Star Trek - The Original Series - "Maze, Part 1

Maze, Part 1 - 4

by Mary R. and Lynn S. (aka Sahsheer), sahsheer@hotmail.com
Not (yet) finished

Part 1

A sharp point sank into his right thigh and Kirk pulled away with a bleak cry. The motion sent him into the path of another barbed object that sliced his left shoulder. The captain froze, his whole body trembling, afraid to move.

The only sound he could hear was his own breathing, rapid and strained. There was no light, no motion. Just him and a maze in this one room. A maze filled with deadly objects. One he was forced to traverse frequently. Trying to memorize the layout was useless, it was changed when he was allowed to sleep. He never heard anyone but each day was filled with new deadly dangers each time he awakened.

Kirk awkwardly sank to the floor. His arms were chained just above his elbow behind his back, allowing him limited use of his hands. The chain was attached to one that wrapped around his throat. Any sudden movements on his part resulted in paroxysm of choking.

His 'rest' period would soon come to an end. If he remained stationary for too long, the floor itself would send tiny electrical shocks, too painful to endure for more than a few seconds. Using the arm of a stuffed chair at his side, Kirk pulled himself to his feet. The room was filled with furniture that was too dangerous to relax on, they were mined with hazardous sharp objects in strategic locations.

The silent darkness had become his enemy now, more than the physical dangers of the room. The captain had lost all sense of time, unsure if he had been here for days or weeks. Deadly thoughts crawled around in his mind, of finding a knife at the right angle and taking his own life. Foreign and alien thoughts to his character, but he could not deny his will to fight was being weakened by the continued torture. So far he had fought successfully against such thoughts but was frightened of the regularity in which they occurred.

Reach out a few centimeters, feel with the limited use of his hands. Take a cautious step. Another step. Three steps without any object in his path, maybe he was to the end of the maze. There he would find water and if he had maneuvered through the maze fast enough, he would find food.

A knife point from out of nowhere jabbed him on his face, near his eye. The captain stumbled back and lodged himself on a row of razor-edge teeth down the length of one leg. Kirk bit his lip as he pulled his leg free. Blood flowed from the cut below his eye and without thinking, Kirk licked his lips using the moisture dripping from the cut to wet his dry mouth.

Afraid to move again, Kirk stayed still, pulling his arms back far enough to let his head fall wearily against his chest. He could feel drops of blood sliding from his cheek. "Why?" He whispered. There was another question. Kirk frowned, attempting to force his exhausted thoughts beyond the last few seconds. Spock. McCoy. Where were they?

"Spock?" There was no sound to the word, his throat too dry.

One step. Pause. Search the few centimeters in front of him. Another step. Finally, he came to a wall. If he had not lost his way, in the corner would be a wooden bowl. Crawling, Kirk moved forward, slowly cautiously. In the past, he had accidentally knocked the bowl over and spilled the water. There were no replacements. His tongue swollen and dry, he would not chance spilling the water.

There. Kirk felt the edges of the bowl with his hands. Unable to lift the bowl to his lips without spilling some of it, he leaned down to lap the precious liquid. Drinking every drop, Kirk sank down to rest beside the empty vessel. His silent tormentors would allow him a few minutes rest before forcing him to traverse the maze once again. His eyes slid closed, all thoughts coming to a weary halt.

Heart pounding, breaths coming in ragged gasps, Kirk opened his eyes. He was crouched on the floor, in an unfamiliar room. Disoriented, the captain blinked rapidly, attempting to separate reality from the waking dream. Remnants of the dream left physical sensations, his throat was dry and scratchy and he still felt pain on the right side of his face where the knife had sliced the tender skin below his eye.

"Lights," he croaked, as he swiped at the moisture running down his cheek. His breathing eased as the shadows were dispelled by the increased lighting. He glanced at his hand, surprised to find it dry.

"Of course there's not blood. I'm safe. At Starfleet Headquarters. Babbling like an idiot." Kirk shoved himself up to stand on wobbly knees. The vivid dream in combination with the memories left a shaming weakness in its wake. This one had been worse than usual, probably because he had been determined to reduce the lighting in his room tonight to minimal intensity before falling asleep. This humiliating fear of the dark was not going to master him.

Moving like an old man, Kirk snorted at the defiant thought. It was easy to be brave when he had the lights blazing. He headed for the shower, allowing the sonics to wash away the sweat and smell of fear that invaded every pore. He dressed in his uniform and then proceeded to pace. He considered beaming to his ship to check on the progress of the routine maintenance crew. But, the Enterprise was on the same schedule as the Starbase and most of the work crew would be asleep. He had no desire to awaken the surly base chief for an update that could wait a few hours in coming.

Kirk paced another round before changing course and heading for his door. He could check on McCoy, maybe he was awake. The doctor was expecting him to visit at the rehab center in a few hours anyway. Kirk stood in the open entryway, studying the dimly lit corridor that stretched into darkness.

His hands curling into tight fists, Kirk stepped away from the door sensor, allowing it to slide back, enclosing him within his room again. He gave a harsh laugh, leaning against the wall. The harsh truth was the same reason he did not beam to the Enterprise now was the same reason he did venture out to see McCoy. He was going nowhere until there was less risk of encountering darkened spaces.

Until this last disastrous mission, Kirk had never considered how many unavoidable pitch-dark places there were on the ship and on a Starbase at night. He had never given it any thought before. Nor had Kirk truly comprehended phobias until several days ago when he had awakened in a darkened sickbay and experienced a paralyzing fear that took away all thought, all ability to move and left him feeling less than a man.

