Star Trek-TOS-027-Mindshadow

by Kevin Underwood

sigh that seemed to come straight from his heart. "The

  captain told me that he spent the night in your

  cabin

  night before last."

  "Yes," she said, waiting.

  "Are you telling me that nothing happened between

  you?"

  He watched the subtle changes in her facial

  muscles

  as she finally understood his implication. There was

  surprise first--the lifted brow, widened eyes,

  lips

  slightly parted-, but following quickly came something

  very much like fury. The lips closed and tightened, the

  jaw tensed; she contained her anger, but her eyes

  blazed.

  "For God's sake, Emma," McCoy said

  plaintively,

  "do you really expect me to react casually to that?

  Do

  you really expect me not to be jealous?"

  Emma took a deep breath and sat back in the

  chair.

  The anger glimmered for a moment more, then was

  extinguished as rapidly as it had first appeared.

  "No,"

  she said calmly. "No, I don't expect you

  not to be

  jealous." She knitted her hands together in her lap

  and

  looked down at them.

  "But my reaction is two questions for you. First--is

  that what you think of me, Leonard?"

  "Emma, are you so naive to think that if a man

  sleeps over in your cabin, it's absurd for

  anyone to

  think he might have made love with you?"

  "If you're suspicious, then your first reaction

  should be to come to me and ask me what happened,

  not to pout for two days, and not to jump to whatever

  you may think is a logical conclusion."

  "All right," McCoy conceded icily. "What's

  the

  second question?"

  "What the hell business is it of yours anyway?

  We

  haven't come to any sort of understanding about other

  relationships."

  McCoy rose and turned away from her, clasping

  his

  hands behind him as he stared into the darkness of the

  inner room. "Maybe it's none of my business

  at all,"

  he said, the anger in his voice replaced

  by sadness. "I

  know I have no right to be jealous. But I am.

  I'm

  jealous because I felt our relationship was

  special, I'm

  jealous because I have feelings for you that I haven't

  felt in a very long time, and I don't want

  anyone to

  take you away from me."

  "No one's going to take me away. If I

  leave, it will

  be because it's time for me to leave." Emma rose from

  her chair and placed a hand lightly on

  McCoy's back,

  but he did not turn around. "I asked you if that was

  what you thought of me because I thought you understood something

  about me--I am a loyal person. I

  would never do something to hurt you, Leonard, not

  unless it absolutely couldn't be

  helped. Even if I were

  physically attracted to Jim Kirk, I would not

  act on

  it."

  McCoy turned halfway toward her in the

  darkness. "Are you attracted to him, Emma?"

  Her gaze was steady and sought no pardon. "If

  I

  said I didn't find him attractive, I would

  be a liar."

  He turned away instinctively, to hide his

  hurt, but

  she placed a hand on his face and drew it gently

  toward

  her. "But I love you. I gave him a hypo and

  it put him

  to sleep before I could get him out of my cabin.

  That's

  all there was to it."

  "All?" McCoy's eyes searched hers so

  hopefully

  that she felt pity for him. She took a deep

  breath.

  "No, not all. He got a little relaxed . . .

  and he

  kissed me. That was all."

  McCoy sighed with relief. So she was telling the

  MINDSHADOW

  truth, she and Jim... "As you pointed out, we

  don't

  have an understanding about other relationships.

  Would you like to?"

  She smiled at the realization that he believed her.

  "Of what sort?"

  "How does marriage strike you?"

  Her smile vanished, replaced by something very

  close to panic. "Leonard . . . no, that

  wouldn't, be

  possible."

  "Why not? I admit it's an old-fashioned

  idea, but

  still a popular one--"

  "It's not that I think it's a bad idea--I

  love you very

  much--but you will remain on the Enterprise and I will

  be reassigned somewhere else."

  "Well then, just request a permanent assignment

  here. You don't have to be reassigned--"

  "I do. It's the nature of my job."

  "What the devil are you talking about?

  Medical

  personnel can request permanent assignments,

  especially

  married medical personnel." His tone became

  heated again.

  "Please try to understand--comt's the agreement I

  have with Star Fleet."

  "Well you could change the agreement, then.

  Certainly

  someone---" he almost said, the captain "---can

  pull some strings so you could be assigned here. If

  you'd just rather not marry me, please say so."

  "It's not that." She closed her eyes at the

  hopelessness

  of explaining it to him. "Please, there's no point

  in talking about it any more. I'll have to be

  reassigned

  somewhere else soon, and that's the way it is."

  He panicked. "How soon?"

