Star Trek-TOS-027-Mindshadow

by Kevin Underwood

  analysis...

  and logic."

  MINDSHADOW

  Kirk sat forward quickly. "What exactly are

  you

  trying to say, Doctor? That he's lost all of

  that?"

  "I'm saying that he could experience some degree

  of impairment in any one of those areas. The left

  hemisphere sustained a significant trauma.

  The alpha-dextran

  can only restore those brain cells that were not

  physically destroyed and only starved from lack of

  oxygen. Spock will probably recover certain

  functions,

  but it'll be another day or so before we know the

  extent of the permanent damage."

  "Then you're telling me that you don't know yet."

  "That's one reason I sent for a

  specialist."

  "God knows how long that could take. What do we

  do in the meantime?"

  "Wait," said McCoy.

  Pain. Helpless pain along his entire left

  side, a

  hideous nonpain in his head and a dizzying nausea

  that

  seemed to snatch the bed from under him and send him

  falling into the dark void .... They must have given

  him something for the pain, something so strong that

  he could not think clearly, could not summon the mind

  rules to silence the fierce ache in his side. But

  why?

  Surely they knew how nauseous the medication

  made

  him ....

  Again he struggled to retrieve the mind rules,

  looking

  deep into his clouded consciousness, searching,

  concentrating, and for a moment he felt he might find

  them; but they eluded him again, like a cruel parent

  who teases a child with a toy, pulling it farther and

  farther away as the child moves closer. He sighed

  frustration and turned his head to one side; it was a

  mistake. He held onto the bed with his right hand

  as

  another wave of dizziness clutched at him.

  And the mind rules were not all that was lost to him;

  there were other things hidden in him which he could

  not retrieve, words of great consequence which must

  be spoken, and quickly, but he could not remember

  what he should say nor to whom he should say it.

  Someone bent over him, fuzzy, out of focus.

  He

  closed his eyes gingerly, to avoid offending his

  swollen

  left eye, and opened them again. It was a man,

  wearing

  a blue tunic, a man that Spock knew, but

  he could not

  remember his name.

  "Feeling any better?" the man asked

  soothingly.

  "Sorry that we had to medicate you; you won't be

  able to control the pain yourself for a while. Try to

  rest."

  Spock saw no other alternative at the

  moment. He

  studied the man in the muted light; dark-skinned,

  humanoid. Probably Terran, by the accent.

  The blue

  tunic had significance. it reminded him of the

  other,

  the one who had been with him earlier: a doctor.

  Then

  this one was also a doctor. His urgent message was

  not

  for them, but for another man rather man in the gold

  tunic, the man who had asked the questions. He

  grimaced with the strain of remembering, determined

  to speak the man's name or to die.

  When the name at last came forth, Spock was

  flooded with a sense of relief and accomplishment

  stronger than any he had ever known.

  "Jim," he whispered.

  M'Benga was as good as his word. Within minutes,

  Kirk and McCoy had arrived in sick bay.

  "Sorry to have to wake you both," M'Benga

  apologized.

  "He's still heavily sedated, but he's fighting

  it.

  Apparently he feels it's quite urgent that he

  speak with

  you, Captain."

  Kirk felt as though he were fighting the effects of

  MI n DSHADOW

  heavy sedation himself, after being roused from the

  few hours' dreamless sleep induced by the brandy.

  "You did the right thing, Doctor, thank you."

  Spock appeared to be sleeping, but when the

  Captain

  entered, his eyes opened and fastened on Kirk

  with clear recognition.

  "Spock, what did you want to tell me?"

  Spock shuddered with the effort to speak, his voice

  no more than a halting whisper. "I... must tell

  what I

  .. saw." He stopped abruptly, his face

  clouded with

  confusion.

  "Take your time," Kirk soothed. "Try

  to remember."

  Spock gritted his teeth with frustration. "I .

  . .

  can't."

  The three humans looked over Spock's head

  at each

  other. "We've given you some strong

  painkillers,"

  McCoy said. "You're going to have a little trouble

  remembering things for a while."

  "Important." Spock grimaced in a sudden

  spasm of

  pain. Kirk was forced to look away.

  "It's all right, Spock. We know what you

  saw:

  uritanium, dilithium, just for starters. We

  completed

  the tricorder analysis. So you see, everything's

  taken

  care of. You can rest now."

  Spock stared at the captain dully, considering

  if that

  was indeed what he had wanted to tell him. But the

  effort of speaking had exhausted him; he closed his

  eyes.

  Kirk followed McCoy outside and leaned

  wearily

  against the bulkhead. "He doesn't remember,

  Bones.

  Is it really the medication?"

