TWO
James T. Kirk came to a hard stop against the bole of a particularly knotty pine tree, the breath knocked out of him. He rested on his hands and knees for a moment and then forced himself to his feet. One minute he had been standing on the transporter platform of the Enterprise and the next – instead of materializing in the Cartwright's barn alongside Bones where he was supposed to be – he found himself suspended in mid-air and then, plummeting to the ground. Landing with an 'oomph' on a patch of rocky soil, he had rolled down the side of a steep hill until that pine tree reached out and slapped him hard, halting his descent.
Probably saving his life.
Anchoring his hands on his hips, the captain of the Enterprise took a moment to catch his breath and then looked down, noting that the hill continued on for another hundred or so feet until it bottomed out in a pile of rocks bordered by a meandering stream. He might have survived the fall, but he was glad he didn't have to test that particular theory. Glancing about Kirk looked for any sign of local inhabitants. Seeing none he opened his communicator, aimed the signal at the invisible starship that floated above, and spoke into it.
"Mister Scott, are you there? Scotty?"
"Aye, sir," came the almost immediate reply. "I hope your trip was a bonny one."
The blond man scowled at the bracken covered rocky ground beneath his feet.
Brutal, more like.
"Not exactly, Scotty. I'm..." Jim glanced about. "I'm on the side of a steep hill...somewhere. Bones is nowhere in sight."
"You mean you're not at the Ponderosa?"
How did he answer that? The 'Ponderosa' was the name collectively given to Benjamin Cartwright's vast holdings in Nevada. According to the records of the time, its approximate size was a thousand square miles or six hundred thousand acres. So, technically he was on the Ponderosa even though he wasn't at it.
"Let's put it this way, Scotty. I'm not at the ranch house."
"Well, it wasn't me wee bairns whot caused the trouble, Captain, you can be sure of that!" the engineer said, his Scottish accent growing even as his indignation rose. "Now, you or Doctor McCoy didn't fiddle with the coordinates, did ye?"
Kirk suppressed a sigh. No matter what, Mister Scott's beloved machines couldn't be at fault. "Neither the doctor or I had anything to do with setting the coordinates, Scotty. I left that to Kyle." He didn't add, but thought, 'After all, that's his job.'
"Just a moment, Captain..."
The channel went dead.
Kirk waited a minute and then began to twist and turn the knobs on the communicator. "Scotty? What's wrong?" He drew a breath and held it. There were in the nineteenth century, for God's sake! What could be happening on the Enterprise? "Scotty!"
The communicator chirped back to life several seconds later. "Sorry, sir. I wanted to check in with Kyle. I had the lad take a look at the log and he says there was a wee variance in the transporter signal at the moment you beamed down." The engineer paused. "Still, as it didn't affect the coordinates, it should have had nae effect. It makes noo sense that you and Doctor McCoy ended up in different places."
Kirk chewed that over for a moment. He hesitated and then asked, "Is there anyone else within earshot, Mister Scott?"
"Tis the night watch, Captain. Just Uhura, Sulu, and me."
Good. What he had to say wouldn't be influenced by the presence of his senior officers. "Is this a secured channel?"
"Absolutely, Captain, as per your orders."
It was a ridiculous precaution considering the era he had landed in. Still... "Is there any word on Mister Spock's location yet?"
He sensed more than heard Montgomery Scott's sigh. "Nae, sir. Not a bleep or blink."
Kirk frowned. "You haven't found a signature for the artifact either?"
"Strange as may be, Captain, nae, I have not. But then we know very little of its properties. It's possible the wee thing only gives off a signal when in use."
It was agood thing they were not on Earth anymore. The professor who had discovered the missing artifact – Campbell Beckett – had raised the temperature of the planet to Vulcan norm when he discovered what Spock had done. Campbell had immediately contacted the big brass at Starfleet and they had contacted him and...
Kirk sighed again.
It had all started about a week before when they had gone home for a short R&R on Earth before heading out into deep space to continue their five year mission. While planet-side, Spock had made the acquaintance of Professor Campbell Beckett who had told him about a recent find that had been made in California on land that had once been a state park known as the Bodie Ghost Town. Bodie had been a small mining town with no claim to fame until, due to the freak collapse of the mine, gold was found there in eighteen-seventy-six. The town boomed and busted within the space of twenty years. The empty buildings remained standing for nearly two centuries as a ghost town and tourist attraction before giving way to the advance of civilization and humanity's constant need to expand. The professor had been digging in the ruins of the original mine when he found a curious artifact that he believed might be of alien origin. He invited Spock to supper and then to his lab so the Vulcan scientist could take a look at it.
