Star Trek - TOS - 30 - DEMONS

by J. M. Dillard

closer to his father, and at that instant, Sarek knocked the phaser

  from his

  hand with a mighty blow. Spock watched as it sailed across the room.

  The chair fell backward as Sarek, miraculously recovered, rose to his

  feet.

  A thought flashed across Spock's mind. In a contest of sheer strength,

  he was no match for his father.

  Spock scrambled for the phaser and almost succeeded, but Sarek kicked

  him in the jaw with such force that it sent him flying backward. He

  shook his head to clear it and once again made a move for the phaser.

  Sarek lunged at him, forcing him to roll quickly out of the way.

  Spock had hoped that it would not come to this he had already promised

  himself that he would not harm Sarek--or more precisely, Sarek's

  body.

  "Father," he said and reached out mentally, desperately, to see if

  anything of his father remained.

  Sarek stopped momentarily and blinked.

  But all Spock found was darkness and a black terror that made him tear

  away in fear that it would veil his own mind.

  Sarek roared and charged; Spock, still recovering from his attempt to

  contact his father, reacted a split second too slowly. Sarek caught

  him and threw him against the stone wall. There was a sharp crack as

  Spock's head impacted with the wall. He slid, unconscious, to the

  ground.

  "So what do you think our chances are?" McCoy asked.

  Anitra was busy checking the calibration on the decompression chamber

  and did not look up. "Of what?"

  "Of making it out of here. "She looked up at him. "What, out of the

  medical lab?"

  "You're getting to be more like Spock every day," McCoy noted

  irritably. "Getting too literal. You know what I mean. Surviving.

  Finding a way to get rid of those things."

  Anitra studied the gauge dispassionately. "What kind of question is

  that, Doctor? Would you like me to do what Spock does and calculate

  the odds for you?"

  "God, no. I suppose I was just trying to find a little reassurance."

  She sighed and gave up her attempt at working. "Frankly, Doctor, I

  don't see any point in talking about our chances. I think such talk is

  far too depressing."

  "I see," McCoy said, disheartened.

  "Don't get me wrong. There are plenty of Vulcan scientists out there,

  probably many of them doing what we are now. Eventually, someone will

  come up with a solution."

  "Eventually," said McCoy, "may be too late."

  "Exactly my point," she said, folding her arms in front of her. "That's

  why I was trying to get this damn thing calibrated. Now are you going

  to help me or not?"

  McCoy had two choices to get angry or to laugh and help her. He

  laughed. "That's better." She brightened. "You've had a pretty rough

  time on Vulcan so far, haven't you?"

  "It's not a nice place to visit. God forbid I should live here."

  She laughed; it had a startlingly lovely effect on her

  features, and he walked over to smooth her hair with his hand. She

  did not protest.

  "What can I do to help?" he asked, smiling.

  "You're the boss in the medical lab," she admitted. "I'm more at home

  with physics. But you might want to check on the radiation shields in

  the isolation chamber."

  "Will do." McCoy went over to the control console. As he began

  working, his brow furrowed. He began to say something, then stopped

  himself.

  "All right," Anitra said. "What is it?"

  "Well ... I hate to keep bringing up morbid subjects, but what happens

  if Spock doesn't make it back?"

  "He'll make it back," Anitra said firmly.

  "Telepathy is a fact," McCoy said, "but I've never believed in

  precognition. You don't know that, Anitra."

  "I know Spock," she said simply. "I know he'll find a way to make it

  back."

  "And if he doesn't?"

  Her expression saddened and she looked away. "Then we go out and find

  ourselves a subject, Doctor. What else would you expect us to do?"

  He got up and walked up behind her chair. "Look, I'm sorry if I'm

  upsetting you.. .." He put his hands on her shoulders.

  She leaned back against him. "I'm not upset."

  "You're right about Spock. I'm sure he'll make it." He leaned forward

  and kissed her. She returned the kiss, but after a moment, pulled out

  of the embrace.

  "Hey," he said, "is there something wrong? I thought before that..

  ."

  She sat up straight and turned to face him. "No offense, Len, but we

  do have important work to do. We can't afford to take time out

  for--"

  "Little wonder you have an ulcer," McCoy teased gently, trying not to

  sound injured. He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. "No

  problem. I'll just go back to my console and look pitiful."

  "You do that," she said, all business.

  They worked in uncomfortable silence for a time. Suddenly, Anitra

  stood up so quickly that her chair scuttled backward and nearly toppled

  over.

  McCoy looked up in alarm. "What's wrong?"