  McCoy studied the tops of his boots

  for a moment

  before squaring his shoulders and looking his friend

  directly in the eye. "No. No, Jim, it

  isn't."

  The intercom on the bulkhead next to Kirk

  whistled.

  He answered it without taking his eyes off

  McCoy.

  "Kirk here."

  Uhura sounded unusually agitated. "An

  urgent message

  from Mr. Scott on the surface, Captain.

  The

  pirates have gotten through the shields--they're

  attacking

  our people!"

  Chapter Two

  "MY GOD! CRIED McCoy. "There's

  over a hundred

  crewmen down there Kirk did not answer him, but

  his eyes showed how

  well aware he was of the fact. "On my way."

  A casual observer on the bridge might not have

  guessed that an emergency situation

  existed; bridge

  personnel were too well trained not to function

  smoothly under pressure. But Kirk could tell

  by the

  subtle tautness of their movements, by the way all

  eyes fastened on his, awaiting orders, the

  moment he

  stepped from the turbolift.

  Sulu vacated the con and seated himself at the

  helm

  with graceful swiftness as Kirk approached.

  "Uhura,
/>
  see if you can raise Mr. Scott for me again.

  Mr.

  Chekhov, status on the protective shield."

  Chekhov moved to Spock's station and peered

  down into the viewer, his solemn face bathed in the

  pale blue glow. "No change, sir."

  Kirk turned his head toward him sharply.

  "They're

  still up?"

  Chekhov made no attempt to hide his

  surprise.

  "Yes, sir. Completely functional. There is

  no indication

  of any malfunction. We'll have to lower them if

  we

  want to beam our personnel aboard."

  "That's what I intend to do, Ensign. In the

  meantime,

  I want you to scan the surface and get a fix

  on a pirate vessel. They always lower their

  cloaks

  before the attack. Sulu, stand by with the tractor

  Uhura interrupted. "I have Mr. Scott for

  you, Captain.

  On audio."

  McCoy blessed her silently for having the tact

  not to

  put Scott on the screen; the sounds of screams

  and

  blasts of flame that filled the bridge were

  terrifying

  enough without the picture.

  Scott spoke in a hoarse shout. "Scott

  here, Captain.

  The pirates are right nearby--I'm afraid this

  inna very

  safe place at the moment."

  "Scotty, can you get to the controls for the

  shield?

  We have to lower it to get you out of there."

  "Aye, Captain, I'm not far from the hut. I

  think I

  can make it."

  "Is there any way the shields might have been

  lowered, even for an instant?"

  "Sir, do ye think I'm completely daft?

  I'd never let a

  thing like that happen. I checked "em myself not half

  an hour ago. I dinna ken how those divvils

  got past

  'em." The sound of the flame blasts grew

  closer,

  drowning out Scott's voice. Kirk could hear the

  crackle of the fire.

  "Speak up, Scotty, I'm having trouble

  reading

  yOU."

  "Captain, I'd best go now. I doubt as

  it'll be safe to

  stay here much longer. I'll get to the controls."

  A thundering roar caused Kirk to put his hands over

  MINDSHADOW .

  his ears; when the noise cleared, there was silence.

  "Scott?" Kirk's voice rose. "Are you

  there? Can

  you read me?"

  For a moment, no one on the bridge dared breathe.

  "Aye, Captain, but tell McCoy to have some

  medics

  waitin" in the transporter room. We've

  got some casualties

  here."

  Kirk was numb. "I'll tell him. Good

  luck, Scotty,."

  The muscles in Chekhov's back tensed as he

  looked

  up from the viewer. "Keptin, I've got one of the

  ships!"

  "Tractor beam, Mr. Sulu..."

  Sulu was apologetic. "The shield isn't

  down yet,

  Captain. I can't hold onto him."

  "Stay with him, Mr. Chekhov..."

  "With him, sir."

  "Shield still up, Captain," Sulu reported.

  Chekhov swore softly under his breath. "Lost

  him,

  sir. He has his cloak up again. It's almost as

  if he knew

  we were trying to get a tractor on him.."

  "Shield down, Captain," Sulu said.

  Kirk's jaw twitched. "Don't leave that

  spot, Ensign.

  I want you to stay there until you get another

  fix on

  one of those ships. Sulu, stand by with the tractor

  beam and make sure whoever is in it gets beamed

  up to

  this ship. We are going to catch a pirate. Do

  I make

  myself clear?"

  "Aye, sir," the two replied meekly.

  "Sulu, you have the con. Get someone up here to

  mind the helm. I'll be in sick bay if you

  need me."

  Chekhov waited for the turbolift doors

  to close over

  the captain's stern visage.

  "I am so stupid," he said sorrowfully. "I

  could have

  computed his trajectory. I shouldn't have lost him

  that."

