TWO
It was morning and Mike was a no-show.
Dan sighed. He'd consulted with Lorne the moment they knew and then with David and they'd decided it was time to call in the police. The Paramount brass refused. While squad cars should have been flying onto the lot, their sirens wailing, the soundstage was instead deadly still. The big guys said they had to make sure it wasn't one of Mike's pranks first and then, if it wasn't, get their shit together before calling it in. 'You know, Dan', they'd said, 'once the press knows that Little Joe Cartwright has gone missing, they'll descend like vultures and it will be all over the news'. They hadn't been able to get hold of Lynn yet, or any of Mike's relatives so he kind of agreed. Still, something had to be done.
His friend was missing.
Work had shut down for the day and the producers had told them all to go home. The three of them had hung around to see if there was anything they could do. Lorne had just gone for his coat. As he joined them, with it dangling off his arm, he sighed.
"It's like something out of one of the episodes. It doesn't seem real."
Dan ran a hand over his bald pate and exchanged a glance with the older man. He could see it in Lorne's eyes as well. They might only pretend to be kin, but in the ways that counted, they were. The four of them were close. They cared deeply about each other.
And just like the Cartwrights they felt a need to protect their own.
As Pernell joined them, he remarked, "It doesn't seem right."
"What's that?" Lorne asked.
The dark-haired man's lips twisted in that determined smile he used to such advantage as the oldest Cartwright son. "If they won't do it. We need to do it ourselves," he said quietly, expressing it for the rest of them.
Ten minutes later, after some debate, they headed for Incline Village.
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Mike stirred and opened his eyes, only then realizing he'd fallen asleep. He stretched and looked for the other man. When he did, he realized there was a bare bit of light showing off in the distance. He decided it must be the opening into the cave. He'd been in enough of them while filming to recognize that the kidnapper hadn't brought him in too deep. With his eyes grown so used to the dark that the pale light was like an open lantern, he was able to discern the size and shape of the man who was holding him. He was a lean fellow, probably six feet or over, with shaggy dark hair and a ragged beard. He was dressed as a Wild West doctor or maybe a gunslinger in a tattered black suit with a long duster. His abductor moved with a wild restless energy, pacing back and forth before the cave maw, muttering to himself.
It almost sounded like he was working equations.
Shifting, Michael repositioned himself more comfortably against the cavern wall. He was cold and aching and really hungry.
He watched the man another minute or so and then called out. "What's for breakfast?"
The stranger halted and turned toward him. "I had forgotten your need for immediate sustenance. I will endeavor to locate something suitable."
Sustenance? There he went again.
"I'll come with you," he said, starting to rise.
"That would not be...prudent. You must remain here."
Michael stifled a sigh. Then he had a thought. This man believed him to be Little Joe. There was no way Ben Cartwright's youngest son would accept that.
"Like Hell I will!" he shot back. "I'm coming with you."
The stranger shifted again. He shook his head. "I cannot protect you."
"How's leavin' me here alone gonna protect me better?" he countered, easily falling into Joe's manner of speech. "What are you gonna do? Tie me up? Leave me here alone? That's just like making a can out of me to sit on a fence and be shot!"
He felt bad. Obviously the man had mental problems. He didn't like playing with him like this, but then, what else did he have to work with?
"Your logic..is...impeccable."
His brows popped.
That was the first time anyone had ever told him that.
"We will...go together," the stranger said, "but you must make a vow to remain close to me and not endeavor to escape. There is...danger."
Yeah, there was. And he knew who it was coming from.
Crossing his fingers behind his back, Mike replied.
"You got my word."
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Kirk had been walking for some time and he still had, perhaps, a half hour before he would reach the area with the alien signatures. With the tricorder working on radio waves, the information he could access was limited He guessed one of them was Spock, but the other – so readily identified in the twenty-third century – was just a non-human blip in this one. It could be anything from Orion to Klingon.
Or maybe another of the Originators.
He didn't think Theron had a partner, but then it was impossible to know. Whoever it was had come back in time so that limited the field.
Another ten minutes walk brought the blond man to the base of a high hill. A narrow natural stair wound up its side. At the top there was rock – a lot of it – and some of it jutting out over the land below. Going with the intuitive feeling he had, that this was 'it', James T. Kirk anchored the tricorder over his shoulder, flipped the machine to his back, and began to climb.
"This is the last place you saw him?"
Dan nodded. "Sure is." The other two followed him. "Right over here by the house facade."
"The ground's dry," Lorne said. "See if you can find any prints."
