analysis...
and logic."
MINDSHADOW
Kirk sat forward quickly. "What exactly are
you
trying to say, Doctor? That he's lost all of
that?"
"I'm saying that he could experience some degree
of impairment in any one of those areas. The left
hemisphere sustained a significant trauma.
The alpha-dextran
can only restore those brain cells that were not
physically destroyed and only starved from lack of
oxygen. Spock will probably recover certain
functions,
but it'll be another day or so before we know the
extent of the permanent damage."
"Then you're telling me that you don't know yet."
"That's one reason I sent for a
specialist."
"God knows how long that could take. What do we
do in the meantime?"
"Wait," said McCoy.
Pain. Helpless pain along his entire left
side, a
hideous nonpain in his head and a dizzying nausea
that
seemed to snatch the bed from under him and send him
falling into the dark void .... They must have given
him something for the pain, something so strong that
he could not think clearly, could not summon the mind
rules to silence the fierce ache in his side. But
why?
Surely they knew how nauseous the medication
made
him ....
Again he struggled to retrieve the mind rules,
looking
deep into his clouded consciousness, searching,
concentrating, and for a moment he felt he might find
them; but they eluded him again, like a cruel parent
who teases a child with a toy, pulling it farther and
farther away as the child moves closer. He sighed
frustration and turned his head to one side; it was a
mistake. He held onto the bed with his right hand
as
another wave of dizziness clutched at him.
And the mind rules were not all that was lost to him;
there were other things hidden in him which he could
not retrieve, words of great consequence which must
be spoken, and quickly, but he could not remember
what he should say nor to whom he should say it.
Someone bent over him, fuzzy, out of focus.
He
closed his eyes gingerly, to avoid offending his
swollen
left eye, and opened them again. It was a man,
wearing
a blue tunic, a man that Spock knew, but
he could not
remember his name.
"Feeling any better?" the man asked
soothingly.
"Sorry that we had to medicate you; you won't be
able to control the pain yourself for a while. Try to
rest."
Spock saw no other alternative at the
moment. He
studied the man in the muted light; dark-skinned,
humanoid. Probably Terran, by the accent.
The blue
tunic had significance. it reminded him of the
other,
the one who had been with him earlier: a doctor.
Then
this one was also a doctor. His urgent message was
not
for them, but for another man rather man in the gold
tunic, the man who had asked the questions. He
grimaced with the strain of remembering, determined
to speak the man's name or to die.
When the name at last came forth, Spock was
flooded with a sense of relief and accomplishment
stronger than any he had ever known.
"Jim," he whispered.
M'Benga was as good as his word. Within minutes,
Kirk and McCoy had arrived in sick bay.
"Sorry to have to wake you both," M'Benga
apologized.
"He's still heavily sedated, but he's fighting
it.
Apparently he feels it's quite urgent that he
speak with
you, Captain."
Kirk felt as though he were fighting the effects of
MI n DSHADOW
heavy sedation himself, after being roused from the
few hours' dreamless sleep induced by the brandy.
"You did the right thing, Doctor, thank you."
Spock appeared to be sleeping, but when the
Captain
entered, his eyes opened and fastened on Kirk
with clear recognition.
"Spock, what did you want to tell me?"
Spock shuddered with the effort to speak, his voice
no more than a halting whisper. "I... must tell
what I
.. saw." He stopped abruptly, his face
clouded with
confusion.
"Take your time," Kirk soothed. "Try
to remember."
Spock gritted his teeth with frustration. "I .
. .
can't."
The three humans looked over Spock's head
at each
other. "We've given you some strong
painkillers,"
McCoy said. "You're going to have a little trouble
remembering things for a while."
"Important." Spock grimaced in a sudden
spasm of
pain. Kirk was forced to look away.
"It's all right, Spock. We know what you
saw:
uritanium, dilithium, just for starters. We
completed
the tricorder analysis. So you see, everything's
taken
care of. You can rest now."
Spock stared at the captain dully, considering
if that
was indeed what he had wanted to tell him. But the
effort of speaking had exhausted him; he closed his
eyes.
Kirk followed McCoy outside and leaned
wearily
against the bulkhead. "He doesn't remember,
Bones.
Is it really the medication?"
McCoy studied the tops of his boots
for a moment
before squaring his shoulders and looking his friend
directly in the eye. "No. No, Jim, it
isn't."
