Medical Log Acting Chief Medical Officer Doctor Luca M'Benga recording.

"Commander Spock's condition is rapidly approaching critical. I haven't discovered any method of reducing the inflammation of the nerves. All tests have been negative for the alien drug that caused this reaction. We have found no way to identify it or create an antitoxin for it. Placing him in the anti-grav chamber seemed to help at first by reducing the physical stimuli and reducing the pain caused by the sensations of touch, sound and light. It has now been a week and the commander's condition hasn't improved. His vital signs are steadily weakening and there are indications of periods of painful stimuli from some unknown source. It may simply be caused by Spock's thoughts, since they also stimulate the brain nerve endings. I cannot assess his mental orientation without causing pain, but I have seen indications that my patient is having periods of confusion. If I can find no way to reduce the inflammation or if the condition does not resolve itself, the commander will die. "I believe the captain has surmised this, even though I have not informed him yet. He is experiencing enough guilt over Doctor McCoy's death. I am now beginning to understand Leonard's frustration when the captain was acting under sealed orders. I feel like I'm working in the dark. I don't know how to help the captain because the details of what happened are classified."

Doctor M'Benga stopped the recording as a chime sounded, alerting him that someone had entered Sickbay. He was not surprised to see it was Captain Kirk even though it was the middle of the night for him. Kirk silently crossed through the main Sickbay continuing on to enter the room containing the anti-grav chamber. The doctor considered going after him but hesitated when he could thing of nothing to say that would ease the mute agony etched on the man's face.

M'Benga automatically glanced back at his row of monitors. A red light flashed silently above the one focused on his patient in the anti-grav chamber. He had silenced the alarm several moments ago when it had awakened him from a light sleep on the cot in his office.

In the past hour, the blood pressure and respirations had risen, causing an increase in the pain level. The Vulcan's heart was struggling to meet these new demands on it, laboring harder as it tried to force the sluggish blood to circulate. M'Benga considered giving Spock an injection of a vaso-dilator to thin the blood. He rejected the idea immediately, knowing the pain caused by manipulation of the Vulcan's system could very well kill his patient.

Waiting in frustrated silence, M'Benga continued to watch the levels carefully. He had noticed each time the levels had moved toward critical values, the captain had shown up unannounced whether it was the middle of his watch or the middle of his sleep period. Within minutes of his visit, the levels would settle into a more stable area for a short time. M'Benga only wished he could work the same magic medically. Sighing, he turned back to his log.

Kirk stood in front of the window, steeling himself for his first glimpse of Spock floating inside the anti-grav chamber. With each passing day, he could easily see the gradual deterioration of the Vulcan's condition.

The captain grasped the shutter placed over the window, but did not remove it. He found himself listening to the silence and realized he was waiting for the sound of McCoy's soft footsteps approaching. He needed the doctor at his side, hand on his shoulder giving him the strength to face the sight of his friend imprisoned inside this chamber.

Kirk leaned against the cold metal, closing his eyes; weariness and grief threatening to overwhelm him. He had to try to reach out and help Spock without McCoy. This time, they were on their own.

Straightening, Kirk removed the shutter and peered through the window, squinting until his eyes adjusted to the darkness inside. Spock twisted slightly as the light struck his face. The captain forced himself to ignore the widespread bruising covering the Vulcan. He studied Spock's lined face, waiting for the dark eyes to turn in his direction.

In the past few days, despite the fact that Spock had not spoken, Kirk felt that his friend took some comfort from his presence. The growing confusion and fear present in the dark eyes would fade as the Vulcan watched Kirk through the window. The captain clenched his jaw, he could no longer deny that the confusion was growing steadily worse with each passing day.

Light tremors began to sweep through Spock, and Kirk knew that soon he would have to close the shutter. Any stimulus at all, physical or mental, affected Spock's nervous system. The light streaming across him was enough to trigger seizures after only a few minutes.

Spock's roving eyes passed the window, quickly moving away from the light. Alarmed by his friend's total lack of response to his presence, Kirk tapped the intercom. "Spock," he whispered.

The Vulcan winced in pain at the sound, the tremors worsening. Reluctantly, Kirk replaced the shutter, ignoring the tremor in his own hands.

******

M'Benga stepped through the doorway, feeling helpless as Kirk slumped against the chamber. The captain's command persona was always firmly in place when he interacted with M'Benga as it was with the rest of the crew. There had been only two people aboard with whom he lowered his guard and simply be Jim Kirk. One of them was dead and the other now dying.

Kirk's return with Spock from the undercover mission one week ago was still fresh in M'Benga's mind. He hoped never again to hear the sounds of agony he had heard from the Vulcan as Kirk had carried him from the shuttle to Sickbay. The doctor had been surprised to discover Spock's injuries were minor. There was widespread bruising, but no broken bones or internal bleeding, nothing to explain why Spock was experiencing such severe pain.

After several scans, M'Benga had located the unexpected source of the pain. A neurological scan had indicated swelling of the neuro-synapses, and all nerve endings. The captain had explained that Spock had been captured and his condition was a result of an experimental drug tested on him.

M'Benga was reluctant to intrude on the captain's grief but felt certain that in his place, McCoy would have attempted to support Kirk. He crossed the room, his boots tapping loudly in the silence. Despite his attempts to forewarn the captain, Kirk remained slumped against the chamber, appearing oblivious to his approach.

Standing quietly at the captain's side, the doctor knew that forcing Kirk to talk only caused him to withdraw even more. M'Benga held back a sigh, he knew if McCoy were here, he would coax, wheedle, badger or order the captain into talking. Options not available to them in this present situation since he had never had the opportunity to build any sort of relationship in which Kirk would completely trust him. He could only offer his support.

Kirk's first words caught him completely off guard. "I can't help but wonder if Bones suffered like this."

M'Benga fought down a sudden reflux of gorge in his throat. He whispered, "Are you saying that Doctor McCoy was also injected with this drug?"

Kirk's face was still partially hidden against the chamber wall but the agony in his voice was easy to discern. "Yes, Spock managed to tell me when I first found him. Before he--" The jaw clamped down, muscles flexing painfully.

M'Benga struggled to control his reaction to the news. And failed. "Good god."

Kirk straightened, his eyes going back to the small window. "I watch Spock and can't help but see Bones suffering because I wasn't there to help him."

The doctor pushed his own horror back, placing a hand on Kirk's shoulder. "Don't do this to yourself. I know you would have helped if you could have. He knew that. He also knew the danger of Starfleet duty. We all do."

"Did you also know Doctor McCoy refused to come on this mission?" Kirk turned to face him, his hazel eyes blazing with self-recrimination. "I ordered him to join me."

"No." M'Benga paused, not backing down from the intense gaze. "It still doesn't change anything. You had good reason, I'm sure. You can't blame yourself for his death."

"You don't understand." Kirk paced a few feet, then turned, fists clenched in frustration. "It's my fault. I could have refused this mission, should have refused it. It felt wrong, even to me. Why didn't I listen to McCoy?" His breath caught and he turned back to watch the chamber. "Instead, I made him come. We separated to make forays and gather as much information as we could as quickly as possible. Spock and McCoy didn't make the rendezvous. I was able to find Spock and get him away. There wasn't time . . . " His voice trailed off and M'Benga caught a glimpse of the anguish Kirk in the grief filled eyes. "For the thirty-six hours it took to get back here, I had to listen to a Vulcan--a Vulcan- for god's sake, cry out in pain. What must it have been like for Bones?"

Kirk wrapped his arms around his chest as if trying to hold himself together. He lowered his head, but not before M'Benga saw tears fill the hazel eyes. The captain's words cut into his heart. "He must have died in such agony . . . the way Spock is dying now."

There was no answer. M'Benga struggled to subdue even his reaction to the picture Kirk's words created. He could tell him that worrying was useless, that they did not know that McCoy had suffered but Kirk would know it for the lie that it was, useless reassurances. Just like his own ability to help Spock. Useless. He stared at the shuttered window of the anti-grav unit, seconds ticking by without words. McCoy would know what to say to help Kirk to cope with his over whelming sorrow and guilt. Berating himself, M'Benga was surprised when Kirk reached our and clasped his shoulder in a gesture of support, squeezing lightly. The hazel eyes still reflected his pain, but he managed a soft smile for the doctor.

Kirk left, M'Benga staring after him thoughtfully. The doctor felt relieved of his own guilt somehow and that smile, it seemed to lift his own dispirited soul. M'Benga turned back towards his office, shaking his head. He had come to offer comfort and had been comforted instead.

Floating in the darkness, Spock was slowly losing his time sense. The hours were never-ending, no reassuring finite count giving him a cornerstone to rely on. Focusing on any one subject or simply meditating, stimulated nerve endings and inflamed them more, increasing his pain and making the healing trance impossible.

There were periods of disorientation. Panic would nearly overwhelm him when he opened his eyes to the silent, back world in which he was existing, not sure who or where he was. It was then Jim would come, seeming to sense his need. Kirk's gentle caring smile and his concern managed to reach across the empty space and buoy Spock up once again.

"Spock."

The sound caused sharp stabs of pain in his ears. He knew that voice. How to respond? Gray confusion swirled in his mind, and he forced himself to concentrate, causing ripples of pain throughout his body. The light . . . Spock shifted his eyes to look at the light and found one brief glimpse of Kirk before the darkness descended as the shutter started to close.

"Jim," he whispered. The light was gone. He was alone.

"Kheza. You are called Kheza. Say it!"

McCoy was unable to see the owner of the voice. He wiped his cheek awkwardly on his shoulder, his arms bound tightly to the hard metal chair in which he was sitting. He closed his eyes, fighting waves of nausea. The bright light and unchanging white of the small square room hurt his overly sensitive eyes. The drug they had given him seemed to be having a steadily worsening effect on him. It was making him extremely reactive to any type of stimuli. He struggled to analyze how the medication acted on his nervous system, trying to ignore the voice that insistently demanded his attention.

"My patience is wearing thin. Your name is Kheza."

McCoy whispered hoarsely, unaware he was speaking fluent Klingonese. "My name is Doctor Leonard McCoy!"

"Fool!" The voice spat out harshly.

McCoy tensed, knowing what to expect next. He had felt the effects of the agonizer all to often in the past few days. But he had to resist! He had lost too many parts of himself already. The door behind the doctor opened and he pulled uselessly at his restraints. As the steps came nearer, he gripped the chair, closing his eyes in concentration.

"My name is Doctor Leonard McCoy, I must remember my name--"

His head jerked back as rivulets of agony shot through his shoulder. A scream was ripped from his raw throat.

The hated voice said, "We will continue this again and again until you cooperate. Your stubbornness is only making it worse for you."

His torturer removed the agonizer and McCoy slumped down, drawing great gulps of air. Tears squeezed from between tightly closed eyes. He thought despairingly of the Enterprise and tried again to reach for the link between him and Spock.

Nothing. There was nothing there.

"Spock, where are you?" he whispered.

McCoy had been afraid at first when the Vulcan had wanted to link with him. Spock had explained with the link he could find the doctor easily in case they were separated. McCoy had been too weak at the time to argue and had finally agreed.

And now, McCoy was desperately afraid because he could not feel the link he had not wanted.

******

Kirk and M'Benga stood tensely watching Spock who seemed to be caught in a period of continuing spasms. The Vulcan had been experiencing these attacks all along, but today the spasms were more intense and much longer. Spock had been and was still writhing in pain without respite for several hours.

Kirk suddenly turned away, startling M'Benga by slamming his fist against a wall. "Dammit, there must be something we can do! How much more can he take?"

"I don't know," M'Benga said softly. "If I knew why the seizures were more frequent now it would help. But his condition is so weak, if I scan him and cause more stimulus it could kill him." M'Benga stopped, shaking his head. "I keep thinking Doctor McCoy would have come up with something."

Kirk's head came up at the words. "No. You can't blame yourself. It's those bastard Klingons--" He broke off, then finished quietly, "We'll be on Vulcan in two weeks."

So Klingons were involved. That piece of information did not help Spock any. If it would have, M'Benga knew Kirk would not have hesitated to tell him before now.

"I'm afraid we won't be in time. They aren't even sure they can help him if we do make it--and his condition is worsening every hour, Captain."

The bright hazel eyes held M'Benga's for a moment begging him to deny the truth. Then the captain stepped away, straightening with sudden determination. "Doctor M'Benga, I want an updated report on Commander Spock's condition with the hour. I think it's time to pull some Vulcan strings."

M'Benga nodded and both men started to leave the room. A noise from the intercom of the anti- grav chamber rooted them to the spot momentarily. Spock had not spoken for ten days. Kirk quickly opened the shutter.

Spock's eyes were open wide, focused toward the window. "Jim," he whispered hoarsely.

The doctor and the captain both stared, their faces frozen masks of horror and frustration. Kirk hissed in anger, "There must be something we can do. He doesn't even know I'm here. Everything I do causes pain."

Kirk was right. There was no method M'Benga knew of to communicate with the Vulcan that would not result in more agony. The doctor knew from conversations with McCoy and his own observations of the two men that Kirk was hurting as much as Spock. He wished fervently there was something he could do for both of them.

He did not notice at first that Kirk had stepped away from the window. M'Benga turned, surprised by the sudden light of decision in the hazel eyes. Then a determined expression appeared, sending a cold chill down the doctor's spine.

"I'm going in." Kirk announced.

"Going in?" M'Benga frowned, not understanding at first. He frowned, "You mean with Spock?" When Kirk gave a quick nod, M'Benga shook his own head in denial. "You don't understand. It will only cause him more pain. Just the sounds of entry and the slight changes of pressure cause him to cry out. I dread going in to give his nutrition injection because of the agony I know it causes."

Kirk faced the doctor, his eyes pleading with him, even if his words did not. "I have to try," he said, quietly.

M'Benga gave Kirk credit for waiting patiently for his decision. He nodded, realizing there was nothing else he could do for Spock. Maybe there was a chance . . .

"Your name is Kheza. say it and the pain will stop."

McCoy jerked his head up, forcing his voice to remain steady. "My name-- my name is--is McCoy."

A swarthy Klingon stepped in front of McCoy and smashed his fist into the doctor's face. Blood poured from his nose. McCoy closed his eyes, tensing for the next blow. He reached again for the link, 'Spock, Jim . . . hurry. I can't hold out much longer, Spock--'

He screamed as the agonizer was placed on the base of his neck. The pain shot down his spine to spread throughout his system. McCoy writhed in the chair, attempting to pull loose from it, ignoring the shredding of his skin around the restraints on his wrists and ankles.

The harsh voice continued in his ear, reverberating through his head because of his heightened sensitivity. "Give in and the pain will stop. All you have to do is say your name. Kheza."

McCoy forced his head up, his eyes blazing with anger. He grated out, "It's McCoy. L--L-- McCoy.

"You will live to regret your sniveling defiance, Human." The voice snarled, making McCoy tense.       McCoy searched his mind again. The link was not there. He had been able to touch it easily with his thoughts those first few hours after Spock had placed it in his mind. The link had grown steadily weaker, but until now he could always feel its presence. Spock would not have broken it. Not unless . . . unless he was dead.

"No!" McCoy moaned. He refused to believe that, could not believe it.

Heavy footsteps sounded behind him. McCoy felt hot tears flood his eyes. He did not know how much more torture he could endure.

"Jim," he whispered. "Please hurry."

Kirk could see Spock cringe at the sound of his approach. The captain drifted as closely as he could without disturbing the Vulcan. "Spock," he whispered almost soundlessly. "It's Jim."

The Vulcan continued to withdraw, his eyes rolling with fear. Kirk touched his cheek. "Spock, please--we need to know how to help."

Pain flashed across the Vulcan's face at his touch. Kirk withdraw his hand and waited silently for some sign of recognition.

Nothing.

The eyes unnerved Kirk. Eyes that were always so full of intelligence and repressed humor, were now full of fear and confusion. He tried again, steeling himself for the pain it would cause. "Mr. Spock, look at me."

No response. At least no cognizant response, but Spock moaned hoarsely, his body twitching with the torment Kirk was causing. After several seconds, Kirk turned to leave, the only thing he was accomplishing was to cause his friend even more agony.

As Kirk started to move away, a look of pure terror flashed across the Vulcan's face. He reached out and grasped one of Kirk's fingers.

"J-Jim?"

Kirk froze, afraid to move, Spock did know him! His chest filled at the sound as if it was the first time in hours that he had truly breathed. He refrained from answering, waiting for Spock to initiate the next move.

"Help . . . lost . . . " The words were harsh, unlike the Vulcan's normal resonant tones. "Jim, do not know--hurts . . . everywhere . . . pain . . . "

Kirk remained still, tensing at the panic in Spock's voice.

"So alone . . . no thoughts . . . need--"

"Need? What do you need?" Kirk ignored the ripples of pain in response to his whisper. He was losing him again, the Vulcan's eyes were slipping away, unfocused. "Spock!"

Spock must have sensed some of Kirk's desperation. His eyes suddenly snapped back to meet Kirk's. For a soul-wrenching moment, Kirk could see past the broken outer shell into the very essence of the Vulcan.

"Jim," Spock said softly. He slowly lifted his hand to Kirk's face spreading his fingers.

"So alone. Lost . . . touch . . . I'm losing so many parts."

The hand fell away and Spock again drifted off into his own private world, lost in a confusion of fear and unrelenting pain.

"Spock!" Kirk grasped his friend's hand causing sharp spasms to shudder through the Vulcan. "What is it that you need? What will help?"

The Vulcan blinked, frowning. "Need . . . " he whispered.

Spock placed his fingers on Kirk's face, spreading them in the meld configuration. Kirk nodded, preparing himself. He closed his eyes, waiting calmly for the familiar touch of Spock's mind.

A flame of the fire seared into his mind. He had to fight to keep from pulling away. Spock moaned and Kirk felt the contact lessen. "No, Spock. Don't let go. Let me help you."

The pain continued to intensify and Kirk was quickly surrounded by a wall of flaming agony. He could feel himself gasping but unable to get air. Dizzily, he searched for a way through the wall; he was going to black out soon unless the pain eased off.

'Spock! Lead me to you. Where?'

A glimpse . . . a brief image of Spock curled on his side . . . withdrawn, Kirk mentally reached and parted the wall of flame, not questioning his instinctive action.

'Jim?' Spock lifted his head up, the dark eyes haunted. 'How did you find me?'

A shaft of fire pierced its way through the Vulcan and he retreated again. Kirk had to kneel at his side to hear his ragged whisper.

'Not here! So much pain . . . can not protect.'

Kirk pulled the resisting figure in his arms. 'You rest, Spock. I'm here to help you, let me keep you safe for a while so you can regain some of your strength.'

Again, Kirk did not stop to question what he was doing. He had no training in healer's techniques and was operating on instinct alone. His desire to help Spock was overriding all other concerns. He only hoped he did not harm the Vulcan more in the process.

Another shaft of fiery agony bled through the shield above them. Kirk gathered Spock close, protecting him from the pain, projecting a calm, serene area enveloping the Vulcan. He cradled the worn figure in his arms, and within moments sensed the panic abating in the peaceful world he had created.

McCoy woke shivering and tried to pull the pieces of rags he wore around him. He slid his fingers over the sleeves. No braid of rank encircled the wrists and he frowned trying to remember what they looked like.

