TITLE: Ghosts in Attics II, Chapter 2
FANDOM: Star Trek TOS
CHARACTERS/PAIRING: Mirror!Spock/McCoy (this part)
TABLE:
# 8 - Miscellaneous B PROMPT: 03. Answers
RATING: NC-17
WORD COUNT: 5601
WARNINGS: Mental and physical rape, torture, violence. Dark, with a capital D.
SUMMARY: Facing ponn far without a chance to get to Vulcan, Mirror!Spock resorts to desperate measures to survive. McCoy has to suffer for it.
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. I'm writing for fun, not for profit.
NOTE: Unbetaed. If you find mistakes (which I’m sure you will), feel free to point them out to me.
The day got worse when M’Benga came in, Kirk had suspected as much when the acting CMO had requested a meeting in private. Nothing good could come out of this conversation. Nothing good seemed to happen at all lately.
“I asked Commander Spock to come to sickbay for a check over this morning,” the doctor said after a quick greeting. “He refused outright, claiming he was fine and had more important things to do at the moment.”
“He does,” Kirk said. And so had he. Even sitting through this conversation was challenging his patience, but he knew M’Benga would not have come if it wasn’t important. He knew of the situation.
“Maybe,” the doctor agreed. “But he isn’t fine. Even without the equipment in sickbay I can tell that his metabolism is acting up, and his behaviour is most untypical.”
“I know what you mean. I heard about the incident with Yeoman Stringer. But surely you understand that Spock is very stressed at the moment, and has been for a while. Even his temper can slip. And this… he’s taking it harder than most people would suspect.”
“It wasn’t a mere slip of temper,” M’Benga said seriously. “He had his hands around her throat and only in the last moment regained enough control over himself not to kill her. The crewmen standing by were completely unable to help. He broke the nose and yaw of one who tried.”
Kirk stared at him. “That wasn’t in Stringer’s report,” he said. M’Benga took a deep breath,
“Mr. Spock is very respected by the crew. They did not want to damage his reputation.”
“Even when he tries to kill them?”
“They thought, as you did, that it was just a slip of temper, during which he forgot about his physical strength compared to that of a human. He did apologize afterwards. But, Captain, I was there. I know Commander Spock and I know Vulcans, and I can tell it was something else.”
“What?”
The doctor hesitated for a second before answering. “I cannot explain this, as it isn’t time yet, but the mood swings as well as the physical problems Spock is experiencing indicate the early stages of ponn far.”
“What?” Kirk said again, louder this time. “That’s impossible! He’s only been through that two years ago.”
“Like I said, I can’t explain it. I can only tell you the conclusion I drew without having been able to do a medical examination on the commander. I would advise you to talk to him, and soon. Perhaps I’m mistaken, and it’s something else, but something is wrong with him, and the probability of it being ponn far is very high. And you know that if he doesn’t -”
“Yes. I know,” Kirk interrupted him. He bit his lips and suddenly needed all his will to keep from slamming his hands on the table. Of all the bad times for this to happen, this was the worst. “Doctor McCoy told me something was wrong with Spock when I last spoke to him, two days ago. He asked me to talk to him, but, well. Something came up, and I was distracted. I forgot.”
Guild threatened to overcome him, piling up on all the other guilt he was feeling. He was captain, and responsible for his crew, As captain, he couldn’t allow himself to deal with one problem at a time. He should be able to take care of everything at once.
How much was he worth if he couldn’t even protect his two best friends?
“I see,” M’Benga said, and didn’t ask questions. He knew not everything Kirk and Spock knew about McCoy’s condition, but he knew all he needed to know. Eventually, the doctor said, “It seems very like Leonard to notice something like that before anyone else does. But considering his state at that point, I must admit I’m surprised his mind was clear enough to make such an observation about someone he has rarely even seen these days. It makes the explanation security came up with seem even more unlikely.”
Kirk very nearly spoke his mind about security and their theories, but in the end, all he said was, “I’ll talk to Spock, right now. Thank you for telling me, doctor.”
Once he was alone, he took a deep, slow breath and struggled with frustration and despair. “This doesn’t improve the situation at all,” he mumbled, his tired voice unable to chase away the silence.
-
For the first time in more than two days, Spock was not working. Kirk found him in his quarters instead, where he was sitting on his bed when the captain entered.
“I assume Doctor M’Benga spoke to you about me,” were the words Kirk heard instead if a greeting. “I assure you, there is no need at all for either of you to become involved with my affairs.” His voice was stiff, formal, as if the last years hadn’t happened. His fingers were drumming against each other, relentlessly.
