With painstaking attention to details and great difficulty, the connection was

made. It required many layers of codes, some redundant, others valid, leaving no clear trail from point to point. When the connection finally was made, patience was near a breaking point.

"What the hell do you think you're doing? This call could be traced." The voice growled from the other end, sounding much closer than the millions of miles away where it originated.

"Relax. I'm an expert at this. Remember?" There was a pause. "I have good

reason. We have a problem."

"What?" The voice was laced with wariness.

"They've just upped their ante. The Orions want Kirk. A blood oath." The sender did not hide his contempt.

"Tell them to eat neutronium. They'll get him with the Enterprise just like we

agreed. Until then they've got nearly unlimited access to the dilithium there.

They don't have much of a bargaining tool."

"They say they want him and the Enterprise. Rsigs is demanding we give him Kirk now. The Orions have plans for him, like making him watch them blow up his ship."

"Interesting. I'm not totally adverse to that thought. "

"I thought you might appreciate its beauty." A burst of static broke through. The connection was going to fail soon.

"Tell Rsigs I'll see what I can do." The growl had lightened considerably. "Has McCoy arrived?"

"On his way. I'm looking forward to it." The sender allowed a smile of

anticipation.

"Just make sure you keep him alive. He could prove useful if we need to bait the trap."

Scowling, the sender agreed reluctantly. "I see what you mean. Doesn't mean I can't have a little fun with him, does it?"

"Just go easy. I know about you and your idea of fun."

The static blasted through again this time destroying the connection.

* * * * *

Numb with exhaustion, McCoy was shoved from the shuttle by his ever present guards onto an elevator that took him quickly below the inhospitable surface of Beta Kill's moon. Sleep had eluded him ever since this nightmare had begun, and now he followed his guard toward his final destination with a feeling of apathy rather than fear.

The courts had convinced him of his guilt. Kirk had condemned with his eyes. Thousands of people had died as a result of his actions. He would pay whatever price was demanded, only knowing that it would not be enough to ease the grief of the victims' families on Beta Kell.

He was pushed by the two guards behind him as they passed through winding corridors. Forced to stop at each of the office doors, McCoy waited passively as the workers inside appeared in the doorways to yell epithets at him. Bits and pieces of the statements filtered through enough for him to realize this was not the normal treatment for a prisoner. Instead, it was a welcome for the mass murderer of many of their families.

Finally, he was led into an antiseptic office with a receptionist. The dark-skinned female drew in a sharp breath at his appearance, although McCoy was unsure if it was because of his identity or the fact that he was covered in spittle and drinks the workers had thrown on him during his trip here.

Eyes wide with fear, she spoke into a com device and then nodded toward the inner door. McCoy was immediately shoved toward it. He tripped, barely catching himself on the corner of her desk and was rewarded with a panicked scream from the receptionist. Before he could recover, the two guards grabbed him by both arms and propelled him through the open doorway.

McCoy landed roughly on his face, the breath knocked from him. He struggled to breathe through a sudden roar in his ears.

"Get up!" The order came from a new source. A voice that held menace.

The doctor pushed himself to his knees, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. A foot slammed into his gut, knocking him back to the floor.

"Get up! Now!" The rough voice demanded again.

McCoy clambered to his feet, surprised to discover a tall, well-muscled man with the fair skin and blond hair of a Human, not the dark skin and soft black fur covering of the Beta Kells.

"I am the Regent Administrator of this prison. You will address me as High Regent." Steely gray eyes swept over McCoy. "I see you've been welcomed by the Beta workers here. What did you think of it?"

Taunting had never held much interest for the doctor in the past; it held even less now. He waited silently.

With a smug, knowing smile, the man walked in a circle around McCoy. You’ll like the welcome even less by the Kell prisoners down below. They're truly animals. I doubt a feeble Human like you can survive. I'm surprised you're even in Starfleet, I assumed their standards were higher."

The administrator circled back to stand in front of him. There was something vaguely familiar about the man, but in his befuddled state, McCoy could not remember.

"Answer me, prisoner."

McCoy frowned. "Answer what?"

The huge hand slammed across the side of his face, rocking him. This time, McCoy managed to keep his feet.

"You will address me as High Regent!"

He could feel blood dribbling down his chin. "High Regent."

"Answer me! Why is a pitiful weakling like you in the fleet?"

"I'm a doctor." McCoy belatedly remembered the address. "High Regent."

He watched without reaction as the regent's hand lifted, preparing to strike him for his near lapse of prison protocol.

Instead the regent stepped closer to him, the eyes narrowing thoughtfully. For the first time, McCoy fought against flinching as the Regent cupped the doctor's chin in his hand. A smooth thumb rubbed his cheek lightly. His voice softened, and the doctor felt a flickering of fear. "You are no longer anything. You're scum like the rest of the garbage below."

The hand tightened, jerking his face around. McCoy tried to pull back from the close proximity of the regent. A hand went around his back, holding him in place. The fingers clamped painfully on his jaw, drawing him forward "Unless you would prefer staying here. You could serve me . . . in many ways."

McCoy closed his eyes briefly, seeking control. He was prepared for punishment, but not this. "No, High Regent"

"No?" The regent's voice dropped to a silky level a thumb caressing McCoy's jaw. "I don't think you understand Down there, the conditions are . . . shall we say, not the luxury I'm sure you're used too. Little or no food or water, poor sanitation and working conditions are bad. And the prisoners are expecting you, they have their own code of honor and it seems that you are the lowest of the low. Stay here and you could have decent food-"

McCoy interrupted. "I'll take my chances, High Regent."

The gray eyes flickered with anger. "You fool!" The regent shoved McCoy away. "Guard, mark him."

The doctor froze, unsure of what the order meant. The guard came toward him brandishing not a hot brand but a metallic round device. He fitted it around McCoy's neck, and the doctor felt another piece of himself die as the collar clicked into place. The guard then attached a chain to the collar, holding it out to the Regent Administrator.

Taking the chain, the regent tugged on it, pulling McCoy off-center. "This collar marks you as 2034. You will no longer be recognized by your free name." The huge lips twisted into an obscene smile. The regent stroked the doctor’s cheek and by the man's pleased expression, McCoy knew he had been unable to hide his revulsion. "2034, let me give you some advice. It's very simple, really. Be good to me, and I'll be good to you."

The regent handed the chain back to the guard. "Take him below, in the stocks."

Pulled by the chain on his collar, McCoy was forced to follow the guard to his fate.

* * * * *

James Kirk paced the officers' quarters on the Starbase where he was confined following McCoy's trial. Did they think he would try to kidnap the doctor, rescue him from the fate to which the court had so wrongfully sentenced him? The captain grimaced. Probably. The thought had certainly crossed his mind more than once.

In point of fact, Kirk was not confined but simply ordered to remain on the Starbase until McCoy was taken to the Beta Kell prison moon. However, the captain recognized a prison when he saw one. It might be comfortable, modern, and even more than a little plush; but it was, nonetheless, a prison.

Current news on the vid-monitor was running with the sound muted. Kirk's pacing was arrested mid-motion as an image of McCoy appeared. His heart constricted, his chest tightening painfully as he watched his friend escorted in shackles to a Beta moon transport. As Bones disappeared inside, the vid-cam targeted on the faces of Scott and Spock waiting outside. Kirk could identify with the anger he saw on the Scotsman's features; but it was the sorrow he detected on the Vulcan's face that compressed his lungs, making breathing impossible for several seconds. He stared at the image, willing himself to order off the vid. Instead, he stood transfixed, his chest heaving and jaw clenched painfully until the news-cam changed to a recent sports event.

Gradually, he forced the tension from his body, flexing his stiff fingers, turning to stare unseeingly at his prison. The anger eased slowly, replaced by a surge of grief. He could still visualize Spock's expression reflected in the glass of the huge window. Blinking away the image, Kirk sank into the plush mauve sofa, feeling suddenly weary. Leaning his head back, he was unable to stop the flow of memories that had brought them all to this awful place and time. If he could only have foreseen and prevented what had happened before it had come crashing down on McCoy's head in the worst imaginable way.

Kirk remembered his own horror as he had stood in Admiral Nogura's office and heard the story of the deaths of families on Beta Kell and McCoy's alleged part in them. The home world claimed that McCoy provided a killer vaccine called Hestane to Beta Kell where the vaccine was administered to a high-risk group of younger adults and children. A few days later, they were dying from the effects of the vaccine. A Beta Kell named Kota, holding the impressive title of the Sovereign Lord of Healing, quickly blamed McCoy, pointing the finger at the one they knew to be the inventor of Hestane. When Starfleet sent its own investigative team, they discovered the formula within McCoy's files.

The Beta Kell system was neutral; however, due to their rich resource of dilithium, the Federation had been working with them for the last few months to become a member. With this disaster on their hands, the scales were tipping dangerously in the opposite direction. Admiral Langerman, diplomatic attache to the Beta Kells had managed to swing a 'deal' with their government in return for their continued interest in negotiations with the Federation: Justice would be served in the minds of the Beta Kells by the prosecution of Leonard McCoy by their laws and courts.

