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 would drive him away; yet now, Spock felt the distance growing between them daily as Kirk shut him out.

"Jim." e stopped as Kirk's eyes showed a trace of wariness. Every attempt to break through the captain's isolation only succeeded in causing him to withdraw from him more. Instead of continuing, he handed Kirk the report about McCoy.

The captain read the report without reaction. He stood, shoving the hard copy into a disintegrator before commenting. "I'd like to know how you obtained this report."

"It was given to me by a crewman," Spock replied.

"Who?"

"Captain." Spock stood. He had taken only a couple of steps toward Kirk and the desk before the captain smoothly blocked his path. "You refuse to speak about Doctor McCoy. You have ever since he was arrested. This behavior is unhealthy for Humans. We now have evidence that your continued withdrawal is affecting the crew. Even now, hearing that Leonard McCoy has been beaten and may die, your only response is to ask how the report was obtained. As your First Officer and as your friend, I am concerned."

The face carved in granite was back. Spock knew that attempting to chisel through to the man underneath would not gain him any advantage in reestablishing their seemingly lost relationship.

"Mister Spock, you would do well to be more concerned with the breaches in our security that allow such unauthorized securing of information to occur. If we, as Starfleet, had been more alert in the past, it's possible that the whole incident with McCoy could have been avoided I am not unconcerned about the doctor's fate, but I serve him better by focusing on my responsibilities."

The walls between them were higher now. Spock recognized defeat. "Understood, sir."

He walked slowly to the door. In the past, the Vulcan had learned to associate these quarters with warmth and light. Now even with the room lights blazing, the lack of emotion from its occupant enveloped the room in shadows of darkness.

Spock stepped through the doors into the brightly lit corridor. The one person who could help James T. Kirk was the same person causing the captain's pain. Leonard McCoy was not the only person who was incarcerated. Spock glanced back at the captain's quarters. Kirk was imprisoned as well.

Kirk immediately turned back to his research. He appreciated the Vulcan method of coping with difficult situations far better than he ever had before. By herding all his feelings and emotions into a corner of his mind and keeping them carefully buried, Kirk functioned far better than he had in the past Occasionally, someone was able to shake the shields around him, but so far, his method was working. The person he had worried least about his lack of emotion affecting had been Spock. The fact that the Vulcan attempted to use emotion to evoke a reaction from him was disconcerting.

Surely, Spock, if anyone, should understand. Being helpless to prevent a truly innocent victim who happened to be one of his closest friends from being tried and sentenced was slowly tearing him apart. For his part on the witness stand and the continued condemnation of the media and his own crew, Kirk could not help but feel partly responsible for McCoy's harsh sentence. The doctor had been guilty only of being an innocent who did the right thing for the right reasons but was betrayed. But the question was: By who?

The long hours Kirk spent researching on the computer, attempting to gain proof of his friend's innocence was the only way for him to deal with his own guilt at McCoy's fate.

Beaten.

Kirk shuddered at the image of McCoy, alone and hurting.

Closing his eyes, he breathed a silent plea. 'Bones, don't die. Hang in there.'

Choking anger swept through him, and Kirk remained frozen with his head bowed, jaw gritted tightly. He soon lost awareness of the time, his mind only seeing McCoy in a primitive cell his face bruised and bleeding. His breathing grew harsher. "Dammit, why you, Bones? Why?"

Unseen, unfelt, a tear trickled down his cheek, and still Kirk did not move. "Oh, Bones," he whispered. The spiral of images drew him inward, trapped in an endless cycle of guilt and pain.

* * * * *

Scott left the Rec Room feeling considerably better than when he had entered earlier in the evening. Lieutenant Kunkle of Security had discovered a bottle of whiskey and challenged Scott to a contest. After several rounds and hours later, he left Kunkle quietly sleeping on a couch in the corner of the Rec Room, chuckling as he imagined the different ways he could tout his victory over the boasting giant of a security guard.

Scott passed by Kirk's quarters, wondering disjointedly if the captain was inside. Kirk was spending most of his time in his quarters away from the bridge and crew.

Hiding out, the Scotsman thought indignantly. But the flash of anger was quickly buried under the layers of alcoholic haze.

The engineer nearly ran down Lieutenant Uhura near her quarters. As he reached out to set her back on her feet, Scott belatedly noticed her distress. Her eyes were red as if she had been crying. "Lass, what's wrong?"

Uhura shook her head, attempting to pull free from his supportive hand. "I can't. . . talk right now. Let me-"

"

What is it? Did something happen?"

Uhura shook her head mutely. "Please, Scotty. Let me go." She put a hand to her face.

Scott dropped his hand, following uninvited into the Lieutenant's quarters. She started when he touched her, a sob escaping.

Alarmed, the burly engineer pulled her into his comforting embrace. "Darlin' it's going to be all right. Is there something I can do?"

"No," Uhura whispered, shuddering as she attempted to regain control. "There's nothing anyone can do. I-I intercepted a report from Beta Kell. About Leonard."

When she did not continue, Scott felt a gulf open in front of him. Standing on the precipice, he forced himself to ask, "What?"

"He's been beaten. . . in the prison, and the report was uncertain. . . if he'll survive."

The forgotten embers of flame surfaced, banishing his earlier euphoria. Clear-headed and sober, Scott found a focus for his anger. Jim Kirk. It was about time he started doing something about this injustice.

Scott waited until Uhura finished crying and then quietly left to seek the reclusive Jim Kirk in his lair.

His request for entry was ignored at first. Only when Scott threatened to cut a hole through the door with a phaser did Kirk release the lock.

Hard, hazel eyes met his, twin sparks of barely leashed anger lighting them. "Mister Scott, threatening me can be construed as mutiny. I recommend you withdraw your last statement or spend the next few nights in the brig until you can control your insubordination."

The glowing coals of rage were fast reaching an eruption point for Scott. Angry words spewed forth without any thought. "Do you plan to be the one to put me there, Captain? I think many of the crew would rather put you in the brig instead of me just so you can have a taste of Leonard's fate. You condemn McCoy to a living hell and don't give a damn!"

"Mister Scott, you've gone far enough. You're confined to-"

"No, it's not enough. Let me remind you what Leonard is feeling!" Scott slammed a rock hard fist into Kirk's jaw.

The punch caught his superior off-guard, and the captain fell back to hit the corner of his bookshelf. Scott stared in numb disbelief as Kirk slumped almost lifelessly to the floor.

Once he was assured that Kirk was breathing, the engineer's anger flared again. Grabbing a glass of water from the fresher, Scott poured it over the captain.

Kirk came up sputtering, his expression bewildered only for a moment. The hazel eyes narrowed dangerously as he shoved back up to his feet.

Scott ignored Kirk, heading for the door.

"Mister Scott." The quiet, intense tone brought the unrepentant engineer to a halt.

Scott did not give Kirk a chance to talk. "Aye, I'll consider myself on report and confined to quarters or the brig, whichever you choose. It doesna' matter. I no longer want to serve under a coward."

For a brief moment, Kirk's wounded expression made Scott hesitate. Before he could respond, the cold, hard face replaced any expression he thought he had seen.

"You're confined to quarters until we make Starbase Six. There'll be no more of your subversive behavior spreading through my crew. Understood?"

The door slid open. Again, Scott felt as if he were stepping over a precipice. And at Starbase Six was he to leave the ship? The Enterprise forever? Snatches of his own words floated back, and he glanced back at Kirk's swelling lip. It was the captain's right.

Scott fled the dark quarters and the shell of the man who used to captain this ship with such pride. He knew that behind his anger lay grief and sorrow at that loss as well.

* * * * *

Awareness was blessedly brief, McCoy awakened at intervals. At times, he thought he was in Sickbay, lying on a bed. Once he distinctly heard Jim calling his name. Attempting to answer him, he only managed a moan before following the pain back down into unconsciousness. Sharp knives stabbed at his head and his gut, but it was his left arm that was the main source of a continuous living, twisting mass of agony.

The sound of whimpering brought him back to consciousness. McCoy squinted through pain-dimmed eyes, discovering he was in a small, square room lying on a bed. A man looking like a voodoo witch doctor with pins in his mouth sat at his side. Only the fine covering of dark hair on the face and neck told him that this was a native and not a spirit.

"W-who?" Another whimper sounded, McCoy finally realized it was coming from his own throat.

Without looking at McCoy, the man withdrew a long needle from his mouth and bent over McCoy's side. White pain flashed up his left side, and the doctor clamped his mouth shut against a scream. Another needle was removed from the thin lips, and McCoy followed the motion.

With exact precision, the slender needle was placed next to another one directly into the swollen mass of flesh which used to be his left arm. The fingers were nubbins of struts, looking like a ludicrous glove filled with air. The discoloration told McCoy the arm and hand had been this way for several hours. Much longer, and he would lose it to gangrene.

McCoy whimpered again as another needle was placed in his arm. "W - what are you doing?" He managed to whisper.

His eyes traveled over his abdomen, and he saw more needles protruding. Strangely, he could not feel the needles; and once he moved past the screaming pain in his arm, his abdomen seemed quite numb.

The strange man ran out of needles. He paused, lifting a cup to McCoy's lips.

"Drink, 2034."

McCoy needed no urging. He swallowed the fluid greedily. Once he finished, the man reached into a box at his side. More needles. Knifelike pain shot up the length of McCoy's arm as he placed another one directly into the wrist.

The doctor screamed, the waves of continuing agony sending him careening on the edge of consciousness. As he descended further, an ironic thought followed him down his spiraling path. It seemed appropriate that his version of hell included being treated by a voodoo witch doctor using items very near the beads and rattles Spock was always accusing him of practicing.

The Vulcan would approve.

CHAPTER THREE

Leaning back in her chair, Ennis studied the other senior officers at the conference room table. While waiting for the staff meeting to start, Sulu and Uhura could usually be counted on to chatter rather inanely, in her opinion, on a variety of subjects while Chekov brooded stubbornly, apparently disliking the early morning meetings. Scott would be perusing anything technical until the last minute. The meeting always began promptly on time, with Spock entering the room at the precise minute it was scheduled.

This morning, the meeting was already five minutes late. Sulu sat glumly at Chekov's side. Uhura's normal soothing effect was missing, and she had Spock cornered by the door. Scott was missing.

Something was wrong. Ennis clamped down on her jaw, angry at her obvious omission in being informed of the problem.

The door swished open, and she heard the Lieutenant's startled, "Captain" before actually seeing Kirk. The captain strode to the head of the table, his face hard and unyielding as he waited for Spock and Uhura to join them. This was a change in procedure. Since she had arrived aboard, Kirk had never attended the senior officer’s staff meetings.

"Gentlemen, I'm here to inform you of a change in staffing. Lieutenant Cranfield will be acting Chief of Engineering until further notice. Commander Scott will be taking an extended leave of absence and will leave the ship when we arrive at the Starbase today. He also chooses not to speak of his reasons or to have any farewell proceedings for him. I'm ordering you to follow this request"

Ennis at first assumed that this was the cause of the officers' earlier tension; however, surprise in varying degrees was reflected in each of their faces. Except Spock, of course. Yet, something in his posture told Ennis this was news to him also.

She watched Uhura glance at Spock and then ask in a low, angry voice that the doctor had never heard her use before. "Does this have to do with Doctor McCoy's beating?"

Unused to reading Kirk, Ennis could detect no reaction to her question. As he focused steely eyes on the Lieutenant, she noticed for the first time a discoloration on the left side of his jaw. It was quite possibly swollen as well.

"I believe my orders were clear, do not talk about this with anyone. Mister Spock, inform Mister Cranfield of his new duties." With that statement, Kirk marched toward the door, his back ramrod straight.

Ennis cleared her throat. "Captain Kirk."

Nearly outside the room, the captain stopped.

"You might want to stop by Sickbay and get that swelling on your jaw reduced."

Without acknowledgement, Kirk let the door close and left.

In the tense silence, Ennis shrugged, "You can't blame me for trying."

Uhura was still staring at the closed door. “This can't be happening." She turned bewildered eyes on the doctor. "Doctor Ennis, are you saying the captain was injured?"

Never one to hold back the truth, Ennis replied, "As in a fight, yes. Someone

decked him."

"Scotty." Uhura whispered, her hands going up to hide her face. “This is my fault. I was upset. I told him last night."

"Lieutenant," Spock's tone was sharp. "You heard the captain." He stood, drawing everyone's attention back to him. "I recommend all of you follow the captain's orders. You are understandably upset regarding recent events. This meeting is adjourned. We will reconvene tomorrow morning. I will assign replacements for you. Consider yourselves off duty for the next twenty-four hours. However, I remind you any discussion of this among crewmembers will result in disciplinary action. Dismissed."

The officers filed slowly out of the room. Ennis remained seated until only Spock remained. "How about filling me in on this McCoy thing?"

At first, she thought Spock was going to refuse to answer her. Finally he took a seat, steepling his fingers. "Yesterday, a non-Federation transmission was received on the Enterprise reporting that Doctor McCoy was beaten severely in the prison. Only the senior officers are aware of it. "

"And Kirk? Does he know?"

"Yes. I brought the report to his attention." Spock brought his hands down on the table, the gesture somehow communicating his displeasure.

"Non-Federation? Obviously from Beta KelI. How did it get here?" Ennis

frowned, puzzled.

"That was the captain's response." Spock pushed his chair back and regained his feet.

J

Eyebrows raised, Ennis stared at him. "What do you mean, that was his response? Was he upset about the incident? Did he comment on the message itself?"

Somewhere she apparently crossed a line with the Vulcan. He lifted a haughty eyebrow, his hands going behind his back. "I suggest you bring those questions to the captain. They are not command concerns but are directed at the psychological components of Humans. That, I believe, is in your area of expertise. If you will excuse me, I have duties to perform."

Ennis watched his retreating back, perplexed and frustrated by the whole affair. Nogura had been right, they needed someone strong-willed to fill McCoy's shoes. However, she was not sure she was prepared to be nursemaid to a boatload of officers acting worse than children. It was time to put the pressure on Kirk. Either he would snap out of it or crack. She would have to be prepared for either scenario.

* * * * * * *

His secretary's request was a complete surprise. "Sir, a Mister Scott is here. Says he's here to see a prisoner."

The administrator activated a monitor. Lieutenant Commander Scott from the Enterprise stood in front of his secretary's desk.

Jaw clenching in frustration, the regent snapped, "No appointments. I'm busy. Send him away."

"But sir-"

Ignoring her protest, the administrator cut the connection. He entered his private code, pushing the connection through to his contact ignoring his usual caution. "Celin!" He roared as soon as the transmission was in place.

"You are taking a lot of chances. I don't-"

"Where is Captain Kirk? The Orions are here to take him!"

"I told you, he's on his way. He checked out a shuttle at Starbase Six. He'll be there-"

"You don't understand. A Commander Scott, the engineer from the Enterprise is here. Your plan backfired. What am I supposed to do?”

"Scott? Not Kirk?" There was a pause that made him want to reach through the connection and strangle the man. "Interesting. Kirk's going to show. Let Scott see McCoy."

He glared down at the intercom. "I'll let him see McCoy, but he isn't going to leave here after."

"Patience. Don't do anything that will bring suspicion down on you. Scott must leave there without suspecting anything. "

His frustration exploded at Celin's hard tone. "Patience! You're not the one having to put up with Commander Rsigs threats. And try living in this hell-hole for a day and see just how long your patience lasts."

Celin's tone changed, attempting to placate now. "Hold on. Wait for Kirk; he'll try to free McCoy, giving the Beta Kells proof of how Starfleet will interfere in their affairs. Then they will never join the Federation, and we'll have riches beyond belief."

"You better be right or I will-"

"Don't threaten me. You're not as safe as you think."

Before he could reply, Celin cut the connection. Furious, the regent barely avoided crushing the precious equipment with his fist. Stopping himself, he punched the intercom, opening a link to his mousy secretary.

"Seanchell, where is Scott?"

"Here, sir. He-ahh, wouldn't leave sir."

"Tell him to wait. I'll see him."

"You will, sir? Yes, sir. I will tell him."

Holding on to his already short temper was growing increasingly hard. Scott paced around the secretary's desk in the Regent Administrator's outer office. He had lost count of the number of officials' palms he had greased in an effort to visit McCoy. Apparently, this prison did not allow visits. Commander Scott was determined to break that solid rule.

He resisted checking his credit balance, knowing that it was dipping dangerously low. Scott knew he was close to seeing McCoy, and he was desperately afraid this administrator would demand more than he had left. To be so close, Scott felt like he was going to lose his mind if he did not see his friend.

"Lieutenant Scott, the Administrator will grant your request. You will be escorted to the prisoner shortly." The secretary pointed at a plump chair. "In the meantime, please sit down."

Nearly shouting in excitement, Scott had no sooner fell into the chair when the inner office door opened. A large man with wavy black hair and piercing blue eyes strode through the door. He shook Scott's hand. "Commander Scott, in the interest in maintaining good relations with Starfleet, you are being allowed an unprecedented privilege. Even families of Beta Kell prisoners are never allowed to visit or contact their relative."

The Administrator led him into the corridor, waiting until the door closed behind him. In the empty hallway, he said softly, "I have some demands which you'll have to agree to before seeing him."

Scott held his breath, thinking of his dangerously low credit balance.

"You must not question our treatment of prisoners. This facility has been run this way for many centuries. Criticizing us will not create change here, but it will further destroy the trust between our government and the Federation. "

Studying the administrator, Scott asked curiously, "You're not from this system. How did you come to operate their facility?"

Scott must have hit a nerve. A muscle jumped in the big-boned jaw. "I uphold and believe in the traditions of these people. They have honored me by accepting me as one of their own."

His words rang hollowly in the corridor. Scott watched warily as the Administrator turned, and led him further down a hallway. The Scotsman let out a silent sigh of relief, hoping that was all of the requests.

"We have no areas designed for visitation. A guard will accompany you into the room. You will not attempt to touch or give anything to the prisoner. Go immediately to the chair at the end of the table. Remain seated until you are escorted out. Any other actions will result in you being immediately removed from the room."

Scott nodded. "Aye, I understand. Although, Leonard McCoy wouldn't-"

The big man interrupted. "You will be allowed to remain for fifteen minutes, no longer."

They headed down a flight of stairs. On the next level, as they passed open doorways, Scott noticed there were prisoners dressed in a drab gray uniform performing various tasks in some of the offices. Although they did not smile or speak, they appeared to be decently fed and clothed. He hoped this was where McCoy had been placed.

The traveled down another level, a more drab corridor without offices, guards posted at opposite ends. Scott felt his heart beating faster as the Administrator stopped in front of a door, pulling a key out of his pocket. With a lazy smile, the man said, "Of course, there is a price for seeing this prisoner. You are prepared to pay?"

Caught unprepared, Scott felt his heart sink. Why had he thought this one would be any less crooked? The Starfleet Officer was thoroughly unimpressed with the Beta Kell government. "Yes," he replied dully.

"One thousand credits." The man held out his hand, jiggling the keys impatiently with the other.

Not enough on him. He had the last of it in a private savings at home. "I brought five hundred. I'll have to sign for the rest."

The Administrator shook his head. "Not good enough. How sad, you've come this far, and now you can't see him." He put the keys back in his pocket.

If it wasn't for the guards at the end of the hall, Scott might have considered going for the keys himself. "You'll have it within a few hours. I swear it."

The Regent Administrator turned away. Scott held up a hand. "Wait!" He reached inside his collar, pulling out a fine mesh chain made from the metals of his homeland. "Hold this for ransom. I get it back once you receive the credits."

The blue eyes riveted on the shining metal. It was worth well over two thousand credits. Scott closed his eyes briefly, deciding he really had gone crazy. This chain had been in the family for over five hundred years.

"Forget the credits. I'll take the necklace. You see the prisoner."

Scott swallowed hard, reminding himself this was for McCoy. He pulled the chain off his neck, dropping it into the big palm.

The Administrator stuffed the chain into his pocket and gestured for a guard Opening the door, he stepped back for Scott and the guard to go through.

The Scotsman stopped cold just inside the door, forgetting his instructions. Inside a small square room, McCoy was slumped over a table in the middle of the room. He was skeletal thin, one side of his face swollen, the other side bruised and pale. His left arm was hidden in a grimy sling.

McCoy straightened, steadying himself with a shaky hand on the table. His

shock was palpable across the room. "Scotty! I didn't. . . What are you-why?" He faltered to a stop, his eyes dropping to the table as if he were embarrassed.

"Sit." The guard inside the room grunted, startling Scott into action.

He ignored his impulse to cross the room to McCoy and instead slid into the one chair at the other end of the table. He had to struggle to fight down the flare of rage inside him. He should have tied Jim Kirk up and dragged him here to face this, see if he could remain the cold, heartless bastard he'd been on the ship.

"I wanted to see you. Wanted to tell you-well, we heard about your trouble. I

needed to know you were all right." Scott realized how inept he sounded. He could see that McCoy wasn't all right.

"I'm okay, Scotty." McCoy's words were slightly slurred. Scott decided it was due to the swelling on the left side of his face. McCoy tried to smile. "It is good to see you, Scotty."

Scott dredged up a painful smile, all too aware of the racing minutes. "Did they get the ones who did this?"

McCoy shook his head, grimacing at the motion. "It doesn't matter." Watery blue eyes squinted at Scott. "I'd rather hear about the Enterprise.”

Scott frowned, holding back his impulse to blurt out his anger at Captain Kirk. "Chekov is chasing after Ensign Talley."

That got more of a grin from the doctor. "Spock's new protege? That must be driving Spock nuts."

"Yes. I heard through the grapevine that Spock lost his Vulcan cool when he discovered them having a picnic inside his computer room."

McCoy gave a short laugh. "He gets upset if there's a spec of dust in there, I can imagine what he thought of cookie crumbs."

"Sulu has Nyota trying fencing. She wanted to try something different to keep in shape." At McCoy's groan, he added, "We tried to warn her for you, but she wouldn't listen. Said it would help to work off some of her-" He stopped just in time.

McCoy frowned. "Her what?"

"Her frustration. She's. . . worried about you. We all are."

"Don't." The doctor said harshly. "It only makes it harder for me." He sighed, giving a scapegoat smile. "Sorry. That's kinda' like telling you not to fix the engines or Spock not to quote logic. Impossible. Who's the new CMO? I imagine he's a bit more orthodox than me."

Following McCoy's lead at lightening the conversation, Scott attempted to keep the dislike from his tone. "Doctor Helen Ennis."

"That old warhorse? I thought she was ready to retire, not go flying around in space. In fact, I don't remember her actually serving on a ship before. That's odd." McCoy laughed, adding conspiratorially, "I imagine Jim and her mix like oil and water."

"You're not far off. Although that goes for her and most of the crew." Scott bit his tongue, relieved when McCoy misinterpreted his comment.

"I was going to give sage advice about giving her a chance, but Ennis," McCoy gave a one sided shrug of his shoulders. "She's grumpier than me. We never seemed to appreciate each other, she always seemed to carry some sort of grudge against me."

"She isn't the only one with a grudge." Scott muttered.

McCoy gave him a sharp look. "Scotty," he started then grimaced. He gripped his left arm, all color draining from his face as beads of sweat popped out on his forehead. McCoy turned his head away, not moving for several seconds.

Scott gripped the edge of the table watching his friends' agony in helpless silence. He spared one desperate glance at the alert guard by the door, experiencing an overwhelming desire to grab McCoy and make a break. If they made it out of the prison, they would be exiled from Federation space, but at least his friend would be safe from harm.

"Leonard. . ." he whispered. Damn Kirk. Scott would never understand this as long as he lived. Or forgive. He had seen the captain break the rules time and again, but this time he not only hadn't lifted a finger to help McCoy, Kirk's testimony in the court had actually helped to have him sentenced.

"I'm all right" The harsh whisper told Scott the exact opposite was the truth. "I wish. . . you hadn't seen me like this." He shifted, his right hand still supporting the one in the sling. The blue eyes riveted on his face. "Scotty, promise me you won't tell the others. Tell them, I'm doing all right. Promise me!"

Despite McCoy's shaking words, Scott could not contain his anger. To his horror, it spilled over at McCoy. "Of course, Leonard. I'll tell them you're being treated like a king, getting the best of care. What shall I tell them you do? Work in an infirmary?"

Unaffected by the anger, McCoy lifted an eyebrow, a trace of a smile appearing. "No, Scotty. You can tell them I've actually been mining dilithium. It's kind of reassuring to think something I've dug out with my own hands will help the Enterprise.”

Appalled at lashing out at McCoy, Scott sat wordlessly. He wondered how he could lift a crystal again without seeing McCoy's face as it was now.

"Did Jim send you?" McCoy asked gently.

Scott shook his head. "He doesn't know I'm here." He bit his tongue on his next thoughts. ‘And he doesn't care.’

"You had to request leave to come, Scotty. He must know something." McCoy frowned.

Scott twisted his hands angrily. "I don't want to talk about him."

"Why?" McCoy sounded surprised.

All the anger and hurt came boiling out at once. "You don't understand. The captain doesn't act like he cares one iota about you. He never talks about you. When I asked him about you being beaten up, he said-he said it wasn't his concern." Scott looked away. When would he ever learn to control his tongue?

"Scotty! You sound like you're blaming him for this." McCoy lifted his hand indicating the room around them, his prison.

"If it wasn't for him-"

"My God man, you are blaming him!" McCoy snapped, appalled. "Didn't you hear anything? I lied to him. He was forced to tell the truth in that courtroom, and it probably was one of the hardest things Jim Kirk ever had to do. I saw the expression on his face, he was desperate to help me." The doctor held Scott's eyes evenly, "He knew the cost."

Scott shook his head, his hand forming into a fist. "You're not listening. He won't let us talk to him about you or anything else for that matter. The whole crew is hurting over this, and he doesna' act like he cares. You've been practically a father to him and-I couldna' take it anymore and told him so. Then I-" Scott took a quick breath. "Anyway, I'm now on an extended leave of absence."

"For telling him off! That doesn't sound like the captain."

"Well, I sorta. . . hit him." He could not make himself meet McCoy's eyes. "I was surprised when the captain decided not to press charges. I wanted him to; I was 'thot' angry with him. I still don't understand."

"Scotty," McCoy said softly.

Embarrassed at laying this on McCoy's shoulders, Scott struggled to breathe normally, biting his lip.

The doctor urged again, "Scotty, look at me." McCoy waited until Scott lifted his head. "I've watched Jim Kirk deal with pain more times than any person has a right to. For a man who is usually so open, he hides his pain deep. The worse it is, the deeper he buries it. Right now, the lack of emotion is a symptom. "

Scott listened carefully, wanting to reject the words but knowing deep within

himself that McCoy was right. The truth was there if he was willing to look for it. Still he argued, "But he won't even talk about you. It's as if you were never there."

McCoy nodded, "The captain is strong; he can function like this for a long time, but he can't do it if he's vulnerable. He needs to talk but fears it the most."

Trepidation coloring his words, Scott whispered, "Then, how do we help him? He shuts us out at every turn. Even Spock."

McCoy smiled slightly at Scott's response. "Better, Scotty. Don't you think that Jim is probably beating himself up for not preventing this from happening? Don't try to force emotion from him. Support him. Let him know that you trust him. Somehow, without saying it, you must let him know that you don't blame him for my being here, Scotty. It's got to be tearing him apart."