"I'm losing . . . can't--I'm Chief Medical Officer--" McCoy stopped, frowning again. He shoved himself upright, gritting his teeth against the cramping muscles. With determination, he began again. "My name is . . . I'm . . .Chief--" He moaned, searching in the confusion of his mind for some sign of Spock, or the link. Black despair threatened to overtake him, until now, believing Spock and Kirk would come back for him, he had not given up hope. But he was ready to accept that Spock was not coming for the one reason he could not. The invincible Vulcan must have died at these monster's hands. Without hope of rescue, it was now up to him to attempt to escape. Or die in the attempt.

Footsteps sounded near his door, and McCoy drew back against the corner of the cell. He narrowed his eyes in concentration, trying to clear away the confusion swirling in his mind. He must not give in or he would be lost forever.

The door swung open. He stood, swaying. With a satisfied smile, he stated, "I'm Doctor Leonard H. McCoy."

A fist slammed into his stomach and he folded over, the bitter taste of bile causing him to gag. One of the Klingons laughed. "Call me Graclk, Human. Mak is late. My orders are to make you more cooperative."

McCoy groaned. He had experienced this particular guard's idea ensuring his obedience all too often before.

M'Benga anxiously scanned the monitors. Incredibly, Spock's readings were inching back to an acceptable level. But as the Vulcan's readings lowered, Kirk's was rising accordingly. Whatever the captain was accomplishing was putting a tremendous strain on his cardiovascular system. he was in imminent danger of a stroke, if his blood pressure continued its steady climb.

He looked through the window. Kirk floated freely beside the Vulcan, his hand lightly touching Spock's fingers, no evidence of the strain he must be feeling. Spock's long angular face was free of pain for the first time in a week. Damn! M'Benga wished for McCoy, not only to help Spock, but in knowing how to deal with a hardheaded captain.

'Jim?' Spock stirred. 'How are you doing this?'

Kirk shrugged. 'I don't know. Must have picked up some mental tricks from you.'

'I have suspected you of being a latent telepath. The way you manage to read me at times has made me suspicious.'

Kirk chuckled. 'Now, Spock, don't go accusing me of reading minds. I've just learned to read your supposedly nonemotional facial expressions. Besides, McCoy would--'

For a shattering moment, it felt as if the wall of fire was caving in on them. Spock curled up again, crying out, and Kirk struggled to push back the flame.

Slowly . . . slowly he created an island again. It was costly, he could feel his body drenched in sweat, trembling with the strain. His heart was pounding too hard and too fast, his whole body shuddering in the effort to get enough air.

When their world was calm, he whispered, 'Sorry, Spock. It's all right.'

'I felt him die . . . I--' The Vulcan broke off.

Kirk gathered him up again. 'I'm sorry. It hurts. But you need to rest while you can. I'll stay . . . just rest.'

Spock nodded, his exhaustion present in every thought. He lay his head on Kirk's shoulder, tiny tremors still shaking him.

While he slept, Kirk fought to keep the painful jolts that were bleeding through from touching the peaceful Vulcan. The wall pressured him constantly, threatening to come crashing down and destroy them both.

The Vulcan slept on.

The torture lasted several hours before the doctor was tossed roughly into his cell. One eye was swollen shut, the other not far behind. He coughed, holding his arm against the pain in his chest.

He did not remember much of the session, his thoughts were practically incoherent, darting around with little direction. He rolled over, curling on his side. "Name, they want my name. Kheza. No . . . "

He coughed again, tears streaming from his eyes. It took several minutes for the white-hot agony in his chest to ease. He lay awkwardly, only half-conscious. His whisper echoed in the tiny cell, "Jim . . . where are you? Losing . . . I must remember . . . my name is Kheza."

M'Benga was preparing to enter the chamber and physically haul the captain out, just as Kirk finally came through the door. The captain unceremoniously collapsed in his arms.

A few minutes later, a white-faced Kirk was struggling to sit up on the exam table and M'Benga came close to applying the bed restraints. "Captain, you've just been through a tremendous strain. I need to check you over, then I'll give you something for that headache."

Kirk's head inched slowly back onto the bed, the exaggerated motion giving credence to the high dolorimeter reading of his headache. "How long? Need to call the bridge--" He squeezed his eyes shut. "Can you lower the lights?"

M'Benga complied, without interrupting the scan he was running. "I've notified the bridge you're currently confined to sickbay. Mr. Scott is in command. Now, relax so I can finish."

His tone rough and grating, Kirk said, "You've been taking lessons from McCoy."

"Not enough," M'Benga snapped, frowning at the readings. They were returning to normal but the stress factor indicated the strain could be costly. He would have to monitor the captain closely in the next few days.

Kirk tried to lift both hands to his temples, M'Benga pulled them away. Placing a hypo against his neck, the doctor explained, "This will reduce your headache. You need to stay prone for at least an hour. Whatever you did played havoc with your cardiovascular system. I need some time to ensure it's safe for you to be up. I want Doctor Engles to look you over."

As M'Benga made a move toward the intercom, Kirk brushed his sleeve. "Luca, Spock explained that any attempt to mentally control causes pain. He estimates he can survive eighty- four more hours." Kirk tried to lift his head but apparently was rewarded with throbbing pain. His face paled, his lips compressing into a thin line. Recognizing the warning signs of nausea, M'Benga quickly injected a second hypo.

The shallow breaths eased, a faint flush of color returning to his skin. Opening his eyes just barely enough to focus on the doctor, Kirk ordered, "I want an updated report on Spock's condition in one hour. I intend to get Spock to Vulcan in time."

M'Benga nodded, resting a hand on Kirk's shoulder. "You rest for that hour and you'll have the report."

Kirk's lips moved and M'Benga leaned closer, catching a few words about blackmail and McCoy. The doctor allowed a brief smile, squeezing the tense shoulder again.

Eyes still closed, Kirk ordered softly, "I'll rest, now go."

M'Benga stopped to check on Spock. For the first time in days, the dolorimeter was decreased nearly to the fifty percent level. Peering inside, the doctor studied the Vulcan's face. Whatever magic the captain had managed had definitely helped, Spock looked almost as it he were sleeping. The doctor pushed aside the fear that it would not be enough.

Healer Soren sat back in his chair in the meditation room of his offices at the Vulcan Academy of Healing, composing himself for a most difficult confrontation. Difficult for him, because of the circumstances that had resulted in the current problem. He did not approve of Starfleet and the power it had. This was one more indication of the problems that could result from interfering with other races. The starship Enterprise was on her way to Vulcan at top speed, bringing Spock of Vulcan home. The only Vulcan hybrid in the galaxy was mortally ill, caused by an unexplained mission. A covert operation by the military mentality frequently involved causing harm to other beings to serve their needs. He had no doubt that this Spock had imperiled his honor as a Vulcan, all to uphold his oath to Starfleet.

Soren mentally reviewed the report of the human doctor regarding Spock's condition. One section had to be in error. The doctor stated they were using mind melds with Captain Kirk to sustain Spock. This was impossible. All other considerations aside, M'Benga had accurately assessed Spock's need and properly requested N'rim Var.

Soren summoned Healer T'ren to his office. She was Xytmaxhriu, a member of a rare desert clan seldom seen outside of the homes deep in the Shikar Desert.

He bowed his head in greeting at the tall slender telepath with deep, green eyes. "T'ren, you are to leave immediately and rendezvous in three days with the starship Enterprise. Upon your arrival, you must invoke N'rim Var for Spock, son of Sarek. His condition is grave. Use your transit time carefully to fully prepare yourself. I will speak with Ambassador Sarek, and secure his cooperation in all which must be done."

T'ren bowed gracefully. "I will leave immediately."

If the members of the Vulcan Council could have seen him at that moment, they would have been astounded to see Ambassador Sarek of Vulcan impatiently pacing in the private waiting area of the emergency medical transporter room as he waited for his wife to arrive.

A moment later, Amanda, his wife of fifty years, entered. Her face was white with fear. He touched his fingers to hers in their ritual embrace, and she calmed enough to ask, "Sarek, what's wrong? Are you ill?"

Sarek slid his fingers from the Vulcan touch to a very human one. He held her hand gently for him, tightly for her fragile human hand. "I am well, Amanda. I was also summoned here by Healer Soren. I believe we should let him explain when he arrives."

As if his words had summoned the healer, Soren walked in and began without preamble. "Ambassador, Eighteen days ago, your son was injured on a mission with Captain Kirk and Doctor McCoy. We know very little about the details of this mission. However, Spock and McCoy were injected by an unknown drug by Klingons. The human McCoy died before they could rescue him. Spock lives but his prognosis is guarded at present. The effects of the drug has irritated the nerve synapses, enhancing all physical sensations, destroying all his physical and mental controls. Spock has been unable to initiate the healing trance. He is suspended in an anti-gravity chamber. His controls have deteriorated and now he is losing even autonomic function. Captain Kirk has requested our assistance. I see no option but to have healer T'ren invoke N'rim Var. Do you understand?"

Sarek felt Amanda questioning him through their link. N'rim Var was a dangerous procedure for both healer and patient, involving a total subjugation of the patient's mind and body by the healer until the patient could reestablish his own controls. As a result, Spock would regain minimal physical function first, as his body recovered, then later the mental blocks would be removed. Such a procedure required permission of the family, since at any point, Spock's mind could totally reject the dominance of another mind, and choose death, instead.

Amanda's eyes opened wide, and she spoke for the first time, forcing Soren to acknowledge her presence. "Without N'rim Var, Spock will die?"

Soren did not attempt to hide his impatience. "I believe I have already answered that question, Amanda." He turned to Sarek. "Do you consent?"

The Ambassador lifted an eyebrow at the poorly concealed contempt shown toward his wife. He shifted his hand in hers, seeking the two fingered Vulcan embrace that allowed them to speak privately. After a moment, he replied serenely, "We give our consent, Soren."

Kheza's head hung limply, his body still jerking from the repeated torture with the agonizer. He tried to move his arm in the restraints, attempting to ease the merciless throbbing. Footsteps were approaching, the rest period was over. Kheza fought to keep from crying out. It was no longer a matter of resistance or survival . . . they wouldn't let him die. The bastards were keeping him alive just to have fun torturing him. If only he could just turn his mind off and die. Like Spock.

Spock, the name swirled around and he tried to grasp the significance of it.

An agonizer was placed at the back of his neck, sending flaming tendrils along all his nerve routes. He screamed, pain engulfing his soul and body. He tried to pull away, tears flooding his cheeks. "Please . . . stop!" he pleaded.

"Stop," the unseen voice commanded and the torturers removed the agonizer. Kheza slumped down as the calm voice continued. "You are loyal to the Empire. Say it and the pain will cease."

"I'm loyal . . . no-- I can't." Even with all his pain, Kheza sensed to give in was to lose all of himself.

Something slammed him across his temple. For a moment he nearly lost consciousness. A large hand lifted his chin roughly, forcing him to meet the eyes of a leering Klingon. "You still have fight left, Human?"

Kheza closed his eyes searching frantically in the dark silence of his mind. It was not there. Somewhere was a safe haven for him if he could only find his way back to it. His mind screamed a litany of only half understood words, 'Help me! Jim, Spock, help me!'

The hated voice screamed, battering him with a stream of Klingon obscenities and threats. One part of Kheza understood all too well.

"Swear! Swear your loyalty to the Empire! Or I will kill you so slowly you will beg me for release."

It was not an idle threat.

Pain! It was hitting him from everywhere!

Spock tried to draw away from it, but was attacked no matter how he hid. His spine was suddenly aflame and spread bursts of sharp fire along the nerves. Tears ran freely down his face . . . no, not his, someone else's. Someone . . . so alone. . . where? Hitting me . . . I can't . . . no more . . . stop, please . . . I'm loyal . . . no!

Spock sobbed openly, vaguely aware he was crying for someone else. He tired to analyze the confusing thoughts, but in the turmoil of pain, he could not decipher where they belonged.

The pain struck at him again, and he cried out. He could not control, his physio-neuro systems rapidly became unregulated. There was no escape from the agony, all his efforts only caused more pain and the flaming tendrils followed him, blocking every place he attempted to hide.

Lieutenant Uhura had been watching the captain unobtrusively for the last half hour. He had steadily grown paler, his face appearing more tense with each passing minute. She knew he had been suffering from frequent headaches for the past week caused by the melds with Spock. He apparently was being bothered by one now. The captain had only been on light duty for the last few days, but even that seemed too much for him now. Observing him wince as he massaged his temple, Uhura decided to quietly call Sickbay.

She nearly jumped as M'Benga's voice issued from the com before she opened the channel to his office.

"Sickbay to Bridge."

Uhura was tempted to transfer the call to her board and handle it herself, but she was too late.

"Kirk here. Problems, Doctor M'Benga?" He kept his tone light, ignoring his own discomfort. Watching, Uhura saw his hand trembling as he drew a hand across his forehead, wiping away a layer of sweat. Noting again how thin and strained his face had grown in the last few days, Uhura was tempted to cut off the doctor's calm voice, afraid this time he would ask too much of the captain.

"Commander Spock's condition has steadily worsened in the past half-hour. It is now critical. I'm sorry, we're . . . I'm afraid we're going to lose him."

"I know, Luca," Kirk closed his eyes, exhaustion weighing his every move. "i was hoping--we should be meeting Healer T'ren in--" Kirk tilted his head at the helmsman, who supplied the estimated arrival time. "ETA in five point two hours."

"He won't make it."

Kirk's face paled even more at M'Benga's flat tone. His shoulders slumped and Uhura turned back to her board, intending to open a private link to Sickbay. M'Benga simply could not know what he was asking of her captain, but it was time he found out.

She was interrupted by a warm hand squeezing her shoulder. She looked up and found Kirk at her side. Seeing the concern in her eyes, he smiled reassuringly and Uhura felt herself relax slightly.

"Nyota, see if Mr. Scott can take the con. Until then, you have her--see if you can speed up the rendezvous."

She nodded, "Aye, sir."

Kirk set the lift in motion, then leaned his head against the wall. The image of Uhura's warm eyes changed into the darker, confused eyes of his friend. Again, he felt a shiver of fear course through him, knowing it was caused by the residue of the link he apparently now shared with Spock.

The captain had known exactly when Spock had begun to deteriorate even more rapidly, but he had hoped they could reach the shuttle carrying T'ren before his help was required.

He still did not fully comprehend how he was able to help the Vulcan. As a non-telepathic human, he should not have been able to manage this feat. Yet, for six days now, two days past Spock's original estimate, he had melded with his friend and given him the rest and strength he needed to survive.

However, the toll on his own body was fast reaching its breaking point. It was possible he would not survive another meld.

It didn't matter, he had to try.

The lift came to a stop, and the captain forced back the surge of nausea at the slight motion. He strode forward, trying to shake off the heavy weariness that made him feel as if he were moving in heavier than Earth normal gravity. He would not let M'Benga see how badly he felt.

M'Benga rubbed his eyes wearily as the dismaying indicators blurred in front of his tired eyes. He glanced back through the small window, able to see in the dimness the too still form of the commander.

"Doesn't look good, does it?" A warm feminine voice said at his side.

M'Benga looked away from the window, only able to shrug his shoulders. He met Doctor Engle's understanding eyes, grateful for the older woman's comforting presence.

"You sent for me, Luca?"

"Yes, Loretta." He noticed an indicator edging down another fraction and closed his eyes in frustration.

"Don't blame yourself. You've done everything possible." She squeezed his shoulder lightly.

M'Benga appreciated the support, but knew his next words would gain him an adversary. "Doctor Engles, we are five hours away from that rendezvous. In my opinion, Spock won't make it another hour. I've sent for Captain Kirk."

Her eyes narrowed, turning hard. She dropped her hand. "Then why did you call me? You have my report and recommendation. I thought you concurred with me."

"I do. That's why I need your help." M'Benga waited, pleading silently for her to understand.

Engles managed to keep her voice low as she lashed out. "My help? You just want someone else to give you permission to kill both the captain and the first officer! Mr. Spock is dying, you must accept that. Don't send the captain inside in a futile attempt to save him. My records clearly show his heart cannot withstand the stress. I'll be the first one to charge you with negligence."

"Loretta, all the facts tell me I'm wrong to do this, but my instincts tell me to give the captain this chance. If there's one legacy Doctor McCoy left with me, it's to trust my instincts. I trust you. I respect your opinions. You're one of the best cardiologists I know. What I'm proposing is we give the captain some help. That's why I've called you."

He held up his hand as she started to interrupt. "Hear me out. I'm asking you to give him a stimulant." At her strangled squawk, M'Benga shook his head forcefully. "I know, I'm well aware of the strain on his heart but suppose you give him something to counteract its effects on the heart rate and blood pressure? I believe it would still give him the strength to help Mr. Spock and possibly survive. We can deal with the other side effects afterwards."

"Why should we take that kind of chance with the captain's life? It's simply too risky." Engles shook her head vehemently, wisps of soft brown hair escaping from the neat bun at the back of her head.

M'Benga caught a glimpse of Kirk approaching out of the corner of his eyes. He saw no indecision on the captain's face, the hazel eyes were already intent on the chamber that held Spock. As his brisk steps crossed the room, M'Benga turned to Engles. "Then you'll have to be the one to refuse to let him help Commander Spock."

For a moment, her face paled and she turned startled eyes on him. Before she could reply Kirk passed by them, not even acknowledging their presence as he headed for the chamber.

"Captain, wait. We need to speak with you."

Kirk ignored her, starting the procedure to enter the antechamber.

Engles crossed to his side. "You can't go in there."

The captain lifted an eyebrow, his tone deceivingly soft, "Oh?"

"If you go in, you'll die."

The captain's frown faded as he held her gaze for several seconds. Without replying, he turned, his eyes automatically seeking out Spock's form through the observation window. He turned to face Engles again. "If I don't go in, Spock will die."

M'Benga watched Engles cut off Kirk's move toward the entrance, her eyes cold and calculating. McCoy had often said no one could go for the jugular better than Loretta. "Doctor M'Benga will be charged with negligence if you die. I am officially on record as your cardiologist. You are not physically competent to attempt to aid Mr. Spock. M'Benga's sending for you indicates he is coercing--"

"Doctor Engles, may I remind you I am the captain of this ship. You should know by now I do not respond well to threats. I don't plan to die, but if I don't happen to make it, M'Benga is not responsible. He didn't have to call me to come, I had already sensed Spock was in danger, had been for nearly twenty minutes before Luca did notify me. I would have been down here within the hour whether he called or not. Now, if you will excuse me?" Kirk stared at her pointedly, waiting for the obstinate doctor to move.

M'Benga caught her eye, holding up the hypo with an eyebrow raised in question, Engles nodded, her face resigned. She moved to the side, but touched Kirk's arm lightly, as he brushed past.

"Jim, wait." Kirk stopped at the warmer tone. "Doctor M'Benga believes a stimulant would be beneficial. Give me a minute, I need to prepare a mediation to counteract the more severe side effects on your heart."

Kirk threw M'Benga a hard look. They had argued three days ago when the captain had asked him for a stimulant and had been unequivocally denied. He looked back at Engles, nodding shortly. "Just hurry!"

As she left on the run for the lab, Kirk glanced again at M'Benga in answer to his unspoken question, the doctor said soberly, "You're going to need it this time."