Kirk ran a hand over his chin and sighed. He should have realized something was wrong when Spock returned that night to go over their current mission plans. The tall lean Vulcan had said little. In fact – for a Vulcan – he'd seemed preoccupied. When McCoy joined them several hours later with a bottle of Kentucky bourbon and three glasses in hand, Spock had declined the offer and risen from his chair. He wished them both good night before returning to his room.
The next morning both Spock and the artifact were gone.
Kirk hesitated. It felt like treason even to ask. "Did you remember to calibrate the instruments to detect any Gateway emissions?"
"Aye, sir. 'Twas nothing on the surface." Scotty paused. "But then you know Mister Spock. If he doesn't want to be found, the odds are long he won't be."
Kirk pursed his lips. "Well, we'll just have to do something to shorten those odds in our favor. Keep at it, Mister Scott. I'll check back in an hour or two if I am able. Kirk out."
The blond man replaced the communicator in the leather satchel he wore anchored over his shoulder. Somehow it had miraculously remained with him during the fall. He looked around again, scanning the forested area, his mind firing as rapidly as photon torpedoes during a surprise attack. At first he'd thought, as unlikely as it was, that Spock had simply removed the alien object from the lab to study it more closely. But then when, during the professor's tirade, Campbell had used words all too familiar to anyone who had been on the Guardian's planet, his stomach had sunk to his toes and he had felt a real rush of fear for his friend. Campbell Beckett said that Spock had mentioned a place called 'Gateway' as a possible origin for the artifact.
Gateway, the home of the Guardian of Forever – one of only two planets in the Federation that were quarantined.
Professor Beckett had heard of Gateway, of course. He was just being cagey. As an archaeologist Kirk could have expected no less. Rumors abounded about the Guardian's planet, of course, though there was little real knowledge out there. He had managed to put the archaeologist off using Starfleet's standard lie...er...cover story that the living machine the planet held was a simple repository of knowledge. But he knew – he knew the truth. The Guardian was not only a repository, it was itself the gateway to all of time and space. No one knew much of its creators. They remained hidden in a past the Guardian refused to show. It was thought two races had occupied the planet, the ones who created the Guardian – known as the Originators – and the earlier ones who had created the planet itself.
Once they knew Spock had gone, he and Scotty had moved as quickly as possible to find the fading signature of their particular Vulcan-Human hybrid. Along with Spock's, they found another familiar pattern. It matched the one in the sealed records they carried on the Enterprise – the records of the only Federation starship to visit Gateway, and of the crew who had set foot on its surface – including him, Spock, McCoy, Uhura, and Scotty. After their mission the planet had been closed to any and all traffic. Jim closed his eyes and sighed, seeing once again a beautiful female face with large dark eyes, surrounded by a fluff of even darker brown hair. He felt again the touch of her lips on his and then watched as a speeding car struck her and took her life while he looked on unable to do anything to prevent it. They had experienced then firsthand what interference with the past could do. McCoy, crazed from an overdose of cordrazine, had prevented Edith's Keeler's death and, due to her successful peace movement, America and its allies lost the Second World War. Perseverance and a lot of luck – and maybe a wag or two of God's finger – had saved them and the time stream that time.
Kirk's hazel eyes opened, taking in his surroundings once again, hoping against hope for some movement that might indicate the location of his friend. What could Spock have been thinking? If the Vulcan suspected the artifact came from Gateway, then why dare to take it? Could it be he was attempting to protect it, to hide it away from someone? If so, why had Spock not come to him? The blond man frowned. Professor Beckett had informed him as well that Spock had suspicions that the artifact contained random elements – unstable elements. Might those elements have effected Spock due to his unusual physiology?
Was he even in his right mind?
A thorough investigation of Spock's quarters had given them their first clue as to where he had gone. There were notes laying on Spock's desk, written in his immaculate Vulcan hand, and they were able to tap into information he had brought up on the computer concerning the nineteenth century and the Nevada Territory. All of it pertained to a family by the name of Cartwright. He'd held a briefing with his officers to discuss their options – and to get their permission in a way – and then had given the order.