The words struck into his heart; his shoulders sagged. Here, McCoy was reaching out, telling him how to help Kirk. Scott whispered, "Aye. As always, you know how to help. You're right. The lad is hurting in ways I hadn't understood before. But, I cannot return the favor. I cannot help you." His voice cracked. "I canna' keep you safe."

McCoy's gruff voice eased Scott's tension. "Sure you can, by keeping me in your thoughts." The gruffness gentled. "Keep the Enterprise safe."

The guard stepped forward, gesturing at Scott. "Time's up. Let's go."

As Scott pushed to his feet, McCoy said softly, "Take care of him for me, Scotty."

"I will." The engineer moved to the door. "I pray thee, in God's hand be kept."

They shared a look that said more than words. And when the guard shoved him out the door, for a moment, Scott was almost grateful; it prevented McCoy from seeing his own brimming tears.

* * * * *

Jose Mendez slumped down on the couch in Admiral Nogura's office dejectedly. "I'm ready to throw in the towel. The more I discover, the worse it seems. I'm obviously not cut out to be head of your security. I can't find this leak. "

Nogura shifted on his feet, glancing briefly at Mendez before turning his attention back to window. "It has to be you, Jose. I trust you. Just hang in there; they'll make a mistake soon."

"Who? And when? The fleet needs to be notified of the danger. If the Orions have information regarding fleet activities like we suspect, then our Starships are at high risk. And our intelligence division is dragging their feet on information about the improvements to their new ships."

Mendez watched Nogura shift again before moving to sit in a chair beside the couch. Normally, the commanding admiral of Starfleet was as implacable as stone, to see him appearing even slightly restless was disturbing. "I've put the heat on them. The stolen technology is an enigma." Nogura stared down at his clasped hands, sighing momentarily. "Can you code a message that can't be tapped into and get it to Kirk about the Orions having information on their schedule?"

"I think so. But why just him? The rest of the ships could be-"

Nogura waved his hand, his tan face appearing more craggy than normal. "Something tells me this isn't over with the Enterprise. You and I both know this whole setup with McCoy was fishy from the start. I don't think we're finished with it yet."

"Much of the trail keeps pointing at Langerman. And diplomatic duties with Beta Kell gives him ample opportunity to work with the Orions without our knowledge." Mendez leaned forward.

Nogura shook his head. "Except for the fact that he was the one reason we managed to keep Beta Kell interested in the negotiations. If we assume the reason behind implicating McCoy in the deaths on Beta Kell was to keep them from joining the Federation, Langerman would be defeating his purpose by renegotiating. The computer confirms that he has no reason to be part of this."

"Computers!" Mendez said disgustedly. "For what it's worth, my instincts are telling me it's Langerman. Besides, I've never liked the man."

Nogura allowed a slight smile. "I think half the fleet doesn't like me, but it doesn't mean I'm guilty of trading with the enemy."

Mendez pushed himself off the couch. "Point taken. I'll go see what I can do about sending Kirk a message."

Nogura also stood, moving back to stand beside the window. As Mendez

approached the door, he stopped him. "Jose, be careful. I'm not sure who you can trust"

Mendez nodded grimly, letting himself out the door.

* * * * *

"Sickbay to Captain Kirk."

The captain stared at his computer screen for a moment before reluctantly opening the link to Sickbay. He grimaced inwardly as the older woman's heavy jowls and beak nose came into view.

Brushing a hand through her scraggly graying hair, Helen Ennis frowned as she turned to face Kirk. "Captain, I specifically requested that you lead the tri-ball tournament You instead chose to insult me by ignoring my recommendations. Now, my recommendation is that you come to Sickbay to reap the harvest of your error in judgment" The doctor's abrasive tone grated on his nerves worse than usual tonight.

Kirk held back a sigh. Along with her caustic manner, he frequently did not understand what she was saying. It took more patience than he currently possessed to work with her. Lately, he had left most of the communicating with the medical section to his first officer. "Please explain, Doctor Ennis."

"I did. Come immediately to-"

Cutting her off, Kirk put a command snap to his tone. "Doctor Ennis, I am going nowhere until you clarify yourself."

The clear blue eyes stared imperiously over her nose. As if she were indulging him, Ennis stated, "On the third stage of the tournament, the team members began fighting. We're in the process of treating ten of your crewmen for injuries from minor to severe. I've entered this in my medical log that I warned you this would happen if you did not participate."

"And I will challenge any such entry, Doctor." Only through iron control, Kirk managed to keep his voice from rising. "How serious are the injuries?"

Ennis leaned forward, pointing her finger at the screen. "Look, Captain, as your CMO, I'm ordering you to come to Sickbay and see for yourself. I know the regs. I knew them long before your were in training pants." The screen went blank.

Kirk cursed under his breath, wondering again who in administrative Starfleet had sent this dragon to run his sickbay. His motions were automatic as he pulled on a fresh command tunic, pausing only for his gaze to linger on the shelf above his bed. An antique volume about Clark Gable rested among them; a gift from Bones.

He felt his stomach twist, only Spock knew the significance of this book. Caught back in the I920s of Earth, when Edith Keeler befriended them, she had made a reference to seeing a Clark Gable movie to first McCoy and then Kirk. The experience had ended tragically with Edith's death and McCoy feeling partly responsible for Kirk's pain. Seeking a way to share some of the burden, the doctor had discovered this book on Earth. The intense search that it would have taken to find it was something that still amazed the captain.

Now, Kirk felt partly responsible for effectively ending the career of the one friend who did understand and had shared this memory.

He felt almost as helpless to stop the dissension of his crew as he had been powerless to help McCoy. Kirk closed his eyes, his fists clinched at the thought of his men, the finest crew in Starfleet, brawling like the low-lifes aboard the Deneb Queen.

It was his fault, his responsibility. To regain the trust of his crew, he had to find a way to prove McCoy's innocence. It wasn't the crew's condemnation he feared; it was his own - Condemnation that he deserved.

The door signal sounded. Kirk jerked as if he had been stung. He stalked back to his office. If Ennis had decided to come here, she would soon learn she couldn't intimidate everyone. "Come."

The captain blinked in surprise as Montgomery Scott edged through the door. He stood in the doorway a few seconds before blurting, "Captain Kirk, I thought I should let you know I'm back and prepared to return to duty if. . . you'll consider it."

His manner was so opposite the stiff-necked opposition of when Scott had departed the ship that the captain was left speechless. Kirk realized they both had been reacting out of anger when Scott had hit him. After consideration, the captain had refused to sign his transfer papers, instead granting an extended leave of absence. But he had not dared to hope that Scott would actually return. Kirk managed to nod at the engineer.

Scott relaxed slightly at the motion. "Aye, I'll be glad to get back to my engines."

Kirk felt the words form inside him to tell the Engineer that he had been missed. But he could not get them past the bottle-neck in his throat and so he said nothing, just gave another nod.

The engineer remained just inside the entry, breathing heavily as he studied the captain's face. Kirk could not detect any anger in Scotty's face; yet he seemed to be waging some internal battle to speak. The captain was aware that Scott had attempted to see McCoy during his leave. The visit would have done nothing to relieve the tension between them.

Scott's frustration seemed to deepen at Kirk's lack of response. Parroting Kirk from a few minutes before, he nodded and swiveled on his heel. Face hidden in the shadows, the engineer paused with his back turned.

"Captain, I was wrong about a lot of things. I blamed you for . . . something that wasn't your fault." Scott turned and faced him again. "I'm sorry."

The silence stretched between them as Kirk willed himself to speak, to

acknowledge the stubborn engineer's apology. The walls that he had so carefully built around his heart to protect him from the anger and censure surrounding him now prevented him from being able to respond. Scott was reaching out a hand, all he had to do was--

The intercom signaled, and both men jumped. "Ennis to Kirk."

"Kirk here." The captain kept the com on audio.

"I'm amending my log entry to refusal to comply with medical orders, Captain, unless you report within the next sixty seconds."

"Doctor Ennis, threatening me will not accomplish the results that you intend. I am on my way. I was delayed." Kirk turned at the sound of the door opening, catching a glimpse of Scott's retreating back. He had lost the opportunity to mend their relationship. He knew Scott. Kirk had once called him a thick-skinned thistle head with fond affection, but it also meant Scotty would not offer his friendship twice. Turned down once, there would be no second chance.

Rubbing his forehead, Kirk headed out of his office for Sickbay, leaving Doctor Ennis talking to an empty room.

Scott headed towards the only haven he called home, shaking his head. Leonard McCoy was wrong about Captain Kirk. Remembering Kirk's silent appraisal after Scotty had abased himself before him, the Scotsman once again felt his face flush in anger and embarrassment.

Stalking into Engineering, his attention was immediately diverted by a welcoming cry from his assistant, Ensign Cranfield. The thin, wiry redhead loped over to him with a broad smile.

"Mister Scott!" Cranfield shook his hand enthusiastically, immediately tugging him toward a console. "I'm glad you're back. We've got a problem that I haven't been able to correct."

Following the crewman, Scott was soon absorbed both physically and mentally with attempting to coax a transflux inducer to function properly. Cranfield kept up a running tally of information regarding the department's activities.

An hour later, the task was complete, the Ensign's face reflecting his relief. "I was afraid I was going' to have to admit to the captain that I didn't know how to repair this. I didn't want to add to his list of troubles."

Scott stood, brushing his hands on his pants. "That's what the captain gets paid for." He tried to keep his tone light, but Cranfield glanced at him quickly and then away.

"Mister Scott," the ensign started and then stopped. "I'm glad you're back." He retrieved a compadd and headed toward the bank of computers lining the port wall.

The Engineer watched him, wondering what the ensign had started to say. It involved the captain he was sure. He was equally sure that he was not interested. But, McCoy's words nagged insistently at him, and Scott followed the young man reluctantly.

"Chuck, is there something else you wanted to tell me?"

Cranfield finished an entry on the compadd before turning. "There was a fight tonight in the gym during the tri-ball tournament." Scott watched a pink flush creep up over the young man's neck and face. "I knew about it before hand, but. . . I guess I didn't believe it would happen."

"What do you mean you knew about it? Why didn't you tell the captain or Mister Spock?"

"A few of them were from here. I think they wanted to. . . We've noticed that there seems to be bad feelings between you and the captain."

Scott whispered in shock. "Are you saying they were fighting because of me?"

"Mostly, sir." The lanky ensign seemed to be all elbows and hands as his nervousness made him move restlessly.

Patting Cranfield on the shoulder, Scott reassured him. "I'll take care of it."

* * * * *

Late in the night shift, Spock stepped into the austere silence of the computer room. Working in the quiet during the normal Human's rest cycle was as soothing to Spock as eight hours rest was to his crewmates.

Making his way to the back of the room, Spock activated the decontam shower that would allow him to enter the central core of the computers without introducing any source of contaminant. Once inside, Spock felt some of his tension ease away, as illogical as his father might consider that perception.

Vulcans' ability to interpret the data from the central core at a rate of speed that Humans found impossible made them widely renowned as computer experts. Spock rarely allowed himself to work at his potential when surrounded by Humans for it seemed to point out the differences between the two species in a threatening way. He had even seen the captain exhibit some nervousness on the occasions he was forced to demonstrate his true skill and speed.

Here, alone and surrounded only by the inanimate equipment, Spock began to run the diagnostic programs essential to the smooth operation of the Enterprise. Capable of coordinating several different operations at once, the Vulcan was soon deeply engrossed. Three hours later, all the programs except one were complete, an operation that normally would require three Humans and a shift of duty.

Spock turned his attention to the one diagnostic which reflected an error reading. The screen indicated that a computer program was running in the next room which denied access for the diagnostics. Spock frowned. No one had been outside when he had entered, and no one was scheduled to run any programs. He instructed the diagnostic to exclude the program and continue.

Five minutes later, the diagnostic was complete. As expected, there were no major failures, only one minor deficiency located in crew's quarters. Spock instructed the computer to run the correlation program which would tell him of any anomalies, patterns of usage or differences of patterns from the last five diagnostics run.

He then turned to inspect the one computer deficiency, surprised to note it was in the captain's quarters. The captain had not mentioned a problem.

Spock suppressed the flare of irritation that surfaced. The captain rarely mentioned anything to him at present. For the last few weeks, since McCoy's incarceration, Kirk had been aloof and unapproachable. Most communications between them occurred on a formal basis through computer communiques.

There were no chess games, no shared meals, no workouts together in the gym. The sudden withdrawal of friendship left a deficit that Spock was unprepared to deal with, an emotion surfacing that he did not recognize. If McCoy were here, the Vulcan could have queried him on the subject, alluding to a crewmember on the ship exhibiting these symptoms. The doctor cheerfully grabbed each opportunity to lecture Spock on yet another tirade about emotions.

It was only lately that Spock had begun to suspect that McCoy was well aware he was asking for his own personal information. Without the good doctor's advice, Spock sought out the computer for information and, after discarding much of the illogical psychologism, was surprised to discover that his symptoms correlated with a Human's grief over a perceived loss. Illogical yet undeniable.

After his initial attempts to reach Kirk were rebuffed, the Vulcan's response now was to approach Kirk on the same professional level. It was the same type of relationship that Spock had shared with Christopher Pike. He discovered he was unwilling to return to that sterile existence but was uncertain how to approach the issue. Spock only knew that his supposedly nonexistent irritation was growing each time he glimpsed the frequently empty command chair on the bridge.

"Correlation complete." The soft feminine computer voice announced. "Analysis shows no significant changes on the major systems from the study I042. Minor systems show significant utilization increase on computer 5C."

Captain Kirk's computer. The heavy utilization could explain the deficiency reported. Preventative maintenance was scheduled based on the results of the last correlation study. The captain's computer was not on the schedule to be serviced for another two weeks.

"Computer, print specific usage of computer 5C." The machine obediently fed a paper out to him as if expecting the command. Reviewing the form, it became clear that the increase in computer time had begun soon after McCoy's trial. Spock's lips thinned into a disapproving line, and he turned his attention back to the computer usage form.

The amount of time indicated that Kirk was taking very little time to sleep. It also explained the frequent absences from the bridge on his duty shift, now quite obviously spent working on the computer. Spock could not quell his curiosity regarding the computer usage. And again felt his throat tighten painfully as he realized that asking the captain what he was doing would not gain the same results it would have a few weeks ago. Then, Kirk would have simply told him.

Preoccupied, Spock set about shutting down the systems and left the room, discarding the protective gear in the appropriate container. He weaved through the rows of science computers intent on the exit when he remembered the one computer in use here. He turned to his left, pausing to straighten a misplaced chair. From the corner of the room, the glow of the screen lit the surrounding walls. Spock's steps slowed as an unfamiliar noise issued from the cubicle.

There he found Kirk, head propped precariously on his hand, the sound of soft snoring coming from his barely parted lips.

A series of numbers was scrolling across the screen at a rate of speed which Humans found impossible to read. Spock glanced at it but could ascertain no importance or pattern to the data displayed.

The computer gave a soft chime instantly pulling Kirk from his sleep. As the captain ran a hand across his eyes, Spock moved from behind the captain to his side.

Kirk was already reaching for the hard printout just being processed when he noticed his first officer’s presence. "Spock! What are you doing here?"

Spock could not resist lifting an eyebrow in response. His presence was far more likely to be explained here than the captain's.

Without looking at the printout in his hand, Kirk rose smoothly. "Right. I was just finishing." He ordered the computer to save the program, confirming that it was to be coded under his voice command only.

"Captain, I've just noted in the diagnostics program that your computer has a deficiency. Your presence here indicates the problem is more serious than I realized.” Spock stepped back to allow Kirk out of the cubicle.

"No, it's not." The captain's hand came up to rub his eyes again and then massage his forehead. "It was just running this program a lot slower than I wanted it to. I needed to complete it tonight. Didn't mean to interrupt your work."

"You did not." Spock continued to walk at Kirk's side as he headed for the exit. "I will ensure maintenance is completed on your computer in the morning. Your computer usage time has increased by forty-four percent in the last fourteen point four days, and I have now upgraded the preventive maintenance accordingly."

Kirk waved his hand. "My fault, I-" A yawn interrupted him. "Sorry, Spock. Think I better get some sleep."

The captain seemed less wary, his eyes vulnerable. Spock was unwilling to lose even a few moments of this openness. "Jim, the amount of time that has been logged indicates that you have been getting very little sleep."

The door slid open, Spock following Kirk out. The captain did not react to his continued presence. Something he seemed to avoid lately. The captain replied quietly, "I get the sleep I need, Spock."

"I assume this research is classified. Even so, there may be a possibility that I could assist." Spock could not resist adding, "Vulcans are known for their discretion."

Kirk shook his head, grimacing at the motion. His shoulder muscles rippled as he stretched, one hand coming down to knead his neck as they stepped into the turbolift. "I know, but it's not possible. Thanks, anyway." He looked at Spock in puzzlement. "I thought you were going to work in the computer room."

"My work is complete." Spock set the turbolift in motion before continuing. "I understand that you met with Doctor Ennis this evening."

Kirk groaned. "Did Ennis tell you?"

Pleased that the captain was responding, Spock decided to be honest. "I must admit, I did overhear a crewman talking in the mess hall."

"It's a little hard for you not to eavesdrop with those ears of yours. So what did the 'crewman' say?" Kirk was still attempting to work the obvious knots from his neck.

"Verbatim, sir?" Spock had not counted on this.

The doors opened. Kirk stepped out and looked back at Spock. The Vulcan felt some of his hope die upon seeing the same cold, unsmiling visage he had faced so often in the last few weeks. "Those are my orders, First Officer."

Spock moved out of the turbolift, walking at Kirk's side. Quoting, Spock imitated the French accent of the crewman, "The fireworks in Sickbay between the captain and Doctor Ennis was better than the fight in the gym. It was worth the broken nose I received-"

"Enough. I get the picture." Kirk stopped at the door to his quarters and again surprised Spock by continuing to talk to him as he entered. The Vulcan followed him inside. The captain grumbled, "I was afraid of that. I couldn't put Ennis off any longer, but she chose the arena for the showdown. I think she understands my expectations a little more clearly now."

"I will be pleased if she does. The doctor does not seem to understand the art of negotiation or diplomacy."

"That's an understatement. I believe her motto is 'Burn the damn bridges, not build them’." The captain crossed to his desk and placed the printout he still carried into a drawer.

Spock watched somewhat surprised when Kirk headed back to his bunk. He had assumed that the captain was finally willing to discuss the low morale of the crew and the fight earlier in the gym. He buried his concern at Kirk's uncharacteristic lack of interest regarding his crew's actions, watching as the captain removed his shirt and draped it over the end of his bed.

Kirk yawned again. "Did you receive my message regarding Mister Scott's status?"

"Yes. I also spoke with Lieutenant Scott. I will welcome the improved efficiency of the Enterprise engines from his expertise."

Kirk sat on the edge of the bed and was now pulling off his boots. "Did you tell him that?"

"I believe I was able to convey my opinion."

The captain seemed to freeze at the remark. Without looking up, Kirk said in a very low tone, "Glad you were able to."

"Able to what, sir?" Spock watched the second boot drop to the floor.

"Nothing. I'm tired." Kirk rolled his shoulders again grimacing. "My computer's not the only thing that has a glitch in it from all the long hours. But I don't think Doctor Ennis will be in the mood to give me a sonic treatment right now."

Spock moved to Kirk's side. "If you will permit me, Captain." Without waiting for permission, the Vulcan assessed the tautness of the muscles by running his hands over Kirk's neck and back. Before he finished, the captain was attempting to pull away.

"I'm all right. Just complaining. A good night's sleep and I'll be fine."

"Indeed. You would be correct except for--" Spock gently forced Kirk's head to bend to the left, not surprised as a quickly inhaled breath whistled through the captain's teeth. "I believe the Human expression is that you will awaken with a 'cricket in your neck'."

There was no reply at first, then a resigned: "Are you recommending I report to Sickbay?"

Spock straightened. "I see no reason to force you to submit to the doctor's ministrations. I believe that an adept massage will alleviate the symptoms, if you will allow me."

The captain still sat with his head bowed. A small resigned sigh sounded with a short nod. "Guess you're right. It's been bothering me for over a week and been worse for the last couple of days."

Stretching out face down on the bed, Kirk pillowed his head on his arms. Neither one of them talked as Spock slowly began to coax some of the tension from the tight muscles. The powerful muscles of his upper back and lower neck were knotted and taut, and at first, the massage seemed only to cause more pain. As the Vulcan continued working, however, the knots began to loosen and Kirk's breathing deepened. Assuming he was asleep, Spock continued, probing gently at the more sensitive muscles in the neck.

The muffled voice surprised him. "Where did you learn about crickets in the neck?"

Spock hesitated. "Doctor McCoy."

The curt withdrawal that had been Kirk's response of late to the mention of McCoy did not occur. Kirk lifted his head slightly. "Oh. That explains it."

Spock continued to concentrate on the neck muscles, suspicious now of the idiom. He would research it as soon as his time would permit. The broad shoulders trembled slightly. "Captain, are you all right?"

The answer was slow in coming. "Yes." The shoulders continued to tremble but Kirk refused to elaborate.

Spock chose to ignore the trembling, and soon the captain's breathing deepened again. This time, a soft snoring occasionally accompanied the breathing. The timing was appropriate, the last stubborn knot in the neck was finally loosening.

The Vulcan straightened, pulling the covers over the peacefully, slumbering form. Whether Kirk understood it or not, he had reached out a hand tonight.

The Vulcan reduced the lights in the cabin and quietly let himself out of the quarters.

*****

Catching up on the condition of his department took all of Scott's first evening home and the better part of the next day. It was there that Uhura caught up with him.

"Scotty!" Uhura's voice echoed across the engineering deck, startling the Engineer.

Scott jumped, hitting his head on a console. "Umph," he squelched an oath. "Lassie, what's wrong?"

"Only the fact that you've been back for nearly twenty-four hours and you haven't talked to me yet."

Dressed in a flowing multicolored tunic and slacks, Uhura crossed over to his side, a frown crossing her lovely face.

Scott felt some of his tension ease as he greeted the Lieutenant. Giving Uhura a brief hug, he was surprised when she urged him toward the exit. He protested, "I'm not finished."

Uhura ignored his complaint, waiting until they were in the corridor to answer, "Hikaru and Pavel are waiting for us in the officer's lounge. I promised to bring you there to talk about Leonard. Your engines can wait."

Mutely, Scott followed her to the turbolift. At his continued silence, she rested a hand on his arm, smiling in support. "How was the trip?"

Scott waggled his hand, unwilling to chatter despite the fact that Uhura could make idle talk lift one's mood anytime. "No problems. The biggest delay was the red tape needed to visit with McCoy."

"You did see him, didn't you?" Uhura asked rapidly.

Scott nodded. "Aye, although it took every credit and then some to persuade them."

"How is he?" she whispered "No, don't tell me. We're almost there." They headed down the curving corridor to the lounge door. Uhura asked quickly, "You didn't let anyone know you were back last night. Why?"

Not answering, Scott's anger flared as he remembered his visit to the captain's quarters. Uhura grabbed his arm as he was about to pass through the doorway to the lounge. He stopped but could not look at her.

"You talked to the captain, didn't you?"

Frustrated by her intuitiveness, Scott fought against allowing his reaction to show on his face. Something must have slipped through; Uhura moved ahead of him abruptly. "I guess I know what kind of reception you received. Are you going to stay?"

Scott nodded, surprised at the bitterness in her tone. "Yes, I'm planning to stay." He followed her thoughtfully, a memory surfacing of McCoy's insistent support and concern for Kirk.

A few minutes later, surrounded by his friends and sipping a warm brandy, the Scotsman began to feel the knot of tension ease. Knowing they had waited long enough for news, Scott took another sip of his brandy before answering Uhura's earlier question about McCoy. The constant smile faded instantly on Sulu's face, and Chekov's mischievous twinkle subsided at the turn of conversation.

"Leonard looks like he's recovering. He wouldn't talk about his injuries and was upset to hear we had learned of it." Scott paused, searching for words. "He seemed genuinely glad to see me; but he was embarrassed, too, I think. He's lost weight, too much. He was in considerable pain but tried to hide it."

"Did they get the ones who did it?" Sulu's voice was tight.

"He's in a different world now, different standards. He wouldn't talk much about his life there." Gruffness laced his tone, covering the deeper emotions he was feeling.

Chekov shook his head. "How do we help him?"

The same question he had asked McCoy. But Scott discovered he did not have the doctor's strength to answer. He closed his eyes, remembering McCoy when he had entered the dank room. Painfully thin, face swollen, his prison uniform dirty and torn, the exterior man appeared weary and beaten. Stripped raw of all pretenses, the doctor was forced to reveal his inner self to the world.

Scott looked at his three friends wondering how he could help them understand the true valor of this man they loved. "Physically, Leonard wouldn't be able to best many of us. But to survive there, one needs more than that. It is his dignity, his strength of spirit that is stronger than all of us put together." He took a swallow of brandy to steady his voice. "He asked us to keep him in our thoughts and to keep—the Enterprise safe."

It was Sulu who voiced their fear. "But is his spirit strong enough to survive?"

Scott was saved from attempting to answer by a loud surge of angry voices from across the room. Four engineering crewmen with various injuries had entered and crossed over to a table where a few security crewmen were seated.

"Damn! Grady. He started the fight last night" Chekov muttered. He and Sulu immediately started for the arguing crewmen. Chekov called to Uhura quietly, "Nyota, you better call security before it gets out of hand."

Confused, Scott trailed after them, wondering why the Ensign expected something to happen. An altercation on the Enterprise was an extremely rare occurrence.

Grady, one of the engineer's crewmen, caught sight of Scott and grinned broadly. Scott narrowed his eyes as the crewman swayed dangerously. Aware suddenly that Grady was probably inebriated, Scott was caught off-guard when his crewman leaned over to haul one of the seated security men out of his chair. Grady slammed a fist into the angry man's face and blood poured from his nose. The Engineering tech nodded in satisfaction. "That was for you, Mister Scott. You'd make a better captain than Kirk any day.”

Shocked into immobility, Scott could not get his mouth to close. A cheer went up at the tech's words, apparently interpreting Scott's silence as approval.

He glanced around the room, discovering other crewmen joining in the cheering. Cheering against Kirk. Against the Captain of the Enterprise! Another second found Scott shaking with anger. Before he could speak, an unexpected voice cut across the shouting, effectively silencing the entire room.

"Gentlemen." Spock strode across the room, coming from a hidden alcove in the corner. His face was closed and emotionless, but the dangerous gleam in the dark, hooded eyes was enough to warn even the inebriated crewman to hesitate. "Free speech on board this ship does not include disrespect to superior officers or talk of mutiny."

The Vulcan stopped directly in front of Grady. All the bravado and color had faded from the young crewman as he faced the forbidding visage of Spock.

In the uneasy silence, Scott swallowed his own anger, moving quickly to Spock's side to present a united front. Not hiding his displeasure, Scott snapped, "Mister Grady, your behavior is a disgrace not only to the Enterprise but to the Fleet." He raised his voice, "As is the behavior of many of you in this room. Captain Kirk is to be accorded the appropriate respect and unless you want to spend a major portion of this mission in the brig, I would suggest you remember that."

In the silence that followed, a timid crewmember asked, her voice shaking: "And Doctor McCoy? He's in prison because of the captain. We can't help how we feel." As all eyes turned to her, she shrank back in her chair but managed to continue. "I mean, he didn't try to help save the doctor, instead the captain testified against him. It makes us feel like he won't help any of us."

