I'll
put just as much stock in my own physical
examination
of the patient. I have a pretty wicked medical
intuition."
McCoy was beginning to feel relaxed and slightly
tipsy, more from exhaustion than from the bourbon;
the thought made him chuckle. "Just don't
tell Spock,
will you? He wouldn't be able to stand it if he thought
his diagnosis rested on human intuition."
She smiled at him and pushed the hair from her
face
carelessly. It was coal-colored, the same as her
eyes,
and cut sensibly short. She clearly did not have
the
inclination to bother with it, just as she did not bother
with other cosmetic enhancements. She didn't need
them, McCoy decided, not with those eyes and that
fearless manner of hers. Perhaps at first glance some
would not consider her beautiful, but anyone who took
the time to look again would be able to see how
attractive she really was.
And McCoy was definitely taking the time.
"Then we won't tell him, Leonard," she
said. "Of
course, I don't mean to say that the tests aren't
important. Some of them are critical--
especially those
which let us know what kind of personality changes
to
expect."
Now it was McCoy's turn to frown.
"Personality
changes? But we're talking about a Vulcan here
--"
She became totally serious. "Funny how the
old
prejudices still exist. The fact that Spock
considers
himself a Vulcan and has received emotional training
does not exempt him from the possibility of a
personality
disorder. Changes in the chemical
neurotransmitters
or damage to certain receptors can cause
personality
changes, or emotional illness, or whatever you
want to call it. It's chemical. It has
nothing whatsoever
to do with one's emotional control. Even the
Vulcans,
as logical a people as they are, find it hard
to admit that
mental disease exists among their own people."
"What kind of changes are you talking about?"
"In the case of traumatic injury
to the brain, in both
MINDSHADOW
humans and Vulcans, we must be alert to the
possibility
of tendencies toward depression, irritability-
--in
extreme cases, violent psychosis. Look,
I'm upsetting
you. I'm just talking about possibilities,
Leonard. I
haven't even seen Spock yet."
"You haven't upset me. I appreciate being
informed."
He forced a weak smile. "You know, you
must have driven the Vulcans crazy, with your talk
of
emotional illnesses and your intuition .... his
She took it as a compliment. "I must admit I
. . .
how shall I put it? . . . perplexed them a little.
They
never seemed to appreciate my frankness."
"I'll bet they didn't. But it's something we
certainly
appreciate around here." He smiled warmly and
leaned closer, but Emma was not listening. Something
had distracted her, and she stared at it intently.
McCoy
followed her gaze.
She was watching James Kirk.
McCoy had been right in assuming that Jim was
having another one of his sleepless nights, but you
wouldn't know it from his charming demeanor as he
approached the table.
"Mind if I join you?" he asked.
McCoy felt a surge of irritation. If
Emma hadn't
been here, McCoy would have received little more
than a grunt for a greeting. Sometimes Kirk's
overly
unctuous manners around women got on
McCoy's
nerves, and he had half a mind to tell Jim
about it.
Later, of course.
"We haven't met, have we?" Kirk asked
Emma
with a disarming smile. He almost succeeded in masking
his exhaustion. "I'm Captain
James Kirk."
"Emma Saenz," she said, offering her hand in the
Terran manner.
"Doctor Saenz is here on temporary
assignment
with us," McCoy said coolly. "She's here
to give us
her expert assistance with Mr. Spock. She's
a neuro-psychologist."
"Sit down and have a drink with us, Captain."
Emma returned Jim's smile.
"You mean Star Fleet actually filled your
request?
This soon?" Jim sat next to Emma and fastened
his
hazel eyes on her in a way that made
McCoy fidget.
"I'll sit for just a minute, but I'll skip the
drink if that's
all right. Doctor, we appreciate anything you
can do
for Mr. Spock. Perhaps Dr. McCoy has
told you how
important he is to us."
"Actually, I can probably do very little
for Mr.
Spock," said Emma.
"What do you mean?" Kirk's charming smile
faded.
"I can diagnose him. Dr. McCoy helped
him more
than anyone else by administering the
alpha-dextran in
time, but the rest is up to Spock. He'll have to do
ninety percent of the work. Motivation is the key
to
recovery in cases like this, and will be the deciding
factor in how complete Spock's recovery will
be. But
there is something you can do to help, Captain."