“Do you know what’s happening to you?”
“I am aware of the doctor’s suspicion.”
That wasn’t an answer.
“He’s right, isn’t he?”
Spock hesitated long enough to tell Kirk all he needed to know.
“Damn it, Spock,” he cursed. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I could not be certain. It isn’t time yet. I never heard of a similar case.”
“What, from a people that chooses to pretend this thing doesn’t happen? Did you ever consider that with your hybrid nature and the fact that your last ponn far” - Spock barely visibly flinched at the word - “didn’t exactly go according to plan, things might not exactly follow the book to the letter with you?”
“Captain…” Spock’s voice was still formal, still stiff, but there was a warning note inside that made the word sound almost like a growl. It reminded Kirk of his friend’s precarious hold on control.
“All right, never mind,” he said quickly. “Still, you should have told me something was wrong. You must have noticed days ago - hell, Bones noticed days ago. That’s why he came to me that day: because he was concerned for you.”
M’Benga’s words came to his mind. It didn’t make sense, no sense at all.
All Spock said, after a long moment, was “Ah.” Eventually, he added, “I apologize, Jim, for any inconvenience my behaviour might have caused. I fear I was not willing to acknowledge what was happening to me. Also, the time seemed wrong to mention any problems I might have to you or the doctor. I now see it was a mistake to keep this from you. I will confine myself to my quarters, as I have seen I can no longer be trusted to function in a society.” He blinked slowly. “I deeply regret what has happened with Yeoman Stringer earlier today. It was unforgivable.”
“It was, but your state excuses you.” At least Spock was talking to him. Kirk allowed himself to feel a careful measure of relief. “But Spock, just what exactly was it that made you react like that? Was it something she did? Something she said?”
The last time Spock went through this, a friendly gesture had been enough to make him throw soup at Christine Chapel. But so far, he had always been able to hold on to himself enough not to physically hurt anyone. Kirk hoped it wasn’t too late to get him to Vulcan before the plak tow was upon him.
Spock hesitated so long, Kirk was losing hope he would receive an answer at all.
“Yeoman Stringer was discussing recent events with Ensign Roohk. During their conversation, which I happened to overhear, she did, based on the report from security, accuse Doctor McCoy of murdering Ensign Robino, despite the fact that evidently he cannot have committed this crime. I found myself… angered by her words.”
“Angered.” Kirk had been more than angered himself a couple of times during the last two days. He had made no secret of his opinion, to the point where the crew came to the conclusion that their captain was obviously biased and started to withhold their opinion from him. That wasn’t good. He knew he had been unfairly harsh in his reactions more than once, but the mere idea that anyone actually believed something this absurd had made him furious - and Bones had not been there to remind him how a captain had to behave.
“Spock,” he said now. “I know it sounds ridiculous. But given the facts, the possibility has to be at least considered. It’s wrong of them to jump to conclusions like that, but you need to consider that Bones wasn’t exactly himself for weeks. Everyone saw that. Just like you are not yourself right now. Strangling a fellow crewmember for no reason is not usually something you’d do. And we can’t ignore the evidence just because he is our friend.” Kirk didn’t even believe it himself - ‘He came to someone who frightened him out of concern for someone who terrified him, not six hours before, for heaven’s sake!’ - but he had to say it.
“Evidence is not being ignored.” Spock was speaking slow and clearly enough to tell Kirk he was fighting for control. “It can’t have been McCoy. It’s impossible.” If he listened closely, Kirk could make out a faint tremor in his friend’s voice. Time was running out while they were speaking.
“I’ll have Chekov set course for Vulcan. We should make it in half a day. Will you be able to hold on th-”
“We cannot leave for Vulcan!” Spock got to his feet so fast Kirk had to fight the urge to jump away from him. “We must not leave here!”
“You’re going to die if we don’t.”
“It doesn’t matter. Don’t you see, Jim? Leonard can’t have killed Robino. It’s impossible. Therefore someone else must have done it.”
“What makes you so sure it wasn’t Bones?” Kirk asked, hoping this wasn’t just the ponn far disabling Spock’s logic.
“Jim, Robino’s neck wasn’t just broken, it was twisted with such force his head was almost torn off. Leonard is far too weak to cause that much damage with his bare hands. Even healthy he wouldn’t have been able to do it.”
