RoH 19

Words Can Wound, And Wounds Can Heal

Stardate 2260.280, 1600 hours, Deck 4, CMO’s Quarters

Jo lay curled up in her bed, using one of Thorby’s sweaters as a blankie, tribble Zero purring in her lap. Her dad had asked her to take care of the tribble for him. She knew that was just an excuse. He was trying to cheer her up, and that the animal was supposed to comfort her. And she’d been trying hard, to act normal, to be cheerful, not to cry. But right now she didn’t manage. The right sleeve of Thorby’s sweater was wet from her sniffling, and Zero was positively vibrating. But not even that helped.

Thorby was on Arrakis again. Her dad had explained to her that Sybok wanted to find out if Thorby would get along well with T’Maire. If they could be friends in their minds, too. Vulcans were telepaths, so that was important. They needed different friendships than Humans did. If Thorby could be friends with T’Maire, he’d stay with Sybok and his family and move to New Vulcan. Maybe he wouldn’t even come back to say goodbye.

The worst thing was that Thorby wasn’t talking to her anymore. She knew why. He was just too sad. When he hurt too much, he couldn’t talk. Before, they’d always shared their dreams when it got that bad, and in their dreams she’d been able to comfort him. You didn’t need words in dreams. But now he’d shut her off, and that hurt. That hurt so much. She had a headache all the time. And she was cold. Also all the time. And the worst thing was, she liked T’Maire and Sybok and T’Sara. They’d been up on the Enterprise a couple of times, visiting with Uncle Jim and Spock, and with Thorby, too.

Hurt so much. So much. It was like when her dad went away, like when her mother died, as if the hurt would never go away again, and there was nothing she could do to make it go away or get better, and she had no idea how she’d make it through even one day. Forlornly, the tribble trilled away in her lap.

The door hissed open, and Carolyn came in. Jo tried to sit up without dislodging Zero. Tried to smile, too. “Hey,” she said and hated how small her voice sounded.

“Hey, yourself,” Carolyn said and smiled tensely. She was probably not happy with Jo being such a drama queen over Thorby.

“Look, I understand how Thorby needs a Vulcan family,” Jo burst out. “And I’m trying to be happy for him, I really do. It’s just …” She trailed off and bit down on her lip, trying hard not to start crying again.

“Well, about that …” Carolyn hesitated. “May I sit down?”

Jo nodded and scooted backwards a little. Carolyn sat down carefully, her expression serious. As if something bad had happened, and she didn’t know how to tell Jo. Suddenly, Jo was scared. “What’s wrong?” she asked. Her voice was too shrill, but she couldn’t help it. “Is something wrong with dad?”

“Oh god, honey, no. Your dad’s fine. Everything’s fine.” Carolyn took a deep breath. “Everything’s just fine, okay? Everything.”

“Okay,” Jo said, somewhat dubious.

Carolyn noticed and smiled wryly. “Honest, I promise. However, you know why Thorby went to visit with Sybok today?”

Jo nodded. “Dad explained it to me. Sybok is going to make sure Thorby can get along with T’Maire. Thorby needs to have a special Vulcan friend because of his telepathy.”

“Yes,” Carolyn agreed. “That’s exactly what Sybok did today. Only, Sybok discovered that Thorby already has a special friend.”

“Really?” Jo’s heart was pounding. But Thorby didn’t know any other Vulcan kids, or did he? And she was human, so she couldn’t possibly be—

“And that was a bit of a surprise for all of us. Because, Jo …” Carolyn reached for her hand and squeezed it. “Thorby’s special friend, that’s you.”

“Me? Seriously?” Jo’s voice squeaked. “But I’m human! I thought that’s all about Thorby’s telpe— telepathy, and I’m not tepe— I’m not. And Dad said that Thorby has to go live with Sybok because he needs a Vulcan family. Do I have to go and live with them now, too?” Her lips trembled. She didn’t want to lose Thorby, especially not if she could be that special telepathic friend he needed. But she also didn’t want to leave her dad. Not after all she’d had to do in order to get to stay with him in the first place.

“Oh, sweetie, don’t worry. Do you want a hug? Sometimes you just need a hug, and you look as if you could use one right now. And then I’ll explain, okay? Everything’s fine. I promise.”

Jo nodded. She felt so mixed up inside, and her head was hurting so much. Carolyn pulled her into her lap. Her teacher was warm and soft and solid. And she was real calm. Her mother hadn’t been big on cuddling, always fidgeting, already thinking of the next thing on her to-do list, and also not very comfortable to cuddle with because she’d been so thin, kind of bony. Jo pressed the tribble against her stomach. It just kept purring, a rumbling vibration that radiated contentment.

“Better?” Carolyn asked. Jo just nodded, her head pressed against Carolyn’s shoulder. “Okay,” Carolyn said. “Normally, the special friendships Vulcans need for their telepathy are with other Vulcans. And normally, as kids, they need help to form these friendships. Which is why we asked Sybok to help Thorby. But you know how there are exceptions for every rule?”

Jo nodded. “Uncle Jim is Bonded with Mr. Spock. That’s a pretty special friendship, too, isn’t it?”