So, until he was able to master this fear, Kirk had learned to avoid situations where the lighting was limited. In three hours time, he could face the day in the comforting safety of daylight. In the meantime, he would pace, like the animal that he felt he had become.

* * * * *

Spock approached the Medical/Rehab section of Starfleet Headquarters with a measure of reluctance. The message he was bringing to the captain would not be looked on with favor, and he was never comfortable around convalescing humans. Especially the human named McCoy.

He was directed by a bored nurse to McCoy's room. Catching a glimpse of a blue flying object inside the room, Spock stood in the doorway observing before announcing his presence. Captain Kirk was crossing the room, retrieving a soft, squeezable ball.

"Don't know why we're calling this catch. All I'm doing is retrieving the damned thing." Kirk moved back to stand a few feet away from McCoy. "Ready?"

The doctor laboriously raised his right arm, "All right. Try to get in the right place this time."

Grimacing at McCoy's accusation, Kirk tossed the ball, his aim true as the ball landed in McCoy's raised hand. The ball fell immediately to the floor as the doctor's fingers refused to flex tightly enough to hold it.

"Almost Bones," Kirk said encouragingly. He scooped up the ball, catching sight of Spock as he turned. Flashing a pained smile, the captain face McCoy again. "One more time. The score is eighteen to one. You've got one more--"

McCoy interrupted, "Excuse me? When did you get eighteen? I didn't see you catching the damned thing."

Kirk grinned, deliberately tossing the ball off center. Instead of landing in the palm of McCoy's raised hand, it smacked the doctor directly on his nose.

"Jim! That's unfair! Hitting me when I'm down."

Kirk gave a chuckle, but the sound was forced. Moving to retrieve the ball, the captain asked, "Are you trying to tell me you're any better at catching a ball when you're well? When are you going to tell your therapist that due to your lack of coordination with sports, this is the wrong therapy for you?"

While Kirk's back was turned, McCoy was repositioning his arm in a light sling. Despite the doctor's efforts to hide his discomfort, it was obvious even to Spock that the injury to his arm was still extremely painful to move. Kirk had turned and was also watching McCoy from the side, his lower lip catching in his teeth as he watched his friend's attempts to hide his pain.

For one unguarded moment, his defenses were down and Spock was suddenly transplaced back into the cell he had shared with McCoy on Xeta II. Images of Kirk struggling through a chamber of horrors played on the four walls surrounding them while a Xetan guard held the doctor's already crushed arm in the grip of his claw. He remembered his human frustration as he had pulled uselessly at his chains, helpless to go to McCoy's aid or to assist his captain. The doctor's cries mingled with Kirk's call for help from the live video had constantly bombarding his senses. Spock had lost control that day, and did not remember the events that followed. Except somehow he had managed to free them and now McCoy was facing the painful road to recovery for the injuries that Spock had been unable to prevent.

He blinked, sharply pushing the images into the dark regions of his mind. Meditation was helping but he had a long road to travel himself to deal with the events of the last mission.

McCoy had finished placing the support and now was angling his head at Kirk unaware of the captain's painful observations. Despite his tense expression, the doctor managed to keep his voice light, "Actually, I asked them to give me a task that would have you scrabbling around on the floor for me. This isn't really my therapy, it was yours. Good exercise for you. I'm keeping it on tape to show my peers just how silly a starship captain can look."

Kirk sent him a sharp look. "See if I ever offer to help you again."

Clearing his throat, Spock entered McCoy's room. "Doctor. Captain."

"Spock." McCoy acknowledged, the amusement from a moment ago disappearing from his features. "Haven't seen you in a while. I've read your medical file, it looks like you're doing well."

"Indeed. I am somewhat surprised that your doctors have allowed you access to my medical records while recuperating."

"Sound therapy," McCoy glanced briefly at Kirk, an irritated grimace twisting his face. "Keeps the patient thinking that one is able to contribute despite the fact that he or she is out of commission." He faced Spock again, saying pointedly, "Your doctors asked me to review your tests and give input. They were worried about any psychological trauma." The blue eyes shifted again, glancing at Kirk then back to Spock. The words were sharper than usual. "I told them you were a lost cause mentally. Just put your innards back together right and let you figure out the rest."

"One might had considered asking me regarding my condition." Spock replied, a hint of irritation coloring his tone.

"I told you, they were trying to make sure I felt needed. No need for you to get your nose out of joint." McCoy snapped.

Plainly, the doctor was not in the mood for entertaining visitors. Spock resisted his automatic response to McCoy's colloquialism. He turned to the captain. "President Dennis is requesting we meet with him within the hour in Admiral Chen's office."

Kirk's eyebrows shot up and then lowered as the impact of the statement sank in. "Any idea what this is about?"

"No, sir." Spock said.

Frowning, McCoy's eyes darted between the two of them. "Well I can tell you it's something you won't like. Why else would the President of the Federation want to see you?"

Some of Kirk's irritation fled at McCoy's words. Fondness colored his words, "You're so paranoid, Bones. Maybe the Federation wants to give us some commendation."

"Considering the outcome of our last mission, I seriously doubt that." McCoy glumly shook his head.

"I would tend to agree with the good doctor."

McCoy's expression did not change with Spock's statement, yet the Vulcan sensed that the doctor was pleased with his words. Since the last mission, due to their injuries, neither officer had spoken at length with each other. In the brief interactions with one another in the last few weeks, McCoy's barbs had been sharper than usual, and his eyes seemed to penetrate to Spock's darkest thoughts. Something that the Vulcan wanted to avoid until he had resolved within himself the issues from their incarceration together.