'I'm losing . . . the pain . . . no more . . . ' The conflicting thoughts were his and yet not. In the meld, Kirk continued to try to shield Spock. He could not keep the pain out, his only way of protection was to cover Spock's essence with his, preventing the flames of agony from touching the Vulcan.

Kirk knew he was losing. He kept descending, darkness closing to claim him, not sure who he was.

"Breathe! Jim, take a breath!"

M'Benga again! Kirk took a breath and forced Spock to take one as well. The blackness receded for a while as Kirk concentrated on continuing to breathe.

The captain was not sure how long he had been here. He knew he had helped Spock at first, then everything had gone haywire. The pain had increased, flaming through both Kirk and Spock's consciousness. It was all Kirk could do to withstand the pain. He was unable to help maintain the Vulcan's temperature or blood pressure. Even his own autonomic system was affected.

There was such confusing input from Spock's thoughts, as if they were not all his . All he could do was reassure Spock and try to keep them both alive.

"Jim! Captain Kirk! Help is on the way. Keep breathing!"

Spock took a breath dutifully as Kirk instructed him. 'Why all this effort . . . I'm dying . . . all alone . . . wish I could turn my mind off like Spock--'

Spock tried to lift his head. One thought was finally clear to him. It was McCoy. His pain. Amidst a new onslaught of agony, Spock tried to reach Kirk. 'Jim . . . listen . . . not my pain . . . help him.'

Kirk had shifted mentally to protect Spock. The Vulcan felt Kirk stroking his head soothingly. 'Relax, help is on the way. Just breathe.'

Jim did not know. McCoy was alive. They had to help him. He struggled to speak. "Jim, please--"

A flame of agony shot through what Spock now realized was the link with McCoy. The pain was coming from McCoy.

'Spock?' Suddenly the link was vibrantly open, McCoy's cries reverberating throughout his mind. 'Jim! Spock! Where are you? They're taking you away. Don't leave--'

Spock attempted to reach out for McCoy, but now Kirk was interfering with his efforts, blocking his thoughts. Surely he had heard their friend crying out for them.

Piercing agony shot through the open link and Kirk held him tightly, shielding him from as much as he could. 'Spock, you're safe, I'm here. Breathe for me.'

Spock was so tired, it would be so easy to curl up with Kirk's comforting embrace. Away from all the pain . . . away from the disorderly universe . . . away . . .

'Rest . . . ' Kirk's mental voice seemed to come from a great distance.

Spock felt a jolt of agony bleed through Kirk. How much pain was Jim enduring?

Suddenly, through the link, McCoy once again came searing into his thoughts.

'Too late . . . lost . . . they're locking you away. Why did you leave me?'

Surely Jim could hear! McCoy needs . . . Pain struck him, Kirk was no longer there to protect him. Any coherent thought was rapidly escaping. Using every last ounce of energy, Spock reached for McCoy one last time. 'We will come for you!'

There was no answer. Spock sought out Kirk and found only darkness. Panicking, he twisted, fighting his own encroaching blackness. Jim!

A calm presence intruded. 'Spock, I am Healer T'ren. Your captain is safe. Your life is in danger. I must invoke N'rim Var, now.'

Spock agreed wearily, knowing she must have his permission. Jim was safe. He could rest, now.

He allowed the healer to pull him toward a safe channel. He floated along the gentle current with T'ren's guidance until he arrived in a chamber of his mind that would remain closed from any outside thought. He would be safe, T'ren would care for him . . . for Jim.

McCoy! He gasped, pushing against the slowly closing door. T'ren did not know! He must tell her. Jim must know.

T'ren did not hear him, or chose not to. Spock pushed, but could not keep the mental door from slamming tightly shut. He was now closed in from the outside world with his own frantic thoughts, and there was no escape until T'ren allowed him out or he chose the only other alternative -- death.

T'ren's actions were logical, Spock knew. Yet he slumped against the door illogically beating against it with his fists. Logic was his way, his life, but not McCoy's.

Spock slid down to rest on the cool floor of the tiny chamber in his mind that he now considered his prison.

'I'm sorry, Leonard.' This time the tears that flowed down his cheeks were truly his own.

Kheza surveyed the littered room with dismay. The area had been nearly spotless when he left it less than an hour before. Graclk must have discovered his latest project and decided to sabotage it as usual. The Klingon soldier seemed to take special delight in making his life even more miserable tormenting him when Kheza's master was not within hearing. Not that tormenting him would make any difference to his master, Lord Mak. The human shook his head, sighing heavily, what had he done to earn Graclk's special attention or Mak's total disgust? His memory of the past was so sketchy, confusing images that did not seem to relate to one another at all.

"Kuve!" Mak roared. "Slave!" His heavy footsteps sounded from the hallway.

Kheza started, there was no way to hide this mess. He sank to his knees, dropping his head, knowing this attitude of respect would not save him from his master's anger.

"Kuve, get my boots. The Force Leader is--" There was silence and then Mak growled.

Kheza thought he was prepared for the blow when it came. Still, it knocked him across the room into the wall. He forced the blackness back. He had learned the only way to forestall any more abuse was to act quickly on Mak's demands.

"Khest'n straav! General Khrei is to arrive within the hour. You have less than that to clean this up."

Kheza forced himself to his knees, ignoring the pounding in his head. "Kuvesa tokhea."

The swarthy commander scowled down at the human. Then he threw back his head, almost growling in a sound Kheza had come to interpret as laugher.

"Make sure you do, kuve! Get my boots."

Kheza silently obeyed, only his blue eyes showing his hatred of serving this animal. As the commander strode from the room, the human wiped the streak of blood from his mouth, his face twisting in anger. Without understanding the gesture, he lifted his right hand, making a fist, and aimed his middle finger at the Klingon's retreating back.

As quickly as he'd done it, Kheza dropped his hand, staring at it in confusion as he heard an amused voice say, "Elegant, Bones, but not very helpful!"

Kheza whirled, but found no one behind him. The human sank heavily onto a nearby chair, massaging his temples as if by doing so, he could clear the cobwebs that seemed to confuse him so. The voice was becoming a familiar presence within his mind, not so much frightening him as leaving him feeling lost and terribly alone.

Graclk's gruff voice sounded in the background, drawing Kheza's attention back to his current predicament. He stared around the room, not sure where to start. He had spent over an hour preparing a reception table and meal for his commander's guest, General Khrei. Now it was a shambles.

The human quickly tried to straighten the worst of the damage, uprighting chairs, cleaning up the spilled drinks he had so carefully prepared. He was lucky Mak hadn't noticed his favorite ale had been overturned.

Picking up the neck of the brown bottle, he pause, staring at the spilled drink on the table.

Again, a laughing voice admonished him, "Here, you're spilling it, let me pour, Bones."

Mesmerized, Kheza automatically reached out for the drink being handed to him, smiling as he lifted his eyes from the puddle of orange liquid on the table to meet twinkling hazel eyes.

His hand met empty air, and the image faded from before him. Kheza's throat constricted painfully. The haunting visions seemed to be appearing more often. He frequently found himself responding to a young human whose eyes seemed to reach into his very being. Golden eyes that had the ability to hurt by their loss far more than any of Mak's taunts or beatings ever did.

The sound of Mak yelling in the distance forced him into action, shoving the confusing thoughts aside. There was very little time.

Force Leader Khrei, over two meters tall, was an imposing figure, towering over most Klingons. He was powerfully proportioned, his biceps bulging beneath the jacket he wore. The general narrowed his dark eyes at Mak, now using his height to its fullest advantage to make the weasel cower.

"Thought Admiral Knai sent me to pick up the two Federation prisoners and a current report of your success. I want both now." Khrei ordered.

Commander Mak bristled, "I have kept the empire well informed of our activities. We cannot report much success with the people on this planet. They have no useful skills, other than agricultural. It has proven a waste of our time to test them."

Khrei took a threatening step forward. "Where are Kalchas and the prisoners?"

Mak shifted. "One of the prisoners tried to escape. The Vulcan. He killed Kalchas."

"You let the Vulcan escape?"

"No, my lord. He was killed during the escape attempt."

"How did he kill Kalchas?" Khrei watched him carefully, wishing this interview was over. Knai had already ordered him to return Mak for punishment due to his mishandling of the whole project. Because of Mak's need to succeed in attempting to move up in the Empire, the commander had managed to wipe out over half the populace of the planet.

"The Vulcan apparently obtained a blasted and shot her."

Khrei did not hide his anger. "Khest'n liar. You killed Kalchas. We received a report from her about a Vulcan commander escaping over three weeks ago. Now we have received rumors that the Federation are considering seeking out the assistance of the Organians about the wide spread terror you've caused on Spaladros. Your mishandling of this project may had lost us this planet. Where is the other prisoner? Or has he died as Kalchas feared he would?"

Mak glared now with undisguised hatred. He spat out. "The human was not just a Federatii pig, but a Starfleet doctor. He is awaiting your arrival. The experiment was a complete success with him. He believes he has served Klingons all his life, and serves me well as my kuve."

"So, you have manage to turn a human into a loyal Klingon slave. What is the advantage to this? We have vast colonies of kuves, we do not need to waste the empire's resources on obtaining humans who make very poor slaves." Khrei did not keep the disgust from his voice -- disgust for both Mak and humans.

Mak's forehead pulsed with anger. "I am not the fool you think I am, General. The people I was sent here to test this on have no skills we need. But the human was a physician and he came through the programming with all his medical skills. We can utilize those skills anytime it is necessary."

Khrei was unable to keep the gleam of interest from his eyes at this bit of information. From the reports they had received, this particular point had been kept secret. If this type of reprogramming was possible, then a number of opportunities were suddenly opened.

"Bring the human to me," Khrei ordered.

Kheza was surprised when he was ordered to report alone to the Overlord and Commander Mak. He knew that several native women had been prepared for their use and the commander had made it clear that the human's presence was unwelcome during Klingon coupling activities. Kheza was grateful. He had no desire to observe their degradation of what they felt was an inferior species.

He entered the laboratory, his mood becoming even more depressed at the dull gray wall and floor as he passed through it, taking a short cut to Mak's quarters. There was no color here, he always felt somehow that a dark area of his life had begun here. Where was all the vibrant color, the joy, the laughter he caught glimpses of in his dreams?

Taking a deep breath, Kheza entered Mak's quarters. Whatever Mak had found wrong, he was sure to take punishment for it.

Kheza knelt respectfully before Mak, far enough away, as he had been taught, so the Klingon did not have to smell him. Bowing his head was still not easy for him, a fact he had yet to understand. If he had been a kuve all his life, why did he resent giving way to the Klingon's obvious superiority? He felt his neck stiffen, his jaw tighten.

"Kai, Khalese." Kheza was amazed his voice was so calm. How he hated those words. "Yes, my lord."

"Tokhe straav, Human?" The question came from his other side, a quiet voice as different from Mak's growl as night from day, and yet, he felt even more menace in the restrained tone.

Kheza kept his head lowered, resisting the strong impulse to look at the questioner. He could not lift his head until addressed by Mak. He did have to answer the question. Did he serve willingly? It took all his control to answer that he did.

"Kuvesa tokhesa." He was thankful, now, he could not look up, for he could not keep the hatred from his eyes, after speaking that detestable phrase.

There was a roar of laughter from the unknown voice. Kheza waited in impatient silence for Mak to give him permission to rise.

"Kuve, look at me and tell me you serve willingly."

The forceful command in the voice made Kheza start to lift his head, until he heard Mak hiss at his side. He remained as he was, the hairs on the back of his neck bristling at the tension crackling in the air.

"Human, I claim you as my kuve. Now look at me." Again, the other presence in the room spoke.

There was a roar of rage from Mak as Kheza lifted his head. He turned to look at the stranger, meeting cold, dark eyes. Eyes as forbidding as dark clouds presaging the approach of a summer storm in Georgia. Kheza swayed, wondering from where that thought had come.

Mak rose to his feet, knocking over his glass of ale. It splashed off the table onto Kheza's knees. "He is mine! Thought Admiral Knai will be pleased with my success. I deserve his reward. You cannot claim him."

The overlord's eyelids dropped lazily, belying the tenseness Kheza could discern in Khrei's powerful arms. A long white scar ran from the side of his temple to his lip, pulling the right side of his face into a perpetual sneer. "The admiral does indeed demand your presence but not to reward you. I am to take you back for punishment."

Kheza saw a silver flash from the corner of his eye and knowing Mak's next move, he shouted a warning. "Overlord, he has--"

Khrei had obviously already anticipated Mak's reaction. Moving faster than the human could follow he leapt to his feet and in the same smooth movement kicked the blade from Mak's hand.

Mak's forehead was pulsing with rage. He rammed a killing blow at Khrei's neck but the overlord blocked it with deceptive ease. He knocked Mak across the room with one double- fisted blow. Mak slid down the wall to the floor and before he could react, Khrei was on him. He kicked the fallen man savagely across the face and Mak slumped to the ground.

Khrei strode back to the human and repeated his challenge as if nothing had happened. "You are the servitor of General Khrei, Overlord of the Klingon Empire. Do you serve willingly, kuve?"

Resentment swelled in Kheza at the challenge. He was human, a slave to Klingons. What choice did he have?

"Kai, Kassai."

The other side Khrei's mouth curled up and his eyes flicked back to Mak's unmoving form. "Your transformation is not as complete as Mak believed. Perhaps one day you will serve willingly. What is your name?"

"I am called . . . Kheza, my lord."The human frowned. A confused jangle of thoughts intruding, vying for his attention. My name is . . . I have lost myself . . . Jim. Kheza dropped his head, closing his eyes against the sudden tight pain in his chest. Why did these thoughts bring such overwhelming despair and loss?

The human was jerked to his feet by Khrei's guard. Kheza looked around and saw the General was gone. The guard carelessly placed an energy yoke on Kheza's neck and pulled him forward. The yoke seared the slave each time it touched his skin.

Kheza followed the guard, unable to keep from stumbling every few steps. He refused to make any sound with each painful touch of the yoke. The human wouldn't give this Klingon the satisfaction. Besides, the burns and physical abuse he had suffered at the hands of these Klingons were nothing compared to the desolate sense of loss he felt from his fragmented memories and his dreams he experienced the dark of night . . . dreams of a different life. A life where he belonged, and was loved.

Kheza knew that wherever this Klingon was leading him made no difference.

He would still be alone.

Kirk was alone in his quarters updating some of the paperwork that had piled up in the past four days he had spent in Sickbay. He was glad to be out from under both Doctor Engle's and M'Benga's ever observant eyes. He glanced wryly at the scanner on his belt; not that he was very far from their observation.

They were currently orbiting Vulcan, awaiting new orders. ensconced at the Institute of Healing, Spock was in the deep trance state called N'rim Var. The healers were uncertain about his prognosis, and even if he was stabilized, his first officer would have to remain on Vulcan for several more months.

Sighing deeply, Kirk signed his name to the report in front of him and rubbed his eyes wearily. He felt well, no residual headaches, his appetite was back, but he tired so damn easily.

Kirk leaned back in his chair, his eyes falling on the bottle of Saurian brandy McCoy had presented to him on his last birthday. Now would be the time Bones would ordinarily show up with one of his morale boosting prescriptions and they would . . .

No, that kind of thinking would only depress him further. He deliberately closed the lid on those thoughts and focused on the report on his desk, setting a goal of reducing the stack of work by at least a third before retiring.

The captain did not get far before the words started to run together again. At the same time, his intercom signaled. He was not surprised to find Doctor Engles' glowering at him on his monitor.

"Captain, may I ask what you think you're doing?"

Kirk could not resist a smirk. "You know, I ask myself that every time I look at this paperwork."

"I believe you are long past your rest period. Your heart is beginning to show some stress."

"You must be joking. This--" Kirk glanced down at the leave request he held in his hand, "is causing strain on my heart?"

"Yes." Engles stared at him, her black eyes intent. "I think you already know it is. "Dizziness? Blurred vision? Fatigue? You've been well-informed about the symptoms to watch for and when to rest. I suggest you stop ignoring them and rest now, unless you would rather spend the next day in Sickbay."

Kirk nodded, feeling like he had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Damn M'Benga for putting her in charge of his care. He couldn't bargain with Engles like he could with M'Benga. "Good night, Doctor."

Kirk darkened the screen and straightened the stack of printouts. He moved obediently over to his bed, removing his boots. He was tired, maybe tired enough to forget, to sleep dreamlessly.

After long minutes of staring at the ceiling. Kirk sat back up, knowing any further attempt to sleep would be useless. He felt so alone in here. So lost.

The captain grabbed his boots and padded barefoot to McCoy's quarters.

Settling down in the comfortable chair he had often used when talking with McCoy, he found himself both comforted and saddened by the memories of his friend. It wasn't hard to imagine Bones bursting into the room, chewing Kirk out for invading his privacy.

There had been so many good times here.

And bad times.

They had shared so much. Together.

In their ancestral home, Amanda reluctantly followed James Kirk out of their living room. She had checked with the Enterprise's chief medical officer prior to issuing an invitation to the captain to visit their home. Doctor M'Benga had approved the visit, in fact had seemed rather enthusiastic about it. He specifically restricted any activities in the planet's thinner atmosphere. Kirk was well aware of that fact yet, he had overrode her concerns insisting that she show him her garden.

Kirk glanced back and grinned as he caught her eyes, before disappearing through the door. Amanda shook her head, amazed that only one week ago, this man had nearly died in his attempt to save her son.

Before Kirk's arrival, Sarek had increased the oxygen level in their home to aid in preventing any relapse with the captain's recovery. So far, she had not observed any signs of discomfort. Amanda and Sarek had spent a quiet afternoon with the captain. Immediately after dinner, Sarek had been called to a conference with Spock's healers.

The captain had grown increasingly restless in the past half-hour, pacing the study, his attention distracted easily. Unfortunately, she had mentioned a new plant that was doing quite well, one Spock had obtained several months before and sent to her. Kirk had immediately taken an interest, requesting to see it. She was not sure how to stop him, without adding to his increasing agitation.

When sweltering heat hit her in the face, Amanda winced in her concern for the captain's welfare. She hurried to Kirk's side, taking his arm, with the intention of guiding him to a nearby bench -- and stopped.

"This is beautiful! You've done all this yourself?" Kirk gazed slowly around at the various plants and trees, a play of emotions crossing his mobile face each time he discovered something new.

Amanda smiled. Lately, she had almost forgotten just how wonderful and out of place this garden was on this arid world. She had been terribly busy the last several months with a new group of inter-racial aliens at the school. Now, with her concern over he son, she had not taken the time to appreciate the beauty of her work. It had become another routine task to be completed each day.

Kirk's eye caught a delicate flower hidden under a large maroon leaf. He knelt down, closing his eyes to inhale deeply. An appreciative smile crossed his face, pushing her worries aside momentarily. The captain returned to her side and grasped her hand. He kissed it lightly. "You don't know how much I needed this. Thank you." His eyes twinkled as he turned eagerly back to the breath-taking colors of the various plants. "Would you mind showing me more?"