Scott shook his head in dismay. Part of this was the captain's fault for withdrawing from the crew, but a major portion of the responsibility for this lay on the shoulders of the senior officers of the Enterprise. A quick glance told him that Uhura, Chekov and Sulu were experiencing the same revelation. McCoy had tried to explain. Somehow even though they had not condemned Kirk verbally, their actions had spoken quite clearly. No wonder Kirk had not ventured out of his shell, he met condemnation at every turn. Not even his own ship had turned out to be a safe haven.

The ensign was requesting help to understand, but Scott could see the first officer's hesitation to answer. Security was piling into the room, crossing to stand beside Spock and Scott. In the next moment, the Vulcan's solution would be to order the troublemakers from the room and confined to their quarters. The Engineer lifted his hand, forestalling Spock's action.

He addressed the woman but lifted his voice for the rest to hear. “Ensign March, I have just come from seeing Doctor McCoy." He paused at the sudden stillness in the room. "Even I have struggled with recent events, but he helped me to understand. He doesn't blame the captain, and neither should we. This wasn't his fault. The doctor reminded me that it took tremendous courage on James Kirk's part to tell the truth despite the cost to him." His voice dropped to a whisper, "We dishonor Doctor McCoy by promoting chaos aboard the Enterprise and not supporting our Captain. When I asked how we can help, his reply was, 'Keep the Enterprise safe'."

There was a single sob in the silence that followed his words. Glancing around the room, instead of anger, Scott saw mostly embarrassment and sadness reflected on the crewmen's faces. Locking eyes with Spock, he was surprised by the gratitude shining in the black eyes.

Nodding, he stepped back, turning the command effectively back to Spock. The Vulcan's next words surprised even him. "This incident will be forgotten. We will not speak of it again."

As if his words were a signal to leave, the crewmen began to shuffle out of the room. The room emptied slowly, leaving only the senior officers. Scott cleared his throat but found he was at a loss for words.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, Sulu stood at his side, his face solemn but pride shining in the dark eyes. "We'll keep the Enterprise safe, together."

The words united all of them and they knew that though the doctor was absent he was part of them here and now. McCoy's concern was for the Enterprise and for the captain, and they would not fail him in his request.

CHAPTER FOUR

The carefully packaged dilithium crystals, sitting on the floor only three feet from the Regent Administrator's desk, shimmered and then disappeared. He punched the intercom to the Commander of the Orion ship. "Rsigs, you have twice the amount of dilithium we agreed to, where's the payment?"

"Until Kirk is handed over to the house of Rsigs as agreed, no payment."

"Rsigs!" The regent screamed into the speaker. "That was never our agreement. You'll get Kirk. It takes time. I have the time and place, but first I want payment. 'The Kell government here is growing nervous. They're threatening to swing the vote for Federation membership. I can't guarantee free access to the dilithium much longer without proper payment."

"No concerns of ours. Give us Kirk. Then we pay."

Stalemate. If he did not know the operating methods of the Orions so well, he would continue to bargain. However, they were just as likely to turn their weapons on this moon world if he did not supply the information soon. "Base 342. Stardate 3294.3."

"Received." Rsigs snapped and cut the connection.

The regent stood and paced around his desk, his hands tightening into fists with continued anger. He swung back around abruptly to watch the bank of screens on the wall behind him. One screen flashed from tunnel to tunnel, showing scene after scene of prisoners working in the mines. Another screen scanned the upper levels where prisoners were carrying out mundane tasks. Everything was quiet.

Too quiet. He paused before another screen that was focused on a prisoner asleep on the floor in a small square room. Prisoner 2034. McCoy. His frustration at Rsigs changed to anticipation as he stared at the peacefully sleeping prisoner. Stuck here on this rock for over six months in an effort to bring their plans to fruition, he was sick of the inactivity. And the crooked authorities on Beta Kell who had helped place him here as the administrator of the prison were getting nervous in their last communique. He had not been lying when he said they were questioning the actions of the Orions and whether they would stay with their part of the bargain.

The regent smiled as he watched the prisoner grimacing in pain when he rolled and sat up slowly. The left arm would never heal, too badly broken and although the treatments had managed to eradicate the infection, the hand was a swollen twisted mass that barely resembled a Human appendage.

He touched a button beside the screen, calling an order to the slouching guard on duty to bring McCoy to his office. Then he sat back and waited. He might as well have some amusement while awaiting their plans to come to fruition.

The hollow in the pit of his stomach grew as soon as he recognized the destination of the guards. McCoy approached the Regent Administrators office with trepidation. His appearance was improved over the last time he was forced to visit this room, wearing shoes, fatigue jumpsuit and he was fairly clean. Despite this, the secretary in the outer office still reacted to him, her dark face flashing with disgust and hate.

Easing his left arm down, McCoy let it hang at his side before entering the office. He bit his lip at the increased throbbing the dependant position caused before purposely blanking his face. Knowing the Regent would use any vulnerabilities he perceived, the doctor preferred not to bring attention to the still painful arm.

The Regent Administrator was across the room at a rack of exotic plants when McCoy entered. He held a jug of water in his hand, watering each huge pot generously. The big man turned, dripping water on the carpet, his full lips twisting into a repulsive smile.

"2034, I'm glad to see you're well enough to join me. We have much to discuss."

This was not phrased in a question yet knowing that the Regent Administrator would be testing his will, McCoy chose to not antagonize him on this point. "Yes, High Regent."

"Good! You are most obedient." The grin widened and McCoy felt his stomach churn with nausea.

Leaving the pitcher of glistening water on the floor, the Administrator returned to his desk. As he passed the bar that had held an array of food last time, McCoy's eye caught the edge of something glittering on the smooth surface. It was a collar. A prisoner's collar.

"So, I see you've discovered the subject of our conversation today. I hope you plan to cooperate with me." The administrator retrieved the metal collar from his desk, holding it out meaningfully. "You don't have to return there, you know. You can stay here on this level."

Maybe more of Spock had rubbed off on him than he knew. The doctor managed to keep any reaction from showing as he drew his eyes from the collar.

The Administrator's dark eyes narrowed, flashing with anger at his lack of response. He shook the collar, drawing McCoy's attention back to the chains attached to it. "It's too dangerous to leave you down below 2034. The other prisoners know who you are, they will try to kill you again. You're no good to me dead."

"Why?" McCoy asked.

"I have my reasons." The Regent stood and approached McCoy. "The Kell healer says that you are well enough to resume labor."

‘Silence. Remember the lessons of silence. It will conquer where a runaway tongue might lead you into trouble’. The litany ran through McCoy's head, and for a moment he could see Kirk sitting at the head of the briefing room table, his face serious as he had given this lecture to a landing party preparing to beam down. His throat tightened at the memory, the air burning as he tried to breathe.

"Are you?" Again the seductive tone from before. The Regent wanted something from McCoy that he was unwilling to give. The High Regent ran a thumbnail down his cheek. A hand rested supportively on McCoy’s shoulders, then slid down his arm. "I asked, are you well enough to return to the mines below?"

McCoy tightened his jaw as the hand rested lightly on his injured wrist. "If that is your order, High Regent."

"Do you want to return to the mines?"

The thumb was rubbing light circles over his wrist. Gentle, deceptively gentle. But the gleam of anticipation in the dark eyes that stared so hungrily at his face warned McCoy that his gentleness was an act.

"What exactly are my choices, High Regent." McCoy did not quite keep the edge of sarcasm from his tone.

"Choices!" The Regent stepped back, releasing his hand. "As a prisoner, your choices are limited. I might consider widening them for a price."

Surprised when his hand was unharmed, McCoy studied the huge man in front of him. He was intelligent, combined with a streak of cruelty, and seemed to be riding on the edge of madness. A very dangerous combination. Unpredictable.

"Seanchell." The Regent spoke into his intercom on the desk. "Bring the tray."

The secretary from the outer office entered, carrying a large covered tray. Placing it on the bar, she started to back quickly out of the room, never taking her eyes off of McCoy.

"Seanchell, wait. Uncover the tray."

Reluctantly the dark-skinned woman returned, lifting the lid. Then holding it like a shield, she tried to leave a second time. The Administrator allowed her to go, explaining, "I informed Seanchell of your crime. Her parents and siblings died as a result of your formula. She has reason not to trust you. I'm surprised that she doesn't try to kill you."

McCoy barely heard the words, the scent of food was overpowering. He dropped his eyes to the floor to avoid looking at the alluring sight.

"Help yourself, 2034. Your choice is simple. Serve me here and have plenty of decent food and water. Or take the collar and return to the mines."

The mines. He could not return to the mines. McCoy's eyes were drawn back to the images being displayed behind the Administrator's desk. A chain gang of workers were being herded back to their cell. Their faces worn, defeated, devoid of hope.

The smell of the food was making him light-headed. Swaying, McCoy closed his eyes, taking several short breaths. Hating his need, the doctor had to ask, to know. "What does serving you mean?"

"Anything I need or desire, you will perform." The High Regent spread his hands to emphasize. “Anything."

The room was beginning to swirl dizzily around him. McCoy locked his shaking knees into place. Unwanted, his eyes fell back on the pitcher of water, delicate drops glistening on the side, each globule magnified in his mind.

The administrator followed his gaze and retrieved the pitcher. "So, 2034, you've made your decision?" Pouring a generous portion of water into a glass, he held it out to McCoy.

Lifting his one good hand, he reached for the water, unable to take his eyes off of the precious liquid. He felt a piece of himself spinning madly away, knowing that he was sinking to a level from which he would never escape.

His fingertips touched the cool glass. The Administrator smiled knowingly, almost benignly. "You choose to serve me."

McCoy closed his eyes, shutting out the sight of the water. "No," he whispered hoarsely. Opening them, he met the dark eyes with determination, dropping his hand. "No, I can't."

"You want to go back to the mines?"

"Yes." There was no use in explaining, and it was difficult to talk anyway. Just seeing the water seemed to make his mouth even drier.

Tipping the glass slowly, the administrator allowed some of the fluid to splash down over McCoy's feet. "You are giving up this-" He turned the glass all the way over and the rest of the water spilled to the floor, soaking into the carpet.

McCoy fought down a moan.

The big man continued: "When all I ask is for you is to stay here, to assist me? You're not making sense. You'll die down there."

Still staring at the wet spot beneath his feet, the doctor felt something settle into place within his heart. He lifted a placid face to reply. "At least it will be my choice."

The broad face flushed with anger, lifting a hand sharply. McCoy braced himself for the coming blow; instead the Administrator turned away, shrugging. "You have no idea what you're giving up or who you're dealing with."

For a brief moment, McCoy struggled with the identity of the man before him. He shook his head slightly, his eyes returning to the wet stain on the carpet. It didn't matter. A name would not change his circumstances.

The door opened and two guards entered. One retrieved the metal collar, placed it back around McCoy's neck and pulled him back to his feet. The administrator returned to his desk, ignoring the proceedings until one of the guards attached a chain to the collar, yanking McCoy toward the door.

"2034, I've decided not to let your medical skills go to waste." One of the guards snorted, but at the Administrator's sharp look, the guard subsided. "Remember I told you there are worse things than dying. You will live to regret your precious choices."

* * * * *

His sleep the night before had been deep and dreamless. As the captain turned over restlessly in bed again, he wondered if during the back massage, Spock had snuck in a telepathic message for rest.

Tonight, disturbing dreams kept pulling him abruptly from the edge of sleep into panicky wakefulness, and Kirk was tempted to ask for Spock's unobtrusive assistance.

He was almost relieved when the intercom beeped. Answering it, Kirk sat up on the side of the bed.

"Captain," an apologetic voice responded. "We've received a message from Central, Code Three."

Code Three. Priority. Scrambled. Requiring decoding by senior officers.

"Bring it to my office, Mister Miller," Kirk ordered, climbing out of bed. Wrapping a robe around himself, he ran a quick hand through his hair.

Uhura could probably decode it faster than any of his officers, but he hated to wake her. Just because he was unable to sleep was no reason to disturb anyone else's.

Besides, it would probably take him a good hour to decode it alone, maybe by then sleep would come easier. Kirk leaned against his desk, waiting for the arrival of the data cube. His eyes strayed over the scattered work covering the surface and against his will, he ordered quietly, "Computer, replay last entry of First Officer's Log."

Spock's pedantic tone began an official report of the day's activities. Nothing exceptional. Then the flow of scholarly words stopped and Spock cleared his throat. Over the years, Kirk knew that the gesture was a sign of hesitation bordering on nervousness for the Vulcan. "The evening was disquieting due to the anger displayed by a majority of the crew present in the Main Rec Room. I believe that the senior officers and I were successful in defusing the emotions. Commander Scott was primarily responsible for this accomplishment. No crewmembers were disciplined."

The entry stopped abruptly. No wonder his dreams were disturbing, listening to this a second time was even more disquieting.

Kirk's eyes fell on the empty chair in his office, one that Bones usually sat in when talking to him in good times and bad. As he opened himself to the pain, Kirk knew why he had subconsciously decided to place a protective wall between him and his crew. "I can't forgive myself for what's happened to you."

A buzzer rang impatiently. Kirk straightened, "Come."

Miller crossed the room smartly and handed him the data cube. The ensign

smiled slightly. "Sorry I had to wake you, sir."

Kirk nodded, wondering just when it was that he had forgotten how to smile. It seemed an impossible task to respond. After Miller left the room, the captain stared at the little cube. They rarely received a priority scrambled message. It would probably change their mission status, which would require informing the senior officers.

In the past, before losing McCoy, Kirk would not have hesitated to call Spock for assistance with the decoding. The Vulcan always seemed well rested and ready to take on a challenge no matter the time.

Before he could stop himself, Kirk rang Spock’s quarters.

Spock was pulled from a light doze by the intercom signal. Noting that it was from the Captain's quarters at three hundred hours, the Vulcan stood, answering the com within seconds of the signal.

“Yes, Captain.”

"Spock." Kirk said his name as if surprised he had answered.

When nothing further was offered, Spock prompted, "May I be of some assistance, Captain?"

"No," The captain sounded faintly puzzled. "Wait, yes. . . yes, you could. If you're not too tired, would you come to my quarters?"

Spock's eyebrows rose. "I am on my way, sir."

Dressing quickly, he arrived at the Captain's quarters within three point two minutes of the summons. Spock was surprised to find that Kirk was still in his robe, hair mussed, straightening his desk.

Activating the swing-out portion of his desk, the captain retrieved a chair and then acknowledged Spock with a nod that indicated he should join him at his desk.

The Vulcan hesitated as he attempted to identify what felt different. No smile or cheery greeting had met his arrival, barely an acknowledgement. Yet something had changed. If he were Human, Spock might even say the air felt different, lighter perhaps. Not being Human, he was puzzled by what his senses were perceiving yet not classifying for him to interpret.

Taking the familiar place at Kirk's desk, Spock could not resist commenting, "It has been a long time since we have worked together here."

Involved with activating his computer, Kirk's fingers paused. He nodded minutely, his eyes not meeting Spock’s. "Perhaps too long."

The screen lit up, a logo of Command Central appearing. Kirk must have received an order from Starfleet.

The Captain was now digging in one of the compartments of his desk. After some shuffling, he pulled out a compadd and handed it to Spock. "Code three message."

Code three meant the message was priority, to be read upon receipt. However, the message was scrambled with a code known and memorized by the command crew. It had to be hand de-coded.

Spock allowed an eyebrow to rise. The captain was proficient in decoding; therefore Spock's presence was not strictly required. However, for the next thirty minutes, they worked side by side, Spock silently, Kirk mumbling. The captain came to the same conclusion the Vulcan had reached a few minutes before.

Kirk exploded. "This is a routine report of current Starfleet activities. Much of it, we already know. What the hell is Mendez doing?"

There was no explanation. Completing the decoding shed no light on the reason for the code three status of the information. Putting it together, Spock read the message from beginning to end.

After the second reading, Kirk ran a hand over his face. "I'm sorry, Mister Spock. I assumed this would mean a change in our mission status. Instead, I've disturbed your sleep for no reason."

"No apology is necessary, Captain. You could not know the contents." Spock

remained in his seat as Kirk stood, pacing the office.

"Spock," Kirk stopped, leaning against the room divider, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his robe. "You know that I review the senior officer's logs daily."

Spock forced himself to meet Kirk's eyes. "I knew that was your habit. I did not know if you still continued the practice. "

"Will you explain tonight's entry?"

It was a request, not an order. Spock could refuse if he chose. He swallowed, his lips pressing together as he considered the request "As I stated, some of the personnel on break in the Rec Room exhibited feelings of anger. A fight was averted by Commander Scott."

Kirk was still for a moment. "I've been trying to figure out why you felt it was significant enough to put in your log even though you state no one was disciplined. Obviously, the incident could have actually resulted in disciplinary action. What was it that you were so deliberately vague about?"

The captain was obviously frustrated, yet the Vulcan remained silent, not sure how much more he should explain, or wanted to explain. There was a soft sound. Spock was unsure if it was a laugh or a curse. Kirk returned to his chair and leaned forward, forcing Spock to look at him.

"The anger-did it have to do with me . . . and McCoy?"

For the first time in weeks, the hazel eyes were truly receptive and vulnerable. Spock discovered he was hesitant to respond. He knew his answer would hurt the captain. "Yes."

Kirk lowered his head. "What did they say?"

Having no desire to inflict any more pain, Spock resisted the question. "I would prefer not to repeat-"

"Spock." Shadowed eyes lifted again to meet his. "I need to know. I - just tell me."

It was the determination written across the face rather than the words that encouraged Spock. As least the captain was responding with some emotion rather than the stone-face robot that they had all faced for the last few weeks.

Spock put the compadd down on the desk “A crewman was slightly inebriated and attempted to start a fight by declaring. . . a debate between you and Mister Scott." He paused at Kirk's raised eyebrow. "Another crewman voiced concern over whether--" Spock searched for the right words, clearing his throat briefly, "we would support someone who falls into trouble and is innocent. They do not have a clear understanding of the events that have occurred."

"How could they? Even I don't understand." Kirk closed his eyes, outlining the shadows more clearly.

"Mister Scott was able to help by explaining that Doctor McCoy asked us-"

"Enough, Spock." Kirk cut him off. The expression was closing, the jaw turning rock hard.

Spock attempted one more time. "I believe it might be helpful to hear what--"

"No!" Kirk was up out of his chair in an explosive movement. He crossed the room in quick strides. Spock was relieved when Kirk did not ask him to leave.

Cold formality replaced the openness from before. Gesturing at the compadd, Kirk said harshly. "Unless you see something I don't, then this can be routed as a routine update to the senior officers."

With effort, Spock turned his attention to his compadd. "I am puzzled by this phrase, 'The Mederians have learned not to judge a book by its cover. They know now to turn it over.' It seems out of context."

"Earth idiom. Mendez is full of them, worse than. . . McCoy. I assumed it was a reference to something that happened during the negotiations with the

Mederians. I just don't remember what it was about."

Kirk crossed to his desk and pulled the data cube from the computer, preparing to toss it in his desk drawer. "He once told me that I was--" The captain stopped mid-sentence, staring at the cube. He closed the drawer and shoved the data cube back into the slot on his desk. "Computer, read any signals when this is played backwards."

There it was, encoded within the report, a personal message from Mendez. Both men bent over the code, working side by side. It was short and to the point. An inside leak to the Orions had been confirmed regarding Starfleet mission status. The Orions more than likely knew the Enterprise’s assignments.

Spock frowned. "Why did Commodore Mendez send this to you?"

"I don't know. He's stuck at Central for the next six months as head of security until Commodore Blackburn returns from his homeworld." Troubled, Kirk swiveled his chair away from his desk. "Opinions, Mister Spock?"

It was as if the captain had encased himself in ice and was slowly chipping his way out of the center. Occasionally, Spock caught glimpses of the friend that he had known. He wished not for the first time for McCoy's expertise in helping Kirk. All Spock could do was respond to the openings Kirk was giving him. He allowed a slight smile. "I believe the correct colloquialism would be, watch our backs."

Kirk stared at Spock. "Not very helpful, Science Officer." Chewing his lip thoughtfully, the captain rose, crossing over to the command safe. Punching the code, he retrieved another data cube. "I have something that I believe would better utilize your skills, as long as you agree to complete confidentiality." Kirk returned to stand beside Spock, holding the data cube toward him.

Spock reached up to take it, his slender fingers touching Kirk's briefly. Trusting Kirk, he nodded. "Agreed."

A whisper of surprise lit Kirk's face at Spock’s ready acquiescence. "Okay. Would you like to know what it is?"

"I am curious."

Kirk returned to his seat. "The new Orion ship. They've stolen some technology that I'm not sure we can defeat. I've been studying it, but so far I can't figure out what makes it go, much less how to defeat it in a fight."

"I don't understand the secrecy."

"If intelligence at Central discovered I have this, there would be hell to pay, and I'm not going to explain how I did get it" Kirk dragged a hand across his forehead.

Remembering the hours Kirk had spent on the computer, Spock realized the captain must have been tapping into confidential files. Curious about the research, Spock asked, "Captain, I would--"

Apparently sensing his intent, Kirk interrupted again. "Maybe I'll explain later. For now, see what you can figure out from these files. From there, I'll decide when it's safe to have Scott look at them. I just don't want to involve too many of us and end up with all my officers behind bars because of access to files that we shouldn't have. Mendez's message suggests that we may be ambushed by the Orions in a battle. See what you can come up with to prevent that scenario."

Kirk stood, and Spock followed his motion. The captain accompanied him to the door. "I'll see you on the bridge at six hundred hours. I believe we are due to arrive at Base 342 at seven."

"More precisely, six fifty eight point seven." The door slid open.

"Right Seven." Amusement lit Kirk's eyes briefly.

The moment of rapport gave Spock the courage to say what he had tried to

earlier. He stepped into the corridor, and as Kirk turned away, he said. "McCoy told Mr. Scott that you had the courage to tell the truth despite the cost to yourself. He does not blame you as you should not blame yourself."

The door was sliding shut. He barely heard the whispered reply, "I can't."

* * * * *

The beam down to the surface of 342 was uneventful. Kirk glanced around to verify that all members of the landing party were with him. Spock, to his left, surveyed the busy marketplace. Doctor Ennis, wearing her perpetual frown, sniffed the pungent air and wrinkled her nose in distaste. The faces of the two security guards bringing up the rear remained motionless as their training demanded.

Base 342 was known throughout the galaxy for this marketplace. It drew buyers and sellers from all the known worlds. The weather was always temperate, and except for an occasional shower, nothing ever interfered with the conducting of business. However, they were not here to shop or sightsee. The unsubstantiated report of a possible plague in the area was too frightening to allow anything to distract them. It had turned what was to be a routine stop into a possible disaster.

Since there were no restrictions placed on travelers in or out of the base, the chances of spreading a disease galaxy-wide were inevitable. However, before interdictions were placed, Starfleet wanted proof that there was indeed a real problem. Rumors alone would not justify such drastic action.

The din of voices shouting to be heard above one another made communication difficult, but Kirk saw Spock, who was several feet in front of him, gesture to the right toward a large grey stone building that must house the Base Manager's office.

Suddenly, two men shoved their way in front of him. They were pushing each other and shouting. The crowd began circling around them, yelling and choosing sides.

As the onlookers gathered, Kirk lost sight of Spock and the other members of the landing party. Bodies pressed in around him from all sides, smelling of sweat and perfumes and alien flesh. And something else. Danger. It was a sixth sense he had developed somewhere between the Academy and his first deep space assignment. It was seldom wrong.

He began to work his way to the back of the crowd until it finally thinned out and he was in a relatively clear space. Breathing deeply, he looked for another way past the throng that now filled the street. At last, he spotted a narrow alley and headed for it.

The sense of danger grew, and he looked over his shoulder. No one was following him. Tall buildings hemmed him in on either side, and he threaded his way past mounds of trash and over smelly debris whose contents he did not want to know; and still the feeling persisted.

A few hundred feet away, the opening onto another street beckoned him. Almost there. Almost.

Suddenly, the captain heard a slight scraping sound and looked up in time to see a dark figure leap from a ledge overhead. He reached for his phaser, but the weight of the form threw him to the ground, driving the breath from his body, and the phaser flew from his hand. Before he could react, his eye was caught by the reflection of light off of metal, and the knife was driven home. Red-hot pain radiated from his abdomen as the weapon was pulled free and raised yet again.

Throwing himself to one side, Kirk managed to roll away, but the figure followed; and this time, the knife was plunged into his back.

The young commander felt all strength begin to fade with utter surprise. The first adrenaline rush was replaced suddenly with shaking weakness. Somehow, he had to find a way to escape or the next blow would mean his death. Kirk raised his hands to block it and got his first clear look at his attacker. Orion! He was an Orion. As reality began to fade away, he felt himself slipping into unconsciousness.

The white hot light of a phaser filled the alley, and final blackness claimed him.

CHAPTER FIVE

"No visitors." Ennis barred the entry to ICU, staring implacably at Spock. "That applies to everyone."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Very well. I will need an update on his condition for my report."

"I gave you one this morning. Pumping me for information won't get you anywhere," she answered testily.

Debating the wisdom of arguing the point regarding unlikelihood of Vulcans pumping for information, Spock decided the point was irrelevant. "Has the captain regained consciousness?"

The heavy-lidded eyes flicked to the side in annoyance. "Do I look like an imbecile to you? Conscious or not, you're not talking to the captain. You have command decisions to make, make them. You're not going to see him today."

Spock quelled his annoyance. "Doctor Ennis, in order to keep our schedule, we will be required to leave orbit within the next four hours. In order to leave orbit, my investigation should be to complete on the attempted murder of the captain and he is the only who can supply us with this information."

"That's security's concern, not mine. I'm trying to keep my patient alive. Besides, I already told you what happened. I came upon Kirk being attacked, picked up his phaser and did security’s job of saving his life. Not my fault that it killed the person, leaving you with no body with a mystery and me with blood on my hands." Without waiting for a reply, Ennis returned to ICU, the door sliding quickly shut, preventing any view of Kirk.

The last report on the captain indicated he was stable but still unconscious. Ennis reported that the two deep knife wounds in his abdomen and back had been repaired in surgery without difficulty. Yet, he still had not awakened in the six hours since the attack.

Spock quelled a flare of worry. Doctor Ennis had displayed adequate skill as a physician, but her explanation about the close phaser surge causing a temporary comatose state left the Vulcan . . . concerned.

All the windows into ICU were opaque. Spock over-rode the irrational need to rub the window with his hand in the hope he could see the captain. Instead he turned and, with determined steps, returned to the bridge.

Three hours into his rest period, Spock was awakened by Doctor Ennis ordering him to Sickbay. Her refusal to inform him of the reason made him suspicious that the captain's condition had worsened.

Ennis blocked his path as Spock headed for ICU. She said bluntly, "Your captain is awake. He's refusing to cooperate with us until he's spoken with you. Regulation II7-C. Which tells me he's lucid enough to remember rarely if ever used regs." She turned to lead the way to ICU, pausing at the entry just long enough to growl, "Kirk needs to learn some diplomatic skills. He doesn't gain any points with me by refusing to cooperate."

