Title: The Fruits of Diplomacy

Author: Gilshandros

contact: gilshandros@hotmail.com

Series: TOS

Part 4/4

For rating and disclaimer see introductory notes

*******************

 

 

"Thank you, Nurse Chapel." Spock was saying to the

comm as Kirk entered the lab.  "That is extremely

pertinent information, and you showed considerable

initiative and foresight in realising its potential.

Spock out."

 

"That was positively effusive."  Kirk said, dropping

into a chair. "Chapel's caught the intruder."

 

"She may well have," Spock said. "Following

Lieutenant Larssen's attempt to apprehend Mr Hoffman,

Nurse Chapel noticed that the bandages on Larssen's

hands had been dislodged in the struggle.  She had

the intelligence to take scrapings from Larssen's

fingernails, and found sufficient skin to identify

the DNA.  The person who escaped security and who

is currently being sought as an intruder is, in fact,

Mr Hoffman."

 

Kirk stared. "But Chapel - and the security team -

said he was a Voucheron. He had the mouth tentacles,

and a phaser blast didn't even slow him down."

 

"Nonetheless, his DNA is exactly the same as the last

time Mr Hoffman was in sickbay for a routine physical."

 

Kirk thought for a moment, rubbing his face wearily. 

"I can't work it out, Spock." he said at last.  "I

can't seem to think. What does it mean?"

 

Spock sat down at the table, and looked at Kirk for a

moment.  "Jim," he said at last.  "You might as well

rest.  I will call you as soon as anything eventuates."

 

"I can't rest." Kirk said. "I can't.  There's too

much to do, and too many lives, and too much damage.

I *can't* rest."

 

He might have been speaking only of his responsibilities

as Captain.  Spock was not deceived.  "I can assist

you to do so, if you desire." he said.  "It is a simple

technique."

 

"To make me forget her?" Kirk said, sitting up sharply. 

 

"I did not mean that." Spock said. "Only to ease

your mind enough for sleep. Unless what you desire is

to forget."

 

Kirk shook his head.  "I don't think that'd be a

good idea.  I think this is something I need to

remember.  You yourself said that - how did you put

it - 'some examination of past actions is necessary

to avoid the needless repetition of mistakes'."  He

laughed without humour, and rubbed his hand over his

face again.

 

"What mistake have you made?" Spock said, and perhaps

there was gentleness in his voice. "I was raised to be

a Vulcan, and yet even I cannot call it a mistake to

love."

 

"I didn't love her, Spock." Kirk said.  "I didn't mean

for her to love me.  It was - comfort - for both of us,

at least I think, at least at first.  And she wanted

to stay aboard, and for a moment I thought that it was

possible I could have the best of both worlds.  That

perhaps with time we might - not *love*, Spock, but

maybe company."  He leaned back in his chair, eyes fixed

on the tabletop.

 

"I did not know." Spock said.

 

"I was going to speak to her." Kirk said almost inaudibly. 

"She wasn't going to work out on the ship.  I know you

never said it but - I can read section reports as well

as you can write them.  I was going to speak to her -

and it was never quite the right time - and she - god, Spock."

 

There was nothing Spock could think to say, and so

he only sat in silence with his captain, offering

whatever comfort that mere presence could give.  At

last Kirk looked up at him, back from wherever he had

gone, and tried to smile.

 

"Your captain is a fool, Commander." he said.

 

"Many things, perhaps." Spock said. "But not, I

think, that."

 

The door chime went.

 

"Yes." Kirk said before Spock could speak.

 

Yeoman Janice Rand came in, in her hands a strange

construction of two tricorders linked together with

wire. "Sir," she said, "I found this tricorder in

Professor Ridley's desk.  There's some information

on it I think you should see."

 

 Kirks first thought was to say Not now, Yeoman, but

Janice Rand was far too competent to have disturbed him

over nothing, or over something irrelevant. 

 

"Show us." he said instead, and Janice laid the two

tricorders on the table.

 

"There was a lock out on this older model." she

explained, gesturing towards the wire loops that

joined the two machines together. "I didn't know

how to override it, but I set up an direct feed

through the base programming.  There are these

notes, sir, that the professor made about the

Voucheron."  She touched a few keys to bring up

the relevant screens, and then stepped back, hands

behind her back.  "There might be more, sir.  I

thought you and Mr Spock should see."

 

"Thank you, Ms Rand."  Kirk said, giving her a quick

smile before turning to the tricorder.  "Your shift

is over, isn't it."

 

"Yes, sir, it is. But I can easily look through

Professor Ridley's other things for anything else

useful if I could have someone from security."

 

"You didn't have anyone from Security in the lab?"

 

"Mr Sulu and Mr Chekov came with me, but their

shifts are over as well, sir." she said.

 

"Thank Mr Sulu and Mr Chekov for me." Kirk said.

"Tell Ms Tomlinson you're to have your escort. 

Well done, Yeoman."

 

"Yes sir, thank you." she said, and left.

 

Spock was already paging through the data.  "It

is a pity that Professor Ridley did not use one of

the later model tricorders for her private work."

 he said austerely. "The quality of the data

available from this model is markedly inferior."

 

"Did she draw any conclusions that differed from Bones'

report?" Kirk asked.

 

"Not initially." Spock said. "After she completed her

tricorder scan of the Vocheron ambassador, however -"

 

"After she *what*?" said Kirk, half out of his chair.

 

"Apparently, four or five days ago, Professor Ridley

waited in the corridor near the Vocheron's quarters

and took a clandestine tricorder reading of the

ambassador.  Or so I deduce from her notation that

location of reading was Alpha Two, 31, the Vocheron

quarters being in corridor two, Alpha sector, section

31.  And her indication that the nature of the

reading was 'blind' does not, I believe, refer to an

absence of visual contact but is a reference to the

xenobiologist practice of making hidden observations

from a 'blind', a term drawn from ancient Terran

hunting practice-"

 

Spock stopped.  Kirk was no longer listening.  The

captain was, instead, striding about the room with

a sudden excess of energy, swearing with vehemence.

 

"I never thought she'd actually, do it, Spock,

I told her that it was out of the question when

she first raised it with me and I thought, I really

thought, that she'd listened!  I can't imagine the

sort of reaction this would get at Starfleet if the

Voucheron found out and complained!"

 

"Captain, what is, is, and what is done, is done. 

Professor Ridley's methods may have been unorthodox

and not to be commended, but the data she gathered

is now available to us.  I would like to take these

tricorders to the lab immediately and see how this

information may assist us."

 

"Spock, how can a scan of the Vocheron help us? You

said not fifteen minutes ago that the fugitive was

Hoffman, that DNA proved it."

 

"Indeed, sir, that is the case.  However, Nurse Chapel,

Lieutenant Larssen and the two crew from Security

described Hoffman as having unusual features about his

mouth. Chapel and the security team both described

tentacles similar to those of the Vocheron, and when

shown pictures of the Vocheron confirmed that the

configuration was nearly identical.  Nurse Chapel

and Dr McCoy have both attested to the absence of such

'tentacles' at Hoffman's last physical. Therefore, I

believe that regardless of the DNA evidence, the

Vocheron are in some way connected with this matter. 

The fact that the Phillips Line traces I tracked

through the crawlways ended in Hoffman's quarters is a

further indication that there is some connection between

Mr Hoffman - or whatever he may now be - and the

Voucheron."

 

As always, Spock made it sound obvious.  "Of course," Kirk

said a little wearily.  "Keep me posted. I'll be back with the

search teams."

 

Spock looked at his screen.  "There is a team currently in the

vicinity of Lab Three." he said.  "I will accompany you there."

 

"I think Bones should be in on this," Kirk said, and reached

for the comm. "Bones, pick up a security escort and meet

Spock in Lab Three. We have something for you to look at."

 

Captain and First Officer went out together.  Behind them

in the briefing room, the crawlway grill rattled briefly, and

then went still.

 

*********

 

 

 

Christine Chapel rubbed her eyes, and then frowned

down at the tricorder in her hands.  It resolutely

refused to show anything unusual.  She sighed, and

looked along the corridor to the man in the red uniform

behind her.

 

"Clear here." she said. "No readings, no visual."

 

"Clear here," came the answer, and Yeoman Jeffers

jogged up to stand beside her.  To Chapel, he looked about

fifteen and to be filled with energy.  She sighed again,

and then took up position with the tricoder trained on

the corridor behind her while Jeffers started to move

cautiously forward.