Amanda inclined her head, her own eyes dancing. She took his arm, M'Benga's admonishments forgotten for the moment. "Of course, Captain." Imitating her son's lecturing tone, she took him on a tour down the winding path of stones that Sarek had laid with his own hands. Kirk seemed to relax even more as she related tales of Spock's misadventures in the garden as a small child. With Kirk's low throated laughter and trading tales about her son, Amanda allowed her caution to slip away and continued to lead Kirk deeper into the flowering shrubs. Kirk stopped and reached out to touch one of the plants.

"Oh, be careful. Gav's leaves are similar to nettles. Your hand would be numb for hours." Amanda rescued fingers before Kirk touched the squat, almost ugly bush.

Kirk's mischievous grin surfaced. "What did you call it?"

Amanda glanced cautiously over her shoulder, as if she feared someone would hear her. "It has a rather long unpronounceable name, and Sarek admonishes me every time I call it that." She added silently, 'Yet, I feel his amusement through our link each time he does.'

Amanda had been prepared for more of Kirk's gentle teasing and looked at him sharply when he did not respond to her admission. She caught a frown crossing his face and he rubbed his temple momentarily before turning to examine a small flower next to Gav.

Now seeing the pink flush in his face and increased respirations, Amanda touched his arm. "Captain."

Kirk looked up at her, rolling his eyes at her continued use of his title.

"Jim," she corrected quickly. "I find as the years pass that I must be careful how much time I spend in the heat. Would you mind if we went back inside and had some refreshments?"

Kirk blinked, his discerning eyes seeing through her ploy. "Amanda, I--"

"Please?" Sarek had often told her that her gracious coaxing could charm even Tellerites.

The captain relented and stood, brushing the dirt from his knees. "As long as you promise we can finish the tour at a later date?"

"I would be delighted." Taking his arm, she firmly guided him back into the house, pointing him toward a cushioned chair before heading for the kitchen.

By the time she returned with a cold fruit drink, Kirk was up, prowling the living room. Unaware she was watching, he leaned heavily against the bookcase, rubbing both sides of his head, grimacing as he did so.

"Jim, are you all right?"

Kirk dropped his hands, immediately straightening. "Yes," was all he said as he came and took the tray she held in her hands. "This looks wonderful."

She refrained from questioning him further. Instead, they each took a glass of the frosty liquid. Kirk quickly downed nearly half the glass. "That hit the spot. Thank you."

"This juice is called Ihntya and happens to be one of Spock's favorites." Watching Kirk shift restlessly from foot to foot, Amanda rose to join him. Placing a hand lightly on his arm, she waited for him to shift his attention to her. "I also want to thank you for joining us today. You are always welcome here. We can never repay you for what you've done for my son."

Kirk shook his head. "You seem so calm," he paused, swallowing. He covered her hand with his own. "We get no reassurances Spock will recover. I know that you must be worried."

Amanda held the hazel eyes quietly, allowing him a brief glimpse or her pain. "I suppose living among Vulcans all this time has made me seem uncaring." She held up a hand, smiling gently as he reacted. "Like you, I am worried and more than a little angry we're not allowed to visit because of the healer Soren's fear of emotional contamination." She repeated the words with the proper Vulcan inflection. A corner of Kirk's mouth curled at the imitation.

The silence that fell between them conveyed more than any words. Kirk finally gave a painful smile, pressing his palm over her hand. "Amanda, we can't delay any longer. The Enterprise is scheduled to leave tomorrow. Will you keep me personally posted on Spock's condition? Starfleet updates leave a lot to be desired."

"Of course," Amanda smiled, "If it would help."

Kirk nodded, turning back to the bookcase. Glass in hand, he sipped the juice as he studied the titles. "I'm curious. Has Spock read any of these?"

"Actually, he has read all of them." Amanda reviewed the titles, most of them she had brought with her from Earth. They were a collection of Earth's finest. Sarek liked to tease her about her nostalgia with these books however, through the years, he had bought her several more that rounded out the collection.

With a mixture of amusement and irritation, Kirk chuckled lightly. "Then he understands humans far better than he admits too if he's read these. He pretends sometimes not -- "

The glass slid from his hands and she looked over to find ashen features twisted in an anguished grimace.

"Captain, what's wrong?" She waited tensely as he steadied himself against the bookcase. "Should I call Doctor M'Benga?"

"No." Irritated, Kirk shook his head. "It's not . . . it feels like--" His face went blank and Kirk lifted a hand to his head. Surprised comprehension spread across the expressive features. "Oh my God, its Spock." Kirk grabbed her arm, his voice rising in a mixture of horror and excitement, "Amanda, since he's been in the N'rim Var trance, I haven't felt anything. Now I'm sensing him. Something's wrong, he's in trouble. I should've realized it sooner. We've got to go to him."

"Jim, we're not allowed to see him. You're still recovering. This is probably caused from the trauma you suffered. It's some of my fault, too. I shouldn't have let you go out in the garden, Doctor M'Benga said not to--"

"I don't give a damn what M'Benga said--" Kirk stopped. He drew a deep breath, saying in a quieter tone, "Amanda, Spock's in trouble. Please believe me. I can sense it here." He tapped his forehead. "I've got to see him. If you won't take me there, I'll find some other way."

Amanda considered her options. If she refused, she had no doubt Kirk would follow through with his promise. The healers would be most displeased with their presence, but it was possible the captain might control his . . . impulsiveness . . . with her at his side. She reached out for Sarek, knowing before she did that he would be blocking her as he routinely did during meetings. Her husband had said they were considering removing certain block's from Spock's consciousness, but it would not endanger him in his present state. If Jim was right, something had gone wrong.

She looked back at Kirk's pale face. It was the controlled fear that convinced her. Fear for her son. Fear from a man renowned by the universe for his courage in facing his adversaries.

Amanda nodded in response, knowing she had made the right decision by the relief that flooded Kirk's face.

Soren met them at the front door of the medical center. The healer's voice was cold, cutting. "Commander Spock is rejecting N'rim Var. Consequently, he will die."

Kirk stared at the cold, unfeeling face wondering how the healer could be so insensitive to Amanda. He stepped forward, forcing himself to remain unemotional. "If he's dying, then let us see him."

"No purpose is served especially since the emotions you emit will cause more harm." The overtone of superiority clearly claimed Soren's low opinion of humans.

"You don't know that. We might be able to help him." Kirk tried to push past the Vulcan, into the corridor beyond. Now that he was here, the pull to return to Spock was as great as it had been on the Enterprise before arriving on Vulcan.

Soren did not try to stop him, but his harsh words brought Kirk to a standstill. "Interesting. Your guilt produces the emotion of irrational anger."

"Guilt? What are you saying?" he demanded.

"If you had not interfered with Spock's mind aboard your ship causing irreparable damage, we might not be losing him now."

"Enough!" Amanda's voice came between them, equally low and angry. "If Captain Kirk had not assisted, my son would be dead." She turned back to Kirk. "Go to him, Jim. Help him."

Kirk moved quickly past the Vulcan, heading immediately down the long corridor. The slender thread that stretched between him and Spock drew Kirk with increasing pressure to where Spock now lay dying. The captain's steps halted outside an unmarked door, certain of nothing but Spock's presence within. T'ren would also be there with Spock. Would she confirm Soren's accusations? Vulcans did not lie. It was possible that in his desire to help, his ignorance could have harmed Spock even more,

Kirk stepped within the door's sensors, relieved when it slid open. Sarek and another Vulcan dressed in a healer's robe were here, inside a small room filled with medical equipment and monitors. The ambassador drew his gaze away from the large darkened window in front of him to meet Kirk's eyes.

"T'ren informed us you were approaching. Your unbarriered emotions announced your presence to her well before you arrived." He did not attempt to hide the disapproval in his voice.

Kirk clenched his fist, Sarek's brown eyes surveyed him dispassionately. Kirk saw no hint of distress of his son's conditions, only a calm acceptance. Did Sarek also believe he was the cause of Spock dying? He knew Amanda did not blame him, her reaction had been as outraged as Kirk's.

"I've come to see Spock." Kirk announced, keeping his voice calm, only allowing his eyes to challenge Sarek.

"Spock is dying, there is nothing that can be done to prevent the outcome."

"If he's dying, what harm can I do by seeing him? Or his own mother?"

Used to reading Spock's face, Kirk did not miss the discomfort that crossed Sarek's face at his words. The second Vulcan ignored them, studying the monitors, adjusting touchpads every few seconds. He lifted his head from the screen and stared through the dark window. When he stood, Sarek moved to help him, Kirk could see he needed the assistance because of his age. His hair was completely white, his skin pale, almost translucent.

"Captain, T'ren will see you now." The elderly Vulcan spoke in a reedy tone.

Kirk nodded curtly and headed for the second door across the room. He was forced to curb his impatience again as he entered a sterilization cubicle and had to wait the sixty seconds it took to complete its cycle. Kirk stepped through the opposite door as soon as it opened.

The lighting was dim and Kirk waited for his eyes to adjust. The room was quiet, alarming the captain with the lack of medical equipment. In the center of the room, on a narrow bed, lay the still form of his first officer. Fearing he was too late, Kirk went to Spock's side. He resisted the impulse to touch Spock, waiting anxiously for an eternity for his friend to take a shallow breath.

A soft voice at his side startled Kirk. He had forgotten they were not alone. "Yes, Captain. He still lives. I am Healer T'ren."

Kirk studied the long, angular face for one precious moment more, then stepped away from the bed. Eyes still on Spock, he whispered furiously. "Where is his life support. Aren't you even attempting to keep him alive?"

"Spock is well monitored. We keep all mechanical equipment in the antechamber to prevent disturbing the patient."

Kirk looked up finding a Vulcan woman nearly four inches taller than himself. "But, if he should stop breathing, where is--"

"If Spock chooses to die, that is his right. We cannot take that decision away from him by forcing him to live."

"I can't believe Spock wants to die. Something is wrong! You must help him." Kirk fought the impulse to grab the Vulcan and shake her. She had to understand that Spock would not simply give up.

The healer frowned, blinking several times. She placed a hand on a nearby chair as if for support. "Your emotions are most disturbing. You must try to control."

"Control! You're telling me my friend is dying--" At his words, T'ren lifted a trembling hand to her forehead, Kirk paused, forcing himself to draw a steadying breath. "Healer, I can't help how I feel. At his home in Shikar, I sensed Spock was in trouble. I don't pretend to understand how I knew that. But if he's dying, I might be able . . . " Kirk stopped, afraid his next words would cause T'ren to react with the Soren's same supercilious attitude; one that said humans were infinitely inferior to Vulcans.

T'ren glanced back at Spock and then turned to study him. Her vivid green eyes caught the light, glinting with what he would almost interpret as concern and a touch of wonder. "That is why you are here? He is reaching out to you?"

Kirk lifted and eyebrow. The Healer Soren had taken his melds with Spock as dangerous interference. At least T'ren seemed willing to listen to him. "Yes and I thought . . . I could help in some way."

"What could you, a human, do that a trained healer has not done?"

The question was pure curiosity. Kirk felt all his defensiveness drain from him. She demanded honesty. "I don't know. In fact, in light of what Healer Soren just told me, I feel I might cause more harm."

"Spock accepted my control seven days ago. Today he has chosen to reject my guidance. This is not logical. Any help you can provide is welcome and in view of the rapport you both share, it is possible you can help. If there is enough time."

"Healer, are you saying is Spock is dying because he's rejecting you?"

T'ren nodded, her bright eyes reflecting puzzlement.

"Not because of the damage I unknowingly caused by my links with him aboard the Enterprise?"

T'ren's eyes widened. "Spock would not be alive if you had not assisted him as you did. Any damage you caused was negligible in comparison.

Kirk felt his throat tighten. Struggling to control his reaction, he stepped back to Spock's side.

T'ren spoke softly, the tone soothing Kirk's overstretched nerves. "You felt you were responsible for his dying."

Kirk blinked, glancing down at Spock. "Healer Soren told me a few minutes ago that I had caused irreparable damage. It made sense, I was tampering with something I had no training in."

"He is alive because of you."

The compassionate words and concerned gaze trained on his face, lifted some of the heaviness weighing down his shoulders. He lightly brushed the back of Spock's hand before stepping a few feet away from his friend. "Healer, can you explain what happened tonight? I began to sense he was in trouble over an hour ago."

"I attempted to remove his autonomic blocks and allow Spock to control those on his own. This should not have affected his emotional responses since that is still blocked. But I immediately began to sense a disturbance in his sensory input and when I tried to block the source of it, Spock's consciousness resisted. I had to withdraw. I tried again and met the same resistance. He refuses to have the blocks replaced and instead has begun to shut down his autonomic system."

"Why would he refuse to let you help?" Kirk moved back to Spock's side, his gaze falling on the drawn face. A frown shadowed the Vulcan's face and he glanced at T'ren in alarm. "Is he in pain?"

"Technically, yes, but only because the nerve endings are not fully healed and are being stimulated by a link I have glimpsed. One that Spock is guarding. It is possible this link was causing most of the harm all along. Without it, Spock should have recovered within a few days from the central nervous system effects of the alien drug."

"A link? Soren hinted it was a link with me causing the damage."

"That is incorrect. You are there in his mind, present at almost every turn, but this link is not with you."

"Then who? And why is Spock endangering his life for it?" Kirk lay a hand on the bed near the dull strands of dark hair. The answer was locked somewhere inside Spock's magnificent brain. "Can he communicate in the meld?"

T'ren shook her head. "No. To do so would mean removing the N'rim Var. He is not ready and would only suffer needlessly."

Kirk's hand curled into a fist. Everything revolved around logic yet he knew the answer was there beyond the logic. The captain paced suddenly across the room. "Spock can't talk to us but I think he's trying to. He has two choices, accept your total control or remove N'rim Var and allow him to die. " He whirled around, his fist slamming into the palm of his hand. "Don't you see T'ren, he's trying to get our attention. He wants you to remove the N'rim Var."

"I do not follow your logic."

"Just trust me. I know Spock. Logic is his foundation but he is not confined by it. If he's dying anyway, what harm will it do to remove the blocks and see if I'm right?"

"You do not understand. It will cause him great pain."

Kirk held the green eyes, allowing her to see his own pain. "I understand what I'm asking. Please."

T'ren acquiesced by raising both eyebrows slightly. she moved to Spock's side and placed her hand carefully on the left side of Spock's face.

Kirk watched anxiously, trying not to notice how thin and fragile Spock had become. After several long moments, the healer's face twisted with pain, and Spock's body convulsed.

Kirk shuddered as he watched his friend's agony begin anew. Within seconds, the pale green face was no longer emotionless. The grimace twisting his features forced Kirk to remember those horrifying hours when he was bringing Spock from the planet back to the Enterprise. Maybe T'ren was right, maybe this was causing needless pain.

The Vulcan healer gasped but then straightened, hanging on to the meld with renewed intensity. She placed both hands on Spock, leaning close to his face. For a few seconds, it helped. Spock relaxed, his features still once more.

T'ren's face turned unnaturally pale, tiny tremors beginning to work up her arms. As she weakened, matching signs of discomfort appeared in Spock. Kirk tensed, needing to act but unsure what to do.

From behind him, Kirk heard the door open and at the same time, T'ren moaned. Before Kirk could move, Sarek rounded the table and caught T'ren just as she collapsed.

Kirk glanced quickly at Spock. He was still breathing. His color was somewhat improved from a few minutes before but whispers of pain were flickering across his face. The captain resisted grasping Spock's hand, wishing his friend could reassure him.

The elderly Vulcan joined them, kneeling at T'ren's side, speaking briefly to Sarek in Vulcan. Kirk, frightened and anxious, tried to hold onto his patience.

"What's wrong?"

Sarek stood, stony eyes darting over Spock. They settled on Kirk with disapproval as if he were to blame for all that had occurred here. "T'ren was too weak to attempt a meld at this time. She had just completed a difficult meld with my son before you arrived. Healer Sutan," Sarek nodded toward the fragile Healer bent over T'ren. "He believes she has overtaxed her resources and it has endangered her life."

"She didn't tell me there was a danger to her. Only to Spock." Kirk snapped. He knelt beside Sutan. The Vulcan woman's eyes fluttered open. "Will she be all right?"

The healer did not answer immediately. Sutan looked at Kirk searchingly. The captain felt strangely reassured by the noncommittal look.

"Captain, you must wait outside with my wife. Your emotions are very taxing to T'ren and--" Sarek stopped as T'ren spoke.

"No." T'ren whispered, lifting a hand wearily, touching Kirk's arm. "James, stay."

Startled both by her request and the use of his given name, Kirk remained motionless. Her eyelids slid shut as if they were weighed down and he waited in tense silence for her to open them. At last, she trained clear green eyes on Kirk. "You were right. He was trying to tell us about the link . . . " Her hand fell from his arm and her eyes lost their focus once more.

Kirk glanced up at Sutan cradling her head and again felt a calm reassurance in Sutan's dark eyes. Sutan touched T'ren's forehead gently, closing his own eyes.

Immediately, T'ren's face took on a healthier green color. The lids lifted and the eyes shone with a luminous hue as she looked up at the healer leaning over her. She drew a breath and sat up but when she attempted to stand, Sutan held her firmly down.

She glanced up at Spock on the bed beside her. "Spock, is he alive?"

Sutan answered serenely, forcing some of the tension from Kirk. "He suffers but he is alive."

T'ren looked at Kirk. "James, there is a viable link which Spock refuses to break. It disturbs the healing process."

"Who is it with?"

"I received several confusing images, his thought processes are chaotic." T'ren struggled to her feet, Sarek stepped forward to assist both healers to stand.

"You're not sure who it's with? Or is it Spock who isn't sure?" Kirk frowned. "Is it possible that because of his condition he's not aware of how serious maintaining this link is? Could you break it?"

Sutan stiffened in response to his question, the first sign of disapproval that Kirk had seen him exhibit. "That is an unethical request."

Kirk exploded, his frustration and fear for Spock pushing him past the breaking point. "Unethical! If I understand you, Spock is dying because of this link. And he's confused. Have you considered that he doesn't comprehend the problem? If he could, he might give his consent. You can take your high--"

T'ren's light fingers touched his arm, effectively stopping him. "Spock understands. It was you, James, who told me he was trying to tell us this. It is that important."

"But you said his thoughts didn't make sense . . . they're chaotic."

"Yes, they are. Yet he was able to impress images in my mind. Once he knows the source of the link is safe, we can dissolve it. Until then, it is possible with some of the healing from the aborted N'rim Var, he can survive for a few weeks with constant surveillance. You must find the source and bring him back to Spock."

All right, Kirk thought, nodding slowly. Who could the link be with? Considering Spock's respect for all life, it could be almost anything, including a Denebian slime devil.

T'ren swayed, some of the color draining from her face. Her eyes glazed but when she spoke, Kirk realized her reaction was caused by her inward concentration. "Spock tried to show me--so many confused images. I kept hearing a dialect similar to Klingon. He repeated the word Kheza in every phrase. James, are you aware of any relationship in the Klingon Empire?"

Kirk shook his head, the pit of his stomach tightening into a ball of lead. Why would Spock be using the Klingon language? He had the feeling the answer was in the palm of his hand and he was not going to like it.

"McCoy was also spoken of frequently. Is there a connection between Kheza and McCoy?"

