Star Trek and its characters are the property of Paramount. This not-for-profit piece of fan fiction is not intended to infringe on that ownership. The author's copyright applies only to the creative content and her original characters.
This story is one in a series about the relationship between James Kirk and Suzanne Brandt. The Kirk-Brandt Chronology lists all the stories, both in order of occurrence and order of creation.
Notes
This story follows up on certain issues that were raised in Blood Claim and it also helps if you've read The 1000th Woman.The lullaby is "I'll Take You Dreaming," by Sylvia Fine and Jules Styne, and again, no copyright infringement is intended.
* Captain's Log, Stardate 5986.7 *
The Enterprise is en route to the Beta Choreatricis system, located along the furthest arm of the galaxy. Beta Chorea 3 houses an unmanned computer system that has been transmitting inconsistent information for several weeks. Starfleet Central Systems has been unable to access the computer remotely.
Captain Suzanne Brandt, one of Starfleet's most capable computer security specialists--in other words, a hacker--has been assigned to override the security protocols and upload the data to the Enterprise, where its initial analysis will be completed by the Computer Science Department under the supervision of Mr. Spock.
Gasping and spent, Jim and Suzanne slid to the floor where they lay for several minutes, wallowing in happy depletion.
Finding her voice at last, Suzanne said, "Well, it's official. We've now done it up against every wall in this cabin."
"I didn't know you were keeping track. Sounds more like something Spock would do." Jim sat up and rubbed his still trembling legs. "What's next?"
"Peel me off the floor, and let's get dinner."
"Actually, I think a shower would be in order."
"Will you wash my hair for me?"
"`Wash my hair, rub my feet.' My god, you're demanding." He smiled affectionately.
As Jim's fingers worked vigorously against Suzanne's scalp, he noted with satisfaction how she rolled her head under the massage.
He had always enjoyed pleasing women, but pleasing this one was somehow more rewarding. Strange to think that, after all his travels and lovers, he had found happiness with a woman whom he had dismissed as a certain failure when they first met at the Academy. Of course, her opinion of him hadn't been much better.
He turned her under the spray and rinsed the creamy lather from her head. Watching the suds slither down her curves, he tried once again to reconcile this pleasure-seeking sensualist with the iron-willed commander of Special Ops' top unit.
How could one woman be so many things? And how could she fill so many places in his heart?
They stepped out of the shower and began drying each other. As he rubbed her head with a towel, he found himself remembering the last time she'd been on the Enterprise and the troubled uncertainty he'd felt when they said good-bye. Coming so soon after his captivity on Nevaris and the revelations that had followed his liberation, the parting demanded by their careers had seemed unspeakably cruel...
He had accompanied her to the transporter room, his reluctance to see her go increasing with every step. They had already said good-bye in the privacy of his quarters, and there were no words left to be spoken, but, glancing at her carefully controlled expression, he had seen the reflection of his own unease.
As they stood in front of the transporter platform, mere inches separated them, inches that would soon be light-years. He wanted to say, "Take care." He was afraid he'd say, "Don't go." So he said nothing.
Finally, she offered her hand in farewell. As he closed his own around it, he felt a deep resentment of the simple handshake that was all they had ever allowed themselves in this situation. Acting swiftly and decisively, he pulled her to his chest and closed his arms around her, savoring the explosive rush of air that was forced from her lungs. As her arms crept up his back and squeezed hard, he closed his eyes, remembering a similar embrace on Nevaris. But that had been an almost unbearably joyful reunion, and this was another heart-breaking farewell.
They held each other for far too long, embarrassing both themselves and Mr. Kyle, who finally ran out of processes on which to run diagnostics.
In the end, Kirk had dismissed the red-faced technician and sent her off himself...
"Jim, enough!" she interrupted his reverie. "If you keep rubbing my head like that, my hair will fall out."
He dropped the towel to her shoulders, and she gave a crooked smile that jabbed at his heart. He put his hand under her chin and, as she closed her eyes expectantly, he kissed her very tenderly, savoring the taste and texture of her mouth.
As his lips left hers, she opened her eyes and whispered, "Dinner?"
He scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the sleeping alcove, where he set her on the bed and lay down beside her. He didn't care that it was too soon to start another round of lovemaking. He wanted to be near her, to feel her next to him, soft and snug. He wanted to kiss, and touch, and hold, and know that there was time for such simple intimacies.
"Suzanne," he said as he pushed her damp curls back from her face, "the Enterprise's five-year mission will be completed in two months, and I intend to take a very long leave. Will you join me?"
"For as much of it as I can. What do you have in mind?"
"Well, for starters, a trip to Iowa."
"I believe Sheriff Jensen has retired." His eyes danced with mischief. "And this time will be different. I promise."
"For one thing, you and I are finally going to spend enough time together that we might become capable of acting like rational adults, instead of sex-crazed teenagers."
She pushed his arms away and sat up, but he quickly pulled her back down.
"I'll tell you when you can leave," he said.
Then, laughing softly, they kissed and touched and held each other with a reassuring lack of urgency.
The next day found Captain Brandt in the ship's library, devoting the last three hours before beamdown to a final review of the career of Dr. Gwendolyn Ludovic, chief designer of the Beta Choreatricis computer system. It had been built with the sole purpose of receiving, analyzing, and transmitting data from long-range probes outside of Federation space. It had worked flawlessly until a few weeks ago, when Starfleet Central Systems had begun receiving gibberish.
Dr. Ludovic had headed the Computer Science department during Brandt's years as a cadet at Starfleet Academy. The two women had enjoyed a comfortable relationship as mentor and protege, which was why Brandt was so puzzled by the doctor's refusal to assist in solving the puzzle of the Beta Chorea computer system.
She remembered visiting Dr. Ludovic at her laboratory shortly after the mission briefing. The meeting had begun with the usual teasing about Brandt wasting her talents "hot-dogging around the galaxy."
"But, you see, Dr. Ludovic," Brandt said lightly, "I'm finally going to fulfill my life-long ambition."
"Which is?" the doctor prompted as she poured out two cups of tea.
"To visit the Beta Choreatricis system."
"What!--Oh, damn!" Dr. Ludovic blurted as the steaming liquid overflowed Brandt's cup. "Why would you want to go there?" she asked as she wadded up a napkin and began mopping up the spilt tea.
"Beta Choreatricis is one of the stars that make up the Uneasy Dancers," Brandt explained as she joined Dr. Ludovic in cleaning up the mess. "That's the brightest constellation in the sky over Kyros, my home planet. My brother and I used to argue about what made them uneasy. I told him that someday I would go there and find out."
"But surely you understand the scientific principles..."
"Oh, of course I do. *Now.* But I think it's time I paid my respects to the stars that made me want to join Starfleet, don't you?"
Dr. Ludovic stood and paced the tiny office.
Brandt approached the agitated woman, who quickly moved away, clenching and unclenching her fists.
Ludovic turned and hesitated before speaking.
"Suzanne, don't go there. There's nothing you can do."
"Why? Dr. Ludovic, what can you tell me about the Beta Chorea computers?"
"There's nothing I can tell you. I've fulfilled my contract with Starfleet. They chose to handle maintenance and support internally. If it's too much for them, that's not my problem. I told them that I'll look into it, and I will. But right now, I have other obligations." With sudden urgency, she added, "Tell them to wait for me, Suzanne."
"It can't wait, Doctor. The information that computer is gathering is absolutely essential. The Federation has plans for colonization far beyond its current boundaries. But to do so, they have to know what's out there."
An ominous silence filled the air.
"Doctor? If there's anything--"
"Will you excuse me, Suzanne? I just remembered something--someone I have to call." She moved to the doorway, pausing at the last moment to smile reassuringly at her visitor. "Please make yourself comfortable."
She hurried into the next room, leaving Brandt frowning in puzzlement. After a few moments of internal debate and hating what she was about to do, Brandt went to the doorway and strained to hear the doctor's voice.
"Are you sure? ... Yes, I know what we agreed, but I didn't realize ... But this changes everything!"
There was a long pause, and then she heard Dr. Ludovic say, "You're right. We owe it to him ... Yes, I understand."
Brandt scrambled back to her chair and was sipping her tea when Dr. Ludovic returned and said, "I'm sorry. There's nothing I can tell you."
"I'm very busy, Captain Brandt. You can see yourself out, can't you?"
"Captain Brandt, report to the bridge."
Putting aside her worries about Dr. Ludovic's odd behavior, Brandt activated the desktop comm unit.
Hearing the doors open behind him, Kirk swiveled in the command seat.
"Captain Brandt. Starfleet Command is about to issue new orders."
"Oh, really," she said evenly as she stepped down to the main level and stood beside him.
