as though he were deep in concentration. McCoy was not convinced that it was a wise strategy. "They seemed friendly enough, Jim, but we have no idea what kind of beings they really are." "Sylviana said that maintaining her corporeal form was exhausting." Kirk said, his mind working.
"That's what she said, Jim."
"Throughout the course of our mission, we've encountered other beings that appeared to possess no constant physical form."
"Sure Jim, but Organians apart, I can't think of any who were pure energy. Having the ability to change shape or form is not in itself that unusual. There are several races which have the ability to a greater or lesser degree. Altering your molecular structre is theoretically…"
"Bones, Bones, you're starting to sound like Spock,"
"I'll take that as a compliment - Spock has an excellent scientific mind."
"Why would Sylviana make the effort to appear in physical form at all if it's so draining? She must have been highly motivated to make contact."
"Odd that she should have shown herself to Spock and us but not Kort and Hunter."
"We don't know that for sure. We only have T'Sorf's word for it and he may not have been kept in the loop."
Kirk had quizzed T'Sorf about Skara's inhabitants and the boy had seemed surprised at the suggestion that the hairy humanoids might not be the planet's only native inhabitants. He had told them that Spock spoke of being found by two young girls, but that Kort and Hunter assumed that he had been hallucinating as a result of the toxin in his bloodstream.
"It would make sense that they contacted Spock – as an esper, his mind would be more receptive to telepathic communication reducing the need for physical manifestation."
"Except that Spock could sense their presence, but that was all, initially. They had to take physical form for him to see and hear them, if what T'Sorf said was true. Even so, their appearance was brief."
"And they appeared to us because Blackstone was with us and they could sense our concern for Spock?"
"That would be a reasonable assumption."
"Maybe they made contact because they need help."
"In which case, Sylviana would be willing to help us in return."
It was when they stopped to rest, that Blackstone had a breakthrough. "Did you hear that?" he asked, bounding to his feet. Kirk, instantly alert, was on his feet a heartbeat behind the Vulcan, "What is it Blackstone? What did you hear?" Blackstone shook his head, "Maybe it was the wind. I thought I heard something moving in the trees." He shuddered, still looking around.
"Is it them?" Kirk asked in a lowered voice.
"I do not know. Perhaps. I feel that we are not alone."
"A presence." That's how Spock described it." Aloud, he said, "Sylviana! If you're here, show yourself to us. We need your help." They stood quietly, waiting, hearing no sound but their own heartbeats, raised in anticipation. Then, from the undergrowth, came the sound of heavy footsteps on the forest floor, branches weighty with leaves being pushed aside, and into their clearing stepped a Skarran, tall and hairy, but unarmed and holding its hands in the air. Kirk and McCoy instantly felt for their weapons, but Blackstone cried, "Wait!"
"Sylviana?" Kirk asked questioningly.
"Yes. The same." Came the astonishing reply.
"Forgive me, but your appearance is.." Kirk was lost for words.
"This is the form that I am more accustomed to adopting. To assume the form that you know as Sylviana is an exhausting process."
"Who are you, really?" Kirk asked, his tone brisk, "Where are you from?" With an apologetic look in McCoy's direction, Sylviana sighed and said,
"From the fourth planet in the Skarran system."
"That planet is no longer inhabited."
"A combination of natural disasters and our own excessive exploitation of our world, destroyed it. A few of us survived, made it to Skara. We have lived alongside the native Skarrans, sometimes assuming their form, sometimes our own. We have made no mark on their world, Captain Kirk – our code here has been one of non-interference because of the virus we carry. It had been our hope to find a cure and align our destinies with theirs but our numbers are few now."
"You mean mate with them." Declared McCoy. "That would change them, interfere with their DNA, quite probably turn them into a sterile, hybrid race." The big Skarran, previously known as Sylviana – the name seemed singularly inappropriate now - shook its large, hairy head.