Carolyn made a noise that was a mixture of a cough and a laugh. “Yes,” she said. “Pretty special. So sometimes a Vulcan can have a special friendship with someone who is not Vulcan. And sometimes that friendship simply happens. Just like that. Because you get along that well. That’s what happened with you and Thorby.”

“Because we’re meant to be friends,” Jo said. “Like soul mates. Soul mates are the most special friends ever.” She knew she shouldn’t whine or beg, but she couldn’t help herself. “And you can’t separate soul mates, can you?”

“No,” Carolyn said softly, “you can’t. So we’ve been talking, Sybok and your dad, and Uncle Jim and Mr. Spock, about what to do. Because what your dad explained to you – Thorby needs a Vulcan family, too, for his telepathy. But you need to be with your dad, and your dad wants you to be with him. He knows it was wrong to try and send you away when you didn’t want that at all.”

“Thorby doesn’t want to go away, either,” Jo muttered. “He’d never say that, but I know he doesn’t want to.”

Carolyn nodded. “We know that now, sweetie. Sybok persuaded Thorby to tell him. So we’ve been talking about that. And we have decided that the best thing is if Thorby stays on the Enterprise. Now, your dad and Sybok and your Uncle Jim and Mr. Spock would like to talk to you about how that’s going to be. Do you feel up to that?”

Jo straightened and slid away from Carolyn. “Yeah,” she said. “I’m good. I can talk to them. Dad’s not mad at me, is he? I didn’t do anything. I mean, I couldn’t have, I’m not telepathic, right? And is Thorby back yet?” She tried sounding not too hopeful, not too desperate to have Thorby back.

Carolyn sucked in her lower lip for a moment. Jo wasn’t sure if she was trying not to grin or not to look worried. “No,” Carolyn said, “your dad’s not mad at you. He’s a bit worried. Because a special friendship can be difficult sometimes. But he knows that you didn’t do anything. Or Thorby. Sometimes, such things simply happen. And he knows it’s not a bad thing. Don’t worry. Thorby will be back tonight. Right now he’s still on Arrakis, spending the afternoon with T’Sara and T’Maire. Because even though you are his special friend, he likes Sybok’s family, too.”

“So do I,” Jo said. “They are nice. That made it even harder. It would have been easier if I could have hated them.”

“Well,” Carolyn said and rose to her feet, “now you don’t have to hate anyone. Come on, your dad is waiting for us.”

Carolyn held out her hand to Jo, and although Jo thought that was a bit silly, she didn’t mind too much. It’s the kind of thing a mom would do, she thought. She tried to remember if her mother had ever held her hand like that, but she came up with nothing.

♦♦♦

Stardate 2260.280, 1600 hours, Deck 5, Captain’s Quarters

Jim was willing to forgive Carolyn Paul for anything and everything right now. Next time she wanted to get into a brawl or felt like frolicking drunk in a pool, he’d be standing on the sidelines, applauding. Caught between his best friend freaking out at the top of his lungs (up until now Jim had believed that no amount of cursing could make him uncomfortable anymore; not so; learn something new every day) and his Bondmate freaking out in silent panic, Jim was beyond grateful that there was one sane person left to help him deal with the situation.

Because, no matter how much he tried to calm the fuck down, his mind just kept reeling. No wonder, what with Bones muttering curses under his breath, and Spock looking ready to keel over. Only Sybok appeared relatively unruffled, perhaps even amused at their hysterics. At least he hadn’t seemed to mind much that Bones had tried to punch him in the face. And knocking Bones out for a few with a Vulcan nerve pinch had at least given them a chance to regroup. Which, oh boy. So necessary. Speaking of necessary …

“Okay.” Jim pushed to his feet. “I need five minutes with Spock. Sybok, sorry to do that to you, dude, but you’re in charge of Bones. If Carolyn comes back before we do, get us before anyone says one word. And I mean one word.”

With that, he dragged Spock up and to the door. Spock didn’t object. Not a good sign. When they were safely on the other side of the bathroom, Jim pushed Spock to their bed. He toed off his shoes. Then he crawled behind Spock, knelt down, and hugged his lover close. He relaxed as much as he was able, breathing deep into his stomach, and projected all the confidence he could scrounge up through their connection. After a few minutes, the terrible tension in his head lessened. He rested his head on Spock’s left shoulder.

“Bones will get over it, Spock. He knows it’s not your fault, or Sybok’s, or mine, or hell, anybody’s,” he murmured. “And you won’t be a terrible father. Look, we talked about that already. That family might one day be a thing we could consider. Now it’s happened a bit sooner than expected. Hey, it could be worse. Remember that story about male pregnancy induced by alien sex-pollen that circulated at the Academy? Now that would be awkward.” He considered the idea, then added, “Though I guess the VSA would go totally gaga for that.”

Spock stifled a noise. He sounded like a strangled tribble, and Jim grinned at the pained amusement that transferred through the Bond. “There is no evidence to back up your confidence, Jim,” he said at last. “However, I am unable to perceive a logical alternative to the plan you have devised.”