Spock was unable to keep an eyebrow from rising as he passed the surly CMO. A young, Oriental nurse was removing much of the equipment from around Kirk, leaving him with just one intravenous line attached to his arm. A silver bandage covered a portion of his bare chest and a sheet was pulled up over the abdominal wound. Spock felt a different hope die when he saw that Kirk's expression was again a composite of forbidding stone: Jaw set and hard, mouth tightly chiseled into a line, brows drawn down into a frown, arms crossed over his chest. He could not read the expression in the eyes because of protective eyewear that Kirk was wearing.

"Captain."

Kirk's only response was to nod slightly, turning his head toward the nurse on his other side. "Doctor Ennis assured me I would be able to speak to my first officer in private. Please leave us."

"Of course, sir, just as soon as I administer these drops-"

"It will wait," Kirk snapped.

"But sir, I must-"

"Spock, get her out of here. Now."

The Vulcan rounded Kirk's bed, urging the young woman toward the door. She halted stubbornly before exiting. "You don't understand, Doctor Ennis will not accept--"

"Ms. Ketring, I can assure you that we will be brief. It would be best if you left now."

Flustered at being ordered by so many senior officers, Ketring rubbed her palms together for a second before flinging her hands up in the air. "Fine." She marched over and replaced the medicine in the cabinet and left.

Spock returned to the bed. "Captain, we are alone."

"Ship's status?"

This was rightfully the first question Kirk should ask him. However, the nature of their current mission did not require the privacy that the captain had invoked by regulations. "We have completed the routine examinations required at Base 342. Except for your attack, no abnormalities were noted. There were no indications of any plague. We are now in route to sector Beta Auriganue."

"Then you've found the person responsible for this attack? Who was it? What was his motivation?" There was no change in Kirk's expression.

"No, sir," Spock answered. "We were unable to complete the investigation. It has been thirty-two hours since the attack and you have been unconscious during that time."

"Thirty-two hours?" A flash of anger crossed the captain's face. "You left before completing the investigation?"

Spock nodded and then wondered if Kirk could see the motion. The protective glasses indicated possible damage to the eyes.

"Explain, Mister Spock."

"The only witnesses to the attack and aftermath were you and Doctor Ennis. She stated she saw you being attacked and to save your life, shot the perpetrator. She used your phaser which had fallen in the fight and was unaware that the phaser was at full power, therefore the attacker was disintegrated. The outpost could not identify anyone from her description, and the official in charge there indicated that no individuals have disappeared. Without your assistance, I was forced to continue our mission since our time schedule is tight. I am most interested in your description of the person who attacked you."

The captain lay his head back on his pillow, grimacing with the motion. "It was an Orion."

"An Orion, Captain?"

Doctor Ennis stormed into the room. "What's the idea of not allowing my nurse to treat my patient?"

Kirk stubbornly ignored Ennis, reaching out blindly for Spock. "Ask Ennis. He was Orion, Spock!"

His resistance was short-lived, the muscles gave out and Kirk collapsed back on his pillow. Ennis turned her glare on Spock. "You are finished here, aren't you?"

Spock kept his answer vague. "Almost. The captain reports that an Orion attacked him."

The doctor rolled her eyes to look briefly at Spock before returning to study the panel above Kirk. "The captain is talking out of his head. I told you what I saw, and he certainly wasn't an Orion. Why would one be on Base 342?"

"I do not know. Are you certain you saw no evidence that the attacker was an Orion?"

"I was under the mistaken impression that Vulcans were fairly intelligent.” Ennis folded her arms, staring at him as if waiting for an reply to the inane statement. She shook her head, continuing, “How many times must I repeat this? It was dark. All I could see was a figure with a knife, and he was plunging it into the captain's back. I thought perhaps saving his life was a little more important than asking the man to for his name." Ennis tapped a heavy foot. "Surely, you've learned to expect patients recovering from severe injuries to say things that really make no sense. I tried to explain to him and you both that an interrogation would be more beneficial when Captain Kirk is fully recovered. Not now." She spun on her heel, crossing the room to retrieve a bottle of medicine.

Returning, Ennis efficiently medicated the captain's eyes, ignoring his sudden gasp of pain.

Spock could not stem his concern, "I do not remember any injury to his eyes in the report."

"Just a sensitivity to light from the phaser. It should clear up in a few days. That's if the captain doesn't continue to refuse his eye drops."

"Dammit . . . they burn," Kirk whispered.

"Without them, you would be experiencing severe pain." She glanced at the panel above Kirk's head. "The dolorimeter levels have been steadily rising. Recovery will be delayed if you do not obey my orders. Both of you." She glared at Spock. "It's time for his medication."

Kirk spoke again. "No, I have to. . . tell you. . . Spock..."

The Vulcan could see the doctor was right, much as he did not want to admit it, Kirk was in pain and needed to rest despite the imperative need for the information.

"Do as the doctor has ordered, Jim. We will talk again soon."

"Finally, you're showing some sense, First Officer." Ennis pressed a hypo against Kirk's arm. The captain almost instantly relaxed. "Get out of here and let my patient rest."

Proving the intelligence of Vulcans, Spock quickly left.

* * * * *

Langerman moved rapidly down the corridor of Central, attempting to shake Mendez's dogged attention. "Make an appointment. I can't talk now."

Commodore Mendez caught his arm, "Just five minutes. I want to talk to you about these security reports I've been receiving about Beta Kell."

"That's why I'm in a hurry. I have an urgent call in my office from the government of Beta Kell. Maybe later today." Langerman shook off the arm and continued around a corner.

Mendez continued to follow him. "All right Take your call. I'll wait in your office. Then we'll talk. There are too many reports regarding Orion activities in that sector for me to ignore."

Langerman sent him a glare before going into his office and slamming his door. Ensuring it was locked against intrusion, the Admiral went to his floor-to-ceiling bookshelf: pulling out first a slender, brown volume on the third row and then the matching brown volume on the sixth row. He stepped back and let the bookshelf swing around to reveal a sophisticated communications panel.

Quickly entering a code, he slipped a headset on and waited impatiently.

The instant the connection was made, Stiletto began to rage. "Where have you been? The Orions were here. Commander Rsigs is over the edge, and if we don't get him Kirk now, our whole future is going down in flames. He's threatening to attack Beta Kell."

"Calm down. I'm-"

The hysterical voice continued to rant. "Listen to me! If you don't do something now, everything is lost, and they'll exact their price by killing me first. They're furious about the Orion who was killed on Base 342."

Langerman fought the urge to bang his fist on the desk. "The Orions botched that. It wasn't our fault he got killed. How can they blame us?"

"I've been telling you all along they aren't sane. We're in too deep to crawl out now. If they attack Beta Kell now, we'll lose everything." Stiletto whined.

"Don't panic. I'm bringing Kirk and the Enterprise myself."

"You?" There was surprise in the voice. "Rsigs told me there was poison used on Kirk. You better hurry, Rsigs wants him alive."

"Is there anything else Lord Rsigs wants?" Langerman allowed sarcasm to lace his words.

"No. But Kota has been breathing down my neck too. When can I tell him you're coming?"

"Soon." Langerman ended the transmission. Removing the headset, he moved back to his office. After the bookcase swung into place, he replaced the books. Checking his appearance momentarily, Langerman then ushered a thoroughly irritated Mendez into his office.

Gesturing to a chair, Langerman moved to another behind his desk. "My apologies for making you wait."

Mendez remained standing. "What did they say?"

"The Beta Kells? I'm not sure I should be discussing that with you. It is a diplomatic issue, not one of security."

Mendez leaned forward, placing his hands on Langerman's desk. “As usual, that's your opinion. But as head of security, I see it differently. I keep getting reports of Orions sighted entering Beta Kell space. Yet, you tell me that they have not mentioned this. We know the habits of Orions are not benign. So you tell me what’s going on."

Langerman opened his arms wide, "I don't know, Jose. I need to go there and find out. I did get them to agree to a Starship patrolling their borders. Let me talk to Nogura and request a starship escort to Beta Kell."

Mendez was clearly surprised by the capitulation on Langerman's part. "Good," he said slowly. Straightening, he added, "I want to send my aide, Lieutenant Ketcher, with you. He's up to date on the Orion problem."

Langerman nodded. "That's okay, but actually I was thinking that having you along, too, would be good."

Mendez was again caught by surprise. "You want me to go with you on a diplomatic mission? You seem to have forgotten that we don't see eye to eye on most issues."

"Any issues." Langerman smiled, enjoying the open distrust on Mendez's face. "That's why I want you. You'll see what I miss." He added, as if in afterthought, "Kota specifically requested the Enterprise to patrol their borders."

"No!" Mendez exploded. "It's like an open invitation to the Orions. They're after Kirk. That's like offering open season on both the Enterprise and her captain."

"Look, I heard they have one of those damned blood oaths of revenge on Captain Kirk. The one thing they won't expect is for the Enterprise with Kirk on board, to appear there. Instead, we can use those leaks you've been worrying about and tell them the Enterprise is halfway across the galaxy. The Orions are so set on their blood oaths they'll fall for it. You can have a trap set for them wherever you want."

As Mendez paced, Langerman could see why he was perfect for the role in security. His compact body was bristling with energy, as he muttered curses under his breath.

Finally, Mendez stopped, swinging back around to face Langerman. "No. The Orions want Kirk and have been seen frequently in Beta Kell space. It would be insane to send his ship there."

Langerman leaned back in his chair, putting both feet up on his desk. He smiled sweetly. "It's not your choice. Admiral Nogura will decide what ship to send." He stopped, gesturing at Mendez. "In the meantime, prepare for a trip to Beta Kell."

"We'll see about that." Mendez stalked out the door.

* * * * *

After a long shift on the bridge, Spock discovered he was looking forward to visiting with the captain in Sickbay. Entering the ward, Spock stopped dead cold as he faced a sterile, empty bed. Kirk had been stable the last time Spock checked with Sickbay four hours ago.

He did an about-face, finding the CMO headed for her office.

"Where is Captain Kirk?" Spock asked without preamble.

"I released him to his quarters," Ennis pronounced irritably.

Spock followed her uninvited to her office. "I was unaware the captain had recovered sufficiently to be released."

Ennis glared up at him. "I was unaware that the CMO here is outranked by the bridge officers on medical decisions."

"You are correct. I will rephrase. The last report I was given indicated the captain would be unable to return to duty for a week."

"I released him to-his-quarters." She emphasized the last three words as if Spock were having difficulty understanding her. Ennis rolled her eyes, shaking her head slightly. "Of course he's not ready for duty yet, his vision will take a few days to clear. He's not in pain and is not in danger of bleeding. Your commander is stubborn and impatient. I decided his recovery might be improved by a change of venue. And my patience." She sat behind her desk. "I have work to do. Excuse me, Commander."

For the second time in a few minutes, Spock executed an about face and left sickbay. Feeling an acute pang of emotion, the Vulcan paused to identify it. He wondered if McCoy would appreciate the fact that he acknowledged grief at the loss of the doctor's presence in the Enterprise sickbay. Illogically, the department no longer felt familiar.

* * * * * *

Scott shifted nervously from foot to foot as he waited outside Captain Kirk's quarters, almost spilling some of the thick, nutritional drink he had brought from sickbay for the Captain.

Finally the door slid open, and the Engineer stepped into the murky shadows. He waited until his eyes adjusted to the lower level lighting before moving forward. Until Kirk's burned corneas finished healing, the captain's eyes were sensitive to bright light.

Locating Kirk at his desk, Scott took a hesitant step. The opportunity had not arisen for him to talk to the captain since the first night of his return to the ship. He silently berated himself for letting Uhura talk him into this madness.

Kirk spoke in a gruff whisper, as if he did not want to disturb the shadows himself. "Just leave it on the table. I'll drink it all as soon as I complete this."

Scott had been forewarned about this behavior. "Aye, and if do that, I'll be at the mercy of yon Doctor Ennis. A fate not for the light-hearted if ya' get my drift."

Kirk had taken a sharp intake of breath at Scott's first words. He lifted his head sharply, any emotion he was feeling hidden by the dim lighting. "Mister Scott, I wasn't expecting you."

Scott stumbled for words. "It's been a long time since we've shared a meal. I

brought your sickbay special and a tray for me."

"I don't suppose you would consider trading the meals around." Kirk pushed back from his desk, one hand exploring the surface until he retrieved a pair of eye protectors in the shape of old-fashioned sunglasses. Applying them over his hypersensitive eyes, the captain ordered, "Computer, pause program and raise room lights by two levels."

The increase in lighting cast a soft glow over the quarters. Scott, carrying the tray, followed Kirk to the nearby table. "I thought you were forbidden to use the computer," he said quietly.

"As long as I don't use the screen, I'm all right." Kirk's reaching hands searched for the chair. His vision for the next few days would slowly improve; now his sight was poor - only allowing him to distinguish everything as dim shadows.

Kirk reached for the large glass that Scott handed him, curling both hands around the cold plastic. Taking a sip, he wrinkled his nose briefly. "I'm really beginning to hate this stuff."

Feeling guilty, Scott took a bite of his sandwich. Watching Kirk take another swallow, Scott hid a grin at the light chocolate mustache left by the drink. The fluid was filled with a specific formula to assist with the healing processes needed for Kirk to recover. He was forced to drink six glasses a-day.

Uhura had explained that Kirk could eat anything he wanted and, depending on the number of calories and nutrients, reduce the number of glasses he was required to drink. Due to his limited eyesight, the captain had refused to try to eat real food. Uhura's theory was that drinking the fluid was a safe task, keeping him from fumbling for his food.

Kirk sat the drink down carefully, keeping one hand touching the surface of the glass. He tilted his head in Scott's direction. "First Uhura, then Chekov and now you. I don't believe it's a requirement for the Enterprise bridge officers to baby-sit the captain. I'm quite capable of finishing this by myself." Irritation was plainly written on the thin face.

"Aye, I know that." Scott paused, working up the courage to take McCoy's advice. "Can ye not accept help from a friend?"

Kirk dropped his head, not responding to the tendered offer of a truce between them. Anger quickly replaced Scott's hope, and he fought against the impulse to leave. Only his promise to McCoy kept him in his seat.

"That depends." Kirk raised his head, a light flush adding color to his cheeks.

"On what?" Scott snapped.

"On whether that friend will share some of his Andorian Spice Sticks."

Scott took a moment to realize that Kirk was teasing him, the lack of any emotion on the captain's face making it difficult to read him. "Hmm. I don't know." Scott picked up one of the sticks, biting through the crispy outer bread-like crust to the spicy meaty interior. He knew that doing so released an even stronger scent guaranteed to make anyone nearby begin salivating. "That's asking a bit much for even a friend. I had to reprogram the computer three times-"

"Mister Scott," Kirk interrupted. "I'm ordering you to give me one."

Scott retrieved a spice stick from his tray. "Tsk, so now we're back to duty, are we?" Placing it in the captain's hand, the engineer allowed his fingers to rest on Kirk's wrist briefly. He was surprised and relieved to note that the tension on Kirk's face eased.

Mostly in silence, they ate their meal. Scott normally took his meals in this manner, being single-minded about his engines, he rarely took time to enjoy his meals when on board. He found himself smiling openly as Kirk continued to steal more of his spice sticks.

When they had both finished, Scott gathered up the dishes onto his tray. "I better be going, I have a drill for a warp core breach planned for the lads. I best not be late, or they might think it's the real thing.”

Kirk nodded, remaining seated. As the door opened, he said softly, "Mister Scott."

Scott turned, juggling the tray. "Aye."

"Thank you." Even without Kirk's normal expressiveness, Scott swallowed hard at the brief vulnerability revealed on the captain's face. McCoy was right, the captain had been hurt deeply. It would take all of his friends working together for him to reach out for their help.

"You're welcome," the Engineer whispered gruffly before leaving the room.

* * * * *

Again he was forced to ride out the events and wait. Stiletto wondered if Langerman had any idea of how difficult his role was here - or how utterly bored he was. He made a round of his office, stopping to stare at the bank of screens. 'Keep your prisoner alive,' floated back to him.

His irritation transmuted again into rage. "Seanchell!" he roared.

The secretary crept in hesitantly, irritating him more. He snapped, "Get prisoner 2034 up here now."

Stiletto turned to watch the small screen focused on the cell McCoy was assigned to work. Anticipation tingled in his fingertips as he located the prisoner. Surrounded by dead and decaying bodies, the doctor sat in the corner, as far from the dead as possible, his knees drawn up to his chest, head bent to touch his legs. Now, the stubborn former Starfleet officer would be ready to yield to him.

The administrator strode the length of his office twice more before deciding that he wanted out of there. He was not going to be able to stay cooped up in this hell-hole much longer. Wrenching his door open, he took some satisfaction in the way his secretary cringed as he stalked to her desk. "Call the guards. Tell them to leave 2034 there. I'm going down."

Her dark eyes widened in astonishment. "Down there, sir?"

Stiletto sent her an angry glance, enjoying the way she jumped when he barked. "I gave you my order. Do it, quickly."

"Yes, sir."

A guard met him at the stairs leading down into the pit area. It was mid-day, which meant the cells were empty and the prisoners were in the mines. Wordlessly, the guard led him through a twisting maze between cells, then through a long tunnel. The cells reeked of Human filth and odor, yet Stiletto was unprepared for the overwhelming smell of putrefying flesh as they approached 2034's cell. At the end of the tunnel, the guard unlocked a heavy door and stepped back.

He coughed violently, grabbing the mask the guard held out for him. Shoving it on his face, he breathed in the sweet air of the filter. Finally, once his nose and eyes cleared, he looked around the large cavernous area. There were bodies in mangled piles, lining the walls. At the back of the cavern was a conveyor belt which ran noisily into a huge furnace. Already sweating, Stiletto felt the burning heat from the furnace grow in intensity with every step he took.

The guard caught his attention, pointing off to the side. McCoy was awkwardly pulling a body to place it on the conveyor belt, falling twice before accomplishing his task. As he shuffled to collect another body, the guard caught McCoy by the arm, pulling him toward Stiletto.

When the prisoner stood before him, the regent circled around him. He had the same look as the thousand other prisoners here, all outward signs of defiance gone, McCoy's face looked old and worn out, the blue eyes faded and watery. His breathing was harsh and labored as if the act hurt him. The only expression Stiletto could detect was one of total hopelessness.

Unable to stop himself, he laughed, the sound echoing around the chamber. McCoy continued to stare at him, not reacting.

"2034, what do you think of your choice now?" The regent gestured toward the dead bodies lying nearby.

The prisoner simply stood there, only a slight frown indicating he had heard.

Stiletto put a hand on McCoy's shoulder, turning him around to face the furnace. "This is a choice? This is a living hell. You could have clean food and water. You could have cool air, be surrounded by life, not death. Why choose this?"

He was pleased when the prisoner's tongue flicked across his dry, cracked lips.

"Thirsty?" Stiletto held out his hand for the small jug of water the guard had brought at his order. A few drops of water fell from the lip of the container. The blue eyes leapt with emotion as they followed the cool liquid.

"Yes." McCoy looked up, his voice a cracked whisper. "Please, High Regent"

"Good." The regent nodded. "I thought for a moment you had forgotten your lesson. Now, back to my question. Why choose this?" He gestured toward the furnace. "When you can have this?" He poured a generous portion on the floor. The dry dirt soaked up the fluid immediately.

McCoy's tongue flicked over his lips again, his eyes revealing his despair. He seemed ready to give up his soul for one drink of water. The regent held back a chuckle, knowing now McCoy could do nothing but agree to his terms.

"Please, High Regent," 2034 whispered.

The taller man held the out readily and the prisoner took it, lifting it to his lips. The regent let out a satisfied laugh. "Then you choose to serve me?"

McCoy froze, his eyes closing tightly. The hand that held the pitcher to his lips shook. The man was literally dying for a drink, and Stiletto waited for the only choice that could be made.

The pitcher slipped from McCoy's grasp, falling to the ground. The water came rushing out to flow through the cracks in the dirt. Assuming that McCoy had dropped the pitcher by accident, Stiletto chuckled again. "There's plenty more where that came from. Let's go, 2034."

McCoy stepped back out of his grasp. "No. My answer is still no."

The regent felt his earlier rage return. The prisoner's blue eyes revealed no despair with his decision; instead Stiletto detected placid acceptance.

Roaring suddenly, Stiletto struck McCoy hard across his cheek. The prisoner stumbled backwards, falling against a pile of bodies. "Do you know who I am? Do you have any idea of what kind of pain I can cause you?"

When McCoy did not answer, Stiletto placed a booted foot on his chest, crushing him further into the bodies. "Address me properly."

The lips were so dry that he could see McCoy working to force the words out "High Regent"

"Not quite correct, McCoy. I'm also known as Stiletto."

The blue eyes darkened. Not quite anger but a lessening of the apathy. "Good. You remember the name." He paused, speaking now with a Spanish accent, "Remember Professor Hawkins? It's amazing what a little gray hair and make-up can do. You never suspected it was me instead of him."

McCoy unsteadily pushed his way back to his feet. "Why?"

Stiletto debated telling him. The doctor would be dead soon enough, he would make sure of that once the Orions had what they wanted. "To set you up. You were the scapegoat. We needed some way to blame Starfleet. You fell right into our trap."

"But the vaccine was a cure. How did it cause the deaths?"

Stiletto chuckled as he watched the bewilderment on McCoy's face. "Commodore Mendez' aide, Ketcher replaced your formula in your computer with mine. Yours was never used."

"Why? Why me?"

Shrugging, the regent leered at the doctor. "Why not you? You just happened to be the bleeding heart we chose, and you performed wonderfully."

For the first time, Stiletto thought he saw McCoy finally appearing ready to break. Eyes wide with horror, he slumped to his knees as if a string holding him up had been cut suddenly.

"I'm innocent? They didn't die because of me?" he whispered.

"Bright boy. Now, let's move on to more important matters. The consequences of you refusing to serve me."

Pulling a small dagger from inside his sleeve, Stiletto placed the point underneath McCoy's chin. He forced McCoy to look up, displeased when he saw no reaction. Maybe he wanted to die. "There are worse things than dying, McCoy. Like what I can do to your friend, Kirk. By my order last week, Kirk was attacked by the Orions. He lives barely but was poisoned by Orion Venom." He moved the blade to slide down McCoy's neck. "This poison will be impossible for your pitiful Starfleet methods to detect. Soon, Kirk will begin to experience painful seizures that will eventually kill him. After he suffers for a very long time."

McCoy ignored the knife edging its way to his emaciated belly. "No. I don't believe you."

"This is all because you won't obey me, 2034. That's all I ask."

Stiletto watched as the prisoner closed his eyes, a shudder shaking him. He laughed inwardly as he said silkily, "I have the antidote. It's in my office. Come with me now, and I'll arrange to get it to the Enterprise. It's your choice."

Finally there was fear in McCoy's eyes. "You're lying. What I do won't make any difference."

Stiletto grabbed McCoy’s hand, flexing the stiff fingers back, ignoring the doctor's gasp of pain. "You're wrong, 2034. It does matter."

"No."

Stiletto lifted a swollen finger and, with a swift motion, sliced the tip of the finger off.

McCoy screamed, the sound dry and pitiful. Blood dripped to the floor as he

swayed precariously.

Stiletto pressed the knife back under McCoy's chin. "I could make you do what I want. Instead, I give you a choice, and you still make the wrong one."

"Not for me." He choked out.

The quiet answer sparked his anger again, and Stiletto turned abruptly leaving the cavern. If he stayed here any longer, he would kill the defiant Starfleet scum and be done with it. Soon, McCoy would get what was coming to him, he reminded himself.

CHAPTER SIX

"I'm shocked to find the renowned Captain Kirk is such a whiner." Doctor. Ennis' deep-set eyes settled imperiously on Spock.

The Vulcan was grateful Ennis was complaining in the privacy of her office. Even so, he was unable to keep a trace of annoyance from creeping into his tone. "Captain Kirk is prone to ignoring his own needs. On what are you basing your subjective assumption?"

"Since I informed him that I'm certifying him fit for duty in the morning, he has called me twice this afternoon about weakness and dizziness and increased pain." She snorted in a disconcerting fashion. "Malingering. Hard to believe."

"I doubt that attribute could be applied to Captain Kirk. I have found over the past years that complaining is rare for the captain. Have you seen him?" The Vulcan wondered briefly why he was continuing this conversation. Ennis would not be swayed from her opinion, and if Kirk was sick, then Spock's time would be better served by seeing the captain himself.

"Of course, I checked him. Everything's fine." She pointed her chin at him in defiance." As I explained earlier, the only restriction is eye strain. Limiting his time spent staring at a computer screen is recommended."

Spock nodded, keeping his frown and concerns to himself Only one week after the attack, out of Sickbay for a few days, it was worrisome to not have some restrictions placed on the captain. Among Kirk's few negative qualities, was his tendency to sublimate his personal needs for the Enterprise needs. Obviously convincing the current CMO of this was an exercise in futility.

Taking his leave of Doctor Ennis, Spock headed directly for Kirk's quarters. Uhura caught him as he was almost to his destination.

"Mister Spock, where's your Iyrette? We're going to be late." Uhura looked pointedly at his empty arms as she tugged on the soft African robe she was wearing, pulling the folds into place.

"I maybe delayed, I need to speak with Captain Kirk."

A pleased smile tugged at her lips. "Too late. He's taking a 'walkabout' as he called it, with Mister Scott." She lightly brushed his arm. "They said they would attend the performance; you could speak to him then."

Spock had been unable to keep from raising his eyebrows at Uhura's explanation. If Kirk was touring the ship, he obviously was feeling well at the moment; and the fact that the captain was doing so accompanied by Mister Scott was a very positive move for the ship's morale. "Very well, Lieutenant. I shall join you in the Rec Room in five minutes."

When Spock arrived, he had to wade his way through the large crowd of crewmembers. Uhura had thrown together an impromptu concert of many of the talented personnel on board. When approached by her, Spock had agreed to perform with her in the interest of unity of command personnel as she had so elegantly expressed her goal.

Near the front, Uhura gestured to a seat beside her, the room suddenly growing quiet as a woodwinds quartet began playing. The mood was instantly set as the wistful notes of the flute soothed the restlessness of the audience. Spock admired Uhura's organizational talents as the arrangements of the acts presented a new and unique identity of the crew: soloist, dancers, tumblers and even comedic acts. It was obvious the audience was impressed, as evidenced by the applause and appreciative laughter they bestowed on each performance.

Spock leaned nearer to Uhura to comment; however, she was getting to her feet. “We're next," she whispered.

As he followed her to stand beside the divider that hid the waiting acts from the audience, Uhura peeked out from the side. "I don't think Scotty and the captain have arrived."

The emcee, surprisingly a lieutenant from Spock's department, was already introducing them. The middle-aged man had always been rather quiet and intense about his work in the computer room, but his quick and easy, audience-pleasing humor on stage prompted the Vulcan to comment dryly as he moved around the emcee to his chair on stage. "You have exhibited heretofore unknown talents, Mister Davies."

The simple line elicited a burst of laughter from the audience, and Spock's efforts to quell the response with a raised eyebrow only brought more laughter.

As the room settled down, Uhura touched his shoulder gently to indicate she was ready. Spock gave her a single note and then began accompanying her with delicate arpeggios, letting the soaring soprano voice lead the direction of the song. With little effort, the two blended in harmony, Spock with the lyrette and Uhura with her lilting voice. As always, Spock appreciated sharing the music with the officer, who guided him to new heights in the musical arena.

