SIX

Leonard McCoy was anchored on the top of a flat rock with one foot on his knee. He'd removed his shoe and was massaging his blistered foot.

"Damned dude boots!" he groused.

Jim Kirk turned to look at him, a slow smile spreading across his face. "That's what you get for picking a dude's duds rather than a ranch hand's." Jim indicated his feet. "Plain old leather work boots with low heels. Great for rocky terrain."

"Well, first of all, I wasn't planning on scaling any damn rocky terrain and, secondly, any respectable physician of the time wouldn't be caught dead in anything less than a pair of Congress Gators!"

Kirk hid his smile. It wouldn't do to let McCoy know he was amused.

They'd traveled part of the night and, after making camp and catching a few hours of sleep, into the new day without finding a sign of Joe Cartwright or his companion. They had been following the road, but had left it when they heard a large group of horses approaching. From the shelter of the underbrush they had watched Ben Cartwright, his elder sons, and about a half-dozen ranch hands thunder by. Cautiously, they'd followed them and watched as they discovered the ruined wagon and started the desperate search for its missing occupant, first searching the flat ground and then moving into the hilly country where they were now camped. That's what he'd been doing when McCoy started complaining – watching the Cartwrights undo their bed rolls and settle in for the night.

Bones put his shoe back on and limped to his side.

"I'd sure like to know what they found. That boy has to be hurt. He's gonna need a doctor."

Jim nodded. "But he has to survive, right? Joe dies in... Well, after nineteen hundred, doesn't he?"

"Sometime in the teens, I think," his friend said, his tone not entirely convincing.

"What's wrong?"

"Besides my little faux pas?" The doctor shrugged, chagrinned. "Spock. He's here. Maybe... Well, maybe something's changed."

The nightmare Bone's interference had caused in Earth's nineteen-forties haunted them both, but it was worse for McCoy. Instead of saving her, the physician had been forced to play a part in Edith Keeler's death. He didn't know if he could be forced to do such a thing again.

Kirk laid a hand on his friend's shoulder. "It wasn't your fault, Bones, you know that," he said softly.

The doctor pursed his lips. "Maybe not. At least this time we're working to keep a young man alive, not to...'

Jim had raised a finger to his lips. With his other hand, he indicated McCoy should get down. The sound came from behind them.

Someone was scaling the hill.

Crooking the same finger, he drew his friend into the trees – just in time. Almost before they had time to settle two men appeared. Both were long and lean. One had pale blond hair; the other, gray. It was the younger man who exuded threat. He was wound tight like a spring ready to explode.

"This is pointless!" he spat, anxiously fingering the weapon on his hip. "Let me take the unknown element out of the equation. Then we can move in and claim the target."

The older man disagreed. "We need to know more about him first. There's something..."

"A man bleeds. He dies. That's all there is to it," the blond remarked, his tone chilling as a winter's night without a fire. "What do we care who he is? Time is running out and we need to eliminate the target if we are to acquire the information we must have to complete our task."

"You're too much like Medora," the other man chided. "How did you come to be a physician, Abdon, when you enjoy killing so much?"

Abdon's lip turned up with a sneer. "You know, Orlo, that you can't dissect a thing and find out how it ticks if it's alive."

Jim glanced at Bones. His friend had gone pale.

Orlo, who appeared to be the superior in the situation, turned to confront the other man. "You will do nothing to the target. His death is proscribed in a certain place, at a certain time –"

"What difference does it make?" the other man challenged. "Dead is dead. All that beauty buried under a tone of rock. What a waste. Let me take him apart first and then we can plant the corpse there."

The gray-haired man paled nearly as much as Bones. "He is barely more than a boy."

Abdon shrugged. "A specimen is a specimen."

Kirk was frowning. There was something about the two men, about the way they held themselves and especially about their speech, that didn't ring true for the nineteenth century. He glanced at Bones again. He had sensed it as well.

Aliens? the physician mouthed.

Kirk nodded. Was this why Spock had used the professor's artifact to come back into Nevada's past? Had he found out somehow that an alien race had come to the Earth and was interfering with its timeline?

Had Spock come back to stop them?

