Star Trek-TOS-027-Mindshadow

by Kevin Underwood

  the effects of an overdose, had dictated that the

  intentional

  ending of his life could not be the result of an

  emotional decision. He had thrown them with disgust

  into the garbage slot on the kitchen wall, knowing that

  they would immediately be incinerated.

  The hanging vines shielded Spock's eyes from the

  intense light of the midday sun; the gray misting

  rain of

  the day before had at last been burned away.

  Spock

  had been sitting in the garden for a full day. He

  rose

  and stretched stiffly, his tunic still damp from the rain

  and smelling slightly mildewed, and went to his

  room.

  The flame in the belly of the statue was still burning,

  as he and Stalik had left it the day before. As he

  stood

  with his eyes fixed on the pulsating red light,

  Stalik's

  instructions came to his mind with sudden

  clarity.

  MINDSHADOW

  Spock sat in the cross-legged position before it,

  his

  muscles complaining with their need to be stretched,

  but he ignored the discomfort and kept his eyes on

  the

  flame.

  Logic. One must formulate the question first, before

  one can arrive at the answer. And Spock had

  questions;

  he would begin to sift them now, one by one.

  Today he would answer at least one of them.

  Stalik had said that there were always answers.

  It was late afternoon when Spock emerged from his

  room into the hallway.

  The Andorian child had just completed his lesson; it

  must have been his last, for Amanda was presenting

  him with a gift: one of the rare paper books, this one

  bound in red cloth. It was typical of her,

  loaning--sometimes

  giving--the priceless volumes to those she

  felt would profit from them most. Spock squinted,

  but

  he could not make out the title.

  The Andorian, child though he was, seemed to

  appreciate the worth of the gift and the intent of the

  giver, for he reverently set the book aside and with

  youthful impulse hugged his teacher.

  Spock knew he should allow them some privacy,

  but

  the enormity of his curiosity compelled him to stay.

  He wanted to know how his mother would respond.

  Amanda was almost knocked off balance by the

  child's momentum, but her expression quickly became

  one of. pleasure; her arms enfolded the child and

  drew

  him to her with honest affection.

  Spock drew back so that they would not see him as

  they walked to the door. When the Andorian had

  departed, Spock walked up silently behind

  Amanda.

  She almost ran into him when she turned around and

  drew back, startled. "Spock, you look

  terrible. were

  you out in the garden all night? In the rain?"

  She did not mention the hurt he had caused her the

  day before; there was no recrimination in her face,

  only concern. Spock permitted himself a

  moment's

  envy for the Andorian boy.

  "Mother, I wish to apologize for the unkind and

  untrue remark I made yesterday--"

  "Don't." She dismissed his offense with a wave of

  her hand. Both she and Spock knew that

  Vulcans did

  not apologize.

  "Let me continue. For whatever reason, I was not

  in control of my temper earlier, and my behavior

  toward you and toward Tela'at Stalik was

  inexcusable.

  I regret it deeply. If I could reclaim

  the remark--"

  "You weren't yourself. I can't hold anything you

  might have said against you."

  "My thought patterns were most confused and

  illogical.

  However, I seem to have regained control of

  them. I shall go to Stalik's house to apologize and

  ask

  him to return, although I doubt he will do so."

  Amanda's face was hopeful. "Then you think it is

  useful to continue the lessons. And you'll stay with

  US."

  "For the moment, yes."

  She studied his face. "You are yourself again, aren't

  you? I'm glad. We've been so worried. But

  I must ask

  you--your medication isn't where I left it. Did

  you

  take it?"

  Spock nodded.

  "Good," she said, relieved. "I trust you

  to take it,

  then. I'm just very grateful for the sudden

  improvement...

  perhaps the effects are cumulative.

  Spock's expression was bland, even agreeable;

  there was no reason to alarm her by revealing the fate

  of the neodopazine. If his condition worsened, he

  would contact McCoy himself.

  But his mother's statement about the effects of the

  MINDSHADOW

  drug aroused a strange emotion in him, one that for

  some odd reason was connected in his subconscious

  with his accident .... He tried to identify it before

  it

  passed as quickly as it had descended.

  Fear... a feeling of imminent danger.

  That night it visited him again as he dreamed of

  purple . . . not the porcelain capsules this

  time, but

  steep purple mountains.

  Kirk sat miserably in his command chair, fingering

  the stiff collar of the dress uniform. It was no

  secret to

  the crew that their captain had been in a less than

  perfect mood for the last few weeks. Maybe his

  dress

  uniform was getting too tight and making him

  cranky,

  Sulu suggested in a low voice to Chekhov. The

  helmsman's

  eyes darted sideways at the captain, who was

  distracted by a yeoman's report requiring his

  signature.