Kirk's eyes crinkled with amusement as an unspoken "Now, now" hung in the air between them. He knew that Command's interference in Special Ops' activities was a sore point with her, as it usually resulted in delays due to "re-evaluation of mission goals."
Refusing to acknowledge the good-natured teasing in his eyes, she turned to the screen with an air of imperturbability.
Kirk nodded to Uhura. "Lieutenant."
"Enterprise here. Go ahead, Starfleet."
When Admiral Komack appeared on the viewer, Kirk rose respectfully. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Brandt tense, almost as if waiting for a blow.
"Admiral Komack," he said, focusing his attention on the main viewer.
"Captain Kirk. Captain Brandt. Is Commander Spock there as well?"
Spock took his place at Kirk's right.
"Very good," the admiral said. "Now as I understand the situation, it may take several days to unlock the Beta Chorea computer system. It may even prove impossible. Is that true, Captain Brandt?"
"Sir," she replied, "there's no way of accurately predicting--"
"I appreciate your reluctance to commit to a deadline at this time, Captain, but, as the former commander of a space vessel, you should appreciate my reluctance to let a starship sit idle, waiting for something that may not happen for some time, if ever. No offense, Captain." His smile was brief and insincere.
Kirk hoped that the subharmonics of her reply would be flattened in transmission.
"But if I may, Admiral," Brandt continued, "I'd like to point out that once I unlock the system, it's imperative to determine the validity of the data without delay. And for that, we need the expertise available on the Enterprise."
"Thank you, Captain, I'm well aware of that. That's why Commander Spock will transport down to the planet's surface with you, and the Enterprise will begin its next assignment."
"That's enough, Captain," Komack cut her off sharply. "The Enterprise will remain in orbit just long enough for you and Mr. Spock to beam down. Do I make myself clear?"
The bridge crew fidgeted uncomfortably, and Kirk wished he'd had the foresight to have the admiral piped through to the briefing room.
"Captain Kirk." Komack's voice warmed as he addressed one of his own. "After transporting Captain Brandt and Commander Spock to the planet's surface, the Enterprise will proceed to Verity 7 to pick up scientific equipment, which you will then deliver to the Quelis colony. During the seven days we estimate for the Enterprise to complete this assignment and return to Beta Chorea, it is our hope that Captain Brandt will successfully unlock the data so that Mr. Spock can begin analysis. And should that task prove to be more challenging than anticipated, at least the Enterprise's time will have been spent productively. Any questions?"
"Very good. Proceed as ordered. Komack out."
The screen rippled, and the stars once again floated by. Brandt slowly exhaled and said, "Captain Kirk, with your permission, I'll speak to your quartermaster about requisitioning the appropriate supplies."
She turned toward for the turbolift.
"Just a moment, Captain," Kirk said. "Mr. Spock, you have the conn."
He joined Brandt on the upper level, and they entered the turbolift together.
"Deck six," Kirk said. As the lift began moving, he counted silently to three and then said, "Halt turbolift."
She gave him a quizzical look. He crossed his arms and leaned casually against the wall.
She paused for only a second, then closed her fists, inhaled deeply, and roared, "DAMN!"
After a sharp huff of air that released the last bit of remaining fury, she recomposed herself.
"You're welcome." He pushed away from the wall and sauntered toward her. "Now do you mind telling me why Admiral Komack has it in for you?"
"He's not a fan of Special Ops. He thinks we're a bunch of loose cannons who take up too much of the budget."
"Well, aren't you?" he asked with a mischievous grin.
"Don't let him get to you, Brandt." He put his hands on her shoulders and shook her gently. "My crew has too much respect for you to take his insults seriously. And you shouldn't, either."
She nodded, and he grasped the turbolift control. "Deck six."
The lift started moving again.
"You're pretty good at this stuff."
"Why, thank you, Captain Brandt."
They smiled warmly at each other, and, for a moment, the only sound was the hum of the turbolift. Then Brandt's eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
"Halt turbolift," she ordered.
With a decidedly sexy swagger to her walk, she approached him and said in a low voice, "I don't think we're going to have another chance to say a *real* good-bye."
She put her hands on either side of his face and pulled him into a deep, deliberate kiss that said much more than "good-bye."
McCoy entered the bridge with a satisfied smile.
"I've just vaccinated the last of the crew against Teslaran flu."
"And you felt that momentous news had to be delivered personally?"
"No, I was hoping to find Scotty up here. I think there's something wrong with the main turbolift. This morning, I had to wait five minutes before it arrived."
Kirk managed to look puzzled, but before he could respond, Mr. Sulu reported that they were approaching Beta Chorea 3.
"Thank you, Mr. Sulu. Standard orbit."
"Mr. Spock?" Kirk turned toward the science officer.
Spock raised his head from his viewer and reported, "The planet has an oxygen-nitrogen atmosphere, with a high concentration of acaritones in a volatile state."
"Acaritones?" Dr. McCoy frowned. "I saw a case of acaritone poisoning once. Not very pretty--"
"The presence of acaritones is the reason the scientific outpost is in a sealed environment, Doctor," Spock explained.
"And it is also the reason that you and Captain Brandt will beam down in enviro-suits," Kirk said. "She's already requisitioned them. They should be in the transporter room by now."
Standing on the transporter platform, Spock studied the two captains, aware that humans set great store in gestures of parting.
At the console, Mr. Scott carefully brushed a non-existent dust particle from the controls, wondering why the man didn't just kiss her. After all, she hadn't closed her face mask yet--Ah! Too late.
Captain Brandt ascended the steps, turned, and raised her hand, displaying the solid green on her wrist indicator. Spock did the same, and Kirk nodded, satisfied that their enviro-suits were properly sealed.
After watching Brandt and Spock dematerialize, Kirk waited at the transporter console until she checked in.
"Nothing unusual to report, Captain Kirk. The tricorder and e-suits indicate an earth-normal atmosphere in the station."
"Very good, Captain Brandt. We'll be back in seven days. Good luck."
"Luck? Kirk, if I don't have your first officer analyzing data within eight hours, I'll eat my stripes. Brandt out."
Kirk headed to the doorway, chuckling.
*And she thinks *I'm* arrogant.*
Entering the turbolift, he gave the voice command to return to the bridge. As the compartment began moving, he recalled the impassioned kiss in that very location. Bones was lucky he'd only had to wait five minutes for the lift. Briefly indulging in a favorite fantasy, Kirk wished he had taken her then and there, and to hell with propriety. A genuine knee-trembler, fast and furious, with Suzanne up against the wall, her legs wrapped around his hips. *And* in a dangerously public place, given the number of officers empowered to execute an override command. Now that would be--
The doors whooshed open and, not for the first time, Kirk wished that his trousers were a little looser and his tunic quite a bit longer.
Assuring himself that the proper air of authority could cover anything, he gave the orders to leave orbit and settled into the command chair. He looked around and was briefly taken aback at the sight of Chekov occupying the science station. Reminding himself that it was important for junior officers to develop the skills necessary to become senior officers, he turned back to the main viewer.
As the planet retreated into a small dot on the screen, he found himself seeking another officer, one he shouldn't have been missing, not here. In her many passages aboard the Enterprise, Brandt's appearances on the bridge had been few and far between. He'd never thought about it before, but now he realized she had intentionally stayed out of his territory, holding herself to a much stricter standard of professional courtesy than a visiting officer normally would. Of course, if he mentioned it, she'd probably tease him by saying, `I stay off your bridge, JT, because the urge to run it *properly* would be overwhelming.'
A satisfied smile crept across his face, as he imagined the rest of such a conversation.
`Nice try, Brat, but that dog won't hunt. You stay off my bridge out of respect for my command.'
For all the competitiveness between them, both playful and serious, they had learned not to challenge each other in certain areas. Oh, one would occasionally try to take the other down a peg, but under it all, there was a quiet pride in each other's abilities and accomplishments. And they knew where the boundaries were. Even during the journey to Nevaris, she hadn't taken command of the Enterprise, leaving Spock in charge while she stayed in the background as much as possible.
Nevaris... The smile left his face as he thought of what Brandt had endured there. He still remembered his shock when she'd knelt to submit to the flogging that was the cost of his freedom. A helpless witness to her determined courage, he had been badly shaken, and, for the first time, he had seriously questioned the price of command. He shifted uncomfortably, wondering how many of her assignments required such reckless heroism.
But at least the Beta Chorea mission sounded reassuringly free of danger.
"It's the closest I'll ever get to a safe assignment," she'd said breezily.
So why was a restless suspicion nibbling at Kirk's peace of mind?