The captain shrugged, heading for the door. "We're debating in a vacuum. Let's go find out what this is about."

Spock followed Kirk down the corridor. The captain's steps slowed as the exited the medical facility. "They can't give any reassurance that the therapy is going to work. Bones may never regain the use of his hand."

"I understood that two more surgeries are planned. Considering McCoy's nature, I would reserve predictions on his response to the therapy until much later." Spock said.

"It's just hard not to worry."

"I have noted that humans tend to expend an excessive amount of energy in this activity which accomplishes no purpose." Spock commented.

Instead of the expected amused rejoinder from Kirk, the captain's face flashed with irritation. "Another way we fail in your eyes."

Spock lifted an eyebrow, quelling his own irritation. "My comment was not meant to indicate that humans fail. It was simply an observation of behavior patterns."

There was still an edge to Kirk's tone. "Are you telling me that you're not worried about McCoy? He might never be able to return to active duty or the Enterprise. Is that what you want?"

They were nearing a transport station. Spock paused, "What I want is irrelevant. What is, is. McCoy's recovery is not affected by an exhibition of emotion on my part." Noting that the hazel eyes were staring at him as if he were a stranger, Spock relented, "I am concerned about his welfare, Jim."

The anger and irritation seemed to flow out of Kirk all at once. Giving a rueful smile, he nodded. "Of course. I know that. Forgive me, Mister Spock."

The rest of the trip to Admiral Chen's office was made in silence.

End Part 1

Part 2

When they arrived at the main suite of offices, Kirk and Spock were ushered immediately into Chen's luxurious office. President Martin Dennis was seated in the Vice Admiral's chair.

"Chen has been delayed." Martin explained, a fake smile flashing across his broad face. "Be seated. Would you care for something to drink?"

As they settled in chairs, both men declined the offer. Dennis did not wait to launch into his proposal. "Captain Kirk, despite the fact that you did not accomplish your mission with the Xeta Concordance, they have agreed to reopen negotiations."

At his words, Kirk's shoulders straightened and Spock could see that he fought the urge to rise to his feet in protest. The captain spoke firmly, not allowing the emotions Dennis' words must have evoked in the human. "Sir, my recommendation was that the Xetans be considered hands-off; not that we could--"

Dennis lifted a beefy hand, "Nonsense, Kirk. Despite the obstacles you encountered, the Xetans are quite willing to give us another chance and continue negotiations. You know how important this treaty will be to the safety of the Federation planets in that sector."

"Another chance?" The only indication of Kirk's anger was a muscle that jumped in his jaw. "I don't suppose they've admitted to any wrong-doing on their part?"

The President went on cheerfully. "The Federation's most valued tenets is the diversity of our members. We're delighted the Xetans have agreed to allow us to return, despite their impression that you failed their tests of courage."

Spock clamped down on his own surge of anger at the bureaucrats words. At his side, he was surprised to note a light flush pinking Kirk's cheeks in what he interpreted as a human's embarrassed reaction. The Vulcan stood, drawing Dennis' attention to him. "Mister President, you cannot have been properly informed of the events on Xeta II. To send another envoy to open negotiations is putting them in unnecessary peril. There were no tests of courage, the senior officers of the Enterprise were kidnaped and tortured."

Annoyed gray eyes stared at Spock and then returned to Kirk. "It's simply a matter of interpretation and personal perceptions of events. The Xetans put great store in trials of courage and strength. They have agreed to allow you to return --"

"Us?" Kirk bolted to his feet. "You're sending the Enterprise back?" Shaking his head, he started to turn. "No! This is ludicrous. I will not accept --"

All the false cheer left Dennis' ruddy cheeks replaced by a deep, irritated flush. "Let me remind you who you are speaking to, Captain. You do not have a choice in this matter. The Federation Council has deliberated and concluded that this sector is too critical to ignore. The Xetans agreed to meet with the same envoy and allow you to redeem yourself. An opportunity that I assumed you would be anxious to--"

Kirk cut him off, his voice icy. "Are you aware that my CMO, Leonard McCoy may never be able to perform surgery or even continue his career because of what those bastards did to him? I am officially protesting this mission."

The door behind them slid open and Vice Admiral Chen entered quickly. Her gaze went from Dennis to Kirk and then Spock, her observant eyes missing nothing. "Gentlemen. I assume President Dennis has explained your mission, Captain Kirk?"

"Yes sir." His jaw set stubbornly, Kirk added, "I have not agreed to accept it."

Despite her petite appearance, there was coiled strength in the eyes that held Kirk's gaze evenly. "I understand how you must be feeling--"

Kirk exploded, "Quite frankly Admiral, you couldn't begin to understand."

"We all understand the risks we take when we join Starfleet. I'm sure that applies to your CMO and First Officer as well as yourself. I am not unsympathetic but there are time when the common good must take precedence over personal feelings."

Uncharacteristically, Kirk seemed to deflate at her words. He looked over uncertainly at Spock before trying again. "Admiral, I don't understand why you're insisting on sending the same ship. We were unsuccessful before. I don't see how we can rectify the situation." He hesitated and then added, "Personally, I'm not sure I can negotiate with them."

"You can and you will. I have faith in you, Captain Kirk. You're orders are being cut now and will be forwarded to you within the hour. Dis--"

"Sir," Spock drew her attention. "I must remind you that Captain Kirk has not been certified as fit for command at this time."