Pernell was already crouching. Suddenly he looked up and laughed. "You know, we're acting like we know what we're doing."
Dan laughed too. "Well, that's what we are, isn't it? Actors?"
The black-haired man nodded. "I guess something has to have rubbed off after six years in the saddle."
"Do you see anything?" their TV pa asked, bringing them back to the business at hand.
Pernell stood up and dusted off his pants. "There are prints. Two sets besides Dan's. One long and narrow, the other the same, but smaller."
"Like short-shanks might leave?" the big man asked, the worry ringing even in his own ears.
"Um-hm."
"We should call the police."
Both he and Pernell turned and looked at Lorne. "There's nothing to tell them yet," Pernell said. "These could have been made by anyone."
"Or by Michael and his...kidnapper." The older man sighed. "Let's face it. We're tampering with evidence here."
Dan pursed his lips and blew out a sigh. "I know what you're saying is right, here." He touched his head. Then his heart. "But this isn't hearing it. I... I feel responsible. I just gotta keep looking."
Pernell nodded. "You know, many's the days I've wanted to shake some sense into that kid and I'll admit I've had a few where I wished 'Pa' would send Little Joe off to college." He grinned and then sobered quickly. "But I agree with Dan. I just...feel responsible for him somehow."
The older man looked from one of the them to the other. "Older heads should prevail, but it seems younger ones shall. All right. We'll follow the tracks. Just be sure you don't disturb anything."
Dan nodded. There was only one thing he was going to 'disturb'.
That was the head of the man who done kidnapped his little brother.
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Mike had been nearly blinded when they left the cave. In fact, he was still blinking away tears and that made his vision fuzzy. It was early in the morning and this high up a mist clung to the land. It made their passage treacherous, but also provided him with what he needed – cover to make an escape attempt. At the moment he was trailing close behind the man who had taken him. There wasn't much up here, but they'd managed to find a few roots and berries and the like. Enough at least to keep his stomach from growling. A cool mountain spring had provided a drink to wash them down. If he'd had Lynn and the kids with him, it would have been a beautiful day.
As it was, it was filled with uncertainty.
He thought he knew where they were and it was not too far from the location site. Instead of moving out, the kidnapper had moved up into the hills. They'd talked about using this area once for outside shots, but it had proven too much for the heavy equipment to manage. There was a cliff here...somewhere...
Somewhere in the mist.
As they stopped and the man who held him bent to the ground once again, Michael said, "You still haven't told me your name."
The man stood and turned, some greens in his hand. "And you still have not remembered?"
He thought hard. It had to be someone 'Joe' would know and not him. Thinking furiously, he filed through his memories of past episodes but nothing stood out. There was no long lean, slightly greenish-skinned, black-haired man in a battered imitation of a Doc Holliday suit.
He pursed his lips and shook his head. "Sorry. No."
"Perhaps the blow to the head you took while you were being held in the mine."
So...a mining episode. "Were you in 'The Henry Comstock Story'?" he asked, hopeful.
There it was again – the inward breath but no audible sigh. "My name is Spock."
His brown brows danced. "Like...Doctor Spock?"
The kidnapper's near-black eyes fixed on him. "I endeavor to leave those things medical to the ship's physician. Simply Spock."
So his name was Spock. He was very unusual looking. He'd caught a glimpse of the tips of his ears and they were...pointed. His brows slashed upward like an incline and his hair, well, it was black, but it was so black it was almost blue.
And he was a...sailor?
Bending, he worked haphazardly at gathering more of the greens. "So where's home, Spock?"
Again that look. "It would be better if I did not say."
"Not from around here, eh?" he snorted.
"No."
Squinting his eyes, hoping to see through the mist, the brown-haired man nodded toward a plot of grass a few yards away that was thick with it. "I think I see some more over there."
Spock nodded absently and looked away. "Please endeavor to remain some ways back from the cliff's edge."
So it was here. The cliff and the natural stair he remembered leading down it.
Somewhere.
Energized by the discovery, Mike tossed off a quick 'will do' and then moved into the mist, feeling just a twinge of guilt for doing precisely what he'd promised he would not. It was obvious Spock took him at his word as he had given him pretty free range since they'd left the cave. As the mist swallowed him, Mike's pace slowed. He tried to feel his way with his feet, but it wasn't easy. That was another bit of experience he had, from filming 'Between Heaven and Earth.' He hadn't done the tricky stuff, but he'd been high enough to reinforce his more than healthy respect for heights.
