small, but she used it to her advantage, throwing
him
again with no more effort than one might exert doing a
lively dance step. Kirk fell on one shoulder
and rolled
to his feet.
"You didn't learn those moves in medical
school,"
he gasped and they sat, sweating, on the deck.
"You're definitely anything but an amateur.
You've
been studying for years."
"Everyone needs an outlet." She shrugged away
his
compliment.
"Well, you have quite an outlet there, Doctor. You
tricked me into quite a few stupid moves."
"I prefer to call it strategy."
MINDSHADOW
"Call it whatever you like. And you're really quite
strong."
"For a woman my size," she finished for him
good-naturedly.
"Yes, if you insist on total honesty.
Strength like
that is another thing you didn't acquire in
medical
school."
"I lived on Vulcan for a year, Captain.
The heavier
gravity begins to affect muscular size and
strength
after a relatively short time. After I left,
I took care not
to lose my newfound strength."
"You've maintained it very well. Look, I'd like
to
work out with you again sometime, and learn some of
those tricks .... his
"Strategies," she corrected him. "It's
basically just
the art of luring people into false assumptions and then
surprising them."
"You're very good at it."
Her lips curved up slyly at the ends.
"Thank you."
They were dressed in their uniforms and leaving the
gym when Emma asked again about the Aritanians.
"The pirates are still attacking the populace.
They've either found a way to get around the shields
we installed or they've developed a new
cloaking
device."
"What will happen to the Aritanians?"
"That's one of the reasons I haven't gotten much
sleep lately. They've asked us not
to interfere."
Her eyes widened with horror. "Just let the
pirates
wipe them out? You aren't going to leave it at that,
are you?"
Kirk was relieved to see that someone shared his
reaction. "No, I'm not. The Enterprise will
stay in the
area and do what we can."
"Which is?"
"We'll try to catch one of the pirates. It's
a long
shot, but there's not much else we can do to help."
"Do you think you'll catch any fallout
from Star
Fleet about staying against the Aritanians"
wishes?"
"Star Fleet ordered me to do what I can
to protect
the Aritanians. The way I see it, I'm just
following
orders." He lowered his voice. "I can't just
leave
them .... his
Emma's expression darkened, and something in the
black eyes burned. "For the sake of the
Aritanians,
Captain, I hope you capture a pirate...
after what the
pirates have done to them, and to your people."
She leaned forward out of conviction for what she
was saying; her black brows were knitted together
over wide eyes whose intensity nearly overpowered
her delicate features. Kirk made up his
mind that she
was beautiful, all the more so because of her complete
unselfconsciousness.
They both realized at the same time that he was
staring at her, and they lowered their eyes.
Kirk
cleared his throat. "Give me a call when your
diagnosis
is ready, Doctor, and I'll come to sick
bay. I prefer
to discuss it with you in person, if that's all right."
"Certainly, Captain," she replied, her
eyes shyly
fastened on a point just beyond his left shoulder.
"I'll
call you as soon as I've discussed the results
with
Dr. McCoy."
"Thank you, Dr. Saenz," he said formally.
"I'll be waiting."
The testing was completed, and Emma Saenz
dimmed the lights in the intensive care ward again.
A
brightly colored printout of Spock's brain
scan covered
with scribbled notes lay on the empty bed next
to
Spock's; both of the critically burned
crewmembers
had improved and had been moved into the
outer 68
MINDSHADOW
ward. The temperature of the room had been
raised
twenty degrees to accommodate Spock; most
humans
would have found it oppressive, but Emma was not
even perspiring. Out in the main ward, Christine
Chapel was making rounds; McCoy hadn't come
on
duty yet.
Emma Saenz was alone with Spock.
He sat on the bed, propped up, watching
wearily
while she sat on the empty bed to scribble more
notes
on the printout in the dim light. This one was not like
the other humans who had been taking care of him;
he
dreaded the others' touch, for he had lost the
ability to
shield himself from the minds of others, and found
himself being invaded by their thoughts and emotions.
This woman was different. She seemed to sense his
difficulty, for her touch brought nothing,
no chaotic
thoughts, no swirling emotions. Perfect mental
shields, unheard of in humans.
Emma put the printout carefully aside and
stood up.