Kirk's expression was intent. "Name it."
"Be his friend. Do everything possible to encourage
him in his recovery. Let him know you need him.
Of
course, Leonard tells me he seems to have some
trauma-related amnesia. It would be very
frustrating
for him to be questioned about events which he has
difficulty remembering."
"I see." Kirk studiously ignored
McCoy's dark
glance. "Have you ever worked with Vulcans before?"
"I spent a year doing research and treating
neurological
and psychological disorders on Vulcan. Before
that, I worked in the same field for six years on
Earth.
I imagine that's why Star Fleet sent me
here."
MINDSHADOW
"Well," said Kirk, "I'm glad Spock
is in such capable
hands." The charming smile crept back. "We
need
him on the bridge and I sorely miss him as
an exercise
partner."
"Captain," McCoy lectured, "if you would just
learn to enjoy some individual sports--jogging,
swimming, gymnastics."
"I know. I wouldn't have to worry about someone
else's schedule and losing weight." Kirk
grimaced:
"Thanks, Doctor, but I prefer the
martial arts."
Emma sat forward eagerly. "Do you need a
partner?"
Kirk hesitated. She was petite, fine-boned
....
"I know what you're thinking, Captain," she said
with a sly half-smile. "Let me work out with you
tomorrow. I need the exercise and you need to change
your opinion of my capabilities."
"All right:" Kirk sounded totally unconvinced.
"What time, then?"
"Oh-seven-hundred?"
"Fine. But before I leave, I'd like some idea of
when I can expect my first officer back."
She turned sideways in order to face Kirk
directly.
"You have requested a replacement, haven't you,
captain. She looked from the surprise on the
captain's face to McCoy, whose eyes were
downcast.
"Perhaps you haven't been told the true extent of
Spock's injuries."
"Are you telling me that Spock will not return to
duty?" Kirk's jaw had tightened so much that it
ached.
Her eyes were sympathetic but unyielding in their
honesty. "That's one possibility. The best we
can
hope for is that it will be months before Spock is
to return to duty again."
Chapter Three
EMMA TURNED SHARPLY to McCoy. "You
did tell him
that, didn't you, Leonard."?"
McCoy shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
"I told
him Spock's recovery might take some time."
Kirk had already regained his composure. "I
wasn't
aware... that it would be months, that's all."
"That's if he recovers well enough, Captain.
However,
since I haven't seen Spock yet, I can
only
speculate. But I am experienced in treating this
type of
injury, and recovery is usually quite protracted.
For
the smooth functioning of your crew, I
recommend
getting at least a temporary replacement."
"Yes, of course." Kirk was still expressionless.
"It's the logical thing to do."
Emma leaned back in her chair and took another
sip
of bourbon. "Look, I don't mean to be
insensitive. I'm
just used to speaking my mind freely and I feel
an
obligation to be honest with you about Spock's
condition.
I see no point in trying to soften the truth."
Kirk had found Emma attractive enough at first
MINDSHADOW
glance, but he certainly wouldn't have termed her
pretty . . . until she spoke. There was
something
striking about her directness, her honesty, that was
indeed beautiful.
"I appreciate that very much, Doctor," he
said.
"I promise I'll take a look at
Spock first thing
tomorrow and let you know as soon as I've made my
diagnosis."
"I trust that will be after the oh-seven-hundred
workout."
"Well, yes."
Kirk rose. "If you'll excuse me, I
think I'll be
retiring to my quarters now if I have to be in the
gym
that early." He did not ask McCoy for a
sleeping pill;
not here, in front of a crew member.
"I'll be there." She smiled warmly at him, and
they
exchanged a look that left McCoy feeling
distinctly
uncomfortable.
Emma watched the captain leave. "He's very
worried
about his first officer, isn't he?"
"Yes. They're very close friends."
She turned and raised an eyebrow at
McCoy.
"Close friends? A human and a Vulcan?"
"Does that seem so strange to you after
living for a
year on Vulcan?"
"Especially after living for a year on Vulcan."
The pained look on her face made McCoy
laugh. "I
take it you don't much care for Vulcans."