Though there would be Hell to pay later, without Starfleet's permission, he had ordered Scotty to slingshot the ship around a nearby sun and take them into the past.
Kirk's frown deepened as he dusted off the knees and the backside of his brown striped trousers and then unfastened the buttons and rolled down the sleeves of the deep blue work shirt he wore in order to stave off the growing chill. Night was coming. He really needed to move.
As he did, he considered what had happened. He knew his Vulcan friend – knew him well. If Spock had considered all options and decided this bold move had to be made, there had to be a valid reason. He knew as well, since that move had to do with Gateway and the Guardian, that Spock would be hell-bent to take whatever chance it was by himself so no one else would have to face Starfleet's fire. Well, damn him! He was just as determined that Spock not face it alone. And so he and McCoy had kitted up and stepped onto the transporter platform and, while Bones complained yet again about his atoms being scattered from the Enterprise to eternity, he'd watched Kyle move the levers and the Enterprise disappear and then –
He'd landed here and McCoy was...well...somewhere.
Kirk looked up. He used the rising moon to get his bearings, and then headed off in the direction he thought Ben Cartwright's spread lay.
After all, no matter what, moving was always better than standing still.
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
"I'm waiting."
Ben Cartwright stood beside the striped settee where his youngest lay unmoving, his brother Hoss by his side. Joe seemed to be sleeping, but there was nothing any one of them could do to rouse him. There wasn't a mark on him other than a scrape on his forehead that had probably resulted from him striking the barn floor when he fell. There was no sign of any attack, nothing to indicate violence.
He just wouldn't – or couldn't wake up.
The man standing before him with his hands raised in the black city slicker suit looked to be a little younger than him. Perhaps in his mid-forties. He was well-spoken and obviously well-educated and claimed to be a doctor named Leonard McCoy. So far he hadn't let him near Joe. Before he did, he needed to understand what had happened in the barn.
So far the man's answers had been vague at best.
"Er, well, yes..." McCoy cleared his throat. "You see, I was headed this way when my horse threw a shoe. I saw a light in your barn and went inside to see if I could find someone to help. I heard your son come in, but by the time I found him, he was just about out. I have no idea what happened." He started to lower his hand toward his vest. "If you'd just let me..."
"Keep 'em up," a low voice warned. "Until we tell you to put them down."
Ben looked at his son, Adam. It was Joe's gun he held in his hand. He'd found it lying beside his brother when he marched the stranger back into the barn to make him face the music and discovered Joseph had fallen unconscious.
Somehow, there was something poetic about that.
McCoy lifted his hand above his head again. "Certainly. It's just... Well...I'd like to help. I have proof in my pocket that I am a physician."
Ben gestured with a hand to his middle son. "Hoss, come here and take whatever it is he has." As his son obeyed, he demanded, "Now, tell me again just why you're in the area."
"As I said, I'm looking for a missing friend. The last thing he said was that he intended to head for the Ponderosa." The man looked down as Hoss reached into his pocket and pulled out a thin leather wallet. Then the stranger's blue eyes, lighter and clearer than his middle son's, returned to him. "I need to find him."
Ben took the wallet from his son and opened it. Inside there was a letter to Paul Martin from a State Hospital in Milledgeville, Georgia recommending Doctor Leonard McCoy and stating that McCoy was headed for California. The white-haired man frowned as he perused it. Milledgeville was not a regular hospital. It was an asylum for the lunatic, idiot, and epileptic.
"Is this man you are seeking an escaped patient?" Ben asked as he closed the wallet.
Leonard McCoy sighed. "I've treated him before, but more than anything else he's my friend."
"Adam," he said after a moment's thought, "lower your gun."
"Pa, we know nothing about this man," his eldest son protested. "That letter could be a forgery, or he could have taken it from someone else, or –"
"Or he could be telling the truth. We'll know for certain when your brother wakes up." Ben turned to look at Joe. Worry stabbed him once more when he saw his youngest had not shifted or stirred in the slightest.
Hoss was at Joe's side again. He was brushing his brother's brown curls back from his forehead. "What do you think's wrong with him, Pa?" he asked, his eyes wide with worry.