“We’ve got another ten days for Sybok to work with you and Thorby and M’Benga,” Jim told him. “Carolyn will calm Bones down. And you know how happy the kids will be.” Jim’s stomach twisted at the mere thought of how he would feel if he were separated from Spock, with no way to tell when or even if he’d ever see him again. He didn’t want to imagine how awful the last few days must have been for Thorby and Jo. They hadn’t known of their Bond, how special their friendship was, why their impending separation hurt so much. And they were good kids who trusted the adults in charge of their lives, in spite of the shit that had happened to them that no adult had been able to protect them from. And now those supposedly responsible adults had almost torn them apart, regardless of their wishes. Damn.

Spock raised his hand, gently touching Jim’s meld points. “Jim, if no one is at fault for what happened, then that includes you, too. And statistically, at least, you are correct in that assessment of the situation. The likelihood of a spontaneous interspecies Bond forming between children can be calculated at 0.003214% .”

“If you’re quoting decimal points at me, you’re better.” Jim smiled. “Control okay? Serenity mostly restored? Then we can go back to Bones and Sybok. I bet Carolyn will be here any minute now.”

“I do not object to your usage of colloquialisms under appropriate circumstances,” Spock responded primly.

“Wait, what?” Jim bounced off the bed, beaming. “I’m allowed to ask you how you are feeling now?” He fist bumped the air. “Hell, yeah!”

♦♦♦

Stardate 2260.280, 1630, Captain’s Quarters

Leonard knew he had to apologize. No matter how much reason he might have had to throw a fit, he’d been out of line. In a way that just might cost him the friendship that mattered most to him in his life so far.

The bathroom door opened again, and Jim and Spock emerged, both of them still pale and tense, but more composed and less upset. Jim sat back down in his armchair, while Spock remained standing next to him.

Leonard scrubbed his palms over his face. “I’m sorry,” he muttered roughly, “I’m so damn sorry. For what I said. It’s not true, none of it, and I didn’t believe it for a second. I’m …” He shook his head. “I can be such a bastard.”

“Your outburst was an emotional reaction to a perceived threat for your daughter’s well-being, Doctor McCoy,” Spock said calmly. “It was logical, if misdirected.”

Jim didn’t say a word. Leonard saw the pain in his eyes, though. He also noticed how Jim’s fingers twitched as if he wanted to take Spock’s hand or sling his arm around his partner’s back. But Jim didn’t move, just stared at Leonard, face impassive, hazel eyes hard. Leonard felt even worse.

“It’s Bones,” he managed at last. “Or Leonard.” He attempted a laugh, but he sounded more like a walrus choking. “After all, we’re going to be a family. And won’t that be awesome.”

Spock got that deer-in-the-headlights look again that had made Jim drag him out of the room in the first place. Sybok wore the distinctly pained expression of a man who was wondering how in hell he’d gotten caught up in the wrong holo-drama. Jim just groaned.

A moment later, Jim shook his head. He put his arm around Spock and drew him next to him on the armchair and as close as the Vulcan’s stiff posture allowed. “Bones, you’ve saved my life. You’ve been the only family I’ve had for years now. I couldn’t care more for Jojo if she really was my niece. That’s why we’re still sitting here and talking right now, okay? However, and I can’t fucking believe I’m the one saying this: Talk to a therapist. No one is to blame for what happened, and I’ll be damned if I let you take out any of this on Thorby or on Spock. And that? That is not your friend Jim Kirk speaking right now, but your damn CO. Got that?”

Leonard nodded miserably.

“Great.” Jim exhaled in a ragged sigh. “I think we should also ask Guinan if she’s willing to put up with the three of us in one room.” He rubbed his neck with his free hand. “In fact … maybe we should ask her to drop by when we talk to Thorby later.”

Leonard nodded again. He hated that Jim didn’t trust him to keep his temper around Thorby. He hated even more that he agreed with Jim.

Then the door opened, and Carolyn stood there. Jo was holding her hand, a frown on her pale face. In her free arm she carried the damn tribble.

Jim smiled. “Hey, Jojo. Come in. We’ve saved you a seat on the sofa next to your dad.”

Jo attempted a smile and sidled past Jim and Spock. But she sat down next to him, she held herself as stiffly as Spock, clearly worried. The tribble purred in her lap. Jim evidently recognized the beast and paled. Carolyn joined them on the sofa, settling on Jo’s other side. Casually, she put an arm around Jo, and offered Leonard a reassuring smile that he didn’t deserve.

“Carolyn said that Thorby doesn’t have to go away after all?” There was so much hope and pain and fear in Jo’s high voice that Leonard thought his heart might break at the sound. How had he failed to notice just how much his daughter was hurting over losing her friend? Suddenly Leonard thought that Bond or no Bond it would have been plain wrong to separate the kids. They had both suffered so much loss in their lives already. Leonard risked a glance at Jim. He had removed his arm from around Spock. Somehow they managed to sit at least two inches apart, which should have been impossible on that armchair. If possible, Leonard felt even worse. He knew better than anyone what Jim and Spock had survived to end up together.

Leonard did his level best to muster a reassuring smile. “No, Jo. Thorby’s going to stay here, I promise. Honey, we had no idea. It just, well, it doesn’t happen very often that …”

“That a Human turns out to be a Vulcan’s soul mate?” Jo asked and wrinkled her nose. “It happened with Uncle Jim and Mr. Spock, though. And with Mr. Spock’s mom and dad. So it can’t be that special.”