At first, Kirk did not believe the Federation would give in to their demands. There was proof that the Orions were involved. An Orion double agent had been seen talking to McCoy. There was word of collaboration between the Orions and a corrupt official on Beta Kell who had disappeared from sight.

Kirk found himself pacing the room again. No, stalking was more like it; like the white tigers on Benecia, he was stalking the perimeters of his cage.

"Damn you, McCoy! Why didn't you trust me?"

Months before this disaster, he had talked to his friend, never once doubting that McCoy wouldn't be truthful. That was Kirk's mistake: trusting his friend

implicitly and, therefore, signing McCoy’s sentence.

He paused at the window, leaning his forehead against the cool plexiglass. Instead of seeing the stars, he could not avoid replaying that fateful conversation with McCoy, the one so long ago when he had accepted his friend's word.

They had been on a rare shore leave on Earth, and Kirk had asked McCoy to meet him at Point Lobos, overlooking the Pacific Ocean:

. . . "Bones, look at this." Kirk cupped the flower with the spiked blue and gold petals for McCoy to see. "The colors are so bright they seem to be glowing."

McCoy paused, sending a sour glance at Kirk. "I could be sampling the glowing lights of San Francisco and you bring me here to look at a flower?"

Kirk shook his head. "No. I have another reason for asking you to come here. Specifically, here away from the city and prying eyes or ears."

The doctor's jaw tightened in irritation. "Jim, you and Spock may enjoy playing cloak and dagger games, but I don't. We're supposed to be on shore leave."

Kirk straightened, brushing his hands on his pants. "All right I've been informed that you've been observed, negotiating with an Orion agent."

"An Orion? Here? On Earth?" McCoy stared at Kirk. "I don't understand."

"Not here and not an Orion; a man known to be an agent for them. His code name is Stiletto. Have you ever heard of him?"

"No, dammit, I haven't." McCoy appeared genuinely bewildered. Almost as bewildered as Kirk had been when security at headquarters had told him.

His friend was glowering now. "What the hell has gotten into you? I'm a doctor. Why would someone named Stiletto want to talk to me?"

"I don't know. You tell me." Kirk stared back at him. He had to remember this was an unofficial, official investigation.

The doctor's patience was quickly deserting him. "Jim, if you have a point, get to it because so far this conversation isn't making any sense."

"I received a report that on Alpha Centauri, you were spotted inside a cantina, talking to Stiletto. I want to know what that meeting was all about."

When the blue eyes changed from irritation back to shocked disbelief, Kirk knew that McCoy understood the seriousness of his questions. The doctor met his eyes evenly, "Jim, believe me, I didn't talk to anyone named Stiletto." He paused "It's been over three months since we've made planet fall on Centauri; and even then, it was a short layover, only a few hours."

Kirk nodded, "Did you meet with anyone there?"

McCoy shrugged, "I met with a Professor Hawley, an old friend from Georgia in a cantina there."

"What did you talk about?" Kirk snapped.

"Certainly not about Orions if that's what you're asking." McCoy hesitated, "He had a medical question. He's a genius in bio-medical research."

"Research? What kind of research."

McCoy locked eyes with Kirk. "Do you have an accusation to make, Captain? If not, I don't intend to carry this conversation any further. Either you trust me or you don't."

At his words, Kirk first tensed and then forced himself to relax. He turned to look at the beach far below them. "Sorry, Bones. There's been increased concern about the Orions lately. Several acts of terrorism have occurred against the Federation recently that seem to be connected to them. I know I don't need to warn you of their duplicity, but-"

"Have you forgotten who saved your hide after that Orion stuck a knife in your back? You, of all people, should know I'm well aware of their feelings about us."

Kirk looked back at him and smiled tiredly. "When the security here first informed me that you were observed talking to Stiletto, I didn't believe them. They didn't have anything to prove it except a vague picture that could have been you. I didn't know what to think."

McCoy frowned and turned to stare at the sea. "This is why I hate the military. Hawley is a friend. We talked about old times. He's not a spy. He wouldn't harm another person."

Kirk placed a hand on his shoulder. "Nor would you. That's why when the agent wanted to question you, I told them I'd do it. I'm to report back to them before we leave port. In the meantime, be careful who you talk to; for the time being, don't go sending any information on research without clearing it with me first."

. . . But McCoy had lied to him then. And without clearing it first, he claimed he sent the research information to Professor Hawley. The friend was never found to back up his alibi. Once McCoy was arrested, Kirk had not been allowed to talk with his CMO.

Security had vague links to the Orions as being behind this incident. But the Kell homeworId was unyielding in allowing them to attempt to prove McCoy's innocence. Kota on Beta Kell explained that he received the formula on a taped communique directly from McCoy and that he had never heard of a Professor Hawley. The homeworld showed no interest in the fact that this man might be the guilty suspect, not McCoy.

The evidence was damning. The formula found in McCoy's files on the Enterprise and the one used on the homeworId were proven by the court to be identical.

Kirk swung around again. His hands clenching into fists as he paced around the sofa, to the door, back to the window. Two circuits. The formula had to have been planted. But by who? And how? If it had been anyone other than Commodore Mendez's team that had discovered the formula in McCoy's file, Kirk would have suspected one of them. But he trusted Jose Mendez with his life. Mendez had come to him personally after the discovery; the Commodore had inspected the evidence himself after his personal aide Ray Ketcher had discovered the file. There was no doubt about its authenticity.

Rapping his forehead lightly on the cool surface, Kirk closed his eyes. If the Orions were involved, profit would be the motivation. With Beta Kell in the picture, dilithium was undoubtedly the goal.

But, this line of reasoning brought him back full circle to the same question: Who was behind this and why did they choose McCoy? The complexity of the plot implicated more than just the Orions; the captain was suspicious of someone in the Federation. Someone who knew the politics and what the consequences of such an action would be. And now, with McCoy paying the price, the pendulum had swung back in favor of Beta Kell joining the Federation. He wondered if the conspiracy would continue until the conspirators accomplished their goal, if their goal was Beta Kell remaining neutral. For the Orions, their remaining neutral would be profitable; if Beta Kell joined the Federation, their space would be protected from the Orions.

He opened his eyes and turned only to be faced with a vid on the viewscreen of his testimony at the Beta Kell trial. "Viewer off." A chill coursed through him as he remembered his first glimpse of McCoy seated in the courtroom, looking as if he had aged ten years in the last few days.

-

Even if he could have proved in time that McCoy was as innocent a victim as the Beta Kells who died were, Kirk did not know how he would ever ease the pain he had seen in McCoy's eyes. Watching a piece of his mind wither and die in the courtroom with each tape the prosecutors played of the terrible destruction of innocent people, he realized the very real part he had played in this awful deed.

From the moment Starfleet had discovered the role McCoy had played in the tragic deaths on Beta Kell, the Federation lawyers had not allowed Kirk any contact with his friend. After he made two aborted attempts to see the doctor anyway, the captain was put under guard as well. According to Admiral Nogura, Starfleet did not want their "golden boy" tainted in any way by the actions of his CMO.

The questions put to Kirk in court had not allowed him any freedom to proclaim McCoy's innocence: Declared a hostile witness for the prosecution, the captain fought their verbal restraints to no avail. He could still hear the questions in the courtroom vividly. . .

. . . Question by the Beta Kell lawyer : "Were you aware of McCoy sending the

vaccine to the Orion agent, Stiletto ?"

"No," Kirk answered, "But Doctor McCoy didn't send any-” The lawyer gestured and the rest of the captain's words were muted by the bell-shaped device above his head which created a dampening field at the attorney's behest. Shouting would accomplish nothing; no one could hear him with the device activated. The court would hear only what the prosecution wanted them to hear.

"Were you aware of the research McCoy was doing on the killer vaccine known as Hestane?"

"Not the vaccine Hestane; he was working on-" Again, his words were muted, and Kirk fought against the frustration.

"He never told you he was developing Hestane?"

"Doctor McCoy didn't develop Hestane!" Kirk snapped.

"Answer the question, yes or no. Did McCoy tell you he was developing the drug Hestane?"

Kirk gritted his teeth. "No," he ground out, "I repeat, Doctor McCoy was not-" The words died in the dead space created by the device above his head.

Another question by the Beta Kell lawyer, a thin man nearly Kirk's height. He only had a light covering of golden brown hair on his face and arms. The captain had noted that the laborers of Beta Kell had a darker, heavier covering of hair, almost fur-like . "At any time, did you instruct McCoy to send the research on his vaccine to anyone?"

Kirk hesitated He could not lie. His eyes sought McCoy across the courtroom "No," he answered, not attempting to explain this time, knowing it would do no good.

Question by the Beta Kell lawyer. The wide almond eyes and braided dark hair that swung across the lawyer's back as he paced in front of Kirk were beginning to wear on the captain's nerves. "Did you inform McCoy that he had been seen talking to a known agent for the Orions called Stiletto?"

"Yes." Kirk considered jumping out of the witness box and crossing over to stand by his friend. After all, as captain, wasn't he responsible for this disaster as well?

"It wasn't long after this that McCoy sent another message to Stiletto, was it?"

Kirk's hands curled into fists, "Dr. McCoy didn't know it was Stiletto. He thought-"

The field swallowed the rest of his words as the dampening device was activated again.