“The reports mentioned that possibility…”
“It’s not a possibility, it’s a fact. I had another look at the body just before you came and was able to find proof for my assumption. Nurse Chapel was with me. She will confirm this.”
“I believe you,” Kirk said. This made matters a lot more complicated, but it was still so much better than the theory security had come up with.
“This means,” Spock continued, still agitated, “that someone came to this ship, killed Ensign Robino and took Doctor McCoy. You can’t leave for Vulcan now, not if you want to have any chance of finding their trail.”
He was right. And yet, it didn’t change anything. “We searched for traces of other ships the moment we found Bones missing and Robino dead. There was nothing. We are unlikely to find anything now. I will not sacrifice your life for a search that will most likely remain fruitless.”
Spock stared at him. “So we will give up on finding the doctor? We will abandon him?”
Pressing his lips to a thin line, Kirk hated himself for the words he was going to say. “For the moment, we have no other choice.”
-
“Set course for Vulcan.”
Chief engineer Scott, standing beside the pilot, looked over to the captain in surprise. “We’re leaving, Sir?”
“We have to. Spock’s life depends on it.” Kirk didn’t look happy. Scotty, for his part, wasn’t feeling happy. “Did you find anything at all out there?” the captain asked.
“Nothing of interest,” Sulu informed him. “But that doesn’t have to mean anything,” he added with some regret.
“We won’t find anything, and we don’t have any more time to try. We’re leaving now.”
Scotty saw Sulu and Chekov exchange a glance even as they got to work. He went over to the captain’s chair.
“Sir,” he said. “We can’t leave now. Not before we found out what happened to the doctor.”
“I do not like this any more than you do. But I meant it when I said Spock will die if we don’t get him to Vulcan.” Kirk looked tired. Scotty suspected he hadn’t slept a minute since McCoy had disappeared. But then, neither had he.
“What’s wrong with Mr. Spock?”
“That information is confidential. I can only tell you that I would not leave here if it wasn’t necessary.” Scotty felt for the captain, he really did - he and Spock were close. Scotty felt worried for the Vulcan, but it was probably only a fraction of the concern Kirk was feeling. It didn’t help that his other best friend was missing and presumed dead.
“The good news is,” the captain added, “Spock found out that McCoy can’t possibly have killed Ensign Robino.”
Anyone else might have wondered what was good about that news. After all, it meant that there was at least one murder and they did not know who committed it. There might even be a chance of the culprit still being on the ship, endangering the crew, But Scotty knew exactly how the captain felt about this.
“Can’t say I’m surprised,” he said. “I never believed it. It’s nothing McCoy would do. But in that case, what happened to him?”
Kirk didn’t have an answer for him.
The theory, so far, was that McCoy, in a fit of insanity, had used the transporter to beam himself out into space, and that he had killed Robino when the Ensign tried to stop him. Because of the doctor’s increasingly unstable mental state during the past few weeks, this theory had been easy to accept - for those who didn’t really know him.
Ensign Robino was one of Scotty’s men, a talented mechanic with an odd sense of humour. The chief engineer had been shocked and saddened to learn about his dead, and had refused to believe the grumpy but gentle doctor had anything to do with it.
But even though Scotty had been unable to believe it, he had been constantly afraid that their sensors would eventually find a dead body floating through space, if only they kept looking long enough.
If Spock was right and someone else had murdered the Ensign, then they must also have taken McCoy. But where and to what purpose, Scotty couldn’t even speculate.
He only knew that by leaving now, they might give up any chance they had of ever finding the doctor again.
***
The hands that touched his face and forced his head up trembled and weren’t gentle. A cup was placed against his lips and he drank greedily. McCoy knew he shouldn’t - death by dehydration would be much preferable to another hour of this hell, but his body demanded its right. The cup was empty far too quickly. The hands disappeared and his head fell back. He wouldn’t have been able to keep it up if he’d tried.
How long he had been here, he couldn’t tell. It felt like forever. McCoy so badly wanted to go home. Weakly, he moved his hands and didn’t even flinch at the pain the metal manacles inflicted in his raw and bruised wrists.
Spock’s hot hands were on him again. Something was pressed against his neck, and McCoy heard the hiss of a hypo. The haze of unconsciousness that had been looming over him like a promise was pulled out of reach,
“No,” he whispered, tried to move and struggle, and the doctor in him gave him a list of all the injuries that kept him from doing so. Spock growled something, but if he had even intended to form words, McCoy couldn’t make them out. The Vulcan was still deep in the plak tow. He had taken the human again and again, until McCoy thought he would die, until Spock had passed out from the exertion. He had slept for an hour or two, and when he woke up, the fever had temporarily cooled down just enough for him to take care of the human. McCoy knew this wasn’t over yet, that soon Spock would be over him again. He knew, because Spock did, that this would go on for days.