He grinned. That's what a real man called 'fear'.
Moving forward, carefully, he held his hands out before his face like he'd been taught to do by the blind teacher in another episode where Joe had lost his sight.1 It really did help and kept him from bumping into branches and other things sticking out into his path. Just as he heard Spock call his name – well, Joe's name – he ran into something rough that did not give way. He frowned as his fingers explored it. It felt like mesh – metal mesh – with some sort of thickly-woven cloth beneath. Maybe it was a tree with really weird bark. Or maybe...
Maybe it was someone with a gun.
Michael fell back as a figure stepped out of the mist. He was a tall man and looked by his bone structure to be part Native American. His skin was tanned, his hair and eyes dark. He was wearing some sort of a uniform with a gray duster thrown over it.
"Who...who are you?" he stammered.
"I am Ba'Or of the House of Kahnrah. You and your companion have made our shame complete." A sneer lifted his lip as he brandished the weapon.
"Now I will make you no more."
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Dan stood with his head tilted as far back as it would go, looking up at the high ridge that jutted out of the side of the rocky hill before them.
"What do you guys think?" he asked.
Pernell's hazel eyes followed his. "I think we're nuts."
He pointed to the ground. "The trail leads right to here and then disappears."
They'd long ago forgotten about guarding the integrity of the signs they followed. They'd hit a patch of ground where the footsteps were so clear it would have been hard not to have spotted them. If someone had taken Mike they weren't doing anything to hide their tracks.
Which was a worry in itself.
Lorne had joined him. He was looking up too, shielding his eyes against the rising sun that was beginning to burn the mist off.
"If I remember right, Michael is afraid of heights."
They'd all watched him when they filmed that show about Little Joe and Eagle's Nest.2 True to the character he portrayed, Mike had stubbornly climbed a heck of a lot farther up the rocky ridge that day than a man with that kind of phobia should.
"If someone took him, he'd have had little choice. Fear or not," Pernell said quietly.
"Wait a minute," Dan said, squinting into the rising light that made the mist glow even as it evaporated. He pointed. "Up there! I saw something move."
As they often did in the show, the three formed a line and stood together looking up.
"There's a man climbing!" Lorne declared.
"Above that. Look!" Excitement laced with fear colored Pernell's baritone lifting it to a medium tenor. "Near the edge of the cliff."
Dan took a step back and angled his neck. "Damn!" he cursed. "I think those are Mike's boots and he's right on the edge!"
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Jim Kirk stood with his back pressed against the rocky wall of the narrow winding stair that cut into the mountainside. He'd been just about to emerge on top when the sound of voices directly above his head stopped him and dropped him down out of sight. Two of them he didn't recognize, but he knew the third. He'd know that cultured, seemingly unruffled voice anywhere.
It was Spock.
At least the Vulcan wasn't raving like the last time he'd seen him back in eighteen-seventy-six just after Theron had injected the full load of venom from one of the time manipulators into him. Kirk closed his eyes briefly in order to dismiss the vision of his stoic, self-controlled first officer writhing in the grass, screaming like a lunatic. Bones has said that once the poison was in his system it would slowly become a norm. Due to his Vulcan physiology, it wouldn't kill him, but it would slowly and quietly drive him insane. The antidote he carried would halt its progress.
Bones didn't know if they could fully reverse the effects. The odds, he said, didn't look good.
Before going to Gateway Kirk had met with the Starfleet top brass and explained things as well as he could. They'd reluctantly recalled the warrant for Spock's arrest and rescinded almost all of the charges against him, though there were still a few minor ones he was going to have to face.
Anyhow, he had sent the new first officer packing, long odds or not.
Now, as he clung to the cliff-face and listened, he tried to imagine who was there besides Spock and the missing actor. Whoever it was, was no doubt the one giving off the other alien signature. He'd wracked his brains and the only possibility he could come up with was the other Klingon – Brewer or Ba'Or – the one who had been ordered along with Drax to assist Curran Theron. Scotty had taken a look at one of the time manipulators and told him he thought they were attuned to one another so that when history shifted, their data-bank of memory stored the shift. In that way the Klingon could have found Spock. Ba'Or had run as the explosives went off. That was the act of a coward, something the Klingon could not admit and hope to go home to anything other than being put on kitchen duty or sent out to hunt [i]prickle mice. [/i]
For a Klingon warrior there could be no greater disgrace than to have been outsmarted by humans and a Vulcan.