“Yet in all the history of Vulcan-that-was and New Vulcan now there have been only seven examples of Bonds between Humans and Vulcans up until now,” Spock said. “And those Bonds were created between adults after careful consideration.”

Jim managed to turn his laugh into a very creditable cough. When he met Leonard’s eyes, he was still grinning, though. “Jojo, you’re simply a very special girl,” he said. “Also, I think we don’t need such big words here. Think of it as a special kind of friendship. You’ve been telling us for weeks how Thorby’s your bestest friend ever. That’s perfect. And nothing has changed about that. We just have a fancy Vulcan word for your friendship now. Okay?”

Jo nodded warily. “So what will happen now?”

Leonard hated the suspicion that was so clearly audible in her voice. But he couldn’t blame her. After all, he had tried to leave her behind and to take away her best friend – soul mate – dammit, Betrothed – fuck— With the best intentions, sure, but what difference did that make for her?

“Well,” Leonard said, frantically trying to gather his thoughts, “remember how we talked about Thorby’s telepathy? Telepathy is …” He cast about wildly for an adequate comparison. “… a bit like playing the clarinet. It takes practice. And since you’re Thorby’s … special friend, you need to learn about it, too. So while we’re here, Mr. Sybok will teach the two of you. When we’re back in space, you’ll keep up lessons with Mr. Spock and with Dr. Elbrun.”

“Okay,” Jo said with a surprised, happy sigh. She had obviously expected something different, something dire. “I bet Thorby will be awesome at telepathy.”

Jim smiled at Spock, a singularly sweet and vulnerable expression that made Leonard’s heart ache. Then he ducked his head and flushed. “Well, there’s one more thing,” Jim said. “Because of his telepathy, Thorby also needs a Vulcan family. So Spock and I will adopt Thorby. We uh… hope Thorby won’t mind too much. And that won’t change anything for the two of you. That just means that Thorby can come to Spock if he has a problem. You, too, Jojo. Telepathy’s real nice, but us Humans aren’t made for it. So if anything makes you uncomfortable, anything at all, just talk to us, okay? Your dad, or Carolyn, or Spock, or me, or Guinan, or Dr. Elbrun. Got that? No matter how odd or silly. You have a question, something bothers you, just come to one of us, and we’ll find a solution.”

“What he said,” Leonard confirmed weakly.

♦♦♦

Stardate 2260.290, 2200 hours, Keep Arrakeen, Arrakis

Somehow, Jim had ended up in a library on the first floor of Keep Arrakeen, while the festivities in the great hall downstairs were still in full swing. He suppressed a sigh. Tonight’s event should have been the party to end all parties. After all, it was basically his and Spock’s wedding feast and the official farewell celebrations for the Enterprise rolled into one hot mess. Crew members and smugglers and Fremen were getting the party on together, and yeah, it was more of a blowout than a diplomatic function, and Jim was proud of that. They were setting a standard here, and he was determined to aim high because he had to think of crew morale and of impressing foreign dignitaries and things like that.

Of course the shindig also featured certain traditional/formal elements, such as champagne (cold and tart, and pretty much the best thing about the whole damn evening), speeches (only three of them thoroughly embarrassing – thank you, Scotty, Gary, but what the hell, Guinan?!) and gifts (some admittedly more ridiculous than others – no, not the ones for the Halleck or the Fremen leader or Sybok, those were perfectly appropriate because Uhura had picked them out) and a banquet with ten courses and an obscene variety of cutlery to keep track of. But after dinner, there was music and dancing and, of course, more booze.

But Bones had beamed back on board right after the banquet, and his speech had been short and somewhat stilted and too serious. Jim couldn’t drink more than a glass of champagne or two because he was on Alpha shift the next morning and his alcohol tolerance was still pretty much non-existent. Also, he simply had too much on his mind that was no damn fun at all to really enjoy himself. Then Spock and his brother had disappeared into the courtyard for serious and probably Thorby-related conversation as soon as the banquet was over and politeness allowed. The familial Bonds to Thorby that Sybok had formed for them had settled well, but Spock was still less than confident in his abilities as a proper Vulcan parent. So after Jim had concluded his obligatory tour of the crowd with lots of fake smiling and vigorous shaking of hands, he had managed to drift away from the crowds. He had meandered through the public rooms of the keep, marveling at the architecture, and regretting somewhat (though not too much, because it had been worth it, worth everything) that his post-Bonding sick leave had kept him from getting to know Arrakis as well as he’d wanted to. And now he was here, in the keep’s library. The noise of music and voices was muted to a dim buzzing in the background.

Fremen didn’t really do books, mostly passing on their lore in songs and stories (which wasn’t the worst way to do it, Jim thought, not after spending several evenings listening to Fremen songs and stories in Arrakeen taverns and around the hearth fires of Sietch Tabr and Sietch Jacurutu). Yet here was this library, probably installed by the smugglers, a large room with tall bookshelves lining the walls, full of leather-bound tomes and even triangular compartments filled with scrolls. The room smelled of leather and parchment and paper. Or at least Jim supposed that’s what it was, this deep, musky, dusty scent.