Unaware of the audience once he was caught up in their music, Spock was almost surprised by the thunderous applause that sounded after the last notes of their song faded.

Again, the light touch on his shoulder, and this time, a whispered, "They made it." Spock followed her gaze and located Kirk grinning from the back of the room, clapping along with the rest of the audience.

Scott, in full Scottish regalia, headed for the stage, retrieving his bagpipes from behind a nearby screen.

As Spock and Uhura returned to their seats, Davies started to introduce Scott but stopped, finally holding out the card in his hand as if the audience could read it. "It says, Bagpipes, Scotsman and Friend" As the engineer took his place in front of the audience, the Lieutenant gestured toward him with the card. "I don't see a friend. Are you hiding something inside your bagpipes?"

Scott shrugged, not rising to the gentle teasing. "No. Just wait."

Watching in fascination, Spock knew the mechanics of the bagpipes, but it never ceased to amaze him how certain sounds crossed the narrow threshold between screeching noise and music. Soon a dirge-like tune filled the room, and the high spirits took a sudden turn downward.

Then Uhura gasped as a familiar voice interrupted the piece. "Do you call this music, Mister Scott?" Kirk's question cut across the room.

Scott stopped, a sharp wail filling the room at the abrupt cessation of breath. Locating the captain, he threw out a challenge: "Do ye think ye can do better, sir?"

"I can sing better than you can play!" the captain replied.

Uhura groaned softly, and Spock himself was surprised at the boast.

Scott shifted, shaking his head. "Even I'm not willing to subject this audience to that. It's been said that you can't sing your way out of a bucket."

Kirk had moved closer to the front of the room. Unexpectedly, he chuckled at Scott's claim, easing some of the sudden tension in the room. "I believe it was our talented communications officer who said that. To me." Spock caught a glimpse of a wink in Uhura's direction before Kirk moved behind the divider screen.

Scott was watching him curiously, even though the audience could no longer see the captain. He asked, "So if you admit that you can't sing, what can you do?"

The captain moved from behind the divider and there was a moment of dead silence as the audience collectively took in the sight of their captain dressed in a kilt He put his hands on his hips, and glared at Scott. "I can dance."

Seeing the good-humored laughter that Scott was trying hard to hold back, the audience seemed to realize at once that this was an elaborate gag. Hoots of laughter rolled throughout the room as Scott began to prime his bagpipes. Giving one disdainful glance at the audience, Kirk struck the pose of a Scottish dancer and began to dance along with the fast-paced tune that Scotty was now playing.

Always light on his feet, the captain had no difficulty demonstrating the kicks and leaps that were part of the dance. However, with each kick of his bare hairy legs, the audience laughed harder so that by the end of a few minutes, Spock noted that many of the audience along with Uhura were wiping streaming eyes from their continued mirth.

Scott brought the song to a quick end and removing the bagpipe, he put his arm around Kirk's shoulders and the two men bowed together. The room rumbled with thunderous applause, people coming to their feet as they bowed once again.

Ignoring the requests for more, Kirk and Scott, both grinning, moved from the stage to sit in the seats Uhura had saved for them.

Davies moved back to the front, wiped each eye with an exaggerated motion, commenting, "What other starship in the Fleet gets to see their captain and chief engineer in kilts, dancing?"

Again the room was filled with warm, happy laughter which surrounded and included Spock. After a few false starts, Davies was able to regain control of the audience and introduce the next act.

After the concert, surrounded by admiring crewmembers, it was nearly thirty minutes later before all four officers were able to escape. They retreated to Kirk's quarters.

Once inside, Uhura immediately advanced angrily toward the captain. She put her small hands on each of his broad shoulders, seeming to dwarf him momentarily despite the fact that he towered over her. "If you ever scare me like that again - I thought for one horrifying moment that you were serious!"

Kirk reached up to pull her hands together. "You thought I was going to sing? You weren't the only one scared."

He started to pull her into a hug, but she resisted briefly. "You know what I mean. Next time give me some warning.”

"There wasn't time, lass. We were working on the dance until the last minute. Thank goodness the captain is a quick study," Scott explained, sharing a warm glance with Kirk.

The captain let go of Uhura and moved to lean against his desk. He lifted one bare leg, staring at it momentarily, shaking his head. "I was surprised at the strong reaction. Spock, are my legs that amusing?"

"I believe it was perceptions that made the sight of your legs so amusing, The crew associate you so closely with your persona of captain that the sight of you dressed as a Scottish dancer was incongruous with their association." He allowed his lips to curve slightly. "Even I could understand their amusement."

This statement earned him a shocked look from Scott, Uhura and Kirk. Scott shook himself like a huge bear, stepping over to clap a heavy hand on Kirk's shoulder. "Ye done me proud, laddie and if we made Mister Spock nearly laugh, we accomplished far more than we set out to do."

Almost embarrassed, Scott then turned quickly to leave. Uhura followed on his heels, both aware that Kirk probably needed to rest. The soft warm voice stopped both officers at the door. "Gentlemen, thank you for an enjoyable evening." As they acknowledged his thanks, Kirk's face turned serious. "Officers Briefing at seven in the morning, notify Chekov and Sulu. I have confidential information that I wish to discuss and need your input."

Uhura asked quietly, "Doctor Ennis, too?"

"No." For a brief moment, Kirk's face closed, and Spock tensed at the hard expression. It disappeared just as quickly, replaced by a dangerous smile. "Just us, Nyota."

As the door slid behind them, Kirk slid tiredly into his chair, stretching. "I don't think I'll have any trouble sleeping tonight."

"Indeed. I would assume you are somewhat tired."

"Exhausted is more like it."

Spock sat on the edge of the chair across from Kirk. "Doctor Ennis reported you had a disquieting afternoon."

Kirk frowned, but the expression did not erase the good humor that still glinted from his eyes. "I don't know what happened, but I feel all right now. Scotty was worried about me doing the dance, but it didn't really bother me. Ennis may be irritating, but she seems to know what she's doing." He shoved up from his chair. "I better get to bed if intend to be ready for this meeting. Will you be ready with your report on the Orion ships?"

Spock nodded, rising to his feet. He let his eyes fall to Kirk's bare legs. He looked back up to see the hazel eyes watching him with perplexed amusement. Allowing the warm feelings of the evening to override his Vulcan training, he gave a soft chuckle. "In response to your earlier question, they are amusing."

"Spock!" Kirk's mouth fell open. "My own first officer, insulting my legs!" The captain's mock anger gave way to a smile that expressed volumes to Spock.

A moment of silence dominated the quarters, and Spock finally felt the thread of rapport firmly reestablished between them. As the subtle tension ebbed that even Spock had been unaware of carrying, he felt exhaustion take its place. He echoed Kirk's sentiments that he would have no trouble sleeping tonight.

Turning, Spock left the room, knowing that now the Enterprise was back on course with her true captain back at the helm.

* * * * *

Taking a seat beside Scott at the briefing room table, Uhura greeted Chekov and Sulu with a smile.

The engineer reached over and patted her hand. "Lass, I don't know if we accomplished what we wanted to, but it certainly seems to have made me a celebrity. I could barely make it through the corridor to here for all the people stopping to congratulate me on our performance. Said they had learned a new appreciation for the bagpipes."

Chekov laughed, "The crew on the bridge couldn't stop talking about you and the captain. I must admit, I was really surprised. Especially considering the captain's injury and all."

Sulu leaned forward, "I knew that you were going to perform something together but I was surprised, too. Why dancing?"

Scott cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Nyota here said we could do anything except let the captain sing. We only had an afternoon to prepare, and frankly when we first got together, he wasn't feeling well. Ennis had just checked him over and pronounced him fit. But then he caught on the idea of us dancing in kilts and wouldn't let it go. I did try to argue for something a little less strenuous, but he wouldn't hear of it."

Hearing the unvoiced concern in his tone, Uhura reassured, "He seemed to be fine afterward, Scotty."

The door swished open, and the object of their concern came striding into the room, followed by Spock. Uhura took one look at the serious, almost expressionless face and felt her heart fall. She guessed it was too much to hope for to have the warm, friendly Captain Kirk from yesterday instead of this unsmiling automaton.

Spock took the chair beside Scott. Kirk grasped the back of the chair at the head of the table but did not sit down. His gaze ran over each of the faces before him, and Uhura revised her earlier assessment as she noted the uncertainty in the hazel eyes.

"Gentlemen, this meeting is completely off the record and to be totally confidential." He paused, continuing when there were no questions. "You need to be aware that taking part in this conversation or taking any action in this discussion may have severe consequences. The information I'm about to reveal is highly classified and confidential. Having access to this information is a criminal act against Starfleet and the Federation."

Kirk paused again, his face changing infinitesimally when none of his officers reacted. A note of pride touched the serious eyes. Uhura found herself shrugging slightly. If the captain thought this information was important to have, then the consequences were not relative at the moment.

Drawing a deep breath, the hazel eyes locked with Spock momentarily, and Uhura watched as he drew strength from the exchange. His next words were hard for him to say and shocked the officers surrounding the table.

"This information may help McCoy."

Scott half rose out of his chair. "You mean you've known how to help Leonard and haven't told us?"

The vulnerability in Kirk's face was hard for Uhura to watch. In a flashing moment of revelation, she understood that the reason Kirk had closed himself off from everyone was because it was difficult for him to manage his own hurt much less deal with everyone else's at McCoy's imprisonment.

Placing a hand on Scott’s arm, Uhura urged him back to his chair. "If we could've helped Leonard before, he would have told us. Captain Kirk is asking for our help now, Scotty. That we work together."

A smile edged the corners of Kirk's mouth as Scott subsided. Taking a seat himself, Kirk folded his hands on the table. "Actually, I know very little, certainly not enough to help Bones at this point. From the beginning I was suspicious of certain facts. How did someone obtain my personal logs about my conversation with McCoy for evidence? How did they happen to have a picture of McCoy meeting with this Stiletto character?"

Kirk began counting points off on his fingers. "At first, I tried tracking Stiletto with the intent that I would force information out of him." A grim smile crossed his face. "It may have been a good thing that turned into a dead end since I wasn't thinking too clearly at the time. One of us might not have walked away alive if I had found him. When we were on Starbase Six, I went to Alpha Centauri to do a little digging and discovered that the remains of Professor Hawley's body were found there last month. Official cause was suicidal drowning. The time of death was one month before McCoy supposedly met with him. Either way, it still didn't help me track down Stiletto. All evidence that he ever existed seems to have been wiped clean." The alert eyes locked onto Uhura's face. "Something, Nyota?”

The use of her first name reminded her that this was informal. Uhura cursed her inability to hide her expression. "I did some checking myself at first and found the same thing. Any records were wiped clean. Also, no one wanted to talk about it, as if they were afraid."

Kirk nodded, "I was reprimanded by Starfleet intelligence, when my electronic fingerprints were discovered. I had to learn to be more discreet.” He looked at Spock. "That's why I was in the computer room that night, I was able to hide my tracks better from there than the computer in my quarters. It was there that I discovered this message."

Uhura noted that Spock was listening intently. She had assumed that Kirk had already explained some of this to his first officer, but obviously this was new information to him also. She turned her attention to the small screen in the center of the table.

There was no picture, just a burst of static and then an altered voice talking, every few words obliterated by the static. Scrambled. It would have taken hours of painstaking decoding for the captain to obtain this clear of a recording.

"Where is Kirk? The Orions--" Static took over, then, "Scott from Enterprise is here. Plan backfired."

This time the static continued, only half words breaking through until, "Kirk will try to free McCoy- Kell proof=-Starfleet interference in their affairs-never join."

"Not much, I know. Confusing at best." The captain stared darkly down at his hands. "I discovered this the night after the crew were fighting in the gym. I wanted to talk to you then, but didn't know--" He stopped abruptly. "I know what my interpretation is. I'd like to hear yours."

Scott's face was growing red. "We've been set up all along. Someone working with the Orions was expecting you, not me on Beta Kell? Who's behind this?"

"That's where I need your help. I do think that someone on board is supplying some information. When Mister Scott left to see McCoy, that's when I checked out a shuttle and went to Alpha Centauri. I believe someone here may have reported my activities, and the assumption was made that I was headed for Beta Kell."

Chekov shook his head. "This sounds like a story out of a Russian spy novel." Sulu elbowed him but the Russian continued. "Someone in Starfleet is working with a spy on board along with someone on Beta Kell to keep them from joining the Federation. And we're the pawns."

Kirk gave Chekov an expressive waggle of his eyebrows. Then the captain glanced at his first officer. "Mister Spock? Comments?"

More cautious, Spock replied, "Obviously, we do not know who sent the message or to whom it was intended. It might be enlightening to let us hear the rest of your information."

Kirk raised an eyebrow, "Yes, as you surmised. There is another message."

This time the static was worse. The person scrambling this was an expert. "-problem-" a huge burst of static, "Orions want Kirk-Blood oath." The static worsened and the captain paused the message. "It gets worse but I've made out some words. I'd like to know what you hear.”

Uhura leaned closer, ignoring the ear-screeching shriek of the static. Just barely under the static she detected occasional words. "--unlimited-dilithium- McCoy-alive--bait trap." The static continued for another thirty seconds and then Kirk shut it off.

Uhura noted the intent direction of Spock's gaze and paused in her deliberation. He turned his attention immediately to Kirk. "How long have you known about this?”

Kirk shrugged. "A few days."

"Before the mission on Base 342?"

The captain nodded; his jaw tightening as he met Spock's gaze.

Spock asked quietly, "You have known that you are a target for assassination before you were attacked and did not inform any of your senior officers?"

The officers had served with the Vulcan long enough to detect the touch of anger in Spock’s tone. Uhura tensed, not wanting to see Kirk withdraw again into his self- imposed shell.

The captain grimaced, managing a graceful shrug for an apology. "I'm informing you now. I wasn't really sure how to interpret this. It was right after this that we received a code three message from Commodore Mendez. Spock and I decoded it and found encoded within the message, a warning from Jose to me. He explained that the Orions were receiving inside information from Starfleet and knew Starfleet's activities, including our schedule. That same day I was attacked. Ennis claims that all she saw was a colonist when she shot him, but I am certain that it was an Orion."

"An Orion?" Sulu questioned. "What would he be doing on Base 342? How did he get there?"

With a self-deprecating grin, Kirk continued, "With Ennis' explanation, I decided that she was right and I was too sick to know what I was talking about. But then yesterday morning after being released from Sickbay, I located this message." He touched a button on the computer console. "This one came from Starfleet to someone on the Enterprise.”

"Squelch report of Orion. At this current time, a colonist attacked Captain Kirk." Kirk shifted in his chair. "Spock, Ennis and I also received orders to deny there was an Orion on 342. However, that doesn't explain this mystery message to someone on board the ship."

"But not Ennis, Spock or you." Scott was scratching his head again. "My engines never have me as confused as this information. I don't know how I can help."

Kirk shared a smile of commiseration with the Engineer. "I know just how you feel. You can't imagine the headaches I've gotten from this stuff. Added to this mix are several pips of reports on the status of the Enterprise including items such as the fighting that occurred and the rift between myself and Scott. It explains how the reporters got hold of the information. This was sent from our ship. Since my physical and mental status is reported on frequently, the medical files have been tapped into which makes me even more suspicious of Doctor Ennis. She would actually be the only one with access to those files."

Uhura sat frozen in her chair, both anger and embarrassment vying for attention. "You're saying that someone has been using my communication system to betray us?"

Kirk held her eyes. "It's not your fault." He handed a computer disk to her. "See what you can find out on these. Let's try to plug up our leak and find the person at the same time."

Glancing at Scott, the captain said, "Back to your frustration, Scotty. Mister Spock may have something that we can put you to use your talents on." He nodded in the Vulcan's direction.

Spock dropped a cube into the computer. "Among the highly classified information the captain has managed to obtain is data from Intelligence on new improvements to the Orion ships. I have been researching the schematics; however, I have not identified any weaknesses. Perhaps working together, we may be able to give the Enterprise an advantage if we are attacked."

Scott whistled as the information scrolled across the screen. Sulu came around the table to stand beside Scott, commenting quietly to the engineer.

Chekov watched peripherally, but it was obvious he was still thinking about the messages Kirk had found. "The origin of this messages you played was the Beta Kell system?"

"I believe so, ensign. The recipient is within Starfleet but not utilizing any of the normal channels." Kirk replied.

"When Mister Scott visited McCoy, someone there expected you instead and planned with the Orions to take you."

"Or kill the captain." Uhura threw in, tapping her finger on the table.

"Someone, possibly on board, reported your activities to the recipient in Starfleet but not on Scott. They must have followed you. Except, if that's true, why didn't they know you weren't going to Beta Kell?"

Kirk had the grace to look embarrassed. "On Starbase Six, I filed a flight plan to Earth but went to Alpha Centauri instead. Unless he was right on my tailpipe, the informant wouldn't know where I went. I guess when I didn't show up at Earth on schedule, someone assumed, I'd gone to Beta Kell." He paused. "Not that I didn't consider going a few hundred times."

Uhura felt the sting of tears at his painful honesty. She focused back on the message. "One can assume the reference to unlimited dilithium is what is behind all this. Greed. ‘McCoy alive’ could mean that he's still alive or to keep him alive, which is more likely since the last part is about 'baiting a trap'. The plan is to use McCoy to trap you. So it's someone who knows you and thinks that you would do anything to help McCoy, even possibly sell out the Federation. This smells of a lot of crooked hands in the pot."

Both of Spock's eyebrows raised at Uhura's last statement. "If by that, you mean Beta Kell and Starfleet have officials collaborating with the Orions to benefit from the illegal sale of dilithium and to assist the Orions in their goal of assassinating Captain Kirk, I agree."

Kirk cleared his throat, catching everyone's attention. "I don't want to attract anyone's attention by staying in this meeting too long, especially if there's someone on board watching us. Scotty, I’d like you to work with Spock and Sulu on the schematics of the Orion ship. Find a weakness. If the Orions are gunning for me, they're just as likely to come after the Enterprise and I want her prepared."

"Aye, sir."

"Uhura, Chekov, I want to you to work with me on investigating these messages. There's got to be more and I believe a clue out there on how to prove McCoy's innocence along with nabbing the bastards using us for their own gain."

There were soft murmurs of agreement, Scott and Sulu already talking in a soft undertone of conversation about the ship on the screen. Spock appeared to be listening to them, and Uhura was surprised when he demanded, "And you, Captain? You are still a target.”

"I think I'm fairly safe on my own ship, Mister Spock." Kirk kept his words quiet.

"However, the message indicates you are in danger. I recommend that you are accompanied constantly."

Uhura could see that Spock was not prepared to back down on the issue of Kirk's safety.

"A guard? That's a little obvious, don't you think?" Kirk allowed a mixture of amusement and exasperation to show.

Aware of Spock's increase in tension, Scott broke off his conversation with Sulu. "Captain, Mister Spock is right. And if we do manage to pull this off and somehow prove McCoy's innocence, how do you think he'd feel if we'd managed to let you get killed? Maybe not a guard, but allow one of us to be with you throughout the day and security lock your quarters at night. Don't let anyone in, even if they do threaten to burn through your door with a phaser."

He grinned, and Uhura caught a startled looked from Kirk to the engineer. The captain's expression changed to a bemused smile.

"I'll consider it" Kirk finally said.

Uhura tapped a finger against her cheek. "Captain, with your permission, I would like to investigate the backgrounds of the crew complement here, see if there's a common element between you and anyone. Maybe there's some event other than the one involving McCoy that this person may blame you for badly enough to want revenge."

Kirk nodded. "That's an excellent suggestion. You might include McCoy in the equation. See if there's some common element. It will take some time. You'll need to keep your research completely confidential. I suggest working in the computer room, and have someone cover your station."

She reached for the data tape that Kirk held in his hands. "And I'd like to see if I can clean those up more, we might get--"

The doors swished open. Ennis came stalking into the room. "I understand this meeting is for senior officers. I believe someone forgot to inform me." Her eyes pinpointed Uhura.

Kirk stood slowly, drawing her attention back to him. "Doctor Ennis, if you were needed at this meeting, you would have been notified. As it was, I thought you would not have an interest in correlation- surveys of interquantum sensor and communication response times."

Uhura noted that Spock unobtrusively removed his data cube from the computer, shutting the computer down at the same time. In order not to raise the suspicions of other crew members, including Ennis, she would have to find a way for them to meet in private in the future without causing questions.

As one, the officers stood, breaking the tension between Kirk and Ennis by beginning to talk to one another, leaving the room. Uhura touched Ennis on her arm, earning another glare. "I wanted to know your opinion of the crew's response to the program last night. Has it helped the morale some?"

"Some," she snapped. "Although, I don't remember giving the captain approval for that activity." Ennis turned her glare back to Kirk. "As soon as I found out about it this morning, I came to check you over, and that's when I discovered you were holding a meeting for all the senior officers except me."

Uhura held back a sigh, sending an apologetic glance to Kirk. The doctor had a one-track mind, her attempt to divert her had not worked. She was surprised when Kirk returned an appreciative smile, an almost conspiratorial sparkle in his eye.

Kirk came to stand beside Ennis, guiding her to the door. "I'm fine, but I know how you doctors are, never happy unless you're poking and prodding someone. Shall I come to Sickbay or are you satisfied with just talking to me?"

"I want to know why you were having a meeting of the senior officers without me?" Ennis folded her arms stubbornly.

Kirk smiled benignly. "I've already explained my reasons. Now, I'm needed on the bridge. If that is all, Doctor?"

When Ennis refused to budge, he continued walking.

Uhura waited at the entrance as Kirk and Spock headed for the door. They paused, and the doctor stalked past them and into the corridor, looking angry enough to eat dilithium. Once the door closed, Kirk asked, "Spock, she can't access any of the records we just reviewed, can she?"

The Vulcan shook his head. "Negative. Do you believe that the doctor is involved?"

Kirk sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “My head tells me no. But this-sixth sense or whatever you call it-isn't so sure. If she is involved, she's got help higher up. She's so contrary and difficult, it makes her almost too easy a target, but then sometimes we can't see the forest for the trees."

"Forest, sir?"

Uhura laughed at the Vulcan's obvious non-understanding of the adage. "I'll be sure that the doctor is number one on my list."

Kirk nodded soberly. "Just be careful. We don't want to tip anyone off prematurely. Surprise may be the only advantage we have."

"Understood, sir."

Uhura headed out the door feeling hopeful despite the gravity of recent events. They had their captain back, and with any luck at all, they soon would soon have McCoy home as well.

* * * * *

McCoy shifted the thin, emaciated remains of a prisoner, freezing when a groan sounded from one of the bodies he was preparing to place in the incinerator. Startled, McCoy jerked back, reminding himself sternly that autonomic responses such as exhalation of breath, were normal immediately following death. Usually by the time the corpses were brought to McCoy to be burned, he was long past expecting to see any responses.

He pushed and shoved the body onto the conveyor belt, heaving a sigh as the poor soul was carried precariously to fall into the furnace. McCoy jerked back when the main door suddenly opened, bringing a breath of fresh, cool air.

The doctor watched the guards hurrying to shove their cart through the door, coughing and covering their mouths and noses against the smell. They hastened to rid themselves of their load, tipping the cart, allowing five more bodies to slide to the floor. It would take a lot of heavy labor to move them to the incinerator.

Another groan sounded from the bodies nearby and the guards nervously looked over at him. Without a word, they dragged the cart back out the door, at the last minute remembering to leave McCoy's daily ration of food and water. He eyed it hungrily, ignoring his surroundings of death and decay. He had taken one step toward the food when a movement nearby caught his eye.

At the bottom of the pile, an arm was moving, in more than a normal autonomic response. McCoy's eyes widened, his heart accelerating as he realized one of the prisoners must be alive.

McCoy freed the prisoner. Wide, frightened brown eyes met his.

"Help me." A whisper without sound. The prisoner's plea brought a healer's response to McCoy for the first time in weeks.

He began to examine him, discovering the right side of the man's head was crushed along with a broken arm and severe bruising along the ribcage indicating probable crushed ribs.

His own throat hoarse from disuse and dehydration, McCoy whispered, "Were you caught in a cave-in?"

Only a slight nod, but the man blinked, reinforcing the response.

"Are you in pain?" The question was automatic, forgetting for a split second that he could do very little for this man's pain.

"Some."

At a loss as to what to do next, McCoy glanced around the cell reassuring himself that the guards had gone. There really was no need to worry; they only made one trip a day here and were always in a hurry to leave.

His eyes fell on the bowl of food and drink the guards had left behind. He stared at it, his stomach wrenching painfully. The humane thing to do was offer some of the drink to the injured prisoner. His skin pulled tight around his skull in resentment as he considered sharing his meager meal. The prisoner would probably die soon of his injuries; feeding him would only prolong his agony.

As McCoy remained frozen in indecision, an image of his former nemesis, Spock, surfaced. McCoy stepped outside himself for a moment, looking at the tableau from the first officer's eyes.

There he was poised over the very alive body of a sentient being as if he were ready to kill the man himself, all for the sake of a few swallows of water and spoonfuls of mush.

McCoy closed his eyes against the image but was unable to shut out the sound of Spock’s familiar tones. He knew the Vulcan too well. 'I am not surprised to discover that your compassion does not extend past the surface, Doctor McCoy. You have proven again the base level of the Human heart.'

The vision of Spock faded from his mind, and McCoy groaned. Grasping the prisoner under one arm, the doctor awkwardly pulled him around to his sleeping area. A short brick wall separated the space, protecting it from the worst of the heat from the fiery furnace.

Propping the prisoner up against the cool dirt of the cave wall, McCoy retrieved the food and water. He lifted the small jug, holding it to man's lips. The prisoner drank greedily but choked after only a couple of swallows. The coughing spell that followed was severe. Fearing the man would die before he stopped, McCoy pulled the Kell supportively to his shoulder, patting him on the back.

Long moments passed before the man's breathing eased. Reluctant to let go, McCoy continued rubbing his back, holding him securely.

Finally he leaned back against the wall, only to discover that the man had fallen asleep, his breathing shallow and uneven. The doctor grasped his left wrist, rejoicing in the beating of his heart, ignoring the weak, thready feel of the radial pulse.

Knowing that the man was not going to be able to swallow the food and probably only a few drops of water, McCoy pulled the bowl into his lap and, with his fingers, ate the tasteless goo mechanically. Emptying the bowl, McCoy swallowed hard against a surge of nausea from the hard lump it left in his belly.

He glanced over at the sleeping prisoner, and his stomach lurched again, feeling sick that he had almost been willing to give up his humanity for one bowl of food and a few drops of water.

McCoy stopped himself after a two swallows of water. The jug would have to last until tomorrow for both of them. Moving the water to safety, the doctor stretched out beside the prisoner. Closing his eyes, he placed a hand on the man's arm for reassurance.

It was not enough. McCoy remembered an argument once with Spock about the need of Humans for touch. As he reached to grasp the prisoner's hand and felt the cold fingers curl around his own, McCoy knew that it had been his own arrogance attempting to reason with Spock. He had understood nothing about the power of touch until now. A basic need was met in that simple contact.

McCoy squeezed the hand gently, relieved when the prisoner returned the pressure. He slid over the edge of sleep soothed by the sounds of another living being.