 

They had covered most of engineering's C deck this way,

they and fifty other crew. Some were on duty, some were

volunteers.  She had seen Chekov earlier, and Mr Athendez

of Helm, and Harb Tanzer of recreation - and Tanzer, that

gentlest of men, had been shrouded in an air of cold fury

that made it chilling to be near him.

 

Perhaps when they were sure that the intruder was

nowhere in engineering or any other vital systems

the sense of urgency would flag a bit and the search

would be left to those detailed to do it, but Chapel

doubted it.  There was an intruder - a *sabouteur* -

on the ship. On *their* ship. Killing *their* crew.  It

 wasn't anxiety about critical systems that had brought

her down here to ask if she could lend a hand, it was

outrage pure and simple, and she would have bet her

next month's leave that it was the same for them all.

 

"Clear here," came the voice ahead of her.  "No readings,

no visual."

 

"Clear here." Chapel responded, and jogged wearily

forwards. 

 

******

 

 

 

"Cory," said a voice unexpectedly to her left. "You

should get some rest. Do you need anything to help you

sleep?"

 

Lia Burke, Larssen identified the voice.  Burke

played piano sometimes in the rec, had played a

few times with one of the violinists in the

string quartet.  Better practice this voice identification

trick, she told herself, looks like you're going to need it.

 

"I'm fine, Lia." she said. "Just thinking."

 

"Is there anything I can get you?"  Burke asked sympathetically.

 

"A general channel comm, a computer station set to voice

operation, and headphones." Larssen said automatically. 

She had asked Chapel for the same, before Chapel had

gone off duty.  She had asked McCoy, too, earlier. 

They had both refused her, and she had no hope of a

different answer from Burke, but after a second's

hesitation the night nurse put her hand gently on

Larssen's shoulder.

 

"I have the general channel on in the office." she said.

"If you'd like to listen."

 

She led Larssen into the office and guided her to a chair. 

"I have to stay by the door." she said. "In case I'm

needed, and to keep an eye on M'Benga in case the

intruder drops out of the ceiling or something, but I'm

still here."

 

"Okay." said Larssen, tilting her head to catch the

reports on general comm. There wasn't all that much

that could be said on open channels, in case the intruder

could listen in, so it was mainly coded references to

ship sections, people checking in by team or by name at

mandated intervals, the occasional request for a face

to face meeting which indicated there was information

to be exchanged.

 

"Can you tell what's happening?" Burke asked.

 

"They're about halfway though a hand-and-eye of engineering."

Larssen told her.  "I think the captain has set a

guard over life-support and environmental systems

as well, that's the only reason I can think of for

so many teams scattered through C and D decks.  I

can't tell if they've found anything."  She listened

for a few minutes longer, and then said "Lia, can

you check the computer for a schematic of engineering? 

I can't remember where the crawlway accesses are."

 

Silence.

 

"Lia?" Larssen got quickly to her feet, hair rising on

the back of her neck.  beside her, the comm chattered

away about Team Gamma 4 in section 30 and Team Beta

9 in section 12.  "Lia?"  An hand outstretched to the

door passed through empty space, then hit the doorframe. 

Larssen took a hesitant step forward and swept the

air again, confirming its emptiness.  Suddenly her

mouth was very dry, and she moved to put her back

to the wall.  It would be easy for anyone - anything -

wishing her harm to keep beyond the reach of her

hands, to stand there in the darkness that enveloped her

and laugh silently as she groped her way about. 

 

Larssen remembered a boy in her wardhouse who had cried

every night, afraid of the dark.  With the superiority

of several years seniority, she had told him not to be

scared.  There's nothing there in the dark that isn't

there in the light, she had told him.

 

She repeated it now.

 

~There's nothing there in the dark that isn't there

in the light.~

 

It was not at all comforting.

 

The feeling that she was marginally safer with her back

to something solid was irrational, and Larssen knew it,

but it was still several shaking seconds before she could

bring herself to step forward quickly, one hand low to

find the edge of the desk.  It was harder still to move

slowly, knowing she would fumble if she hurried, her back

turned to the silent emptiness behind her.  ~Find the

drawer, pull it open, slide your hand through the

contents to the bottom panel,~ she told herself. ~ Find

the drawer, pull it open, find the bottom panel and

the coded lock, your serial number is 938744673, that's

the top right hand corner, the bottom right hand  corner,

the middle top button... ~

 

It was entire seconds, it was forever, before she felt

the panel click up and could reach into the cavity below

and take the cold butt of the phaser in her hand. 

 

There was a sound behind her and she spun, bandaged

finger on the trigger as best she could, dropping

into the approved stance that was about all she'd

managed to learn in marksmanship class.

 

"It's set to kill." she said, and was astonished at

the steady calmness of her voice.  "Don't move."

 

And Lia Burke, returning from helping Dr M'Benga to

give one of their patients his medication to find

Cory Larssen apparently raiding Dr McCoy's desk, was

for the first time in her life rendered completely

speechless for at least two seconds.

 

"Cory," she managed. "It's me. It's Lia.  I just went -

to help Dr M'Benga. It's me."

 

Larssen lowered the phaser, holding it carefully out

to the side.  "I didn't know where you'd gone." she

said.  "I thought -" She laughed softly.  "I thought

you were the bogeyman.  You'd better come and take this

off me before I shoot a cabinet. I couldn't find the safety

if I tried."

 

Burke, stepping forward to take the weapon gingerly

from Larssen's hand, thought that the other woman

might have been crying if the burns had left her

even that much of grief.

 

"I'm sorry, Cory," she said, setting the safety with

hands that trembled a little. "I didn't think. It

was my fault, I didn't think." 

 

"Well, you know what they say," Larssen said, but

whatever it was that they said, it was lost beneath

the sudden clamour of the comm.

 

"Medical Team to Lab Three! Medical Team to Lab Three!

Two crew injured, Medical to Lab Three!"  Mahese's

distinctive voice boomed, and Burke swore, and swore,

and swore again.

 

"The doctor went down there." she said, and reached

for the comm, letting the phaser fall to the desk. 

"Burke confirming." she snapped. "Security escort to

sickbay, for the patients , please."

 

A pause, and then Mahese again. "Team Delta 5 on their

way.  Coming up from D deck."

 

Larssen could hear someone moving nearby that wasn't

Lia, but the nurse didn't seem concerned so she guessed

it had to be M'Benga. 

 

"Too long," he said, confirming her guess.  "They'll be

five minutes yet."

 

"Is there anybody out there who can keep watch?" Larssen

asked,

 

"Ensign Hathway, but she has both arms under regeneration,

she fell during the manoeuvres."

 

"Give me the phaser," Larssen said, "and lead me to her."

 

Burke didn't hesitate, but snatched the phaser from

the desk with one hand and seized Larssen's arm in

the other. She dragged Larssen out into sickbay, put

the phaser in her hand, and then Larssen heard two

sets of footsteps receding into the distance.

 

"Ensign Hathway." she said.

 

"Yes, ma'am."

 

"If I hold the phaser here, can you see it?"

 

"Yes, ma'am."

 

"Is the safety on or off?"

 

"It's on, ma'am." 

 

Holding the weapon carefully, Larssen fumbled for a moment.

"How about now?"

 

"Off, ma'am. It's set to kill."

 

"Well, stun didn't do much last time, if I remember. 

Am I aiming at the door?"

 

"A little to your left, ma'am."

 

Larssen changed position slightly. "Here?"

 

"Yes, ma'am."

 

"All right." Larssen said.  "Between us, we make one

active crew member. If something resembling Mr Hoffman

comes through that door, or something resembling a

Voucheron, tell me."

 

"Yes, ma'am." said Ensign Hathway, bravely.

 

"Ms Hathway?"

 

"Yes ma'am?"

 

"Under the circumstances, perhaps you could bring

yourself to call me Cory."

 

Hathway laughed, a little shakily.  "Susan, Cory."

she said.  "Perhaps we can shake hands later on."

 

Larssen smiled, and then remembered that perhaps her

smile was not as reassuring as it could be these days,

and made herself chuckle. "It's a date." she said.

 

"Do you think it'll come in here, ma - Cory?"

 

"God help it if it does." Larssen said, with all the

confidence she could fake.  ~Or god help us,~ she thought.

 

************

 

 

Christine Chapel was the first to  Lab Three, hearing

the call for medical assistance over the comm as she

and her search partner made their way through F deck. 

A quick call to Tomlinson and she and Jeffers had been 

running for the turbolift.