The Beta Kell lawyer glared at him. "Simply answer the question, yes or no." When Kirk refused to respond, the lawyer placed his hands on the rail of the witness box and leaned inward, "How could he not know it was the agent? You just stated that you informed him of this after the first contact. I understand that Starfleet regulations require all messages received on a Federation ship to be verified. The only reason McCoy did not verify this message would be because he was already aware of the true destination of the research information. After your talk with him, did McCoy send another message to Stiletto?"

Kirk dug his nails into the arms of the chair. "Doctor McCoy communicated with someone he thought was Professor-" The rest was lost to the muting device.

A noise behind him alerted Kirk that the judge had stood, and he turned to find the man staring at him. "The witness will answer the questions as instructed with a yes or no."

The question was repeated a third time. “Did the murderer, McCoy, send another message to Stiletto after you informed him of his identity?”

Swallowing his objection to McCoy being labeled a murderer, Kirk answered quietly, "No."

The truth verifier wires attached to back of his head vibrated. A new voice spoke: "The witness is lying."

His palms were sweating now as the question was put to him a fourth time: "After your talk with McCoy, did the killer of our people send another message to Stiletto?"

"Yes." Kirk shook his head in negation however, frustrated that the truth verifier seemed to be working against him.

"Did you instruct McCoy not to send any information without clearing it with you first?"

Something died within him at that moment. Kirk could do nothing to help McCoy, his testimony only proved the doctor's guilt. The captain glared at the lawyer. ‘Don’t you understand?’ he wanted to scream. ‘This man is innocent. He’s a good man!’

Kirk found at that moment he could not meet McCoy's eyes. "Yes," he answered finally.

Less than an hour after his testimony, the court found McCoy guilty, sentencing him to life in prison at hard labor. The doctor would be mining the very crystals needed to run the great starship. The ironic thought twisted Kirk's heart, and he wondered if the Enterprise would understand how her own heart had just been pierced.

Under heavy guard himself to protect him from the Beta Kells, as before, Kirk was denied any opportunity to speak with McCoy after the trial.

Why had McCoy disregarded his orders and sent that fateful message? It all could have been avoided. If only . . .

. . . Pacing away from the window, Kirk whispered aloud, all his sorrow and anger in the anguished cry. "Why didn't you wait and check with me? Why wouldn't you confide in me?"

The captain realized he was shaking. Not good. Emotion would not help him or McCoy. Struggling to calm his breathing, the captain proceeded to bury the recent memory back into the private, 'don't-touch' container deep in his mind. He had to suppress the images until they were hidden from easy access in order to cope with the present.

Somehow, McCoy had been set up, maybe by the Orions; however, Kirk was suspicious of the information the Beta Kell lawyers had possessed. There had been records and tapes of confidential information that reeked of a leak somewhere. Kirk was determined to discover proof both to free McCoy and prove his innocence.

But the captain wandered how he would discover a way to heal his friend's broken heart.

At Starbase Central, Ambassador Langerman caught up with Doctor Helen Ennis in the corridor. He put his arm around her shoulders, ignoring the repulsion he felt. "Helen, scuttlebutt has it that you are refusing your assignment to the Enterprise.”

Ennis stopped short, her hands automatically going to rest on her wide hips. "Scuttlebutt, my eye. That's between me and Nogura. How do you know about it?"

Langerman shrugged. "Admiral Nogura told me."

"Right. I'll believe that when Nogura takes a spacewalk in the nude." Ennis rolled her eyes, not attempting to hide her dislike of the Ambassador. "Come on, Langerman. Say what you have to say. What scheme are you planning now?"

"You've never trusted me, Helen. You should, you know. I told Nogura that he was being unfair in asking you to serve there." That caught her attention. "He wants you there because you're the best in your field on the psychological competence of officers." Langerman paused, waiting for her nod. Instead, she started walking down the corridor, almost leaving him behind. He caught up quickly. "He said he wanted your expertise aboard the Enterprise to objectively assess the competence of James Kirk. Too many questions are beginning to surface about some of his past actions. His part in this last disaster with Beta Kell is enough to make command step back and reassess. If he had taken appropriate action earlier with McCoy-Who knows?-the Beta Kells might not have died. Nogura's concerned, as am I, about his contact with alien races. Remember Garth? We don't want a repeat of-"

"For crying out loud. This is getting out of hand. What happened to Garth was partly due to alien influence." Ennis stopped again, turning to shove a finger into his chest. "Whatever your angle is, I want no part of it. Admiral Nogura asked me to help out on the Enterprise because they need a temporary CMO, not because he wants to remove Kirk from command."

Langerman smiled apologetically. "I think I may have paraphrased inaccurately. But either way, I told him that you should never be forced to serve aboard the Enterprise with the same crew that was the cause of your husband's death."

Ennis narrowed eyes that sparkled with anger. "When are you going to understand that M5 and Daystrom were to blame for that disaster? Your family, my husband and all the rest were killed by that madman and his computer; Captain Kirk and the Enterprise were just as much victims as we were. If I choose not to serve aboard her, it won't be because I blame them as you do."

Looking down at the floor, trying to appear repentant, Langerman said quietly: "I didn't mean to upset you. I can't help the way I feel. I must admit feeling some relief at you stating you don't plan to accept this assignment. Even though we don't agree, it would be difficult imaging you on that ship with Kirk. I'm sorry, but that's the truth as I see it."

"As you said, we don't agree." The short, stocky woman nodded once at him before heading down the corridor toward her office.

Langerman smiled. He almost guaranteed she would be aboard the Enterprise before the repairs were complete, just to prove him wrong. Ennis was that predictable. And with her, would be her medical staff-one of who was in his employ.

Langerman practically danced to the turbolift, earning curious looks from the pedestrians nearby. Revenge was sweet, and soon those who deserved it would get their just rewards.

* * * * * *

Hanging clumsily from a device that he recognized from ancient museums, McCoy winced as another sharp object struck him in his ribs. Rocks and pebbles were continuously thrown by the prisoners confined close to the stocks, providing a source of sick entertainment for their own boredom.

Something sticky and mushy hit McCoy near his ear. The overwhelming odor of excrement took his breath away, and he coughed hoarsely. Shaking his head in a futile effort to sling the substance from his skin brought laughter from one of the nearby cells.

Straightening his wobbly legs, he attempted to take some of the weight off of his shoulders. Locked inside the stock, his head and arms hung from holes in the wooden column, subject to whatever abuse the prisoners in nearby cells thought to throw at him. He already sported numerous minor abrasions from the small missiles flung by the shouting mates. All of that was minor compared to the torture inflicted by the device itself. The height of the column was too short to allow him to stand and too tall for him to kneel. The strain on his legs was agonizing. He tried to force his thoughts away from his physical circumstances, wishing again for some of Spock's Vulcan control in coping with the discomfort.

An image of the Enterprise appeared with the memory of Spock, but McCoy banished the thought quickly, not willing to deal with the pain it caused. Instead, the doctor retreated to the day before: his arrival at the Kell Moon Prison. After his visit with the High Regent, the guards had led him through corridors of clean, shining offices, passing prisoners dressed in the same drab garb he was wearing. They were sweeping the floor and emptying trash in the halls and offices. McCoy had felt something inside of him twist at the thought of performing menial tasks in such a clean environment. Somehow, it did not seem to be a very just price to pay for the deaths of so many of these people's families.

So many deaths. McCoy sagged in the stocks, ignoring the pain it caused, a wave of black despair overriding his senses. Silent until now, he moaned as he remembered testimony after testimony of the death and grief caused by the vaccine.

The knowledge had nearly driven him insane during the trial. At first, not believing it was the same vaccine he had developed on the Enterprise, McCoy had asked repeatedly for research material on the victims.

The evidence presented convinced the court; Starfleet Security had removed the files from McCoy's computer which proved it was the same formula as the vaccine administered on Beta Kell. McCoy only saw glimpses of the formula that was taken from his files on board the Enterprise and he could not be sure one way or the other if it was the same formula.

His one alibi had never been found: the reason he had disobeyed Kirk's orders, the reason he had ignored regulations. Professor Jeff Hawley was the only man he had worked with and for whom he had provided the vaccine. Not any blasted Orion agent. Hawley had simply approached the doctor for help with developing preventive therapy for a virus that was crippling thousands of children on Beta Kell. A virus amazingly close to polio on Earth in the twentieth century. Because Beta Kell was involved in political negotiations with the Federation, Hawley knew an appeal for help would get tied up in red-tape for months, even years. He had circumvented this by going to McCoy privately.

But the doctor had been unable to prove his alibi, Professor Hawley had disappeared and, so far, had not been found, leaving McCoy with unanswered questions and confusion as to the role each of them had played in this tragedy.

He had been so damned cocky. And now, look at the cost. He knew Kirk would have attempted every way he knew how to prevent McCoy from going to prison. The fact remained that the doctor had lied to him in the beginning and thereby set up an unstoppable chain of events. He never told Kirk about the request for the vaccine or the fact that he had supplied it. The hurt in the hazel eyes was present every time he had looked at McCoy in the Beta KelI courtroom. And the question hung heavily in the air between them, never spoken, 'Why didn't you trust me?'