Even in the shadows, her eyes shone with a strange
light; they sought out Spock's. She moved toward
the
side of his bed with slow, measured steps.
"I ask you to trust me, Spock," she said in a
voice
so low it could be discerned only by Vulcan ears.
Spock did not reply, but met her gaze; he
could not
have looked away had he wanted to.
She was closer now, bent over the bed with her pale
olive face close to his. He watched in
fascination, and
did not flinch; her nearness did not irritate
him, as
other humans' did, for her mental shields were still
up.
Then with a slow, steady hand she reached for his
temple. "You must trust me, Spock." Her
voice was
soothing, hypnotic.
His eyes filled suddenly with horror, and he
raised a
weak hand to stop her. But it was too late, for she
had
both hands fastened on his temples now, and her
strength was greater than his.
"No," she ordered sternly, as Spock fought
to pull
himself from her grasp. "Don't fight it. It will be
worse if you fight me."
He shuddered as he felt her mind reaching
for his.
She was free to take what she wished, for he had
lost
the power to hide his thoughts from her. But what she
was doing was hideously obscene, an unpardonable
breach of the most basic decency . . . those who
learned the discipline of the mind meld on Vulcan
were
required to take an oath that they would die before
violating the privacy of another's consciousness
against his will.
He could see nothing but her face above him, now,
and huge black eyes fierce with concentration as they
looked deeply into his; opaque
eyes, unreadable and
so black Spock could not distinguish pupil from
iris.
"My mind to yours, Spock..."
She had to lower her own shields to go deeply, and
as she did so, Spock gasped and tried to pull
away.
"No," she said quickly. "Don't think about me.
It's
not important. Think about Aritani. What do you
remember, Spock? You can fool our instruments,
if
you are clever, but you cannot fool me. I must know
what you remember."
The furrows in her forehead smoothed as she found
what she wanted, but she did not relax her grip
on
Spock.
"You know who I am now," she said as he struggled
weakly in her grasp. "But you will forget that as
well."
As she spoke, Spock's eyes dulled and went
blank
like a light suddenly extinguished.
The sound of the door opening made her
pull away
from him abruptly.
"Sorry if I startled you. Whew, it's hotter
than
7O
MINDSHADOW
Hades in here. Don't know how you stood it all
this
time. And how can you take notes in this dim
light?"
McCoy turned up the lights. "You haven't
finished
yet, have you?"
"I'm afraid you're out of luck, Leonard."
She
smiled and picked up the printout. "I just
completed
the last test."
"Oh." He did not hide his disappointment. "I
was
sort of hoping to learn a thing or two." An
odd
expression came over his face as his eye caught
Spock. The Vulcan was leaning heavily against the
pillows, breathing rapidly, his eyes
glazed as if he were
in shock. "What in blazes has happened
to Spock? Is
he all right?"
"He's fine. But the verbal tests can be
physically
and emotionally exhausting. I think that the kindest
thing we can do for him right now is let him rest in
privacy."
McCoy looked uncertainly at Spock for a
moment.
"Yes, of course, Doctor."
The lab was empty; McCoy closed the door
behind
them. Emma sat at the counter and spread
Spock's
brain scan out in front of her.
"All right--diagnosis first, Leonard. Take
a look.
right hemisphere, left hemisphere. You can see
the
damage to the left cerebrum. The result is as
you
said--retrograde amnesia and nominal
aphasia. The
intellect is unimpaired, with the exception of a
slight
loss of mathematical ability, which should respond
to
tutoring. The aphasia is improving, no doubt
because
of your prompt treatment with the alpha-dextran.
However, there seems to be no improvement of the
amnesia. And there is an interesting result of the
amnesia--he has lost the Vulcan mind
rules."
"All of them?"
"As far as I can tell."
"How permanent is the damage?"
"Amnesia of this type often improves, but there
is
no way to predict how long recovery will
take."
"It could be months
"Or years." Emma looked up at him. "Or
it might
never improve."
McCoy digested this for a moment, then said
quietly,
"So what is your recommendation,
Doctor?"
"Keep him here for a while until he
improves, at
least physically. The aphasia will clear up
rapidly. We
can monitor him to see if the amnesia
improves. Even
if it doesn't, we can get him a tutor
to reteach him the
mind rules."