 

Spock and McCoy were both stretched on the floor,

unconscious.  Spock had fallen near the comm, and

Chapel guessed he had retained consciousness long

enough to put out the call for help.  She shuddered

at the thought of what could be strong enough, quick

enough, to disable a full grown Vulcan, and nearly

flinched at the long rows of wounds on both men's

faces and hands: neat, parallel blisters, as if they

had been flogged with a whip studded with fire, or

attacked by an -

 

~An octopus,~ she thought, and remembered the squirming

tentacles that had whipped out of Hoffman's mouth and

lashed at her.

 

"Get me the emergency medkit!" she snapped at Jeffers,

who was already turning to do just that.  Chapel found

McCoy's pulse, strong and steady, noted the even

rise and fall of his chest and was turning to Spock

as Jeffers ripped open the medkit and put it beside

her.  She snatched the medical tricorder and began scanning.

 

Burke and M'Benga came through the door of Lab Three

at a dead run, and as Burke skidded to a stop and tore

open the medkit M'Benga kept going, to drop to his

knees beside Spock and McCoy on the floor. 

 

"Len will be fine," she said tersely as M'Benga

reached to find Dr McCoy's pulse. "Possibility of

concussion, but fracture is unlikely and his vitals

are strong.  Help me here, Doctor."

 

"What have you got?"

 

"Shocky pulse and respiration, bleeding from scalp

wound, slow response time on the pupils," Chapel said

tersely.

 

"10ccs idorenalise." M'Benga said to Burke, and

as she nodded and began to load to the hypospray

Captain Kirk came charging through the door.

 

"Hold it there, sir," M'Benga snapped. "This is a

medical staging area."

 

~He isn't *stupid*,~ Chapel thought, and if she

had been less concerned for Spock she would have

grinned when Kirk halted at precisely the three

foot line that doctors insisted on and said,

"That is quite obvious, Doctor.  What's the condition

of my crew?"

 

'Dr McCoy has a possible concussion, nothing serious,

Commander Spock shows signs of a more serious injury."

M'Benga said.

 

Turning back to the corridor, Kirk called, "Bring your

people in, keep them clear of the medical staff."

 

As half a dozen security crew hurried through the

doors and began to spread out, scanning the walls,

floor and ceiling with tricorders, examining surfaces

with the naked eye and with various devices, and

otherwise going about their business, M'Benga stared

at the captain.

 

"Sir!" he said. "This is -"

 

"A crime scene."  Kirk said quietly.  "Do your job,

Doctor, and let Ms Tomlinson's people do theirs."

 

It didn't take them long.  By the time M'Benga,

Chapel and Burke had prepared to move their patients

to sickbay, Ingrit Tomlinson had a established that

McCoy and Spock had been attacked by one person; that

McCoy had fallen immediately, but Spock had made it

to the comm and managed to open a channel before a

second blow felled him; that the room contained

recent traces of Hoffman's DNA and Phillips' Line

traces; and that Ann Ridley's tricorder was in dozens

of pieces across the floor.

 

"We can try to recover the data, sir."  Tomlinson

said.  "It's not likely, but I'll put someone on it. 

I've got a cordon around the area now.  People at every

lift entrance, access hatch, stairway and crawlway. 

I threw it up as soon as I heard the call, given the

probability it was something to do with the intruder. 

He has to be within 50 meters of the lab."

 

"Well done," Kirk said.  "Mr Scott has confirmed no

damage to any engineering systems.  We may be able

to get hold of him before he does any more harm. 

What's the best place to corner him - briefing room 8?"

 

"The crawlways funnel in that direction, sir. But I

thought that it would be easier to back him into a

corner in the access tubes themselves."

 

"No," said Kirk. "I don't want any of the crew

confronting him in such restricted space.  Briefing

Room 8."  She turned to go, and he added, "Ms Tomlinson?

Phasers on kill."

 

It was Shimona who got the first glimpse of what they

sought.  Edging her way along a crawlway, phaser in

one hand and light in the other she heard a hissing

noise and then something snapped through the air and

knocked her light flying.  She fired into the darkness

and a long sucker-covered tentacle struck forward and

wrapped around her wrist. 

 

~It will pull me in a minute,~ she thought distantly,

knowing that the force of the tentacle was not one

she could withstand. If this - *thing* - was strong

enough to defeat Mr Spock, it would tear her limb from

limb.  Her heart was beating so fast her pulse was a

purr in her ears but her mind was in that slow otherplace

that danger took her.  She brought the phaser up and

aimed, not at the tentacle, but along it into the dark

beyond.  There was an angle she had to get, to get it

right...

 

She closed her eyes and fired, and the tentacle whipped

away and vanished into the dark.  Opening her eyes,

her night vision unimpaired by the phaser's glare,

Shimona saw a dim shape moving against the back-glow

of superheated wall, and she shut her eyes and shot

at it again. 

 

Unbelievably, it was not dead.  It kept moving away,

quite quickly, back towards the branch of the corridor. 

Shimona followed it, drove it, blasting again and again. 

Once it lunged towards her but it was so slow compared

to the speed of her reactions and she shot it when it

was still 2 meters away. 

 

Suddenly it turned and bolted away into the dark. 

Shimona pulled out her communicator.

 

"Contact." she said, rubbing the stinging blisters

where it had touched her.   "It went down the 41

Alpha crawlway.  I hurt it, but it's still moving."

 

"Did you hit it full?" Tomlinson asked, and Shimona

could understand her concern. If a phaser on kill

didn't stop this creature, what would?

 

"As far as I can judge. I got it a few times."

 

"All right.  Move down 41 Alpha but check your targets,

you should come up on Yeomen Escobar and Farris down there."

 

"Yes ma'am." Shimona said.  She didn't ask if Tomlinson

would remember to tell Escobar and Farris to look out

for a friendly coming up on them: a security officer

who had those kinds of memory lapses wouldn't have made

it to section command - she'd have stayed lost in the

ranks until someone she'd endangered decided prevention

was the best medicine.

 

Nonetheless, fingers got twitchy in the dark.  Shimona

crouched and felt for her light.  It was broken, and

she put it back on the ground. Then, with a firm grip

on her phaser and a stooped posture designed to evade

any impulsive shots from her own side, she went forward

into blackness.

 

 

***********

 

 

Tomlinson's flat refusal to let Kirk into the

crawlways with the search teams had verged on

insubordination, and as they waited in Briefing

Room 8 for the search teams to drive Hoffman

towards them she made sure that there was a wall of

security officers between the captain and the access

hatches.   She might have been doing her job, but

it irritated Kirk - but when Hoffman - what had

*been* Hoffman - came out of the access hatch

set low in the wall, Kirk was glad of it.  He - *it* -

moved almost too quickly to be seen, a horrifying

blur  of Starfleet uniform and wrongness about the

face, the vicious crack and slap of feelers, or

tentacles or whatever as the thing whirled and lunged.

 

Kirk was marginally faster than the security team,

but only by nanoseconds.  Their fire lanced out,

phasers set to kill, and Hoffman fell back towards

the hatch.  From behind him another blast came,

as the crew members in the crawl-way used their own

fire to keep Hoffman out in the open. He turned again,

started to lunge forward and Kirk's phaser took him

square in the face.

 

Hoffman did no more than shake his head and stop,

making an eerie moaning noise.  This close, Kirk

could see that there was still some resemblance

to the young officer he remembered.  Mostly about

the eyes, though.  Not even his mother could have

recognised him from the lower half of his face or

his hunched, shuffling, and terrifyingly quick gait.

 

"Nets ready." Tomlinson said behind him.

 

"Ready aye."  replied a light female voice, and from

the corner of his eye Kirk  could see Yeoman Shimona

stepping forward with the kit for a heavy duty trapping

net slung over one shoulder.  He had an instant of

wanting to protest, for no one as slight and delicate

as Shimona should be pitted against the thing that

even now tried to break through the phaser fire again,

that had taken down Spock and evaded capture for all

this time -

 

He fired at Hoffman again, recognising his own

protectiveness for the same atavistic instinct

that the smallest crew members always evoked. 

Shimona, with across the board highest scores for

reflexes, co-ordination and aim, was the best

person for this particular job, even with the

injuries to her left hand and wrist.

