The BLTS Archive- Aberration
by kwata

---

Disclaimer: Spock, Kirk, McCoy and the rest of the crew are the
undeserved property of Paramount. I make no claim to them, but am just
borrowing them for this story, which is mine.

---

There's no such thing as a routine mission, thought James Kirk as he
watched the pleasantly green and blue planet closing in on the main
viewscreen. Especially when it's something as simple as replenishing
the ship's stores. Sometimes trouble seemed to seek them out, no
matter how careful they were. Take, for example, the last time they
were on shore leave and those Orion slave traders had almost run off
with six crewmembers--no. Better not to think about it. That was like
courting disaster.

"On final approach to Kirdara, Captain," Sulu reported from the helm.

Their destination was a quiet, peaceful and prosperous planet
inhabited by human colonists who had settled there more than a century
ago. Protected by the United Federation of Planets, it was the ideal
place for a few days of uninterrupted stocking up, and maybe a bit of
shore leave, if they were lucky.

Satisfied that all was under control, the captain rose and stretched.
"Take her in, Spock. I'm going to my quarters. Shift ends in fifteen
minutes anyway. Meet you later for dinner?"

"Certainly, Captain." Spock stepped down to the captain's chair. They
nodded gravely at each other from opposite sides, then the Vulcan
seated himself with a smooth movement as Kirk headed for the
turbolift.

"Lieutenant Uhura, open a channel to Kirdara Space Terminus," said
Spock over his shoulder, "and request docking instructions from them,
please."

---

Two hours later, the ship was berthed in the gigantic framework of the
Space Terminus, floating over the Kirdaran capital in a serene
geostationary orbit.

Since it was still early in the Kirdaran afternoon, many crewmembers
had transported down to have a look around. The bridge still had its
full complement of staff, all busy at their consoles, powering down
certain of the ship's systems that would not be needed while she was
at rest.

Not long after they had moored, a planet-to-ship call came in for
Kirk. The captain elected to take it on the bridge. Standing at
Uhura's side, he finished off what seemed like an earnest
conversation, smiled at her and strolled over to the science station.
Spock rose to his feet at Kirk's approach, clasping his hands behind
his back expectantly.

"It seems that the local brass have invited us to a welcoming dinner
tonight, so we'll have to postpone ours. Now don't look at me like
that," Kirk said, holding up a hand to forestall Spock's protest. "I
know you don't like official functions--I don't either--but it would
be very rude to refuse."

"That is true," Spock admitted, suppressing a very un-Vulcanly twinge
of anticipation for the spectacle of a fidgeting, sweating, griping
Doctor McCoy in dress uniform. Spock, naturally, fitted so perfectly
into his own dress tunic that fidgeting was not even an option in his
case.

"Apparently they're very honoured that the Enterprise has decided to
pay them a visit."

Spock frowned. "Captain, may I remind you that the Enterprise is not a
living entity and as such, is incapable of making its own decisions."

"Thank you, Spock," said Kirk gravely, turning away to hide the grin
that sprang to his lips. Sometimes it was hard to tell whether Spock
was really interpreting words literally or whether he was just being
his pedantic Vulcan self. Come to think of it, was there even a
difference? But there were also times when Kirk knew Spock did it on
purpose to try to lift his captain out of a gloomy mood. Whoever said
Vulcans were insensitive icebergs should just hear this one sometimes!

This, however, was not one of those times. Definitely pedantism, Kirk
decided.

He turned and caught Uhura's eye and they shared a moment of humour.
"We'll beam down at twenty-hundred. Uhura, please inform the senior
staff that I expect them to show up in full dress uniform, scrubbed,
shined, buffed and smoothed."

---

"Tell me again why we're here."

Kirk blocked out the monotonous droning noise emanating from yet
another in the seemingly endless line of speakers, and fixed his
attention on his first officer without making it obvious.

"Because Starbase 21 is temporarily closed to space traffic, and this
was the nearest Federation outpost capable of meeting our inventory
requirements."

"Couldn't we have waited another couple of weeks?"

Was that an exasperated sigh he heard coming from Spock?