For several minutes Jim wandered around, fingers trailing across the backs of books, taking in the look and feel of the room. He thought of the two old-fashioned books in his mother’s house in Iowa. The bible was a family heirloom, one of those weird, outdated customs. He remembered tracing his older brother’s name written on the flyleaf, right under his dad’s name. His mother never got around to adding his name, and he had no idea what had become of the bible. Perhaps it had been buried with Frank. The other book was an old children’s book he’d found in the attic one day when he’d been hiding from Frank. It was a story about a little boy with a weird scarf, a prince of some sort. The cover and half the pages had been missing, and he’d never been able to make heads or tails of the story. He recalled there had been something about a desert in it. And about a friendly fox.

Jim couldn’t remember ever having been in an honest-to-goodness library before. It wasn’t that there were no old style books left on Earth. They were just not common anymore, mostly expensive antiques, nothing an orphaned hick in Iowa got his hands on. And yeah, he’d probably visited a library at some point, because there’d been school trips to museums when he was little, before Tarsus, and museums always had libraries. But museums were different, with that hallowed, faintly uncomfortable do-not-cough atmosphere. This room, these books? It felt alive. Not like Spock had described his hiding place in his father’s house, that monument of untold stories. Here, from haphazard stacks on the desk in front of the windows to the solemn rows on the shelves, books exuded a quiet, benevolent authority. As if they wanted to tell him that the answers he was looking for actually existed and that he had a chance in hell to discover them, too. Suddenly, he wished Spock was with him now, and not in the banquet hall, talking to Sybok.

Opposite the door, in the middle of a long stone table, an astrolabe was mounted, an intricate construction of gold and silver and ivory, beautifully engraved. The various parts were turning leisurely, an accurate rendition of the planet’s rotation and the universe’s momentum. Jim sat down in front of the astrolabe, his back to the door, and watched the moving spheres. He recognized some of the depicted stars. Khosla, the Ferengi outpost that was their next destination was visible. It was hard to believe they were already five months into the mission. It was even harder to believe they were only five months in.

Jim heard footsteps approaching but didn’t turn around. He was fairly certain it was Halleck.

“You shouldn’t sit with your back to a door, Captain,” the old smuggler said. “It’s not healthy.”

“Worried about drafts on a desert planet, are you?”

“Normally, I’d say it’s safe for you to sleep naked here,” Halleck told him. “But as it is …”

Three days ago the smugglers had caught a man trying to plant bombs on their Spice crawlers, an off-worlder who had ended his own life before he could be questioned. Three days ago, Commander Paul had informed Jim that a crew member – a Maintenance technician – had not returned from shore leave.

Halleck had a point there. Because as it was, Jim had the confirmation now that there were more people on the Enterprise with a secret agenda besides the three legit Section 31 agents he knew of. Who else and how many, Jim had no idea. Of course it was more than likely that Gav had an informant on board. There was too much money in the slave trade not to keep an eye on the flagship’s doings. Next was “Humans First”, the fundamentalist branch of “Humanitarians for Earth”. With Marcus as a martyr, the isolationist movement had turned the corner toward extremism and terrorism. Commander Paul had made sure that Jim was aware of just who those radicals saw as the greatest threat to their cause. Namely, himself, Khan, and any and all Vulcans. And of course it was always possible that there was a third party involved he’d never even heard of so far. Whatever. The damage was done, and would have been much worse if the smugglers hadn’t been that vigilant.

“Well, we’re leaving tomorrow, so there should be no further trouble right now.” Jim rose to his feet and turned to face Halleck. “But …”

“Captain, I’ve been in this business longer than you’re alive.” The smuggler’s disfigured face contorted into a wry grin. “I know exactly what you’re up against.” He touched the scar a slaver’s whip had left on his jaw many years ago.

Jim inhaled heavily. Sighed. Made a decision. “Sybok tells me you’ve met Thorby.”

Halleck nodded. “Serious lad. Never sits with his back to a door.”

“We picked him up at New Sydney,” Jim said, watching Halleck closely.

For a heartbeat, the older man closed his eyes. “Ah.”

“Sybok’s taking T’Sara and T’Maire along to New Vulcan,” Jim said carefully, as if he were trying to walk across drumsands without making a noise. “It’s a long journey. Over two hundred and fifty light-years.”

The smuggler stared at him, his gaze inscrutable. “You’ll owe me.”

Jim nodded. “I can live with that.”

“See that you do, son,” Halleck said, eyes dark and surprisingly kind. “And remember not to sit with your back to the door.”

♦♦♦

Stardate 2260.290, 2200 hours, Keep Arrakeen, Arrakis

After the banquet, Sybok and Spock had taken the opportunity to escape from the noisy revelry of the party. Now they were sitting in a secluded courtyard of Keep Arrakeen, the residence of Gurney Halleck and seat of the Arrakis Trade Union. Many smugglers were collectors or plain packrats; Gurney Halleck was a connoisseur of cultures. There was a library in the keep, a music room, and in the courtyard, nestled into a hedge-maze of incense bushes, a Vulcan rock garden. Sybok had designed it a few years ago at Gurney’s request.

Although it was late, it was hot, desert hot. The stones of the garden still added to the warmth, radiating the heat of the day. Only in the small hours, the cold of the desert night would seep into the city, bringing some measure of relief before an early, fiery sunrise. Appropriately, Sybok and Spock sat at the center of sa-kailar, the triangle of brothers. In the light of Muad’dib, the second moon of Arrakis, the dust-reddened shadows of the sa-kailar crossed between them.