  The low rumble of laughter quickly faded to

  silence as Kirk glared up from the yeoman's

  clipboard,

  sensing that he was somehow responsible for the

  merriment.

  "Coming into orbit around Tellar, Captain,"

  Sulu

  said glibly.

  "Visual of the Tellarite delegation," Kirk

  said without

  enthusiasm.

  Uhura's fingers were poised over her console;

  she'd

  been waiting for the command. "On visual,

  Captain."

  Stocky, bristle-haired, heavy-browed, the

  Tellarite

  ambassador was impossible to describe in

  Terran

  terms as anything other than porcine; certainly,

  his

  manners served little to disabuse anyone of the

  comparison.

  He glared at Kirk with small, bilious eyes

  set

  over a nasal appendage best described as a

  snout.

  Kirk affected a weak smile of dubious

  sincerity.

  "This is Captain James T. Kirk of the

  starship Enterprise. Is your party ready to beam

  aboard?"

  "Ambassador Zev. It's about time," the

  Tellarit
e

  boomed in a low, hoarse voice, quite unlike the

  squeal

  one expected from looking at him. "We've been

  waiting

  almost an hour!"

  Kirk's lips tightened. It was a lie, and

  Ambassador

  Zev knew it. The Enterprise had arrived at

  the promised

  moment. But a Tellarite never passed up the

  opportunity for an argument--tell one that the

  Terran

  sky was blue, and they would insist it was as orange

  as

  Vulcan's, and then throw in a few insults at

  your

  mother for good measure. It was a characteristic of

  Tellarite culture for which Kirk was in no

  mood.

  "Please stand by to beam up." Kirk cut off the

  communication abruptly and wondered whose bright

  idea it was to let Tellar into the Federation.

  Zev's

  piggish snout was the last object to fade from the

  viewscreen. "Mr. Varth."

  The first officer, his expression gracious and

  alert,

  turned from Spock's console to face the captain.

  Like

  Kirk, he wore his full-dress uniform, but his

  was

  science officer's blue, a color that complemented

  his

  copper hair. "Sir," he replied in his soft

  tenor voice.

  "Accompany me to the transporter room."

  "Yes, sir."

  Kirk left, taking his foul mood with him, while

  Varth

  followed at a polite distance.

  Sulu took the con and when the doors to the lift

  had

  closed, sighed.

  "What's been eating him?" Uhura asked in a

  low

  voice.

  Sulu just shook his head.

  Kirk maintained a sullen silence

  until the lift deposited

  them on the level of the transporter room. "Ever

  dealt with Tellarites before, Mr. Varth?" he

  asked with

  the supremely confident voice of experience.

  MINDSHADOW

  "Yes, sir," Varth replied eagerly. "I

  roomed with

  one at the Academy."

  Kirk looked at him sharply, wanting to ask

  what the

  hell one had been doing at the Academy, but he

  bit his

  tongue and held the lecture on how not to lose

  one's

  temper with Tellarites.

  Scott and McCoy were already waiting in the

  transporter

  room, both in their dress uniforms; they had

  been talking but when the captain entered, an

  awkward

  silence descended. Kirk was certain Scott still

  thought he had mentioned Ensign Lanz to Tomson,

  thus precipitating Scott's arrest;

  he had no idea if

  McCoy still blamed him for the incident with Emma.

  McCoy cleared his throat and tugged at the

  collar of

  his uniform. "How many more of these delegations do

  we have to pick up? This thing is killing me. They

  can

  transport a man's atoms through space and

  back, but

  they can't dress him up and let him be comfortable at

  the same time."

  "This is the last delegation," Kirk said.

  "Thank God," Scott sighed. i'll be glad

  when

  we're finished with all this pomp and circumstance."

  He turned to the young Radun andwitha paternal

  air,

  said, "Now tell me, Mr. Varth, have ye ever

  had the

  misfortune to have dealings with Tellarites before?"

  "Yes," Kirk said shortly, before Varth could

  open

  his mouth. "He has."

  Varth nodded politely in Kirk's direction and

  waited

  to be sure the captain was finished speaking. "I was

  friends with a Tellarite back at the Academy."

  "Friends? With a Tellarite?" Scott's eyes

  widened

  with horror at the thought. "I dinna think that's

  possible.

  Ye must have some special diplomatic gift

  to make

  friends with those piggish little---"

  "Mr. Scott," Kirk warned.

  "robcastles," Scott finished. "Are ye

  sure your

  people are related to the Klingons? I can't think of a

  more unlikely combination, a Klingon and a

  Tellarite."