Gesturing to McCoy, Kirk indicated they should back away. While he knew their welcome would be less than cordial, he felt the need to warn Ben Cartwright that his missing son was in greater peril than he could imagine. It didn't take much of a leap to recognize who the target was they spoke of. Obviously, these two had been among the four who had chased Joe Cartwright off the road.

A finger tapping on his shoulder brought him out of his reverie. He glanced at McCoy, slightly aggravated at his timing. Bones had a funny look on his face, like he'd taken a shot of whiskey gone bad. As their eyes met, the doctor pointed at something he couldn't see over his shoulder. Kirk pivoted to find a petite ebon-haired woman wearing a skin tight knee-length satin gown cut from a shimmering copper cloth holding a Derringer.

It's snub barrel was aimed directly at the doctor.

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It was dusk and it seemed they were no closer to finding Joe than they had been at sunrise. Glancing at Theron and Hoss who were both asleep, Adam stretched and rose from his position by the fire they'd kindled. He picked up the torch he'd fashioned earlier and lit it. As he did, his father turned toward him from the position he had taken on the ground.

"Adam, you have to be exhausted. Get some sleep. We'll set out in an hour or two, once Hoss is rested."

He looked at his brother again. The big man had been unstoppable until about an hour back when he'd stumbled and nearly toppled over. Hoss, who had awakened in the forest, unconscious without any known cause, seemed to be finding it almost as hard to regain his strength as Joe had.

Joe.

"I can't sleep. Pa. I'm going to make one more circuit of the area to look for prints."

"By torchlight?"

Adam shrugged. "It's all I've got."

His father started to toss off the light blanket that covered his legs. "I'll come with –"

"Pa, no. Get some rest. One crazy Cartwright is enough. Tomorrow when I'm stumbling tired you can tell me, 'I told you so'." His lips turned up at the ends in a half-smile. "I'll call out if I find anything."

"Where are you going to look?"

His eyebrows mirrored his lips. "Wherever my feet take me."

As Adam moved into the dark, he considered their progress so far. They'd followed the trail of the heavy man for most of the day until it reached ground so sparse and dry there was no track. From there it had been educated guesses which had brought them to the foot of another even larger hill than the one the wagon had tumbled down. His father had called it a night at that point, as scaling it in the dark was not a particularly attractive – or effective – option. Still, something called to him from that hilltop. He didn't know if it was his brother, but he couldn't shake the feeling that time was of the essence, and if he waited until morning whoever was up there would be gone – and most likely beyond his reach.

Crouching, Adam examined the ground. The flickering light of the torch cast shadows on the dry grass, revealing indentations the daylight had hidden. He pushed his fingers into one of them, noting it was deep enough to confirm one man was carrying another. The black-haired man glanced up then. The tracks led straight up the hill. After considering it a moment, Adam turned the torch upside-down and drove its burning head into a patch of barren ground, extinguishing it. There was nothing more the light could reveal and its presence would surely give him away. Whoever had Joe had taken great pains to move as far away from the site of the crash as possible. He had to hope that meant they were on their side. When he reached the top, Adam halted. The underbrush was scarce and scattered far and wide, offering a limited chance for concealment. He noted a brace of trees and just as quickly realized that the plot of land beneath them was occupied. There was a tall man dressed in black with dark hair standing, staring at the stars. Another man lay on the ground in a crumpled heap.

Was it – could it be Joe?

Palming his pistol, Adam shifted forward, intent on making a sprint for the shadows. As he did two things happened – the man who had been staring at the stars turned and looked at a narrow channel of pine trees that ran like a gauntlet down the southern side of the hill, and a party of five stepped out of those trees. It was obvious two of the five were prisoners as their hands were tied behind their backs and they moved only when prodded by a hand or the barrel of a gun between their shoulder blades. Of the other three, one was a short well-built woman. The other two, as tall as she was not, seemed almost cadaver-like they were so thin.

Adam shifted forward to hear what they had to say.

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Spock was looking at him, one ink slash eyebrow cocked. "Captain. I would prefer it if circumstances allowed me to express approval of your appearance. They do not. And while I welcome your concern, history would have been served better if you had remained on the Enterprise. "

"Nice to see you too, Spock," McCoy snarled from beside him.

