Tomson had
been more than patient, from her point of view--
Scott
was now more than two hours overdue.
"Lieutenant, I'm sure that there's a very good
reason
why he's been held up--"
"Even if he does have a good reason, sir, I
still need
to question him. And he could be trying to escape.
Remember our agreement," Tomson said
firmly.
Kirk listened to himself give the command as though
it were someone else speaking. "I have no intention of
backing down on my promise,
Lieutenant. Go ahead
and issue the bulletin on my authority."
He wondered if she would insist that he put himself
in the brig.
Kirk stood outside the atmosphereless hangar
deck
and watched from behind the protective glass shield
as
the Galileo sailed through the open portal, leaving
behind it the stars and the two Federation police
shuttles that had escorted it back. The portal
closed
silently behind the small craft; Kirk heard the
hiss of
the airlock as pressurization began. The
protective
glass shield slid aside, and Kirk,
Tomson, and Ensign
all-Baslama walked to the door of the
shuttlecraft and
waited.
It seemed to Kirk like a very long time before the
MINDSHADOW
door opened. Scott helped Chapel
out carefully, his
left arm around her waist, her right arm draped
across
his shoulder. She was limping painfully, and neither
one seemed much amused by their present
circumstances.
Scott scowled up at them. "Who can help
Nurse Chapel to sick bay? Her ankle's
broken."
"Also-Baslamah," Kirk nodded to the security
guard.
The tall, formidable-looking male scooped
Christine
up into his muscular arms.
"Well," Chapel said, surprised but not at
all struggling,
"I can certainly think of worse ways
to travel."
Scott waited for the guard to carry her off before he
confronted the captain angrily. "Beggin' your
pardon,
sir, but just what the divvil is going' on?
We'd scarcely
left the star base when those jokers put a
tractor beam
on us and told us we were bein' carried back to the
ship. I told them we were headed this way anyway,
but
they just laughed."
Tomson stepped forward. "You're wanted in
connection
with the murder of the Romulan prisoner, Mr.
Scott."
Scott gazed at her with disbelief, then
directed a
hurt look at the Captain. "Sir--is it
true? Did ye give
the order?"
Kirk tried to meet Scott's eyes, but did
not succeed
for long. He looked down. "I gave the order.
Mr.
Scott, you're six hours late."
"Aye, we're late, all right. We were all
almost killed
when the Galileo crashlanded on Star Base
Twelve. It
took me that long to repair her."
"Is everyone all right?" Kirk thought immediately
of Spock.
"All but Nurse Chapel's ankle.
Captain, someone
deliberately tampered with the fuel indicator. his
"The way you tampered with the brig's force field
using the override control in Engineering?"
Scott looked at Tomson as though she had
lost her
mind. "Are ye jokin', Lieutenant? The
maintenance
panel indicated a problem with the override
controls--that's
why I went to check it out---but the problem had
corrected itself by the time I got there. Just
exactly
what are ye sayin'?"
Tomson's gaze was cool. "That you set the
manual
control so that it would lower the force field at the
precise time you went down to the brig to murder the
prisoner."
Stiff with anger and pride, Scott looked
Tomson
squarely in the eye and took a step toward her.
"I
dinna do it, Lieutenant. Go ahead and
question me.
I've got nothin' to hide. It so happens that
right after I
checked on the override controls I went back
to work
on the lower engineering deck, sortin' through
wreckage
from the pirate ship. At least three other
crew-members
were workin' with me. I can give you their
names."
"And would you be willing to submit to a questioning
under the influence of truth drug?"
"With pleasure, Miss Tomson."
"Then come with me, Mr. Scott."
Before he followed Tomson, Scott turned
to Kirk.
"Ye told them about Ensign Lanz, didn't
ye, Captain?"
His voice was soft and wounded.
Kirk tried to speak, but the engineer would not give
him a chance to reply. Scott shook his head.
wouldna thought ye capable, sir. I wouldna thought ye
capable..."
Head held high, shoulders back, he
walked with
Tomson to the brig.
Chapter Seven
SP-OCKnowledge was UNABL-EVERY to identify what was
happening to
him.