He couldn’t take it. Not another minute of it. He felt sick with despair, but there was nothing to throw up.
When he felt Spock touch him again, he cried “No!” and somehow he found the strength to raise his voice enough for the word to actually be heard. Found the strength to arch and squirm away uselessly when strong hands took hold of his aching, bleeding body, and closed his eyes when Spock pressed him down into the mattress. He knew it wouldn’t hurt as bad if he stopped fighting, if he just gave in and didn’t give the Vulcan a reason to fight for what was his right to take, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t.
The blood fever flared up again. McCoy could feel it because Spock was still in his mind, would always be in his mind. He felt what little awareness of self still existed in the Vulcan slip away and it would be so easy to just give in and let the fire burn him up along with Spock. He kept fighting because he had to. Even if there was no point.
He couldn’t fight forever. Spock knew that soon he would win and then all the pain resulting from this struggle would be in vain. The Vulcan was convinced of it, and so was McCoy. Spock had always been stronger than him in every sense that mattered.
It was unfortunate for the Vulcan that had had ended up with such a weak and useless bondmate.
Useless for anything but this.
It hurt so much when Spock thrust into him. He couldn’t breathe. His mind was burning. Fragments of memories drifted through his head, and he wasn’t sure if it was him looking at them or Spock.
‘Get out,’ he tried to say. ‘Stop. Leave me alone.’ But all he could do was whimper.
It didn’t matter. Spock wouldn’t have heard him. Spock knew his thoughts and didn’t care.
‘Not Spock!’ a stubborn part of him insisted, down there at the very core. Spock knew that, too - McCoy found confirmation for this when he learned that somehow, he was still able to scream.
-
Five and a half days after he had initially given in to his primal nature, Spock’s mind began to clear. The phases of sleep between the mating became longer as the hunger was becoming satiated and the need for rest grew. When he woke from sleep for the fourth time, he was able to form thoughts and perform actions that went beyond taking care of his basic needs and those of his mate. He might even have been able to handle a simple conversation, had there been anyone to talk to. Fortunately, there wasn’t. He had no desire to talk.
The human was not conscious when he woke up. He was pale and covered in bruises, scratches and bite marks. At any other time, Spock would have felt disgusted with himself for losing control like this. But the fire still burned, and he knew it was right to mark what belonged to him.
Using the small medical scanner was not a problem - years of practice allowed him to use the tool even when his mind was still primarily occupied with the act of mating. The human’s left wrist was broken, as were three ribs. He suffered from internal injuries. His life signs were weak. In another day or two he would die.
For a moment, the Vulcan’s most basic desire - to take his mate - battled with the instinct to protect the one he was bonded to. Logic decided the struggle, working in favour of the need. If the human lived another two days, it would be enough.
He injected the nutrient solution and something that was supposed to bring down the man’s raging fever, but withheld the stimulant that would bring him back to consciousness for the moment. For now, the need was dormant, granting both of them a break. Spock knew it wasn’t over yet. The blood fever would flare up one more time before he was through with this. He estimated another day, after which he would require at least one day of rest, and a special diet to restore his strength. It fitted neatly into the eight days of leave he had requested, as he had known it would.
Briefly, he considered washing, or the consummation of food, but neither thought appealed to him. Instead, the Vulcan sat on the edge of his quite messy bed and listened to his heartbeat. Consciously, he breathed in and out. It was not a meditation, but he lost himself in the simple activity.
His fingers trailed down the human’s hollow cheek. He had left bruises there too, but now his touch was gentle. When this was over, a medic would be required to care for this man. No - no one could know he was here. Spock had to let him die.
The thought disturbed him. Spock’s mind, for the moment, was clear enough to blame this emotion on both ponn far and instinct. A deep bond did have downsides, even if it was not an equal one. His logic would help him defeat his instincts. Before the ponn far was over, his needs would serve the same purpose.
There was barely an echo of another mind in his - his mate’s unconsciousness was deep. Spock continued to caress his cheeks, his throat, until his hands began to tremble and he knew it was time, once again.
-
It was briefly after the battle with the Klingon ship that Kirk noticed something was wrong. Something was missing.