He had certainly welcomed Brandt's extended stay aboard the Enterprise. But experience had taught him that something that appeared too good to be true usually was. And now that she was gone, he couldn't help wondering why she'd been given the assignment in the first place. Although highly skilled, she wasn't the only hacker in Starfleet. And given the mutual distrust between Command and Special Ops, he would have expected Admiral Komack to refuse assistance from that quarter. And why...
Listening to the escalating hum of the warp engines, he felt a growing disquiet.
Why had Admiral Komack's hostility been directed not at Special Ops, but at Captain Brandt personally?
Once free of the cumbersome enviro-suit, Captain Brandt was as good as her word. Within five hours, she had disabled the primary security barriers, and Spock sat down at a console on the opposite side of the main records housing and began viewing the lowest level files.
Two hours later, she rose and walked around the equipment, stretching her arms and rolling her head.
"Anything to report, Mr. Spock?" she asked.
"I find myself somewhat puzzled, Captain. This data in no way corresponds to what was received by Starfleet Central Systems. It is completely valid, and even...uninteresting. It would appear that the computer was recording properly, but modifying what it transmitted."
"What would be the reason for that?"
"Unknown, Captain. I have been unable to access the program that controls the transmissions."
"Try it again. I just cracked another sub-level on the gamma sector."
Spock turned to his monitor and quickly scanned the newly available files.
"This appears to be a repository of the computer's automatic maintenance logs."
"Self-check records? Well, there might be something there that explains why it missed the simple fact that it wasn't working properly." Realizing that her sarcasm was probably lost on her companion, she switched to a more professional tone. "Keep working at it, Mr. Spock, and transmit the data you've analyzed, so that CenSys will have something valid to work with."
She headed back to the security console on the other side of the main system.
"Captain, shall I also send a report to Admiral Komack?"
It took her a moment to realize that she had just received the Vulcan equivalent of a poke in the ribs. She stuck her head around the corner and peered at him curiously. For a Vulcan science officer, he was surprisingly astute about human interactions.
"That won't be necessary, Mr. Spock. He'll get the message."
Smiling to herself, she returned to her work.
"Jim?" Dr. McCoy waved his hand in front of Kirk's face. "Jim, are you listening to me?"
"What? Sorry, Bones. What were you saying?" Kirk tried to look interested as he pushed the food around on his plate.
"It wasn't important. But it's not like you to tune out like that. Why don't you tell old Doc McCoy what's on your mind?"
Kirk looked around and saw that the officers' mess was almost deserted.
"Bones, does anything about this trip to Quelis strike you as odd?"
"No, I can't say that it does. What are you thinking?"
"What Spock and Suzanne are doing on Beta Chorea is important, and they could certainly use the facilities and expertise onboard the Enterprise. The equipment we're delivering isn't vital, and there's a weekly transport between Verity and Quelis. The last-minute change of orders and the way Komack spoke to Suzanne... I can't help feeling like we're being gotten out of the way. And I don't like it."
"Well, I've never met anyone whose gut instinct I'd trust more than yours, so what are you going to do about it? Turn back?"
McCoy raised a quizzical eyebrow. Kirk shrugged, smiling.
"Not without something more than a vague suspicion, anyway." His smile faded. "But..." He pushed away his plate and crossed to the comm link. "Bridge. Communications."
"Lieutenant, get me Commander Victor Petrocelli on Starbase 8. I'll take it in my quarters."
Five minutes later, he was listening to his former classmate describe his oldest boy's school achievements.
"...so I think his place at the Academy is assured."
"But you didn't call to hear all this. What's up, Jim?"
"Vic, you were on Admiral Komack's staff for a few years, weren't you?"
"Yes, until this spot came up."
"Do you know of any reason for animosity between the admiral and Captain Brandt?"
Petrocelli paused uncomfortably. "Jim, Fleet gossip has it that you and Brandt are on *very* good terms, so I can't help wondering why you don't just ask her."
"Think back, Vic. Did you ever get a satisfactory answer out of her if she didn't want to give one?"
Petrocelli chuckled. "All right. There isn't much to tell anyway. At one point, the admiral offered her a position on his staff that included a promotion to commodore. When she turned it down, he was furious."
"Three years ago. Around Valentine's Day. I was ordering flowers for my wife when the admiral grabbed the transfer authorization off my desk and threw it into the recycler."
"Do you know why he offered it to her? Or why she turned it down?"
"No, but it was all very sudden. Lots of subspace communication between them for about a day, and then it was over as quickly as it had begun."
"Where was she when all this subspace communication was going on?"
"Hold on, Jim. You don't get off that easily. What's going on?"
"I don't know. But I intend to find out."
He ended the communication and rubbed his chin anxiously. He could understand Brandt refusing a promotion that would have required her to leave Special Ops. But why had Komack offered it to her? And why had he been so furious when she turned it down?
That night, Brandt tossed restlessly in her sleeping compartment, the codes and commands still marching resolutely through her mind.
Alpha to level ten, branch eight, code 4916.9...
How could Dr. Ludovic have used something so obvious? Yes, every system designer leaves a back door, but the stardates of the sector implementations? Luckily, years earlier, the doctor had drummed a very simple motto into Cadet Brandt, one that had repeatedly served her well. Try everything.
Brandt flopped onto her stomach and sighed.
Was this bunk really more uncomfortable than Jim's, or did it just seem that way because she was the only one in it?
Jim. The way she missed him, you'd think they'd been together every night for the past six months. Six days, six months, it didn't matter. She couldn't get enough of him, no matter how much time they spent in one another's arms.
Blast Komack and his interference. She was absolutely certain that he had pulled the last-minute switch simply to deny her one of the more appealing aspects of the assignment. And, dammit, he *owed* her. She'd kept quiet three years ago, when she could have ruined him. Pounding her pillow in frustration, she cursed herself for not charging the old bastard when she had the chance.
Trying to calm down enough to sleep, she reminded herself that Komack was due for retirement soon. And then it would be clear sailing. No one else would waste time putting arbitrary obstacles in the way of an intra-Fleet romance, especially one that didn't break any major rules. Her CO had already turned a blind eye to the manipulations that allowed her to travel on the Enterprise as often as she did. The Fleet Captain was extremely willing to throw those assignments Jim's way, thanks to regular "gifts" of Romulan ale. And even Admiral Nogura had quietly told Jim that two line officers in a relationship that allowed frequent meetings and didn't violate the non-fraternization directive should consider themselves blessed by the Great Bird.
If *that* wasn't tacit approval, she didn't know what was.
Turning again, she was glad that she and Spock had chosen to stay on ship's time. It made it fairly easy to guess what Jim was doing at that moment. Lying in his bunk, quelling the tiny part of himself that was glad not to share the limited space, kicking off the covers, reaching for himself...
If Jim were here, she thought, he would kiss me. He would fondle my breasts and pinch my nipples. He'd push my hair back from my face and nibble my lips. He'd roll me onto my stomach and kiss me all across my shoulders--Oh! The pleasure of his mouth against my skin. `Lift,' he'd whisper. He'd slide his hand under me. `Spread your legs.' So sweet to be led by him, to let him take command. And he'd touch me, teasing me with the tip of his finger until I'm breathless and dizzy. Then he'd kneel between my legs and pull me onto his thighs. I'd feel his cock against my ass. He'd push it down between my legs and press against me, entering me.
She imagined the heat, the weight, the pressure, and, most intoxicating of all, the sound of her name, crooned low and filled with desire. The intensity of the remembered pleasure took her by surprise, and she moaned softly into the darkness.
Spock was jolted out of a light meditation by the soft and unexpected sound. One syllable, infused with a longing so potent and complete that he momentarily believed that he had uttered it. One syllable, intended for the ears of one who was too far away to hear it, and spoken by the woman who had no reason to deny the need to utter that sound.
He lay down on his bunk and turned toward the bulkhead through which the whisper had traveled.
What must it be to say that name in that way? To remember the open expression of desire, to believe that such an expression would be welcome again? To have no fear of the response?
What was the nature of the reality in which that sound existed?
In that whispered call, he had heard an entire history, the memories of pleasures shared, and the sure knowledge that the spoken word could invoke an experience that was more than fantasy.
But were he to break his self-imposed discipline and attempt to give texture to his desire through such an exclamation, there would be little satisfaction in it. For his words would not be shaped by reality and therefore could be no more than fruitless imagining.
Vulcans do not indulge in unproductive speculation. He was not Jim's lover, and no word uttered alone in the darkness would alter that fact, or allow him to forget it.
He put his back to the bulkhead and refused the thoughts that lapped at his consciousness. And through the long, sleepless night, like so many nights before it, his desire remained unacknowledged and unvoiced, but not unmade.
"Commander Wallis, you're a tough man to track down."