"We could have, but then we would have found ourselves alarmingly
short of certain essential items, including medical supplies which
must be replaced after the recent shipwide outbreak of Cutana Blister
Fever." Spock shifted backwards in his chair. "Captain, that is the
fifth time you have asked me for that explanation."

Kirk looked mournful. "It might not be the last."

They exchanged a telling glance.

"We're only here to pick up supplies, for crying out loud," complained
the captain sotto voce, "which doesn't warrant this kind of gala
performance. Imagine what lengths they go to when there's a real
reason to celebrate."

"Perhaps they lead very uninteresting lives," offered Spock.

The captain succeeded in keeping his smile under restraint. "Perhaps,"
he said, thinking again of Vulcan sensibility. He stared with genuine
longing at the overflowing platter of food sitting tauntingly ten
centimetres from his fingertips. Perhaps nobody would notice if he--

"I wouldn't advise it, Jim," said Spock's cool voice beside him.

Kirk drew his fingers back guiltily and tucked them into the cuffs of
his tunic to keep them from straying, as he glanced at Spock out of
the corners of his eyes.

"We must observe protocol," Spock went on, hardly moving his lips as
he spoke. "And protocol dictates that the speeches be concluded before
any consumption of food."

"Then I suppose I should be grateful they've at least given us water
so that we don't die of thirst while they're praising our names."

Eyeing the miniature cup of water in front of him, Spock said, "We may
drink this, but when the cup is empty it may not be refilled until the
first morsels of food have been eaten."

His advice came too late. There was not a drop left in Kirk's cup.

"Damn."

"Indeed." Spock surreptitiously exchanged his almost full cup for
Kirk's empty one, earning himself a grateful smile. "Unfortunately we
must defer to the customs of our hosts."

"How do you know so much about Kirdaran social customs, anyway?"

"I consulted the library computer."

"Oh."

Further down the table the other members of the Starfleet delegation
were looking just as dismayed with the proceedings. They, too, had
expected a simple cheese and wine, finger snack, informal type of
occasion--not this full-blown pomp and ceremony. Sometimes reputations
were more trouble than anything else . . .

At length the speaker finished his address and moved to sit down. The
Enterprise officers perked up, even Spock, who had been entertaining
himself by mentally recalculating and refining the intermix formula.
Their collective hopes were dashed when another garishly robed person
took the previous speaker's place.

"Ve're doomed," whined Chekov.

The point of a boot connected with his ankle, just hard enough to
attract his attention without making him yelp in pain.

Tucking her legs back under her chair, Uhura flashed mischievous eyes
at him and indicated the string of plush chairs whence all the orators
had come. The one at the end of the line was empty. "It looks as if
he's the last," she said in a low voice, "so all you have to do is
feign interest for a while longer and cheer enthusiastically when he's
done. Not too difficult, is it, Pavel?"

She was right. Fifteen minutes later, it was all over. In yet another
strange twist, Kirk was not obliged to make a reciprocal speech and
so, starving after the boredom of two hours of speechmaking, everyone
attacked their food with gusto.

Soon people began to mingle, coming together in groups which again
split up to form new groups, like whirling leaves in a stream.

Having done their official duty by spending some time with the Chief
Councillor who had issued the original invitation--a man by the name
of Meik Dogon--Kirk, Spock and McCoy retreated to a corner of the vast
room and watched the shifting crowd.

Presently Kirk realised that they weren't the only watchers in the
vicinity.

"That woman over there, Spock," he said, jerking his head in the
appropriate direction. "she keeps staring at you."

Spock's eyebrow rose fractionally. "Jim, if a woman were indeed
staring in this direction I doubt that I would be the object of her
scrutiny."

"For once I agree with you, Spock," said McCoy, standing on his toes
to look over Spock's shoulder without being seen. "What woman of taste
would want to stare at your skinny body and pointy ears--"

"Your memory is failing you yet again, Doctor," Spock retorted. "The
Horta, for one, considered them the most attractive--"

A snort of disdain erupted from the doctor. "The Horta. An ambulatory
boulder."

Spock stiffened in dignified outrage. "The Horta was a remarkably
intelligent and discerning--"

"Gentlemen. Let's try to keep our comments to the point." Grinning at
the latest segment in the ongoing Spock-McCoy saga, Kirk sneaked a
look at their mysterious observer. "She's very beautiful, I must
admit."