  Sulu comforted him. "You did what you could.

  We'll get one next time, Pavel. You'll

  see."

  The evacuation had proceeded in a calm and

  orderly

  fashion. One hundred and three crew members

  had

  been beamed in groups with no one panicking, the

  most critically wounded coming up first, the dead last.

  Miraculously, only six had been killed and

  thirty-eight

  wounded.

  To Kirk it felt like something less than a

  miracle.

  The area from the transporter room to sick bay was

  a

  chamber of horrors; he could smell the burns the

  moment the doors to the turbolift opened. Those who

  could still stand were crowded together outside sick

  bay while medics administered first aid.

  McCoy and

  M'Benga were already in surgery with the critical

  cases.

  Scott was one of the lucky ones waiting

  for a medic.

  He held up his arms like an old-time surgeon

  awaiting

  sterile gloves; the sleeves of his tunic had

  been almost

  completely scared away from pulling the red-hot

  switch that neutralized the protective shield

  --under-neath,

  the skin was mottled red and gray. Kirk forced

  himself to watch as the medic dressed Scott's

  wounds,

  first with a coolant spray to stop more cells from

  dying, then with a temporary sealant to provide

  air-permeable

  protection until McCoy had the time to

  make more skin synthetic. Kirk looked at the

  faces of

  the crewmen around them, some of them dazed and

  unable to grasp the horror of what had happened

  to

  them on what was supposed to have been a relaxing

  interlude, a brief vacation ....

  "Did you get a good look at them, Scotty?"

  The pain on Scott's face eased as the

  medic's hypo

  spray hissed. "Aye, Captain. Romulan

  surface

  MINDSHADOW

  fighters, all right. Maybe six or seven of

  "em, but none

  of us cared to get close enough to see who was inside.

  Did you manage to get hold of one?"

  "No. Chekhov's still scanning. And we still

  haven't

  located their base."

  "It can't be too far, sir. They don't have much

  fuel

  storage capacity."

  "Agreed. But what I want to know is what the

  hell

  they were doing under our shield."

  "Like I said, a fighter doesn't have the fuel

  capacity

  to sit under the shields that long, especially not with a

  cloakin" device in operation. If you ask me,

  the only

  thing that accounts for it is a shield neutralizer."

  "Come on, Scotty, the Romulan
s have been

  trying

  to develop one for years, but they've never

  been

  successful."

  "Can you be so sure, sir?" Scott seemed to be

  swaying slightly.

  "It's just as likely they developed a cloaking

  device

  which doesn't require as much fuel." Kirk

  frowned at

  him; the Scot was definitely turning paler.

  "You know,

  you're still officially on leave, Mr. Scott.

  I suggest you

  go take it easy in your quarters."

  Scott began to speak, but Kirk cut him off.

  "That's

  an order. We'll talk more about this later."

  "Then, sir... could you do me a wee favor?"

  "Name it."

  "Could you find out about Ensign Lanz for me?"

  He

  nodded toward sick bay. "She's in there, and they

  tell

  me she was pretty badly hurt. She's an

  awfully young l ass... this is her first

  assignment."

  Kirk smiled in spite of the sinking feeling

  Scott's

  words caused. "I'll find out, Scotty. I'm

  sure McCoy's

  taking good care of her. Go on."

  "I'll just wait out here for a minute--"

  "No, I'll come tell you. Now go." He

  shooed Scott

  with a playful gesture, but the moment the engineer

  turned to shuffle off to his quarters, the smile

  fled from

  Kirk's face.

  The smell inside sick bay was as bad as he

  had

  imagined; Kirk tried not to look at the wounded

  lying

  on the makeshift cots that lined the walls. He

  was

  waiting until he was sure he could no longer

  bear the

  stench when the door to surgery opened.

  McCoy sank shakily into the nearest chair and

  wiped the perspiration from his brow. "I'd like to give

  those responsible for this a taste of their own

  medicine.

  What kind of being could do this to innocent

  people? I bet you can smell it all the way up to the

  bridge." He slumped lower in the chair and

  closed his

  eyes. "I haven't even had time to have a

  hangover."

  "How many did we lose, Bones?"

  "Eight. Six on the planet, two in

  surgery. The burns

  were so severe, their bodies just shut down in spite

  of

  everything we could do. Damn those bastards .... his

  A muscle in Kirk's jaw twitched. "I

  shouldn't have

  let them go down there."

  McCoy opened one eye. "Don't do it to yourself,

  Jim. And if I had gotten to those two in time,

  maybe

  they wouldn't have died .... There's nothing to be

  gained by playing the if-I-had-only game. You

  couldn't

  have known."