The comm screen in Kirk's quarters displayed the face of Brandt's first officer. Behind Wallis, Kirk could see the distinctive multi-colored sky of Jadis, a popular vacation spot.
"Well, I *am* on leave, Captain."
"Understood. And I apologize for disturbing you, but I need to ask you a few questions."
Kirk heard a youthful voice shout, "Come on, Dad!"
"Excuse me, Captain." Wallis turned away and called into the distance. "Gail, take the boys to the flitter! I'll be there in a few minutes." He smiled sheepishly at Kirk. "Sorry, sir."
"It's all right. Jack, were you on assignment with Suzanne on Valentine's Day three years ago?"
"Call me Jim." He smiled disarmingly.
"All right. Jim. I hate to ask this, but what's your authorization?"
"I'll be honest with you. I don't have any. But I need to know what happened on that assignment. There's something fishy about this mission on Beta Chorea, and I think the two are connected."
Kirk watched as Wallis weighed the regulations against the possibility that Brandt's assigned activities were not as safe as they appeared. Knowing that Commander Wallis was as loyal to Brandt as his own first officer was to him, and just as protective, Kirk checked the urge to cajole the information out of him. Just give him time, he told himself. He'll do the right thing.
After several thoughtful seconds, Wallis nodded pensively and said, "All right. Yes, we had just completed a mission. We were on our way back to Earth."
"What kind of mission was it?"
"We'd cracked an arms smuggling ring."
"Yes, except for turning the smugglers over to Federation Security."
"Do you know what she and Admiral Komack discussed over subspace radio during that time?"
"I wasn't aware that they were in communication."
"You weren't?" Kirk couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice.
Wallis folded his hands and said, "I don't monitor the captain's calls."
"I'm sorry, Jack. I didn't mean to imply that you do. Do you know of any reason for the hostility between the two of them?"
Wallis relaxed and chuckled softly. "Other than the undeclared war between Command and Special Ops? No."
Kirk sat back and tried to make sense of this new information. Thinking of their mutual competitiveness, he found it unbelievable that Brandt hadn't said anything to him about the offer of promotion, unless it was related to something she couldn't disclose. He knew that many of her activities couldn't be discussed with anyone outside of Special Ops. But she hadn't mentioned it to her exec, either, and Kirk was fairly certain that Wallis knew where all the bodies were buried in Brandt's professional life.
He held out his hands in bewilderment. "Jack, does *anything* seem strange to you about this Beta Chorea assignment? Did Suzanne say anything to you?"
"When she was first given the assignment, I think she was a little put out by the lack of danger." His eyes crinkled mischievously. "In fact, I teased her about looking both ways before crossing the galaxy. But I think she liked the idea of rubbing Command's nose in it a little, and traveling on the Enterprise has a certain appeal for her..." He grinned.
"Anything else?" Kirk asked pointedly.
"Sorry. There *was* her meeting with Dr. Ludovic."
"Dr. Gwendolyn Ludovic? What does she have to do with it?"
"She designed the Beta Chorea computers. But when Captain Brandt went to ask her about them, Dr. Ludovic wouldn't give her the time of day."
The next day, the work proceeded quickly, as Brandt unlocked directory after directory. She'd discovered that Dr. Ludovic had abandoned the stardate passwords at the higher levels, but using the names of early computer pioneers wasn't much more original. Byron, Engelbart, Chao, Tork'hee...
She wondered idly why no one had been able to accomplish this remotely. Either the specialists at CenSys were incompetent or...someone had deliberately rigged the system. A tiny smile played across her face as she pondered the intriguing possibilities. A mysterious computer virus...sabotage from within...treason, perhaps...a galaxy-wide search for the perpetrators... Now *that* would be an interesting assignment.
She sighed wearily. A very interesting assignment that would almost certainly *not* go to Special Ops.
On his side of the console, Spock also found his work distinctly unchallenging. The data was solid and consistent, and bore absolutely no resemblance to what had been transmitted to CenSys. The long-range probes were functioning admirably.
By late afternoon, Spock estimated that, at their current rate of progress, it would take seven-point-two days to unlock, analyze, and transmit the information, bringing CenSys up to date. At which point, it would be logical to investigate why and how the data had been altered in the first place. Would Admiral Komack regard that as an appropriate assignment for a starship? Doubtful.
"Mr. Spock, is there anything strange going on over there?"
As Spock looked up from his monitor, his neck muscles twinged unexpectedly. Indulging in a series of neck rolls that were one-point-four hours overdue, he replied, "No, Captain."
Upon arriving at Captain Brandt's console, he scanned the information displayed on her screen.
"What do you make of that, Spock?"
"I...fail to understand your question, Captain."
She gestured impatiently toward the desktop. "This. What do you make of this?"
"Mr. Spock," she said irritably. "Do you think it's normal for the screen display to break into pieces that scatter themselves across the console?"
"I see no evidence of such a phenomenon--"
She stood and pushed him into the seat.
As she leaned over him, blood dripped into his lap.
"Don't worry about it, it's just--Damn! Why did you have to mention it?" She pushed up her sleeve, revealing an ugly expanse of scored flesh. "It itches like mad."
Ignoring his question, she dug her nails into her forearm. "Shit shit SHIT!"
Her voice rose to an angry roar and, as she snapped her head in his direction, he saw her face clearly for the first time since she'd summoned him. Heightened color, sweat-slicked hair, dilated pupils... He knew it was illogical to jump to a premature conclusion, but nonetheless, he asked the first question that came into his mind.
"Computer, what are the symptoms of acaritone poisoning?"
"Working... Hallucinations; paranoia; hysterical strength; intolerable itching; fluctuating, occasionally overwhelming anger or anxiety."
"Scratch my back, would you, Spock?" Brandt asked. "Right in the middle. Spock? Scratch my--"
"Computer! What is the acaritone content of the atmosphere of this room?"
"Useless Vulcan," she muttered as she began rearranging non-existent items, dripping an uneven pattern of red across the empty surface.
"Working... The acaritone content is eighty-seven parts per million."
"Computer! When was the environmental seal broken?"
"Working... The environmental seal was breached three-point-two hours ago."
"Spock, look!" Brandt cried excitedly. "This actually makes sense if I put the pieces like this--"
Spock pulled her away from the console and dragged her into the corridor.
"Computer. Activate the environmental seal on the main computer room," he ordered. "What is the acaritone content of this corridor?"
"Working... The acaritone content is two parts per million."
Brandt struggled against the unyielding grip of Spock's hands.
"Spock, let go of me! I've got to stop the--"
"Captain Brandt, you have been exposed to acaritone. Computer! What is the recommended treatment for acaritone poisoning?"
"Shhhh! Spock, look," Brandt whispered as she pointed down the empty hallway. "What a time to be caught without phasers. If you can take the two Romulans, I'll--"
Spock picked her up and ran, as the voice of the computer echoed down the corridor.
"...Gamma-NH compound. If administered within approximately eight hours of exposure, G-NH counteracts the hyperactivity of the histamines in the brain. Tranquilizers are also advised. If untreated..."
In the locker room, Kirk pulled a towel across the back of his neck. His workout hadn't relieved the kinks in his shoulders, and the knot in his stomach was more insistent than ever. He stretched vigorously against the tightly drawn towel, but his stubborn muscles refused to relax. Acknowledging defeat with a muttered curse, he hurled the towel into the recycler, surprising himself with the vehemence of his action.
*All right, that's it. I'm sick of working in the dark. I'm going to have some answers, even if I have to bully them out of her.*
He moved quickly to the wall comm. "Kirk to bridge. Communications."
"Uhura, raise the Beta Chorea station. I want to speak with Captain Brandt."
He drummed his fingers against the bulkhead, composing the argument that would hopefully result in an end to the mystery.
`No excuses this time, Suzanne. There's something very suspicious about this assignment, you and Spock may be in danger, and I want to know what the hell is going on.'
Yes, dragging Spock in might work. As his CO, he could demand--
"Uhura here, sir. I'm sorry, but there's interference between here and Beta Chorea."
"Mr. Chekov's long-range scan shows intense solar eruptions on Beta Choreatricis. I can't break through."
"Keep trying, Lieutenant. Kirk out."
He sighed in exasperation. A solar storm. A perfectly natural occurrence. Nothing ominous about it at all.
Even for a Vulcan, it was no small task to restrain a kicking, clawing human whose normal strength had been enhanced by the adrenaline increase associated with acaritone poisoning. Spock briefly considered a neck pinch, but dismissed it as unacceptably dangerous in light of the metabolic changes assailing Captain Brandt's body. Hoisting her onto the bio-bed, he swiftly secured the restraints around her wrists.
"Let me go, you green-blooded *yagbr!mo!*" she screamed.