The woman in question was hovering near the buffet table and there was
no doubt that one of the three men had attracted her attention. She
was small and slender and quite exquisite, with long black hair and
delicate features, and a dress that would have been a scrap of fabric
in another life. Her movements were graceful and seductive, drawing
the eyes of many men around the room; she returned none of those
admiring glances as her gaze kept returning to the perplexed trio.

McCoy brightened, tugging instinctively at the collar of his jacket.
"You're right, Jim. She's interested in one of us, that's for sure."

"I'm telling you, Bones, Spock is her target. He's just too modest to
admit to the possibility. Watch. You go that way, I'll go this way."

Putting the theory to the test, Kirk and McCoy edged away from Spock,
leaving him standing on his own. The woman's gaze never shifted. Then
they edged back up to him and McCoy conceded that the Vulcan was
indeed the specimen under observation.

"I wonder who she is?" the captain mused.

Then both he and McCoy looked intently at Spock.

"Gentlemen, I have been around humans long enough to know that you are
engaging in what is known as dropping a hint. Unfortunately I have no
intention of satisfying your curiosity," the Vulcan stated.

McCoy couldn't bear the suspense. "But aren't *you* curious, Spock?"
he pleaded. "Even a tiny bit?"

He got a withering glare in reply, and, together with the captain,
finally had to accept that the Vulcan wasn't interested. They dropped
the subject.

The party continued. Later, Kirk noticed that the mysterious woman had
succeeded in cornering his first officer. Spock spoke cordially but
distantly with her, removing her hand from his arm several times
before finally shaking his head and escaping to the nearby safe
company of Uhura and Scott.

As soon as was politely possible, the captain and doctor, now both
inquisitive beyond human tolerance, extracted themselves from the
group of councillors currently monopolising the conversation and
sidled over to Spock.

"Will you please tell us who she is?" they demanded, standing shoulder
to shoulder before the mildly amused Vulcan.

"She is Vasona, and she is Meik Dogon's wife."

---

Two days later, the Chief Councillor's wife was almost a forgotten
topic. The replenishing of the ship's stores and medical department
proved to be sufficient distraction, and everyone was kept busy as
container after container of supplies was beamed aboard.

As a treat for improving on the intermix formula without being asked
to do so, Kirk, who fancied himself as something of a xenogourmet,
took Spock to dinner at a local restaurant that evening. It had been a
hectic couple of days, but what pleased Kirk was that they'd all
worked so hard that they had managed to complete the task of
restocking way ahead of expectations and he was now able to grant the
crew three days of shore leave.

Both found something on the menu which pleased them, and waited in
easy silence for their meal to arrive. It wasn't that often that these
two got a chance to spend what McCoy called quality time together,
away from the ship and the distraction of their duties. The doctor,
responsible primarily for the wellbeing of both of them, openly
encouraged such chances. McCoy knew that the Vulcan was a calming
influence on a personality that was sometimes too dynamic for its own
good and Kirk, in turn, had a knack for lifting Spock out of his
lonely pride.

They were halfway through the main course when their repast was
interrupted by three Kirdaran men who suddenly stopped next to their
table and stood there, waiting in silence to be acknowledged.

"Can we help you?"

The men, who all wore some kind of uniform which neither Starfleet
officer could identify immediately, ignored Kirk's courtesy.

"Commander Spock?" said the officious-looking one in front, addressing
the Vulcan.

A forkful of vegetable terrine stopped halfway between the dish and
Spock's mouth. "Yes," he said.

"I am Judicial Commissar Meskara."

The Judicial Commissar, here? Kirk and Spock exchanged a puzzled
glance.

"Commander Spock," the Kirdaran intoned by way of explanation for his
presence. "in accordance with Regulation 33.6.5, paragraph 4b, I am
placing you under arrest."

To his credit and the Kirdarans' disappointment, Spock remained calm,
although he did turn noticeably pale. "On what charges?"

A satisfied grin smeared itself across the coarse features of the
Kirdaran. "Sexual misconduct."