Chen's eyebrows drew downward. She shifted her gaze to Kirk, assessing him. "You look well enough."

Kirk shrugged. "That's what I keep telling M'benga but he hasn't released me to full duty yet. I assumed as soon as the ship is ready, he'll be ready to certify me."

Chen waved her hand in dismissal. "Take care of it. The Enterprise has been changed to a priority one maintenance schedule and should be ready to be underway within twenty-four hours."

With effort, Kirk gave a respectful nod of his head in turn to President Dennis and then Admiral Chen. Silently, Spock followed him quietly out of the office.

Beaming directly back to the Enterprise, Kirk chose to confront M'benga immediately. In retrospect, he realized that storming into McCoy's office, startling the younger doctor was probably not the most strategic move in getting him reinstated to command. But where was it written in a Starship Captain's oath that he must be happy about every assignment?

"Doctor M'benga, I need you--"

"To certify you for command. Starfleet just notified me. Want to tell me what this is about?" M'benga did not move from behind the desk.

Kirk gestured toward the exam room. "Let's just get this over with."

Frowning slightly, the doctor nodded. "All right then."

Without waiting, Kirk started for the exam room. But near the doorway, M'benga tapped him on his shoulder.

"Let's take a walk."

Closing his eyes, the captain worked hard on counting to ten. Digging his fingernails into his palms, Kirk said through gritted teeth, "No mind games, just do the damned physical, Luca. Starfleet wants it now."

"Fifteen minutes from now won't hurt. And the results will be better. Your readings right now will reflect your agitation which I would have to explain."

"Agitation!" Kirk snapped. "I'm irritated but not enough to keep from completing the physical."

M'benga placidly crossed his arms and leaned against the door facing, his dark eyes never wavering from Kirk's hard gaze. After several seconds of tense silence, Kirk was forced to reassess his position. He was breathing hard, his neck muscles bunching in knots. Agitation was a mild description, boiling mad was probably more apt. Drawing a slow breath, he said, "All right. Fifteen minutes."

M'benga ushered him outside of sickbay into the corridor. "Why does Starfleet need you certified within the hour?"

Kirk felt the tension creep upward to his temples. He followed the doctor onto the turbolift, resisting the urge to massage his forehead. "Your orders are to complete the physical. It really doesn't matter why, does it?"

"It might help to know. Are you saying this is confidential?"

The captain shook his head, frowning as the turbolift stopped on level twenty, not sure of M'benga's destination. M'benga commented mildly, "Well, I guess I can wait for the grapevine to fill me in, but it seems an awfully inefficient method of communication."

Kirk relented, "The Federation Council is pushing for renegotiations with the Xetans. The Enterprise with me in command has been ordered to accomplish this.

"Oh." M'benga paused outside the hydroponics lab. "Suppose I didn't certify you fit for command?"

Kirk shook his head. "I would recommend having an airtight reason for HQ to accept it. I wouldn't put it past them to attempt to ground me if you tried that."

"You're probably right."

The door slid open to reveal the garden in full simulated sunlight. The fresh smell of green plants mixed with dirt eased the tightness in his temples. Kirk drew a breath, gratefully following M'benga inside.

His attention on a glowing flower, M'benga asked almost too casually,"Did you see Len today?"

"Yeah. And got my lecture about not cooperating with you." Kirk stepped in front of the doctor, forcing him to look up. "Do you think it's wise to send him my psych reports? I understand he's been reading Spock's medical reports too. Doesn't he had enough to worry about?"

In direct contrast to McCoy's irascible manner, M'benga remained unruffled despite Kirk's attack. He shrugged, "The psych guys at Rehab feel it's healthy for him to focus some of his concerns on something other than himself. I'm sure not going to argue with any help I can get in regard to a certain starship captain and his first officer."

"Wonderful! McCoy's not even on the Enterprise and is being treated himself and I still can't get out from under his microscope."

"Price you pay for being the Captain of the big E." M'benga retorted. He stopped again to finger a multicolored flower. "He's not going to like you going back to Xeta."

"I don't like going back but we all have our assigned duties." Kirk put his hands on his hips, drawing M'benga's eyes back to him. "And I don't think it's necessary to tell him about this mission."

Finally the doctor allowed some irritation to show, his eyes narrowing slightly. "I'll decide what's necessary for Len to know. It's not your decision."

"I could make it an order."

"And I haven't certified you fit for command. Your orders are currently meaningless."

Kirk narrowed his eyes. "Then let's get this over with and quit wasting time."

The ruffled feathers were back in place. "Certainly. But while we're here, shall we see if the Alterian lotus blossom has emerged? I think the entire crew has entered the pool for the date and time."

Kirk worked to keep his face expressionless. If this was a test for him, M'benga couldn't have chosen a better one. For the flower to bloom, it had to be in complete darkness. Even though he was reasonably sure he could control any reactions in this environment, Kirk was unwilling to chance it under the observant eyes of M'benga. He managed an indulgent smile, "You go on and check. I'll meet you back in sickbay in ten minutes."

The doctor frowned, dark eyes watching him. "It'll just take a moment. It's an awesome sight when it's just out."

Kirk managed a charming grin. "Look, if I'm the one who discovers the flower is open, I'll have to admit to officially knowing about this illegal pool that's going around the ship. It's better if I pretend total ignorance."

M'benga's face scrunched into an exasperated frown. "You got me there. Is that like the still you don't know about in Engineering?"