Spock raised an eyebrow as he struggled with the ankle cuffs. During the tempestuous journey to the medical station, Captain Brandt had invoked eight deities, threatened him with dismemberment, and even cast aspersions on his mother. He was therefore not surprised to be accused of consuming small animals after engaging in sexual intercourse with them. But her Vrellan accent was impressive.
Securing the last of the restraints, he shouted, "Computer! Location of Gamma-NH compound!"
Unable to hear the computer's response over Captain Brandt's unending stream of insults and accusations, he clamped his hand over her mouth and repeated the command.
After a third attempt at reading the latest policy statement on first contacts in a hostile situation, Kirk pushed the report aside and impatiently rapped his knuckles against the desk. He'd left three messages for Dr. Ludovic with no response, and the waiting had left him more apprehensive than ever. He was pondering which favor to call in and from whom when the comm whistled.
"Have you gotten through to Beta Chorea?"
"No, sir, but Mr. Chekov reports that the solar activity seems to be abating."
"Yes, sir. And Detective Gina Beckman of the San Francisco Police Department is asking to speak to you."
"The police--? Put her through."
The screen blinked, and Uhura's face was replaced by a much sterner one, dominated by sharp green eyes and framed by waves of steel-gray hair. An ID was displayed in the lower right corner of the screen.
"Detective Gina Beckman, San Francisco Police Department," she said. "Captain James T. Kirk?"
"I'd like to ask you a few questions."
"In the past twenty hours, you've left three messages for Dr. Gwendolyn Ludovic. Care to tell me what those were about?"
"Would you care to tell me why you're asking?"
"Not just yet. What's your relationship to Dr. Ludovic?"
"She was an instructor at Starfleet Academy when I was a cadet. I wanted to ask her about a computer system she designed."
"Might that be the computer system on..." She looked down at her padd. "I have it right here...Beta Choreatricis. Is that the one?"
"What do you know about the Beta Chorea computer system, Detective?"
"Next to nothing. That's why I'm asking you." She waited a beat and then sighed. "Look, Captain, I'll play ball if you'll reciprocate. Dr. Ludovic is dead. Looks like suicide, but I have to investigate all the angles. She didn't leave a note, and we're having a tough time getting into her personal files. The only one we've managed to access is full of hysterical statements about the computer on Beta Choreatricis and a Suzanne Brandt. Haven't been able to get in touch with the Brandt woman."
A prickle crept up the back of Kirk's neck. "She's a Starfleet captain. She's on Beta Chorea, trouble-shooting that computer."
"The doctor's files also mention Gerry Komack. Know him?"
"Komack? Is he related to Admiral Richard Komack?"
"Kirk, I didn't contact you so that I could answer *your* questions. Do you know Gerry Komack?"
The sensation at the back of his neck began throbbing to the insistent pulse of a red alert. "No, I--How is he connected to Dr. Ludovic?"
Beckman gave as exasperated sigh. "Apparently, he's her nephew. He--" She turned away from the screen. "Yes, what is it? Hold on, Captain."
The screen faded to a muddy gray. Kirk quickly contacted the bridge.
"This is the captain. Reverse course. Take us back to Beta Chorea, top speed."
Uhura's voice cut in. "Captain, I've broken through the interference, but there's no response from the station."
Beckman's face reappeared on the screen.
"You still there, Kirk? Good. How close are you to Beta Chorea?"
"We've gotten into a couple more of the doctor's files. Sounds like your friend walked into a trap."
Captain Brandt's blank stare and the accompanying silence disturbed Spock much more than her earlier violence. He found himself wishing that she had continued to curse him, his ancestors, and all of Vulcan.
There was, of course, no response, and it was illogical to attempt to communicate with her. He continued speaking, nonetheless.
"Captain Brandt, the Gamma-NH compound has been removed from the station, for reasons that I am unable to extrapolate. Nor are any tranquilizing agents available. I have sent out a distress signal, but it is highly unlikely that help will arrive in a timely manner. Without medical intervention, you will shortly become hopelessly insane.
"Your only chance of survival lies in halting the self-destruction of your mind. Vulcan meditation and healing techniques give me a considerably higher level of control over my neurotransmitters. I intend to initiate a mind meld with the goal of extending that control to you."
Banishing his reluctance to enter another's mind without permission, he pressed his fingertips to the meld points and entered the swirling darkness of a mind under attack.
Spock's experiences melding with humans had taught him much of the texture of the human mind, but he had always been careful to respect their privacy, touch as lightly as possible, and never enter where he was not welcome. As soon as his mind brushed Captain Brandt's, he knew he would have to put such constraints aside. The intricate weave of her thoughts was swiftly unraveling, but not around the edges where the most recent concerns and experiences resided, as one might expect. The most rapid deterioration was taking place at the core, among the earliest memories.
He worked quickly, grasping the fleeting impressions and reconnecting them to the larger images. But as he did so, he found that other memories grew, taking precedence over the small bits he held in place. Upon investigation, he found that one incident in particular threatened to oust all others. He realized that, if unstopped, it would grow until there was nothing in Captain Brandt's mind but a painful memory from her childhood. As he examined the overwhelming fear and loss, he heard the voice of a small child crying, "Come back, please come back!"
To Spock's horror, he realized that the only way to salvage Captain Brandt's memory of the experience was to relive it with her.
Spock entered quietly, careful not to disturb the fragile scene. The other occupants of the small sleeping compartment seemed unaware of him.
A woman was tucking the covers around a sleeping boy. He appeared to be approximately four years old and bore a familial resemblance to the woman. She pressed her lips to his forehead and then moved to the other bunk, casually tucking her light brown hair behind her ears. She frowned affectionately at the pajama-clad girl who was bouncing on the bed and tunelessly singing, "Oh, when the saints go marchin' in--"
"Shhhh, Suzanne, you'll wake your brother. Now settle down."
"Mommy, do you think Sundance misses me?" the girl asked as she flopped back against the pillow.
The woman smiled as she pulled the covers up to her daughter's chin. "Of course he does."
"But what if Nicholas doesn't give him a treat every day and tell him it's from me? What if--"
"Suzanne, Sundance loves you. And dogs never forget the people they love. You'll see when we get home. He'll drown you in doggy kisses."
"Tell me about Daddy again," the child demanded.
"You'll see him yourself soon enough."
"You tell me. It's twelve days to Cyrilius, and we've been traveling--"
"Right. And when we get to Cyrilius--"
"We'll have cake and presents--"
"That's right. Have you thought about your birthday wish?"
"Uh huh. Daddy's the boss there, right?"
"Well, he's the head of the terraforming project."
"So if I wish for him to take me outside the dome and show me the machines--"
"Suzanne..." The woman pursed her lips uncomfortably. "Your daddy is a very important man, and when we get to Cyrilius, he might not be able to spend as much time with us as we'd like--"
"But he'll be at my birthday party. And he'll hear my wish--"
"Even so, there are rules about who can go outside the dome--"
"Bosses have to follow the rules, too. Now why don't you think of another wish?"
The child put her face to the pillow and said in a muffled voice, "But that was what I wanted."
"I'm sorry, sweetheart." She began rubbing her daughter's back. "Would you like me to sing the star song?"
The only response was an unhappy nod.
"Loo loo loo, I'll take you dreaming,
Through the rainy night,
To a place behind the raindrops,
Where the stars are bright..."
As the child drifted off to sleep, Spock felt Captain Brandt slipping away from him.
"My mind to your mind," he said softly. "We are becoming one..."
He reached out and gave himself fully to the task of sustaining a human soul.
"Suzanne! Suzanne, come in here. I need you!"
I wake up. The room is dark, except for the nightlight. Dennis is asleep in his bunk, sucking his thumb. What a baby.
I go to Mommy's cabin. She's lying in the middle of the big bunk, and she takes my hand. Her eyes are strange, like the crazy woman I saw in a tri-vee show when the babysitter let me stay up too late.
"Suzanne, I need you to do something very important. Go up front and sit in the pilot's seat. Right in front of you, you'll see a row of five green buttons. Push the middle one. Go do that now. Then stay there and do as I tell you."
She sounds very serious, and it scares me, but I do what she says. The lights come on as I run down the corridor. I climb into the big chair, like I do when I pretend I'm the pilot. But this isn't pretend, it's important, Mommy said so. I push the green button, and then I hear her voice. It sounds like it's coming from the stars that are flying by.
"Good girl. Stand up on the seat and turn to your left. Do you see a yellow lever?"
"Can you reach it? Can you pull it down?"
I have to pull very hard, but I get the lever all the way down. A light above it starts blinking.
"Is there a red light blinking, Suzanne?"
"Good. Good. Now go back to bed."