He simply had not understood.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Late in the evening, Spock arrived at one of the smaller gaming rooms attached to the main rec room. Uhura had arranged for the senior officers to meet there. Ill at ease, Spock studied the shifting patterns of color glowing on the three dimensional screen in the center of the table. Humans enjoyed the attempts to match mental energy patterns which this game entailed. The Vulcan found it a distasteful exploitation of attempts to imitate telepathy, a gift never to be taken lightly or used for such trivial pursuits.

A tinkling sound almost like chimes caused him to turn. Uhura stood watching him, the bracelets on her wrist giving off the musical notes. She smiled apologetically as if she read his disapproval in his face. "Meeting here was the best I could do to keep Doctor Ennis from being suspicious. I heard that she hates these games so I thought it was rather clever."

"I find it disquieting that Doctor Ennis and I should have anything in common. However, I find anything which serves to exploit a person's abilities less than pleasing."

Her smile faded. "Do you have a better suggestion, Mister Spock?"

Spock held back a sigh. Though he had long ago learned Humans were frequently offended by simple statements of fact, it took forbearance to be patient with this attitude. "I did not mean to criticize. This will provide an excellent 'cover' as long as Doctor Ennis is unaware of the fact that Vulcans normally do not participate in these games. "

The intercom whistled. Spock rose to answer the call. "Spock here."

"Start without me. I've been delayed." Kirk sounded out of breath. "I'll be there in a few minutes. Kirk out."

Spock stared at the intercom, frowning. He resisted the urge to call the captain back, instead he forced his attention to their meeting.

"Is something wrong? He seemed fine on the bridge."

Uhura was staring at the intercom as well. Spock wondered if something in Kirk's tone had alerted her as well.

"The captain was in Sickbay earlier for a follow-up examination. I am unaware of any problems. Shall we begin?"

The others arrived shortly and the team worked together, presenting and reviewing the evidence that Uhura, Chekov and Kirk had managed to discover. Unable to come to any conclusions, they turned their attention to the evaluation of the Orion ship.

Soon the officers became restless as almost an hour had passed since Kirk's message. They glanced at the door frequently. Uhura finally pushed her chair back, catching Spock's eye. "All this dry discussion of ships engines and shielding physics is making me thirsty. Let's get some refreshments. Do you mind checking in with the captain in the meantime?"

Spock nodded, rising with alacrity. He was not immune to the current of concern surrounding him.

Discovering Kirk had left Sickbay before their meeting started, Spock called his quarters. After his second unanswered hail of the captain, he stared thoughtfully at the intercom. The Vulcan turned at a hand on his shoulder and was startled to find Scott at his side.

Disturbed brown eyes met his. "Go check on the lad. He has been pushing himself too hard. We'll wait for you."

Within moments, Spock's long strides brought him to Kirk's quarters. There was no answer to his hail and the Vulcan started to turn away intending to continue his search. He paused, and then ordered, "Computer this is First Officer Spock. Override security system and allow entry."

The door slid obediently open. The outer office was empty. Spock walked quietly toward the sleeping area. Kirk lay on the bed, sprawled as if he had fallen there, one leg dangling over the side. Nearing the bed, Spock’s disquiet eased as he noted the steady even breaths. He touched the captain's forehead reassuring himself there was no fever.

He had never known Kirk to sleep through a meeting. This was disconcerting behavior and yet Scott was accurate in mentioning that the captain had been working hard. Perhaps due to his recent injury, he had simply been exhausted. If something was wrong, Ennis would have reported it to the first officer whether the captain approved or not.

Kirk did not stir as the Vulcan eased the leg back onto the bed. Spock shook out a blanket, covering the captain while he slept on. Kirk's eyelashes cast shadows on thin cheeks. Spock looked closer and realized that there were faint dark circles under his eyes.

At times, he overlooked the fact that Humans take longer to recover from injuries due to their inability to heal themselves. The captain's tendency to ignore his body's need for rest and recovery was undoubtedly the reason for sleeping through the evening.

¬

Returning to the Rec Room, Spock accepted the fruit drink Chekov handed him. As all eyes focused on him, the Vulcan found himself reluctant to explain.

"The captain was asleep in his quarters." Spock put the drink on the table and took a chair. "As Mister Scott suggested, he may be exhausted from overwork. I chose not to awaken him. Shall we continue?"

Within minutes, the willing officers were deeply involved in the schematics of the alien ship. Spock sensed a new focus, not sure what the intent of the close group was until Chekov fiercely voiced his frustration.

"The captain needs answers not more questions. We need to give him something to work with now, not next week. "

As the others murmured in agreement, Spock studied each member of their team carefully. Four sets of discouraged eyes returned his gaze. "Indeed, if possible we need to discover a solution. However, even though the captain at times pretends we can create miracles, he has been known to acknowledge that we cannot do the impossible. We need more facts. I would suggest we conclude this meeting and continue our research. Perhaps tomorrow will bring us new information."

With his words, Sulu nodded, his shoulders drooping with unusual fatigue. Spock studied him, the unexpected posture taking him by surprise. The helmsman's energy was usually endless. A surreptitious view of Scott and Chekov revealed a state of exhaustion also.

The Vulcan turned to Uhura who at first glance appeared normal, yet her movements were slow as she stood. Watching her rub her eyes, Spock felt at a loss, knowing Kirk would have found the right words to ease the tension and re-energize the officers.

Instead, he said simply, "I believe Captain Kirk will be pleased with the progress we have made. Rest well. I shall look forward to working with you tomorrow."

The wide smile from Sulu and Chekov and twinkle that shone in Uhura's eyes as they passed him surprised Spock and left him with the unsettling feeling that without meaning to, he had just done something very Human.

Spock returned to his quarters, taking a quick detour to check on the still sleeping captain. Back in his meditation alcove, images undermined his attempts to achieve even a basic level. The images came in waves: Sulu's wide smile; Chekov, Scott, Sulu, Uhura huddled around Spock as they all looked at his dissection of the Orion ship; throwing the cover over the unknowing and vulnerable Kirk; and somewhere in the middle, a shadow of McCoy seeming to oversee them.

Spock lifted a hand, illogically wishing that he could reach out to the doctor and let him know of their desperate struggle to save him.

Opening his mind, Spock allowed the images of McCoy, an adversary whom he had come to cherish. Cherish. Translated into Vulcan it meant total trust and respect between two persons. When had their relationship changed to one of mutual trust and respect for one another?

He remembered when Khan relayed the tale to Kirk of McCoy's bravery in Sickbay as he held a knife to his throat. There was the time they were trapped in the ice age on Sarpeidon and McCoy would not give up despite the odds being against them. A memory surfaced of McCoy delivering the infant High Teer with professional ease. Another time, McCoy risked his own life on Vulcan to save both Kirk's and Spock’s, aware the wrath of T’Pau was likely.

It was all these and more that had developed the growing bond of friendship between them but it was McCoy's sacrifice in the Minara system to save Kirk's life and Spock sanity that had cemented their relationship.

Spock clasped hands that trembled, forcing himself to face an image that he usually avoided. One of McCoy on Minara, beaten and dying, but still managing to tease him about his bedside manner. McCoy in such great pain and yet pushing the empath, Gem, away as she tried to save his life by sacrificing hers. His Humanity humbled them all. The thought of him being imprisoned and mistreated was beyond comprehension.

With a stifled groan, Spock flung himself from the alcove. Knowing that he would not be able to sleep tonight, the Vulcan returned to Kirk's quarters. He stood uncertainly in the corner, watching the quiet breathing for several minutes. If he could not ensure McCoy's safety, then at least he could watch over Kirk. Knowing that his actions were guided by faulty logic, Spock ignored his Vulcan half and heeded his very Human need for reassurance. Settling cross-legged on the floor, he prepared to keep vigil.

As if sensing his presence, Kirk curled on his side facing Spock. After a few seconds his breathing deepened again, and the Vulcan watched on.

The alarm blared incessantly, and Kirk rolled over with a groan to silence it. Ordering low level lights, he sat up on the side of the bed at first frowning at the blanket that covered him and then at his apparel. He did not remember falling asleep in his uniform.

Memory came flooding back. After Ennis' examination, he had returned to his quarters to retrieve a file. Kirk shuddered as he remembered the intense pain that had cut through him and the attack of dizziness that had driven him to his knees, huge beads of sweat dripping from his forehead. He had struggled to breathe, fighting the waves of pain emanating and extending from the healed stab wounds from the attack on Base 342.

Ennis had indicated that these attacks were psychosomatic. Despite his suspicions of her, she had saved his life, and her current treatment did not include anything that could be causing the unusual symptoms.

He would be damned if he called and complained again, even though this attack seemed worse than before. Fifteen inexorable minutes had passed before the act of breathing did not seem excruciating. With the pain and dizziness slowly easing, overwhelming exhaustion had replaced it. Standing had seemed an impossible task, and Kirk instead had crawled to bed. Collapsing onto it, he had managed to rouse enough to notify Spock of his delay.

Kirk stared down at his uniform in dismay, his nose wrinkling at the stale sweaty odor. He stood unsteadily, pausing until he felt in control, then hastened to shower and dress. Barely taking time to comb his hair, he headed for his door before he realized the ludicrousness of his actions. Rushing about now would not help him make the meeting he had missed last evening.

Chagrined, Kirk returned to his desk. "Kirk to Spock."

Promptly, Spock answered. Kirk wondered, not for the first time, if his friend ever slept.

"Spock here, Captain."

"Would you join me in my quarters for breakfast? I'd like to. . . talk."

No censure, just a calm reply. "I believe that would be agreeable, sir."

The intercom had barely closed down before it was opened again by Uhura's melodious voice. "Good morning, Captain.”

He shook his head slightly- at her early morning cheer. "Already at work, Lieutenant?"

"Not a chance. I have thirty more minutes of freedom before I'm chained to the com. I've checked with Mister Spock. He approved having a brief lunch meeting at twelve hundred hours in his quarters with the Doc S.L.M. gang. Will that work for you?"

Kirk blinked, a corner of his mouth twitching at the good humor in her voice. "I'll bite, what does Doc S.L.M. stand for?"

Dropping her voice to conspiratorial tones, she explained. "The Defeat Orions Conspiracy and Save Leonard McCoy gang. See why you shouldn't sleep through meetings? That's what we worked on last night."

Hearing the support and concern interlaced within the teasing, Kirk felt a smile lift his spirits. "I'll remember that. Yes, the lunch meeting will be fine. If I remember correctly, we don't rendezvous with the Mitsuko for their supplies until late afternoon, fifteen hundred hours."

"Correct. So does that mean I can have the day off, sir?"

Kirk chuckled. "It does not And at the risk of endangering my life at requesting assistance before you're officially on duty, could you round up a yeoman for me?"

"A lowly officer's work is never done. Your wish is my command." Her warm laughter belied the wry sarcasm in her reply.

With a lighter step, Kirk straightened his desk, making room for a breakfast tray. The edge of the blanket on his bed caught his eye. Kirk retrieved it, rubbing his hand thoughtfully across the soft material, knowing there was only one person who would have entered his quarters last night without his express permission.

Kirk was folding the blanket when Spock arrived. With an easy smile, he glanced down at the cloth in his hands, "Does a first officer's duties now include tucking the captain in at night?"

Spock met his eyes a little uneasily but he relaxed as Kirk tried to project his thanks with his eyes. He knew the Vulcan would be even more ill at ease if he tried to thank him verbally. Gentle teasing was another matter.

"I believe it falls under the category of 'other duties'." Spock arched an eyebrow as if daring Kirk to refute his word.

Kirk grinned, returning the blanket to the cabinet. “A never-ending category if you ask me."

"I met Yeoman Bass outside and took the liberty of sending her to obtain breakfast."

"Great! I'm hungry." Kirk clapped a hand on Spock's shoulder briefly and herded them both to his desk.

The captain knew his enthusiasm would have to be toned down soon or it would begin to grate on Spock's nerves. But for now, he was enjoying the rapport that they easily shared, a rapport that he had foolishly tried to avoid in the last few weeks.

Kirk shook his head at his own stupidity. It was through these relationships that it might be possible to save McCoy.

Unable to keep from teasing the Vulcan again, he asked with a mischievous grin, "You've officially named us the Doc S.L.M. gang?"

Spock's head came up as if to explain; then seeing Kirk's face, he arched a superior eyebrow. "Do you object to leading this gang, Captain?"

He laughed. "Not a chance, Mister Spock. Not a chance."

* * * *

For three days, McCoy hid and nurtured the prisoner, learning more about the Beta Kell society than he had in all his time spent here. The prisoner's name was Ratand. He was of the Kell race who were the laboring class of the Beta Kell world. The Kell prisoners were assigned to live and work in the mines. The Betas were the technological elite and when they transgressed were assigned to the upper levels to clean offices and were given decent cells and food.

It was painful for the prisoner to talk and McCoy fretted as he watched the life force slowly draining from the frail body. It was a miracle he was even still alive.

Now, supporting Ratand's shoulders, the doctor waited until the man finished coughing. The thin arms shook with the effort, and Ratand moaned softly, leaning his head into McCoy's shoulder when the coughing seizure passed.

Easing him back against the wall, the doctor rested a hand on Ratand's head. Sunken eyes drifted up to look at him before closing. "My thanks, McCoy," he whispered.

"Will you try to take another drink?" McCoy reached behind him for the container of water but Ratand lifted a hand to stop him.

"Don't. Can't keep it down." Ratand wrapped bony fingers around his arm. "Sit Tell me. . . about your world."

McCoy blanched. He had carefully avoided any reference to his background. He sat beside the prisoner, pulling his knees up and wrapping his arms around them. He would tell Ratand about Earth and his family, but he could not talk about his recent past or about the Enterprise.

He knew his tense silence communicated more than words. The doctor had become aware of a heightened sense of awareness between the two of them. He felt as if they communicated on a whole different level akin to mental telepathy in some ways, a phenomenon that he would have found interesting once. Not now.

Ratand was watching him, a gentle smile creasing his lined face. "Your name is known to me. I know why you're here."

McCoy could not answer. Despite the fact that Stiletto had told him he was innocent, the rest of Beta Kell knew him to be a monster. Ratand squeezed his arm. "Remember the reason I’m here?"

Nodding, the doctor said, "You told me you were trying to prove the corruptness of some of the leaders of Beta KelI. One of them accused you and you were put here for life even though you were innocent of any wrong doing."

"His name was Kota."

McCoy lifted his head, staring at Ratand. "The Sovereign Lord of Healing?"

Ratand nodded, "Worked in his office. I had evidence. . . of his collusion with Orions."

The prisoner began to cough again. He was talking too much. McCoy held him, his mind whirling with questions. Kota was the official on Beta Kell who had demanded that the Federation turn McCoy over to their court. It was his office that had provided evidence of McCoy's role in causing the deaths from the virus. He wondered what this Kota would have to gain by working with the Orions.

Ratand's hand fell weakly from McCoy's arm. The doctor grasped it, feeling relief when Ratand returned his steady pressure. The coughing spell was draining the last of his strength, his head lolling to the side and his eyes rolling up under his half closed eyelids.

He was surprised when Ratand spoke. "Prisoners informed of your crime when you came. Many of us here are innocent. . . placed here by Kota. Are you?"

For so long, he had been so convinced of his own guilt that McCoy started to shake his head. Not sure of what to believe, he suddenly felt a small ray of hope where there had only been despair, and he gave a strangled laugh instead. "I don't know anymore. The High Regent is actually a man named Stiletto. He told me I was set up. The vaccine used on your people was not the same one I developed," his voice cracked, both from lack of moisture and emotion.

"So like many of us, you are innocent yet imprisoned."

As Ratand coughed again. barely able to catch his breath, McCoy berated himself for keeping the man talking. He waited until the coughing slowed and then assisted Ratand to a resting position, urging him to sleep.

The revelations from Ratand meant even more to McCoy than Stiletto's taunting boasts. If a native of Beta Kell could believe his innocence then maybe he should begin to believe it too.

The doctor edged down beside the smaller man, his thoughts tumbling over one another until he slid into a sleep filled with dreams of a different life. One where he was surrounded by friends. One where his daughter welcomed him and did not condemn him for the deaths on Beta Kell. One where Jim Kirk promised to protect him and keep him safe.

* * * * *

Uhura clutched the data cube in her hand, cursing the lack of pockets in her uniform. She scurried off the turbolift as soon as the doors opened, skidding to a halt down the corridor as she saw a stretcher being pushed into Kirk's quarters. The Lieutenant had planned on talking to the captain before he reported back to the bridge for their rendezvous with the Mitsuko.

Her heart was thudding as she headed for the open doorway. The Lieutenant stopped outside the room at the sound of Ennis' harsh voice demanding, "And you didn't consider notifying me when you were aware of his distress?"

Spock sounded strained. "You are aware now. Should we not focus on the captain at the moment?"

"For the moment. Although he might have avoided a seizure if I'd been notified earlier." There was the sound of a scanner. "But later, I’m going to enlighten you about ship's procedures when a crewman is down." The scanner continued for several seconds.

Uhura considered stepping in, but she had no desire to confront Ennis.

The doctor continued, "The scan shows no infection, no registering of pain, nothing. There's no reason for him to be so poorly responsive."

"How many of these episodes has he had?"

Ennis sounded unconcerned. "He's complained of pain and shortness of breath three or four times. I've kept a close eye on him, his wounds are healed. There is no reason for him to be having pain or breathing difficulties. The description matches anxiety or panic attacks."

Spock's voice was icy, "I have seen the captain in various states of emotion but I have never noted the captain to have a panic attack."

"I realize that you Vulcans consider yourselves expert in every subject, however, I am the doctor here." Uhura could almost see the doctor rolling her eyes. "You can diagnose all you want to, it won't do you or him any good. I'm keeping him in Sickbay for observation for the next twenty-four hours. I believe that means you're in command. Therefore, I hope you will stay out of my hair during that time."

She heard a groan, feeling relief when Kirk said groggily, "Spock?"

Before Spock could answer, Ennis snapped, obviously ordering the med-techs. "Get moving before he wakes up and refuses to go to Sickbay."

Backtracking, Uhura waited further down the corridor out of immediate view until she glimpsed them pushing the stretcher toward the turbolift with Ennis following behind. Uhura slipped back around the corner in time to catch Spock before he left Kirk's quarters.

"Mister Spock, I need a moment," she stepped back inside the office, waiting for the doors to close.

"Lieutenant I must return immediately to the bridge. We have new orders from command" Spock appeared calm.

"This can't wait. I found something that may explain what's wrong with the captain." Uhura followed his involuntarily glance at the floor beside Kirk's desk. She wondered if Spock had discovered the captain lying there.

The dark eyes came back up to meet hers. "Please explain."

"Someone wasn't as careful with coding this time. I picked up a message from Central. I may be able to correlate the intended end location with some work. The message stated that the Orions want both the Enterprise and Captain Kirk. And that it was an Orion who attacked the captain and his knife was poisoned."

"Poison. Interesting."

Uhura fought down a flare of anger. Spock never intended to sound so offhand, certainly not regarding the captain's life. But even knowing the Vulcan as well as she did, the reaction seemed uncaring. "So what do we do?"

"I will report this to Doctor Ennis."

Frustrated, Uhura curled her hand around the data cube. "But we don't know if we can trust her."

"Nevertheless, one cannot withhold crucial information that may affect the captain's life." Spock glanced at her, acknowledging her worry with his eyes. "I will be most interested in listening to this report when I have time. I will order your relief to remain on the bridge while you attempt to locate the origin of this massage. I must report to the bridge."

Spock turned toward the exit. Uhura stopped him, "Sir, what are our new orders?"

“As soon as we have completed off-loading supplies to the Mitsuko, we are to rendezvous with Ambassador Langerman and Commodore Mendez and ferry them to the border of Beta Kell space." The dark eyes glimmered with suppressed anger.

Uhura drew a breath and nodded. They had suspected the Enterprise would be maneuvered into Beta Kell space and become an open target for the Orions. Their meeting with Captain Kirk at lunch had focused on developing tactical approaches for this exact scenario. Hopefully, the Orions would have a surprise of their own coming.

* * * * *

McCoy must have slept for a few minutes. He was awakened suddenly by the sound of approaching footsteps outside the entryway. His heart fluttered in panic. The guards had already made their one trip a day to the incinerator with a heavy load of bodies. McCoy had not expected them back. He glanced over at the sleeping Ratand whom he normally hid near a pile of corpses when expecting the guards.

It was too late now, the door was already swinging open. Stiletto stalked in, followed by two guards. His eyes flicked quickly past McCoy to rest on the Beta Kell prisoner behind him. "Over there."

McCoy stood frozen as the two guards crossed the room and dragged Ratand to drop him at the administrator's feet.

"2034, explain." Stiletto ordered.

He stumbled for the right words. "I - Lord Regent, the prisoner was alive when brought here."

"You are to burn all bodies brought here, 2034. Including this one."

"But he's alive!" McCoy could not keep the horror from creeping into his voice.

"Prisoners work in the mine. This one has not worked for several days. He must work or die."

"He can't work. He was critically injured in a cave-in." McCoy forced himself to stop.

"Then, he dies. Incinerate him."

McCoy met the administrator's eyes without flinching. "Not while he's alive."

"A prisoner who cannot work the mines is of no use to us. And he wastes our resources. He works or he dies." Stiletto was watching him carefully, the gray eyes glittering with a mad joy.

Assessing him, McCoy recognized the edge of psychotic cruelty. If he wasn't sure before, he was now. This man enjoyed inflicting pain. Attempting to discuss this rationally would serve no purpose. Stiletto was toying with him. The most he could do was attempt to keep from antagonizing him more. McCoy waited silently.

"He dies. Put him in the incinerator now, 2034."

"I won't kill for you." McCoy glanced down at Ratand. Frightened eyes were watching both of them.

The regent snapped his fingers. The guard behind him moved swiftly, slamming the butt of his weapon into McCoy's stomach. The doctor dropped to his knees, groaning.

"That was only a warning. Burn him. Now!"

McCoy shoved back to his feet, forced to wrap an arm around his stomach against the pain. "No."

Stiletto smiled, shaking his head as if addressing a disobedient child. "So damn noble. For what purpose? This is useless. This piece of garbage-" He shoved at Ratand's body with his foot then kicked him in the back. Ratand moaned and Stiletto laughed. "-will be dead in a few days. You're just putting him out of his misery. Why fight it?"

When McCoy didn't answer, Stiletto chuckled as he lifted a hand, gesturing to the guards. Both moved immediately, grinning as they approached Ratand.

''No!'' Chest heaving, McCoy watched helplessly as their pointed boots repeatedly kicked the prisoner. "No! Leave him alone!"

Stiletto nodded, pleasure showing in his expression. "You're volunteering, 2034. Good." He shoved the doctor toward the guards, who turned immediately to their new source of entertainment.

McCoy staggered as one guard struck him between the shoulder blades and the other hit him in the gut. Another blow jabbed to his chest took his breath away just seconds before a rock hard fist slammed into his jaw. He fell to the ground only to be attacked repeatedly by booted feet. Just as he was close to losing consciousness, the attack stopped.

He curled on his side, his head swimming with the movement. From a distance, he heard Stiletto talking. "We can't kill him yet. I need him alive. Get him up."

He was dragged roughly to his feet, barely able to stand when the guards released his arms. The regent grabbed his chin, forcing McCoy to look at him. "You will do as I order. I'm coming back. I want this prisoner gone before I return."

Or you'll have me beaten again?" His swollen mouth kept much of the sarcasm from his words.

The gray eyes darkened with anger. The expression changed and Stiletto smiled silkily. He turned McCoy's head, stroking the doctor's chin with the ball of his thumb. "Or worse," the administrator whispered into his ear and then was gone.

McCoy swayed in the silence of the chamber, his legs giving out in stages. His throbbing head exploded as he fell roughly back to the ground. Darkness rolled in, taking the fiery hell of his existence far away.

* * * * *

Ennis just shook her head, her eyes flickering in irritation when Spock informed her of the suspicion of poison in Kirk's system. Yet, she seemed to be following through with a battery of tests.

In the last communique with him, the captain's flat tone spoke of exhaustion simply at the number of examinations he was enduring. The time for his release arrived, and Spock thought perhaps he understood frustration when a med-tech informed him of another delay in the captain's release from confinement.

They were due to rendezvous with Langerman's, long range shuttle in three point two hours. The SLM gang desperately needed to meet before this rendezvous took place.

The Vulcan handled the minutiae of command with uncharacteristic impatience. On the bridge, as he handed a crew schedule back to the yeoman., his eyes strayed to the dark com light, silently commanding it to summon him to Sickbay. At shift end, Spock chose to wait for Kirk in Sickbay.

Another fifteen minutes passed before Ennis exited Kirk's room. Noting the Vulcan's presence, Ennis passed him by without acknowledgement.

A memory flashed of another time he had waited here for McCoy to complete a test on Kirk. Upon seeing the first officer standing outside Kirk's exam room, the doctor had teased him about waiting in Sickbay, annoying Spock. Now, he remembered the genuine concern in the blue eyes and the reassuring words that had quickly followed: 'Jim's going to be fine. No lasting effects.'

Disconcerted, Spock headed into the exam room. Kirk was sitting slightly hunched over on the edge of the bed. As he caught sight of Spock, he muttered softly, "Ennis is her name; insubordination is her game."

"Sir?" Spock was not quite sure he had heard the captain correctly.

"Never mind." The annoyance in Kirk's face quickly changed to welcome affection. "You know, McCoy would have your head for loitering here in Sickbay."

Surprised that Kirk's words echoed his recent thoughts, Spock corrected softly, "The doctor has accused me of dilly-dallying about or cooling my heels but never loitering."

"Forgive me." A smile flashed in the hazel eyes but disappeared quickly. Straightening, Kirk paused, a frown crossing his face.

Spock wondered if he, too, was surrounded by memories of McCoy.

Before he could speak, the captain shuddered slightly.

"I never realized how cold it seems in here without McCoy. Cold. . . sterile. . ." He rubbed his arms lightly as if to reinforce the chill in the air.

Raising an eyebrow, Spock said, "I perceive no difference in the temperature here. It is thirty-one degree Celsius, the same as throughout the ship." He paused as Kirk's face smoothed into a blank expression, automatically hiding his reaction. The Vulcan continued, "However, I also have noted a certain lacking of warmth within this environment."

A smile softened Kirk's face. He touched Spock on his arm. "Come on. I understand our time is limited."

They left Sickbay, Spock feeling unaccountably pleased with himself. Kirk's smile had communicated much more than his words.

Affection.

Acceptance.

And shared loss.

* * * * * *

McCoy fought against consciousness, some inner portion telling him retreat was the safest path. But an insistent voice accompanied by a disturbing cough pulled him back through the rugged currents to waking existence.

"McCoy." The rough whisper triggered another round of coughing in Ratand.

The doctor sat up quickly before remembering the beating he received. He moaned, his head swimming alarmingly. Crawling slowwly, he collapsed at Ratand's side, his eyes drifting closed despite his efforts to stay awake.

Some time later, McCoy was awakened again by Ratand attempting to give him a drink. He swallowed gratefully, reaching up to take the jug from Ratand's trembling hand. After taking a swallow, he held the container out for a moment. He turned his head to frown in puzzlement at Ratand. "How did you get over there to get this?"

The lips pulled back into a smile. "Very slowly."

Since Ratand was too weak to stand, he would have had to crawl several feet to get the jug. McCoy shook his head in amazement, regretting the motion immediately as stars spun in front of his eyes.