Kirk's fork and his jaw dropped simultaneously. He flew up, knocking
his chair over backwards in his surprise. A few heads turned towards
them, but fortunately they were in a corner of the restaurant and
didn't attract too much attention.

Spock also rose, with much more grace, and confronted the man. "I
believe you may be mistaken, sir," he said politely.

This isn't happening, thought Kirk. Spock--sexual misconduct? Those
words didn't even belong in the same sentence, never mind arresting
him for it. For a second the hopeful thought flashed through his mind
that they had the wrong Spock. But of course, he realised, there was
only one Commander Spock.

"I am not mistaken, Commander. If you would be so good as to come with
us to Enforcement Headquarters, we will show you the evidence in our
possession. Then you can judge for yourself whether or not we've made
a mistake."

Now thoroughly annoyed, Kirk started to protest, but gentle pressure
on his arm stopped him before the words left his lips.

"It is pointless to argue, Captain," said Spock, removing his hand
from Kirk's arm. "Let us accompany these gentlemen. No doubt this is a
simple case of mistaken identity. I am sure we will be able to resolve
it to everyone's satisfaction."

---

Twenty minutes later, both officers were reeling in shock at what
they'd just seen.

True to his word, the Judicial Commissar had shown them the
evidence--in the form of a visicam recording--of Spock's crime.

The supposed victim was none other than Vasona, the young wife of Meik
Dogon, who was also present in the Commissar's office. Kirk recalled
that at the dinner two nights ago, she had shown great interest in
Spock, but he was certain that the Vulcan did not reciprocate her
feelings. However, watching the visicam images with increasing horror
and outrage, he had to admit that he may have been wrong--utterly
ludicrous though that idea was.

As the recording started, Vasona was alone at home. The security
visicam that had diligently preserved the entire episode was mounted
in a corner of the ceiling in the Dogons' lounge. From this vantage
point it had a view of almost the entire room.

They saw the girl pour herself a glass of wine. She was chicly
dressed, as if she was expecting a visitor. Then her head turned
quickly towards the door, and she set the glass down and went to open
it. The tall figure that entered, dressed from head to foot in elegant
black, was strangely familiar.

Spock frowned and leaned forward to peer at the screen. Then he
averted his eyes as recognition struck. Kirk felt a thrill of alarm
rush through him as the identity of the man became clear. It was,
indeed, his first officer, or his twin brother--which was even more
utterly ludicrous.

As if their skulls were mounted on bearings, all heads swivelled to
stare at the real-life Vulcan, then turned back to the screen.

Vasona and her visitor exchanged a few pleasantries. It now became
apparent to all that there were no accompanying sound effects, and
both Kirk and Spock had good reason to be thankful for this in the
next few minutes.

The recording showed Vasona offering her guest a glass of wine.
Abruptly his demeanour changed and he dashed it away from him. He came
closer to her and said something that made her eyes go wide and her
face grow pale. With one hand outstretched to keep him at bay, she
stepped back, but the more she moved away, the quicker he followed her
until her back was against the wall and she could retreat no further.
The motion-tracking visicam recorded everything.

They saw him step up to her and grab her roughly in his arms. His
hands went around her buttocks as she struggled, pulling her hard
against him. She made a feeble attempt to beat him off, but finally
her own desires got the better of her and she drew the glossy head
down to hers and kissed him with a hunger that equalled his own.

Kirk suppressed the urge to rub his eyes and clear this awful scene
away from them. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. One glance at
Spock told him that his friend was as amazed as he was, blinking in
surprise at seeing himself doing something so uncharacteristic.

By this time the two people on the screen were glued to each other.
The Vulcan, his lips on the woman's neck, reached under her skirt and
pulled down her panties before separating her legs with his knee and
inserting a questing hand between her thighs. She, in turn, was
running her fingers across the front of his pants, tracing the robust
bulge contained within. He covered her hand with his own and thrust
against it, using it to stimulate himself.

Then he turned her so that her back was to him. Faithfully, horribly,
the visicam followed as he marched her roughly to the nearest armchair
and forced her to bend over the back of it. Fumbling one-handed with
the fastening of his pants, he finally managed to undo it, and pushed
the garment down over his hips, freeing his erect, twitching penis.
Again reaching between her legs, he lubricated himself with her
juices, then positioned his cock and drove it into her with one
smooth, hard thrust.