 

She slipped into the front line of security crew, and

Hoffman seemed to recognise what she carried and what

it meant, for he gave that low ululation again and

charged right at her.  Kirk fired, fired again, but

neither that nor the fire from the crew around him

seemed to have as much effect this time.  Hoffman

only staggered slightly, then uncurled himself and

leapt at Shimona, right at Shimona, those *things*

at his face and arms snapping out at her -

 

Kirk didn't see her move.  One moment she was

standing with the net launcher loosely in her hands,

eyes narrowed as if to judge the distance and her

best angle of fire, and the next the net was hissing

through the air to fall neatly over Hoffman and

tighten around him.  He fell right at her feet, and

one or two of the officers took an involuntary step

backwards, clearing their aim as Hoffman writhed and

struggled in the fine, strong mesh.  Shimona had

already lowered the launcher and straightened by

the time he hit the ground, and Kirk realised that

she had taken Hoffman's movement, his speed and

direction, very precisely into account in her aim. 

Kirk had seen Shimona in action in the ship-wide

shooting contests, of course, and he had known she

was very fast, but this was something else. This was

some *other* kind of fast which couldn't even be

compared to his own reflexes.

 

"Nice shooting, Ms Shimona." he said.  She gave

him the same smile another woman would have given

in response to a compliment on her appearance. 

 

"Thank you, sir." she said, never taking her eyes off

Hoffman.

 

"Ms Tomlinson, get the prisoner down to the brig. 

I'm going to sickbay, and then I'll be down to

interrogate him - and out other 'guests.'  We'll

stand at Intruder Alert until we're sure we have

the answers."

 

"Yes, sir." Tomlinson said.  "Sutton, Jackson, get

the handlers on him.  Mitch, N'to, Givers, Shimona,

you're posted to clear corridors on the way, teams of

two.  The rest of you, pattern Gamma Five and look sharp!"

 

"Yes'm." came a willing chorus, and as they moved - and

moved *fast* Kirk thought with a stab of pride that

almost hurt - Kirk could see just how weary they all

were.  The rest of the crew had to be in scarcely

better shape, yet he had no doubt that they were all

carrying out their duties with as much dispatch and

volunteering for any extra task that needed doing.

 

He looked up, and caught Tomlinson's eye.

 

"Well done," he said, although it was not enough.

 

"Thank you, sir." she said, and he guessed it was not

enough for her either, for she sketched a salute that

protocol did not call for before turning away to her

people and the tasks she'd given them.

 

He stopped only briefly in sickbay. McCoy and Spock

were both still unconscious.  Nurse Burke working

efficiently at the machines surrounding McCoy, and

Chapel and M'Benga were busy with Spock.  M'Benga

gave only a sharp - "I don't *know*, sir!" to Kirk's

query.  A security team of two were standing by the

door, looking a little pale and shooting nervous glances

at Lieutenant Larssen.  Lia Burke stepped away from

the biobed and took Kirk's arm, drawing him firmly

towards the door.

 

"Captain," she said, "there's really nothing we

can tell you right now.  Those blisters seem to

have some kind of localised toxin or reaction,

as well as the physical trauma, and we're trying

to identify it.   The knock Dr McCoy took isn't as

bad as Spock's, but human skulls are thinner, too. 

We'll keep you informed."

 

"When they regain consciousness," Kirk said, using

that 'when' like an order to fate, "tell them

we've captured Hoffman, and I'm questioning him. 

I'll send back word of any information we get

that might help here."

 

"We'd appreciate it, sir." M'Benga said, and then

"Watch that biochem reading!" as alarms went off

on the biobed where Spock lay.  M'Benga bent to

work again with a look of concentration that told

Kirk he was already out of the room as far as the

doctor was concerned. 

 

Larssen heard Kirk leave.  She had discovered she

could tell a great deal about what was going on

around her, far more than she would have imagined

possible.  She had realised, for example, that it

was *two* sets of footsteps coming in the sickbay

door and not one, when the security team arrived,

and that realisation had given her just enough time

to jerk her arm up as she squeezed the phaser's

trigger in response to Hathway's warning scream. 

She had vaporised the door lintel rather than the

security crew, which was certainly a preferable outcome.

 

Now she could tell that the only people moving about

sickbay were the two nurses and Dr M'Benga.  Snatches

of their conversation came to her - "...deep tissue ...

but not ... stabilise the gamma lines ... what's the

readout? ... give me the ...captain better get

*something* out of Hoffman ..."

 

Not good.  That she could tell from their tone.

 

Then Christine Chapel, louder: "Doctor!  I'm getting

a rise in cortical activity."

 

A familiar voice, then, low.  "Jim - the Vocheron -

the readings - Phillips -"

 

"Commander Spock, can you hear me? This is Dr M'Benga. 

Can you hear me?"

 

"The Vocheron - Hoffman is -"

 

"They've caught Hoffman, sir." M'Benga said.  "The

captain is questioning him now -"

 

"No!"  The command in Spock's voice froze everyone in

the room.  "He must not!  The Phillips Line readings -

it takes a domain at the 437 point to disperse the

energy nexus - feedback - they *had* to use a

phaser on Kythis, or the doctor would have known-"

 

"Sir, you must be calm, you have been injured-" M'Benga

was saying.

 

"The captain must not go near Hoffman."  Spock

grated.  "No one must. No one!"

 

"Lie *down*, Commander!"

 

"I'll call." Chapel said, and Larssen heard her

quick footsteps going toward the office.  She had

obviously realised that there was little other way

to satisfy Spock, and for that Larssen rated her

somewhat more highly than M'Benga, who was still

trying to persuade Spock to lie down and be quiet

when the captain was clearly in some kind of

danger - in Spock's mind, if not in reality.

 

"It isn't the Vocheron," Spock was saying,

"although they couldn't come aboard without them. 

Of course, they couldn't afford to be scanned by

any of our equipment, and the spike at the gamma

half would disrupt any records in the transporter buffer."

 

"Sir, you took a bad blow to the head, you're still

confused, please, lie down. Now."

 

Larssen guessed that M'Benga would be the one who

took a bad blow to the head if he didn't back off. 

She slipped off the edge of the bed and moved in

the direction of the voices, one hand out to avoid

collisions.

 

Footsteps coming back from the office. 

 

"Larssen, get out of the way," M'Benga snapped.  His

voice was strained.  "Sir, no, you *cannot* get up

right now, please lie back-"

 

"I need to hear-"

 

"You're on the sick list, the Commander is raving, and

you're in the way!  Larssen, you're no use to duty right

now!"

 

His words went right to the heart of her fear and lodged

like ice.  She took a step backwards without thinking,

as if distance could reduce the impact.  He only said

what you knew, Cory, she told herself.  No place for a

blind woman on a ship of the line.  But all that belongs

to the future, and right *now* -

 

Larssen stepped forward again.  "It's important, Doctor."

she said steadily.  "I saw the readings he's talking about."

 

"Larssen, he's had a crack

to the head that should have killed him and there's

some kind of toxin I can't identify in his blood stream.

Please step out of the way."

 

And then Chapel, breathless, "Sir, the captain is already

in the brig with Hoffman and - and Ms Tomlinson said

that - she said she couldn't -"

 

Movement around her, feet hitting the floor and a body

blundering against her, staggering, far warmer than a

human body would have been.

 

"Sir!" 

 

"The captain -" Spock said, and he was breathing hard

with effort, "it will take him - I must - the brig."

 

"Sir?" Larssen said, trying to turn towards him. "Sir,

what do we have to do? Sir?"

 

Spock gasped.  "The Phillips - Line readings give  -

the answer." the voice came.  "The spike points - a

contained domain - feedback the Line variations - energy.

It's energy, we were misled..."

 

Larssen thought she could make sense of it, if she had

time - if she had time to think - but he was still talking.

"Not the Vocheron.  Not *only* the Vocheron.  The

readings - all of them.  *All* of them.  She knew.  Why

they wouldn't be scanned.  She knew."

 

 A hand on her shoulder, bearing down with inhuman

strength that made her gasp in pain. 

 

"All of who? Sir?" she asked.  "Or of what?  The

readings? Sir? Sir?"

 

"Jim-" Spock's voice said, right by her. "No -"  The fingers

on her shoulder tightened beyond bearing and then

slackened suddenly and the hand fell away and she was

reaching, grabbing at Starfleet uniform fabric that

slipped past her clumsy bandaged fingers -

 

"Get - I - there!" Voices around her, people moving,

people working and jostling her aside.  "He's out - on

the - that's it, like - 10 ccs, stabilise - watch the -

better make it 15,  and stand by."

 

Larssen's right arm was numb and she very much

wanted to avoid having to move that shoulder.   She

backed up to the wall to make sure she was well out of

the way, trying to locate voices, footsteps - there were

too many, perhaps the security guards were also involved

in the flurry of movement around the biobed.