"If you don't do as they order, they'll beat both you and me again, McCoy."

The doctor ignored him, sitting up instead. He could not keep from groaning with the motion.

In the silence, a cold hand touched his. Ratand whispered: "Do it now. I'm ready to die, anyway."

"No!" McCoy pulled away, suddenly understanding. "I can't. I won't."

"I'm asking you to let me die with dignity."

"You're asking me to kill you." The room was beginning to spin madly around him.

"I will die soon. I'm asking you to release me from this agony."

McCoy moaned. His head was pounding too hard to be rational. "Please, don't. You don't know what you're asking. "

"I'm asking for your help. If I could do it myself, I would." The rasping voice broke off as he coughed again, the rattle of his chest reminding McCoy forcefully of the limits of Ratand's time.

As the coughing continued for long minutes, the doctor returned to his side. Propping him against his shoulder, McCoy rubbed his back supportively until the coughing eased.

"Now. . . do it now. . . b-before they return. You don't know what the guards will do to you. To me. They like to kill. Anyone who does not report to the mines is killed by them and brought to you." The whisper grew more ragged. "But before their victims die, they make them suffer. No dignity. . . no-"

McCoy's arm tightened around Ratand's back, his horror increasing at his words. He should have realized the guards were killing many of the prisoners. But, if he did as Ratand asked, it would put him in the same class as the guards. "I can't. I'm a healer. Not a murderer. Don't ask me."

"Not murder. An end to my suffering. It is my choice. I'm asking you to honor it."

McCoy dropped his head to rest against Ratand's, wanting to reject his words. But within them echoed his own words to Stiletto. My choice. It was his choice.

He felt something die within as he asked. "Are you sure?"

Ratand nodded. "Yes."

He held him a moment longer before rising shakily to his feet. As he stared down at Ratand, panic sent his heart fluttering. Perform the task, think about it later.

Remember Spock's philosophy, consider all possibilities and choose the logical course of action based on objective data. Objective data said Ratand would die within a few hours anyway. He was requesting surcease to his suffering. Stiletto would return to torture both McCoy and Ratand soon. Responding to Ratand's request would prevent this.

None of that stopped one simple fact: He would be guilty of murder.

His choice. The words rang inside his head, making the throbbing pain worse. His choice.

" I can't." He sank back down beside the thin, emaciated body, pulling Ratand's head on his shoulder. Something tore at his chest and for the first time since this nightmare had begun, McCoy could not keep a sob from escaping. He held Ratand tightly, his body shuddering as he fought against the pain.

He held on for a long time before he realized that Ratand had laboriously lifted an arm and wrapped it around his shoulder. So near death, yet he was trying to give McCoy comfort. Rocking him ever so slightly, Ratand whispered, "It's all right. I understand."

They held each other for the next few hours, McCoy drifting then jerking awake in fear that Stiletto had returned. Despite the fierce heat in the room, Ratand's skin was growing colder. The breathing was shallow with long periods in between each breath.

McCoy had seen this all too many times and knew that it was only a matter of hours or even minutes before Ratand died. His head lolled on the doctor's shoulder as if the spirit had already left the body.

McCoy's head snapped up at the sound of laughter outside the door. Stiletto was returning. He shifted, easing Ratand to the floor. "Ratand, they are coming back."

There was a glaze of film over the eyes, but still they flickered. There was some awareness. The lips moved. A soundless whisper. "Help me."

Booted feet were coming closer. By the sound, Stiletto had brought more guards. Remembering the madness in the regent's eyes, McCoy knew his friend was right. They would torture Ratand and him. Ratand was dying, nothing short of a miracle of rescue, could change that outcome now. To allow Ratand to be beaten when McCoy had the capability of preventing it was ethically wrong. The fact that he was morally committing a sin could not matter now. Ratand deserved dignity above all and only McCoy could help him.

He touched the sunken cheek. "This won't hurt."

Ratand nodded, a trusting smile touching his lips.

With one swift motion, the doctor manipulated the spine, closing his eyes at the loud snap.

Ratand exhaled one last breath and lay unmoving. McCoy felt for a carotid pulse, and his throat constricted painfully as he felt the heart beat one last time. Blanking his mind, the doctor awkwardly lifted the body to the conveyor belt. It carried the prisoner toward the huge door of the incinerator, intense heat bathing the approaching body in a glow of red.

McCoy remained beside the belt, ignoring the door as Stiletto and the guards entered. His eyes caught and held on the dead man's face. Peaceful radiance had replaced the expression of continual pain that had been Ratand's enemy for these last few days.

The doctor turned away as the body slid over the edge into the furnace. The fire burst into greedy flames, claiming its victim.

Laughter filled the chamber. McCoy lifted his head to find Stiletto beside him, watching the body fall into the flames. "Very good, 2034. I'm impressed. Good choice. Maybe now you'll reconsider my earlier offer."

Rage pushed all of McCoy's other emotions away; adrenaline flooded him with a false strength and an irrational desire to kill this man. Not caring if he was shot by the guards, he rushed Stiletto, pushing him onto the conveyor belt.

Startled, the huge man lost his balance and rode a few centimeters before regaining his feet. McCoy tried to swing at him but was stopped by one powerful blow that sent him flying back against the wall.

"It seems I've created a monster." Stiletto leered down at him.

McCoy nursed his head, not attempting to answer.

The regent knelt down beside him, his voice deceivingly gentle, "You served me well in murdering that piece of garbage. I'll make sure the guards bring you more live prisoners. This should prove to be amusing. A doctor who learns to kill."

Stiletto left as quickly as he had appeared. McCoy pulled his knees tightly to his chest. He wrapped his arms around them, rocking as the sounds of the fire crackled and snapped, burning through what had been Ratand's flesh and bone.

Despite the fact that Ratand would have died anyway, McCoy had taken his life.

A logical choice.

Spock would not have approved. All life is precious.

McCoy groaned. "Oh, God."

His head was throbbing, the pain of his earlier beating vying for his attention. Rocking himself again, McCoy remembered another time, another place. He had been incarcerated and tortured in a prison on another planet for over a month before being rescued by Captain Kirk. The suffering then had been bad but bearable because he had known the Enterprise was searching for him and would not give up until he was free.

He rocked harder, tightening his arms around his knees. The difference was that here there was no hope.

No one was coming to rescue him. Not even Jim Kirk.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Ennis shoved the report aside, frowning as she leaned back in her chair. "Nothing. All those damn tests, and still we can't find the cause of Kirk's latest collapse.”

Seated across from her desk was Jodee Irelee, a colleague of long-time standing. Over the years, they had completed many important studies together directed toward antibacterial and viral agents due to Jodee's pharmacologic and biologic background. If there was something to be found in Kirk's bloodstream, Ennis trusted Irelee to find it.

"Then, it goes back to a psychosomatic cause," Irelee said forcefully. Despite her impressive background, Jodee was hindered by the fact that she had not developed social skills. Her colleagues responded to her rudeness and superiority with anger and eventually excluded her from any activities. She treated Ennis with respect only because she feared her.

"No," the CMO shook her head. "I saw him in the middle of a seizure in his quarters. Mild, but it was real enough. If he has another one, I'm going to have to take command away from him."

She stared at the screen. "Computer, compare previous exam of subject, James Kirk, to exam performed today. List all discrepancies between the two."

"Acknowledged. All discrepancies, disregarding irrelevant variances according to protocol," the computer's voice announced.

"No! I said all discrepancies. Ignore former programming. Include all variances," Ennis ordered.

"Will comply. Estimated time to complete study, ten minutes," the computer reported.

"Isn't that overkill? You'll get a list six pages long." Irelee looked down her long nose at Ennis. She was over six feet tall, ordinary looking with long brown hair framing her face.

"Well, you haven't given me any answers, have you? Are you sure you didn't see any sign of some sort of obscure poison?" Ennis snapped. Rarely did she let Jodee's attitude affect her, but today her frustration was pushing her over the edge.

"A poison? I thought you'd given up on that tack. Since when do you let non-medical personnel make diagnosis?" Irelee did not seem to notice when she was riding on her superior's nerves. "You said yourself that Kirk was a slacker. I've read instances before where people have managed to appear to have seizures. From all our tests, he's faking."

Ennis reined in her irritation. "I never said Kirk was faking, nor is he a slacker. Right now, he's supposed to be relaxing in his quarters. Officially off duty." She hit the intercom. "Ennis to Kirk."

"Kirk here." The readout indicated the captain was in Engineering.

"I believe I told you to rest"

"I am, doctor." Kirk's tone was curt.

"In Engineering? Not likely." Ennis looked directly at Irelee, wondering if she would get the point Kirk did not understand the meaning of off-duty. To get him to rest, she would probably have to bring him back to Sickbay.

"I believe your exact instructions were to relax, Doctor Ennis. I can do that in many places. Don't worry; Spock's in command."

"How are you feeling? Any symptoms?" Ennis pressed a panel on her desk, displaying the active monitors. Two patients in Sickbay. And Kirk.

Kirk allowed his irritation to flare. "Why don't you check your monitor and tell me how I'm feeling?"

“As much as I hate to admit it, a life-sign monitor doesn't tell me everything. Are you all right?" Ennis repeated. Kirk had been very reluctant to wear the continuous monitor, but when she explained it was the only way he was leaving Sickbay, he had agreed.

"I'm fine, Doctor. Kirk out"

"You allow him to talk to you that way?" Jodee was shaking her head.

Ennis shrugged, wondering if Irelee had any idea how insubordinate she herself sounded most of time. The doctor closed her eyes wearily, deciding she must be exhausted to let her colleague’s normal method of expression bother her.

Ennis was used to working hard but the major portion of her career had been in using her organizational skills, pulling projects together and making them work. Not the physical labor that seemed to consume a major portion of the CMO's job aboard the Enterprise. Although Ennis had ordered many complete physicals in her lifetime, it had been many years since she had actually performed one.

The number of tests and details required had been both mentally and physically draining. Especially so, since the immediate cause for the symptoms the captain was exhibiting was not jumping to the forefront. Her original diagnosis of psychosomatic cause was still the strongest contender for consideration. Yet, the Vulcan first officer, known for his logical prowess, did not agree with her assessment. Nor did her own assessment agree after reviewing Doctor McCoy's notes.

"You know, Jodee, in trying to get a handle on Kirk's psyche, I've been listening to McCoy's former log entries: There was something on the giant amoeba that destroyed the USS Intrepid and Gamma 7 that was most interesting. McCoy was worried throughout the crisis about Kirk's refusal to rest. His life force was being drained more rapidly than the average crewman's due to extra stress of his command position. The graphs of his life functions were included; let me tell you, neither you nor I would have been able to stay on our feet This seems to be a running theme in the logs regarding Captain Kirk. He ignores his own physical needs to ensure the safety of the crew." Ennis scowled briefly, "Spock tried to tell me that but I didn't believe him."

She gave Irelee a hard look. "Everything I read or hear tells me that there must be a physiological cause. I'm beginning to believe that you haven't been looking hard enough because you are the only one who feels he's faking."

"You're doubting my work?"

Ennis sighed. "No. I didn't say that. I said your attitude may have-"

The computer interrupted. "Analysis complete."

Ennis leaned forward, her eyes on the screen. "Display discrepancies."

The list was long because no variances were disregarded. Expected changes were displayed including changes of heart rate, blood pressure, blood electrolyte level. None of them were significant.

Ennis scanned the list, finding nothing in the first twenty-eight entries. The next one was cataloging the spontaneous minuscule blood clots that naturally occur without causing any damage. There was a slight increase in the percent. Tapping her chin, the doctor shook her head. There was nothing unusual that she could deduct from the increase. No damage had occurred. She continued perusing the data to the end of the list.

Nothing. All studies were normal. Ennis scrolled back up to the entry on blood clots. "Computer, display coagulation results."

Although she had already reviewed the results earlier, Ennis perused them again. "Dammit, something should be showing up. What is it?"

The computer, literal as always, replied, "Please rephrase the question."

Ennis paused the program, rubbing her eyes. "Couldn't a reaction to some poison cause this increase in the percent of blood clots?"

Jodee shook her head, her hair bouncing on her shoulders. "Good grief, you must really be tired to be grasping at straws. Go to bed. Get some rest yourself."

Ennis gave Irelee a stony look that forced her to subside. Addressing the computer again, Ennis ordered, "Print graph of times of Kirk's reported symptoms."

She was reaching for the piece of paper when the intercom whistled. "Doctor Ennis, Lieutenant Uhura here.”

“Yes."

"Sir, Ambassador Langerman and Commodore Mendez are arriving in the shuttle bay in ten minutes. Commander Spock is requesting you join the senior officers there."

"I'm afraid not. I'm too busy." Her eyes were on the points of the graph. No pattern. Nothing. She was accomplishing nothing here; and although she had no desire to be part of a welcoming committee, perhaps her time would be better spent observing Kirk. Despite the fact that he was not officially on duty, Ennis knew the captain would be there. "Wait. Tell Spock, I'll join them."

"Aye, sir."

Jodee had stood, looking over her shoulder at the graph. "The lack of any consistent pattern of attacks would seem to reinforce that there isn't a physiological cause."

Ennis swiveled her head, staring at Jodee. If she had not just agreed to be elsewhere, Ennis was tempted to review the tests that Irelee had run on Kirk's blood herself. Perhaps the biologist's prejudices had swayed her judgment.

"Jodee, I want you to review your tests again. We're missing something."

Groaning, Irelee headed for the door. "I'll rerun them: But I'm telling you, there's nothing there."

Ennis waited for the door to shut, closing her eyes again. Remembering the log entry of the events surrounding the amoeba and its destruction, Ennis wondered again at the courage and tenacity displayed by the crew aboard the Enterprise. McCoy had offered up his life without hesitation and even with enthusiasm for the medical and scientific knowledge he would discover. His disappointment over Spock being sent instead of him sounded genuine. Ennis knew without question that she would never have volunteered for a suicidal mission like that with very little chance for success. It was not simply a matter of courage, it was the ability to recognize when risk and intuitive thought were needed.

Even McCoy's entries regarding the stimulants were revealing. According to Kirk's recorded life functions, Ennis would have never have backed down and administered either of the last two stimulants. Yet the CMO took that risk, knowing that the captain might not survive the aftermath; and with that action, he enabled Kirk to save the ship and that section of the galaxy.

Each evening, Ennis had forced herself to listen to the volumes of log entries by Leonard McCoy. At first reluctant and hearing with a rather jaundiced ear, she was drawn slowly into the drama of shipboard life.

She was beginning to understand that it took a special breed of officers to survive the challenges of a starship exploring the universe, one that she had no desire to be a part of either here in the present or the future. Surviving here required gifts that she did not possess; but certainly McCoy, Kirk and Spock seemed to have the abilities required.

Therein lay the problem. Each of the command officers was quite capable of functioning on his own; yet somehow they also seemed to balance each other. Without McCoy, Kirk seemed to be struggling to function almost without his emotional side when she came on board. The captain was managing better now; but from the tone of the previous log entries, Ennis doubted he was functioning at the same level he had when McCoy was there.

The whole affair with McCoy was still an awful, sloppy mess. Over the years, her path had crossed infrequently with McCoy's; and a couple of those times, they had not seen eye to eye. But she respected the man and knew his inner basic goodness. She was well aware that he could not be guilty of causing the deaths of thousands of beings.

Ennis sighed heavily. And now, she was supposed to go cheerily welcome Ambassador Langerman aboard. She had never had much respect for the man and even less after he had sold McCoy out to the Beta Kells in order to continue the negotiations.

Langerman hated Kirk. He had approached her once, assuming that she would feel the same way after the Enterprise had been the instrument of both his family's death and her husband's. Langerman had been furious when Kirk was acquitted of any wrong-doings in the M-5 war games. He believed that Captain Kirk should have been made to pay for the deaths. Even though nearly a year had passed, Ennis doubted that his feelings had changed that much toward Kirk.

She had avoided McCoy's entry on that whole mission, having no desire to open old wounds. Her husband of fifty-one years had been killed on the USS Lexington. However, she had reviewed the court's evidence and knew that it was the M5 computer that was to blame. Not Kirk or the Enterprise.

And now Langerman was coming aboard the Enterprise. Ennis rose tiredly and headed for the door, the graph still in her hand. If she could not pin down the nature of Kirk's illness, at least she could be close by if he had another attack.

* * * * *

The captain stood at the head of the honor guard, waiting for the shuttle bay to pressurize. He heard Ennis calling his name before he saw her. Kirk thought his slip of a curse word was soundless until he saw one Vulcan eyebrow lifted in his direction.

"Captain Kirk! I need to speak with you." She barreled around the corner, nearly knocking over one of the guards.

"Doctor Ennis." Stepping past the line of honor guards, Kirk forced a smile as he grasped her arm. "I'm glad you're here. Our guests are coming through now."

Pulling the reluctant woman beside him, the captain rejoined Spock just as the alarm sounded indicating the door was opening.

Admiral Langerman swept through the door, barely acknowledging Kirk or Spock. Following a few steps behind, Mendez short and compact, turned immediately to greet the captain. Placing a hand on Kirk's shoulder, Mendez smiled. "It's good to see you again, Jim."

Bowing his head at Spock, Mendez also acknowledged Ennis and then gestured to the lean, watchful Lieutenant following him. "I believe you know my aide, Ray Ketcher."

Before Kirk could greet him, Langerman interrupted. "Can we get this over with? Shouldn't you be getting this ship headed toward Beta Kell?"

Nodding apologetically at Ketcher, Kirk eyed the Ambassador. "The Enterprise is already on course. We changed our destination the moment your shuttle was safely aboard."

"Impressive," Langerman's tone dripped with sarcasm. "ETA?"

His first officer stepped forward. "Thirteen point four hours to the border of Beta Kell space."

Langerman looked as if he had tasted something sour. Kirk fought to keep his mouth from twitching. He offered instead: "Lieutenant Garrovick will show you to your quarters. When you're ready, we're having dinner in the officer's lounge."

"I intend to utilize my time preparing for this vital mission to Beta Kell. I have no time for your idea of entertainment." Langerman gestured to Garrovick, who already had moved to his side. The two men headed out of sight, the set of the Lieutenant's shoulders telling Kirk how distasteful the task was to him.

Kirk ordered, "Dismissed." Immediately the guards disappeared leaving the officers behind.

Mendez blew out his breath. The tight expression on his face telling a story in itself. Leading the way down the corridor, Kirk asked quietly, "Rough trip?”

Mendez nodded. "It's no secret that the Ambassador and I don't agree on much.”

Ennis snorted from behind them. "Who does? He's a pompous ass, but a dangerous one."

Surprised, Kirk glanced to his side. Ennis had her normal irritated expression pulling at her features. He decided to ignore the comment. "I thought you might be hungry. We can have dinner served as soon as you're ready."

"Ahh, you always know how to please a Commodore, Jim." Mendez patted his stomach. "I'm not sure which is growling louder, mine or Ray's. We're ready now."

As they headed for the turbolift, Ennis' hand clamped onto Kirk's arm, stopping him. "I believe I had a prior request to speak with you, Captain. I've been patient for far too long."

Mendez laughed. "I doubt that, Helen. Patience is not in your vocabulary."

"Jose!" Ennis tapped her foot, glaring menacingly.

Even though Kirk avoided Ennis at every opportunity, he was surprised by the hint of amusement mixed in with her bluster. He studied her thoughtfully.

The Commodore was throwing up his hands in mock surrender. "Sorry, Jim. Helen’s got you now, and I know better than to tangle with her. Later."

Spock quietly led Mendez and Ketcher down the corridor. Once they were out of sight, Ennis shoved the printout into Kirk's hands. "It's a graph of the occurrences of your reported symptoms. I need to know if it's accurate.”

"Why?" Kirk barely looked at it. "Did you find something in the physical?"

"No, so I'm grasping at straws. Maybe I can predict when you might have your next attack. But so far the graph doesn't show a pattern. The lack of a pattern points to a psychosomatic cause." Ennis held up her hand as Kirk shot her a controlled glance. "I didn't say it was. By the gods, you're too serious, Jim Kirk.” She pointed at the graph. “What I need from you is confirmation that these are the times and dates that you've experienced them and if there's any missing data."

Kirk could not resist staring at her, feeling rather perplexed. Lifting the printout, he studied it briefly before pointing to a section of the graph. "There was one here. And another one here." He studied it more carefully finally pointing at a third point. "And here."

"Three? And you didn't think it was important to report any of these?" Suddenly, she pointed at the graph. "Here? When? I had you in Sickbay that day. You're telling me you experienced something and didn't tell me?

Handing the graph back to her, he waited until a crewman passed by before answering quietly, "It was in the evening, after I returned to my quarters."

She crumpled the graph in her hand. "How am I supposed to help you if you withhold vital information?"

Another crewman passed by, staring at them curiously. Irritated at holding this conversation in the corridor, Kirk steered Ennis into a nearby conference room.

"If you'll remember, you had just informed me of your diagnosis that I was imagining this pain. I decided not to call you and open myself for more attacks from you."

He thought for a moment that she was going to ignore him. Ennis walked across the room to access the computer. "The famed Captain Kirk scared to talk to his own CMO." She lifted her head from the screen, frowning at the captain. "You act as if I'm the enemy. I'm not, you know. Although, I'd watch out for Langerman. I know he still holds a grudge over the whole M5 affair."

Stunned at her revelation, Kirk simply watched her as Ennis concentrated on the computer. Just a few minutes before they had left Engineering, Uhura had informed the SLM team that both Ennis and Langerman had lost family in the war games that involved M5. He was surprised that Ennis had brought this up herself. "I understand you also lost family in the M5 war games."

Not looking up, Ennis nodded, "Yes. My husband. But unlike Langerman, I agreed with the court on your innocence. M5 and Daystrom were the cause, not the Enterprise." The doctor jabbed at several keys on the computer and then ordered, "Now, come here and tell me if this is accurate."

Wondering what purpose it served for him to remain, he reluctantly stepped to her side.

Ennis prompted: "Did I get the dates and times right? Is there anything else missing?"

"No."

"All right Let's see how this alters the projections." Ennis readjusted the graph, grunting as the pattern emerged clearly. "Do you see it?"

Giving her a sidelong glance, he said, "They're coming faster each time, but I already knew that."

"Yes. Decreasing by six point three hours each time. And increasing in severity with each attack. The next one is projected in less than four hours." Ennis shifted. "Be honest, Kirk. Are you feeling any effects now?"

Kirk folded his arms. “No," he answered truthfully. He pointed to the end of the line on the graph. "What happens here?"

"If there is a biological cause, if your symptoms keep worsening with each attack, then I'd assume the end result is death. I believe we're on a countdown. I want you in Sickbay. Now. Fully monitored. You can visit with whomever you want, but you'll do it there."

Shaking his head, Kirk headed for the door. "If I've got four hours then I need-"

"Three hours forty-three minutes to be exact, Kirk. You're not going anywhere, on my authority as CMO."

Stopping a few feet from the door, Kirk grinned. Charm had never worked before with her, but there was no harm in trying again. "You plan to send security out after me? Look, I'll come back in two hours. Plenty of time for you to run tests on me."

Ennis strode over to the door, blocking his exit. "I'm willing to negotiate. Allow me to monitor you constantly."

Tilting his head, Kirk was surprised by her capitulation. He pointed at the belt device. "I'm already being monitored."

"Not by me personally. I'm your monitor for the next three hours."

"Why? Monitoring my life signs would give you better access to anything happening even before I know it." Kirk could have bit his tongue. Both he and Spock agreed that arguing with Ennis was a futile effort.

"Nope. I plan to stick to your side like-"

"Flypaper?" Finding himself amused in spite of his irritation, Kirk managed to keep his expression serious.

Ennis snorted. "I bet you've never even seen the stuff. Nasty when you get caught in it."

"Good analogy then." Kirk softened his reply enough for Ennis to give him a surprised look He gestured toward the door. "After you, Doctor."

* * * * *

On the bridge, Spock forced his attention to remain on the program he was running. The last few hours had been somewhat frustrating because Doctor Ennis had remained at the captain's side during the entire time. They had not had an opportunity to speak privately with Mendez during the meal or here on the bridge.

"Mister Spock?” Kirk's voice was right behind him. The Vulcan straightened from his console, turning fluidly in his chair.

However, Ennis was still at the captain's shoulder. Kirk did not allow any expression to show as he ordered quietly: "Take over the con. I have an appointment in Sickbay."

"Sir?" Spock raised an eyebrow, glancing briefly at Ennis. "Will you be detained long?"

The captain shrugged, but before he could answer, Ennis snapped, "That depends on Kirk."

Deciding to give his captain the opportunity to give him veiled instructions, he asked, "What shall I tell Commodore Mendez?"

"I'm afraid you're going to have to act in my absence." Kirk held his eyes steadily.

Spock studied the normally mobile face, seeing an expression that he did not recognize at first. Resignation. He could not resist asking too softly for the bridge complement to hear, "Are you all right, Jim?"

Kirk paused long enough to flash a reassuring smile. "Yeah."

Spock watched Kirk and Ennis board the turbolift, wondering at the truce they seemed to have achieved. The captain had not explained her presence, but neither had he made any attempts to get her to leave.

Not wasting time, Spock turned over the bridge to Scott. The commander arranged to meet Mendez and Ketcher in a briefing room. He updated them on the information they had obtained, but withholding the confidential files that Kirk had obtained illegally. The aide, Ketcher, seemed most interested in their efforts to crack the new Orion technology.

The exchange was not very enlightening for any of them. Spock was left with as many questions as he had before he started. The Vulcan left the conference room, starting for the bridge and then altered his destination. Scott was on the bridge. Spock needed to confer with the captain.

He arrived in Sickbay to discover Kirk pacing back and forth in the exam room. Still attached around his waist was the belt with a life function monitor. Spock automatically glanced at the panel, relieved to discover the vital signs were all within normal limits.

The captain stopped, his scowl relaxing into a smile. "Spock! I didn't expect to see you." The expression changed to suspicion. "What's wrong?"

"I could ask you the same thing." Spock looked pointedly at the monitor on Kirk's waist.

Kirk grimaced, waving his concerns away. "Ennis seems to think I'm a time bomb waiting to happen. But her time schedule is off. Nothing's happened."

"Schedule?"

Kirk looked off to the corner of the room before answering. He sighed softly. "She graphed the attacks I experienced. If it had proved correct, I would have had one nearly thirty minutes ago."

"You have not had any symptoms?"

"Nope." Kirk strode over to the exam bed and sat down on it. "But now that she's got me here, she has no plans to let me go."

"A wise precaution, I believe."

Kirk groaned. "Don't join her side. Pull up a chair. Tell me what you know." The captain gestured unobtrusively toward the camera pickup, letting Spock know that Ennis was probably listening.

Spock would have to be careful about the information he gave. Falling back on ship's status, he reported. "We are still on course for the Beta Kell border. Our ETA has not changed. Mister Scott reports the engines are operating at full efficiency. He had some concerns regarding . . . the shielding but he has hope that Mr. Cranfield may be able to . . . effect appropriate changes.”

Some of the tension on Kirk's face eased. "Good. Anything up with Langerman or Mendez? Our CMO vetoed me talking with either of them. I'm actually surprised she let you in."

"I am grateful she did. Ambassador Langerman is still in his quarters. I attempted to speak with him, but he was rather abrupt in dismissing me. Commodore Mendez is on the bridge. He is also hoping to speak with you at your earliest convenience.”