"It's not that I don't care for them, but that they
found me too exasperating. I decided that it would
be
kinder to them to relocate elsewhere."
"In that case, you're definitely my kind of
person,"
McCoy said warmly. "But it is true--Jim
and Spock
are close, in their own special sort of way.
Spock isn't
the type given to emotional display, and I can't
say
that Jim is the type to broadcast his deepest
feelings,
but each has risked his life for the other dozens of
times. There's a deep sense of loyalty between
them.
And while I can't tolerate any of Spock's
insufferable
logic, I like to think of him as my friend."
"I see." Emma drained her glass. "I
certainly can't
afford to mess up on this one, can I?"
The gym was large and airy, and the overhead
lighting simulated a skylight, giving the
impression of
filtered sunlight. To one side was an
Olympic-sized lap
pool, and over on the well-padded deck, a few
crew-members
were already working out, using the graceful
defense moves taught each cadet at the
Academy.
Martial arts was the old Earth term used to refer
to
them, but over the years the intricate moves had
become a combination of many ancient defense
disciplines
from many different cultures.
Emma was waiting on a far corner of the padded
deck, already dressed in a stiff white toga and
loose-fitting
pants. Her uniform seemed one size too
large
for her, as though the computer had synthesized it
with the idea that she would grow into it. The sash that
circled her waist was black.
She looked so small and vulnerable waiting there
that Kirk immediately regretted accepting her
invitation.
While he did not mind an occasional workout
with a partner of lesser strength, today he needed a
challenge, a match that demanded his total
concentration
and made it impossible for his mind to return to
the worries awaiting him on the bridge. He
felt some
resentment at having to worry about hurting her.
She began stretching on the padded floor while
he
went into one of the cubicles to change. He came
out
wearing a similar uniform, down to the color of the
belt around his waist,
MINDSHADOW
"Did you sleep well, Captain?" Emma
asked cheerfully.
She could not have had more sleep than he'd had
last night--three or four hours at
most--but she
seemed quite animated.
"Yes, thank you," he replied without thinking.
"You're a rather bad liar, Captain. You seem quite
tired."
He made a face. "You really believe in
telling the
truth, don't you?"
"I do. I'm not fond of deceit, even in little
things."
"Then I'll attempt to be perfectly frank
with you in
the future, Doctor," he replied
good-naturedly. "And
did you sleep well?"
"Not really. New assignments can be unsettling,
but
I intend to wear myself out so I'll sleep well
tonight. I
suggest you do the same."
Kirk did not ask her how in the hell she
intended to
wear him out.
"Any particular reason you haven't been getting
much sleep lately?" she continued
casually.
"Ah," said Kirk. "The psychologist part of the
neuropsychologist."
"I don't mean to pry, Captain. It's just that
I
thought you might have a lot of things on your mind.
Dr. McCoy told me that you are good friends with
Spock, and I also know that the situation on
Aritani is
critical."
"I appreciate your concern, but there's not much I
have-to say about Spock. And as far as
Aritani's
concerned, the situation is under investigation by Star
Fleet. I'm afraid I can't discuss it with you
until I
know your security clearance." He intended this last
as a joke.
"It might be higher than you think, Captain,"
she
teased. "We'd better start the workout then, if you
don't feel like talking. I have to be on duty in
an hour."
"We both do," he said, and they bowed
to each
other in the traditional manner.
As they began warming up, pacing around each
other slowly, carefully, Kirk knew that he was
indeed
the stronger. But something strange was happening.
True, he threw her twice, easily, and let
her throw him
once out of politeness; but then she threw him again,
and then a third time, without his cooperation. The
second time she threw him, he realized that he was
not
in as complete control of the situation as he had
thought--far from it. She had let him see that he was
in
fact stronger than she was, and then began
to trick him
into making incorrect guesses about what her next
move would be; more often than not, he wound up on
the deck.
The third time she threw him, he felt a sense
of
relief; he no longer had to be polite and
hold back. He
lashed out with the anger that had consumed him for
the past several days. As he reacted with more of his
strength, so she reacted with more of hers, which Kirk
guessed was twice that for a female her size.
She was
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