This all could have been prevented if McCoy had followed protocol and talked to the captain. Rules and regulations. Jim, of all people, should know he did not agree with 'by the book' procedure. Kirk had been known to break a few of those almighty rules himself.

McCoy shook his head minutely, the sharp barbs of rough wood jabbing his neck with the motion. Self-rationalization was a dangerous tool since it was one-sided. The doctor had broken rules that were made for just these circumstances, so that crucial information did not fall into the wrong hands. He was guilty; nothing changed that fact. Everyone's anger and condemnation at him was deserved. McCoy had failed Starfleet. The doctor’s hands were covered in the blood of the innocent lives lost on Beta Kell. And by not trusting the captain, McCoy had caused these innocent deaths.

And in not following the regulations of Starfleet, the doctor had also betrayed Jim Kirk.

McCoy's attention was drawn slowly outward, and he watched the prisoners being chained and led from their cells to the mines. The apathetic faces of the prisoners told a story all their own. There was no hope here, just helplessness and degradation. With the loss of everything he was, McCoy sagged under a wave of overwhelming despair, and he could not help adding his own low moan to the almost continual keening of the mass of prisoners. There were no sounds of cheerful laughter or spirited talk, only laments of spiritual and physical agony.

McCoy blinked away unexpected tears as he considered the perversity of the Human spirit. Yesterday, he had been appalled that he might work in an office and manage to keep his hands clean, a fate which he did not feel he deserved. When he was taken several levels below, stale air and muggy heat were the first to strike his senses, then the odor of unwashed bodies and bodily wastes. A sound had started, a terrible wailing and moaning which grew louder as they traveled down a narrow dirt tunnel.

McCoy had emerged with the two guards behind him to overlook a vast cavern filled with prisoners. Bars separated the inmates into neat squares, with ten or more prisoners packed inside each cell. The cells stretched for as far as McCoy could see, darkness preventing him from estimating the number of beings squashed within this cavern. And his need for self-flagellation fled in a sudden desire to serve on the levels above where he could retain some semblance of his humanity.

But he was no longer Human, no longer Doctor Leonard McCoy. Prisoner 2034 had been taken directly to a pedestal located in the middle of a cross section of cells. The stock dominated the pedestal, putting the prisoner on display for the mass of prisoners to see and mock.

His head sagged wearily and he ignored the sharp choking sensation as the motion forced his throat to rub against the hard wood. Guards were still rousing the prisoners. The process seemed endless. As a cell was opened by a guard, a heavy chain was attached to the prisoners' neck collars. The occupants of each cell were linked together by this chain and led away to the mines.

"Heads up, 2034."

McCoy lifted his head from the wooden bar imprisoning him to see a guard pointing a weapon at him.

"I'm not touching you with all that crap on you." The guard laughed and pressed a trigger.

Cringing as the painful blast of cold hit him in the face, it took a moment for McCoy's reeling senses to comprehend that it was only water. The guard continued to spray him with the strong flow, absorbed in his attempt to get the prisoner clean, disregarding the fact he was removing skin along with the dirt.

Goal accomplished, two other guards dragged the being they knew as 2034 from the pedestal to his cell. After the door clanged shut, he lay unmoving for a long time, face down on the packed dirt floor. After a few minutes, he managed to work enough feeling into his extremities to pull himself to a corner of the cell, far away from the door. Curling onto his side, 2034 prepared to wait for what was likely to be a new source of torture when the cell's occupants returned.

* * * * * *

Captain Kirk hurried through the Starbase, anxious to be off the crowded walkways. He was meeting Spock and Scott at Port Seven where they would be returning from Beta KelI. His jaw hardened as he passed another vid-screen which seemed to carry continuous news of McCoy's judgment and incarceration.

The captain rounded the last corner, taking the back route to the port by climbing three flights up a gangway. Since his own return a week ago, the news media had accosted him frequently. There was no reason to believe now would be different He had purposely dressed in a nondescript jump-suit, having learned that removing the stripes of command made him look too young at first glance to be a Starship Captain.

The bay was depressurizing as Kirk approached. Through the windows, he felt a knot of tension unwind as Scott climbed out of the ship followed by Spock. His eyes lingering on the hatch, Kirk tensed when he realized he was waiting for McCoy to exit behind them. He wondered distractedly if this were a normal reaction, a disbelief and denial that the events of the past few months had happened. But the one person he trusted enough to ask was McCoy, now locked away in a prison. Anger quickly followed on the heels of his shock.

Solemnly, both men approached him through the door. Scott, his face heavy with exhaustion, reached out and shook his hand. "Aye," was all he managed before looking away.

Spock also seemed to be somewhat at a loss for words. "Captain,” he said softly with a nod.

Grimacing, Kirk gestured with his head toward the exit behind them, where clamoring voices were yelling their names, asking questions. And always someone in the background screamed: "Murderers! You're all murderers!"

"We'll send a crewman to pick up your gear later. We can avoid the news hounds if you follow me."

On the gangway, Scott evidently could maintain his curiosity no longer. "The Enterprise?”

"The overhaul is nearly complete. She's uninhabitable for the next eighteen hours until the coolant system is cleared. We're relocated on the base. However, I'm close to deciding that breathing coolant is preferable to being on the base right now."

Spock paused on the ladder. "Such an action would result in your death."

"Exactly. You got my point." There was no humor in his words. And no one laughed.

The quarters assigned to Starfleet personnel were sectioned off from the main Starbase and were therefore protected from the media. Kirk sighed in relief as they passed the checkpoint into officer country.

"Hungry? We can have food brought in. It's safer." The captain led them to a large common room, stopping along the way to show them where each of their rooms were located.

Scott paused in front of the sofa but he did not sit down. He stood staring at an ugly modern painting on the wall for several minutes before shifting his gaze to Kirk. "Don’t you have the decency to ask how he is?"

Spock glanced briefly at Scott before also turning to look at Kirk. Waiting.

"I watched the vids." His reply fell hard into the silence of the room.

“The vids.” Scotty’s face flushed with anger. He flexed his large hands as if

fighting the impulse to lay one across his captain’s jaw. “Have ye forgotten your friend so quickly?”

"No." Kirk kept his voice quiet. He glanced at Spock's watchful eyes. For once, instead of steadying him, the Vulcan unnerved him. "You want me to ask how he is? He's facing life in prison because of a stupid mistake on his part." His throat closed momentarily. ‘And because I couldn’t help him,’ the captain thought bitterly. Fighting the pain, Kirk took a step toward Scott, demanding, "Should I expect you to tell me he's happy and resigned to it?"

Scott drew a quick breath. "It's your withdrawal and condemnation that has hit Leonard the hardest. He's tortured by it."

"You know I was ordered not to see him." Kirk snapped.

"You've made no attempt to communicate with him, no attempt to tell him that you know he's innocent."

"Mister Scott, laying a guilt trip on me isn't-"

"Guilt trip?" Scott took a step closer and swung a heavy fist.

Before the blow connected, Spock caught and held Scott's arm with little effort. Stepping between them, his calm tone was infuriating. "Gentlemen, fighting in a more appropriate place would be advisable. The gymnasium perhaps?"

Kirk felt his own face redden. "Get out of the way, Spock. This is between Scott and me."

"Indeed. However, there are valuables in this suite that could be damaged. And, Mister Scott, may I remind you that the captain can have you disciplined for striking-"

"Spock! Get the hell out of the-" Kirk broke off as the front door opened to reveal the other bridge officers. Uhura, Chekov and Sulu noisily came through the door carrying several packages.

A spicy aroma filled the room. Uhura smiled at them, a flicker of a frown crossing her face as she observed the tense tableau. Sulu and Chekov fell suddenly silent.

The communications officer directed a falsely bright smile at them, "You made it on time! We brought dinner." With a gentle push, she herded Sulu and Chekov to the kitchenette. "I'll bet you're starved. If I remember correctly, they don't serve any food on the passenger cruiser from Arctures to here."

Scott drew a breath and pulled his arm free of Spock's grasp. Not looking at Kirk, he headed over to Uhura. "You are a godsend. And a sight for sore eyes." He drew her into his arms, hugging her.

Kirk watched Uhura lean her head into Scott's burly shoulder, the captain burying his own swirl of emotion behind a numb outer shell of control.

"This hug is from Leonard. He said for ye not to worry about him, lass."

The Scotsman's whisper was meant for Uhura's ears, yet Kirk was close enough to hear. He could see it in their faces, their minds:. 'Why didn't you help him? You're his captain and his friend. Why?' He stared at the condemnation on his officer's faces and knew that he had to get away. Brushing wordlessly past Spock, Kirk fled the room.

Spock observed Kirk's hasty flight from the common room, watching the closed door momentarily before turning to meet the others' surprised looks. Uhura straightened from Scott's embrace, her lashes wet from tears. Her gaze went to the closed door and then settled back on Spock.

The Vulcan ran through several scenarios of possible exaggerations and finally settled on a lie. "The captain had an errand."

She nodded her understanding, turning immediately back to the meal they had brought. Under a stream of bright chatter designed to distract, Uhura managed to change the course of the conversation. The somber mood lightened, everyone partaking of the Chinese food with growing enthusiasm.

