Chapter Twenty
Admiral Ben Caton turned from his computer monitor and sat for a few moments considering Piklamer's encounter with T'Hana. His fists were clenched and a layer of sweat glistened on his brow.
Not for the first time, he cursed his luck. He had thought Kort and Hunter dead these past six months, killed in the attack on the Curie. How could he have guessed that they had somehow hijacked the Curie's shuttle days before the attack and been safely on their way to Skara? Then, just as he had managed to lure the Enterprise to Skara, the ion storm had struck and they had lost both it and the Klingon ship.
And now, that damn Vulcan First Officer was proving a trial. Still, if what Piklamer had told him were true, and if what he had heard about Jim Kirk's loyalty to his men were also true, then it would not be long before Captain Kirk returned to rescue his precious Mr Spock.
The Morana were becoming impatient. Stranded in this Galaxy when once the entire Universe had been theirs to roam. Since his first encounter with them, they had tolerated him because of his usefulness. If he were unable to deliver what he had promised, his usefulness would be subject to review.
Caton did not delude himself that he had any kind of special relationship with Piklamer – he had learned that much at Ravik. It had been at Piklamer's insistence that the whole planet had been attacked, despite Caton's assurance that it would be enough to destroy the base. Still, he hadn't protested too much.
Despite himself Caton shuddered, remembering that planet's fate and his part in it. Lucky he was a person who could compartmentalise easily, or the guilt would surely have driven him insane. Lucky also that he was not prone to self doubt; what's done was done and revisiting the past for the purpose of cross-examining his conscience was not his style. Still, it was a lot to lock away in a box inside his head and he was careful not to try the lid.
He toyed with the idea of speaking with the Vulcan himself. Not that he believed, as Piklamer did, that Kirk would sacrifice his ship and his command to save his First Officer. It didn't work like that, no matter how deep a bond between two men went. Piklamer had interpreted what he had found in the Vulcan's mind on a simplistic level – his telepathic skill was limited to what he could accomplish with the terlak – and Piklamer was nothing if not limited in his capacity to understand the human mind. As for the Vulcan half of Spock's mind – understanding that was a challenge of an entirely different nature.
The base that had been established on Skara was strictly covert. Caton had used his connections in Starfleet to secure the facilities and supplies and secrecy that were necessary for the Morana's work on Skara. The whole operation was shrouded in secrecy because of the intensely sensitive nature of their cooperation with the Morana, perpetrators of the attack on Ravik. Caton had played down his own part in that event – he had merely pointed out the advantages to the Federation of securing a hyperwarp drive ahead of the Klingon Empire. It was amazing what people were willing to forgive and forget for the sake of political advantage. But only certain people – it was not widely known what was really going on on Skara and they needed to be careful.
Skara, it seemed was rich in bretinium, but mining it was only the beginning of the process. The crystals had to be refined before they could be used – a lengthy and costly process, making delays inevitable. And the Klingon woman's knowledge of porathium was essential. How much longer could he stall his accomplices in Starfleet for? Questions were already being asked in high places.
Caton stood up and walked across the room to a shelf upon which rested a polished magenta and gold-flecked oval crystal. Bretinium. Refined and processed and polished to an intensely radiant smoothness. Its texture was reminiscent of sleek velvet; in his hand it felt cold; it felt like power.
All those years he had spent intermittently feeding information to the Klingons, the double-dealings he had engaged in to arrive at this point. The sacrifices he had made; the first, of course, being his so-called friendship with George Woodhouse when he had left him for dead on Vascus. Another box. His mind was like a Chinese box of memories best left with the lids firmly shut.
In a sudden fit of rage, Caton hurled the crystal across the room at his computer screen. The glass shattered; the crystal nestled amidst the exposed circuitry like a malevolent painted egg, mocking him with its brilliance.
Furious, he stabbed a button on his desk and contacted Nor. "Bring the Vulcan to me." He said
Spock's appearance was surprisingly orderly considering what he had endured recently, his expression unnervingly serene. The only clue to his recent suffering was his rigid gait as he walked to the chair indicated by Caton.
"Mr Spock." Caton began, his voice reproachful, "I am told that the famous Vulcan ability to meld minds is getting in the way of results. You are proving a hard nut to crack. His words drew a brief look of puzzlement from his captive, quickly dispelled as the Vulcan's intellect filled the gap in his understanding of the use of metaphor.
"No matter. Piklamer learned much in his incursion into your mind and he tells me that he is almost ready to try again. You could save yourself the indignity of a further assault by cooperating with us." Spock did not answer, did not even grace Caton with a look, but Caton was gratified to note a barely perceptible tightening of the Vulcan's lips.