Kirk froze, caught off guard by the comment. "There isn't one--There'd better not be one. Are you telling --"

"I'm not telling you anything." M'benga retreated, a tiny grin gracing his face. "Hang on a minute." The doctor headed through the force field protecting the blossom from light and then reappeared within seconds. "Nothing. Guess you're ignorance is safe, captain."

Kirk resisted commenting on the implied insult, instead choosing to lead the way back down the path to the exit.

End Part 2

Part 3

McCoy cursed under his breath as he was forced to wait for the link to the Enterprise to be established. Finally, after two hours of blustering and threatening everyone from the housekeeper to the medical director, he waited impatiently as the surprised Ensign on the bridge channeled him through to Kirk's quarters.

Kirk was in his robe, his hair mussed. McCoy bristled again, prepared to attack if the captain chose to mention the time. It was three in the morning here too, and if he was up then there was no reason that Kirk shouldn't be awake too.

"Bones--"

McCoy didn't give Kirk a chance to finish. "By all the gods, Jim. What the hell do you think you're doing?"

The captain ran his fingers through his hair, his eyes widening. As usual, he avoided giving away any information. "I was trying to sleep."

"I'm talking about this mission back to the Xeta system." McCoy glared at Kirk, adding, "And you skipping out to avoid talking to me."

"I left a message. Your doctors indicated that because of the treatment today with the nerve growth regenerators that you were to rest undisturbed." Kirk met his eyes evenly. "I didn't skip out on you. They told me it was very painful. How are you doing?"

"Dammit Jim, quit trying to change the subject. I had to find out about this mission eavesdropping on a med-tech talking to someone else. How do you think that made me feel?"

"Bones, I didn't want you to worry. I would have preferred that you not know at all." The hazel eyes darkened with concern that made McCoy cringe. All everyone seemed to be doing lately was trying to protect him.

He snapped, "See, you did plan to leave without talking to me! The doctors here just gave you a convenient excuse." Actually, truth be told, his arm was hurting like hell but his irritation at Kirk overrode him admitting to his discomfort. "You aren't ready for this. In my opinion, you're not ready for active duty yet."

Kirk replied quietly, "Physically, I'm fine, Bones. That's all Starfleet wants to hear."

"Are you telling me M'benga certified you fit for command?" At Kirk's nod, McCoy barely managed to hold in an exasperated sigh. "If memory serves, you admitted yesterday that possibly you were experiencing some difficulties coping with the psychological impact of that last mission. You promised me you would work with M'benga. Did you have a session with him where you were miraculously �cured'?"

"Calm down!" Kirk ordered. "There's really no point served in arguing about this. Starfleet�"

McCoy waggled a finger at the screen, ignoring Kirk's growing displeasure. "That's where you're wrong, Jim-boy. I've already logged a protest to Starfleet Command and will push it all the way to the Surgeon General. I'm going to get someone to listen to me. No one should be going back to Xeta, but especially not you. Or Spock. The repercussions from what you just went through puts both you and the mission at risk!"

"The top is where you'll have to go. The Federation Council is behind this order, Bones. I'm afraid a lowly starship captain and his CMO have very little say in this matter." Kirk shrugged his shoulders slightly. "Besides, they've asked us to return to a different planet and partake in a simple competition. Their best against our best."

McCoy snorted, "Simple competition. You don't believe that anymore than I do." The sharp pains in his arm were starting to reach into his chest. McCoy leaned forward to ease the pain, gripping the console tightly. "Jim, I know you. That's why M'benga talked with me about you in the first place. I know how you cope. You think by force of will alone, you can manage anything. And most things you can, but not this. Those alien bastards played around with man's most basic psychological fears. Day after day, you faced being totally helpless, alone and being treated as less than human. You--"

"Enough!" Kirk slammed a fist down hard on his desk. "I don't want to talk about it! I don't see you spilling your guts to me for that matter. You were a captive too."

"That's the problem! You won't talk about it. Don't you understand? Spock and I were held captive but we were never tortured the way you were. We were forced to watch you. Spock and I lived every minute of those seventeen days with you. We know what those animals did to you. If you continue to bury this, your reactions to other stressful situations may be inappropriate." The room was growing stuffy, McCoy tried to draw a breath. Fiery pain followed the nerves of his arm all through his chest and neck. He exhaled slowly, barely avoiding a groan of pain. He tried to continue, "You may not be able to control your reactions."

"What?" McCoy heard the captain whisper. Kirk's face was downcast, his cheeks pale. "What are you saying?" When McCoy did not respond, wide hazel eyes lifted to the screen. "What do you mean, you were forced to watch me? No one knows. You can't�Spock . . . I can't . . ."

The wave of stabbing pain was easing and his need to respond to Kirk pulled him back from the well of agony that the pain was causing. He glanced down at his life monitor attached to his waist, knowing that his time was limited. The rehab doctor had agreed not to interfere with his conversation unless his life was at risk. The irregular pounding of his heart though was a symptom they would not ignore. "Jim," his voice came out in a rasp, and he cleared his throat, trying again, "They played continuous images of you in that maze of horrors to get us to cooperate."

"You saw me � Spock watched me? Why didn't you tell me?"

The expression of revulsion mixed with acute shame told McCoy all he needed to know. Kirk had been degraded and abused to a level that his self-image was faltering. Because of his strong personality, he would regain his equilibrium fairly quickly with the right therapy. But McCoy feared that if Kirk were forced to face the same aliens now before reintegration had occurred the results could be disastrous both for Kirk and the mission.