After a few minutes, Uhura asked Spock to help with the drinks. Following her into the kitchen, the Vulcan assisted with obtaining cups for tea. "Thank you, Lieutenant."

She gave him a bright smile, tears again glimmering. With a quick nod, she whispered, "Go after him. He only talks to us about the ship. Not a word about Doctor McCoy."

Taking her advice, Spock slipped quietly away from the others who were now deep in quiet conversation. The brief overview Kirk had given of this section of the hotel layout included both a garden and a gymnasium, either of which he could possibly locate the captain. He tried the garden first, discovering very few occupants, none of whom were Kirk. Spock chided himself for choosing a site which was logical for a Vulcan but not for a Human who was emotionally distressed. Kirk was very likely working out some of his anger in an appropriate physical environment.

And he was. Alone. Swimming laps with short choppy strokes unlike Kirk's normal graceful motions. Spock considered joining him in the water but knew that the captain would be suspicious of his motivations since the Vulcan avoided the water whenever possible. He watched the taut, determined face and churning legs for a few seconds longer before retreating to change into a black sweat suit.

Bare-footed, Spock moved to a pad and began to do a series of stretches. As he moved into a Se Ter routine, he paused to locate the swimming figure, only to discover Kirk at the pool's edge watching him.

Spock had read several pieces of Terran fiction that described a face being "set in stone". The analogy had never made sense until now. It was more than a lack of emotion. The tan face was hard, the jaw tight. Cold eyes appraised him, lacking the expressiveness that usually lit them. For a moment, he did not know this man professing to be his captain.

Kirk's powerful arms propelled him out of the water onto the pool's edge. He stood, retrieved a towel and walked purposefully toward Spock. Stopping at the pad's edge, Kirk's eyes were vulnerable for just an instant as he searched the Vulcan's face. Then, coldness settled back into the hazel depths. "Spock."

"Captain," Spock nodded, taking a step nearer Kirk. "I had trusted to find you here."

A trickle of water slid down Kirk's forehead from his wet hair. He wiped it away impatiently. "I've spent a lot of time here recently."

"Indeed. The confinement of my recent trip did not allow for physical conditioning. Would you like to work out with me?"

The captain took a step back. "No." For a moment, a flicker of undefined emotion crossed the fine features, then the rock hard face met Spock's eyes once again.

"Not now. I'm going out."

Spock refrained from repeating the warning Kirk had given Scott and him earlier. It was indeed not safe for Enterprise officers to travel this Starbase. The sentiment of the civilians was almost violently negative due to the general perception that the entire Enterprise crew had been just as responsible for the deaths on Beta Kell as McCoy.

Forcing his gaze away from Kirk's retreating back, Spock returned to the routine. Unlike his earlier lie to Uhura, he had told Kirk the truth. He was in need of exercise and the cleansing of the mind that came with the soothing routine of Se Ter.

* * * * * * *

Within a few days, the prisoner felt indistinguishable from the other inmates. His arms and legs blackened from the dirt and grime of the mine, runnels of sweat caused by the sweltering air left streaks of white skin on his chest and face. His shirt and boots were long since gone, a bargaining tool for a space to lie down in the cell. Despite the fact that there were no possessions, the other prisoners guarded their imaginary space with animalistic territorialism. Being the new inmate on the block, 2034 was allowed the space at the back, nearest the ditch which was used for a latrine. He counted himself fortunate that despite the regent's warnings, the other prisoners seemed unaware of his identity.

Exhausted after an endless day digging crystals in the mine, be dropped gracelessly to his small patch of ground. Drifting into an uneasy sleep, be was jerked awake by the sound of clanging. Water. McCoy joined the throng of inmates at the bars, forcing his way in between two smaller prisoners, ignoring the cursing and painful kicks they used, trying to push the former CMO away.

An inmate carrying a bucket approached their cell followed by a guard. Dipping a ladle into the brownish water, the prisoner held the cup for each person to drink. 2034 was careful not to use his hands, the guard would beat anyone who tried. He drank without looking at the water, ignoring the scum edging the ladle and the foul smell in an attempt to quench his raging thirst.

He returned to his corner of the cell and lay down. Curling on his side, he ignored his dry, burning throat and the continuous gnawing hunger, attempting to escape into dreamless oblivion.

* * * * * *

On the Starbase, a steady beeping pulled Spock from a deep sleep. Retrieving his communicator, he glanced at the chronometer which glowed with the time, three hundred hours. "Commander Spock here."

"Base Security, Commander. We need you to report to Detention Area Two immediately," a gravelly voice ordered.

"May I inquire as to the problem?"

"We have someone who says he's from the Enterprise. Drunk and disorderly. We can't locate your captain."

Dressing quickly, Spock made his way through the silent hallways. Kirk

encouraged playing hard on shore leave, yet he did not approve of actions which resulted in damage of property or harm to other beings. His policy was to transfer a crewman if he broke the regulations more than once.

A bored officer was manning the security station. His eyes flicked up at Spock, pausing on the Enterprise emblem. "You Commander Spock?"

"I am," the Vulcan answered.

The officer shook his head and beckoned to Spock. "Tell me if this is one of your men. He won't give us his name, keeps saying to call you. Our computer is down so we can't run a check on his identity." Blunt fingers jabbed a panel and one of the screens showed a close-up of the crewman, slumped on the floor next to the energy barrier.

Disheveled and dirty, exhibiting signs of a recent fight, it was Captain James T. Kirk who was drunk. And disorderly.

Spock was surprised at the shock he felt. He should have known it was James Kirk. Yet in all the years he had known the captain, Spock had never known him to become so intoxicated as to lose control.

"You recognize him?" the officer asked.

"Yes," Spock answered. "What must I do to have him released?"

“There's a fine. And he started a fight in one of the bars down below. Before it was over, the bar sustained over five thousand credits of damage. The total is six thousand credits."

Six thousand credits. This would require transferring funds from his account on Vulcan. Normally, he did not utilize that many credits in a year. Spock restrained a sigh. "I will sign for the fine."

The officer stared at him in surprise. "Wow, wish I had a superior like you, willing to take on my debts." At Spock's dark look, he retrieved a compadd. “Sign here. I'll need his name for the records."

Spock had already been considering the advisability of giving Kirk's name. Due to the tremendous amount of attention the Enterprise crew had been receiving from the media, most of it negative, the wisest route would be to give an incorrect name for the present and correct the entry after the Enterprise departed the station. Again, the quandary of exaggeration versus lying. He settled for a cross between the two. "Crewman Tiberius."

The officer studied the name, his eyes returning to the screen. "You know, he

looks awfully familiar. Young, though." The officer touched another panel and spoke into the intercom, ordering a guard to release the occupant of cellblock C3.

Watching the screen, Spock frowned as the figure on the floor came up fighting when the guard shook him and then settled for help regaining his feet.

The officer at Spock's side, chuckled. "He may be young, but he sure can fight. Before Fleet arrived he'd knocked out-" The officer stopped when he finally noted the un-amused expression on the Vulcan's face. The door behind him opened, revealing the guard from the cell with Kirk swaying at his side.

Spock forced himself to remember his lie as he moved to face Kirk. The captain stared at him blearily, one black eye rapidly swelling shut. Dried blood covered his chin, his lip was also swollen. Recognition lit the one open bloodshot eye as Kirk attempted to focus on him. "Mischer Sshpock."

"You understand the consequences of your actions?"

The eyebrows drew down into a frown. "Conshe-Consequish-huh?"

Spock did allow a sigh, in part for effect and in part from his own need. "Tiberius, are you willing to take responsibility for your actions?"

"Tiber-what the hell?" Kirk took a step toward Spock, his face flushing. Then, as the captain met Spock's even gaze, he seemed to deflate suddenly. He nodded, dropping his head. "Yes."

Knowing that he could not allow Kirk to not follow Starfleet protocol or he would raise their suspicions. Spock demanded, "Yes what, crewman?"

Not quite so submissive. "Sir, yes, sir!"

Herding Kirk out of the station, Spock overheard the officer say to the guard, “He might have been better off staying here than facing that Vulcan.”

That Vulcan waited until they were out of sight of any security before assisting Kirk. The captain followed him, not commenting as Spock laced his arm around Kirk’s waist to support him. Due to Kirk's complete lack of coordination, getting him back to their assigned quarters became an interesting mix of half-carrying and half leading the captain.

As the first officer paused before their door to press his palm in the sensor, Kirk caught his arm and spoke for the first time. “No, Spock. Not here.” Determination lit his one open eye. “I’m going back home. To the Enterprise.”

Startled, Spock let Kirk take a few steps on his own before moving to block him. “Captain, the Enterprise is not safe for another one point three hours.”

“I’ll be safer there than here, Spock.” Kirk blinked, swaying dangerously. “Need to escape.”

Spock caught hold of Kirk’s arm, steadying him. “Escape from what, Jim?”

Kirk’s knees were giving out on him. Spock felt the muscles in Kirk’s arm go limp a second before the captain collapsed. Keeping him from falling, the Vulcan lifted him in his arms.

“Condemnation.” The whisper was followed by a soft cry as Kirk’s face relaxed into unconsciousness.

CHAPTER TWO

"Captain Kirk!"