Ennis strolled into the room. "Quit plotting. I let your first officer in because I thought it'd stop your incessant pacing. You're not going anywhere and no high-level conferences."

Kirk jumped off the bed, spreading his hands. "Jose's an old friend. We just want to-"

Without warning, the captain crumpled to the floor as if the life had just gone out of him. A harsh groan dispelled that thought, and Spock rushed to his side.

Kirk lay on his back, ridged with pain, his arms already clammy with cold sweat. Moving much faster than her bulk seemed to allow, Ennis ran to his side, "Get him on the bed now."

As Spock moved swiftly to comply, a medical team came flowing into the room. The Vulcan carefully lifted the captain to the Sickbay bed, Kirk seemingly unaware of anything that was happening, his face contorted with agony. Great, shuddering gasps were drawn with occasional moans that sent a shiver down Spock's spine.

He stepped back, glancing up at the panel above Kirk's head. Temperature and heart rate were elevated, blood pressure was dropping. Ennis tapped the dolorimeter, cursing under her breath. The pain level was showing repeated spikes which would be causing tremendous pressure on the body's systems.

"Get those blood cultures drawn now before whatever this is disappears again. Run scans of the head, chest and abdomen, but do it now! Seconds count," Ennis ordered her team.

Spock only had brief glimpses of Kirk in between the team of personnel surrounding him. He heard an inhuman growl and watched as the team around Kirk froze.

Ennis broke the sudden silence, "Dammit, he's having a seizure. Ketring, administer Ativan now.”

The nurse broke free, retrieving the medicine. "How much?"

"Three milligrams now. lf that doesn't stop it, we'll continue a milligram at a time."

He could see the legs bucking, garbled sounds issuing from the head of the bed. Spock planted himself against a wall, well out of the way of rushing personnel but still available.

The tension of the team eased, and Spock leaned forward. The legs were still now, but he could not see Kirk's face.

"The seizures have stopped, but he's still having tremendous pain. Where are we on the cultures and scans? I don't want to give him anything for the pain until you're done. We don't want the medication obscuring our data."

With Ennis constantly pushing, the scans she wanted were completed within minutes. Only then did she allow Ketring to give an injection for pain. Both Spock and Ennis watched the dolorimeter carefully after Kirk received the injection. Slowly the peaks decreased until they leveled to the normal threshold. Fifteen minutes later, all the life function levels were stabilizing. Ennis stepped back from the bed, checking her chronometer. "He said they only lasted for a few minutes. We better have gotten what we needed already because I'll bet you my last credit all evidence is gone from his bloodstream now."

Her eyes fell on Spock. "You might as well leave. He has enough pharmaceuticals in his blood stream to keep him asleep for hours. I'm going to review the scans and the lab work we drew. I'll keep you updated."

Obviously dismissed, Spock left the room. His Vulcan hearing was superior, but he questioned whether he had heard accurately the concern that overlay the gruffness in Ennis' voice. He shook his head. The Human emotion of caring and Ennis created an oxymoron.

* * * * * *

Doctor Ennis fought the urge to bang her fists on the laboratory table. "How can nothing be showing up?"

She stared at the culture that Irelee was displaying for her. "The scans at the time of the attack showed a destructive process occurring in the brain and abdomen. But we re-ran them, and now we can't see anything. It's impossible."

"I can't understand it either." Jodee replaced the culture in the incubator. "I've got to say it has me definitely intrigued."

"Intrigued?" Ennis knew her exhaustion had reached the boiling point. She glanced up at the monitor screen she kept focused on her one patient in the Sickbay ward. Kirk still lay peacefully asleep. “That man has suffered tremendously; and if we don't do something soon, he may die. And you're simply intrigued?"

"Helen, you're acting like this is my fault." Irelee glared at her. "You look dead dog tired. Get some rest. We still have time before the next attack should happen."

Maybe Irelee was right. Ennnis shoved off of her stool. "You've been at it for a long time, too. Take a break; you can't accomplish anything more right now. These cultures aren't going anywhere."

Irelee appeared to think about it and then nodded. "You're right. We'll both knock off. No telling what the next few hours might entail. Better rest while I have a chance.”

Ennis stopped by the Kirk's room, letting the nurse there take a short break of her own. Remaining by the door, she assured herself the life functions were within normal limits. Then her eyes fell on the man lying so peacefully asleep on the bed as if nothing had ever happened. How many times had he reported these symptoms in varying degrees, but when she had examined him, he appeared as he did now, all life signs normal? No variations. How was she supposed to know that he was experiencing such debilitating attacks?

Drawn forward, she watched him breathing. He was so damn young. His face took on a child-like quality in this induced sleep that made him seem much younger than his thirty-five years. She drew the light coverlet up over his chest, almost allowing herself to rest a hand on his forehead.

Jerking her hand back, Ennis shoved them in her pockets, surprised at her response to his vulnerability. Her fingers touched an object in her left pocket and Ennis pulled it out, frowning. A vial of Kirk's blood.

Ketring had given it to her when she went to retrieve the seizure medication. Thoughtfully she slipped it back in her pocket, waiting for the nurse to return. A few minutes later found her back in the lab. Totally alone, Ennis began to run tests that had already been run several times on the other blood. Irelee had overseen them all and was satisfied that there was nothing in the blood. The first six stains were negative. As soon as she placed a drop of chemical onto the blood on the next slide, it was rapidly depleted by the bio-chemical reactions taking place.

"Oh my god." Ennis reached for the intercom.

A cold voice stopped her. "Who are you calling, Helen?"

"Jodee, you startled me. I'm glad you're here. There is something in Kirk's blood." She reached for the intercom again. "I think Spock should see this."

"I don't think so," Irelee snapped.

Ennis looked up in time to see that Irelee was holding a phaser and was pushing the control stud. As Ennis collapsed in a heap, she heard the slide falling to the floor beside her.

* * * * *

Hearing someone arguing nearby, Kirk struggled to open his eyes. He managed to open them briefly, his vision blurry. Trying to lift his head, Kirk grunted with the movement. That earned him a sharp jab in the ribs. He twisted his head, belatedly feeling tape across his mouth. His vision cleared enough to see Ennis lying beside him on a hard deck, her mouth also similarly muffled and hands bound.

Angry blue eyes met his before Ennis gestured with her eyes toward the voices, then she closed her eyelids. Apparently, whoever held them captive thought he was still asleep.

The voices were getting clearer. With his limited view, Kirk recognized the interior of a shuttle. From the sound of the engines, they were already traveling in space.

He narrowed his eyes as he finally made out Langerman’s voice. "Mendez, I'd suggest you get out of Ketcher's way. "

"What?" The Commodore sounded shocked and angry. "What the hell is going on? Put that damned thing away."

"As soon as you get away from the console," Langerman ordered.

Kirk heard the sounds of someone moving. Attempting to see what was happening, he lifted his head slightly. His view however was limited to a dull gray wall at his side. Both he and Ennis were in a small sleeping compartment directly behind the main section where Langerman and Mendez were arguing. Testing the limits of his movement, Kirk realized that along with his hands being tied behind his back, his feet were also tied together. The ropes were tight, his fingers already numb from the reduced circulation.

"Ray! Why are you changing course? You're not going along with this maniac, are you?" Mendez was demanding.

Langerman growled, "Shut up, Mendez. Or I'll close your mouth permanently."

"Shut up, yourself! You use that phaser in here and we're all dead." Mendez pointed out. "Ray, tell me why you've changed course for the prison moon."

Ray Ketcher spoke quietly. Kirk groaned silently when he addressed Langerman and not Mendez.

"Ambassador, I believe its time to have Commodore Mendez join the others." Langerman laughed, "Good idea. Come with me, Commodore." His voice dripped sarcasm on the title.

Footsteps approached Ennis and Kirk and he heard Mendez gasp. "Jim! Helen! I don't--"

Through half-closed eyes, Kirk saw Mendez looming over them, Langerman directly behind him with a phaser. Angrily the Commodore suddenly took a swing at Langerman catching him off guard. The blow landed solidly and Kirk heard the satisfying sound of Langerman hitting the deck with a loud groan. However, that left Ray Ketcher behind him.

"Stop right there, Mendez. This phaser isn't set on stun. And it's aimed at Doctor Ennis right now."

Mendez turned slowly, disbelief on his face. "Ray, you're not serious. What are you doing? Whatever it is, it can't be worth all the trouble this will cause you. Starfleet will throw the book at you."

Langerman was getting to his feet. "Starfleet isn't going to know anything about this. Not that Ketcher cares anyway, do you?"

Ketcher was more cautious than Langerman. He kept a close eye on Mendez while still managing to keep the phaser trained directly at Ennis. He said quietly, "Restrain him."

Within minutes, Mendez was lying down on the floor across from Ennis, his hands and feet in security manacles. Ketcher handed his phaser over to Langerman and knelt down beside Mendez. He held a piece of tape up, preparing to place it over the Commodore's mouth.

"Ray? Why? We've been together a long time. I don't understand."

Ketcher slapped the tape in place. "My oath is to the house of Rsigs. I am Orion, bound by duty to fulfill the blood oath taken by my house."

Mendez attempted to speak, grunting in frustration with the garbled sound. Ketcher patted his face, smiling benignly. "You're right, I am Human but I was raised by the house of Rsigs. There are more of us in Starfleet than you know, working for the plight of our race.

He stood, his eyes sweeping over the three of them. They rested back on Mendez. "I have nothing against you, but I'm afraid you were too close to some answers. Ennis here found out about the duplicity of our little Jodee, so she is in the same boat as you. We're taking you to the prison where Rsigs will take good care of you."

Kirk kept his eyes closed, forcing himself to remain still. If they reached their destination, they were as good as dead. Ketcher's meaning was clear, and he was sure that Mendez had understood as well. Rsigs would kill them all, and the blame would be laid at the Orion's hands, not Langerman's or Ketcher's.

The Ambassador shoved Ennis none too gently with his foot, pushing her hard against Kirk. Langerman knelt down catching Kirk's jaw with his hand. "I can't wait until you awake pretty boy. I want to tell you just what we have planned for you." He straightened, starting for the front of the shuttle.

Ketcher's voice was dry. "If you'd been paying attention, you'd know he's already awake. So should we fill him in on some of the plans?" He paused, tapping his jaw for a moment while Langerman turned, his eyes falling on Kirk. "Or maybe we should tell him of some of those puzzling details they couldn't ever seem to figure out. Such as just how that formula was developed and got placed into McCoy's files. Or who set up the whole arrangement with Hawley and got the pictures of the doctor with Stiletto." Ketcher angled his head toward the Commodore. "You have a question, Jose? You never figured out that the reason you couldn't get the right information was because I kept changing the game?”

The bastard had set McCoy up in the most cruel, heartless method possible for a person dedicated to healing. Kirk knew that if he could get his hands loose now, he would kill Ketcher with his bare hands. The Lieutenant looked at him, chuckling. "Angry, Kirk?"

He reached down, grabbing Kirk's feet to drag him into the middle of the room away from both Ennis and Mendez.

Ketcher rolled Kirk on his side, rechecking the restraints. He looked over at Langerman. "Oh, by the way, Ambassador, be reassured, Spock reported to Mendez that they have not made any headway on defeating the new Orion shields."

Ambassador Langerman loomed over him, grinning. "So, Kirk, despite your attempts we still have the upper hand. I was forced to watch tapes of you blowing up my son's ship. I want you to have the same opportunity to watch the Enterprise being blown up in front of your eyes. Rsigs has promised that you'll watch it all from his bridge. And that you won't die quickly. You'll be forced to suffer for a long time with the knowledge that you're the cause of your crew’s deaths." His hands clenched at his side, a foot drawing back slowly. "You're a murderer who's finally getting your just punishment. You'll learn what it is to suffer as I have."

The hard toe of his boot slammed into Kirk's side. "Murderer!" He drew his foot back again but stopped to look pointedly at Ketcher. "I was promised time with Kirk before we turn him over to Rsigs."

Ketcher stepped back out of the way, taking the phaser that Langerman handed to him. He gestured grandly, "Be my guest. I'll check on our flight. Just remember, he has to be alive when we get there."

Langerman waited for Ketcher to leave. He grinned evilly. "I don't plan to let the Orions have all the fun."

This time, Langerman caught Kirk square in the gut, taking his breath away. He fought to breathe, strangling for several seconds, the tape over his mouth preventing him from gulping in air. Langerman did not wait for him to recover, kicking him repeatedly.

The Admiral pulled him to a sitting position, flexing his hand before forming a fist and smashing it into Kirk's jaw. The Ambassador laughed. "This feels better than I thought. This is for my son, Jay!"

Another heavy jab to his temple and everything turned black momentarily.

Kirk saw Ketcher approaching, but his vision kept blurring. In surreal and fractured time, the captain watched the Lieutenant grab Langerman's arm just as he was about to throw another punch. "I said, Rsigs wants him alive!"

His face twisting with maniacal rage, Langerman shoved Ketcher aside and launched himself at Kirk with both his feet. Streaks of fire exploded in Kirk's side, darkness encroaching. He barely heard Ketcher pulling Langerman off him as he drifted away on a sea of pain.

* * * * *

Spock called Sickbay for the second time since the shuttle with Langerman, Mendez and Ketcher had left on its mission. The Enterprise was pacing the border, sensors on long-range. So far no suspicious activity had been noted.

"Irelee, Sickbay."

"This is Spock. I need to see Captain Kirk."

"I'm sorry, sir. He's still asleep. Doctor Ennis has left strict orders that he's not to be disturbed until he awakens," The voice replied sweetly.

"Where is Doctor Ennis?" Spock demanded.

"She's working in the laboratory and said she will notify you of any news. I'm sorry, sir. As soon as Captain Kirk awakens, I'll let you know."

This was the second time he had called Sickbay. It had been hours since Kirk had collapsed in Sickbay; yet at this last report, the captain had not yet awakened. Something was disturbing about this even though Spock was well aware that this matched the pattern from Kirk's previous attack. Still, if he could just see the captain and reassure himself of his safety.

Leaving the command chair, Spock forced himself to make the rounds on each station. Everything appeared normal.

Chekov lifted his head from the long-range scanners at the science station. "The Admiral's shuttle is still enroute to Beta Kell. However, we are reaching the maximum for our scanning range. Soon, we won't be able to follow them.”

The intercom crackled, and Spock looked over at Uhura expectantly.

"Scott here," the Scotsman's voice sounded excited.

"Yes, Mister Scott." He remained beside Chekov.

"I think Cranfield may have something here. Do ye have time to come and review his proposal?"

Spock scanned the bridge again. "I will be there shortly."

He would go to Engineering. Then, if he had not heard from Sickbay, he would return there in person. This time he would see Captain Kirk or Ennis would be the one to tell him why.

In Engineering, Scott directed Spock toward the computer display. "As you know, we discovered that the shielding is multi-phasic; and at their fast speeds, this gives them ample protection. At a slower speed, we might be able to affect them with our phasers but not enough to give us a strong advantage." Scott turned to the lieutenant at his side. "But Cranfield here came up with an unusual idea. Have at it, Chuck."

The space in the weapons control room was limited. Scott held back a grin as the tall Ensign Cranfield wheeled around Commander Spock with coltish energy, his head narrowly missing a storage cabinet above them. Despite his nervousness, Cranfield's hands were quick and steady on the computer as he revealed the new weapon he'd developed.

"Blow darts. Simple but effective. They're attracted by the engine's plasma energy." His long, thin fingers worked the computer keyboard, much like a musician playing an instrument. The computer graphics of the dart-like weapon displayed, only two centimeters in length, changed to a simulation of the dart flitting through the Orion ship's shielding and drifting toward the lower third of the ship. Once several darts attached, pock-marked holes appeared as each of the darts exploded. Several more darts were attracted by the open areas and drifted through the hull fissures working their way inside. "Computer projections say it takes at least five hundred to a thousand to accomplish the mission. Within ten minutes of penetrating the shield, the engines are disabled."

"Good work, lad." Scott reached out and changed the schematic. "What concerns me is our risk at this point." He pointed to the simulated Enterprise now appearing on the screen. "For the reverse tractor beam to be effective with your little blow darts, we have to be mighty close to the Orion ship. We can take quite a beating in those few seconds.“

Spock nodded. "We must be within one thousand kilometers of the enemy ship with the computer controlling the actions of the darts and tractor beam.

Mister Cranfield has managed to reduce the time to five seconds before we can move to a safe distance. An acceptable risk."

Cranfield beamed, his freckled face coloring at the implied compliment. Scotty patted him on the back. "Good job, lad."

Both officers turned to leave, but Cranfield called them back. "Sir, how sure are you that we will have to fight the Orions?"

Before Scott could say anything, Spock, literal as always, provided the answer. "Computer projections state the risk is estimated at seventy-three percent."

"Oh." Cranfield turned back to the computer, a frown creasing his brow. "Guess I better get these babies ready."

"Aye," was Scott's reply.

The Engineer followed Spock into the turbolift assuming he was headed for the bridge. "When is the shuttle due to arrive at Beta Kell?"

"Seven point three hours." Spock grasped the controls, setting the turbolift in motion. Scott studied his face, surprised to note that he looked tired. Now that he thought about it, with Kirk bouncing back and forth into Sickbay, Spock hadn't taken a break in over two days.

Suddenly uncomfortable, Scott did not know what to do with the knowledge. McCoy or Kirk had always seemed to sense the Vulcan's needs, knowing when the time was right to order him to rest. It had never been Scott's role. There was nothing much he could do now with so many factors being juggled on a razor's edge. As Spock had explained earlier, there was a high potential of the Enterprise becoming engaged in a fight with the Orions. There was also the high risk of the shuttle being attacked. And with Kirk still in Sickbay, there was not any reasonable way to suggest Spock take some time off to simply rest.

The turbo lift stopped on deck five. Scott looked at Spock questioningly, but the Vulcan did not seem to notice. He was already past the doors when Scott said, "I thought you were going to the bridge?"

Spock hesitated, turning slightly. "I will be there as soon as I speak to Doctor Ennis about Captain Kirk."

Again, Scott noted the extra lines in Spock’s face. Surprised to see the worry etched in the angular face, Scott was concerned that the Vulcan was letting it show. "Mind if I tag along?"

Something altered in his face, a lessening of the tension if Scott were to guess. The Vulcan said quietly, "Your presence would be most welcome."

They were met by one of the staff Ennis had brought on board. Scott had only seen her once and could not remember her name. She said, "Commander Spock. I'm sorry but Captain Kirk's status has not changed."

Spock stepped around the woman. "Ms. Irelee, I am here to see Doctor Ennis. Please tell me where she is."

Irelee shrugged. "I'll go get her. Wait here."

Scott shifted from foot to foot. Something did not quite feel right here. For one thing, he could see no other staff. He whispered after Irelee left, "Something smells fishy."

"If by that, you believe there is something wrong here, I agree." Spock strode over to one of the Sickbay rooms. The door remained stubbornly closed.

Attempting to override it with command protocols did not obtain any results.

"Is the captain in there?" Scott asked.

"He was earlier." Spock tried another command with no results.

Footsteps were approaching. Scott felt tension tighten the muscles at the back of his neck as Irelee re-entered the room. She now was wearing a lab coat.

She said sweetly, "I'm sorry gentlemen. Doctor Ennis must have gone to her quarters. She was really tired. There's nothing I can do for you here."

Spock ordered quietly, "You can open Captain Kirk's room for us, Ms Irelee."

"But why? He's sleeping. Like a baby. Look I'll show you." Irelee moved to a nearby monitor and pulled up an image of Kirk lying on a Sickbay bed asleep.

Spock barely glanced at the monitor. "If you do not comply with my order, you will be brought up on charges. Open the captain's door."

Irelee sighed dramatically, "Yes, sir." She marched over to the room Spock had attempted to enter. The door slid open to reveal an empty room. Irelee appeared to be distressed. "Where is he? Doctor Ennis kept telling me not to disturb him. I watched the monitors! I don't understand."

Spock kept his eyes on the woman but spoke to Scott. "Take Ms. Irelee to her quarters and post a guard. And have security check Doctor Ennis' quarters."

Scott nodded, moving to take her arm. She moved out of his reach, her hand coming out of her pocket, holding a phaser. "I don’t think so."

She aimed the weapon at Scott, taking her eyes briefly off of Spock. That was all the time he needed to disarm her with a swift, hard chop to her shoulder. The phaser dropped to the floor. She screamed, "No!"

Spock scooped up the phaser, pointing it at her. His eyes glinted dangerously as he moved toward the intercom. "Uhura, send Security to Sickbay immediately."

"Aye, sir."

The Vulcan approached Irelee again, and Scott almost felt sorry for her as she pressed fearfully against the wall. "Where is Captain Kirk?" Spock demanded.

"I don't know! All I know is Ennis said she and Langerman had plans and were going to take care of him. Please believe me, I don't know where he is." Spock handed the phaser to Scott. He lifted a finger to touch her forehead. "Are you aware of a Vulcan's telepathic capabilities? I can touch your mind and find the truth." Low and menacing, his tone caused her to sag against the wall.

"Please! Please don't hurt me! I didn't want to be part of this. It's Langerman you want. And Ennis. She was lying all along. I had to agree. She said she would hurt me. Touch her mind and you'll find out the truth."

For a moment, Scott thought Spock was actually going to do as he threatened. His fingers spanned her cheek. "I am asking for the last time: Where is Captain Kirk?”

She was crying now. "I don't know. I thought he was in here. I swear it."

Spock pulled his hand away, the haggardness on his face telling Scott that he had been bluffing. The engineer was thankful security arrived and, under Spock's orders, took her to her quarters.

Spock instructed Lieutenant Garrovick to institute a search for Doctor Ennis. The security chief immediately moved to the intercom in the waiting room, leaving Spock alone with Scott.

Scott found he was still holding the phaser. He attached the weapon to his belt. "Do you think Captain Kirk is on the shuttle?"

"It is the only logical answer. No one has seen him since the shuttle left." Spock looked out the open doorway, his hand gripping the frame with white-knuckled intensity. "The captain must have already been put on board as prisoner before Mendez and Ketcher boarded."

"I checked the shuttle over in preparation for their flight, but I never thought to post a guard."

"Regrets are illogical. If we locate Doctor Ennis, we may obtain more answers to our questions." Spock dropped his hand. "I believe it is time we return to the bridge."

CHAPTER NINE

Mechanically, McCoy leaned over the last body in a pile he had been working on for the last several hours. He shrank back in horror as his hand sank into a pile of maggots working their way through the corpse's shoulder. He took several quick breaths before picking up the body and moving it quickly to the conveyor belt.

As the doctor stood watching it travel into the furnace, he remembered being on a mission at a remote outpost attacked by Klingons. McCoy had teased Kirk about his response to seeing the decaying bodies, telling him that throwing up in front of his troops was not a very captainly thing to do. White-faced, Kirk had responded by giving him the finger. Spock, standing silently by during this exchange, had handed Kirk a wet cloth and observed in a dry tone, "I do not believe that gesture is a 'captainly thing' to do either."

McCoy smiled grimly, remembering how Kirk had grumbled then about a certain lack of sympathy from his command crew.

"2034." McCoy jerked his head around. He had not heard the door open. A guard stood in the doorway, a heavy metal collar in his hands. McCoy waited for the guard to approach, his cloud of apathy lifting to let a wave of despair through. Since Ratand, Stiletto had left him alone, despite his threat to bring more live prisoners to McCoy.

Now, it appeared his grace period was over. McCoy wished briefly that he had Ratand's courage, putting a surcease to his agony in one swift action. The doctor made no move to resist as the huge Kell guard attached the collar and chain and then led him from the cell. Impatient with his slow shuffle, the guard jerked the chain frequently, nearly pulling McCoy off his feet as he led him through the levels leading up toward Stiletto. Dully, McCoy's steps dragged as he was taken into the High Regent's office.

McCoy pulled back as the guard tried to take him through the door. Through the opening, the doctor could see other people in the room beside Stiletto. A solid jerk forced him to continue. McCoy dropped his head. Clad only in filthy shorts, he was acutely aware of the grime and dirt that covered him from head to foot. There was whispering nearby but McCoy remained as he was, waiting for instructions. The High Regent would tell him what this new source of humiliation was to be soon enough.

Stiletto took his chain from the guard. "2034, it's so good to see you. I have a surprise planned for you today, and you're so perfectly dressed for the occasion. You positively reek of filth."

Despite the fact that there was an audience listening, McCoy remained silent, ignoring the barb. The Regent forced him to turn around and face the main part of the office. Ambassador Langerman stood directly in front of him smiling broadly. For a brief moment he felt a bubble of hope that Langerman had managed to get him released.

Then his eyes fell on the companion at Langerman's side. An Orion. Wiry, nauseating odor and green, the alien stared at McCoy and then turned to Stiletto, demanding, "Where is Kirk? You're all dead if I don't get Kirk in the next thirty seconds."

McCoy suddenly remembered Stiletto's threat down below. There are worse things than death.

Stiletto handed his chain over to Langerman. "Hold on, Rsigs." Crossing the room to a door behind them, he called, "Bring him out, Ray."

A man in a Starfleet uniform came out and then reached behind him to pull Jim Kirk into the room. Hands and feet tied, Kirk was forced to hobble between Stiletto and the officer called Ray to stand in front of the Orion.

"Jim!" The name exploded from McCoy's lips. The captain’s face was bruised and bloody as if he had recently been beaten, Kirk seemed barely able to remain on his feet. Yet the anguish in the hazel eyes was not for his own discomfort but for McCoy. The eyes dipped to rest on the heavy metal collar imprisoning the doctor's neck and then moved back to remain on McCoy's face.

The doctor knew how he must look, too thin and covered with filth. There was little left of the friend Kirk had known. Still, the sight of the captain made McCoy's spirits rise. He lifted his head slightly, giving Kirk a scapegoat grin, pleased when the captain's lips curled slightly in response.

"My, my, isn't this touching." Stiletto put a hand on Kirk's shoulder and McCoy's. "Time is limited, but I think we can spare-"

The Orion shoved his hand off Kirk's shoulder. “Stiletto, quit wasting time."

McCoy heard Kirk's furious whisper, "Stiletto?"

Stiletto raised his bushy eyebrows at Kirk and smiled before turning to stare at McCoy.

The doctor sensed the blow coming from Stiletto a second before the Regent swung a hand back like a huge paw. He caught McCoy hard along the side of his face. The doctor crashed sideways into the desk.

Laughing, Stiletto pulled the McCoy back to his feet with the chain. Suddenly, Kirk tore lose from Rsigs grip with a savage cry. He rammed into Stiletto's chest, knocking him flat on his back. Before the big man could rise, the Orion moved swiftly and placed a restraining foot on the Regent. A weapon pointed at Stiletto's face stopped any resistance, and his broad, florid face turned red with rage as the Orion laughed down at him.

Kirk had been caught and restrained by Ketcher and Langerman. The captain's eyes were still on Stiletto, his breathing harsh with anger. "I'll kill you, Stiletto, if it's the last thing I do!”

It was a ludicrous statement but McCoy was somehow reassured by it. Kirk, beaten and tied up and surrounded by the enemy, had not given up, and the doctor felt his hopes rise still higher. Rsigs still held Stiletto on the floor, speaking into his communicator. Kirk stopped struggling, sending McCoy an apologetic look.