Vasona screamed and struggled, but he was too strong. Her comfort was
clearly the last thing on his mind as he pounded into her and now the
audience saw with horror that he had penetrated her anally. After
barely a dozen thrusts he went rigid and flung his head back,
straining, then collapsed across her back. Seconds later he withdrew
so suddenly that she whimpered in pain.

By this time the visicam technician had zoomed in on the couple so
that every horrible detail would be caught, and they all saw a final
trickle of semen dribbling from the distended slit at the tip of the
Vulcan's penis as he stepped back, breathing hard. Now wiping away
tears, Vasona turned to see him snatch up her panties from the floor
and use them to clean his own fluids from his body. Then he dropped
the soiled item to the ground, dressed himself and stalked
contemptuously out of the room without saying another word to her.

Mercifully, the scene came to an end here. Those watching it were
shocked into silence.

The blood was roaring in Kirk's ears. He couldn't bear to look at
Spock. His earlier doubts had vanished, and he cursed himself savagely
for ever having had them. All he knew was that this was a lie.
Somehow, someone had fabricated this . . . this abomination,
implicating his friend, the most impeccably behaved and most private
of men. This callous violation of Spock's Vulcan modesty was far more
of a crime than the deed of which he stood accused.

Slowly he forced himself to look at Spock, and his heart broke at
seeing his friend so humiliated. The Vulcan sat stiffly on his chair.
His eyes were fixed on the table in front of him, his hands clasped
tightly between his knees-Kirk knew they'd be shaking otherwise. The
points of his ears were suffused with a deep shade of green. His shame
hung around him like a pall of smoke. But even in his humiliation his
dignity remained intact--the Kirdarans could not strip him of that.

Even though he was innocent--and Kirk would stake his own career on
that fact without hesitation--the captain knew that being forced to
watch himself engaging in such sordid activities had been a terrible
shock for Spock. Worse, there had been an audience. For a Vulcan, this
was nothing short of traumatic.

Kirk felt a surge of blazing anger. He sprang to his feet, turning to
Commissar Meskara.

"This is preposterous!" he yelled, pointing at the monitor. "How can
you believe that Spock is capable of such behaviour? He's a Vulcan,
for God's sake!"

The Kirdaran shrugged, unimpressed with Kirk's outburst. "I remind
you, Captain, that we have just seen the proof with our very eyes. In
case you have already forgotten . . ."

He issued a quick series of instructions to the visicam technician. A
few taps on the control panel brought an image to the blank screen. It
was a face in extreme close-up view. The face of the Enterprise's
first officer, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open, features contorted in
orgasm.

Dogon suddenly strode over to Spock, grabbed two handfuls of Science
blue, and jerked him to his feet. "I saw you the other night talking
with her!" the enraged husband shouted, and before anyone could stop
him he drew back his fist and connected it solidly with the side of
Spock's head.

The Vulcan staggered, holding a hand to his eye, but stayed on his
feet, and Kirk and Meskara intervened before Dogon could hit him
again.

"If you do that again, Meik, I will be forced to place you under
arrest as well, do you understand?" said Meskara sternly. "I am being
lenient with you only because of the circumstances. From now on, you
will control yourself."

Dogon nodded sullenly, but the black look on his face made it plain
that he wanted more than anything to beat Spock to a bloody pulp, and
that he would do so if he got the chance.

"So? Is it forbidden to talk with someone?" Kirk said with as much
sarcasm as he could muster.

"Please, Captain," Meskara said. "we will conduct a cross-examination
during the trial, not before."

"At least tell us when this was supposed to have happened," Kirk
pleaded.

"Today, just after midday," Dogon sneered. "When she was alone at
home. The act of a filthy coward--"

A warning look from Meskara shut him up.

"Spock was on the ship all day today," said Kirk firmly. "as were all
of us."

"Can you prove that?" asked Meskara.

"Not immediately, but it'll be in the ship's log. I can ask my
communications officer to locate and transmit the relevant portions--"

"You'll have your chance, Captain. In the meantime, we must place
Commander Spock into confinement."