Both of them had settled into the loshiraq position, posture perfect and, perhaps for the first time, in harmony with each other. Sybok considered Spock. His younger half-brother as he had known him fifteen years ago, and as he had come to know him during the last forty-six days. He was aware that his brother was engaged in a similar exercise.

Sybok pulled a small scroll from his robe and placed it on the moon-frosted sand between them. In careful calligraphy, he’d painted his promised gift on the parchment: “I was an idiot.” The glyphs looked beautiful in the moonlight. But the warmth in his brother’s eyes was even more stunning.

“What wrought this transformation in you?” Spock asked. “Vulcans do not change the way you have; not in a hundred years, certainly not in fifteen. It is against Vulcan nature, even for the most changeable of Surak’s line.”

Sybok contemplated pointing out Spock’s limited knowledge of Vulcan nature. However, even though Spock’s understanding of his father’s and his mother’s species was limited, Spock had come to understand himself so much better in the last forty-six days that Sybok was unwilling to argue over minor factual fallacies. He had also put too much effort into creating the calligraphy to render it invalid at his brother’s first question. Therefore, he chose to answer the question and to disregard the deflective commentary.

“Love,” Sybok said and shrugged, “and death.” The usual; the constants of the universe; sweet Aleu, who had taught him the meaning of joy and agony in equal measure. In his mind, he found the solid weight of grief and pain in its usual place, at the very core of his being.

“Kaiidth,” Spock replied, more grounded than Sybok had ever seen him before, not only familiar with these parameters of existence, but at peace with them.

The shadows between the stone formations formed an invisible bond between the brothers, dust and red, night and blue. One day Sybok would tell his brother about a young Human with clear grey eyes and a wry smile, about an artist called Aleu Black, and about Sybok’s first pon farr, about the fever and the blood, about love and death and pain.

Not tonight, though. Sybok had done what he could to prepare his brother, to spare him what he had endured. Not much was left to say now, and he was grateful for that.

“When in doubt,” he said, facing his brother, “do not shield. Shielding at the wrong moment may rob you of the one chance you have to survive together. If you cannot trust yourself, trust Jim.”

He could see how Spock inhaled the desert night, a shuddering breath of too much emotion and unspoken words. “Nemaiyo, Sybok.”

Sybok smiled. Once upon a time, Aleu had attempted to explain the finer nuances of human emotions to him, such as “bittersweet” or “tears of joy”. Sybok had come to regret his inability to cry long ago, but the meaning of “bittersweet” had come to him only in recent years: In spite of what it had cost him, Sybok could not regret that he was here tonight, the man he’d become.

“It seems excessively self-indulgent to ask this of you,” Spock said abruptly, “but Jim requested that I ask for this favor.”

Sybok was tempted to roll his eyes. “Brother, please.”

“When you reach New Vulcan, would you … take it upon yourself to visit Ambassador Selek?”

“What would you have me do?” Sybok asked. He would have gone anyway, would have done anything. But he was curious as to what Spock would say, now, here.

A long silence followed, drenched in moonlight and the shadows of the rock garden. When Sybok was ready to give up, Spock inhaled, a fearful, tense breath that would never turn into a sigh.

“Ease his pain, if he allows it,” Spock said.

♦♦♦

Stardate 2260.320, 1600 hours, near Lytasia

At Khosla they almost caught up with the V’tosh ka’tur. The Dionysus, a freighter of the elusive Vulcan space gypsies, had left the Ferengi outpost just hours before their arrival, en route to Lytasia, a system near Lambda Coronae Borealis, a mere five light-years from Khosla. They stayed in orbit long enough for a polite (and, in terms of bureaucratic bribery, expensive) thank-you for that cordially provided information. Then they warped thataway.

Jim was stuck in his office, going over some reports with Lieutenant Romaine, who was in charge of all the admin stuff for Sciences. Romaine was good at her job, but her reports were endless, and her relentlessness set his nerves on edge. To make matters worse, Spock was busy in the lab with some delicate experiments that absolutely could not be interrupted, so he didn’t even have sexy times to look forward to. Only the thought of hanging out with Scotty later on helped Jim stay patient and polite. (Beer and a recording of the last Parrises Squares match, oh god, yes, please.) At least it wasn’t just him; Janice Rand loathed Romaine. Even Spock wasn’t keen on her. So Jim listened with half an ear to Romaine’s latest litany on efficient PADD use, while he kept an eye on the screen for updates from the bridge. If they managed to catch up with the V’tosh ka’tur this time, he’d be able to get out of here and away from her …

The Enterprise dropped out of warp at a good distance from Lytasia. The planet had seven moons, all of them equipped with bases, and they’d been warned there was a fair amount of traffic in the system. They emerged not too far from two of the moons. The Dionysus was right in front of them, close enough to be visible with the bare eye. Apart from the V’tosh ka’tur freighter, space seemed empty. Odd.

Hailing Dionysus, read the text that scrolled across the screen. No reaction. Shields up, but no movement. Indistinct life-signs on board. Interferences with comms and scanners.