The imperious tone grated on the sharp edge of Kirk's nerves. Holding the turbolift door open, he turned around, wondering how all bureaucrats managed the same irritating method of saying his name, a mixture of superiority and bored indifference.

"Doctor Ennis?" Kirk kept his voice low to temper the grating brassy sound of the woman who faced him.

"You did not report back to Sickbay for your follow-up. You were due in this

morning." Ennis waved her finger at Kirk's nose, giving the brief impression that he was being reprimanded by his mother. That impression was ruined by the aging, short, stocky build of Commander Ennis, who had all the manners of a bull in a china shop.

"I planned to report after my shift today," Kirk lied smoothly. His computer had reminded him of the Sickbay appointment but he had conveniently put it on the bottom of his list of concerns. Rubbing his shoulder briefly, he frowned, remembering the painful injection he had received. "Besides, instead of pepping me up, the shot you gave me last week made me more tired. I don't think-"

Ennis poked him in the chest, ignoring the startled looks of the crewmen passing in the corridor. "I don't tell you how to run a starship, and you certainly better not tell me how to run my sickbay. The physical I ran upon arriving aboard here showed that you were lacking in certain vitamins and minerals, and that's what I gave you. If you felt more tired after that, it wasn't from my vitamin injection. More likely from your drinking and fighting." She steered him onto the turbolift, ignoring his irritated tug away from her. "Sickbay."

Kirk ground his teeth, forcing himself to ignore her barb about his one time loss of control on the Starbase. He was fast learning in the last few days that this CMO accomplished her goals not by negotiating or coercing but by running over anyone else's needs. He wondered, not for the first time, who in administration had made the brilliant move to assign Ennis, a long-time desk jockey, to active duty on a Starship. The only thing that stopped him from transferring her off the ship was the fact that she apparently was competent medically. Even though she had the bedside manner of a Tellerite and absolutely no respect for military discipline aboard a starship, as long as she did her job well, Kirk had no grounds to request the transfer. He shook his head. Someone at Starfleet Command was laughing at his predicament even though he found nothing amusing about the situation or Doctor Ennis.

The lift had barely started before she launched into her real agenda. "I'm receiving more and more reports of the general dissatisfaction of the crew. I witnessed an altercation in the mess hall yesterday. You've got to do something. "

"And what would you like me to do? I can't be everywhere," Kirk snapped.

The doors opened, but Ennis blocked the exit. She glared up at him. "A crewman reported that you and your Chief Engineer aren't speaking."

Kirk fought down his defensive reaction. He had not been on speaking terms with Scotty since leaving the Starbase. There was accusation in the Scotsman's eyes every time he looked at the captain. The same look was magnified in many of the crewmen's faces as hushed whispers followed him down the corridors and into the mess hall. Scott was not the only one who blamed him for McCoy's harsh sentence. Kirk sensed that many of the crew in general did as well. It was easier to retreat, take his meals in his quarters and avoid activities that brought him into contact with them.

The captain was well aware such behavior was unhealthy for both him and the crew. But right now, every moment he had to spare was spent attempting to find some clue that might help, and Kirk found he resented any requests for his time.

He met the blue eyes evenly. "Exaggeration, Doctor Ennis. We speak as needed about the ship." Kirk looked pointedly at the door. "If you want me in Sickbay, let's go."

Ennis held her ground. "I'm saying that you need to spend more time with the crew. Making rounds, attending staff meetings, not taking every meal in your quarters and-"

Kirk made no further attempt to control his displeasure. "Doctor Ennis, your suggestions have been noted. Now, I'm suggesting you quit telling me how to run my ship."

The captain narrowed his eyes as a satisfied smile appeared on the coarse face. Ennis lifted an eyebrow but stepped aside. "As you wish, Captain Kirk. But don't say I didn't warn you."

They completed the journey in silence. Inside Sickbay, the personnel scurried quickly out of the way. Kirk was not sure if the reaction was because of Ennis or his presence. With McCoy's departure, there were no familiar faces in the department, M'Benga had been reassigned as CMO to another starship several months ago and just a few weeks before McCoy was accused and sentenced, Chapel had departed to begin her training as a physician. Ennis had brought her own medical personnel: Jodee Irelee, a pharmacist who doubled in biological research and a timid, oriental nurse whose name he could not remember.

Within a few minutes, his visit was complete. Ennis ran a quick scan over him, prescribing a second injection and recommending more rest Kirk bit back his sarcastic retort, wondering how she expected him to rest yet spend more time with the crew.

Grateful to be free of her clutches, he left Sickbay rubbing his arm to ease the

ache caused by the injection. Sadness flared inside of him, settling in the pit of his stomach. Strange, McCoy's shots never seemed to bother him. Quelling the self-pitying thought, Kirk headed for the bridge.

* * * * *

Equations danced in front of him. Molecules rearranging themselves over and over again. Coalescing with them, dancing in and around the small bubbles were the pointed projections of the vaccine. McCoy tried desperately to get the compounds back where they belonged, into the test tube. Instead, one of the molecules whirled around revealing lesions on its surface. The molecule turned into Jim Kirk's face now mottled with ugly red blotches. He pleaded, "Why didn’t you trust me, Bones?"

McCoy sat up abruptly, a hoarse scream dying in his throat. Heart pounding, he wiped the dripping sweat from his face.

"2034." A guard stood at the door. Several pairs of eyes watched him apathetically as the prisoner pushed up to his feet. He clung to the bars behind him as a wave of dizziness washed over him.

The flat-nosed guard gestured impatiently with his torch. "2034. Get up here."

Warily, he approached the door. In McCoy's short time here, the only time an individual was removed from the cells was for punishment. The guards, as a rule, stayed out of all activities inside the cells, watching from another level when there was a disturbance or a fight. The doctor knew of no reason that they would want him.

Still lightheaded, he was not sure that his shaky legs were entirely caused by weakness. McCoy had long since come to terms with his death, would almost welcome it in atonement for the deaths of the Beta Kells, but he could not completely quell his fear of how he might be made to suffer before dying.

Outside the cell, the guard attached a chain to his collar and then led him with a series of jerks and pulls out of the prison to the upper levels. Workers and prisoners alike in the brightly lit hallways stopped to stare as the guards led McCoy down the hallway. Used to the darkness of the prison, the doctor blinked in the white light, gradually noting the other prisoners appearance: spotless pants and shirts with shoes on their feet; clean hands and healthy skin, no dry, cracked lips, no festering sores, no signs of dehydration; and no neck collars here, no one being led down the aseptic hallway like a dog on a chain.

He was taken to the High Regent's office. McCoy felt a moment of wry amusement at the startled surprise in the reception secretary's eyes. She covered well, attempting to remain cool and professional despite the covert looks that she gave to McCoy's appearance.

The guard jerked his collar, nearly dragging him into the High Regent's office. He took some satisfaction in the dirty, brown footprints he left on the plush carpet inside the office. Handing the other end of the chain to the man sitting at a mammoth desk, both guards left.

The High Regent's eyes studied McCoy, traveling from his head to his bare feet. His captor had a classic Roman nose that was marred by a fight in his past. The nostrils flared slightly. "You smell."

Standing, the big man walked around. McCoy in a slow circle, dropping the

chain. He did not miss the constant fidgeting, itching that plagued the doctor constantly. "You've already managed to pick up vermin, too. I'm surprised at you."

The psychiatrist in McCoy knew the barbs were pathetic attempts to belittle him, to lessen his self-image as an intelligent Human being. What he did not expect was the deep, instinctive level of his response to the barbs. He did feel disgust at having picked up a creature similar in behavior to lice, and there was no avoiding the fact that he reeked of filthiness.

"Thirsty?" The deep blue eyes glinted with amusement when the doctor did not answer.

Pulling the chain, the High Regent forced McCoy to follow him across the room. A spread of colorful, appetizing food covered a huge bar. The doctor's eyes were drawn to a carafe of clear liquid, beads of moisture sliding down the outside of the glass. McCoy licked his chafed lips, his dry throat aching for a swallow of the cool fluid. Without volition, he reached for the water.

"2034," the High Regent warned.

McCoy forced his hand down. He should have known there would be a price exacted. The question was if he were willing to sacrifice his dignity to serve his body's needs. McCoy stared down at the floor, thinking without amusement that he had very little dignity left to sacrifice.

"I asked if you were thirsty," the administrator snapped.

Head still down, McCoy nodded. Faint imprints of his toes showed on the beige carpet. At least he was working off some of the dirt from his feet. A hand on his chin jerked his head up, the black eyes irritated now.

"This isn't hard, 2034. I ask a question and you respond. A respectful answer would have sufficed. Now," the fingers tightened on his chin. "I think I'd like to see you beg."

McCoy could play the game. The High Regent might be a giant of a man, but on the inside he was nothing if he needed to belittle prisoners for his own enjoyment. "High Regent, I want a drink of water." His voice cracked, reinforcing his need for the fluid.

"Beg." The hand dropped from his face, grabbed the chain and jerked down on it.

Weak from the lack of food and water, McCoy sprawled on the floor. Pushing back up to his knees, the doctor said quietly, "I beg you for a drink, High Regent."