The intercom on the bulkhead next to Kirk
whistled.
He answered it without taking his eyes off
McCoy.
"Kirk here."
Uhura sounded unusually agitated. "An
urgent message
from Mr. Scott on the surface, Captain.
The
pirates have gotten through the shields--they're
attacking
our people!"
Chapter Two
"MY GOD! CRIED McCoy. "There's
over a hundred
crewmen down there Kirk did not answer him, but
his eyes showed how
well aware he was of the fact. "On my way."
A casual observer on the bridge might not have
guessed that an emergency situation
existed; bridge
personnel were too well trained not to function
smoothly under pressure. But Kirk could tell
by the
subtle tautness of their movements, by the way all
eyes fastened on his, awaiting orders, the
moment he
stepped from the turbolift.
Sulu vacated the con and seated himself at the
helm
with graceful swiftness as Kirk approached.
"Uhura,
/>
see if you can raise Mr. Scott for me again.
Mr.
Chekhov, status on the protective shield."
Chekhov moved to Spock's station and peered
down into the viewer, his solemn face bathed in the
pale blue glow. "No change, sir."
Kirk turned his head toward him sharply.
"They're
still up?"
Chekhov made no attempt to hide his
surprise.
"Yes, sir. Completely functional. There is
no indication
of any malfunction. We'll have to lower them if
we
want to beam our personnel aboard."
"That's what I intend to do, Ensign. In the
meantime,
I want you to scan the surface and get a fix
on a pirate vessel. They always lower their
cloaks
before the attack. Sulu, stand by with the tractor
Uhura interrupted. "I have Mr. Scott for
you, Captain.
On audio."
McCoy blessed her silently for having the tact
not to
put Scott on the screen; the sounds of screams
and
blasts of flame that filled the bridge were
terrifying
enough without the picture.
Scott spoke in a hoarse shout. "Scott
here, Captain.
The pirates are right nearby--I'm afraid this
inna very
safe place at the moment."
"Scotty, can you get to the controls for the
shield?
We have to lower it to get you out of there."
"Aye, Captain, I'm not far from the hut. I
think I
can make it."
"Is there any way the shields might have been
lowered, even for an instant?"
"Sir, do ye think I'm completely daft?
I'd never let a
thing like that happen. I checked "em myself not half
an hour ago. I dinna ken how those divvils
got past
'em." The sound of the flame blasts grew
closer,
drowning out Scott's voice. Kirk could hear the
crackle of the fire.
"Speak up, Scotty, I'm having trouble
reading
yOU."
"Captain, I'd best go now. I doubt as
it'll be safe to
stay here much longer. I'll get to the controls."
A thundering roar caused Kirk to put his hands over
MINDSHADOW .
his ears; when the noise cleared, there was silence.
"Scott?" Kirk's voice rose. "Are you
there? Can
you read me?"
For a moment, no one on the bridge dared breathe.
"Aye, Captain, but tell McCoy to have some
medics
waitin" in the transporter room. We've
got some casualties
here."
Kirk was numb. "I'll tell him. Good
luck, Scotty,."
The muscles in Chekhov's back tensed as he
looked
up from the viewer. "Keptin, I've got one of the
ships!"
"Tractor beam, Mr. Sulu..."
Sulu was apologetic. "The shield isn't
down yet,
Captain. I can't hold onto him."
"Stay with him, Mr. Chekhov..."
"With him, sir."
"Shield still up, Captain," Sulu reported.
Chekhov swore softly under his breath. "Lost
him,
sir. He has his cloak up again. It's almost as
if he knew
we were trying to get a tractor on him.."
"Shield down, Captain," Sulu said.
Kirk's jaw twitched. "Don't leave that
spot, Ensign.
I want you to stay there until you get another
fix on
one of those ships. Sulu, stand by with the tractor
beam and make sure whoever is in it gets beamed
up to
this ship. We are going to catch a pirate. Do
I make
myself clear?"
"Aye, sir," the two replied meekly.
"Sulu, you have the con. Get someone up here to
mind the helm. I'll be in sick bay if you
need me."
Chekhov waited for the turbolift doors
to close over
the captain's stern visage.
"I am so stupid," he said sorrowfully. "I
could have
computed his trajectory. I shouldn't have lost him
that."