  "I wish I knew," she said, with a misery that

  broke

  his heart. "I'd prefer to spend what time I have

  with

  you, if you'll let me. I do care about you."

  He pulled her close to him and kissed

  the top of her

  head. "I'm going to do everything in my power to keep

  you on this ship. In the meantime, I'd like to ask one

  favor."

  "Anything," she murmured.

  A smile played at the corners of his mouth.

  "Call

  me next time you're going to be two days late for

  dinner."

  "Your concentration is imperative, Spock,"

  Tela'at

  Stalik admonished sternly, "if you are to make

  any

  progress."

  Spock directed his gaze away from the window and

  back toward the flame statue. Outside, a

  light rain fell

  upon the water-starved desert, one of those rare gray

  days on Vulcan when the sun did not scorch the

  sky

  orange.

  Spock repressed a sigh and attempted once

  again to

  concentrate. He sat cross-legged beside

  the Tela'at as

  both regarded the flame statue and Stal'ik

  explained the

  process of meditation for the twentieth time.

  Spock's

  mental agitation was increasing daily, along with his

  forgetfulness. The lessons with Stalik had become


  cruel parodies of the lessons Spock had

  taken as a

  child; but then, he had retained the information, and

  had understood. Now it seemed impossible.

  As Stalik droned on in monotone, Spock

  became

  drowsy staring at the flickering flame. With each

  passing

  second, his irritation at Stalik increased--the

  lessons

  all seemed interminably long, and he wanted

  more than anything for Stalik to finish and leave.

  "Spock," Stalik snapped.

  Spock started; he hadn't heard a word Stalik

  had

  been saying.

  The Tela'at's regal serenity seemed

  incongruous

  with his words. "You are a dreadful student,

  Spock.

  After weeks of daily lessons, you have not mastered

  MINDSHADOW

  even the first level of meditation. I am beginning

  to

  form the opinion that you will never do so."

  The muscles in Spock's body tensed, although his

  expression did not change and his eyes remained

  fixed on the flame. "Perhaps you are right,

  Tela'at." He

  turned his eyes on his teacher. "Then why do you

  continue to instruct me?"

  Stalik's tone, unlike his words, was not

  insulting,

  "It is difficult to believe that an adult

  Vulcan could not

  master such elementary concepts."

  The temptation was great to defend himself by explaining

  the extent of his difficulties, but Spock held

  his peace; he would not further shame himself by

  excusing his weaknesses. Instead he said, "Why

  does

  the Tela'at waste his time with me?"

  "Out of respect for your father."

  Stalik's response

  was calculated to inspire remorse, but in

  Spock's case

  it merely served as fuel for his anger.

  For the father, not the son. "If the Tela'at does

  not

  expect me to progress, is not such a waste of

  his time

  illogical?"

  Spock knew full well that his question contained the

  ultimate insult to one who had passed through the

  rigors of Kohlinahr--the intimation of

  illogical, ill-considered

  action. Stalik had no trouble interpreting

  Spock's intent: he rose stiffly to his

  feet.

  "This will be the end of my instruction, Spock," he

  said. "You are correct. There is no logic in

  continuing

  the lessons."

  Spock remained seated before the statue; he did

  not

  watch as the Tela'at left.

  But Amanda had seen Stalik leave, and went

  to tap

  lightly on Spock's door. She was not at

  all prepared for

  the angry stranger who answered.

  "Spock is everything all right? Stalik was

  scarcely

  here ten minutes..."

  Spock stared stonily down at her. "I

  insulted the

  Tela'at. I indicated that further lessons were

  illogical."

  "Illogical? Spock, I don't understand."

  "The lessons were a waste of time, Mother. I do not

  wish to discuss it further." He began to retreat

  back

  inside the room.

  She caught him gently by the elbow. "What do you

  want me to tell your father, then? How can I tell

  him

  that?"

  The mention of Sarek seemed to infuriate

  Spock; he

  practically shouted at her. "That is none of my

  concern.

  You may tell him whatever you wish."

  She drew back and dropped the elbow, mouth

  open.

  "Spock, what's wrong?"

  "You know. Must you shame me into saying it?"

  "Please... I don't understand."

  He turned his face away from her, miserable.

  "The

  mind rules. I cannot relearn them. I can no

  longer

  function as a Vulcan--comI apparently cannot

  even control

  my temper as well as a human. And my

  memory is

  getting worse."

  "Spock." Amanda's voice was soothing.

  "You'll

  learn, I promise you... it's just that it will take

  more

  time. You were used to learning so quickly. You must

  be patient. It will all come back."