I start down the corridor. It's empty and scary, and I force myself to walk slowly past the closed doors. The engines are humming and I usually like that noise, but now they sound like a swarm of bees just around the corner. When I get to Mommy's cabin, I run inside and try to get in bed with her, but she says, "No, Suzanne."
"There's nothing to be afraid of. I'm not feeling well, and you just sent out a call for help. Isn't that exciting? You were the pilot."
"Now give me a kiss and go back to bed."
"No, not tonight. Go to your own bunk and go to sleep. Everything will be all right."
I kiss her goodnight. Her face is very hot. Sundance's nose was very hot once, that's how we knew that he was sick.
Mommy whispers, "I love you, sweetheart."
I go back to my cabin, but I'm too scared to sleep, so I wrap up in a blanket and sit in the corner. When the daytime lights come up, I sneak out into the corridor. I lock the door behind me so Dennis won't get out. He won't understand that Mommy's sick, and he'll be a pest.
I go to Mommy's cabin. Her blanket is wet and it stinks. I'm afraid to go to her, but she squints at me and says, "Is it you? Thank god you're here."
I stand by the side of the bunk, and she takes my hand. She squeezes too hard, and it hurts. I try to pull away, but she's too strong. She keeps calling me "Jill" and telling me how glad she is that I'm here. She asks if I still have "that damn cat."
I tell her it's me, I'm Suzanne, but she doesn't understand. I lay down beside her and listen to her, even though she isn't making sense. She finally stops talking and goes to sleep. Dennis is yelling and kicking the door in the other cabin. He probably wants breakfast.
Mommy wakes up and puts her arms around me.
"You're a big girl now, Suzanne. Someone will be here soon. Can you take care of Dennis until then?"
Her arms fall away from me. I get up and look at her. She looks different. She doesn't look like herself.
I shake her shoulder, but she doesn't wake up. I shake her harder.
I start crying. It's not fair. I don't want to be a big girl. I want her to wake up. I lay on top of her and beg her to come back. I cry and cry, but she doesn't wake up or pet my head or anything. It's not fair.
"Come back, come back! Mommy, please!"
When I can't cry anymore, I go into the bathroom and clean myself up. My nightgown stinks so I throw it away. I get one of Mommy's t-shirts and put it on. It hangs down to my knees like a dress.
I lock Mommy's cabin and let Dennis out. I get out fruit and cereal and put it on the table.
I'm a big girl, I don't hit back. I tell him I made it up. We eat breakfast, and I cycle the dishes. We play with the drawing padd in our cabin. Dennis can't stay in the lines, but I pretend he's doing it right.
I go up front, and he follows me. The red light is still blinking. I climb into the pilot's seat and push the green button.
"Be quiet a minute. I have to listen."
I listen very hard for her voice, but she's gone. Dennis marches around, stomping his feet.
"Where's Mommy? Where's Mommy? Where's Mommy?"
"I want to know! Where's Mommy? Why didn't she make breakfast? Tell me." He puts his arms around my waist and says, "Pleeease" in his best wheedling voice.
Kirk raced through the corridors, careening around corners and narrowly avoiding a collision with a passing crewman.
"Excuse me, sir," the man said, as he fell against a bulkhead.
Around another corner, and there it was, the doors closing behind a woman who had just stepped out of it.
"Aye, sir!" she responded as she stretched out her hand to stop the doors.
"Bridge!" he gasped as he slammed into the compartment. "No stops!"
"Come on, Dennis, eat your sandwich."
"No! I'm sick of cheese sammitches! I want sketti and meatballs!"
"So do I, but the synthesizer won't give me any."
Two men appear like magic. I drop my sandwich, and Dennis runs to me. The dark-haired man starts looking around, and the one with the beard turns off the red light.
"We received your distress call. Is there anyone else aboard?"
I get out of the chair, but Dennis grabs me and won't let go.
"I wanna go, too. Suzanne, I wanna go!"
The dark-haired man comes over, carrying the drawing padd.
"What's your name, son? Did you draw this?"
I take the one with the beard to Mommy's cabin. He goes in, and I wait for him. When he comes out, he kneels down beside me.
"I like that name. You're a very brave little girl, Suzanne."
He hugs me. His beard is very soft. I'm not crying, but he pets my head anyway.
"You're safe now, sweetheart."
We go up front, and he talks into a little box, and then we're all in a different place.
Kirk burst onto the bridge, and Mr. Scott quickly vacated the center seat.
"We're on course for Beta Chorea, sir."
"I want everything she's got."
"Aye, Captain, you'll have it." Scott turned to the engineering station, already planning how he would get more than one hundred percent out of the engines.
"Captain, I'm getting something from Beta Chorea now." Uhura turned to the captain with a puzzled expression. "It's a distress signal."
Kirk gripped the railing as he said, "Let's hear it, Lieutenant."
She flipped a switch, and a familiar voice began speaking.
Each member of the bridge crew silently performed the temporal-spatial calculations and realized that the signal had originated over two hours ago.
"This is Commander Spock of the USS Enterprise, issuing a medical emergency distress call. Captain Suzanne Brandt and I are stationed at the scientific outpost on Beta Chorea 3. Three-point-four hours ago, the environmental barrier was breached, and we were exposed to acaritone. As a Vulcan, I am immune to its effects. However, Captain Brandt is exhibiting the first-stage symptoms of the mental deterioration associated with such exposure. I have searched the station, and there is no Gamma-NH or tranquilizing agent with which to treat her."
Walking stiffly on legs that resisted his commands, Kirk moved to the center seat and sank slowly into it as Spock's voice continued to tear at his heart.
"I request that any military, commercial, or private vessel capable of rendering medical assistance respond to this distress call with all speed. Spock out."
In the thundering silence, Kirk reminded himself that this was what they sent you to command school to learn. Discipline. Calm. Professionalism. And how to fake it when you had to.
"Has any ship responded to that signal, Lieutenant?" he asked quietly.
"Mr. Chekov, ETA to Beta Chorea at maximum warp."
"Sixteen-point-six hours, sir."
"I'll shut down all non-essential systems, sir. But that'll gain you less than two hours."
Kirk nodded and forced himself to unclench his fist. "Uhura, send this response on all frequencies. This is Captain James T. Kirk, USS Enterprise. We are proceeding to Beta Chorea 3 at top speed, in response to a distress call. Our ETA is--"
Instinctively, he turned to the science station.
"Stardate 5992.3," Chekov prompted.
"Stardate 5992.3. Any vessel that is capable of reaching the Beta Chorea system before then is obligated to respond and render assistance. Kirk out."
Uhura turned back to her board and set the hail to send repeatedly on varying frequencies. Hearing a soft exclamation from the science station, she turned and saw that Chekov had gone pale. He looked away from his instruments and caught Uhura's questioning gaze.
He nodded toward his screen and pressed a button, transmitting the information to her board. As the words scrolled across her screen, she felt a sick emptiness in the pit of her stomach.
*Acaritone poisoning is treated with staged doses of Gamma-NH compound. Treatment should begin within approximately eight hours of exposure. Delaying treatment beyond this point will result in progressive, permanent damage to the brain, due to spreading auto-immune reactions. Treatment delays of more than sixteen hours are fatal.*
Shortly before 2300 hours, Dr. McCoy entered the captain's cabin and held out a bottle of amber liquid.
"Brandy, Jim? It's the good stuff."
Kirk looked up from the chessboard and almost smiled.
"I didn't know you stocked anything but," he said as he resumed rearranging the chess pieces.
"True." McCoy pulled up a chair. "But this is the *real* good stuff."
"No, thanks, Bones. I want to keep a clear head."
"Jim, we're still seven hours from Beta Chorea."
"Believe me, Doctor, I'm well aware of that."
He picked up the white queen and quickly set it back down, realizing that McCoy would surely notice how tightly he was gripping it.
"What do you know about acaritone poisoning, Jim?" McCoy asked.
"As much as I could get out of the ship's computer."
"Then you know that, after about eight hours, there's very little chance--"
"Yes, I know. Any other wounds you'd care to rub some salt in?"
He scraped the white knight across the board.
"Jim, stop playing with those." McCoy palmed the knight. "I just want you to be prepared for what we'll almost certainly find when we get there. In fact, it might be better if you didn't beam down."
"Jim, for once in your life, accept the inevitable."
"It isn't inevitable!" Hazel eyes flashed with anger.
"You have to face the facts--"
"Facts be damned!" Kirk strode to the other side of the room and spun back toward McCoy. "You want facts? I'll give you a fact. Spock is with her. That is a fact."
"Spock doesn't have the power of life and death! He can't work miracles!"
"He's done it before. He rescued me from the Tholian web. He gave Chris Pike a new life. He saved all of us on Melkot. Tell me those weren't miracles."