"Bones." Kirk warned as gaze went to the petite woman who continued to point the derringer at Bones as if she sensed he could be better controlled by threatening the life of his friend than his own. The blond man scowled. For some reason she commanded his attention even more than the two men who accompanied her. While they were a threat, she was...what? There was something about her. Whatever it was made him giddy and almost unable to think straight.

"Jim," he heard McCoy say softly. "The boy. I need to get to him."

Ever the physician.

Kirk lowered his eyes to the crumpled form on the ground behind Spock. He recognized the boots and gray pants. It was Ben Cartwright's youngest boy and he was obviously injured. No surprise considering the fall he had taken.

Turning to the gray-haired man who seemed to be in charge, at least officially, and ignoring the woman as best he could, Kirk made a leap. "It will do you no good if the target dies."

Orlo frowned. Good. He'd struck a nerve.

"What do you know of the target?" he asked.

"I know that's him, laying there on the ground. And I know he's hurt." He indicated Bones with a nod. "Let my friend see to him. He's a physician."

That pronouncement elicited a response from the stick-thin blond man. He walked over to where Bones stood and stared down at him. "You are a healer?"

"I am."

"Would you find it efficacious to save a man only to have his neck stretched?"

He watched McCoy bristle. "He's just a boy, damn you!"

"Man or boy, its means nothing. He is to be disposed of." Abdon's thin lips lifted in a sneer. "As are you and your companion."

"Who are you?" Kirk demanded.

"I believe you will find they are Orion pirates, Captain."

Kirk glanced at the woman. That explained it. She must be an Orion Slave Girl like Marta, altered like the Andorian had been who had come on the ship to commit murder during their journey to the Babel conference.

No wonder his head was muddled!

He addressed Orlo again. "What is it you want? Why are you here in the past, on Ponderosa land?"

"For the silver," the woman replied.

Orions, mining minerals, imagine that.

Kirk remembered that Ben Cartwright had found silver on his land and had several mines. They were small compared to Henry Comstock's load and would be easier by far to pillage than the lodes that had made it into newspapers. While silver had always been precious, so much had been mined by the twenty-third century that its value had multiplied a thousand-fold. If these people were Orions – and he doubted Spock was mistaken – then it all made sense. They had somehow managed to obtain the time manipulators in order to travel throughout Earth's – and maybe other planets' – history to mine precious metals and sell them on the intergalactic black market.

It was a scheme as audacious as it was dangerous.

He nodded toward Joe where he lay unmoving on the ground. "What does Joe Cartwright have to do with this? Why him? Why not his father, or one of his brothers?"

"Yes," a voice asked out of the darkness, "why not one of his brothers?" Adam Cartwright followed hard upon his words. He held a gun at the ready. It was trained on the woman, creating a stand-off. "I wouldn't if I were you," he growled as both Abdon and Orlo went for their own weapons.

"You can't shoot all three of us," Abdon stated, his voice quiet and sure as a snake slithering through grass.

"Maybe not," Adam replied, his aim shifting to the vile blond-haired man. "But I can assure you that you'll be first."

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Joe thought he heard his brother's voice, but he couldn't have – could he?

Adam wasn't here. There was only the curious stranger with the dark almond-shaped eyes that looked right through him, the one who had set his arm and tended him through the night as he raved. Fire licked at his senses. Sometimes he could see it rising in red-orange licks of flame around him, threatening to burn not only himbut the whole world. At other times it seemed the fire was within, threatening to consume him from the inside-out. In lucid moments Joe recognized that he was fevered and that infection must have set in as a result of the break in his arm. In his not-so-lucid moments he thought he was surrounded by a pack of wolves with fire for fur. They snapped at him with their slavering jaws and, where their spittle dripped, his skin grew charred, turned black, and fell off.

It was then he'd screamed.

Keeping his eyes closed, Joe lay still now and listened to the conversations whirling around him.

Someone laughed; a thin nasal laugh that chilled the blood. "Primitive, do you think I fear you or that inefficient weapon?"

It was Adam who replied. It had to be Adam. His tone was cool, unruffled. "Inefficient or not, it will still put a hole through your scarecrow-thin chest."