McCoy nodded. "Even if he doesn't ever
remember
what happened to him on Aritani, he'll still be
able to
function."
She started to say something and stopped.
"Won't he?" asked McCoy. "There's something
else, isn't there?"
"Yes," she said. "The damage also affected
certain loci--neuroreceptors--comhere," she
pointed, "and here.
When these are damaged in a Vulcan, they may
trigger
violent psychotic behavior. He is a
hybrid and it might
be that he won't react in that manner, but the
possibility
exists and you should be aware of it. I recommend
someone keep a constant watch on him. You may
want
to keep him under restraint."
"I'd rather not do that to Spock until absolutely
necessary," McCoy said with sudden vehemence.
"Of course, Leonard, I understand. But you should
also be aware that as a result of losing the mind
rules,
his psionic rating has increased. In humans and
in
Spock, telepathy is a right-brain function and
his is
unimpaired. But without the mind rules, Spock
is
unable to shield his own thoughts from other telepaths,
MINDSHADOW
or to block out the thoughts and emotions of those
around him."
"You mean--comhe can feel the emotions of whoever's
around him? And read their thoughts?"
"Without wanting to or trying. It's a very
unpleasant
experience for a Vulcan. You should take that into
account."
"If Spock--if he does experience
behavioral
changes, is there anything we can do to help?"
"There is a medication we could try, but it's still
experimental. I prefer to wait and see if we
need it."
She leaned forward and rested a hand lightly on his
arm. "You know, Leonard, I've seen some very
bad
cases and considering what could have happened to
Spock, the prognosis is very hopeful. But there
is one
more problem."
He tensed. "What else?"
"I don't know how to make the chief medical
officer
feel better about the situation."
"I do," he answered, surprised at his own
response.
"Have dinner with me tonight."
"To discuss the prognosis?" she teased
softly.
"Definitely not."
Kirk had almost stepped onto the turbolift in
response
to Saenz's call when Chekhov called to him
excitedly from Spock's station.
"Keptin! Two uncloaked pirate wessels
--on the surface
below
Kirk raced back to the con, heart pounding, but
he
did not sit down.
"They're hovering, sir." The Russian bent
over the
hooded computer screen. "Near the same area we
beamed you up from."
The area where Spock fell. "Mr. Chekhov,
compute
the trajectory of those ships if we "borrow"
their pilots
for a while."
"The wessels should crash--cominffthe mountains,
sir." He straightened and looked at Kirk.
"It should
present no danger to the population."
Kirk walked toward the helm. "Get a
tractor beam
on those vessels, Mr. Sulu." He leaned
over the
helmsman's shoulder anxiously as though his
presence
might somehow help to keep them from getting away
this time.
"Tractor beam on, sir."
Kirk had to force himself to sit in his chair to call
the
transporter room.
"Lyle here, sir."
"Two to beam up from the planet surface, Mr.
Lyle.
Chekhov will feed you the coordinates."
"Captain," said Sulu. "One of the ships is
tearing
up."
"Did you adjust the beam for the size of the
vessel?"
Kirk was immediately embarrassed at his own
question; Sulu was one of the most competent helmsmen
in the Fleet.
"Yes, sir. He's trying to move the ship off
course."
Kirk punched a toggle on the console.
"Kirk to
Security."
"Tomson here."
"Lieutenant, I need a security team of
four to the
transporter room on the double. We have two
prisoners to escort to the brig."
"Right away, Captain."
Kirk called Lyle back. "Bring them
aboard, Mr.
Lyle."
He could hear the whine of the transporter, and the
sound of Lyle drawing in his breath sharply.
"What's
wrong, Lyle? Are the prisoners aboard?"
"Yes, Captain." Lyle sounded shaken.
"I'm afraid
MINDSHADOW
I'll need to have some medics to pick up one of
them.
He was only half-caught by the beam."
"The other?"
"They're taking him to the brig now, sir."
"Keptin," Chekhov interrupted. "The
ships have
crash-landed near the mountains. One was completely
torn apart by the tractor beam; the other is
damaged
but salvageable."
Kirk almost laughed with exhilaration. They had
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