 

Larssen had never really understood the concept of

irony.  It was foreign to the Initari worldview, and off-

worlders used it in a variety of often-contradictory ways. 

But now, standing with her back to the wall in sickbay,

 she thought she might just have grasped it.

 

Like all cadets no doubt, she had fantasised about a

future career in Starfleet where she would heroically

save the ship and the captain from certain death because

of some insight that only *she* had. As she had grown

older, she had dismissed those thoughts for the

youthful daydreaming that they were, and found that

her heritage made it easier to do so, easier to be content

with a role as a small cog in the great machine that was

Starfleet.  Now, though, the captain *was* in danger. 

She *was* the only one with the information to do

something about it.

 

And she was useless.  There was absolutely nothing

she could do.

 

She could have laughed.

 

Whatever damage Spock's desperate grip had done to

her shoulder seemed to have spread to her chest, and

settled as a dull ache that made it hard to breathe.

 

Spock was possibly dying, and the captain was probably

going to, and she couldn't even walk across the room

without blundering in to something.  Spock had struggled

to his feet despite whatever terrible injuries he had,

because -

 

Because.

 

Her heart gave a sickening little thump.  Because you

got up and did your duty.  When you couldn't possibly

do more, when there was absolutely nothing you could

do -

 

You tried.  You got up and you tried with everything

that was in you and if you failed, you failed on your

feet.

 

Larssen felt her way along the wall until her raised

hand hit the comm.  She found the largest button, the one

that put you right through to the main board.

 

"This is Lieutenant Larssen." she said. "I have to speak

to Lieutenant Commander Iyen."

 

"The Lieutenant Commander is off watch at the

moment, Ms Larssen." Mahese's mellow voice said.

 

"It's an emergency."

 

"Right away."

 

Iyen's voice was sleepy when he answered after four

long cycles of the page. "Yes?"

 

"Sir, this is Larssen.  A containment domain focussed on

Phillips Line Gamma half and 437 points has to be set up at

the brig right away. It's an emergency."

 

"What's going on?" Iyen sounded far more alert now.

 

"Sir, there's some kind of danger to the captain and

Commander Spock wants that domain up."

 

"What danger? What's going on?  Setting up that kind of

domain near the brig forcefield brings it dangerously close

to feedback overload, Larssen."

 

"Sir, I don't *know*," Larssen said.  "I'm in sickbay

and Commander Spock has lost consciousness.  I think

it's urgent, though.  You have to hurry." 

 

She broke the connection before he could ask any

more questions she couldn't answer and prayed that

he wouldn't waste time trying to confirm the order with

Spock or Kirk or *anybody*.   How much time would that

lose?   What if he wasn't willing to act on a j-g Lieutenant's

say so?  She found the keys for Lab Seven by memory,

thinking, ~ Be there, dammit, Brand,  be there! ~

 

"Lab Seven."

 

"Brand! It's me.  Listen, you have to do exactly what I

tell you and don't argue.  Get my tricorder from the

second top drawer in the workbench, the one I used to take the

readings off that phaser from the murder,  and get the

domain generator from the biosample storage unit and

meet me at the brig with them, right away."

 

"But the samples will -"

 

"Brand, that's an order. Do it.  Now."  Larssen told

him evenly.

 

"Yes'm." he said, and broke the connection.

 

Larssen took a second to orient herself, worked out

where the door was.  From here it was straight down

the hall to the turbolift, and then to deck 9 -

 

"Security," she said to the air, and one of the two

officers who had been sent to sickbay after Spock and

McCoy had been injured responded.  Larssen turned

towards the voice. "I need someone to take me down to

the brig."

 

"Ma'am, is that an order?" he said.

 

"Yes." Larssen said.  "If it has to be."

 

Her hand on his arm, she followed him as fast as she could.

She didn't notice that the pain in her chest was gone.

 

 

***********

 

 

~I'm in trouble,~ Kirk thought, and dodged across the brig.

~I'm in serious trouble and I don't think I'm going to be

able to  get myself out of it, this time. Not alone.~

 

And he was alone.  He was separated from his crew by the

shimmering barricade of the brig's force-field, just as he

had been when Hoffman's body had convulsed within the

restraining net.  Just as he had been when Hoffman began

screaming, and then coughing as blood spattered from his

mouth, and then went silent as -

 

Went silent as his mouth began to glow.  As the light had

cohered into a visible shape dragging itself out of what was

left of the Starfleet officer it had inhabited.

 

Kirk had snatched his communicator.  "Keep the brig

quarantined!" he'd ordered Tomlinson, backing away to the

furthest corner from Hoffman's body and the creature

that was now writhing in the air above it.  "Keep the

force-field *up* no matter what, d'you understand?

No matter what happens. No matter what I tell you from

here on.  Lock my codes out. Command to Spo- to Scotty. 

Intruder Alert Code 10, Red Alert, institute General Order 1

9 subsection 4 paragraph 14 -"

 

And then it had lunged at him, and he had lost hold of

his communicator in a lethal game of tag.  Subsection

4 paragraph 14 - when a ranking officer is suspected

of being under the mental influence or control of a

being or species hostile to the Federation.  Tomlinson

was now empowered to take all necessary steps to see

Scotty as officer-of-record and to make sure that Kirk's

command codes, his access to the computer, his authority

to order the crew, were suspended until he was cleared

and certified as unaffected.

 

He dodged again, got his back to the wall, and tried to

keep his eyes on the thing in the room with him.  His

peripheral vision showed him Hoffman's body, slumped

on the floor and still wrapped in the restraining net. 

Poor Lieutenant Hoffman.  It had been sheer bad luck

that he had been off-duty and sedated when *this* was

looking for a victim.  It was not the sort of risk he must

have imagined taking when he signed on.

 

Kirk wondered if Hoffman had retained any self-awareness,

if he had any idea of what had happened to him, even at the

beginning.  And then wondered if he himself would know

that, soon enough.  And ducked as it came at him, diving

across the room to get to the other corner.

 

It was fast.  But worse than fast, he couldn't hope to

fight it - not because it was *too* fast, or *too* strong, but

because it - wasn't.  Wasn't something he could lay hands

on, shimmering there in the air before him. Was something

*other* than all those things he was used to, things that

you could touch or hit or shoot.

 

There was a likeness to the Vocheron, particularly

around the - well, what he was thinking of as the head. 

The part of it that was always first when it lunged at him,

with airy extensions that were a little like the mouth

tentacles of the Vocheron, or like the growths that had

taken over so much of Hoffman's face.  The rest trailed

behind, lithe and supple and translucent.

 

~The main difference between this thing and the

Vocherons, apart from the total non-corporeality of

*this*,~ Kirk thought as he dived left, rolled and

managed to evade another swoop, ~ the main difference

is how incredibly beautiful this is.~ Graceful,

elegant, it lunged and turned, the lights in the brig

glittering over its back and sides and bringing out the

dozens of opalescent colours there.  It looked like a

being of pure energy *ought* to look, like a more

evolved species *should* look, beauty and elegance the

outward show of its sophisticated and exalted inner

state.

 

Kirk might have believed it.  If he hadn't seen it drag

itself out of Hoffman's mouth and leave the man a bloody

mess on the floor capable of living only a few agonised

minutes. 

 

If it wasn't trying to do the same to him.

 

"What do you *want*?" he panted, leaping upwards

this time when it darted at him and barely managing

to avoid it.

 

It didn't answer.  Kirk didn't know if it could

answer.  It came at him again and he moved to evade

him again and this time his foot caught on something

soft on the floor and he stumbled and saw it

coming right at him, right at him, oh god no not

like this -

 

At the last minute it brushed past his cheek instead,

leaving that side of his face numb, and swirled in

the air to the other side of the room.

 

~Maybe it doesn't want to kill me after all,~ Kirk

thought, and then glanced down to see what his foot

had caught on.  Hoffman.  The sight banished any

inclination to believe this creature meant no ill

to him or his ship.

 

It struck again, and as Kirk dived away he felt the

stab of pain in his ankle that meant a sprain: it gave

out beneath him and he fell, rolled, scrabbled to his

feet and once more saw the thing turn aside at the

last minute to brush against him.  This time it was against

his right arm and he felt that arm go dead and limp.

 

~Does it want to do to me what it did to Hoffman?~

Kirk wondered.  ~Or does it want to kill me? What's

its game, here?~

 

It was the word 'game' that gave him the clue he needed. 