  Fear clutched at her throat so tightly that she was barely able to

  squeeze the words out. "It's Spock."

  "What's wrong? Is he hurt?"

  "He .. ." she gasped, unable to get enough air to speak, "... he

  simply isn't there anymore."

  "What the devil are you talking about?"

  "We--we mind linked some time ago. That way each is aware of the other

  at all times; each can know if the other becomes affected or is in

  danger."

  McCoy took her hand and tried to calm her. "I know, Spock told us..

  .."

  She looked up at him and blinked back tears. "Don't you understand?

  He's gone."

  "Take it easy," said McCoy. "All right, he might be dead. But could

  something else break the link? Could something else have happened?"

  Anitra took a deep breath and concentrated. In a voice that was much

  calmer, she said, "He can't dissolve the link without my presence, so

  there's no way he can consciously break it. He might be

  unconscious."

  "Asleep, maybe?"

  "No, not asleep. I would know his dreams."

  McCoy raised his eyebrows but said nothing.

  "He's either dead or unconscious. If it's the latter, it means he's

  hurt somewhere." She pulled her hand away from McCoy and went over to

  the panel and pressed it. The metal walls began to recede. "And I'm

  not going to sit here and wonder which one it is."

  "Now, just wait a minute," McCoy called, frowning.

  Anitra shot him a look that dared him to stop her.

  "I'm coming with you," he said meekly.

  There had come a merciful hour of silence when Tomson had stopped

  ranting, and Kirk had been grateful for the silence. He drifted off to

  sleep until he was awakened by a small, persistent knocking.

  "Is anyone out there?" Tomson called.

  Kirk rose stiffly to his feet and swore as the broken rib reminded him

  of its presence. He went to the console and checked the chronometer;

  it had been roughly twenty-eight hours since the security chief had

  been incarcerated. He went over to the lounge door and
opened it, but

  not without first drawing his phaser as a precautionary measure.

  Tomson sat on the floor by the door, looking particularly pathetic and

  disheveled. Her uniform had bunched up around her waist, and the

  retentive bun she wore her hair in had disintegrated into a mass of

  pins and tangles.

  "Sir?" she said curiously, and out of a sense of military protocol

  began straightening her hair and uniform. The response was so typical

  of Tomson that

  Kirk hung the phaser back on his belt and helped her to her feet.

  "If you don't mind my asking, Captain, how the hell did I get in

  there?"

  "It's a long story," Kirk said, grinning with the relief that he was no

  longer the only sane human on board. "Too long."

  "I was in Stryker's quarters.. .." Her expression slowly became one

  of realization. "Stryker ... he hypnotized me or something, sir. He's

  the one who's responsible for al-Baslama's death. I'm sure of it."

  "I don't doubt it," Kirk said soberly. "Only Stryker himself isn't

  responsible."

  "Sir?"

  "Some sort of infection, Lieutenant. Or an entity using Stryker. But

  not Stryker. You and I have both suffered from its effects

  ourselves."

  Tomson's pale eyes grew larger. "You mean I..."

  "And most of the crew by now, I think. Whoever, whatever they are,

  they've taken over the bridge. We're sealed off here in auxiliary

  control."

  "Are we still orbiting Vulcan?"

  Kirk shook his head. "We're not far from there, but Spock sabotaged

  the ship so she'd drift. Communications are out, too. We didn't want

  to risk spreading this thing."

  "So you're saying we're trapped on the ship with most of the crew under

  the influence of..."

  "Something. I don't know what, but something that causes them to be

  violent."

  Tomson shivered. "Any chance we could get off the ship?"

  Kirk stopped; since Spock and the others had gone, the idea had simply

  not occurred to him. It smacked too much of desertion. "No. Both

  shuttle crafts are gone. And we're not close enough to anything to

  transport down."

  "What sort of plan do you have, sir?"

  Kirk paused. "I need my bridge crew back first. Once I have them, I

  can do anything with the ship."

  Tomson confronted him with those freezing-blue eyes of hers. "Sir, you

  still haven't answered my question about how I got here."

  "I brought you here, Lieutenant. I was .. . repaying a favor, you

  might say."

  Tomson flushed. "When I was .. . affected, do you know if I... hurt

  anyone?"

  Kirk half smiled. "Well, I happen to know that you gave me a run for

  my money."

  "Sir?" "It's not important, Tomson. What's important is that we get

  the bridge crew back."

  "Any suggestions on how to do that, Captain?"

  "I've already started on it. And you can help."