His lessons with the white-haired Tela'at
Stalik were
at best unenlightening exercises in futility.
While Sta-like
was accomplished in the practice of Kohlinahr,
and
in addition had reached the revered age of 265
Terran
standard years, he nevertheless seemed to lack
patience
for Spock's slowness at relearning the mind
disciplines, and did not hesitate to make his
displeasure
known. For Spock, the lessons were frustrating,
and eventually he became convinced that Stalik was
deliberately trying to be enigmatic, unclear,
and to
rush the lessons. Many times Spock
came close to
saying so, but courtesy and the esteemed position a
tela'at held in Vulcan society forbade it.
His powers of concentration seemed to be worsening
rather than improving, his memory becoming more
clouded instead of clearing. His lack of progress
keenly embarrassed him, and he became
increasingly
seclusive, eventually avoiding contact with his
family
as much as possible. He spent his days in
lessons with
Stalik, scouring the bookshelves, and sitting
alone in the garden, unable to meditate.
Spock found himself losing patience with everyone:
with Stalik, with Amanda, with the overeager
T'Pala.
He told himself that no one noticed his increasing
irritability--until one day Amanda increased
to two capsules a day. She had noticed his
worsening condition and, without telling him, had
consulted McCoy. Inexplicably furious,
Spock had
turned on his heel and sought the serenity
of the
garden to gather himself.
He stepped outside into the soothing arid heat and
went to his favorite spot--a stone bench
half-hidden
beneath a hanging arbor of thick foliage, its
blooms
rustling in the hot afternoon breeze.
He stopped abruptly. T'Pala sat hidden
in the
shadows, eyes closed, face in the perfectly
bland
expression of Vulcan meditation, an expression
of
which Spock lately had been incapable.
He backed away quietly, not wishing to disturb
her,
more for his own sake than for hers. But it was too
late; before he could retreat to the safety of the
house,
she called out to him.
He faced her reluctantly.
She spoke uncertainly, her face still hidden in
the
shadows. "There's something I would like
to discuss
with you. It's something that I would not feel at ease
discussing with anyone else."
She motioned for him to sit next to her, but he
remained standing. She shifted nervously.
"What do you know of my background?" T'Pala
asked.
Spock's manner was brusque; he wanted
only to
return to the serenity of the guest room and Amanda's
books. "I know that you are half-human, and that you
grew up on Terra. Nothing more."
MINDSHADOW
She nodded to indicate that his information was
correct. "As I say, this is a subject
too sensitive to
discuss with anyone else. I... I wanted
to tell you that
I admire your emotional control. I wanted
to ask you
how you accomplished it."
If she had not seemed so ingenuously earnest, he
would have thought she had chosen this particularly
inopportune moment to make fun of him.
He decided
that she was sincere. "I was raised on Vulcan.
I spent
years learning emotional discipline and the Vulcan
mind control techniques."
"I did not," T'Pala replied sadly.
"My mother was
Vulcan, but she died when I was three. I
learned of
Vulcan culture and language at school and
from my
father. There was no one who could teach me all the
ancient disciplines." She leaned forward and he
caught sight of her face, intense, almost...
begging.
"Would you be willing to help me?"
He almost left, sure now that she was making fun
of
him, but something in her voice made him remain.
Perhaps she did not know... perhaps his parents had
not told her of his condition... perhaps even after her
question to him about Aritani, she had not thought it
proper to ask. "You receive lessons from the
Tela'at
Stalik, do you not?"
"Yes, but my progress is very slow. It could
take
years...
"He is far better qualified to teach Vulcan
discipline
than I. I. he almost faltered, then continued
evenly, "I have lost the mind rules. I was
injured in an
accident on Aritani."
"I know," she answered.
His temper flared. "Then why do you make such a
ridiculous request?"
"It's not ridiculous," she responded
swiftly. "You've
lost the mind rules, yet your control is better
than
mine. Being half-human, as I am, you must be
relying
on human methods of control, yet after years of
living
on Vulcan, you know how to act like a Vulcan,
something I don't know. If you could just show me
how..."
"For what purpose?"
"To be accepted. I am a Vulcan
citizen. I want to be
worthy of my heritage. And I want to join the
Vulcan
Diplomatic Corps."