  Varth smiled. "Raduns have a special knack

  for

  getting along with almost anyone. I've never met

  someone I couldn't be friends with." He looked

  hesitantly at the captain.

  Kirk scowled. "I suppose we have no choice

  but to

  beam them aboard, Mr. Scott."

  "Aye," Scott sighed, "I suppose not."

  He went behind the transporter control

  console.

  Three squat forms shimmered and materialized

  into

  reality on the transporter pads. The tallest

  one spoke.

  "I am Ambassador Zev." It sounded more like

  a hysterical accusation than an introduction.

  "And I am, of course, Captain Kirk. This

  is my first

  officer, Mr. Varth, Chief Engineer Scott,

  and Chief

  Medical Officer McCoy."

  Zev flared his already wide nostrils. "Is this

  why

  you made us wait so long before you beamed us up? So

  that you could assemble half your crew in this useless

  display of pomp?"

  Kirk smiled at the thought of the immense pleasure

  involved in poking Zev in his oversized snout.

  "This is hardly half the crew, Ambassador.

  There are over four hundred personnel aboard this

  ship. It is our custom to

  honor important diplomats such as yourself

  by having

  our senior officers greet you--"

  "A ridiculous waste of time!" Zev waved a

  stubby

  arm imperiously. "Take us to our quarters now."

  "Sir," Varth said in a low voice to Kirk,

  "if I

  may--"

  "He's all yours," Kirk said, his smile

  faded.

  "What do you mean, we made you wait so long?"

  Varth shouted so loud that McCoy jumped. "That's

  an

  outright lie! You know we were right on time. And

  MINDSHADOW

  speaking of useless displays of pomp, I notice

  you came with an entourage yourself. They're here just for

  show, as we are."

  Kirk, Scott and McCoy stared at the first

  officer as if

  he had gone mad, but Varth ignored them, glaring

  defiantly at the Tellarites.

  Zev made a rasping sound that Kirk was finally

  to identify as laughter. "I don't need

  to explain my

  attaches to you, son of a Klingon."

  "And we don't have to explain ourselves to you."

  "Maybe not," Zev said with gusto. "But quit

  wasting

  my time with all this talk. Take us to our

  quarters.

  And I hope that they're suitable. You humans

  always

  put us in rooms which suit your ridiculously

  oversized

  bodies--"

  "It's not our fault you're so short," Varthr />
  sneered.

  "Mr. Varth--" Kirk broke in, "I'm

  sorry to interrupt

  the mutual admiration society, but if you would

  take them to their quarters..."

  "Certainly, sir," the Radun replied

  politely. He

  gestured to the Tellarites to follow.

  Zev chuckled as he and his diminutive entourage

  waddled past Kirk. "Captain, I was with former

  Ambassador

  Gav's delegation when he was on your ship

  several years before, and I must say that I

  find your

  new first officer a vast improvement over the old

  one.

  This one, at least, has a little personality."

  Kirk did not smile at the remark.

  The Tellarites fell in behind Varth like baby

  ducks

  behind their mother; as the door slid closed behind

  them, they could hear Varth in the corridor: "I

  always

  thought that the terms Tellarite and diplomat were

  mutually exclusive."

  "Did you ever see anything like that before?" McCoy

  said with awe.

  "I'd "a thought he'd hit Mr Varth for saying

  things

  were' 69

  like that, but it didn't seem to make him any

  madder. I

  think he liked it," Scott puzzled.

  McCoy nodded. "That Varth really knows what

  he's

  doing."

  "Maybe," Kirk said without conviction.

  McCoy turned on him. "Give the

  man a little credit,

  for God's sake, Captain. It's not his fault

  he's not

  Spock." He brushed past Kirk. "Come

  on,. Scotty.

  This is the last of the diplomats, and I've got

  some

  white lightning in my quarters."

  "Could I talk to you for a moment first, Mr.

  Scott?"

  Scott stopped. "I'll be there in a minute,"

  he told

  McCoy.

  Kirk waited for McCoy to leave before he began

  to

  speak.

  Scott stopped him. "Captain, I think I

  know what

  you want to talk about... and it's all right. You were

  just tryin" to do your duty."

  "Scotty... I want you to know that I didn't

  tell

  anyone about Ensign Lanz. I never for a moment

  thought you could have done it. Tomson wanted to put

  a bulletin out on you immediately, but I

  wouldn't, not

  until you were late. I'm sorry, Scotty."

  Scott lowered his eyes. "I appreciate what

  ye tried

  to do for me, sir. And I'm sorry for what I

  said. No

  hard feelings?"

  "No hard feelings."

  He smiled and straightened his shoulders. "Then,

  sir, why don't ye join me and the doctor for a

  little

  tipple? Ye look like you could use some cheerin'