And that something was his chief engineer.
No one seemed to know where he had gone. He wasn’t in his quarters, he wasn’t at work. He was nowhere.
At first Kirk had been annoyed. It was bad enough that Spock had retreated to take care of his perverse Vulcan nature, leaving Kirk to deal with all problems on his own. And a missing chief engineer was a problem, especially after a battle.
Convinced the man was lying around somewhere, drunk out of his mind, Kirk had let the computer give his location - only to have the computer tell him Mr. Scott was not on board of this vessel. The captain’s temper flared up at that. Of course Scott was able to manipulate the computer and become basically invisible. Kirk had always known that. He just hadn’t thought the man would ever be stupid enough to actually do it.
Whatever he was abandoning his work and playing hide and seek for, Kirk would make sure he regretted it. The booth was the least the Scotsman could expect. And if Kirk found out he was conspiring with one of those who sought to overthrow his command…
Mr. Sulu’s security team was unable to find anything, but Kirk knew he couldn’t trust the pilot anyway. An extensive use of the agonizer didn’t help improving his efficiency, however. Scott’s co-workers from engineering didn’t appear to know anything about his disappearance either. If they did, they were more durable than Kirk had given them credit for.
It would have been easy to find him had the Tantalus device still been in its place. But it was gone, had been for two years, and Kirk’s life had become so much more challenging sine then.
And he’d found that sometimes, he liked that.
Not now, though. This was potentially threatening his ship, his command, his life. He wanted Scott found. He needed to see what the man was up to.
But the man remained gone. A week after his absence had initially been noted, there still was no trace of him, and Kirk began to accept that he might truly simply be no longer on board. Perhaps he had been murdered, and his corpse disposed off. Things like that happened. But the only way to get rid of a corpse without leaving a trace was to beam it into a sun, and there was no hint at that. Either the transporter hadn’t been used, or the protocol had been manipulated in such an expert way only Scott himself would have been capable of.
Him, and possibly Mr. Spock.
Another possibility was that Scott was in Spock’s quarters, getting fucked by the rabid Vulcan. The thought alone was repulsing, but it seemed suspicious that his disappearance coincided with Spock’s sudden revelation of impending ponn far.
On the other hand, it was quite possible that Spock had lied to Kirk about his condition and was instead working with the engineer on some conspiracy, using as an excuse for his absence an occasion during which no one would dare to disturb him.
There was no way to find out. If Spock had spoken the truth, he would kill anyone entering his quarters. If he had lied, he would kill anyone who entered his quarters. Accepting the uselessness of an attempt to invade the Vulcan’s privacy, Kirk had no other choice but to wait until Spock emerged from his isolation and returned to work.
He would have to keep an eye on him from now on. Kirk had always known that one day, his first officer would develop into a problem.
-
When he drifted to the surface of consciousness, Spock felt pain filling his head. His muscles ached, his limbs were heavy. Everything felt dulled and far away. His heart was beating slowly and steadily. The need had burned out and left nothing in its wake. He shifted his position, only vaguely aware of the other body trapped under his, and allowed himself to drift back to sleep.
The next time he woke, the need to consume food drove him out of his bed. On Vulcan, a servant would have taken care of his needs, allowing him to remain in bed for days and sleep, only occasionally rising to eat the meals that would be delivered to his bed. Here, he had to take care of this himself. His body protested the movement, but instinct drove him to the table, where the required Vulcan food had been waiting for him for days, kept fresh and warm in its boxes.
After he had eaten, Spock wandered back to bed and settled against the cool body of his mate. The physical contact was comforting and calming. He slept.
The next time he woke up, Spock knew he had been asleep for five hours and thirteen minutes. There were about eight hours left from him to recover before duty called him back to the bridge. Absurdly, he thought that McCoy would have insisted on him resting at least another day.
This one, at least, The other one - the McCoy Spock illogically kept thinking of as the real one - would have considered him fit for duty if he could work without dying. It was a way of thinking more effective, and more compatible with the requirements of this universe.
He ate again, then summoned the energy to take a shower. He was beginning to feel more like himself and developed an awareness of his state. The amount of dried sweat, semen and blood on his skin disgusted him.
Once he emerged from the bathroom, he took his first real look at the human on the bed. McCoy was alive, but barely so. He didn’t show any reaction when Spock ran the scanner over him and his mind was shut down and out of reach.
He had fulfilled his purpose. Now, it would be easiest to either kill him, or simply push him aside and let him die.