Shifting slightly, Kirk looked up the ridge and was rewarded by pebbles striking him in the face. As the blond man pulled back to avoid the rest of the shower, he cursed.
A set of boots dangled, almost off the edge, and they didn't look like anything out of a shop on Qo'noS.
"Come closer, Vulcan, and he dies!" Ba'Or roared.
Spock blinked. He didn't know what was wrong. It was as if his thought processes as well as the body they drove were impaired. He had seen the Klingon step close to Joseph Cartwright, watched as they came face to face and Ba'Or reached out, but he had failed to move. Failed to take action.
Now it was too late.
Ba'Or's gloved hand encircled the throat of Ben Cartwright's youngest son as Theron's had before, increasing pressure as he spoke. Joseph was not quite dangling, but his feet barely brushed the ground and his fingers were working frantically at the Klingon's hand in an attempt to dislodge it. Logic dictated this was futile. His human strength could not prevail. Therefore...
Therefore...
"Why do you stand and do nothing, Vulcan? Do you wish to watch him die?"
Joe's eyes rolled his way and then rolled back up into his head as his body went slack.
As before, he had less than three minutes.
"How is the honor of the House Kahnrah served by the death of a human male who has not been faced in battle?" Spock demanded, breathing and thinking hard, doing his best to employ Vulcan mind disciplines to overcome the chaos and fatigue that sought to drag him down into a pool of disorder and confusion. "You have his throat. Do you intend to crush it? What are human bones to you? It would be like battling a racht. Only a weakling would threaten a worm who has no bones." He paused. "Again where is your honor, Ba'Or of Kahnrah?" The Vulcan moved haltingly forward. "This man is my maqoch.3 What is done to him is done to me."
Ba'Or did not release Joe, but he lowered him until the young man's feet touched the ground. "You will die for him?"
Determination shone from his near-black eyes. "I will die for him."
Ba'Or stared at him for several heartbeats and then threw his head back and roared. Seconds later his fingers opened and Joseph Cartwright slid to the ground unconscious.
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Kirk held his breath. From what McCoy told him, Spock was in no shape to take on a lightweight prize fighter, let alone a Klingon warrior in his prime.
He had to do something.
Looking up again, the blond man spotted the same pair of boots hanging just over the edge of the cliff, only they were horizontal this time. He climbed up a few feet and dared to look over the edge. Spock was backing up, retreating before Ba'Or. Did his friend know he was here? Or was his first officer simply trying to put as much space between the fallen actor and his would-be-assassin as he could? With an eye to the pair, Kirk reached up and caught the young man around the hips and began to draw him down. The ledge was narrow, so it took some maneuvering, but finally he had him and propped his unconscious form against the rocks. Making sure he was well anchored before doing so, Kirk began to ascend once again.
He had to save Spock.
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"What's happening?" Lorne called softly from the ground. Like Ben Cartwright was so many times, he'd been left to watch as his television sons climbed the narrow ledge, ascending into danger to see if it was indeed their actor 'brother' whose boots had been hanging off the side of the high cliff. He'd been able to keep track of Pernell and Dan for the first few minutes, but then the trees had shifted to the outside of the path and they'd vanished behind a screen of green leaves. He wanted to call out to them again, but they all knew stealth was imperative. If it was Mike – and if someone had taken him – then his life could be in danger.
Lorne snorted. The next time he portrayed Ben Cartwright impatiently waiting on word of one of his missing boys, he's have a lot of resource material to call on!
A minute later he saw Pernell's dark head break above the tree line. Dan was close behind him. They were moving. Then they stopped. Then they went down and out of sight.
Lorne's white eyebrows met in the middle. "Damn!" he said at last.
And began to climb.
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Kirk had shifted into a covering of leaves at the top of the ridge. He watched as Spock and the Klingon began to circle one another. Due to the Vulcan's shaming of him, Ba'Or would feel it necessary to kill Spock with his bare hands.
That gave him an advantage.
Silently opening the kit he wore, Kirk pulled out his phaser. He set it to high stun and then moved, circling around in order to end up to the aft side of Spock where he'd have a clearer shot. His friend was moving slowly, almost as if in a dream. There was none of the panther-like grace he had come to associate with the Vulcan – nothing to suggest the speed and agility he knew Spock was capable of. His friend was too thin. He was unkempt. Valleys of a sickly green surrounded his once keen eyes, and his skin was the color of paste.
And still Spock was going to fight. Still, he was going to fulfill his mission to save Joe Cartwright – to save him – even if it killed him.