McCoy observed Kirk thoughtfully. The urgency in his voice, the hard determination in his eyes, the powerful hand cutting the air--all betrayed the captain's overwhelming need to make this true.
Stubborn, yes. Jim had always been stubborn. And if stubbornness would get him through the next seven hours, what harm would it do? Plenty of time for harsh reality later. He went to his friend and put his hand on his shoulder.
Kirk forced himself to speak calmly. "Spock will find a way. I have to believe that."
After a long moment, McCoy nodded and left, resetting the white knight as he did so.
Kirk sat down at the chess table and studied the configuration until late into the night, wondering what message McCoy had intended when he placed the knight next to the queen.
"Suzanne, do you want something from the dining hall? Maybe some soup?"
"But roommates should look out for each other--"
"Meg, please, just leave me alone."
She leaves, and I look out the window. It's almost dark. I can barely make out the shapes of the trees. Lady Jacqueline says that soon it will too cold to keep the windows open. It should be interesting to see snow. Sleet, too. And hail.
I close the window and sit on the bed, feeling tired from the heavy Terran air. Lady Jacqueline says to give it time, I've only been here three weeks. But the air drags on me. Especially today.
A vice closes around my insides. I lay down on the bed with the hot pack that Lady Infirmary gave me.
`Congratulations, Suzanne! It's your first period.'
Whoopee. I can't believe I have to put up with *this* for the next forty years.
*All right, stop feeling sorry for yourself. Think about something else. The astronomy essay. You're behind in your research.*
"Computer. Access Yuma & Levy, Entry 114."
"Working... Choreatrix, the Dancing Woman, is perhaps the most familiar constellation to the inhabitants of Kyros. It is circumpolar, never setting for the mass of the population living in the southern hemisphere. The crown of the Woman is made up of the asterism known as the Uneasy Dancers. Even in the abnormally rich skies of Kyros, the Dancers are a remarkable sight: three first-magnitude stars within twenty arcminutes of each other. The most famous property of the Dancers--"
"Working... Even in the abnormally rich skies of Kyros, the Dancers are a remarkable sight--"
The abnormally rich skies of Kyros. Stars, nothing but stars, lighting the garden brighter than Earth's moon ever could, even at its fullest.
`More stars than any other place in the galaxy,' Mommy said. `See the Dancers, Suzanne?'
`Yes, they are, but it's a very slow dance.'
I know that Kyros was originally settled by Terran colonists, but it's hard to believe. I can understand Earthers wanting to go to the moon. Its hard face dominates their sky. But interstellar travel? Why? There are so few stars here. It's more like a desert than a sky.
My stomach cramps again, and I curl around Lady Infirmary's hot pack.
Kirk ran his fingertips across the controls on the arm of his chair, the only sign of impatience that he would allow himself.
"Mr. Chekov, what is our ETA?"
"I want to know the second we're within transporter range."
A yeoman pushed a cup of coffee into the captain's hands, and he turned away from her sympathetic smile.
I look out the tall windows of the waiting room outside Lady Mother's office. The ice is hanging from the trees. The sunlight bounces off the snow and blinds me. I turn away, shivering. But not from the cold.
I refuse to be afraid. I refuse.
I remember the winter holidays, the terror and excitement of stowing away aboard a transport ship, and my relief when Dennis and I finally set foot on Kyros. It was high summer there, and when we reached our destination, we opened all the windows and gloried in the thrill of being back in *our house.* Despite its emptiness, it still felt like home. I showed Dennis all around, telling him how it was when we lived there with our mother. I don't remember much, but he doesn't remember any of it. I've tried to make him understand that she *wanted* us, we *belonged* to her, but, as far as he's concerned, we've always lived at schools, we never had a mother, and our father's work keeps him from spending time with us. He's right about that--the famous Dr. Brandt has revolutionized terraforming. But Dennis still wants to believe that he cares about us in some way. I know better. I've read my mother's diaries. He agreed to children on the condition that they would be *her* responsibility.
And now he's here because the ship on which I'd planned to stow away for our return trip to Earth was rescheduled. I had to contact the school, knowing Lady Mother would pay our passage and bill our father. Unlike the heads of other schools I'd attended, she didn't ask for my removal from her institution. But she did ask my father to become personally involved, and now he has traveled twenty-seven light years to do so.
The door opens. Lady Mother steps out and says, "Come in, Suzanne."
In her office, she gestures toward the chair that faces the window. My father rises and walks toward me. He's lost more hair since I last saw him two years ago.
*Don't bite your lip, don't twist your hair. Remember what you accomplished.*
As he approaches, I see his right hand rise. Then it swings toward me, and I feel the back of it strike my face. I hear Lady Mother cry out as I stagger backwards.
I taste blood in my mouth as Lady Mother turns me toward her and puts her arms around me, trying to protect me from the blows that must follow. I pull away from her and turn back to my father, telling myself not to give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry.
But he does nothing. He's calmly straightening his clothing, and I realize he's not interested in making me cry. He's traveled all this way just to slap me, and my response is irrelevant.
Is that it? Is he just going to leave?
No. When he's satisfied with his appearance, he looks at me.
"Suzanne, I'm going to explain something to you. I mean every word I say, and I have no intention of repeating myself, so listen carefully."
I can feel my hatred coloring my eyes. And in his, I see something much worse. I see nothing.
I respond, unable to bear the sound of his harsh voice crushing my name.
I realize I sound too defiant. He draws a careful breath, refusing to allow me even the smallest triumph. I'm not worth his anger.
"If I am ever again pulled away from my work by your actions...if I have to come after you once more...if I receive one more report about running away...I promise you that I will put you and your brother in schools at opposite ends of the galaxy. And I will burn that house on Kyros to the ground."
"You can't! It doesn't belong to you! It belongs to Dennis and me!"
"Then it will be his loss as well as yours. Do you understand me?"
I want to scream, I want to claw his face, I want to kill him. But there's nothing I can do. He's my father.
"You can jerk your chin all you want, Suzanne, but under Kyrosian law, you can't claim your inheritance until you're twenty-one. So if you want to stay near your brother and have an inheritance to claim in seven years, you will do as I say. It's that simple."
He goes to the chair and retrieves his overcoat. He comes back to me and speaks in a tone so low that I know Lady Mother can't hear him.
"And I can see that you're not admitted to Starfleet Academy, either."
Everything. He would take everything from me. He'd sell me to the Orions if he could.
He pulls on his coat and heads for the door. Lady Mother hurries after him.
"Dr. Brandt, surely you're not leaving without seeing your son."
"I don't think there's any need for that, Lady Mother," he says in an almost friendly tone. "The matter is settled. Isn't it, Suzanne?"
"Approaching Beta Chorea, sir."
Kirk's body tensed with both fear and relief, and he hesitated a moment, until he was sure he could respond steadily.
"Thank you, Mr. Sulu," he said as he hit the comm link. "Sickbay."
"Bones, get into an enviro-suit and meet me in the transporter room."
Mitchell and I fidget in the hallway. There's no other way, it's our own fault, we'll flunk Warp Physics if we don't pull this off, but still...it sticks in my craw.
After one last bracing look at each other, we enter the room. Kirk's sitting at the desk, working away like the sanctimonious grind he is. His face hardens when he sees us. He stands up and says, "What do you want?"
Mitchell gives me a "go on" with two raised eyebrows.
*Come on, Brandt, you can do better than that. Sound contrite.*
"We know that you were trying to help. And we're sorry that you got kicked out of class."
He eyes us suspiciously, but finally says, "Apology accepted."
"Good!" Mitchell says enthusiastically. "No hard feelings, right? After all, no one gets through the Academy without earning a couple of demerits."
"I had intended to at least make it through the first two weeks," Kirk says tightly.
"Well, kid--" Mitchell says. Kirk frowns and, for just a moment, he looks old enough to be here. "--the road to hell is paved with good intentions."
"And speaking of good intentions--" I smile in a way that Dennis tells me is `a sure thing.' "--why don't you let us buy you a beer?"
He better say yes. I'm skipping baseball practice to make up with the little prig.
"Why do you think we're offering to buy?"
Mitchell winks at me as Kirk pulls on his jacket.
As we leave his room, Kirk says, "You know, it was pretty stupid of you two to play games in class for the past two weeks."
"I know. But I couldn't understand a word Dr. Toorenberg was saying."
Behind Kirk's back, Mitchell bats his eyelashes at me and nods encouragingly.
*Dream on, Mitchell. I refuse to lay it on that thick. I'll look bewildered, but that's as far as I'll go.*
"I don't know what I'm going to do." I shrug helplessly, not something I have a lot of practice at.
Kirk smiles and says, "It's not that difficult."