He received a lazy smile but no drink. The Regent stared down at his own fingers, rubbing them together thoughtfully. Finally he picked up a napkin and wiped the grime from them. Eyes flicking from the napkin to McCoy's face, he plunged the cloth into the cold water. Dripping the precious fluid on the floor, the High Regent began to clean the doctor's face.

There was no enjoyment of the refreshing coolness on his face. The caressing, suggestive strokes twisted McCoy's stomach. He was fully prepared to deal with the mental degradations and was learning to cope with the physical abuse, but sexual molestation was something different. So far, he had not been approached by any of the prisoners in this manner.

McCoy took his mind and retreated. No longer feeling the touches on his face or the brush of hands elsewhere. There were many techniques of inducing a tranquil state which, as a Starfleet Officer attached to the coat-tails of Jim Kirk, the doctor had been forced to use on occasion during missions. He used one of them now.

A ringing slap on his face pulled McCoy back to awareness. The High Regent slapped him again, the force knocking the doctor sideways, and only the chain kept him from falling. "Pay attention, 2034. Stand up."

Face stinging, McCoy climbed awkwardly to his feet. The napkin, completely black from the grime, lay on the floor. The broad, florid face was irritated as he pulled McCoy from the bar back to the center of the office.

"I told you before you could have it easy. I don't ask for much."

McCoy met his eyes evenly, refusing to acknowledge he was the prisoner. "I

didn't ask for your help. What about the others in that dungeon?" His voice cracked as he continued. "The conditions are deplorable."

The High Regent shrugged. "I didn't create the conditions. I just maintain them." He returned to his desk, stretching the chain between them. "You really shouldn't turn down my offer. I can help you in many ways. Not just decent living conditions and food but also information. Would you like to see something from your home?"

The black eyes watched him with a secret amusement. "I picked this up a few hours ago and thought you would enjoy watching it."

With a punch of a key, a picture of a well-recognized media reporter from Alpha Centauri, appeared on the computer screen on the huge desk. McCoy held back a groan, remembering the reporter as the Enterprise’s particular nemesis, someone who perverted the truth just enough to cause sensationalism but not enough to open himself up to prosecution.

As the reporter started speaking, another image was super-imposed over him. The Enterprise. The familiar reporter’s voice was stating, "Reports from the Enterprise are that the ship is an unhappy one and will be seeking a new captain soon. The crew apparently blames Captain Kirk for Lieutenant Commander McCoy's harsh sentence. Not only have the crew been fighting with one another over this; an inside source reports that Commander Scott and Captain Kirk are not on speaking terms. There has been no response to our requests for information."

The figure faded from view. The doctor stood frozen, attempting to hide his dismay over the report. McCoy had kept all thoughts of the Enterprise far away from him, not willing to cope with the pain of the loss of his life and his friends but also not feeling that he had the right to grieve over his loss when so many had lost loved ones on Beta Kell because of him.

The Regent chuckled. "I thought you would appreciate hearing the news. You know I have some details that you don't. Starfleet suspects Captain Kirk," his voice dripped with derision. "That Kirk was in collusion with the Orions. Ambassador Langerman feels that Kirk stood to gain a great deal of wealth from this venture."

Still reeling from the report on the Enterprise, McCoy barely heard the High Regent's words. When they registered, he shook his head. The idea that Jim Kirk could have been in collusion with the Orions was so ridiculous that he almost laughed. "You don't know Captain Kirk."

"I know enough. He enjoys power and notoriety. And doesn't care who he runs over or kills to gain that."

McCoy stared at the Administrator, revising his opinion of him. His torturing of McCoy was more than him being just another prisoner; he had an agenda that involved the Enterprise and, specifically, Captain Kirk.

The doctor almost sighed. Even in prison, Kirk's name caused problems. Despite all this new information, nothing changed the facts. Thousands of people had died and even though others may have been involved, McCoy could not push back the wave of guilt as he remembered. A numbing cloud of apathy settled back on his shoulders, enabling him to push all other concerns into a dark corner.

The High Regent's eyes hardened at the change in McCoy's face. The total lack of expression seem to frustrate him. "McCoy," he snapped, dropping the prisoner number. "I'm willing to let you stay on this level with these prisoners and serve me. You'll have decent food and water." He yanked on the chain. "You won't be chained."

All in exchange for a piece of McCoy's soul. "The price is too high, High Regent."

"So be it, 2034. You've been warned."

The guards returned and led McCoy back to his cell. His home. His version of hell.

* * * * * *

Completing the routine physical on Uhura, Ennis reviewed the results while the Lieutenant dressed. She grunted, nodding at the screen. Without looking at Uhura, Ennis announced, "Your results are adequate. You may leave."

The communications officer remained standing in front of her computer until Ennis looked at her. Irritably, the doctor repeated, "I said you could go."

"I wanted to speak with you. Do you have time to talk? In private?"

The last thing she wanted to do was chat with a crewmember. Shaking her head slightly, she rose huffily. "Come on. I have five minutes."

Ennis settled into her office chair, refusing to offer a chair to Uhura. She did not want to encourage the officer to remain any longer than her allotted time.

Uhura appeared unaffected by her lack of courtesy. "It's been so busy here that we haven't really had the time to welcome you to the Enterprise Doctor. You've arrived in middle of a difficult time, I don't want you to think you're not-"

Ennis interrupted, "Look, I didn't expect any grand parades and don't now. There's a job to be done. I'm here to do it."

The Lieutenant snapped her mouth shut, a flash of irritation showing before she recovered. "I see. Well then, I’ll get right to the point."

"I wish you would, Lieutenant."

Uhura drew a breath, her hands going behind her in a parade rest stance. "I overheard you asking Mister Spock about the captain in the mess hall earlier today."

"I really am not interested in your eavesdropping capabilities, Lieutenant. And I remind you, I am your senior officer. You will address me properly."

The shoulders snapped back further, the black eyes snapping. "Yes, sir. Sir, you requested information regarding Captain Kirk's normal habits which Mister Spock did not-"

"I requested the information from a command officer, not a lieutenant" Ennis did not bother hiding her derision. In every new move, there was always some positioning by the lower officers to gain favor. Uhura was going to discover quickly that Helen Ennis was not fooled by her offer of innocent assistance. "Dismissed."

“Sir, I’m here because I’m concerned about Captain Kirk. This is not his normal behavior.”

Ennis stood, glowering at the younger woman. To her credit, Uhura did not back down. She stood her ground, holding Ennis eyes evenly. Finally with an inward grin at the Lieutenant's tenacity, Ennis nodded. "Your concern is noted. Dismissed."

With her acknowledgement, Uhura turned and left. Ennis sank back in her chair, thoughtfully. So far, being on the Enterprise had been less stressful than expected. Having her own staff left her plenty of time to complete routine physicals and paperwork. She was beginning to see some of the advantages to serving aboard a Starship, less red-tape, more cooperation interdepartmentally.

Everything would be smooth as pie if not for one taciturn, stubborn captain.

Despite her repeated warnings to him, Kirk seemed to have very little interaction with the crew. He left most of the senior staff meetings in the first officer's hands. Most of his meals were delivered to his quarters by yeomen. She had never seen him eating in the common mess areas.

Kirk also spent more time in his office than on the bridge. Despite his lack in interest in spending time with his men, this was the third crewmember to approach her with concerns about the captain. She frowned; they had all been women who talked with her. Ennis wondered if he maintained an unofficial relationship with them. From his reputation, she would expect that.

Spock had refused to discuss the subject of the captain unless she indicated it was an issue of command fitness. The first officer had unbent enough to recommend reviewing log tapes of recent missions before McCoy's trial if she was interested in the captain's normal activities. Assuming the ship's logs would be focused only on the current mission, Ennis had her doubts that these would assist her in her assessment of Kirk. However, it did prompt her to consider reviewing the former CMO's medical log entry's for the past few months. She ordered the computer to find an entry and leaned back to listen.

". . . Medical Log Entry.2534.4, Leonard McCoy recording. With the Kelvans' device, we have all our crewmen returned to us. I have checked everyone over and there seems to be no one affected. For now. I'm not convinced their device could be so benign. To have the capability to turn a Human being into a block of salt and then back into Human form leaves me with a lot of doubts about its harmlessness. Mister Scott seems to be the only one aboard suffering physical effects from the large amount of alcohol he was forced to consume in his attempt to inebriate his Kelvan. The captain did experience a strained muscle from his fight, but I'm less concerned about that than regarding his guilt at Yeoman Thompson's death. There was nothing he could have done to prevent it. I believe more crewmen would be dead now if not for his quick actions with the Kelvans.

"But right now, he's not seeing any of that He simply knows he has to tell her parents that she's dead. I may have to intervene if he doesn't decide to come out of his shell soon. The crew's morale will suffer if he doesn't start his normal rounds soon.

"On to the official part of this recording, we examined all three hundred and-"

"Stop." Ennis ordered. "Locate and play the next entry."

It was two days later. Update regarding previous log entry on the captain's frame of mind. Privately, he is still grieving; he spent nearly an hour talking about Thompson and about some of our previous losses on this ship. I sometimes thinks he takes the deaths too hard, but I also know it’s a sign of an exceptional commander that he doesn't take anyone's life lightly.