"We share the same genetic code as the Skarrans. It has been suggested that the same people who brought life to Skara also brought it to the fourth planet, but that we developed at different rates. The Skarrans remained primitive whereas we built civilisations."
"A question." Kirk said, "You were close by when our landing party arrived on Skara. Why didn't you show up on our instruments?"
"We are telepaths, Captain. We merely suggested to you that your instruments were recording nothing. Mr Spock was troubled because he could sense our presence and his tricorder readings and sense of logic conflicted with what he was feeling. I regretted causing him to doubt himself but I could not risk revealing myself to you when I knew so little about you."
"And – now you know all about us?" Kirk said, harshly, not comfortable with the knowledge that Sylviana and her people might have been reading their minds.
"Like the Vulcan race, we respect other people's right to a private inner life, Captain. However, it is difficult not to absorb your thoughts when you make no attempt to shield them, as Vulcans do."
"Did Blackstone summon you with his thoughts?" Kirk asked.
"We have been tracking you since our meeting. For your protection. Our Skarran friends are hostile to other life forms. In time they will learn that not all beings are their enemies." As she spoke, Sylviana began to dissolve before them, her body remoulding itself into her more familiar shape. "Let us see you as you really are." Kirk said.
"As I said, we have no permanent form; we are constantly shifting, changing. It is the only way we know to conserve energy. For some reason, perhaps because the Skarran native form was once our own, this is the least draining to maintain."
"Sylviana." Kirk said "Can you help us find our friend?"
"I tried to warn him, but it was too late. He was taken along with the others." Sylviana said.
"Taken where?" McCoy asked, urgently. Sylviana shrugged, "To the encampment where the others are."
"How far to the encampment, Sylviana?" Kirk asked, impatient.
"At your speed, two days."
"You can get there faster?"
In this form, no. As a bird, yes." Kirk rolled his eyes. Why had the human race not evolved with such advantages? He gestured for Sylviana to lead the way.
As they walked, Kirk said, "Sylviana, your restraint, your respect for Skara and its inhabitants is commendable." Kirk paused, "We have reason to believe that the people holding our friend have an entirely different way of seeing things. If we are right about who they are and what they are here for, they will stop at nothing to exploit this planet's resources. They will show no mercy to anyone who stands in their way." Without meaning to, Kirk glanced over at T'Sorf who was standing with his head bowed as though the sins of the whole Klingon race rested on his shoulders.
"They have already killed some of the Skarrans." Sylviana said, sadly. "We try to warn them, but they have a very limited spoken language. Projecting feelings of fear to instigate a fight or flight response seems to work best. And the Skarrans have learned not to hunt near the enclosure."
"How long have these strangers been here, Sylviana?" Kirk asked.
"Not long. Two Skarran summers." Blackstone did some rapid calculations and said, grimly, "A month after Ravik."
"Looks like you were right, Blackstone. Jim, if this has something to do with the hyperwarp and that Klingon warbird wasn't here by accident, then Admiral Caton, if he is here, is about to hand that knowledge over to the Klingon Empire." McCoy had just voiced the unthinkable. "Think what that would mean. He has to be stopped."
Kirk's mind was awhirl. How far behind them was Scotty with the Enterprise? A day? Two days? More? Another battlecruiser was almost certainly on its way to carry the hyperwarp back to the Klingon Emprie. Why had the Enterprise been lured to Skara in the first place? The hyperwarp could be fitted to the Klingon ship. Was it for the Morana - to provide them with a class of ship that could accommodate the hyperwarp? And the Klingons had been invited along, both to receive the hyperwarp and to ensure that the Enterprise was disabled and handed over to the Morana. If that were the case, then Kirk wanted his ship as far away from Skara as possible, but Scotty was under orders to rendezvous there at the earliest opportunity.
Kirk saw something akin to dismay on McCoy's face and knew that, like him, the doctor was acutely aware that there was a lot more at stake than the life of the Enterprise's First Officer. It was not a comforting thought.