As we step into the lift, he launches into a beautifully clear explanation of the principles of warp technology. Mitchell was right. This guy is a sucker for lost puppies.
You don't know it, Cadet Kirk, but you've just started on a new and glorious career as our warp physics tutor.
For the sixth time, McCoy pressed the wrist control on his enviro-suit.
"Let's go, Doctor," Kirk said impatiently.
"The damn thing won't seal. I can't get a green--"
Kirk stepped off the transporter platform and picked up the med-kit.
Kirk rifled through the contents and retrieved a hypo-spray.
Resuming his position on the transporter pad, Kirk ordered, "Get another suit and beam down as soon as possible." He quickly confirmed the green indicator on his wrist control. "Energize, Mr. Scott."
The night air is cool and fresh. Glad I ditched my dress uniform for a daily. I stretch my arms toward the sky. Inside my briefcase, the dildo and the tube of lubricant rattle. Ha! What a homecoming celebration! At least I didn't leave the toys in the simulator. I stifle a laugh, thinking about the visit we'd be receiving from the Academy redshirts if I had. Well, we hoodwinked them often enough as cadets. Two highly-decorated captains shouldn't have a problem--
Halfway down the steps, Jim takes my hand. I look up at him. His eyes aren't smiling at me the way they were five minutes ago. Not angry, but not playful, either.
I clear my throat and look at him wide-eyed. "Why what?"
He laughs. "I don't know if you're playing dumb or innocent, but either way, you'll never pull it off. Why--all of it?"
I try to look nonchalant. "I thought you'd enjoy it."
"I *know* that. I want to know *why* you thought I'd enjoy it. You made some very interesting assumptions, Brat."
"All right." He sighs patiently as he sits down on the steps, pulling me down to the spot next to him. "Let's go through them one at a time. You *assumed* I would enjoy being dominated."
"We're not discussing that. We're discussing how you arrived at that conclusion."
"God, Jim, it was practically a no-brainer. You're captain of a starship--you're responsible for the lives of over four hundred people. I thought that having someone else take charge would be erotic. I know the first time someone did that to me, I *loved* it."
His eyes narrow as he looks at me. Honestly. You'd think he was the only one who got around.
"And you've always enjoyed it when I turned the tables on you. I just never turned them so sharply before."
He rubs the back of his neck, considering my answer. "All right. You were...on the mark with that one."
"Next. You *assumed* I'd had sex with a man."
I feel myself blushing. "You really shocked me there, JT. It just seemed...natural. I mean, you're the most libidinous creature this side of Orion's belt, and I couldn't imagine that you'd ignore half the available population."
"And you *do* have very intense relationships with men. I thought that you and Gary were lovers until he told me differently."
He very slowly folds his hands and rests his chin on them as he says, "What kind of conversation were you and Gary having when that came up?"
"We were at Kelso's engagement party. I don't know where you were."
"I was in Iowa. Sam and Aurelan were about to leave for Deneva."
"Oh, right. Well, we were pretty drunk, and I asked Gary when the two of you were going to register your china pattern."
"That's exactly what he said. And then he delivered a long, incoherent lecture on the nature of male bonding."
"Hm. Yes, that sounds like Gary. So--finally--for the grand prize--a *Vulcan* dildo?"
Well, now I'm up against it. It's been a long time since I've played poker with Jim, but I do remember this. It's almost impossible to bluff him. I draw a deep breath and tell him the truth.
"Spock! Spock, can you hear me?"
With a moan, the Vulcan fell back into Kirk's arms. Kirk led him to a chair and eased him into it.
Spock looked up at him, puzzled.
"I thought the rumors were true," he said in a distant voice.
Spock blinked several times and focused on the face before him. It took him a moment to realize that they were not on the steps of the Academy.
Spock squinted against light that seemed excessive after the comforting darkness of the autumn night.
"I find myself somewhat weak, but essentially unharmed."
"Rest here. McCoy's on his way."
Kirk turned and slowly approached the bio-bed. The sound of his own breathing surrounded him, filling the enviro-suit and almost suffocating him. It took him a moment to focus, and when he did, he wondered who was lying there. Not Suzanne. She had never been so still, her body had never been that empty. It couldn't be her.
Steeling himself against what he would see, he looked at her face and found it uninhabited. There was nothing of the vibrant woman he loved in the frighteningly quiet form that wore her face like a mask. He looked around, half expecting her to saunter in and say, "What are you doing here, JT?"
He turned back to the woman on the bio-bed, and suddenly she did look like Suzanne. Any second now, her eyes would flutter open, she would indulge in a cat-like stretch, she would take his hand and smile.
He knew it was an illusion, an act of mercy from the part of him that needed to retreat from the pain. But he would have the rest of his life to feel the loss, so he allowed himself this last moment of self-delusion.
"Wake up," he whispered, brushing away a lock of hair that had fallen over her forehead.
And when she didn't respond, he slowly drew his hand away, knowing she wasn't there, and his words wouldn't carry to wherever she was. He closed his eyes against the chilling sight before it could mar the memories he had replayed through the long night.
Spock pulled himself to his feet and joined Kirk at the bio-bed.
"I know, Spock." Swallowing his grief, he turned away from the unbearably still figure. "There was nothing you could do."
As Kirk raised his communicator, Spock's hand closed around his.
"I used a mind-meld to control the--"
"I thought the rumors were true."
Both men turned sharply. On the bio-bed, Brandt was stirring, struggling weakly against the restraints. Her eyes were open. Blank and unseeing, but open.
"I thought the rumors were true," she repeated.
Kirk struggled to open the pouch of his enviro-suit.
"I thought the rumors were true. I thought the rumors were true. I thought--"
As he pressed the hypospray to her arm, her voice rose to an hysterical scream.
After the turbulent return to the ship, Sickbay's outer room seemed strangely quiet. With Suzanne's screams still echoing in his ears, Kirk put aside his anxiety long enough to contact the bridge.
"This is the captain. Ship's status, Mr. Sulu."
"Maintaining standard orbit, sir."
"Have Mr. Chekov assemble a team and beam down to the station in enviro-suits. I want to know why there was no alarm when that seal was breached."
Kirk sank into a chair, glad to feel the sharp throbbing in his leg. Physical pain was far preferable to the chilling memory of the beamdown, still fresh in his mind.
Sinking, sinking, back into the slow-motion horror when he'd turned from Spock and seen...
He forced himself to stop. He would not remember that. Easier to remember beaming aboard the Enterprise with Suzanne fighting him, spewing obscenities, and clawing at his face mask. Alive.
How had she managed get the drop on him like that?
He heard a high-pitched cry from the next room and McCoy ordering Chapel to administer another sedative. He started toward the sound and stopped, realizing he would only be in the way. He should go to the bridge. But he couldn't leave. Not until he heard something from Bones other than, "I'll do my best, Jim."
As he paced in agitation, he found a small measure of comfort in the sound of his steps puncturing the cold silence.
Kirk's back was turned to the ward entrance when he heard McCoy approach. The calmness of his own voice surprised him as it asked, "Well, Bones?"
He turned and saw that McCoy was smiling. He wouldn't smile unless...
"You were right, Jim. That stubborn Vulcan pulled off a miracle. I don't want to be overly optimistic, but it looks like she'll pull through."
Kirk closed his eyes and sagged with relief, as suddenly, miraculously, the hideous emptiness receded.
"It's the darndest thing, though," McCoy continued.
Still hearing `she'll pull through,' it took Kirk a moment to understand that McCoy was speaking.
"She's responding well to the Gamma-NH, but I'm a little puzzled about the tranquilizer."
"All my scans indicate that it's worn off. She should be screaming about pink mugatos right about now. But she's sleeping peacefully. Hell, the last time I looked, she was almost smiling."
"Well, as far as I can tell, she's in a healing trance."
"A healing trance? How do you account for that?"
"Possibly some sort of after-effect of the mind meld. They were linked for twenty hours. But whatever it is, it's working."
"How's Spock? He seemed disoriented when I beamed down."
"Stress. Mild exhaustion. He denied it, of course, but once I made it clear that he's staying here for at least twenty-four hours, he dropped into one of those trances, too."
"Well, it won't do them any harm, and I think--" He looked at Kirk pointedly. "--it might do you some good."
Kirk entered the ward and saw Suzanne in the nearest bio-bed. To his relief, her stillness was quite different from what he'd seen earlier. The monitors hummed and chirped reassuringly. Alive. Just sleeping. Alive.
Spock was in the bed next to her, and, underneath the calm of the healing trance, the strain of the meld showed clearly on his face.
Standing between them, Kirk looked from one to the other. He could hardly imagine two beings more different, yet he loved them both and could not imagine his li