  "No." Spock fought despair with anger.

  "No. Mother, can't you see... I'm not improving

  slowly.

  Each day, I'm getting worse, forgetting more and

  more . . .

  "Then let me call Dr. McCoy. Perhaps we

  should

  increase the medication."

  "The medication hasn't helped," he said dully.

  "I

  am going to get worse, and that is why I shall leave

  here as quickly as possible, before I bring further

  shame to my family."

  "But where will you go?"

  MINDSHADOW

  "A star base hospital. Perhaps Star Base

  Twelve."

  Hot tears gathered behind Amanda's eyes; she

  wanted to stamp her foot, to scream, but she had

  lived

  with Vulcans for too long. "No," she commanded with

  a mother's determination. "You will not go there. You

  will stay here with us, where you belong."

  He shook his head. "I don't belong here,

  Mother.

  You and father have been shamed enough, especially

  after the trouble I have caused with the Tela'at."

  "I don't give a damn about Stalik,"

  Amanda said,

  losing her own temper at last. "I don't care

  if he tells

  everybody in ShiKahr. And don't you ever, ever

  say

  that we're ashamed of you. How could you even think

  such a thing?"

  His jaw twitched in a scarcely visible spasm.

  "Are

  you forgetting, Mother, that I am a telepath?"

  Amanda quickly clapped a hand over her open

  mouth, but did not succeed in stifling the first sob.

  Perhaps she wept from surprise as much as from

  paint Spock had never said anything cruel to her

  before, nor accused her of anything untrue. Now

  he

  was doing both. She disappeared to the safety of her

  room before she embarrassed them both any further.

  Spock stood frozen with horror at what he

  had just

  done. Amanda was probably the last person in the

  universe whom he would choose to cause pain. But

  even though Amanda was hidden in her room on the

  other side of the house, Spock could detect the

  faint

  sound of her weeping. A human would not have

  heard

  it.

  .. An ugly, muffled sound. Spock had heard

  it only

  once before, when he was four years old, standing

  outside the door to Amanda's room; it had taken

  him

  some time to realize that his mother was responsible

  for the wrenching, faraway sound. Spock, the child,

  had been terrified. Sarek had come out of the room,

  and for an instant the noise had stopped. "Go and


  comfort your mother," his father had said, in a voice

  gentler than Spock had ever heard before. "You are

  her only child."

  He had not understood, but he had gone inside.

  He could not go to her now.

  Instead, he went to the cabinet in the kitchen where

  Amanda kept the medication and poured the capsules

  into his hand. They really were rather pretty--n

  intensely brilliant shade of purple--and quite

  useless.

  SP-OCK'S hand closed over them in a tight

  fist.

  Perhaps... not totally useless ....

  Chapter Eight Captain's Log,

  Stardate 7006.4:

  Under orders of Star Fleet Command, the

  Enterprise

  has left Aritani in order to deliver

  delegates

  to an emergency meeting of the Federation

  Council which is being held on the planet

  Vulcan.

  The Fidelity, a patrol vessel currently

  assigned to

  the area, will take the Enterprise's place as

  watchdog,

  although I frankly doubt that the presence of

  any ship will serve as a deterrent to the raiders.

  The meeting's purpose is to determine whether

  the Federation should continue its involvement

  with Aritani given the growers' refusal to accept

  further Federation protection. While a case can

  be made for abiding by the Aritanians' wishes, the

  fact that the planet's mineral wealth makes it

  an

  attractive target for exploitation by unfrly

  powers has led the Federation to consider continuing

  protection. Intelligence sources indicate the

  Romulan government may already be eyeing

  the

  planet for use as a mining colony.

  The murder of the Romulan prisoner is still

  unsolved. The murder charges pending against

  Lieutenant Commander Montgomery Scott have

  been dropped on the ground of insufficient

  evidence;

  three witnesses verified his presence on

  the engineering deck at the time of the murder.

  Lieutenant Tomson informs me that she has

  uncovered

  no further evidence in the case.

  He awoke with a gasp, heart pounding so hard he

  could scarcely catch his breath. He looked about

  to

  reassure himself that he was in the garden, under the

  hanging arbor, and that he had been dreaming--a

  nightmare of something intensely purple, something

  that filled him with a sense of terror.

  Spock straightened and intentionally slowed his

  breathing. He had dreamed of the pills, no doubt,

  because he had held them in his hand and studied them

  for some time, contemplating what might happen if

  he

  swallowed them all. Some lingering shred of logic

  had

  saved him, had reminded him that he was uncertain of