Kirk did not hear the question. In fact, he heard nothing after McCoy's name. His eyes wide with shock, he felt a roaring in his head. McCoy! Why hadn't he understood before? A link. Spock had told him he linked with McCoy when they were captured by the Klingons and that the he had felt McCoy die, breaking the link. Kirk should have realized Spock was too ill to be certain of what had happened to the doctor. Instead, he'd believed Spock and left McCoy to the Klingons -- and torture.

Kirk felt the blood drain from his head, swaying dizzily. T'ren had said most of the pain had been from the link. That could only mean that the all consuming agony Spock and Kirk had experienced in their melds had come from McCoy. Not once but several times.

From far away, he heard voices talking and he managed to shove a hypo away just as it was placed against his arm.

Kirk had to lock his strangely wobbly knees in order to negotiate the short distance to Spock's side. He could see small signs of Spock's own battle, the tense lines in his face, his eyes moving rapidly under the closed lids.

Not caring who was watching, he grasped Spock's hand. "Spock, I'll find McCoy. I promise."

Kirk strode from the room without looking back. Now, everything had fallen into place. He had left McCoy alone to face the Klingons, and so had caused Spock's suffering, as well.

He now understood Spock's extraordinary choice. And he approved. Kirk vowed to himself he would find McCoy and bring him back to safety. Or die trying.

Standing by the tiny circular window in the storage room where he was working, Kheza stared at the vast array of stars. He felt a yearning deep in his heart to reach out for those stars. Somewhere out there was his life, one he lived in his dreams. As the days trudgingly passed by, Kheza found It growing more difficult to cope with the disturbing sensations he was experiencing. The stars comforted him in ways the human did not understand.

The silence surrounded and enfolded him, taking him far away from his subservient life here. Closing his eyes, he concentrated only on his breathing.

Gently, softly, a teasing voice deep in his mind whispered from behind him, Kheza kept his eyes closed, forcing himself not to react. He knew the instant he did the voice would disappear.

It was clearer, now, a face accompanying the sound. He drank in the smiling lips, reaching for the rest of the features buried in the recesses of his mind. "Bones!" The image coalesced before him, grinning broadly. "I don't care what you say, the stars are beautiful."

Kheza felt a sharp pain in his chest as the hazel eyes twinkled, sharing love and laughter.

A deeper voice intruded, evoking conflicting emotions in Kheza. Emotions that were gone before he could grasp what disturbed him. "Interesting. The doctor becomes morose and depressed when he observes the stars and yet you are frequently euphoric after spending time here," the resonant voice stated.

The faces were getting clearer. Kheza forced himself to continue breathing steadily, afraid to move. The one with hazel eyes laughed, his golden hair shining in the light. "You claim to not understand but, I've seen you mesmerized by the stars, Spock."

The illusion shattered suddenly, in it place, panic engulfed Kheza. This Spock had killed his family.

The human opened his eyes, gulping raggedly at the stale air. The images were gone, leaving only emptiness in its wake. He leaned his forehead against the window, distorting his vision of the stars wondering, why he was here. His life was out there, among the stars.

Kheza jerked his head up as he felt a sharp electrical shock up his arm emanating from a bracelet attached near his wrist. No, his life was here, he thought bitterly. Serving a general who commanded this ship, the Phsadra, full of Klingons that hated the very smell of humans.

The bracelet on his arm constantly reminded him of his status. If he did not respond to the summons his master had just sent, the shock would be repeated with increasing intensity. The bracelet could be used as an effective punishment. One experience had been enough for Kheza. He headed for General Khrei's quarters on the run.

Kirk beamed directly back to the Enterprise from the Vulcan Medical Center. Somehow, he had to reconcile himself to what had happened -- to discard the overwhelming guilt and fear that threatened to consume him. McCoy, alive and suffering the tortures of the damned from Klingon hands. And Spock, suffering the same tortures through the link he would not surrender. He was perilously close to losing them both.

Kirk checked in with the bridge and then went to his quarters. Pacing, his thoughts raced as the formulated and rejected plan after plan. The door signal interrupted and he sighed in irritation as it opened to reveal Doctor Engles.

"What can I do for you, Doctor? he asked, blocking the doorway.

"I was told you were back on board and came to check up on you." Her bright brown eyes looked him over carefully. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine." Kirk snapped, lifting his hand to close the door, 'and very busy right now. So if you'll excuse me?"

Engles took a step forward effectively halting his action. "Not so fast, Captain. I haven't released you yet, you know. I could still order you to Sickbay for a complete workup. M'Benga would back that order, I'm sure."

The implied threat forced him back a few steps. Engles ignored the flare of anger in Kirk's eyes. Using the moment to slip past him, seating herself by his desk. His irritation at her presence and disregard of medical orders to check in with Sickbay immediately upon his return had already told her something was brewing.

The doctor's brief visual assessment gave proof that physical stress was present, Kirk was much too pale, and his breathing pattern was slightly rapid, had been for a while, since his fingernails were showing a lack of oxygen, as well.

Now all she had to do was find out what was wrong before he threw her out. Engles had learned she could push the captain only so far before he pushed back.

If she questioned Kirk about his health, he would become annoyed. Instead, the doctor asked, "How is Commander Spock? Have the healers been able to help him?"

At the question, Kirk's anger drained from his face. The grief that replaced it was so profound. Engles automatically rose to her feet. Before she could offer any comfort, Kirk turned away, walking stiffly across the room.

Several questions sprang to her lips, but she forced them back. Was Spock dying . . . or already dead? She steeled herself for the news. The captain needed support and with McCoy gone, he had nowhere to turn. Engles knew she could not fill McCoy's shoes. She and captain respected and maybe liked one another, but his need for friendship had been met with Spock and McCoy.

Kirk stood near the door, his head bowed. It was several minutes before he answered her, his voice unsteady.

"Spock is dying . . . will die unless I can find McCoy and bring him back to Vulcan."

"Doctor McCoy?" She stared at him, wondering if he had lost touch with reality. Concerned for his mental stability, Engles crossed the room to face Kirk.

She gripped his shoulder in support, surprised to find he was trembling.

"I can't--" Kirk broke off, then forced a grim smile. "I could use some of Mr. Spock's control, right now."

Engles watched carefully, but even in his grief, Kirk showed no evidence of instability. The hazel eyes met hers and then narrowed.

Straightening, Kirk said quietly, "Let's sit down and talk before you decide to run a psych scan on me."

Engles mentally kicked herself. She must remember this man could read faces with almost psychic ability. Following him back to his desk, she commented, "You must admit, that was a rather startling statement."

Kirk sat behind his desk, folding his hands. He stared at them for a moment and then met her eyes evenly. "What I'm going to tell you is even more shocking . . . and disturbing."

Engles nodded. She listened with growing dismay as Kirk explained all that had transpired at the medical center. McCoy alive, suffering. That gentle soul . . . Loretta remembered when she had first met him, she had thought the CMO was a cynical, insensitive physician. It hadn't taken long to see past the gruff exterior and discover the sensitive caring man he was . . . is.

Engles brought her attention back to Kirk. He was her main concern, now, and it was evident he was not fully recovered from the stress of the melds with Spock. His heart was still showing irregularities with strain. She forced her thoughts and feelings about McCoy to the back of her mind. The capain needed her help.

"What are you going to do?"

Kirk leaned back tiredly. "I don't know. Somehow, I've got to find McCoy and bring him back here so Spock can dissolve the link."

"How much time do we have?"

"T'ren estimates Spock can survive another two weeks. But it will take us at least six days to return to Spaladros and that much time back. I don't even know for certain McCoy is still on the planet. The Klingons could have taken him anyplace, even back to the Empire."

Engles frowned. "Is that likely?"

Kirk shrugged, "Who the hell knows? If they have, the odds are against finding him." The captain's shoulders sagged as he stared down at his hands. Almost as if speaking to himself, he whispered, "I will find him."

She watched him struggle to find an answer, seeing the exhaustion written in every line of his body. Ordering him to rest now would be inappropriate until he came to some solution. But, his physical stamina was very limited right now, something that Kirk refused to acknowledge.

Leaning forward, Engles sought to help by offering a suggestion. "Maybe this isn't a viable idea, but . . . " she hesitated, wondering if she had clearly thought this through.

"At this point, Doctor, I am open to any ideas, viable or not."

"Well, I was just thinking that if we had Commander Spock with us when we find Doctor McCoy, it would expedite matters by at least a week."

Kirk stared at her, his eyes widening. Engles waited, unsure what his reaction meant. After all, her suggestion did not help with the problem of locating McCoy, just reduced the time factor slightly.

Kirk stood up abruptly and came around his desk. Grabbing Engles by the shoulders, he smiled broadly. "Doctor, you're wonderful! That's exactly what we'll do. I guess I was too close to the situation to think of it. Thank you."

Engles smiled in return relieved to see his hazel eyes sparkling again. "You're quite welcome. I'll notify M'Benga so we can prepare Sickbay."

Kirk nodded, but had already moved back to his desk, touching a sensor pad.

Engles listened with dismay as the captain notified the bridge he was beaming back down to Vulcan. Damn! She hadn't thought everything out. Of course, he would have to make the arrangements, but she hadn't intended for him to subject himself to more physical stress, especially Vulcan's atmosphere.

Watching him, she noted his color was slightly improved. His fingers, drummed with nervous energy on the table as Kirk waited for a calf to be forwarded to the medical center. She wondered how long his burst of adrenaline would last. The physician side of her longed to get him into Sickbay, now, and check his heart function.

Kirk finished his call and pushed back his chair, standing.

"Captain . . ." Engles for once was at a loss for words. He had to do this, but again he was taking what she considered was an unnecessary risk.

The captain studied her, his face softening. "Doctor, let me get Spock on board and this ship on course. Then you can have me in Sickbay the whole trip, if you want.

He waited until she nodded, and then walked briskly to the door. Nonplused, Engles remained where she was. She had overheard McCoy remark once that the captain could take up a second career in psychology. Now Engles fully understood the statement. He had known what she was about to say even before she did.

"Doctor Engles?" Kirk stood in his open doorway, posed to leave.

"Yes, Captain?"

"If you come up with any more ideas, viable or not, you will relay them to me?"

Engles smiled in return. "Of course, Captain. You'll be the first to know."

Kirk immediately beamed back down to the medical centre and requested a meeting with the Healer Soren, Sarek and Amanda. The austere office assigned to Soren was small and left no room for pacing while Kirk told them of his plan.

As he finished, he scanned the three faces before him, Soren's and Sarek's faces were totally unreadable, but as he had expected, on Amanda's face, he could see reflected some of his own hope.

Soren spoke first. "What you suggest is totally unethical and irresponsible. The answer is no."

Kirk felt his face flush with anger. "That's it? Just 'no'? You condemn two men to certain death with just a simple 'no'?"

Sarek moved to stand beside Soren. "I estimate your chances of success to be minuscule. Captain I see nothing in your plan to warrant subjecting my son to even more pain." He looked at Amanda as if expecting her concurrence.

She looked down at her hands, folded tightly in her lap. Her response was almost intelligible. "Does it matter, Sarek, if Spock dies here or on board the Enterprise?"

The ambassador closed his eyes for a moment, then looked at her, Kirk could see in his eyes all the grief he was not allowed to express.

"Understood, my wife. Very well, Captain. We consent."

Soren stood, focusing his cold, dark eyes on Kirk. "You seem determined to finish what you have started, Captain. Very well, take Spock with you. Whatever happens will be your burden to beat. However, I must insist that T'ren accompany you."

"Of course, Healer. I'll be grateful for her help. I'll signal the ship to beam them both aboard as soon as Spock can be made ready."

He turned to leave when Amanda's voice stopped him. "Whatever happens, Jim, know that we understand and we do not hold you responsible."

Kirk met her eyes with a grateful smile. "I appreciate that, Amanda, but I'll hold myself responsible and, as Healer Soren has said, that is something I'll have to live with."

Kheza stood at a counter in the small medical lab, an inadequate space too tiny to call a room, that branched off from an almost equally small medical ward. He pulled a tube containing medication from a tray in front of him, shaking his head again at the jumbled mess of broken vials of medicine and equipment all tossed together.

"Computer, identify ifsomine. Categorize." Kheza put the tube down, waiting for the computer's response.

"Category; cardiac."

Kheza swore, the machine was no more help than a small child. "I figured that much out. Action of ifsomine?"

"Modifies post load of heart function. No additional input available on ifsomine."

The human glared at the computer. Feeling the urge to throw the tube at the stupid hunk of metal, Kheza very carefully placed it next to a growing pile of medications that needed more identification if they were to be used properly.

Footsteps approached and he looked up to see Rhad carrying a large book. The Klingon was smiling. "This might help. I remembered seeing it stashed behind some equipment in the storage closet."

Kheza muttered. "I thought this was the closet."

Rhad favored him with a puzzled expression, but the human didn't miss the affection lighting the Klingon's eyes. Kheza allowed his lips to curve up in an almost forgotten expression.

"Let's see what this is that has you in such a dither," the human demanded gruffly, covering his confusion at the stirring of emotion Rhad was causing. He was genuinely beginning to like the young Klingon..

Rhad laughed, a sound closer to a guttural growl. "Soon you will be in a . . . dither? Whatever that is. Watch." The technician picked up the tube Kheza had just placed on the counter.

"Ifsomine." He ran his finger down the page and then flipped several pages over. "Ifsomine is an alkaloid that depresses the vasomotor center and sympathetic activity by stimulating--"

Kheza interrupted, "By all the gods, what is this? Does it also contain dosages and side effects? How about contraindications?"

The Klingon bared his teeth and Kheza smiled back, an unfamiliar chuckle rising from the back of his throat.

"See, you are in a -- dither, too. We can now catalog these properly."

Rhad slipped a tape in the computer and the two soon were engrossed in the immense task of updating the inadequate medical files. Human and Klingon, they worked side by side, united by their common love of medicine.

After General Khrei had assured himself of Kheza's loyalty by a painful session in the interrogation booth, Kheza had literally become the general's kuve. He served him meals, assisted with his bath and dressing. Massages had become a nightly routine after Khrei had learned of his slave's ability to relieve his muscle aches through the therapeutic therapy. But aboard the General's flagship, the Phsadra, Kheza had to remain in Khrei's quarters. A human's presence was poorly tolerated in the midst of so many Klingon warriors.

Kheza had been surprised when, after only a week aboard, the general had assigned him to serve Chief Healer Kuan when Khrei was on the bridge. Kuan, however, had immediately turned him over to Rhad, making it plain he wanted no contact with the human.

Rhad was a technician, training under Kuan's tutelage. He wanted to become a healer. The young Klingon had quickly discovered Kheza's understanding of the healing arts. His desire to heal was so strong it overcame the barrier his ingrained dislike of humans had presented at first.

In the beginning, Kheza had been disturbed in ways he did not understand as he learned what was expected of him in the med-station. It had been almost a relief to report to Khrei at the end of his watch, melting back into the role of kuve. While in the med-station, he felt a pain he couldn't describe, a missing part of his . . . soul was lost there. His dreams were increasingly disturbing with their memories . . . of a different life, different faces, different equipment. He felt as if he were alive only during his dreams and when awake, lived a walking nightmare. Where was the miniature restorer that repaired cuts in the skin so no sign of a scar remained? Where was the monitor on the wall that he constantly referred to in his mind?

Kheza sent a sidelong glance at the young technician at his side, intently entering the information Kheza had just given him. Unintentionally, Rhad had helped Kheza adjust to serving in the med-station. His need to understand medicine and his enthusiasm for learning had helped Kheza overlook the feelings of frustration each time he saw accumulations of dirt and neglect of instruments. He was beginning to ignore the image his mind supplied him of gleaming metal and clean surfaces. He shrugged off the confusion he felt when working with an instrument that was familiar, yet did not perform all the functions he expected.

The human had discovered in his time at the med-station that he possessed more medical knowledge than anyone aboard, including the chief healer. Yet, he was not familiar with Klingon physiology or Klingon customs. How could he have served Klingons all his life as kuve and not know these basic facts?

The inconsistency of Kegg's explanation about his past haunted him more each day. Speculation grew more painful and in order to cope, Kheza had made a conscious decision to close off any thoughts about his past. To maintain his sanity, he had to make his life here. The turmoil and emotions caused by his incomplete memories of his past were not worth the cost exacted from him.

The floor shuddered under his feet and he would have fallen without Rhad's unexpected grip on his arm. Kheza spared a surprised glance at Rhad. Klingons hated humans so strongly, touching one was repulsive to them. Yet, the tech aided him now without hesitation.

Before he could move, the ship keeled starboard and both of them were flung against the opposite wall, several tubes smashing against the wall.

Kheza reacted automatically, ignoring the broken vials of medications now covering the floor. Jumping to his feet, he searched for the nearest intercom. Before he could reach it, the ship lurched again. He grabbed the counter, managing to remain on his feet.

Slapping the knob, he snapped, "Bridge, this is--"

"Kheza, what are you doing?" Rhad called from across the room

A sudden black emptiness threatened, making his knees shake. An overwhelming sense of loss swept over the human as he stared at his hand on the intercom. What was he doing? He was kuve. He had no right or reason to call the bridge. Khrei would probably punish him for this. What had he been about to say?

Kheza only knew that he had responded like this before. If only in his dreams, he knew what to do.

A hand shoved him roughly aside. The chief healer glowered at him before speaking into the intercom. "Bridge, Kuan here. What's happening?"

There were sounds of shouting and then the ship shuddered again. Kheza could hear Khrei giving several orders. Finally, he spoke coarsely to Kuan. "We've been attacked by pirates. The engineering section has injuries. Report immediately. And take Kheza with you."

"I do not require a human to assist me." Kuan swayed, nearly falling as he glared at Kheza.

"Tokhe straav, Kuan?"

The words penetrated the inebriated brain of the healer. His head snapped up, "Kuvesa tokhesa!"

Kheza caught a whiff smell of the strong odor of Mesna just as the healer backhanded him. He slumped against a nearby bed, his cheek smarting from the blow. He had seen the healer in various states of intoxication yet he never seemed to lose the opportunity to catch the human off guard.

Khrei growled at Kheza before sweeping from the room, only stopping long enough to grab a disruptor. The healer took no supplies.

Kheza turned to find Rhad's astonished eyes still on him. The human couldn't explain, he didn't understand himself what he was doing when he had called the bridge. Kheza again turned to gather some basic first aid supplies, and was pleased when Rhad silently joined him.

Loud cries and the smell of burning metal greeted Kheza as he entered the engineering section. He did not see where Kuan had gone, but he moved to the side of a Klingon whose leg was bleeding. Kheza slapped a pressure dressing on the wound. It could be treated later since it was not life threatening. Triage would handle that.

Rhad had disappeared. Kheza reached in his own kit for a green band to code the injury and frowned as his searching fingers came up empty. He pawed through the bag, Kheza was momentarily surrounded by ghosts of memory. As with the intercom earlier, he knew that he had performed this simple procedure dozens of times in the past. Clamping down on the thought, Kheza concentrated on the injured Klingon. He chose a spot to place the minor injuries and pulled the Klingon over to lean against the wall, out of harm's way.

The sound of disrupter fire startled him and Kheza looked around for the source. The smoky haze filling the air obscured his vision, and he was forced to ignore it while he searched for survivors.