"Now what would you want to go and put a hole in Abdon for?" someone asked. It was a woman. Joe could tell. Though he couldn't see her, he could taste her in her words. "Seems to me a handsome man like you has better things to do with the barrel of his gun."

"What are you...talking..." Adam went silent.

Joe struggled for all he was worth just to open his eyelids a crack. What he saw when he managed it puzzled him. The woman – that new saloon girl at the Bucket – was pressed up against his brother. She had her hand on his hand, on the one that held the gun. Unbelievably, as he watched, Adam surrendered the weapon.

Joe wanted to shout, to scream, 'Adam, no!', but try as he might nothing came out of his mouth but a low moan.

"For God's sake, let me tend that boy!" someone with a southern accent demanded, each word bitten off like he was tearing open a cartridge. "I don't care what you are going to do later! He's going to die here and now if you don't!"

"Joe," he heard his brother say, but Adam's tone was distant. "I...Joe..." There was a pause and then, "...Medora."

"Let him go," someone said.

Were they going to release Adam? Adam... Adam would live to go back to Pa. Pa would be so happy...

A moment later Joe felt tender fingers touch his face and arm. He wanted it to be Pa, but he knew it couldn't be Pa, not out here amongst the burning wolves.

One of the hands landed on his forehead. "For God's sake! He's burning up."

"You are a physician. Treat him."

"With what? Powdered plants and water? I need my kit."

Joe felt the man rise to his feet. After a second he said, "Thank you."

A grunt was his only reply.

"Spock, help me hold him down," the kind man commanded a second later.

Ten pounding heartbeats later another pair of hands joined the first. In the distance Joe could hear other men talking, and the woman, the woman kept speaking Adam's name. But those voices were like a dream. The two near him were real and clear as eyes opened on a new day. They spoke in hushed whispers.

"Doctor, do you have your communicator?"

"It's in the kit." There was a pause. Then, louder, the doctor said. "I'll need to reopen that wound and clean it out."

The second man – he thought it was Spock – did as he was told, pressing down on him, holding him firmly to the ground. Joe wanted to scream, did scream.

No one could hear him.

"Time is of the essence, Doctor," Spock breathed through gritted teeth.

Joe heard shuffling. Something was dropped and then picked up again. "Damn!" the doctor cursed. "I have it now."

Again Joe fought to open his eyes. He needed to see Adam, to find out what that woman was doing with him. He needed to look into the eyes of the two men bending over him to make sure they were what they said they were and that they didn't pose any harm to his Pa or his brothers.

"He's...fighting like...a...la matya," Spock said as the pressure on his arm and leg increased. "Now...would be...a good...time...Doctor..."

There was a pause. "Jim's gonna kill me for this."

Then Joe saw it again, the light he'd seen in the barn – a silver, shimmering glow like he'd always imagined would surround an angel. This time it was accompanied by a high-pitched whine that worked its way into his head until he was sure it was going to explode.

Then, suddenly the ground beneath him changed. It felt hard as metal. Joe coughed and wretched even as he heard Adam ask, "What?" and then go silent again.

A moment later Doctor McCoy's kind face appeared above him. "Sorry, son," he said.

Then there was nothing.

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Jim Kirk dropped heavily into the briefing room chair and lowered his head into his hands. God, he was weary! When he'd opted to stop on Earth to give his crew some much-needed R&R, he had never expected to end up where he was now with an illicit artifact in storage, four Orion pirates in his brig – including one who had to be put in quarantine to stop the effects of the pheromones she gave off as easily as breathing – and two nineteenth century brothers in his sickbay. One of them most likely dying. Regrettably, he had to agree with Bones that there had been no choice but to bring them to the ship. Joe Cartwright had been out of his mind when they reached the Enterprise, so he would pose no threat to the time stream – that was if he survived. It was questionable. They'd try to sedate the older brother the second he'd materialized on the transporter platform, but Kirk had seen the elder Cartwright's eyes widen and his mouth gape and he knew – he knew Adam Cartwright had seen something.

Something that could alter Adam's own timeline and maybe his world's.