Then, suddenly, the pain took his breath away again and McCoy turned his head away from the screen, clamping his jaw as he attempted to regain control.

"Bones? Are you okay?" Kirk asked sharply.

Irritated both with himself and with Kirk, McCoy shook his head, turning just as suddenly to face the screen. He was forced to acknowledge the pain by crushing a hand against his chest in an attempt to ease it. "I'm fine, dammit, surrounded by medical people up my ass. It's you I'm worried about. You admitted yesterday that you might be having some problems. Are you planning to talk about them with M'benga?" McCoy grimaced again, clutching at his tunic. The captain was watching his fingers, his face twisted with empathic pain. McCoy dropped his hand, straightening. He drew Kirk's attention, "If you won't listen to me, think about Spock. M'benga's worried about his level of functioning. He hasn't�"

Kirk interrupted, some of his blocked frustration spilling over. "Spock? You're barking up the wrong tree." He shook his head. "Like you said yesterday, you needn't worry about him. He's operating in his usual efficient super-Vulcan mode."

"Which tells me you two aren't talking. Right?" Warning signals were alarming in McCoy's mind at Kirk's words. McCoy knew he needed medical attention soon but first, he had to talk to M'benga and Starfleet command before this insane mission went any further.

Kirk was rubbing his forehead, frowning, "I wouldn't say that. We discuss ship's business. We talk." The captain hesitated, his mobile face changing as he studied McCoy. "Bones, do you have any idea how worried I am about you? I think sometimes that if you recover then I'll be all right." He held up a hand with a pained smile at McCoy's move to protest. "I know I need to talk. I've been licking my wounds in private because I didn't have you here to badger me. But I can't seem to stop licking them now as you so astutely discerned. I promise I'll talk to M'benga before we reach Xeta II if you'll promise to stop worrying about us and take care of yourself." Kirk tilted his head, giving a worried smile.

McCoy struggled to return the gesture but suddenly breathing and thinking seemed to be mutually exclusive. His vision was clouding and Kirk's face grew dim. He reached for the panic button but too late, aware peripherally of falling in cottony slow motion.

There were shouts somewhere nearby. Someone touched him. A mask was solidly placed over his mouth and at the first forced respiration, pain exploded in his chest. He struggled to pull the mask free, his arms not quite following his silent commands. Darkness was encroaching on his thoughts and suddenly, McCoy knew that he was dying. He could hear Kirk calling his name, the frightened sound following him down into the darkening tunnel. Soon, even Kirk's voice faded to nothingness and McCoy gave into the soothing call of death.

Kirk stared at the screen, waiting anxiously as he watched a trauma team swarmed around McCoy. A doctor who seemed entirely too young to hold McCoy's life in his hands had already spoken once to Kirk briefly. But, the Lieutenant had been unable to give him any assurances explaining that McCoy was probably having a myocardial infarct, a heart attack in layman's terms.

He watched in tense silence as the team transferred McCoy to a stretcher and rushed him from the room, catching a glimpse of McCoy's pale hand hanging off the edge of his bed. The Lieutenant was following them from the room but paused to return to the terminal. "Sir, we'll get back to you as soon as we know anything."

Kirk nodded numbly, watching until the view screen faded to nothingness. He stared at it unseeingly, unaccustomed panic bubbling up through his chest, taking his breath away. He couldn't face the future without McCoy. Even now, he knew as soon as he and McCoy could talk, then he would be able to put this last experience in its proper place. Until then, he would simply have to cope as best he could.

A shiver shook his frame and suddenly, he was back there. In the room. A total absence of light. A torturous step in the dark, freezing as his leg brushed against a row of razor sharp teeth. He searched with his hands, knowing that he should be to the end of the maze when his fingers touched something that his mind refused to identify at first. It felt clammy and cold, and as Kirk ran his hands over the object, he recognized slowly that it was the outline of another being. Kirk had tried to speak but his mouth was too dry. Puffs of sound escaped as he ran his hands up and down the arms, trying to get a response. There was no movement, no sound. His heart pounding, his fingers had tightened painfully over the stripes that he found on the cuff of the sleeve. They were the only Starfleet representatives here, it had to be one of his officers. Was it Spock or Bones?

Then his reaching fingers had encountered a gaping wound in the chest and he was suddenly aware of the total stillness of the body he held in his hands. Ignoring the tight pull of the restraints around his neck, he lifted his hands to touch the face and finally the ears. Not the elegant points of Spock. It was McCoy's body. Inarticulate cries came from somewhere deep in his chest as he tried to free McCoy from the pikes holding him upright. But he only succeeded in impaling himself on the knifes adjacent from the body without freeing it.

He had fallen hard to the treacherous floor, uncaring of the many cuts he sustained in his uncontrolled collapse. He had lain there, blood slowly leaking from his body, hot tears for his slain friend. The one overriding thought that had kept him going in the past days was that he needed to get free to help McCoy and Spock. But now his hopes had been dashed cruelly, and he felt little hope that Spock could still be alive. There was no reason to continue. No reason to fight to live.

Only the jolting, painful shocks from the electrified floor had forced him back to his feet that day. He continued the torturous journey through the maze but without the spirited will to survive that he had so far managed to maintain. Kirk had known he was going mad then, he lived in fear of discovering Spock's body hanging crucified in this sick, sadistic room. And just when he relaxed his guard, the aliens would torture him by placing the decaying body of McCoy in his path again.