"Anyway, as usual, he doesn't let the crew know about his personal pain. He spent most of the evening in the rec room, visiting with different crewmembers, joining in on discussions, even playing a game or two. I watched for a while; it's always amazing to me how a few quiet words from their captain can put a smile on even the most serious crewman's face.

"No official report tonight; my observations of the captain can relax. No one has been in Sickbay for two days. We're enroute to find out why contact hasn't been established with a Professor Gill, an unofficial observer on Ekos. I'm sure my work will be cut out for me there. It never fails that landing party duty is a unique challenge to a CMO's skills. One that never ceases to fill me with anticipation and more than a little fear." There was a chuckle and then McCoy signed off.

Ennis stopped the entries. It had been a long time since she had felt challenged. Certainly, she had never been afraid. But, she was settled in her ways, Ennis had no desire to find a new challenge at this time of her life. For a moment, Ennis remembered the sound of McCoy's voice, as if he truly loved his work.

The aging doctor could not think of a time when she had been happy at work. She had been happy with her husband. They had been planning an early retirement on Earth when he was killed seven months ago by the M5 unit on the Enterprise. Ennis saw no reason to retire now.

Grimacing, Ennis turned her attention back to her computer. She might not be enthusiastic like McCoy, but she always gave her full attention to her work.

* * * * *

Several days passed without serious incident. McCoy fell back into the routine, walking through the motions of surviving without letting anything touch him on the inside. He brushed off the efforts of a few prisoners to become friends, keeping a wall between him and everyone else. The wall extended to his thoughts, his mind operating in a netherworld of drudgery.

At night, he was unable to avoid the intrusion of the thoughts he avoided so successfully during his waking hours. While the other prisoners slept soundly, snoring through the night in their exhaustion, McCoy found himself restlessly turning night after night. He dreaded the bitter memories that his dreams brought to the surface, leaving pain in its wake.

The doctor trudged in line back to their cell. This day was no different from the others before it, but muted whispering around him began to penetrate the fog in which he was existing. Inside the cell, McCoy slid wearily to the ground in his space, shutting out the stares of prisoners who seemed to be just noticing that he was here.

He slid into an uneasy sleep, dreaming of his daughter Joanna. At first, the dream was pleasant; she was talking to him, lifting her hands out as if to touch him. He pleaded silently for her to look up and let him see her face, to know that she still loved him. To tell her that no matter what, he loved her.

Slowly she lifted her head, framed by flowing dark hair, her lovely face contorted in horror as she pointed at McCoy. Looking down, he discovered he was still dressed as a prisoner, and on the ground around him were bloated bodies as far as he could see. Joanna began to weep, turning her head away. "My father is a murderer," she repeated again and again.

McCoy's eyes flew open, his breathing harsh and uneven. The chanting was continuing, "Murderer." The other prisoners in the cell were slowly advancing, murderous fury in their eyes.

Each one had a different reason for their anger. "You killed my family."

"You're the one responsible." A fist lashed out, barely missing his ribs.

Their rage was gaining momentum. They began to circle him. Someone shoved him down to his knees.

"Child killer."

"Federation monster."

He saw no point in attempting to reason. Someone had obviously informed them of his crime. McCoy climbed to his feet, prepared to defend himself, but he would not take the offensive.

Their frenzied anger fed off of each other, and the prisoners lit into McCoy with a flurry of fists and hands. His defense quickly became survival, curling into a fetal ball on the floor in a futile attempt to protect his abdomen and head from the continuous rain of blows.

A kick to his head sent a spray of stars across his vision. Another prisoner wearing McCoy's boots sent a hard blow into his abdomen. The doctor cried out, pulling himself into a tighter circle. The boots came at him again, and McCoy screamed as one stomped down hard on his wrist

He could barely hear through the roaring in his ears, the other prisoners cheering them on, a chant of "Murderer" seeming to echo through the huge cavern.

More shouting and yelling sounded nearby, and with the new commotion, McCoy wondered vaguely if some prisoners had broken loose from other areas to come and finish the job. He was pulled roughly to his feet, and taken from the cell. McCoy dimly made out the pants of a guard at his side. They continued to drag him far away from the other cells. The doctor drifted in and out of consciousness, each jolt sending fresh waves of pain through him.

He was dropped in a single cell where there were no other live prisoners; bones of dead ones lay scattered around. The guards left, and McCoy lay unmoving, floating on the edge of living and dying.

* * * * *

A strange sound issued from Lieutenant Uhura's station. Spock glanced curiously in her direction, only to find her busily working the panels on her station. He paused to check the bridge, but everything seemed quiet. Too quiet.

The captain had already left before the end of the shift, claiming paperwork in his office. More and more often this was occurring. The ebullient captain of the past had been replaced by a somber, quiet man who had not smiled or joked for several weeks.

The effect on the crew was telling, squabbling and fighting were on the increase. Even the number of accidents were increasing both in number and severity. Spock had the latest figures to bring to the captain's attention; however, obtaining a clear appointment time with Kirk was also difficult.

The sound caught his attention again. This time, Uhura pressed a hand to her eyes, alarming Spock. "Are you all right, Lieutenant?"

She jerked her hand down. "I'm fine, sir." Standing, Uhura approached him with a printout.

Spock could clearly see that she had been crying. "Uhura-?"

She thrust the printout into his hands. "It's not me. " A tear escaped, sliding

down the side of her face. She brushed it away angrily. "I need to leave the

bridge for a few minutes."

Spock nodded, watching her thoughtfully. It was not until the lift doors closed that he glanced at the paper. The source indicated it was a report from the Beta Kell prison moon where McCoy was incarcerated. The Beta Kell system was not a member of the Federation which meant monitoring their frequencies was not allowed.

All thought of that transgression quickly left his mind as he scanned the report. For a moment, he felt his own world swim around him.

McCoy. Beaten severely. Condition guarded.

Spock closed his eyes, seeking control. Instead an image surfaced of McCoy lying in a cell, alone, dying. He concentrated on subduing his unguarded surge of emotion which took several moments longer than he expected.

Opening his eyes, Spock discovered the printout was crumpled in his fist. A remnant of emotion still smoldered. He turned, his eyes falling on the empty captain's chair, and Spock found a focus for his anger.

* * * * *

At his first request for entry, Kirk denied him. Spock repeated his request, stating he needed to discuss command concerns.

There was no reply. The first officer stared at the door before requesting the

computer's assistance. The Vulcan hesitated but continued, giving the command override order. It was his right if it did indeed concern command prerogatives; however, Spock was not entirely certain his reasoning was not burdened with Human emotion.

He caught a glimpse of Kirk at the computer screen, the image of a vaguely familiar schematic glowing. The captain rose, a flame of anger showing in the hazel depths of his eyes. Spock was almost relieved to see the emotion. The desk was littered with computer disks and files. The captain moved quickly around it to confront Spock in the open space in front of his desk. "I do not remember giving my permission for you to enter. If you have a concern, make an appointment. "

"I have. You have canceled them all." Spock pointed out.

The fire in Kirk's eyes suddenly died. With the loss of emotion, the captain

regained the closed expression which he habitually wore of late. "I've been busy."

He gestured to the informal easy chairs in the corner of his office. "However, since you feel this is so important-" Kirk let the sentence hang, dropping into one chair, waiting for Spock to sit across from him.

Spock realized he had been very efficiently maneuvered away from the desk. What was there that the captain did not want him to see? The image on the screen suddenly took a clear shape in his mind; the prototype of the new Orion defensive ship. Spock resisted the urge to move back to the desk, forcing himself to sit in the chair Kirk indicated.

The commander’s impulse was to shove the printout about McCoy into Kirk's hands as Uhura had done to him. However, Spock had come here under the pretense of command concerns. Activating the compadd, Spock handed it silently to the captain.

Kirk read it through without changing expression. He handed it back to Spock. "I've already noted the increasing number of crew accidents in my log with plans for you to address it at the next staff meeting. Recommendations?"

"Doctor Ennis claims that the cause is low morale. She believes a joint effort of the senior officers developing diversional activities with rewards will be helpful in alleviating some of the problem."

"Such as?"

"A tournament possibly. A physical competition."

Kirk nodded, his eyes on Spock. But the Vulcan was not certain the captain was really seeing him. The lack of warmth in those hazel eyes was alarming. He was looking into the eyes of a stranger.

"Sounds worth a try. See to it, Spock."

The Vulcan felt his brows draw down into a frown.

"You disapprove of something I said, Mister Spock?" Kirk asked softly.

For a moment, it sounded like the old Kirk, affectionate teasing coloring his tone. But Spock looked up to see the same, distant eyes. "The CMO specifically stated that you should be the one to lead the tournament."

"I'm glad the CMO thinks I have so much free time to spare. Perhaps she plans to take over as captain while I play tri-ball." At Spock's non-response, Kirk shook his head. "I can't. But, I agree we need to do something. I'm ordering you to take care of it. You can rearrange the bridge officers' schedules to give them time to coordinate it. "

Strange, Spock mused. This withdrawn and unresponsive version of Kirk distanced him in a way the captain's emotionalism never had. As a Vulcan, he had often thought that this Human's overwhelming enthusiasm