 

Iowa.  Summer.  The barn cat had kittens.  His

favourite, an elegant little miss with calico

markings spending hours batting a mouse around while

it tried to get away, ever more bleeding and battered

and desperate.  His mother putting an end to the

game, saying 'Don't play with your food, kit', one

firm stamp on the hapless mouse.  'If cats looked

like toads, Jimmy,' she'd said, 'we'd hunt them down

and drive them to extinction.  We'll forgive any amount

of cruelty from what seems like beauty.' 

 

~Don't play with your food, kit.~

 

It dived once more and this time it was his left leg it

numbed.  Kirk stumbled, nearly fell, caught himself

with his one working arm against the wall and swung

around at bay.

 

He had been angry at the circumstances, and afraid, at

the thought that it was going to kill him and there was

nothing he could do about it.  But that it was *playing*

with him - the fury he felt at that realisation compared

to his previous anger the way the Enterprise's phasers

compared to a flashlight.

 

And in the incandescent light of his rage, he saw a

possibility.  Not, perhaps, to kill this creature

that had taken one of his crew  and *used* him up

like a coat worn to threadbare rags and thrown away,

but at least to thwart it a while, keep it from doing

the same to him for long enough to let his crew come

up with a more permanent solution.

 

"You *want* me?" he snarled at the shape that

whirled and darted opposite him.  "Is that it? 

Well, come on!"

 

*************

 

 

McCoy woke with a pounding headache and the

overwhelming desire to pull the covers back over his

head and sink back into sleep.  ~Good lord, what *did*

I drink last night to have this kind of a hang-over?~

He racked his memory but couldn't get any further

forward than Jim leaving the lab, Spock with a tricorder

in his hands - must have gone to his quarters after that

and raided his own stash of Saurian brandy, which

was damn stupid at the moment with so many wounded

and so many others mourning, and some damn intruder

loose on the ship -

 

( ~ falling out of the crawl-way hatch in the ceiling too

fast to be seen as more than a blur, and whirl of long

and disgusting feelers or antennae or *something* and

no more time than enough to register panic, horror and

then falling and the edge of the bench coming up too

fast ~)

 

He sat up, and then realised that was not, perhaps, his

best option, as his stomach rebelled and he barely

managed to lean over the edge of the bed before vomiting.

 

"Doctor!"  Nurse Burke was there with a cloth, which

was good, and she wanted him to lie back down again,

which was not so good.

 

"Spock -" he said, "Hoffman.  Spock?"

 

"He's here. Spock's here, I mean.  You took a bad knock

on the head, Dr McCoy, and he took a worse one.  Just

lie back, please, Doctor."

 

"Just get out of my way, *Nurse*," McCoy said, and

put his feet down to the floor.  The floor rippled a few

times and then lay obediently still.  "I need the charts

 for Spock.  Get them for me, will you, Lia?"

 

"Will you lie down if I do?"

 

"No," said McCoy, and stood up.  After a few seconds

when it seemed like that had not been such a good idea

after all, the room settled down.  "But get them for me

any way, there's a good girl.  Ah, M'Benga, there you

are."

 

Dr M'Benga hesitated at Spock's bedside, clearly trying

to work out whether to stay by the Vulcan's side or

cross to McCoy.  As he would doubtless try to get McCoy

to lie down again, it seemed like the best idea was to

take the dilemma away altogether.  Leaning cautiously

on whatever bits of equipment were handy, McCoy

went to stand at M'Benga's side.

 

"Where're those charts, Lia?" McCoy asked.

 

"Len, you shouldn't be up, you were concussed, it took

us nearly fifteen minutes to stop the intracranial bleeding,

you -"

 

"I don't want to know all that, thank you very much."

McCoy said. "I want my patient's charts.  Ah, there you

are, Lia. Thanks."  He flipped on the PADD and began

to read.  Chapel came around the edge of the bed and

stood unobtrusively close to him, ready if he needed

support. 

 

"Commander Spock sustained a serious head injury

when he fell, but the most critical part of his condition

is the presence of an unknown toxin in his blood-stream.

We've run toxicology screen down to the 10th degree and

we can't get anything that looks like a match."

 

"I'm not surprised." McCoy said, paging through the

results.  "It's not a toxin."

 

"Doctor," M'Benga said, "You've had a very difficult

day and you've been injured. You shouldn't even be

on your feet yet, let alone working.  Please, lie back

down, and let Nurse Burke take care of you."

 

"Not just yet, thank you, son," McCoy said, still

reading. "Chris, what's been going on here?"

 

She gave a brief recount of Kirk's visit, Spock's

brief awakening, Larssen's interference - and at

that point they looked around for Larssen and realised

she was gone.

 

M'Benga cursed inventively.  "I want," he said between

his teeth, "just *one* of my patients to stay

where they're supposed to be for just *five* minutes."

 

McCoy chuckled.  "Son," he said kindly, "there's one

thing you'll learn on this ship.  On your first day

of medical school, you were better at being a doctor

than any Enterprise crew member will ever be at

being a patient. We'll find her later.   What exactly

did Spock say?"

 

"He was raving about Hoffman being some kind of

danger to the captain - but Hoffman was in the brig -

and some kind of containment field."

 

"Yes," McCoy said.  "Chris, pull me up 25 cc adrenalise

and a five-to-nine solution of drenamilian.  Oh, and tri-

ox. Regular dose."

 

"Hold it there, Nurse Chapel." M'Benga snapped.  "Len,

you're on the sick-list. This is *my* patient and you are

in no fit state to be making decisions. That could kill him! 

We need to identify the toxin and find an antidote

before-"

 

Mahese's voice cut across the room on all-call

hail.  "Attention, all decks, all stations. Attention,

all decks, all stations.  Lieutenant Commander

Montgomery Scott is now officer-of-record for the USS

Enterprise, in accordance with General Order 19

subsection 4 paragraph 14.  This situation will

continue until further announcement. Repeat, Lieutenant

Commander Montgomery Scott is now officer-of-record for

the USS Enterprise, in accordance with General Order 19

subsection 4 paragraph 14.  This situation will

continue until further announcement. We are at Intruder

Alert, Code Ten, Red Alert.  All crew, general

quarters.  All crew, general quarters. This is *not* a

drill. Repeat, this is *not* a drill."

 

"Son," said McCoy, and his voice was kind but his eyes

were as cold as space.  "It's not 'Len'.  It's 'Dr McCoy'. 

'Chief Medical Officer McCoy', if you want to get all

Starfleet about it.  I know you know Vulcans inside out,

but I know Spock.  You need to sit down quietly now."

 

M'Benga stepped backwards without thinking about it. 

 

Chapel came back with a tray, hyposprays lined up. 

"Len," she said softly, "what's going on?"

 

"It's not a toxin." McCoy said, administering the first

hypospray.  "It's a by-product from exposure to

radiation and there's nothing we can do for it at the

moment."

 

"Radiation?"

 

"Mmph.  Spock worked it out. I don't suppose that old

tricorder was brought in with him?"

 

"It was shattered."

 

"Of course. It would have been.  Hoffman was emitting some

kind of radiation - not Hoffman, exactly, but something

Hoffman carried.  There we go.  Come on, Spock. Wake up."

 

All four looked expectantly at the monitors, which

obstinately refused to change.  McCoy winced.

 

"I didn't want to do this." he muttered.    "Not with

this headache."

 

Leaning forward, he brought his mouth within

an inch of Spock's ear and took a deep breath.

 

"Spock!" he shouted at the top of his voice.  "Wake up!"

 

"I saw a jump, Doctor." Burke said.  "Just then."

 

"Spock! Wake up! You're needed!  SPOCK! JIM NEEDS YOU!"

 

Every alarm on the biobed went off as Spock opened his eyes.

 

"Shut them off!" McCoy snapped at Chapel.  She tore

her eyes away from Spock, and silenced the alarms. 

The Vulcan was struggling to rise and McCoy put an

arm around his shoulders and helped him to a sitting

position, nearly losing his own balance with the effort. 

 

"Doctor." Spock said. "Your behaviour is - unusually

logical. We must go to the brig at once."

 

"No argument here." McCoy said.  He helped Spock

to his feet and then discovered his own strength was

insufficient to hold the Vulcan up. For a moment they

wavered together, and then Chapel seized McCoy on

one side and Burke took hold of Spock.

 

"The two of you," Burke said, "are in no fit state to go

traipsing off *anywhere*."