As he was checking his fourth man, a familiar voice spoke, "Kheza, put this on. Now, how can I assist you?"

Kheza looked up, wiping sweat and grime from his face. Rhad stood at his side, handing a mask to him. Kheza gratefully put it on, drawing in gulps of clean air. He outline the basics of his triage plan, noticing Rhad's eyes widen in appreciation as he acknowledged his understanding.

The two of them worked together, assessing the rest of the wounded men in their section. They had five minor injuries that could wait and one that needed immediate surgery. Rhad left, carrying the Klingon to the med-station to prepare according to Kheza's instructions. Kheza moved toward another open door hoping the injuries were limited. They were not equipped to handle several traumas, the med-station held only four beds.

Again, he heard the disrupter fire, this time much closer. Kheza frowned as he remembered Kuan taking only his weapon and wondered it was being used to free crewmen who were trapped beneath equipment. Kheza picked his way over the debris into the main reactor section. Through the haze, he caught a glimpse of Kuan across the room. Kheza worked his way toward him, nearly stumbling across the chief engineer, Kadix half hidden under a large piece of equipment.

Kheza attempted to lift the heavy metal with no success. As he looked around for assistance, a female engineer caught sight of Kadix. She joined the human, adding her strong muscles to the effort. Within seconds, the chief engineer was free. Both Klingons reacted, growling when they discovered Kadix's right hand had been severed.

Kheza knelt beside the Klingon, pressing the contact points that would stop the increased flow of blood. The pressure trapping the man's arm had kept the engineer from bleeding to death.

"Are you in much pain?"

The dark eyes glared up at Kheza. "It doesn't matter, just get out of the way, kuve."

Kheza ignored the disgust in Kadix's voice. He picked up the severed limb, enfolding it inside a hypothermal pack and held it out to the female, who backed away. "We can't lose any time. Take this immediately to the med-station and put -- "

Healer Kuan interrupted him, ordering, "Get out of the way, Human!"

Kheza found the barrel of the healer's disrupter pointed at him. No, he realized in horror. It was not pointed at him, but at Kadix.

"What are you doing?"

"Just move, I don't have any qualms about killing you, too."

"No!" Kheza moved directly into the weapon's path. "You're not killing him, I can save the hand!"

He was shoved to the side unexpectedly by the man he was trying to save. "I will die, now, kuve, with Klingon honor."

This was what the disrupter fire had meant earlier. Lives being taken needlessly. Kheza found himself pleading. "I tell you I can save him!"

"Then die, kuve!" Kuan scowled.

"No, healer. Do not harm this one." General Khrei stood only a few meters away, hands on hips. Kuan's forehead pulsed in anger, and he had to work to stop from firing his weapon.

Kheza wondered how long he had been there. The general's face was also covered in grime, mixed with dark pink blood oozing from a nasty cut on his forehead. The human met his eyes evenly before his training asserted itself. He prepared to drop to his knees, but his master shook his head at the movement.

Gesturing at Kadix, he said quietly, "Kheza, it is our way when one cannot live with honor, he dies with honor."

"But I can save his hand." Kheza paused then added quickly. "My lord," he continued, "Even if I couldn't, the loss of one hand doesn't mean he should die."

"Klingons are warriors, kuve," Khrei answered as if that explained everything. "He must have full use of his hand."

Kheza dropped to his knees, pleading, "My lord, allow me to save him. I can reattach his hand. He will have full use of it." Not quite a lie. Deep within, he knew that he could accomplish this, it was actually quite simple. He ignored the quiver of fear at the thought and his action. If he did not deliver, he had no doubt his life was forfeit along with Kadix.

The general narrowed his eyes. Finally, he turned to Kuan. "Assist the kuve, Kadix, you cooperate with Kheza."

As two guards carried the engineer from the room, Kheza drew a relieved breath and then focused his attention on General Khrei. He drew out the laser available, silently cursing its inadequacy. "My lord, I will repair that cut."

Khrei brushed him away. "Leave it. See to Kadix. I do not have time."

Kheza boldly stopped Khrei in mid-step, placing a hand firmly on his arm. "You will see to your ship more efficiently if I repair the cut. The procedure will takes only a minute."

The general looked down at the hand on his arm and then at Kheza. Instead of anger, Kheza was surprised by the sadness he witnessed in the dark eyes. The kuve had seen the vulnerable expression before, in a different place. A different time.

Khrei nodded, impatience edging his tone. "Do so, but hurry."

True to his word, Kheza sealed the cut in a little over a minute. Khrei remained still during the entire procedure, his eyes moving constantly, assessing the damage to his ship. Kheza did not miss the shifting expressions even though the general hid his feelings well. The face evoked wisps of memories he couldn't quite grasp of another . . . man standing as Khrei was now, of hazel eyes reflecting the same pain at the damage, the needless loss of lives.

For one instant, their eyes met in understanding, Kheza knowing the price of command weighed almost too heavily on this man.

A moan caught his attention, Kheza blinked, confused, as the hazel eyes blended into the hardening black eyes turning from him to confront Kuan.

Kheza searched for the sound. There, nearly in the corner, a technician was trapped beneath a bulky console that had been torn loose from the wall. Ignoring the hiss of anger at his touch, Kheza felt for the pulse. It was thready and very rapid. The man would die if they did not get him out of there now. Kheza looked up at Khrei.

"My lord!"

Within seconds, Khrei and a technician managed to lift the equipment off the injured man. As soon as he caught sight of the gaping wounds in the chest and abdomen, Kheza reacted automatically, searching for a pressure pack in his kit. There was very little time or they would lose him.

As he placed the dressing on one wound, a hand gripped his arm, stopping his efforts. Kheza tried to jerk away as he was hauled to his feel. The human angrily turned to find it was Khrei holding him.

"Be still, kuve," Khrei commanded.

Kheza stopped struggling. "Please, let me --"

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Kuan lifting his weapon. The disrupter fire caught the injured man, and soon there was nothing left but the sound of his dying scream in the human's ears.

"No," he whispered, Khrei's hand now supporting him as his knees suddenly gave way.

"It is our way, Kheza," Khrei said in a low voice. "Report to the med-station. I will have the injured moved there."

Khrei released his arm, propelling him on his way. Kheza stumbled to the door, glancing back only once at the spot where the tech had lain -- and died.

The general had moved away from Kuan. He stood alone amid the confusing noise and crew rushing about him. Kheza could not clearly see his face through the haze, and wondered if the vulnerability he had seen earlier would still be present.

Another muffled explosion shook the room and Khrei immediately started for the area where the sound had originated.

Kheza watched his master head into danger, startled by his fear for the general. He served Khrei because he was forced to, not through any sense of loyalty. In the first few day under Khrei's rule, the general punished him for any show of insolence and even so much as an improper movement of his eyes resulted in swift and severe beatings in those first few days. Kheza had learned to control any sign of anger. There had been no effort on Khrei's part to gain his human slave's trust or loyalty.

Confused, Kheza headed back to the med-station. He was unsure why or how his hidden anger and resentment of all Klingons was changing. Earlier, he had acknowledged to himself, friendship for Rhad and now compassion for Khrei.

The tangled web of thoughts were brought to an abrupt halt as Kheza arrived. The human took one look at the confusion and immediately went to work, more than a little grateful there was no time to think.

It was almost twenty-four hours before General Khrei made his way tiredly to his quarters, signalling his kuve as he entered the lift. They had destroyed the pirate, but not before the enemy had done severe damage to the Phsadra. His ship was limping along on impulse speed toward home.

It would be a slow journey to the nearest repair station. The loss if men in Engineering had made the possibility of repairs almost non-existent. Khrei entered his quarters, looking forward to a glass of wine and one of Kheza's massages. Every muscle in his body ached.

It took a moment for Khrei to realize his kuve was not there. Cursing, he pressed the stud on his bracelet again, signaling his kuve that he was needed. Khrei had rapidly grown used to the luxury of having Kheza serve him aboard his ship. Humans were not usually tolerated in such close quarters, but his orders from Thought Admiral Knai superseded any lowly Klingon's concerns. The admiral wanted Khrei to test the Starfleet officer's training before bringing him to Central. While Khrei was on the bridge he had assigned Kheza to work in the med-station. When he was off duty, the human served him as kuve.

Several minutes went by with no response from Kheza. The general punched a code into the computer, pulling up a view of the med-station.

Kheza was there, the young med-tech Rhad, at his side. The human was inspecting a patient's arm carefully, and Khrei saw it was Kadix. He could see no sign of the cut that had severed Kadix's hand.

The human rubbed his eyes tiredly and Khrei saw the same exhaustion present on Kheza's face that he himself felt. Glancing around his quarters, he found no sign Kheza had been there since the general had left yesterday morning. Had the human been working at the med-station all this time?

He sat back and listened to their conversation, considering the report about Kheza he would send to Thought Admiral Knai.

On the screen, Kheza was saying, "The hand and arm need to be elevated and kept immobile for the next twenty-four hours. He'll have to be totally sedated during that time to keep it still." Kheza glanced up at the blank wall behind the patient, puzzlement crossing his face. Annoyance followed as he turned to the portable life sign monitor at the side of the patient.

"He'll need blood, two units for now, and give him one gram of Kubelikis every twelve hours. Will you be able to do that?"

Someone spoke nearby, out of the limited range of the camera, "Of course. Why Kubelikis? There is no infection."

"Using prophylactic measures can prevent complications." Kheza lifted one of Kadix's eyelids. Khrei wondered what he was checking.

"I must go, Rhad. He's called twice."

"I know. I've seen your pain." Rhad's concern was a surprise. However, his next words caught Khrei's undivided attention. "I will take care of them. Don't worry, I'll watch out for Kuan. He'll not carry out his threat while I'm here."

The general scowled, Kuan objected strongly to the presence of the human, and refused to utilize his talents. The chief healer was the only officer aboard beside Khrei who was aware of Kheza's true background yet he still refused to cooperate. Seeing Kheza in action earlier had made Khrei aware of the enormous potential of utilizing the human's talents or any other officer they reconditioned, ones with technical skills such as these. Considering Kuan's increasingly surly attitude toward the human, he remembered the healer's threat in Engineering to kill Kheza. Khrei decided he'd best protect the Empire's new secret and his patients.

The general called the guard outside his door and ordered him to stand watch in Sickbay, assisting Rhad as necessary.

Khrei reached to turn off the screen but was surprised when his kuve paused to check on another patient who was groaning. The human was well aware he would be punished with the agonizer if he did not respond before the third call. And yet Kheza was chancing punishment to help a Klingon -- just as he had risked death in Engineering by placing himself between Kadix and Kuan's disrupter. The general frowned, puzzled even more.

Khrei leaned forward, watching as Kheza applied a hypo to the Klingon's arm. The patient reacted suddenly to his presence, shoving the human roughly back. The Klingon, an older officer called Gai, held up a threatening fist before he fell back, growling in agony.

Rhad helped Kheza to his feet, not even hesitating at the physical contact with the human. Then the young tech rounded on Gai, cursing him angrily.

Again, Khrei was surprised as Kheza stepped in front of Rhad stopping his tirade. "Rhad, he's in pain. Give him this hypo, it will help."

Rhad echoed Khrei's own thoughts. "Why do you help him? He would not help you!"

"Because I'm a --" Kheza snapped. He frowned and Khrei found himself wondering what his kuve was thinking as he watched the display of emotions. He remembered the earlier brief moment of empathy he had shared with the human in Engineering.

Kheza finished lamely, "Give him the hypo. He's in pain. I'd better go."

Khrei snapped off the viewer, wondering if his exhaustion was interfering with his thought processes. He found the actions of this human intriguing . . . and disturbing.

He was tired, his ship was nearly destroyed . . . his crew was angry. The report to Knai could wait. Khrei rested his head on his desk and fell asleep instantly.

M'Benga glared at the graphs on the screen in front of him, determined not to give up until he solved the puzzle they presented. The peaks and valleys revealing a measure of stability when T'ren was present was expected, that was her purpose. But also present were very small peaks of stabilization during T'ren's much needed rest periods. If he could locate the reason for these slight improvements, it was possible the doctor could do something to assist T'ren in saving Spock's life.

The Enterprise was still three days away from Spaladros. M'Benga knew Chief Engineer Scott was pushing the ship's engines to their limits. The tension was high among the crew, rumors flying wildly back and forth between decks. Their worry for their captain, who had spent the last two days in Sickbay and Spock, who they knew was in critical condition, was a constant concern.

M'Benga looked up just in time to see Engles escorting Kirk to the door of Sickbay. The captain was nodding in response to something she was saying and M'Benga felt certain she was lecturing him on resting properly once he returned to his quarters.

Sighing, he turned back to the graph, not surprised when several minutes later Engles showed up at his door. When she did not enter, M'Benga glanced over to find her standing in the entryway, her eyes lingering on McCoy's name on the transparent wall.

"We've never needed Leonard more than we do right now. What if we don't find him, Luca?"

M'Benga shook his head but did not reply until Engles sat down across from him. "We'll find him. We have to believe that."

"I'm afraid if we don't, we'll not only lose Spock but Captain Kirk, as well." Her eyes showed the frustration she so rarely allowed.

M'Benga tensed. "What's wrong? I thought he was better."

She met his eyes squarely. "He's showing signs of myocarditis and I don't understand the cause. The two days we forced him to remain here under full observation, all symptoms subsided. Now, twenty-four hours later, he's showing signs of fatigue and a low grade fever. I've monitored him continuously and he is showing some strange patterns. Every once in a while, he's having a premature P wave on his heart monitor. I can't pin down the pattern or the cause."

M'Benga frowned, thinking that was the same problem with Spock's graph. The pattern did not match a logical course for the computer to identify the cause. He toyed with a stylus, staring at the screen thoughtfully.

"Loretta, what's the code for the captain's monitor?" M'Benga wondered if he was chasing a wild hare but he was ready to try anything.

Engles gave him the code, her eyes questioning even though she waited silently as he tapped a command into the obedient machine.

M'Benga's eyes widened as the graphs overlay one another, the captain's heart irregularities coincided with Spock's periods of stability in T'ren's absence. He explained to Engles the significance of Spock's graph.

"My God!" Engles face whitened. "I knew he came more often to see Spock when T'ren was resting. What does it mean? Why does he have a physical response to Spock and how can he be helping a Vulcan?"

M'Benga shook his head. "I don't know but I think we'd better find out."

The two doctors had to awaken T'ren, though neither wanted to interrupt her rest period. T'ren carefully listened to their conclusions with a grave face. There were dark circles under her green eyes indicating a level of weariness that even she was unable to suppress. A frown appeared on her normally serene face. "On Vulcan, Captain Kirk informed me that when necessary, Spock can function beyond the boundaries of logic. He is proving this now. There is a resonance between the Captain and Spock, not unlike the link Spock maintains with your Doctor McCoy. If the information you have given me is correct, I believe Spock is subconsciously using Captain Kirk as a source of strength when I'm not available. The Captain has responded to his call for assistance, even though he is apparently unaware of the danger to his own system."

"What can we do?"

"It would be best to block the resonance. I must have Kirk's permission."

M'Benga shot a glance at Engles, grimacing at the bleakness that was revealed in her eyes. The captain would refuse if he knew the resonance was helping Spock in any way. In fact, M'Benga wondered if Kirk was already aware of the reasons behind his poor health and they were just too slow to catch on.

"If he refuses. Loretta, what's your prognosis?"

She shrugged. "There are several scenarios, full arrest, thrombosis, scarring of the cardiac tissue, or congestive heart failure is a possibility."

M'Benga stared at her thoughtfully. "We could use that to force his decision. The Captain would be endangering the ship if he doesn't agree to T'ren's suggestion."

Engles nodded slowly. "Yes, that might work."

Not realizing she was dashing their hopes, T'ren stated. "It would be illogical for Captain Kirk to refuse."

Engles and M'Benga exchanged knowing glances. They knew where one of his crew was concerned, Kirk did not always follow the rules of logic -- especially if that crewmember happened to be his first officer.

M'Benga shrugged doubtfully. "Well, we have to try. Shall we?"

As if expecting them, Kirk met them in the doorway to his quarters, eyeing each of them warily. "Problem?"

"We must talk with you, Captain," Doctor Engles began.

Sighing, he stood aside and let both Engles and M'Benga enter. Leaning against his desk, Kirk gave Engles a beleaguered look. "It seems that not thirty minutes ago, you sent me to my quarters to rest. I hope you haven't thought of another medical test to run. I'm worn out just from your diagnostics." The teasing note in his voice was forced.

"I know it seems that way. But they were necessary." Engles sounded defensive. M'Benga decided to jump to the rescue.

"Captain, we've discovered some new information that will help --"

"You've found some way to help Spock?" Kirk asked quickly.

M'Benga squared his shoulders against the eager flare of hope in the hazel eyes. "No, sir. We've found a way to help you."

"Me? There's nothing wrong with me that finding McCoy and saving Spock's life won't cure."

The statement confirmed M'Benga's suspicion that Kirk already knew why he was continuing to have physical symptoms. He took a moment to study the figure before, noting the lines of grim determination written in the set of his shoulders, the practically expressionless face. He sighed inwardly, knowing before he tried that he was on a fool's errand. "Captain, the continuing complications with your cardiovascular system have now been pin-pointed. The irregularities occur when T'ren is resting. You've been helping Spock somehow during that time. It would have been helpful if you had explained that to us. Doctor Engles has been working night and day attempting to find a cause."

Kirk shrugged. "I wasn't sure how much it was affecting me. Are you telling me that if I'd informed you that you wouldn't have asked me to stop? That you aren't going to stop me now?"

M'Benga was grateful for his dark skin coloring as he felt a flush creep into his cheeks. He glanced sideways and saw the same guilty expression on Engles face.

However, Engles did not let her embarrassment stop her. Moving to Kirk's side, she grasped one of his hands, holding it up for Kirk to see. "This resonance that T'ren says you share with Spock is helping him at the risk of your own life. Your hands are cold from poor circulation. Your nailbeds are cyanotic despite the increased oxygen in the room. Are you going to deny that you're feeling short of breath right now?"

"No." Kirk curled his fingers around her hand. "Are you going to deny me the right to help Spock?"

The quiet, soft tone only seemed to frustrate Doctor Engles. "Don't you understand? You're losing ground. Much more of this and I won't be able to repair the damage to your heart. You will lose your captaincy. You could die."

M'Benga added more calmly, "We need you to be aware the potential consequences to you and your ship."

Kirk sent M'Benga an irritated glance. He pulled his hand free and moved to sit in his chair behind his desk. M'Benga did not miss the measured movements, Kirk was rapidly running out of steam and attempting to mask his exhaustion.

"Doctors, I fully understand your concern. I will continue to assist Spock when he needs me to." He stopped to draw a breath. "Is there anything else?"

Well, they had not accomplished their goal. Nor had M'Benga expected them too but at least now, the captain acknowledged the implications of his actions. He shook his head in response but hesitated at the door. "Is there anything we can do to help you, Captain?"

A ghost of a smile crossed Kirk's pale face. "You might fully update Mr. Scott. He should be prepared to fill in if I'm . . . incapacitated."

"Yes sir. I will." He stepped through the door, waiting outside for Engles to join him. On the turbolift, he avoided Loretta's eyes until he heard her sniff quietly. He looked over to discover a tear running down her cheek. Disconcerted, he did not know what to say, he had never seen her upset before today.