However, in the aftermath of ponn far, Spock’s instincts were still strong. They caused him to overcome the reluctance of his muscles and move over to gather the med kit he kept in the closet in his bathroom. Superficially taking care of McCoy’s injuries wouldn’t save him, Spock knew, but he did so anyway. Afterwards, he sat beside the motionless human and considered his options.
McCoy was as filthy as he himself had been. Spock had no desire to share the bed with someone in this condition, but didn’t have the energy to clean him up. It would have been illogical to waste effort on the cleaning of someone who was likely to die anyway.
For this reason, and because he felt an urge to change the covering of the bed, Spock removed the shackles from the head of the bed and carried McCoy over to the corner where he had originally placed him. It would not be necessary to fasten his restraints to the wall again, but Spock did so anyway.
It was a relief to have the efficiency of his mind approach normal capacity again. Spock would never admit to anyone such an emotional reaction to something inevitable, but he dreaded ponn far with every fibre of his being. It took away his control and his awareness and turned him into a slave of his genes. Spock didn’t appreciate that.
His memory of the last week was fragmentary at best. The blood fever had turned him into a mindless beast and not much of his activities had fond their way into active memory. He recalled, vaguely, the moments of clarity in between. The rest remained covered by a dreamlike haze in which all sensations flowed into one.
He had known to expect a certain amount of damage to his human, caused by exhaustion, malnourishment, stress and too rough treatment during sexual acts. Spock could not remember what he had done to cause the internal bleeding, the broken bones, or the damage to his windpipe.
If he meditated over it, he might be able to regain some of his memory, but he was uncertain whether or not he wanted to know. On the one hand the lack of memory it made the loss of control even more complete. One the other hand, there was high probability of him being disgusted with his own behaviour. It was unlikely to be a recollection of events he would miss.
Of course, there was a certain probability that he would find the memory he himself was lacking in McCoy’s mind should the doctor ever again regain consciousness.
If McCoy survived until Spock returned from his shift tomorrow, he would be able to do some more for him. For now, the Vulcan was too tried still, and plainly too apathetic to care very much whether the doctor lived or died. Having done for the ill man all he could and was willing to do under the circumstances, he returned to his bed, pulled off the dirty sheets and fell into a deep sleep before he could decide if he had enough energy left to apply new ones.
-
Whenever Kirk and Spock happened to work the same shift, Spock would be on the bridge before the captain. Kirk was not known for being late for work - in fact, he made a point of arriving a few minutes early unless more important matters demanded his attention. Still, usually when he came, the Vulcan was already there. It annoyed Kirk. He couldn’t help getting the impression that his first officer was mocking him.
Eight days after the Vulcan had taken his leave, Kirk arrived on the bridge three minutes before his shift started and found Spock sitting at the science station, looking impeccable as always. He did his best not to frown. Having the first officer back at work was not usually an event that justified disapproval.
But, hell, this was his ship, and if he wanted to be displeased, who would dare to ask for a reason?
“Mr. Spock,” he greeted the Vulcan. “I see you survived your time of mating once again.”
If Spock minded him mentioning the ponn far in front of everyone, it didn’t show. “I did, Captain. I trust nothing out of the ordinary happened in my absence?”
Funny he would ask. “As a matter of fact, it did. We appear to have lost Commander Scott.”
Spock raised his eyebrows. “Lost, Sir?”
“Yes, lost. As in, we have no idea where he is.”
“He wasn’t assassinated, then?”
“Your men didn’t tell you about this?”
“No, Captain. I only returned to duty two point seven minutes ago. I did not yet have time to receive the reports of my men.”
“You didn’t seem overly surprised to me.”
Once again he got the expression of interested puzzlement, carried by those damn eyebrows. “Surprise is an emotion, Captain.”
“Of course it is. How silly of me to forget, Mr. Spock. So you wouldn’t have an idea what happened to our chief engineer?”
“Regrettably, I am so far lacking information to from a valid theory. I must say, however, that Mr. Scott is an unfortunate person to lose, as we have no one to sufficiently replace him. I shall make further investigations in this matter.”
“You do that, Spock,” Kirk said, settling in his chair and keeping his suspicion to himself. With a glance at Sulu he added, “Though security might wish you are as unsuccessful as they have been, else you’d prove they weren’t doing their job right.”
Sulu shifted in his seat, but didn’t turn around to acknowledge Kirk’s words. He was at least that bright.
October 6, 2009
Chapter 3