Okay, Jim thought, that’s not just odd. Something’s off there. He made a decision. “Lieutenant Romaine,” he said and got up. “I’m sorry to cut this short, but I need to go up to the bridge—”

Suddenly, the Enterprise swerved like a yacht in a thunderstorm on the high seas. Jim knew exactly what that was like because he’d actually lived to puke his guts out on Pike’s boat the summer of his second year at the Academy on that memorable occasion. On the screen at his desk, half a dozen objects lit up, zooming towards them from behind the moons. Another shockwave made him tumble. Romaine’s precious PADD skittered to the floor. Before he managed to reach the comm unit, the ship gave the distinct lurch of emergency shielding. The moment he slammed his right palm on the comm panel, the ship went on red alert.

“Bridge,” he ordered. “What the fuck?”

“Six vessels of unknown origin and without identification, pirates or slavers most likely, are attacking a civilian freighter. ID in Vulcan and Standard is Dionysus, looks like an old Starfleet Normandy class model. We got caught in the crossfire. Good news, we’ve found us some V’tosh ka’tur,” Lieutenant Benjamin “Ben” Finney replied, voice harsh with adrenaline, “Bad news, the pirates found them first. Damage report coming up.”

“On my way.” Jim hit the turbolift at a run. When the doors closed on him, his breath hitched. But then the lift opened to the bridge, and there was no time to remember the last time he’d heard those sirens, seen the lights dimmed. His eyes were on the front screen, his mind on the damage report.

“One hit on deck six, sir,” Finney reported. “Impulse power is failing. Glancing blow deck twelve, hull damage. The bridge of the V’tosh ka’tur is gone. Their shields are holding, but they are pretty much sitting ducks now. Also, the pirates are locking weapons on us again. Hang on—”

Jim clung to the back of center chair as the ship bucked under the renewed attack. Thankfully, the shields held. However …

“Don’t tell me. The impulse drive is down for good now,” Jim said and slumped into the chair. The turbolift hissed open, and with three strides Spock was at Gaila’s side, scanning the incoming data on the enemy vessels and the ship of the V’tosh ka’tur.

Over at the weapons console, Ben threw up his hands. “Got it in one. And the starboard phasers are out of commission, circuitry fried. Fuck, those bastards were fast.”

“Be faster,” Jim snapped, his eyes on the screen.

“Enterprise to Dionysus,” Uhura called, trying once more to get through to the gypsies. “What is your status? Enterprise to Dionysus—” But of course there was no answer.

“Status of the V’tosh ka’tur?” Jim asked.

“Their shields are at 40%, getting weaker,” Gaila chirped. “So our scanners are picking up clearer signals over there now. Fifteen life-forms left on the ship, twelve of them humanoid. Make that eleven. Still no reaction to comms. Evacuation via transporter impossible. Something’s interfering with beaming. Either their shields or a disruptor of the pirates ”

“Ben, phasers, whatever’s left, whenever you’re ready.” Jim hit the comm pick-up. “Shuttle One crew get ready for an emergency rescue. We’re trying to blast the pirates out of the way for you. Get out the moment we’ve fired.” Jim pulled up the duty roster to check who was on the shuttle crew for Beta One shift. Lieutenant Dave Bailey, in charge of nav, tacticals and ops on the Alpha Two team, was the designated pilot. Next to Jim himself, he was the best pilot on board. Good. The two security guys he only knew in passing, one of the male nurses was the medic on the team, and a maintenance tech – Petty Officer Thule. Hopefully one of them spoke Vulcan. He had no idea if those space gypsies knew Standard.

“Zooming in on the V’tosh ka’tur,” Lieutenant Kelso, the navigator and tactical officer on Beta One shift put in, “Got them. Oh, shit.”

The magnified picture of the damaged V’tosh ka’tur vessel showed an ugly, fractured hole where the bridge in a ship that size should be. Around the ragged edges of the breached hull, remnants of neon-red letters in Standard lit up the blackness of space: “Barqu— cat —oard.”

“Barque cat on board!” Kelso and Gaila cried at the same time.

Barque cats were a space-bred race of domestic felines with low-grade telepathic abilities and supernatural talents for detecting radiation and pressure leaks that not even the best scanners were able to detect. The rule was to evacuate Barque cats first, everyone else second, and the ship third. On average, a single Barque cat would save hundreds of crew members and ships in its lifetime.

“Phasers locked on target,” Ben announced. “And they’ve got their weapons locked on us again, too.”

“Fire!” Jim shouted. “Evasive maneuvers?”

“Impulse power still offline,” Helmsman Lieutenant Gary Mitchell reported. “No evasive maneuvers possible. It’s warp or nothing.”

“Captain, I am picking up fluctuations from the warp core of the Dionysus ,” Spock added calmly. “It is turning unstable. Based on the data I am receiving, their systems must be shut down within sixty minutes.”

“Countdown until impact,” Ben cut in, “Ten – nine— FUCK! There’s another one! Where did that bastard— five – four—”

The scene on the screen and the readouts on the consoles coalesced into a moment of dazed clarity. A heartbeat later, Jim realized what would happen.