"I see," Spock said stiffly. "Why not the
Terran
diplomatic service?"
The insult failed to register. "I'm no longer
a citizen
of Terra."
"And you believe that learning how to behave as a
Vulcan will increase your chances of entering the
VDC?"
She frowned. "You make it sound as though I'm
doing this for entirely selfish reasons."
"You may reach your own conclusions." He spoke
vehemently. "If you feel yourself to be a
Vulcan,
T'Pala, then you must embrace the Vulcan
path completely.
You cannot choose those aspects of Vulcan life
which appeal to you. Learning emotional control may
indeed take years, but if you truly desire it,
it must
come from inner discipline, not from outer
playacting.
Any Vulcan you meet will know the difference. To
follow the path merely for furthering your own
political
ambitions would be no less than an obscenity."
T'Pala jumped to her feet, her chin quivering.
"I
wish to follow the Vulcan path, and my reasons
are
valid. And you sound like all the others, insisting that
the Vulcan path is the only way, and there is but
one
way to follow it. I see no logic in your blind
loyalty."
"Vulcan loyalty is not blind," Spock
replied hotly.
"Quite the opposite. But I have not come to debate
that with you. As to your question of whether I can
MINDSHADOW
help you enter the VDC, I cannot. What vestige
of
control I now possess is the direct result
of years of
habit."
"I was not asking you to help me get into the
VDC,"
she said. "I have very deep personal reasons for
wanting to join, reasons which I do not care to discuss
with anyone, not even you. But I resent your
implication
that my reasons are not honorable."
"You will get in. My father has recommended you."
He did not say it kindly.
"Even that may not be enough."
"Because you are half-human?"
Her lips twisted bitterly. "That, among other
reasons."
"If you believe that your human behavior
patterns
have cost you admission into the Corps, then clearly,
my help is.of no use to you. I believe that on
Terra you
have an expression: too little, too late."
Her face hardened and became perfectly
expressionless.
"Then you will not help me."
"That is correct," he answered coldly, and
went
into the house.
Emma was waiting for McCoy when he got off
<
br /> duty. She stood outside the door to his cabin and
smiled at him as though nothing had changed, as
though he had not pointedly avoided her for the past
two days.
He moved past her without acknowledgment, but
she followed him inside.
"I think we need to talk, Leonard. You're
angry at
me."
He went to the cabinet and poured himself three
fingers of moonshine. "Funny, a lot of people
seem to
be saying that to me these days," he muttered.
"What?"
"Nothing. I merely said, how observant of you
to
notice. Drink?"
"No. Please tell me why you're so angry."
"It hasn't seemed to bother you for the past couple
of days. In fact, I was beginning to think you
hadn't
noticed at all. Why don't you see if you can
figure it
out all by yourself?. Cheers.". McCoy
held up his glass
for an instant and looked at Emma through the
volatile
liquid before taking the largest gulp physically
possible.
"Please don't play games with me."
"I'm afraid you have it backwards, my dear.
I'm not
the one who's playing the games. Why do I always
have to tell everyone on this ship things they already
know?"
"But I don't know." Her exasperation seemed
genuine
enough. "All I know is that you've been avoiding
me for the past two days. You wouldn't even speak
to
me in sick bay. At first I thought you were
depressed
or in a bad mood, but I can see now it's more
than
that."
"We!!," he said softly. "At least you're
capable of
making some deductions." He hated himself for the
sarcasm in his voice, but most of all he
hated her--for
the position she had put him in, for the innocence she
feigned so well--hated her, because he still loved
her
and would believe absolutely anything she told
him,
even if she told him Jim had lied and that he,
McCoy,
had jumped to conclusions, had been a fool, a
jealous
old fool ....
But she did not. Emma planted herself firmly in
the
same chair Jim had sat in the night before and
held him
with those clear, guileless eyes. "I'm not leaving
until
you tell me what I've done to offend you."
McCoy sank shakily into the chair opposite
her and
MINDSHADOW
tried to guess what her reaction to his accusation
would be. Denial, most likely, proving her
to be a liar,
she who prided herself so on her honesty. He let
go a
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