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.