Kirk opened his eyes, disoriented at first in the blazing lights of his quarters. He was on his knees in the middle of his office, his arms wrapped around his waist. Sweating and trembling, a wave of overwhelming nausea swept through him as he tried to quell the memory. He barely made it to the fresher in time before he explosively lost the contents of his stomach, dry heaving repeatedly.

Washing his face, he was confused when his alarm sounded, announcing the time. Six hundred hours. He had been talking to McCoy at the Starbase over three hours ago. How had he lost three hours? Shakily, Kirk glanced back at where he had been kneeling on the floor in his office. And with the glance, the memory of the maze loomed vividly within his mind. Forcefully, he pushed it back. "I'm done with it," he whispered harshly. "Bones is alive and it's over. Bury it and move on." He did not allow himself to dwell on his last glimpse of McCoy at the Starbase, instead picturing him alive and healthy.

The captain had scheduled a briefing with Spock in his office in fifteen minutes. They were going to tackle the scant information available on the Xeta system one more time. Kirk drew a breath, stilling the inner trembling that remained. It did not rid the office of the reek of fear that surrounded him, and the captain retreated back to his fresher in the few minutes before his first officer was due.

Fifteen minutes later, Captain Kirk quietly drew his mantle of command around him, banishing any fears. He welcomed Spock into his office and if some of his usual warmth was missing from his eyes, the Vulcan did not seem to notice.

End Part 3

Part 4

Spock concentrated on the data scrolling before him. He sat at the captain's desk, recalling the information available regarding Xeta Four. Kirk stood behind him, looking over his shoulder. They had been discussing the upcoming mission since his arrival in the captain's quarters but Spock sensed that there was something on Kirk's mind that was disturbing him. To anyone else, the captain would have seemed the same, almost Vulcan-like human who had returned from ETA Three and Spock was not anxious to do anything which would disturb the carefully constructed shell that Kirk had placed around himself so he made the decision to say nothing. He did not have to.

The captain said quietly over his shoulder, "McCoy had a heart attack while I was talking to him earlier."

The quiet vulnerability in Kirk's voice caused Spock's shields to waver. Without turning to look at the captain, he strengthened them before responding. "I trust he was treated effectively."

"Effectively?" Kirk sighed, as if unsatisfied by Spock's response. Spock felt him turn away and he began to pace the room. "Yes, the doctor said this that this wasn't unexpected but he could not give me any reassurances about his recovery. I'm waiting for an update."

"The facility is considered one of the finest the Federation has to offer. Doctor McCoy will receive excellent care," Spock replied. Lifting the compadd from the desk in front of him, he continued with his earlier review of the data. "The Xetan's may function as more of a hive consciousness than suspected. The language studies available indicates small units of hives."

Kirk stared at him, his hazel eyes hard. After several seconds, the captain ran a hand over his face and returned to drop into the chair opposite Spock. "Small units? How small? Enough for an attack force?"

Spock gave a command to the computer and the image changed, displaying a group of adults and children.

Kirk pulled back from the screen, his face drawing into a tight mask.

Spock forced himself to ignore Kirk's discomfort and continue. "This appears to be family unit. The language studies reveal that they interpret relationships in a manner similar to a totally matriarchal society. They have titles matching those of mother, daughter, aunt, niece."

Despite his reluctance to participate, Kirk asked curiously, "What are the males called?"

"So far, no titles have been discovered. There are words correlating to chattel or even slaves."

"I wonder what the Federation Council would have to say if we discovered that this is a slave society."

"Until we have proof, I believe our mission does not change. This is obscure at best." Spock hesitated, "The aliens that held us captive were male however. I never saw or spoke to a female."

"How can you tell?" Kirk pointed at the alien on the screen.

Spock modified the image to focus in on the upper torso of the Xetan. Wearing natural clothing made of some form of animal skin, the Xetan was skeletal thin and a foot taller than Spock.
Two sets of limbs extended from each side of the alien from the shoulder down to the mid waist. The top set of arms ended in an appendage resembling a human hand but with only tow fingers and a thumb. Spock pointed at the lower limbs extending from the sides of the chest. "The female's extra set of �arms' is believed to have an extensive set of sensors which can detect several environmental dangers. There is also legend of the ability to sting and kill one's victims with the poison from one of the sensors on the web." The picture narrowed and enlarged on one of the thin limbs, showing the end to flatten into a shapeless glob of skin. "There is no picture, but the males lower limbs are described as ending in claws the size of human hand. The Xetans holding McCoy and I hostage all had claws on this set of limbs."

Kirk did not comment and Spock continued to review the material. "I have discovered references to the Xetans in Andorian archives. Their contacts with the Xetan suggest there is a strong dependence on one another in the family or hive. If one member does well, the hive shares the triumph. If a member of the hive is shamed, all the hive is shamed. One legend of the Andorians tells of one Xetan's shame at being beaten in a contest by an Andorian. The Xetan's entire family was killed because of the disgrace."

"The sins of the fathers . . ." Kirk muttered. Then he said, with ill-disguised humor, "This is all very fascinating, but how will it help us in preparing for a physical competition with them?"

Spock lifted an eyebrow. "I do not know at present. I believe we agreed to seek an understanding of this culture."

Kirk leaned across the desk and touched a key, blanking the computer screen. "No, we agreed to review what information we had in order to compete in these games and get out of there. I have no desire to understand these people. I'd like nothing better than to put my hands around their skinny throats and squeeze the life out of them."

Spock held his gaze evenly. "A natural reaction to being mistreated by them, however, it will not help us complete our mission."