Once in place Kirk looked for an opportunity to fire.
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Spock was breathing hard; a physical reaction he had only rare acquaintance with and found most unpleasant. The resulting lack of oxygen drove a green mist before his eyes, altering both his mental and physical state, rendering him weak and unable to think clearly. His dark eyes sought the man he had to protect even as he took another step back, intent on drawing the Klingon away from his intended victim.
His victim...
His...
Spock's gaze dropped to the matted grass near the cliff's edge. It was empty.
He faltered.
He'd been there. Someone had been there.
Joe?
Jim...
"So, you surrender Vulcan. You are wise," Ba'Or snarled as he advanced. "Death will come more quickly that way."
Spock blinked and staggered back, his eyes riveted the that empty space of ground. He had a mission. There was a mission.
What was his mission?
Jim. It had been to save Jim. But first, he had to save...
"Joe?" It came out as a strangled gasp.
The Klingon was mere feet away. He held no weapon. He needed none. He had removed his gloves and his scarred fingers were reaching out, flexing, seeking tender bones to crush.
Ba'Or almost had him when the Klingon halted. Suspicion lit his feral eyes. With the look of an animal scenting danger, he pivoted on his heel.
A second later he turned back with a roar. "What have you done with him, Vulcan?"
The equation was flawed as the question. He had done nothing.
Nothing.
Why had he done nothing? Why couldn't he remember what he was to have done?
What he had done...
Spock's near-black eyes lit with real fear.
Something was desperately wrong with his mind.
Ba'Or remained still for several beats of Spock's Vulcan heart, staring at him, and then the Klingon warrior launched himself forward with the power and strength of a desert sehlat, a death cry on his lips. Spock braced himself for the impact.
It never came.
Instead there was a high-pitched whine. Spock saw the Klingon's eyes widen with surprise. Then, suddenly, dawn broke over the forested land, bathing them both in a rich red glow.
As he fell, Spock had an errant thought.
His mother should have been here.
She so loved the sunrise.
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"Dan! Dan!" Pernell called. "Here!"
The big man's head came up. "What have you got?"
"Mike! I've got Mike!"
Those were just about the sweetest words he'd ever though he heard. Hastening to follow, Dan called out, "Where?"
"On the trail. Just above you." There was pause. "He's unconscious."
Unconscious?
"Dan?" their TV father's voice called. "Dan, what did Pernell say?"
He turned and saw Lorne's white head advancing up the trail. "He's got Mike!" he called down.
That head looked like the hind end of a white-tailed deer it was coming up so fast.
Turning back Dan started his own climb again. It took less than a minute before he nearly stumbled over Pernell, who was kneeling in the middle of the path. He had his hand out and was gently tapping Mike's cheek.
"Mike? Michael! Can you hear me?"
His voice was shaking. Dan wondered why. Then he noticed the red marks on Mike's throat.
"Good God!" he heard Lorne exclaim behind him.
Pernell was looking up at him. "Do you think we should move him?"
Dan wasn't sure why everyone was looking to him, but they were. "Can you tell if anything is broken?"
The black-haired man shook his head. "I don't think so. I checked."
The big man drew in a breath and let it out slowly.
"Then you just get out of my way and I'll see what I can do about getting little brother somewhere safe."
Lorne had already begun his descent. Pernell, with an eye to the edge of the path, slipped past him and did the same. Stepping over Mike's silent form, the big man moved to the other side and then knelt and gently lifted him and laid his still form across one shoulder. Then, as if carrying a precious Ming urn, he began his descent.
About halfway down a sound stopped him. A funny sound that had no place in the wilderness. It was a high-pitched whine that grated on the nerves, something like a tornado siren. Dan looked up and for just a second there was a flash of light that hurt his eyes.
Then it was gone.
"Dan! Are you coming? We can hear sirens. The studio must have finally called the police!" Pernell shouted.
As he arrived at the bottom and laid Mike on the ground, he heard Lorne make a 'tsk-ing' noise with his tongue.
"What's that?" the big man asked even as he gently touched his television brother's cheek.
"Nothing."
Mike was starting to stir. Those green eyes were just next to opening. It looked like he was going to be all right.
Lorne didn't miss it. He shook his head and then, in spite of everything, laughed.
"Now what on God's green earth do you find funny?" Pernell demanded.
"I was just thinking about the ratings," the older man said. "This adventure would have blown them through the roof!"
1 The Stillness Within
2 Between Heaven and Earth
3 Klingon for 'close male friend'