"Loretta?" M'Benga touched her arm.

She wiped at her face angrily. "He's so damned obstinate. I'm afraid we're going to lose him." With the statement, she gave a soft moan, unexpectedly leaning her face against his shoulder. "Damn him! Damn the Klingons! Damn!" Her hands gripped his arms tightly as she fought against her anger.

M'Benga stopped the turbolift., holding her within his arms. He knew it was her fear that time was running out for the captain in his battle to save both Spock and McCoy that was causing an unprecedented loss of control. The muffled sobs took a long time to ease.

Phaser fire exploded all around him, causing Kheza to awake with a start. He sat motionless, sweating, as the dream faded around him. It was always the same. He running for his life while the Starfleet devil, Spock, chased him and his family, firing at them, killing everyone as they ran. Only he was able to run fast enough. Grief swept over him, plunging him back into dark depression.

The ship shuddered violently. Kheza realized that it was not a dream that had awakened him. From his makeshift pallet in the corner of General Khrei's quarters, he could hear the force leader calling the bridge.

"What's going on? Bridge! Report!"

Kheza pulled on his clothes, shoving his pallet out of the way. Grabbing the general's boots, he knelt with them at Khrei's side, awaiting further orders.

A shaken voice was reporting on the com line. "There has been another explosion in Engineering. Damage to the systems must have been more extensive than we thought. We are dead in space."

Khrei uttered a profanity and growled into the speaker. "I will be there momentarily."

He noticed Kheza for the first time. Khrei took the boots and pulled them on. "Report to the med-station until I have need of you."

The general left and Kheza, after straightening the cabin, obeyed his command. There was nowhere else he wanted to be.

Almost nowhere else.

They were one day from Spaladros when Chekov spotted the drifting ship on the sensors, calling the captain to the bridge.

"It's Klingon, sir -- a cruiser. Their warp drive and all other power sources seem to be nonfunctional."

"Life signs?" Kirk asked.

"Several hundred, as nearly as I can tell."

"Could it be some sort of trap, Captain?" Sulu's eyes were glued to the screen as if he could already see the ship.

"Possibly." Kirk mentally cursed. He had no time to outguess a ship full of Klingons or to rescue them if it came to that. He had to find McCoy.

"Shall I try to contact the ship, sir?" Uhura asked behind him.

Before he could reply, M'Benga's voice interrupted. "Captain Kirk, please come to Sickbay immediately."

The urgency in the doctor's voice made his blood run cold. "It's impossible to leave the bridge right now, doctor."

"Captain, I must repeat my request. T'ren is most adamant that you come now."

Kirk looked at the drifting Klingon ship, frowning. Something more than dealing with this treacherous enemy was raising the hair on the back of his neck. His fingers beat a nervous tattoo on the arm of his chair. "I can't leave the bridge," Kirk repeated firmly, more to himself than M'Benga. The need to answer the call -- the mental call he now felt -- from Sickbay nearly overrode this danger.

He turned his attention back to the Klingon ship. "Sulu, hold us here, keep us out of their sensor range. Chekov, scan them for human life signs."

"Aye, sir." Chekov's voice held a note of surprise and hope.

M'Benga's voice again came over the com line. "Captain, Spock is worse and T'ren is trying to help him."

Kirk turned to Uhura. "Sickbay on viewscreen."

T'ren sat at Spock's side, struggling to maintain her hands on his face in the meld position as he twisted and tossed from side to side. Spock's face was contorted in obvious pain. T'ren's features showing she was also feeling his agony.

For several moments, the conflict continued unabated. Suddenly, Spock's body went limp and T'ren sprawled forward across his chest, Engles rushed forward, intending to help her when M'Benga's hand caught hers. "Don't touch her, Loretta. Give her a moment to recover."

Engles nodded and stepped back. Fear coursed through Kirk a he watched helplessly. Finally T'ren sat up and turned her pale, drawn face up to the screen. "Captain?"

"I'm here, T'ren," Kirk was surprised at the calmness in his tone.

"Spock wants you to know McCoy is near, very near."

"McCoy?" Kirk glanced at Chekov but the Russian shook his head before turning back to his scanner.

"The link has grown stronger. The pain has grown as well. It is no longer physical pain, entirely. Now, there is a great grief overlying many other emotion all coming through the link. the emotional overload is strongly affecting Spock. It must be stopped and soon."

Kirk could only nod.

"Are we that close to Spaladros, Captain?" M'Benga asked, stepping into view.

"No. There's a Klingon ship just ahead. It seems to be drifting. We're scanning for McCoy but nothing so far. We'll keep you informed." He nodded for Uhura to break the transmission.

Kirk sat quite still for a moment, gathering his thoughts. Then he stood, squaring his shoulders and began issuing a stream of orders. "Chekov, keep scanning for McCoy. Sulu, raise shields and take us in slowly. We don't want to alarm them. Uhura, try to contact them, tell them we want to help."

The force leader heard the report from his helmsman with a sense of regret tinged with anger. A Starfleet cruiser was approaching. He had never had an opportunity to engage one of the great ships in battle and now, he never would. His duty was quite clear. He must self-destruct before the Federation ship could take them prisoner. He had opened his mouth to issue the order when his communications officer turned to him.

"The Federation ship is offering to assist us, sir."

Khrei turned cold, angry eyes on the hapless man. "Of course, they are, you fool! They want this ship. They want to take us all prisoner. Do you wish to subject yourself to their tortures?" Even as he spoke, a plan began to form in the force leader's mind. Perhaps he could not engage the other in battle but there might be a way to destroy the enemy.

Khrei turned to his helmsman. "Keep our shields down." If the enemy thought he was completely, helpless, it would be possible to catch them off-guard. "Let me speak to the Captain of this spineless ship."

Both officer's faces reflected their surprise at this sudden reversal of attitude by the force leader. The communications officer did as he was bid.

"I have the captain of the Federation ship for you, my lord."

Khrei stood and settled his uniform in place, striking a pose of strength and fierceness.

"This is General Khrei of the battleship Phsadra. Leave this area immediately and we will allow you to live."

There was a moment of silence and Khrei smiled darkly as he imagined the confusion his stance of strength must be causing on the other ship.

The viewscreen sprang to life with the image of a Starfleet captain. "I am Captain Kirk on the USS Enterprise. General, we know you have no power available to you. We are willing to help you. We will attach a tractor beam to your ship and tow you to the edge of Klingon territory. Once there, we will send out a distress signal on your behalf to the nearest Klingon base."

"Why would you help us?"

The human hesitated, glancing for a moment to someone outside Khrei's view, Kirk lifted his head and stared into the screen. "You have something we want."

Khrei cocked his head in question. "And what would that be?"

"We have reason to believe you have a Starfleet officer aboard your ship. We want him returned to us unharmed. In return, we will get you safely back to the Empire.

The force leader kept the surprise from his voice. His mind made several connections and several leaps of logic. A plan suddenly became quite clear.

"Your offer is interesting, Captain Kirk." He watched, amused at the look of surprise on the human's face. There was little use in denying Kirk's allegation and Khrei took pleasure in having the advantage over the famous Starfleet officer, if only for a few moments. Kirk had finally come to seek revenge for the Vulcan's death, come to reclaim his physician. Khrei would destroy the notorious Enterprise. A glorious end after all.

"I will give you my decision shortly." He motioned with his hand and the viewscreen went black.

"Call Kheza to the bridge."

Kirk stared at the blank screen. His hands were clenched into fists and he tried to calm the pounding of his heart. The Klingon commander had no choice but to agree. That was what his mind told him. His heart told him the alien could just as easily kill McCoy and deny the doctor had ever been aboard the Klingon ship. In trying to rescue him, he could be signing McCoy's death warrant -- this time for certain.

Endless moments passed before Uhura indicated the Klingon was signalling them. At his nod, she opened a channel.

The same dark, smoky bridge appeared, filled with alien faces -- all but one. Kneeling beside Khrei with his head bowed, was a human. Was it McCoy? The commander growled a command and the human lifted his head.

Kirk rose to his feet, his jaw tightening in anger. The face was ravaged by torment, thinner and scraggly. The blue eyes were squinting as if he could not clearly see.

"Bones!" The word slipped out even as he struggled to maintain some facade of control.

Kheza strained to see the image on the screen. The picture was poor, the commander fading in and out. He heard the word 'Bones' and thought he was slipping into the world of his dreams -- but no, the human commander had spoken it.

"Is this the human you are looking for?" Khrei inquired guilelessly.

Kheza resisted the impulse to glance back at Khrei, wondering what he meant.

The human commander, spoke quietly. It was a tone Kheza knew well. The commander on the screen was angry. "Yes, he is. I demand you return him immediately."

Khrei commanded Kheza to stand and asked, "This Federatii says you belong to him. Is that right?"

Bitterness filled his blue eyes as he knew what his reply had to be. The price he would pay for any act of rebellion was too high. This human on the screen might be from his past but that would not help him now. Here.

Kheza returned to his knees. "I am kuve to Force Leader Khrei. Kuvesa tokhesa." He bowed to the floor, hoping to appease the fierce anger he had seen in the black eyes at his hesitation.

Khrei addressed the commander, ignoring Kheza. "This kuve is Kheza, he serves me willingly. It would seem this man is not the one you seek after all."

"What have you done to him?" Kirk demanded.

"Nothing. I will prove to you he stays of his own free will. Kheza, would you like to go with the Captain? He wants me to send you to his ship."

Kheza froze, unable to move. Why was the commander toying with him? What did he want of him? His bracelet sent a sharp jolt up his arm and Kheza forced himself to meet Khrei's eyes. The dark eyes were forbidding, daring him to answer incorrectly. Another shock coursed up his arm.

He repeated softly, "Kuvesa tokhesa."

Aboard the Enterprise, the bridge crew listened in disbelief as the translators interpreted the phrase. Kuvesa tokhesa. I serve willingly.

Khrei smiled lazily at Kirk. "You see how it is. He does not want to go with you. Give me a few minutes, perhaps I can convince him.

The screen darkened once more.

"What's he up to, Captain?" Sulu asked.

Kirk sat down heavily. "I wish to hell I knew. Whatever it is, stay alert. Be ready for anything." Kirk rubbed his forehead, trying to ease its throbbing. "Mr. Chekov, keep a lock on McCoy. Don't lose him. If we have to, I'll drop shields just long enough to beam him aboard. Sulu, have evasive action laid in, going to warp speed as soon as we have him."

A hand touched his arm. Doctor Engles stood at his side, holding up a hypo. "Captain, this should help."

She injected the contents into his arm almost before he had a chance to object. Within seconds, he felt a flood of stinging needles revitalizing him. The pain in his head faded to a dull ache. He drew a breath, pleased to feel some of his former energy. Kirk nodded at Engles and then turned his full attention back to the screen.

Aboard the Phsadra, Khrei ignored the kuve still on his knees. He had seen no recognition in the human's face at the sight of his former crewmates. It would be a great loss to the Empire that the secret success of this experiment would die with the ship. At least the general could put the kuve to some use. With him as bait, they would trap the Enterprise.

Khrei turned to his bridge crew. "Arm the self-destruct to be activated on my signal. Kirk wants this kuve and I will give him what he wants."

Kheza remained where he was. Khrei had often been demanding and at times, cruel to the human, but Kheza had not experienced his evilness till now. He was unsure of how he fit into Khrei's plans. His mind retreated to the image on the screen. The commander's voice had evoked the same confused thoughts that had plagued him over and over for the past weeks. The name, Kirk. He should know it, but the connection slipped away.

"What is your plan, Force Leader?" Khrei's first officer asked.

"We will agree to let Kirk beam this one over. When he lowers his shields to transport him, we will self-destruct. In our deaths will be the victory of many lifetimes -- the destruction of the Enterprise.

Around him, the bridge crew murmured their praise for the great feat they were about to accomplish while in Kheza's mind, an image grew out of the fog of confusion. A great ship, silver, shining, beautiful, suspended in space like a great jewel, and a face -- a face he should remember.

"Open communications."

On the view screen, the same face appeared from Kheza's memory. He felt his world begin to crumble around him. All sense of belonging, of safety, melted away and he knew himself to be in great danger. But more than himself -- he knew that this one before him, this Kirk, was only moments from death and he could do nothing to stop the unfolding of events.

"I have been able to convince this kuve to turn himself over to you, Kirk." Khrei's words rang falsely in Kheza's ears and he willed Kirk to hear the insincerity. He had no voice to speak, to call out a warning.

"Very well. Doctor McCoy, you will be aboard shortly."

Kirk's words had no meaning. Except for the name, McCoy . . . I am called . . . His head pounded, threatening to explode. The words climbing in his throat at last burst forth.

"No!" Kheza shrieked suddenly. "He has set the ship to self destruct! Do not lower . . . "

Khrei's fist connected with his jaw and he felt the world go dark. He did not know why he had warned the one called Kirk.

He only knew it was right.

A cold cloth bathed his face and he opened his eyes to see Rhad hovering over him. "How do you feel?"

Kheza looked around him. He was on a cot in a storage room behind the med-station but . . . for a moment, the human had thought it was different, the walls a pastel hue, the soothing sounds of a bed monitor easing him up from his sleep. He closed off his thoughts, now remembering Khrei and the bridge.

"Surprised I'm alive. Why didn't the general kill me?"

Rhad looked carefully over his shoulder before he continued. "I overheard Kuan. He'd been drinking and was talking to Kadix. You are a Federation officer. A Starfleet physician. That is why you knew so much about healing. Do you not remember?"

"No. . . sometimes. . . . I don't know." He sat up, touching his bruised jaw. "There are times when I see things, feel things, that I don't understand. When I feel I don't belong here, but I don't know where I do belong."

Rhad straightened, glancing through the door to the ward. "You belong there -- on that ship. And I am going to help you get there."

Fear coursed through Kheza. "What do you mean? I'm not certain where I belong. How do you know?"

"You have met a need of mine by showing me how to heal -- that healing is an art. I have watched you and learned that death is not the final victory. Life is. For that, I owe you a great debt, it is time to repay it. Can you stand?"

Kheza swung his legs over the side of the cot and stood. He still was not certain where he wanted to be, but Rhad seemed certain, so, for the moment, he would let the young technician lead him.

They carefully made their way through darkened corridors to a transporter area which, thanks to their depleted ranks, was unmanned. Rhad closed and locked the door.

"I will have only a few moments. Be ready, Kheza."

Rhad moved to a console and activated several switches. "Enterprise, come in."

A surprised female voice, familiar somehow, responded. "This is Enterprise. Identify yourself."

"I am Rhad, on board the Phsadra. Kheza is here with me. If you will lower your shields, I will beam him to your ship."

The woman's voice was replaced with a male one, laced with suspicion. "This is Kirk. How do we know this is not a trick?"

Kheza stepped from the transporter platform. "Rhad would not lie. He's trying to do as you asked."

Rhad interrupted. "We only have a few moments, Captain. This transmission will be intercepted and we will be stopped."

Kheza knew just how they would be stopped and suddenly he wanted very much to be aboard that other shining ship with a longing that was almost a physical pain. He whispered, "I . . . want . . . to come home."

Kirk's tone was gruff, sounding almost angry. "You'll be home in just a minute, Bones. Transporter room, lock onto his signal."

Kheza stepped to the transporter platform once more, facing Rhad. Suddenly, he stepped forward, his face intent. "Rhad, come with me. You can learn al you ever wanted about medicine. I'll teach you."

Rhad shook his head, whispering. "No."

McCoy positioned himself, wondering at the expression on the Klingon's face. Then suddenly, as the transporter began to glow, he knew. Rhad was preparing to betray him. Klingon honor.

Rhad punched a stud. The last words McCoy heard as the transporter took him were, "It is done."

Kheza had barely materialized on the Enterprise when a violent shudder threw him to the deck. The lights dimmed, then emergency lights came on. Then engineer on duty helped him to his feet.

"The captain requested I take you to Sickbay, sir. He'll join you as soon as he can."

The man was not a familiar face and spoke in Standard. McCoy struggled to remember the language.

"What . . . happened?" he managed.

"Those Klingon devils blew their ship up, trying to take us with them, I'm sure." The red-shirt turned his attention back to the console, adjusting the controls.

"The Phsadra is gone?" Kheza asked, drawing his arms around him.

The human glanced at him with a puzzled expression. "I didn't understand you."

Suddenly overcome with grief and loss, Kheza closed his eyes. General Khrei had chosen to destroy all those lives. It made no sense. He felt even more alone.

"Doctor?" The red-shirt had moved to his side, watching him carefully. "Doctor, let's get to Sickbay."

Kheza followed the young man down halls filled with vivid colors and people going rapidly to and from their posts. Some took a moment to greet him, their broad smiles seeming almost grotesque to him. No one smiled on the Phsadra, their pleasure was shown by a sneer and at times, a fierce growl. Kheza's earlier longing to be here had been replaced by new uncertainties. Nothing seemed familiar and he did not even speak their language.

By the time they made it to his destination, his panic was nearly overwhelming. The doors slid open, revealing a mass of people and a cacophony of noise. He stopped inside the door, unable to move any further.

A black man approached, smiling broadly. "Doctor McCoy! Leonard! My God, man!"

Kheza cringed away from his approach. His panic made him feel like a trapped animal as all eyes turned on him. Everything was unfamiliar, even the name they used.

The black man stopped. He held out his hands. "You're home, you're safe now, Leonard."

Leonard . . . McCoy. Nothing made sense. Using Klingon, he blurted, "I am called Kheza."

The sudden silence was more disconcerting than the noise. He backed up, hoping the door would let him out.

T'ren had observed the scene without interfering until now. The human could not be allowed to leave. Spock was suffering too much. Everything McCoy felt, he endured also. Seeing the human's fear, she understood Spock's pain.

Silently, she moved to his side, reaching him just as the doors opened. "Kheza," she whispered, placing a hand on his shivering arm. Through the physical contact, she sent reassurance.

It took longer than she expected and she was drained by the contact. The human was watching her, confused, fear at the edges of his eyes but no longer consuming him.

McCoy had reacted to the use of Standard and T'ren did not know Klingonese. She drew a deep calming breath and carefully placed a hand on his face. The human did not move as she searched for the deep layers of communications. Her message would have to be short, her endurance would not last long.

'You are among friends. There is one here who needs your help soon or he will die. I will take you to him.'

Withdrawing her hand she led the silent man into the room where Spock lay. McCoy stopped several feet away from his bed, staring at the Vulcan. He glanced up at the panel above and his confusion cleared. Then McCoy frowned as he focused on the dolorimeter.

He asked her a question but spoke in Klingonese.

"Kheza, try Standard. I do not understand you." She kept her voice soft.

His face tightened, the wary, frightened expression returning. Hesitantly, he tried again. "What's wrong?"

T'ren spoke slowly, keeping the urgency she felt from showing. "He needs your help. I must merge your mind with his."

McCoy took a step toward Spock, his face puzzled. "I do not . . . understand. Merge? Why?"

T'ren chose her words carefully. "There is a link between you. He shares your pain and is dying from it. I can sever it when he knows you are safe."

The thin face paled at her words. "Then tell him."

"It is not enough, now. He needs to touch your mind."