 

"That's why you're coming with us, Lia.  You wouldn't

want us to fall down and hurt ourselves, would you?" 

He had to admit, it was faintly ridiculous.  Spock was

the peculiar shade of grey-green that Vulcans could

go and he was swaying slightly. McCoy himself,

grateful for Chapel's strong arm around his waist,

was doing just fine except for the moments when the

floor tried to rear up and smack him in the face. 

Couple of invalids and two nurses, off to save the

day, McCoy thought, and wiped sweat out of his eyes.

 

Burke sighed in exasperation.  Chapel kept her face

properly neutral, but when she caught Spock's eye

he could see a glint of humour in her eyes.

 

"I don't recall," she said, as the four of them staggered

towards the door, "this being *anywhere* in my job

description when I signed on."

 

"Sure it was, Chris." McCoy was slightly breathless

with effort, but Spock had previously observed that

even extreme physical discomfort was not enough to

deter the doctor when he had something to say -

however trivial.  "Sure it was.  Under 'other duties

as required.'"

 

"That was *not* on the form." Chapel hit the call

button for the turbolift.

 

"Silly me." McCoy said, voice a ragged thread.  "I must

remember to put it there when I get back to my office." 

 

She snorted in reply.

 

Spock tried not to be irritated by their banter.  He

had long since realised that many humans resorted

to such conversational tactics when under stress, and

he was relieved enough that McCoy was not seeking

to involve him, this time.  Nonetheless, with the sense

of urgency that sat in the pit of his stomach and the

racking pain that inhabited every part of his body,

human social customs were difficult to bear with

equanimity.

 

"How long has it been since the captain went to

interrogate Mr Hoffman?" he asked, and was gratified

that his voice remained calm.

 

"Not long, sir. Ten or fifteen minutes." Nurse Burke

replied. 

 

Not long. Ten or fifteen minutes.  There were many ways

of defining duration as 'long' or 'short'.  If what

he suspected were true, ten or fifteen minutes was a

very long time indeed.

 

They struggled out of the turbolift at deck 9 and

down the hall towards the brig.  The place was full

of security, McCoy noticed, although none of them

seemed to be *doing* very much, just standing

around with desperately tense expressions.  Tomlinson

hurried up the hall to them, straight to Spock.

 

"Sir," she said, "thank god!  This - this - *thing*

came out of Hoffman, and the captain -"

 

"Show me," Spock said, and went forward with

Lia Burke's support.  McCoy paused as Spock went

out of sight around the corner.

 

"Why don't you go on back to sick bay, Chris." he

said.  "This bit *isn't* in your duty statement."

 

"Are you coming back with me?"

 

"I figure that now I'm here I may as well take advantage

of the ring side seat." he said, trying to keep the anxiety

he felt out of his voice.

 

"Me, too," Chapel said shortly.  Her eyes were on the

point in the corridor where Spock had disappeared.

 

"All right," McCoy said.  He thought about adding,

'You don't fool me, Christine,' but then she would

probably tell him that *he* didn't fool *her*, either. 

"Let's go."

 

They went on together, carefully, McCoy letting Chapel

take most of his weight now.  He couldn't remember

the last time he'd felt this bad, and distracted himself

from it by comparing how he felt now to various well-

earned hangovers in his past.  ~Romulan Ale, now that

one was a doozy.~  Saurian brandy, he always swore he'd

never drink it again and always did.  ~Good old mint

juleps, nectar of the gods at the time and vengeance of

the gods the next morning...~

 

They made it around the corner and stopped so that McCoy

could lean against the wall.  He blinked sweat from his eyes

and looked around.

 

They couldn't see into the brig from here.  Spock was up

ahead, standing by himself now (McCoy would have bet

real money that it  was the Vulcan's stiff-necked pride

that held him on his feet, couldn't have Commander

Spock showing weakness in *front* of people, lord, no.) 

Iyen was there as well, bent over some form of machinery.

Other people in Science section blue.  McCoy recognised

young Yeoman Brand even at this distance by his red hair

(must be why the boy never even considered engineering)

and beside him, her posture slightly off for someone looking

at the machinery, Larssen.

 

"Look, Chris," he said, from behind the terror he felt at

seeing that deadly earnest look on Spock's face, "we found

Larssen."

 

"Oh, M'Benga *will* be pleased." she answered.  Her

gaze was fixed on Spock, as the science officer turned

and straightened and looked straight into the brig...

 

He had not thought to imagine what the creature would

look like, freed of its shell of flesh.  He had not

imagined that it would be aesthetically pleasing, and

yet it undoubtedly was.  The lights in the brig, even

the faint glow of the containment field, shimmered and

glinted on the translucent 'body' , the fine feelers at

the 'head' writhed and shifted with a deceptively

slow grace, and the movements were elegant and

efficient.  All this Spock saw, and noted, as Jim Kirk

ducked the creature's charge and flung himself across

the room, staggering, one arm hanging limp, to fetch up

dangerously close to the brig force-field, shouting

something inaudible and glaring defiance.

 

That was very like the captain.  As his staff hurried

feverishly to complete the containment domain array,

Spock observed that Kirk's actions were not as random

and desperate as they seemed, for time and time again he

lured the creature into charging near the force-field,

ducking away at the last minute to let it crash into

the field with a shower of sparks. After each of these

events, the creature writhed in what seemed to be pain,

and moved more sluggishly.

 

"Sir, we're ready." Iyen was a mass of troubled emotions,

but Spock noted with approval that this had not affected

his efficiency.

 

"Instigate the domain." Spock said, and Iyen gave

the orders and turned back.

 

"It will take a few minutes, sir." And then - "What's

the captain *doing*, sir?"

 

"I surmise that he is attempting to lure the creature

into the brig force-field to destroy it."

 

"Will he - will it work, sir?"

 

"No.  The force-field will cause it some inconvenience,

and perhaps 'discomfort', but it is of the wrong

calibration to do any permanent harm." Which Jim had

no doubt realised by now, Spock thought.  How like him

not to give up, even in the face of inevitable defeat.

 

Spock could feel the Phillips Line domain on his skin,

now, as it started up and wrapped the whole area in a

network of energy on precisely the same lines as the

radiation emitted by the creature - emitted, also,

Spock now knew, by Hoffman and the Vocherons. 

Inside the brig, the creature could obviously sense

it also, for it turned on itself and - *looked*,

although how Spock knew that he could not tell -

out of the brig at the science officers.  Then it

spun on its length and dove straight for Kirk at

twice the speed of its previous actions, no longer

playing now but in very deadly earnest.  The captain

evaded it barely, stumbled and fell and somehow got

to his feet barely in time to dodge away again.

 

Spock took two steps forward until he was only a

meter or so from the brig.  The movement seemed to

attract the creature's attention and it paused in

its pursuit of Kirk for a moment, giving the captain

precious seconds to get his balance. Then it

turned again and lunged again -

 

~It is not he who will destroy you~

 

No way to tell if the creature had any psi receptivity,

but its ability to infiltrate the human mind as well as

the human body indicated that was a possibility, and

Spock had the Vulcan mind disciplines to draw on as

he sent that thought with all his strength.

 

~*I* will destroy you.  *I* am your enemy.~

 

And as he had hoped, the creature turned and dove

straight for the force-field. There was a crackling noise

as it struck it, and the field shifted all the way into the

ultraviolet in a radiant cascade of stressed molecules. 

Around him, crew members cried out and fell back,

covering their eyes.  Spock's protective eyelids slid

shut, but he did not need vision to know what was

happening.

 

The creature had left the captain and turned its attention

to him, Spock.  It was throwing itself against the

forcefield in an effort to get at him.

 

And, slowly, it was forcing its way through.

 

"Mr Iyen," Spock said dispassionately, "It may be

necessary to bring the containment domain up somewhat

more quickly than we estimated."

 

"It can get *through* that?" Iyen asked incredulously,

but he was already bending over the domain emitter and

his next words were commands to the officers calibrating

the array.

 

Inside the brig, Kirk gave a wordless cry and flung

himself at the creature, battering at it.  Spock noted

that the captain had clearly realised that the touch of

the energy creature bestowed temporary paralysis, for he

had lifted his lifeless right arm in his left hand and

was using his own limb as a club.  However, it merely

passed harmlessly through and through the creature.

 

It had not even a  distracting effect. The creature continued

to work its way through the force-field. It had its 'head'

through now.