"If I may..." the doctor from Georgia began.
Ben turned toward him. McCoy was wagging his hands over his head.
"Oh, yes. Put your hands down." He paused as his eldest challenged him. The gun was still out. Adam was too old to order, so he said only, "Son, please."
Reluctantly, Adam obeyed. Ben noticed his son kept the gun, placing it behind his belt, instead of returning it to the sideboard where Joe's holster lay.
Doctor McCoy indicated the pouch at his side. "I have some smelling salts in here. I think they might do the trick. If it's all right..."
Ben nodded slowly, still uncertain whether or not he could trust the man. When the doctor moved to Joe's side, he went with him. So did Adam. Hoss, of course, was already there.
His middle son rose from his position beside his brother as the doctor drew near in order to give him room. McCoy rested one hip on the settee beside Joe. First, he checked the boy's eyes and then took Joe's pulse. After a moment, the stranger reached into his pouch and drew out a small paper twisted at both ends. Holding it close to Joe's nose, he snapped it.
The scent of something like perfume filled the air. It didn't smell like any salts he knew.
It took a second but Joe grimaced, then he moaned, and finally, coughed.
"Well, if that don't just beat all!" Hoss exclaimed and slapped his thigh.
As if reading his mind, the stranger stood and moved out of the way, allowing Ben to drop to the settee beside his son.
"Joe. Joseph, can you hear me?"
His son's long black eyelashes fluttered. A second later the hazel-green eyes behind them appeared, dazed and confused. "Pa...?"
Ben laid his hand along Joe's cheek, like he had done when he was a little boy – but for just a second, since his youngest was no longer a boy but a man. Removing it, the white-haired man held it out and said, "Can you sit up, son?"
Joe blinked. "I think so."
Doctor McCoy turned to Adam. "I'd advise getting him some juice if you have it."
His eldest frowned. Clearly the doctor's suggestion set off some alarm. "Juice? Not brandy? Doc Martin usually gives that or coffee."
"Medical advances," the stranger said, cocking one grizzled eyebrow. "Juice is better."
"Hoss, go see if Hop Sing has any juice left from this morning," Ben ordered.
"Yes, sir."
As McCoy moved to sit beside Joe again and began to examine him, Ben signaled Adam to his side. Walking with his eldest to the door, he said, "Adam, I think you should check the barn and the surrounding yard. Make sure there's no one else here. If the doctor is telling the truth, there may be someone else who attacked Joe."
Adam looked confused. "I thought you believed him. You let him treat Joe."
"I know about smelling salts. They couldn't do your brother any harm. As to Doctor McCoy, I'm inclined to believe him – but not entirely convinced yet. Once your brother recovers we'll see what he has to say." He caught his son's arm. "In the morning, why don't you ride into town and see if Paul has ever heard of this hospital in Georgia." He looked at the stranger who was tenderly cleaning the scrape on Joe's forehead and speaking softly to him. "Or this man."
"Sure thing, Pa." With that Adam headed out the door.
As it closed behind him, the man stood up and looked his way. "You can talk to your son now, Mister Cartwright."
Ben crossed immediately to Joe. The boy was sitting up with a blanket tucked around him that the doctor had magicked from somewhere. Leonard McCoy gave him a smile that told him he too was a father and understood his need as he shifted out of the way.
"How are you son?" Ben asked as he sat down.
"I'm fine, Pa," Joe said in that way he had when he was determined to deny any weakness. "You don't need to fuss."
"I'm not fussing, Joe, just doing what fathers do." He touched his son's forehead near the scrape. "Do you remember how you got this?"
"When I fell, I think." Joe frowned. "I'm not really sure. I can't remember..."
Ben glanced up at the stranger. "Do you remember meeting Doctor McCoy?"
Joe looked to where the doctor was standing. He frowned again, thinking hard. Finally he shook his head. "Nope."
That agreed with the doctor's story. "Did you see anyone else?"
Again, he thought. "I don't think so. I was chopping wood and heard a noise in the barn. I remember going in, but that's it."
Ben had a sudden thought. He looked at McCoy. "Could this man you're searching for have – "
The doctor shook his head. "He's not violent. Just...lost."