She saw he wanted to help but his fear was growing and his confusion. Something she had said must have triggered conflicting memories. The human's eyes focused again on the ominous readings above Spock's head. He swallowed, nodding once.

T'ren reached for his mind again and then for Spock's. 'My mind to yours, Spock we are one.'

Her world suddenly shattered in an explosion of pain. T'ren opened her eyes and saw McCoy retreating from them both, his face white. He cried out, "Spock!' and then fled the room.

T'ren had no reserve of strength left. Her knees gave way and she slumped to the floor. Thoroughly drained she let the blackness rise up to overtake her.

Kheza fled the sickbay, resisting the efforts to stop him. He ran haphazardly, not caring who he knocked over in his flight, his feet taking him down corridors he did not recognize. Another door opened and Kheza ran inside, only then stopping to gasp for breath.

Spock! The devil killer of his family, here! This had been a trick. They were after him, too. Kheza straightened, searching the area for any more demons in the guise of humans.

Instead, he found a deserted room that was comforting in its familiarity.

He had been here before.

One wall was a large port, allowing an uninhibited view of the stars. Kheza walked to the front and found the panel that opened the portal. He knew this place, knew that it felt right to be here again.

The human moved to a nearby chair but chose to sit on the floor beside it. If anyone was searching for him he would be well hidden from the doorway.

For the first time, Kheza let the sounds of the ship surround him as he drank in the stars that filled the observation window. Stars that told him he was where he belonged. He searched through his confusing feelings. Somehow a different life had been fabricated for him and now he must sift through the lies to know the truth. Spock. Enemy or friend? Under the questions, lay a current of anger and betrayal associated with Spock's name that was totally apart from his unreasoning fear.

The door opened and he shrank back. Only one set of footsteps entered, crossing the room close to Kheza's location. He chanced a look as the footsteps paused. It was the captain he had seen from the viewscreen on the bridge of the Phsadra. The one that had called him Bones. But this man was not the proud, arrogant one who had faced Khrei without fear. His shoulders were slumped, his face pale and lined with exhaustion. Kheza felt a strong need to go to this man and stand at his side. He was certain that he had watched this man here before without Kirk being aware of his presence.

The intercom signalled. A soft feminine voice spoke. "Captain, is he there?"

Kirk lifted his head, his breath catching for a moment. He braced his left side with his arm. "No, I thought he might be."

Kheza's eyes narrowed as he watched the heaviness of the captain's movements. His eyes flew back up to study the young face with the eye of his medical training.

The concerned voice on the intercom continued. "We'll find him, sir. We have most of the crew searching. All off-duty personnel and crewmen not on damage control have joined the search. Mr. Scott requested to see you as soon as possible, though he says it's not urgent. And Doctor Engles requests --"

"I know what she wants. Kirk out," the captain growled.

Kheza closed his eyes. Doctor Engles. Cardiac specialist and damn fine one, too! His momentary joy at grasping the elusive memory faded quickly. Something in Kirk's reaction to her name and the earlier symptom of discomfort was sending off alarms in his head.

Kheza stood, fear for Kirk overriding his own terror at facing this unfamiliar universe. As he took a silent step forward, his eyes took in the insignia on Kirk's uniform, images of Starfleet soldiers slaughtering his family formed before him. He froze, unable to move.

Kirk heaved a deep, weary sigh. Still facing the stars, he whispered, "Bones, my friend, I need you more than ever, right now."

The open anguish in Kirk's voice pushed the images back. Kheza opened his mouth to speak but no words would come.

The captain turned away, starting for the exit.

Kheza followed the exhausted figure's progress with his eyes, as vague memories and confusing phrases swirled around him. Memories that focused on this man. Kheza took another step forward as the captain strode the last few feet toward the door.

Kheza whispered, "Jim!"

Kirk swung around, not quite sure whether he had imagined the sound.

McCoy stood across the room, not far from where he had just been standing. The blue eyes were bewildered and fearful and seemed to dominate his face which was even thinner than when Kirk had seen him on the viewscreen. There was a darkening bruise under his left eye where Khrei had brutally struck him on the Phsadra's bridge. Kirk's jaw tensed and he had to restrain himself from rushing across the room to his friend.

Recalling M'Benga's account of McCoy's reaction in Sickbay, Kirk approached his friend slowly, not speaking.

McCoy watched him, a frown crossing his brow. As Kirk came to a stop. McCoy studied his face and then surprisingly seemed to inspect his uniform. The frown deepened as the puzzled blue eyes looked down at his own clothing. He wore a threadbare tunic too large for his frame, with pants of the same faded tan, held up by a drawstring. He had Klingon boots on, but they were old and well-worn.

McCoy lifted a shaking hand, touching the braid on Kirk's sleeve. Kirk forced himself to remain still, the doctor's aura of fear surrounding them both.

Still touching the braids of his rank. McCoy said haltingly. "I am . . . Doctor Leonard McCoy, Chief . . . Chief Medical Officer of the U.S.S. Enterprise." The blue eyes lifted to meet his, questioning him.

"Yes!" Kirk smiled, forcing himself to remain calm. "Yes, Bones, you do remember!:

McCoy repeated the words again soundlessly. The fingers on Kirk's arm tightened. The doctor closed his eyes, repeating the words. No. Kirk bent his head closer. Not the same words.

"Where are you, Jim? I'm losing myself. They're taking . . . Spock said you would come," he said in an almost soundless whisper.

The agonized blue eyes opened, focusing on his face. McCoy lifted his hand to hesitantly touch Kirk's face. He spoke but this time in Klingonese.

"Standard, Bones. I don't understand."

McCoy blinked. The blue eyes were dark with pain. "You're here. Was alone . . . and would see you. A dream . . . I don't understand. Who am I?"

"My friend." Kirk struggled to keep his voice from shaking. He grasped McCoy's bony shoulder. His heart gave a warming lurch but he ignored it in his effort to help McCoy. "You are Doctor Leonard McCoy. You belong on this ship. Two months ago, you and . . . " Kirk stumbled over his words, remembering T'ren had warned him of McCoy's reaction to Spock's name. "You and my first officer were captured by Klingons. Somehow, they made you forget us and conditioned you to believe we were your enemy and that you were a Klingon slave. Can you remember?"

"I don't . . . I was in a chair, they were hurting me. It hurt . . . all over. Even the sound of their voices hurt. They were trying to make me say I was loyal . . . loyal to the --" McCoy shuddered, his face working. He shifted under Kirk's hands as if to pull away. "Where is Jim? He left me, alone. Spock told me they would come."

McCoy's eyes widened in sudden comprehension. His face hardened and he pulled away from Kirk's touch. "It was you. You left me. They took my life away. You didn't come for me. I'm nothing to you. I am alone. I begged you to come."

The doctor's hand curled into a fist, staring at Kirk, his blue eyes flaming in anger. Then he pushed past the captain, shoving him into the rail. Kirk struggled to speak against the on-rush of crushing pain in his chest. If he lost McCoy now, Spock would die. Gasping, he strained to get his breath.

McCoy had almost reached the door.

"Bones, I didn't know. I thought you were dead," he managed to whisper. "I thought I'd lost you. I didn't know."

McCoy did not look back, plunging through the doors as soon as they opened. Kirk held onto the rail, sliding to his knees. His heart was pumping erratically, the pain in his chest increasing with each beat.

They would have time to help McCoy. The doctor might even come to terms with Kirk, leaving him to suffer as he had but how was Kirk supposed to accept leaving McCoy and accept Spock's death, now, because of it?

He could only blame himself.

 Kheza stopped his headlong rush down the deserted corridor. Where was he running? Uncertainly, he watched the doors behind him but they remained closed. He felt a need to return to this human he knew, but didn't know. He was afraid though, afraid of what he must do.

The dark alien he had run from in Sickbay kept flickering in the dark corners of his mind. The indefinable pull he felt to return to him sent shivers of fear down his spine. What was this man to him? Each time McCoy questioned his identity, or considered Jim Kirk, this alien presence clamored for his attention also.

So many conflicting emotions. Who was he? How was he supposed to find himself? He tested his name again. Doctor Leonard McCoy, Kirk had said. No, first he had said, "My friend." Remembering the agony he'd heard in his voice, McCoy took an involuntary step back toward the entrance to the observation deck.

Friend. All the dreams he'd had, the happy memories that had haunted him . . . had been memories of life here, with his friend. Sparkling hazel eyes had comforted him, their absence leaving him . . . alone. Jim. The hazel eyes were the same, although now tortured with pain caused by McCoy. His friend was suffering as well.

Kheza strode purposefully through the doors. Kirk's name died on his lips. The captain lay crumpled on the floor, his lips blue against the pale skin. The doctor forced himself to move, finding his fingers stiff as he knelt at Kirk's side, feeling for the pulse.

Faint and irregular but it was there. Without stopping to think, he found the wall intercom and hit it savagely. "Medical emergency, officer's lounge, deck five."

He returned to Kirk's side, checking his pulse again. The doctor straightened the tangled limbs, his experienced hands automatically checking for injuries. He elevated the legs, hoping to forestall anymore symptoms of shock.

The doors snapped open, a team rushed in, headed by the black man he had seen earlier in Sickbay. The leader stopped when he saw McCoy, holding an arm out to halt the others.

Kheza gestured to the captain. "Get him to Sickbay. Now."

There was a look of relief on the man's face. He nodded, gesturing to medical techs guiding a null-grav stretcher. McCoy moved aside as they lifted Kirk carefully onto it. He started to follow as Kirk was taken from the room, but his way was barred by the black man.

"What happened?" he asked in a soft voice that held an undercurrent of anger.

Kheza hesitated, finding himself unable to respond in Standard and frustrated because he had just spoken it. He felt like two people were occupying the same body. Yet, one fact remained constant. As a healer on board the Phsadra, or doctor here, he knew medicine. "The art of healing," Rhad had called it. It was his life, it defined his very being.

Face to face with this man speaking Standard, he was lost again. Fears and resentment began to press in on him. He took a step backwards.

"Kheza," the man said, his tone gentle, even though the black eyes burned fiercely.

Kheza stared at him. He had worked with this man. His gaze was drawn down to examine the long slender hands. Kheza knew he had worked side by side with him, had taught those steady hands how to perform miracles.

He searched for the words, the language buried under layers of conditioning. "Your name?"

"Doctor Luca M'Benga, Kheza."

"M'Benga." McCoy repeated it, nodding his head.

 "I don't wish to frighten you but it is imperative I know what happened." M'Benga glanced back over his shoulder at the door.

With the image of Kirk lying on the floor filling his mind, Kheza instantly started toward the door. How much time had he wasted? Kirk needed him, now.

M'Benga caught his arm and held him firmly. "The captain is being well tended by Doctor Engles. You must tell me what happened."

"You are . . . angry. With me."

M'Benga's temper boiled over. "Yes!" Catching Kheza's bewildered expression, he shook his head. "No, I'm angry, but not with you. The Klingons. They've taken so much away and now two men are dying in Sickbay because of it."

"I don't understand."

"No, how could you?" Bitterness crept into his tone. "By the time you do understand enough to help, it'll be too late. That's what's killing the captain."

In Kheza's mind, he saw Kirk as he was only moments ago. A man alone and in pain. Pain he knew so well. Kheza lifted his head, straightening his shoulders. As a physician, he knew sometimes one had to act quickly and wait for explanations until later. Fear twisted his stomach. He sensed what would be asked of him would not be easy.

"Doctor M'Benga, I will go to Sickbay."

The black face broke into a smile. "All right, Kheza."

This time Kheza touched the younger man's arm, clasping the wrist for a moment. He had forgotten how pleasant simple human contact felt. He had forgotten too much.

"Leonard McCoy, Doctor. Not Kheza."

M'Benga's smile broadened. He placed his other hand on top of McCoy's, his momentary pleasure radiating through the warmth of the touch. With one accord, they headed for Sickbay together.

The noise and confusion was still present. But with one hand tightly gripping M'Benga's arm, the confusion began to sort itself out. There were several injured people standing or lying wherever they could find a spot. A blonde woman . . . a nurse . . . was directing which patients were to be seen first. 'Triage,' he remembered with satisfaction. The nurse caught his eye and smiled but immediately turned back to her work.

M'Benga turned to a side room, explaining. "The explosion of the Klingon ship caused some casualties, but so far, nothing severe. Cuts and bruises, mostly."

They entered a small room, the door shutting out the noise. Subconsciously, McCoy recognized the tiny chamber they were in and held his arms out as the rays killed any harmful bacteria. Silently, he followed M'Benga into the isolation chamber.

Kirk lay on a bed, surrounded by medical personnel. McCoy studied the panels carefully, registering immediately where the problem lay.

M'Benga stepped forward. "Loretta, how is he?"

"He's stable, for now. It was close. Unfortunately, we have no guarantee we can prevent a recurrence." Engles spoke without looking up, intent on attaching a secondary line to Kirk. "T'ren has confirmed the presence of a resonating link between the Captain and Spock, which has become stronger. It was submerged during the deeper levels of the trance . . . but now, as Kirk grows weaker, the strength Spock is borrowing from him is rapidly depleting him." Her voice trailed off as she caught sight of McCoy's pale face.

Much of what Engles had said didn't make sense to McCoy. He froze at Spock's name, forcing his feet to remain glued to the floor. Spock, the devil killer. Lies. Images. Kirk, with the darker one at his side. The one in the other room. Linked. You promised . . . Spock had promised and kept his promise. Jim! Jim is dying.

McCoy gasped, fear wrenching his heart as he finally understood how close he was to losing his two friends.

Moving swiftly toward Kirk, McCoy grasped the cold, limp hand, squeezing it gently. Not sure if he was speaking Standard or Klingonese, McCoy whispered reassuringly, "Jim, I'm here. I will help Spock. You came for me. I understand that, now, I promise to help Spock and you."

Retreating to the door, he looked up, finding M'Benga was right behind him. The brown eyes were shining as they met his. "Welcome back, Leonard."

Warmth and caring filled him, pushing back the fear and uncertainties he was experiencing. The feelings were so different from his life aboard the Phsadra, filling the void that had been a constant part of his existence for the past months.

With M'Benga at his side, McCoy resolutely returned to Spock's room. T'ren straightened from Spock's side, lifting a questioning eyebrow at the two men.

McCoy took a deep breath, sweat beading his forehead as he fought the panic that threatened to sweep him away.

He stepped forward. "I am here to help my friend, Spock. Tell me what I have to do."

Kirk floated slowly to the surface of consciousness. He smiled at the familiar sound of Spock and McCoy arguing softly nearby. He wondered affectionately if they ever threw down a flag of truce. Snuggling down in his pillow, Kirk tried to hear what the argument involved this time.

He was almost ready to peek, when Kirk remembered the recent events. McCoy was gone. Spock near death. This must be a dream. Kirk held his breath, fearing the loss of the comforting warmth he felt from hearing their voices. He let the darkness slide back over him, not willing to face his world alone yet.

"Jim-boy, you're not fooling me. Open you eyes."

A hand squeezed his shoulder as the familiar tone sounded in his ear. Kirk frowned, peering through slitted eyes, he saw Doctor McCoy at his side. Opening his eyes, he suspiciously studied the doctor. Kirk still could not bring himself to speak, afraid it would shatter the illusion as soon as he did.

McCoy's smile faltered. "Are you all right? Tell me how you feel."

Kirk glanced around the room. He was in the Sickbay ward. A couple of crewmen were sleeping at the end of the ward, their monitors chirping happily. He brought his eyes back to the serious blue ones studying his own monitor. McCoy was dressed in a familiar jumpsuit of the doctor's, one he'd worn on several shore leaves. It hung loosely on his thin frame. The face was still drawn, but clean shaven. There was faded bruise on the left side of his jaw. If this were a dream, why would all the details seem so real?

As McCoy returned his puzzled gaze back to the still silent Kirk, his attention was diverted by a sound behind him. Kirk watched, trying to lift his head, but the effort exhausted him. His eyes slid closed again to the sounds of McCoy and Spock arguing.

"You're staying in that bed if I have to tie you in it. You're not strong enough to take me on yet."

"You are not officially on duty. Your orders are of no interest to me." Spock replied.

Kirk mentally shook his head. Spock and McCoy never changed. He opened his eyes again and looked to his side, finding Spock sitting on the side of the bed next to him, McCoy at his side.

"Spock," he said softly.

Both men turned to look at him, McCoy shaking his head in exasperation. "He won't talk to me, but the minute he hears your voice . . . " the doctor rolled his eyes, then smiled with affection at Kirk.

"Captain. As usual, the doctor is focusing on i-inconsequential matters. I b-believe he should be inquiring . . . as to how you are feeling."

McCoy narrowed his eyes, rounding on Spock. "If you won't believe me, will you believe your own pointed ears? The difficulty with your speech is an indication of your need for rest. And while we're at it, you have no room to talk. It'll take you years to live down your illogical behavior. Dying to get attention! I can just imagine -- "

"Bones!" Kirk interrupted his tirade, finding himself grinning broadly. There was nothing that could convince him everything was all right faster than these two stubbornly arguing.

"So you are going to talk to me. How do you feel, Jim?" The blue eyes sobered, glancing swiftly at the monitors.

"Tired, confused. Don't remember how I got here." He met Spock's dark eyes, not surprised when they met his briefly, then dropped away. He knew the Vulcan well enough to know Spock would be experiencing guilt at leaving McCoy behind and the problems his unintentional link with Kirk had caused. They both had a lot of talking to do.

He lifted his head up, pushing up on his elbow. McCoy placed a restraining hand on his shoulder. "You're not quite strong enough Jim. You'll be here several more days."

Kirk tensed. "Several more days? How long have I been here? The ship? Who --"

"Slow down! Relax! Or you'll have Doctor Engles in here on both of our asses." McCoy eased him back down onto his pillows. "Mr. Scott's in command. He'll be down to fill you in on ship's status when your doctor permits him to visit."

Kirk's eyes closed without warning and he forced them back open. "Bones, tell me what you know. Was the damage any more extensive than we originally thought? And what's our --"

"Jim." McCoy's hand was gripping the edge of his bed. "I can't. I don't know. It's confidential."

"So? When has that stopped you before?"

McCoy straightened, both his hands going behind his back in a sloppy imitation of a parade rest. His posture told Kirk this was difficult for him to talk about. "I . . . the regs state that . . ." McCoy's voice trailed off.

Spock supplied the information. "Regulations twenty-four A state, after having been in the hands of an enemy, no crewman may receive confidential information until said crewman passes the psych reaction test, verifying he has not been conditioned in any form."

"I was conditioned in every form." McCoy said, attempting a light tone, but bitterness edged the statement. "Therefore, I get to undergo a full battery of tests at the Starbase."

Kirk forced his eyes to stay open as he heard the undercurrent of fear in McCoy's voice. Spock touched McCoy's arm, catching Kirk's eye.

"We will be there to help," the Vulcan said.

"I--don't know how long it will take." McCoy was hesitant, needing, and yet afraid to ask.

Kirk touched the doctor's other arm, returning Spock's solemn look. "For as long as it takes, we'll be there, Bones."

A soft smile eased the fear in McCoy's eyes. Gripping each of their hands, he closed his eyes, as if making a wish. When he opened them, the blue eyes were misty.

"Together," he whispered.