 

"Mr Iyen." Spock said again.  With his peripheral vision,

he could see the Andorian officer working frantically over

one of the field generators.  Off to the side, Yeoman Brand

was similarly occupied, asking questions and receiving

answers from someone just beyond Spock's field of view. 

 

If the creature got through, it would at least be separated

from the captain for long enough for them to bring the

domain on line. However, there was little that he himself

could do if it attacked him - save keep its attention

long enough for the rest of the crew to destroy it before

it caused any further harm to the ship.

 

~Destroy it, and doubtless whatever being hosted it at the

time.~

 

He prepared himself as best he could. 

 

"Once the field is online, all officers are to fall back

to a place of safety.  If I attempt to leave this area

before the field has been on line for 180 seconds, I am

to be restrained and returned to the area." he said.  "That

is an order."

 

"Yessir." came a chorus of responses.

 

McCoy saw Spock's posture shift, his hands rise slightly

in the characteristic defensive position of the Vulcan

arts of combat.  "You - damn - *fool*!" he gasped, and

staggered forward from the wall.  Spock didn't seem to

have heard him. He was watching the creature's progress

through the force-field as if it were a god! damn!

interesting mathematical equation

 

Inside the brig, Kirk drew back. Spock could see his face

clearly, could see the characteristic narrowing of his eyes

and the set of his jaw that was Jim Kirk about to take

action - but before he could do anything, the overloaded

brig forcefield began to short, and a finger of electricity

reached out to drop Kirk where he stood.

 

"Jim!" Spock shouted

 

And the world went mad.

 

The Phillips Line domain came to full power , causing the

creature to writhe in agony and filling the air with surges

of energy that staggered even Spock.  Thrashing against the

brig's force-field, the creature scattered hyper-charged

particles in a rain of fire.  Kirk lay still almost beneath

the creature, his hair and uniform beginning to kindle. 

Spock could not see if he was breathing, but after such a

massive shock it seemed unlikely.

 

"Take the force field down!" Spock shouted over the crackle

of stressed ions and sparks.  A flash from the force-field

as it began, finally, to completely over load ignited

part of the wall.  A second struck one of the field

generators and the containment field wobbled - and went out

of alignment. 

 

The air was on fire. The air was fire.

 

"Sir!"

 

"Take it *down*!"  He could not see from here if the

captain was still breathing.  "Doctor - " McCoy was beside him,

weaving on his feet and staggering against the energy snapping

in the air around them. "The captain will require -"

 

"I don't need you to tell me how to do my job!" McCoy said. 

"What are they doing?  I have to get in there!"

 

Spock ignored the rhetorical question, tried to see through

the blazing light to ascertain the cause of the delay.  Iyen

was sprawled on the ground, still burning.  Another officer,

attenuated to an unrecognisable silloutte worn away at the

edges by the fierce light was stooping over the generator. 

Beyond, Tomlinson was staggering to the brig controls,

slamming her hand on the console.

 

The field came down with one last flare.  Behind Spock,

a woman was shouting - "Get back, get back, I've got it!"

McCoy was moving forward to help the captain, and the

creature, moving through the warped and corrupted containment

field as if it were its natural element - perhaps it was,

Spock reflected - was coming straight for him.  He braced

himself to evade it -and then seemed to hesitate, writhing

upon itself.  Spock felt the containment domain steady.  It

would have to retain integrity for at least thirty seconds

before it would be even slightly effective -  three minutes

before they could be certain of safety.

 

"Get *back*, Brand, get *back*" someone was still saying. 

"I've got this, get *back*, get *back*..."

 

Flickers of light ran up and down the creature's body,

which Spock deduced were an effect of the containment

domain disrupting its own electrical field.  For the

first time it made an audible sound, a howl of rage so

high up the scale that many species would have been unable

to hear it, and flailed in the air.  Spock measured the

distance between it at the generators, gauged which one

the creature would attack, and lunged for it.

 

A faulty estimation. The creature whipped itself

towards the other generator at a speed which was,

quite frankly, absurd outside an entertainment

holovid, before Spock could even gather himself for

another leap.  It was aiming, not for the generator -

perhaps it could not affect non-living matter - but

for the people next to it.

 

"Cory, move! Move! Movemovemove!" Yeoman Brand was

screaming and the creature swooped down on her as

she tried to evade something she could not see - it

missed her face, but struck her in the chest and she

fell limply towards the generator controls.

 

Yeoman Brand leaped forward, reaching right through

the creature's head toward Larssen.  As he did so

Spock could see the paralysis take effect as Brand's

hands went limp but he kept going and knocked Larssen

hard, one wrist bending completely the wrong way with

a grinding noise audible even in the inferno. 

Nonetheless, Brand managed to shove her hard enough

to change the trajectory of her fall and she landed

beside rather than on the generator, and lay twitching.

 

The creature turned again, screamed again, and Spock knew

that this time it would come for him, to take him, he who

had declared himself its enemy.  It swerved through the air

with the containment field tearing at its essence - Brand

flapped numb hands at it in a gesture bizarrely reminiscent

of 'shoo' but was ignored as it dived -

 

"Leave my crew alone, goddamn you! LEAVE MY CREW ALONE!"

 

Behind Kirk, McCoy cursed.  Barely had he got Jim

breathing again before the damn fool was on his

feet trying to get himself killed once more.  Fine

thanks, that was, and next time see if he wouldn't -

 

The creature came at Jim as if recognising at last

who its true enemy was and Jim was just *standing*

there hanging on to the door frame - McCoy shoved

him out of the way with all his strength and Kirk

went down sprawling and lay still. McCoy had just

time to realise that that meant the creature was

coming straight for him and think ~ oh that was very

clever, you old fool ~ and close his eyes.

 

Something hit him in the chest like a groundcar on

full throttle and his head hit the floor hard.

 

*********************

 

 

 

"Which explains the particular type of sabotage we were

victims of," Spock was saying, somewhere very far away. 

"The nacelle conduit was a suitable environment for our -

intruder - and the energy fields at the connection points

were of the nature of things it was able to affect, once it

had left Aide Kythis and was without corporeal form."

 

"But it went straight from Kythis to Hoffman - or just

about.  And how did it carry the phaser with it?" Kirk's

voice.  Tired, but without anxiety, the voice McCoy had

heard at the end of missions a thousand times before. 

 

"I believe the phaser was moved by another of the

Vocheron - another of the Vocheron in physical form,

perhaps I should say - and the later passage of the

creature obscured all traces of their presence

through the high level of radiation emitted by these

creatures in their pure energy form.  In all the

access tunnels where Phillips Line radiation irregularities

were recorded, the entire tunnel showed no signs of

any physical presence - despite logs showing that

maintenance crews had been through some of these

tunnels less than 24 hours previously."

 

"But we were there minutes after he died - and all

the Vocheron were present!"

 

"You were there minutes after the Vocheron reported

his death, and minutes after the body began to cool.

It is my theory that after Kythis' - inhabitant -

left his body, that body was unable to continue living. 

In order to conceal both the anatomical changes that

might have alerted Dr McCoy in some way, and in order

to explain the death of Kythis, the Vocheron

obliterated the most mutated part of the corpse with

a phaser blast.  They then concealed the phaser where

it was found, their physical traces obscured by the

radiation.  Having done so, they raised the alarm. 

Due to the physical similarities to humanity present

in the unmutilated parts of the corpse, Dr McCoy was

led to the natural, but mistaken, conclusion that the

body would have undergone similar changes upon death

as a human body.  Given Kythis' constant exposure to

high doses of energy emissions, and the nature of the

creatures we are dealing with, it seems probable that

in fact that is *not* the case.  The 'murder' also

served the purpose of distracting the Enterprise crew

and ensuring that they were at less than peak efficiency

when the Vocheron attacked."

 

"But the creature went straight from Kythis to Hoffman."

Kirk said.  "How did it get into the nacelle conduit?"

 

You are not going to like this answer," Spock said. 

 

"Let me have it anyway."  Kirk was smiling, it was

almost audible.

 

"I beleive that the death of the body we knew as 'Kythis'

was caused by the reproductive process of the Voucheron's

'parasites'.  After this process, there were two creatures

loose on the ship-"

 

"Then where's the other one?" Kirk snapped.  ~Good point,

Jim,~ McCoy thought. ~*Damn* good point, Jim.~

 

"Inside the Sythene Ambassador, and currently no

threat to our security.  Captain, I would not have

waited so long to tell you if there were any threat

to the ship."

 

"It sabotaged the energy fields and then went and

attacked Ambassador Trygian."

 

"I believe that to be the case."