The brothers were located in two cordoned off rooms joined by a corridor close by the sickbay. They'd used the computer to replicate their own bedrooms and the hall outside of them at the Ponderosa. Unfortunately, they couldn't replicate their father or missing brother. Joe kept calling for both, especially his 'Pa'. Though he was not a father it pained Jim to think that the young man might die here in space, and his father – a man he respected deeply – might never learn the truth of his fate.

Kirk shifted and looked up as the doors to the briefing room opened. He straightened up when Spock walked in and presented himself formerly.

"Lieutenant Commander Spock reporting for disciplinary action, sir!" the Vulcan said in his most formal tone.

Kirk wearily waved him toward a chair. "Sit down, Spock. I don't want to court martial you. I just want to understand."

One black eyebrow peaked toward the Vulcan's once again perfect bangs. He noted his First Officer's hair was still long, covering his ears, as if whatever he felt he had to do was still left undone.

"What is it you wish to understand, Captain?"

He leaned back in his chair. "Why?"

"Why?"

"Why did you feel you had to steal an artifact and go into the past without consulting me?"

Spock's lips were tight. "I cannot tell you that, Captain."

Kirk blinked. "Why not?"

"I cannot tell you that either, Captain." His first officer paused and added, as if it explained everything. "It would not be in the best interests of all concerned."

Sometimes his Vulcan friend's reticence provided an intriguing enigma. At other times, like this, it was just plain exasperating. "But it's over, Spock. The Orions are in custody. We have the time manipulators including the one you took from Campbell under lock and key, so to speak." The bracelets were actually being guarded by not only a squad of security officers, but by both sonic and laser beams so no one could steal them and wreck further havoc. Scotty had tracked down the anomaly that had separated him and McCoy when they had beamed down. It had been caused by the manipulator's emanations. "Once the youngest Cartwright heals we will return him and his brother to their place in the time stream." Kirk studied his friend. There was a tightness to Spock's dark eyes and a slight tension at the edges of his lips. "What aren't you telling me?"

His first officer's lean form lost its rigidity. Spock drew a breath and let it out slowly, as if somehow that would make what he had to say easier.

"Captain, you have to let me go back. You must give me one of the bracelets."

"What?" He sat straight up. "Absolutely, not. Not only is it against regulations and the express orders of High Command, but – "

"Captain..." He cleared his throat. "Jim. I need you to trust me."

Kirk knew what it cost his friend to call him by his familiar name while on duty. He opened his hands wide, almost begging. "Spock, what is this all about?"

The Vulcan paused, as if considering his next words carefully. "You know of the Guardian of Forever and of the consequences of employing its gifts?"

"How could I forget?" he replied as a vision of Edith swam before his eyes.

"These bracelets. They are not simple manipulators of time, they are a part of the Guardian itself. When I made contact with the one Professor Beckett discovered, I was put into instant telepathic contact with the Guardian. It showed me...future events. Ones I am sworn not to reveal."

Kirk frowned. "Go on."

"It is necessary for one of the time manipulators to be buried in the cave-in of a mine in Bodie, California in eighteen-seventy-six that will expose a valuable body of gold. It is also necessary that I be there – along with Joseph Cartwright."

His head was hurting. "What?"

Spock actually looked apologetic. "I am afraid I can say no more, Captain, without betraying the Guardian's trust."

He considered it. Then he shook his head. "No. I can't risk it. I'm giving you an order, Spock." He met his friend's dark stare. "Stay put."

Spock blinked as if surprised by what he had heard. "Are you then willing to risk the destruction of all you know?"

Kirk stared at him hard. When he spoke, his tone was menacing. "Why is this so damned important?"

"I cannot – "

"You 'cannot say'." He huffed in frustration. "I could order you to sickbay and have McCoy administer an injection of Sodium Pentathol."

"Truth serums are known to be remarkably ineffective with Vulcans."

"But you're half-human."

His lips pursed. "It has proven to be a detriment before, but not in such cases."

"Spock, I –" Kirk broke off what he had been about to say as his communicator went off. Flipping it open, he snapped, "Kirk here."

"It's Bones, Jim. The Cartwright boy's reached a crisis. His brother's in his room, but he's suspicious. He can't figure out where their father is."

"On my way." He looked at his friend. "Are you coming?"

Spock rose. He gave him an odd look. "Let me go, Jim. In the end, I may be the only one who can save him."