Sulu comforted him. "You did what you could.
We'll get one next time, Pavel. You'll
see."
The evacuation had proceeded in a calm and
orderly
fashion. One hundred and three crew members
had
been beamed in groups with no one panicking, the
most critically wounded coming up first, the dead last.
Miraculously, only six had been killed and
thirty-eight
wounded.
To Kirk it felt like something less than a
miracle.
The area from the transporter room to sick bay was
a
chamber of horrors; he could smell the burns the
moment the doors to the turbolift opened. Those who
could still stand were crowded together outside sick
bay while medics administered first aid.
McCoy and
M'Benga were already in surgery with the critical
cases.
Scott was one of the lucky ones waiting
for a medic.
He held up his arms like an old-time surgeon
awaiting
sterile gloves; the sleeves of his tunic had
been almost
completely scared away from pulling the red-hot
switch that neutralized the protective shield
--under-neath,
the skin was mottled red and gray. Kirk forced
himself to watch as the medic dressed Scott's
wounds,
first with a coolant spray to stop more cells from
dying, then with a temporary sealant to provide
air-permeable
protection until McCoy had the time to
make more skin synthetic. Kirk looked at the
faces of
the crewmen around them, some of them dazed and
unable to grasp the horror of what had happened
to
them on what was supposed to have been a relaxing
interlude, a brief vacation ....
"Did you get a good look at them, Scotty?"
The pain on Scott's face eased as the
medic's hypo
spray hissed. "Aye, Captain. Romulan
surface
MINDSHADOW
fighters, all right. Maybe six or seven of
"em, but none
of us cared to get close enough to see who was inside.
Did you manage to get hold of one?"
"No. Chekhov's still scanning. And we still
haven't
located their base."
"It can't be too far, sir. They don't have much
fuel
storage capacity."
"Agreed. But what I want to know is what the
hell
they were doing under our shield."
"Like I said, a fighter doesn't have the fuel
capacity
to sit under the shields that long, especially not with a
cloakin" device in operation. If you ask me,
the only
thing that accounts for it is a shield neutralizer."
"Come on, Scotty, the Romulan
s have been
trying
to develop one for years, but they've never
been
successful."
"Can you be so sure, sir?" Scott seemed to be
swaying slightly.
"It's just as likely they developed a cloaking
device
which doesn't require as much fuel." Kirk
frowned at
him; the Scot was definitely turning paler.
"You know,
you're still officially on leave, Mr. Scott.
I suggest you
go take it easy in your quarters."
Scott began to speak, but Kirk cut him off.
"That's
an order. We'll talk more about this later."
"Then, sir... could you do me a wee favor?"
"Name it."
"Could you find out about Ensign Lanz for me?"
He
nodded toward sick bay. "She's in there, and they
tell
me she was pretty badly hurt. She's an
awfully young l ass... this is her first
assignment."
Kirk smiled in spite of the sinking feeling
Scott's
words caused. "I'll find out, Scotty. I'm
sure McCoy's
taking good care of her. Go on."
"I'll just wait out here for a minute--"
"No, I'll come tell you. Now go." He
shooed Scott
with a playful gesture, but the moment the engineer
turned to shuffle off to his quarters, the smile
fled from
Kirk's face.
The smell inside sick bay was as bad as he
had
imagined; Kirk tried not to look at the wounded
lying
on the makeshift cots that lined the walls. He
was
waiting until he was sure he could no longer
bear the
stench when the door to surgery opened.
McCoy sank shakily into the nearest chair and
wiped the perspiration from his brow. "I'd like to give
those responsible for this a taste of their own
medicine.
What kind of being could do this to innocent
people? I bet you can smell it all the way up to the
bridge." He slumped lower in the chair and
closed his
eyes. "I haven't even had time to have a
hangover."
"How many did we lose, Bones?"
"Eight. Six on the planet, two in
surgery. The burns
were so severe, their bodies just shut down in spite
of
everything we could do. Damn those bastards .... his
A muscle in Kirk's jaw twitched. "I
shouldn't have
let them go down there."
McCoy opened one eye. "Don't do it to yourself,
Jim. And if I had gotten to those two in time,
maybe
they wouldn't have died .... There's nothing to be
gained by playing the if-I-had-only game. You
couldn't
have known."
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