"Mistreated? Are you telling me you don't feel anything about what they did to us. You watched them. . ." His voice trailed off.

The Vulcan let his gaze fall. He had felt a great deal. What he could not let Kirk know was how deeply the alien's brutal treatment of Kirk and McCoy had affected him. Pushed to the edge with the constant bombardment of Kirk's torturous journey through the maze, he had lost control when they had attacked McCoy, crushing his wrist and hand while Spock, chained to the wall, was forced to watch.

The loss of rational control was beyond anything that Spock had every experienced in his life. He had only vague flashes of events after McCoy had collapsed to the ground, bleeding to death before his eyes. The chains had snapped under his rage, the Xetans taunting McCoy falling lifelessly to the ground as he had performed Tal Shaya on any alien who came into his path. He not only understood Kirk's desire to squeeze the life out of them, worse, he had done so. Shame flooded him and Spock strove to maintain his carefully erected barriers.

"Captain, allowing ourselves to dwell on past events will not assist us with addressing our current mission. I suggest--"

Kirk's reaction was a surprise. His face flushed angrily as he half-rose to his feet. "So you agree with Starfleet? Act like nothing happened? Dammit, Spock, it wasn't an �event'. They tortured us and then lied about it. And despite our testimony to the contrary, Starfleet is willing to take their half-baked story and go on as if nothing happened."

Since their return from ETA Three, Kirk had not revealed his true feelings to Spock about the entire diplomatic mission. He had hoped that the required therapy sessions with M'benga was assisting the captain with placing the entire incident into perspective. "I did not mean to intimate that nothing happened. As I stated, dwelling on the events does not allow us to focus our full attention on the mission at hand."

Kirk's flush was fading. He pulled the compadd toward him and toyed with it. "McCoy has logged a protest with Starfleet Command. He feels that sending us jeopardizes the mission."

The captain's attention was still on the screen when Spock glanced at him. He debated his answer. "Does Doctor McCoy have evidence to support this theory?"

Kirk turned, his face open and searching. "Bones was right. He said we're not talking. We're not."

Spock steadied his shields against the open appeal on Kirk's face. He had come too close to losing all semblance of sanity when Kirk was being tortured. He was not sure which one he feared most, feeling very human emotions or loss of his Vulcan composure.

His gaze still on Kirk, an inner vision opened, reminding him vividly of how Kirk had appeared when Spock had rescued him from his dark prison. Little semblance of the captain that stood before him now had been present then. Covered with grime that was streaked with dried blood, Kirk had shrank from his touch and refused to leave the room at first afraid of the bright light of the corridor. Concerned about their escape being discovered, Spock had been forced to drag Kirk along with the half-conscious McCoy to safety. He clenched his jaw as he remembered the pitiful, incoherent cries from his captain throughout the long journey through the caverns to the surface. They had been lucky that Scott had been continuously scanning and had beamed them up as soon as they escaped the shielded caves.

The Vulcan argument that the cause was sufficient would qualify for his total disregard for life down in the prison. The loss of control was not so much due to his emotional human side but from his Vulcan heritage predating Surak. However, Spock doubted that his father or T'Pau would accept the reasons as valid. Nor did he. More importantly, until he came to terms with this violent aspect of his nature, Spock was determined not to allow any emotion through that would further erode his controls.

Remembering Kirk's comment, Spock reflected that the astute McCoy was correct in that they did not communicate on a personal level. However, as captain and first officer, this was not required. He said drily, "As usual, the doctor is inaccurate in his observations. We continue to communicate in the usual method. I do not believe the ship's efficiency has been affected."

The expressive hazel eyes remained vulnerable, appearing larger than normal. "No, you're right the Enterprise is more efficient than ever."

Spock breathed easier, the matter would be dropped. Kirk was never slow to take his lead in personal matters.

"Why didn't you tell me that you and McCoy saw what they did to me?" Kirk's eyes did not waver. He did not question further, did not have to.

It was a struggle to keep his shields in place against the images Kirk's words wrought. Every minute of the nineteen point three days McCoy and Spock had been held captive, they were forced to watch a continuous loop of holo images of Kirk struggling, being slowly stripped of his dignity, mindlessly working his way through a maze that seemed to have no end. McCoy had screamed until he was hoarse in an effort to get their captors to release Kirk.

"McCoy should not have told you." Spock put the compadd down, his hand gripping the desk tightly. He thought he had buried the images but they were still too close to the surface.

"Spock." Kirk tentatively lifted a hand toward his own.

The Vulcan could feel the heat of Kirk's hand as it nearly touched his. Barriers slammed in place, needed barriers to keep his sanity. Spock pulled back his arm and stood quickly. Without explanation, he crossed the room to the exit.

At the door, he paused. Kirk remained at his desk, still as a statue. A tight mask replaced any emotion that Spock had detected a few moments before. The Vulcan felt approval at the action. As long as Kirk could keep control, then Spock would have an easier time of maintaining his shields. For their protection for this mission and future ones, it was imperative that the Vulcan learn to keep his shields tightly in place.

"Captain, it is necessary for me to meditate before our mission. We can complete the preliminaries on the shuttle."

Kirk gave a tight nod and Spock escaped the confines of the tight quarters. McCoy had said Kirk would jeopardize this mission. Spock stopped mid-stride, the truth was, neither of them were ready for this mission. The best that he could do was spend the next few hours in deep meditation, strengthening his shields.

End Part 4

Story by Mary R. and Lynn S.
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