Shuttle One wouldn’t make it; Ben would get the three pirate ships between the Enterprise and the ship of the V’tosh ka’tur; the resulting debris would narrow down the safety margin for getting there to nil if they didn’t launch a second shuttle immediately; there was not enough time to round up the back-up shuttle crew; and with Bailey dead, Jim was the only pilot left on board who had a ghost of a chance to pull the tight-ass maneuvers required for this stunt. Jim was in the turbolift and on his way to the hangar before Ben finished his countdown. The impact of the pirates’ renewed attack made him stumble and drop to his knees, but thankfully didn’t stop the lift.

“Engineering,” he gasped into the comm. “I need someone to meet me in the shuttle bay. The warp core in that Vulcan ship is going critical and must be shut down at once.”

“… on it, Captain,” the muffled voice of Lieutenant Amell poured out of the comm.

When he stumbled out of the lift, he almost collided with Amell. He hadn’t expected her to meet him in person. For a heartbeat he stopped and stared at her. But there was no time to wait for a miracle, for Scotty, for Spock, or for anyone else. Jim pushed into the hangar and ran for the lockers at the back. He pulled out two enviro suits and tossed one at Amell.

“It’s going to be a rough ride, Lieutenant,” he said, stepping into his suit. “The shields of the Vulcan ship are still holding, so we can’t use the transporter. They’re not answering comms, but there are still life signs on board. The warp core is unstable, safety margin an hour at most. There’s considerable hull damage, so air leaks will be an issue. Your priority is to get to the engine and shut down core before it blows. I’ll look for survivors.”

“It’s just the two of us?” Len asked.

Jim forced a smile. “Us and whatever is left of Shuttle One and some pirate ships. We’ll be flying through massive debris.”

Amell hesitated. He knew what she was thinking. An unstable warp core, a ship leaking air, and a debris field. A suicide mission. “You okay, Lieutenant?”

She nodded, zipped up the suit, and picked up the helmet. “Ready to go, sir.”

He didn’t permit himself to consider what they were about to attempt. They turned to the shuttle.

The turbolift opened and Scotty spilled out, running toward them. “Len!”

Out of breath, he skidded to a stop right in front of them. “What are you doin’, lass?” Pushing past her, Scotty grabbed Jim’s arm. “I’m going, Captain. Give me a minute to suit up.”

Jim looked away from the raw expression in Scotty’s eyes. There was a good chance that he wouldn’t see his girlfriend again. But she was qualified to do the job, and the Enterprise could not afford to lose Scotty.

“I’m already suited up,” Amell protested. “And I can do this—”

“I have more experience than you, Len,” Scotty interrupted. “It’s too dangerous. I’m goin’.”

“I don’t have time for this shit,” Jim said sharply. “Scotty, shut up. Lieutenant Amell, with me.”

He ran up the ramp into the shuttle. When he was strapping himself in to the pilot’s seat, he heard the doors of the shuttle close and Amell burst into the cockpit. A moment later, she closed the buckles of the co-pilot’s chair.

“Shuttle Two ready for take-off.” He started up the shuttle. “Drop the damn shields for three in ten.”

Next to him Amell slammed her gloved fist against the console. “Damn him!”

Jim didn’t need that kind of outburst to remind him of how he hadn’t even spared a glance for Spock. He clenched his teeth. “Still good to go, Lieutenant?”

“I’m sorry, Captain.” She stiffened and stared out the front window. “I’m ready to go.”

And they were off. He maneuvered the shuttle out of the bay – his timing was spot on – and into open space. Ahead he could see the outline of the Dionysus, small and insignificant in the vast expanse of space as opposed displayed in super-zoom on the screen up on the bridge. The debris field wasn’t yet visible.

“Scotty has a point,” he said, deftly swerving to portside when alarms for the first pieces of debris started pinging. “But someone has to do this shit. I’m the best shuttle pilot we’ve got left, and I hear you’re the best engineer on board besides Scotty and Keenser. At least we’ll be able to say we’ve done our best.”

“Yes, sir,” Amell replied.

A minute later Jim switched off the alarm of the radar. The constant dinging was about to drive him crazy. Alternating between glancing at the screen and out the front window, he wove his way toward the freighter of the V’tosh ka’tur. The Bond ached in his mind, and he was glad that his psionic center was not active. That would be too distracting. For a moment he wondered how Spock calculated their chances of survival right now. On second thought he decided that he preferred not to know. He already knew that they’d need a shitload of luck to make it to the Dionysus before the wreckage of the first pirate vessel closed in on them. Never mind that the fragments of Shuttle One were more than enough to destroy them. And that was discounting the possibility that there was an eighth pirate ship waiting around the corner that hadn’t made an appearance yet.

Suddenly a huge chunk of metal whizzed toward them at a skewed angle – probably a bit of the hull from the ship of the V’tosh ka’tur. But that was not the problem. The real issue were the other two pieces hurtling in their direction.

“FUCK—”

♦♦♦

“The view changes from where you are standing.
Words can wound, and wounds can heal.
All of these things are true.”

– Neil Gaiman, Fragile Things: Short Fictions and Wonders

♦♦♦♦♦♦

---

 

Author’s Notes

 • Gurney’s advice about never sitting with your back to the door is a textual allusion to a famous scene from “Dune” canon. (Though in “Dune” the line belongs to Thufir Hawat and not to Gurney.)

• The “Dionysus” is from Vonda N. McIntyre’s Star Trek tie-in novel “Enterprise: The First Adventure”