  He took her via the emergency shafts to C deck (and his broken rib made

  him swear under his breath the entire climb up). There was the sound

  of a loud fracas in the hallway, and they clung to the ladder silently

  for a while until it broke up. When the way was clear, they headed for

  Sulu's quarters. Kirk stopped at the door.

  "If my calculations are right, to quote Mr. Spock, they've been in

  there approximately twenty-eight hours. That was the amount of time it

  took you to come to your senses. They ought to be all right."

  "You mean, all you had to do was shove me in the lounge for

  twenty-eight hours and I was fine?"

  "It seems to be that simple."

  "Too simple," Tomson said.

  "We'll see." Kirk called softly at the door, "Uhura? Sulu? Can you

  hear me?" There was no reply. Kirk tried again, but feared raising

  his voice too loud. "They're in there," he said over his shoulder to

  Tom son. "There's no way they could have gotten around that lock." He

  pressed his ear to the door; he could just barely make out the sounds

  of Uhura moaning softly. He remembered the fall she had taken and

  opened the door immediately. His phaser was still on his belt, but

  Tomson, the quintessence of security, held hers at waist level (which

  guaranteed that it would hit most others directly on the chest).

  Uhura lay on the bed in the inner room, exactly where Kirk had placed

  her the day before. When she saw Kirk, she struggled to hold up her

  head.

  "Captain," she said sweetly.

  "Uhura, are you all right?" Kirk moved toward her. "You took quite a

  fall--"

  As he entered the inner room, Sulu leapt from behind the wall and

  jumped him.

  Tomson could not shoot until the two separated. When she did, and Sulu

  lay twitching on the floor, Uhura came charging. She never had a

  chance. Tom son fired almost leisurely; the communications officer

  dropped one step away from Kirk.

  "Thanks," Kirk said. He was still breathing heavily from the shock to

  his injured side. "It's nice to have a bodyguard for a change."

  "That's what we're here for," Tomson said, putting her phaser back on

  her belt. "Did you miscalculate the time, Captain? Did we come too

  early?"

  Kirk folded his arms protectively about his rib cage. "No. I gave

  plenty of time, even allowed extra. Something's not working here."

  "Maybe you should have used the lounge," Tomson suggested. "Maybe

  there's something special about it."

  "It's worth a try," Kirk said.

  Tomson hoisted Sulu over her shoulder in a graceful move that wasted

  little effort. She paused, waiting for Kirk to do the same with

  Uhura.

  Kirk contemplated the picture of Tomson with a body slung over each

  shoulder... and himself, empty handed, and decided not to explain the

  rib to her. He bent down, grimaced and pulled Uhura awkwardly over his

  shoulder.

  He wondered how the hell he was going to make it down the emergency

  shaft.

  Spock awoke to the sensation of warmth on his face; the sun was

  streaming in the window of his room, filling it with intense light. For

  a moment, he was in the past, a boy in ShiKahr, wondering why his

  parents had permitted him to sleep so late this particular morning. He

  began to call for Ee-Chaya, his father's old pet sehlat, but stopped at

  the realization that Ee-Chaya had died some thirty years before.

  He looked around the room and was struck by a wave of nausea. The

  light pained his eyes and he closed them. Obviously, he had injured

  his head. But what was he doing at his parents' house?

  He tried to rise and crawl onto his bed, but could not. He was somehow

  restrained into a sitting position, his hands behind him, his knees

  bent. It was then

  that he remembered the body that had fallen in the doorway and the

  struggle with his father.

  Sarek would no doubt be returning for him soon.

  It occurred to him that he should contact Anitra, but after some

  consideration he decided there was no logic in risking her as well. It

  would be better to keep his thoughts from her as best he could. She

  and McCoy were s
afe in the lab where they should be. When he was dead,

  she would know it and then find another subject. He trusted her to

  find a solution.

  He prepared himself for death and promptly fell asleep.

  Chapter Twelve

  "He's alive," anitra crowed triumphantly. "I just got a sensation

  then.. .." She was sitting behind the control pane! of the skimmer

  they had found parked in the street not far from the academy. In

  typical Vulcan fashion, it had been left unlocked--in fact, it was made

  entirely without locks--and she was trying to figure out how to start

  it.

  "Where is he?" McCoy turned toward her in his seat and leaned forward.

  "Is he with Sarek?"

  "I don't think so." She frowned. "I don't think he knows where he is.

  He's not making it easy for me." "What do you mean?"

  "He's trying to shield his thoughts from me, but he's not doing a very

  good job of it. There .. . he's asleep right now."