"Maybe I just tripped, Pa. Fell and hit my head." Joe hesitated and then smiled that self-effacing smile he had. "I was pretty riled about chopping that wood and wasn't watching where I was going."
"Here you go, little brother," Hoss announced as he came into the room with juice in hand and Hop Sing in tow.
"Mistah Joe okay?" the Chinese man asked, clearly concerned. "Not scramble brains like eggs?"
As Joe laughed, Hoss replied, "You know'd Joe since he was a baby, Hop Sing. Ain't nobody got a harder head than baby brother here."
Ben smiled at the banter, grateful to see the color returning to his youngest son's face. "Hoss, help your brother upstairs."
That youngest scowled. "Pa, I'm fine. I don't need to lie down."
The white-haired man looked at Leonard McCoy who was standing to the side, listening to their exchange. "What do you think, Doctor?"
The stranger jumped a bit, as if his mind had been very far away. His eyes went to Joe. With a smile, he said, "Rest wouldn't hurt, young man."
"Ah, Doc..."
"You heard him, son." Ben's gaze went to Hoss. The concern his middle boy felt for his baby brother but was masking, shone out of his son's eyes. "Hoss, take your brother to his bed and make sure he stays there."
Before Hoss could reach him, Joe tossed off the blanket and stood – too quickly. As gracefully as he could, which was none to, his youngest caught the edge of the settee to balance himself. From how green he looked it appeared the world was swimming around him and he was about to pass out, but bound and determined as Joseph was, the older man knew there was no point in trying to help. Joe would have to come to that conclusion by himself. Resolute, Joe took the first few steps. Hoss caught him before he could fall and, supporting his brother by one arm, maneuvered him muttering protests up the stairs and toward his room.
"He'll be fine," McCoy said softly a second after they'd reached the top. "I'm thinking Joe struck his head as he fell. There are no signs of concussion, so a good night's sleep should set him right."
Ben turned toward the stranger. "Thank you, Doctor McCoy. I'm sorry I doubted you. It's just that –"
"No apology is necessary, Mister Cartwright." The look out of his eyes was as soft as his voice. "I have a daughter."
"Just one?"
The stranger nodded. "She lives with her mother."
The white-haired man drew a deep breath. He didn't know why, but he trusted this man. He had no reason to – the way they had met was certainly suspicious – but he sensed he was a man to whom all life was sacred.
Instinctively he knew McCoy would not have harmed Joe on purpose.
"You look tired," Ben said at last. "The least we can do is provide you with a room for the night."
"No, no. I need to move on. My friend – "
"You said he was headed here, and you can't travel by night," Ben insisted. "Why don't you get some sleep and then set out in the morning to look for him? I'll send one of the boys with you. You'll only make mistakes tonight, and the wilderness is no place for a man to do that. She's as unforgiving as she is beautiful."
The stranger said nothing for several moments. He seemed to be considering his options, weighing what he knew was best against his desire to help the man he was seeking and obviously loved. Finally, he sighed. "I guess you're right. I am weary. I thank you for your hospitality – and your trust. You have no reason to extend either to a poor Georgia boy far from home."
"Humanity is my reason, Doctor McCoy," Ben said.
The doctor held out his hand. As Ben took it, he said, "I feel privileged to have met you, Mister Cartwright."
"Ben."
The doctor's pale blue eyes lit with a smile. "Ben. Please, call me Leonard."
Ben looked up. Hoss was coming down the stairs. "Did you get your brother settled?"
"I hog-tied him with the sheets," Hoss said with a shake of his head. "That oughta keep him down 'til mornin' at least."
Leonard laughed. "That youngest one of yours reminds me of another friend of mine. There is no such word as 'can't'."
"You got that right," Hoss declared.
At that moment the front door opened and Adam stepped in. He tossed his hat on the sideboard as he entered the room and finally relinquished Joseph's firearm. "All clear, Pa," he said. "There's no sign of anyone other than the doctor here."
"The doctor is going to spend the night. Hoss was about to show him up to a room."
His eldest held his feelings close. Ben wasn't really sure what he thought of that. Still Adam stepped forward and extended his hand.
"Welcome to our home, Doctor McCoy," he said, his lips pursed in that certain way he had.
Ben relaxed visibly. Really, he need have no worries.
Brother Adam was on watch.