He moved closer, brought his face in line with Spock's. "Your captain will give us the Enterprise, Mr Spock. If not to save the neck of his First Officer, then by some other means. One way or another the Morana will have that ship and I will go with them. Klingon High Command will pay handsomely for the hyperwarp, but even without their payment I would give it to them for the satisfaction of seeing the Federation brought to its knees."
He had the Vulcan's attention now, he could tell. Curiosity. The Vulcan wished to understand why a well-decorated Admiral would betray Starfleet and throw away the achievements of a lifetime. Let him wonder. Let them all wonder.
Caton stood up, his expression dark, threatening. He was a big man, the kind who would use his physical presence to intimidate. Spock knew that he had a reputation for getting what he wanted. Even across the distance separating them, Spock could sense his instability. For the first time, it occurred to him that Caton might be insane.
Sounding perfectly sane, Caton looked the Vulcan in the eye and said, "Let's cut to the chase, Mr Spock. Don't think that you've outwitted Piklamer – he'll be in your head again soon and this time he won't stop until he gets what he wants."
"Tell Piklamer it is time." He said to Nor, rage possessing him anew.
Piklamer regarded Spock with cool detachment as he entered Caton's quarters. Now he looked directly Spock in the eye. Caton, still barely in control of his rage, retreated behind his desk.
"You took the Klingon woman's thoughts, Mr Spock and replaced them with pleasant inages of your home planet. An arid, heat-seared world, but also quite beautiful. If I were not in such haste to return to my own universe, I might be inclined to pay Vulcan a visit." Piklamer said. Spock stood stonily silent, preparing himself for the storm that would inevitably succeed Piklamer's mockey. The Moranan approached, terlak in hand and despite his great resolve, Spock flinched involuntarily as he felt its cold tip press against his temple.
As he had planned, Spock relaxed the defences he had built up to control his pain of his wounds and the mental torment induced by the Skarrans' toxin, letting both flood his consciousness as he emptied his mind of all else. This time he was disturbed to see that Piklamer did not recoil as he had done before. Somehow he was contriving to filter out these thoughts and probe beyond them. Spock felt a moment's fear and was even more disturbed to see Piklamer's smile of satisfaction. Across the room, Caton relaxed slightly and leaned forward the better to see the outcome of the contest.
Something was wrong. His strategy was not working. Spock felt panic rising within him as Piklamer probed the hidden places in his mind, searching deeper and deeper coming to a place that was closed even to Spock.
Suddenly, Spock knew what he had to do. He had long since sealed up his memory of the mind-sifter, relegated it to a part of his mind that he visited only under controlled circumstances when he had prepared himself with the techniques that the Vulcan healer had taught him. The healer had warned that to unseal the memory before he had mastered the techniques to cope with it could lead Spock to the brink of insanity. Spock hesitated, but only for a second. He thought of his duty to his Captain and his ship, and his mind was made up.
With a look at Piklamer that was almost apologetic, Spock led the Moranan leader to the place and prepared to open his Pandora's box. He saw Piklamer's look of surprise at being granted access to the memories turn slowly to horror as he grasped the awfulness of what had been released from the Vulcan's subconscious.
What Spock did not witness was Piklamer's look of revulsion turn slowly to one of triumph, for in that second of unleashing his nightmare, the Vulcan was engulfed by its horror and he fell to the floor, twisting and screaming in anguish.
"Do you have it?" Caton asked, his eyes narrowing to a slit as he concentrated on the astonishing scene before him. He had leapt from his seat as he witnessed the Moranan leader shrink away from the Vulcan in shock, but then something had happened; something had been reversed, and Piklamer had emerged triumphant.
"I have it." Piklamer confirmed. "The Vulcan has dark places in his mind indeed, but he miscalculated in thinking that I could be overcome by his nightmares – the Klingon mind-sifter, from what I have seen, is a subtle device that locks each individual in his own personal hell – Spock's hell is not mine. I was able to wrest the information I needed from him with ease once he succumbed to his own terrors."
Caton smiled, a leering, self-satisfied grin that did not soften his features, but transformed his face into something devilish, malevolent. He looked to where Spock was still writhing on the floor, his eyes rolling madly…
"Such an unseemly posture for a Vulcan." He said. "Get him out of here Nor! He's of no further use to us now."
Authors note: A big 'Thank You' to everyone who's still following the story - especially everyone who is reviewing or has added 'Destiny Warp' to their story alerts or favourite stories. I can't respond personally to anyone who isn't signed up with the site, but please be assured, I appreciate all your comments. Aurelan