"This is impossible," Kirk protested. "Do you realise who it is that
you're accusing? Commander Spock is one of the most honourable and
respected officers in the Fleet!"

The commander in question was nursing what promised to develop into a
nasty green eye. He said nothing, and his silence did not work well
for him. Kirk understood it. Not only was Spock too ashamed to look
anyone in the eye or to even speak, but there was nothing he could say
to make it right. Logic certainly did not apply here--there was no
logic to the situation at all--and without logic he had no defenses.

If the poisonous glares flying in Spock's direction were anything to
go by, Dogon and the others misinterpreted his silence as resentment
at having been caught in the act.

Kirk sighed inwardly. This shouting and arguing was getting them
nowhere. Reason would not prevail while everyone's emotions were fired
up. He decided to retreat and spare his friend further shame.

"I assume that Commander Spock will be allowed a fair trial?" he asked
impatiently, managing to convey his extreme disgust at the mere notion
of such an unnecessary charade.

"Of course," Meskara replied, showing his own distaste that such a man
should be allowed to defend himself at all.

Summoning his most intimidating captain's stare, Kirk looked Meskara
in the eye and said, "Then I appoint myself as his counsel, as is my
right as his commanding officer, and I request that you release him
into my custody so that we may begin working on our case. There's no
reason to imprison him. I'll assume full responsibility for his
freedom."

Spock finally reacted, slowly raising dark, hurt eyes to his captain.
The profound gratitude in them, as if Spock had expected Kirk to turn
away from him too, filled Kirk with rage. He would prove them wrong,
he told himself. Spock was innocent, and he would prove them all
wrong. He had no idea how he would accomplish this, but--

"Very well," said Meskara after a moments deliberation. "Do you have
any objections to Captain Kirk as your counsel, Commander?"

Spock shook his head, once. "I do not," he said quietly.

"Then we herewith release you into the custody of Captain Kirk. But be
warned, Commander--your movements are restricted. You may not leave
the planet for any reason except to transport to your vessel, and said
vessel must remain in Kirdaran space until this matter is resolved.
Your trial is set for a week hence."

"C'mon, Spock," Kirk snapped. "Let's get out of here."

He dragged the Vulcan to his feet and hustled him through the door,
thankful to be away from the hostile, judgmental eyes of the
Kirdarans. The room had begun to feel uncomfortably airless and warm,
while at the same time the atmosphere had turned unbearably cold.

---

In the corridor outside, Spock sagged against the wall, finally
allowing his reactions to catch up with him.

"You all right?" Kirk asked anxiously.

"No," Spock whispered in a weak voice. "No . . ."

At once Kirk flipped open his communicator and within seconds they
were back aboard the Enterprise, on a familiar deck and among friends.
Thankfully it was late, the transporter technician noticed nothing
except that the first officer was even quieter than usual, and the
corridors were empty. Nobody saw Kirk ushering along a pale, shocked
Vulcan who stumbled occasionally.

Kirk took Spock to his quarters and made him sit down. "I'm going to
fetch McCoy. Wait here," he instructed. "I'll be back in a minute."

Spock made no protest. He merely sat, shivering, staring numbly at the
monitor on his desk, as if hoping it would suddenly play back the
terrible scene that he had just witnessed, but with some other man.

Stopping first at McCoy's cabin, Kirk was relieved to find him there,
going over his newly boosted inventory on the computer.

The captain quickly filled him in on what had happened.

McCoy stared at him, aghast. "Oh, no, Jim, that's impossible! There
must be some mistake. Spock could never do such a thing!"

Kirk bit his lip in frustration and began to drag McCoy to the door.
"I know, and you know, but we have to convince Dogon and his cronies.
I can't imagine how they did it, but somehow the bastards have got him
on visicam having sex with this woman, raping her. There's no mistake,
Bones! It is impossible, but it was him!"

"Where is he now?"

"I've put him in his quarters. He's very subdued. I want you to have a
look at him--he took a nasty clip on the side of the head too. And
bring that bottle of Saurian brandy--the one you prescribe for
medicinal purposes."

"Yeah, I think even Spock would see the logic of a strong drink at a
time like this."

---

They found the Vulcan exactly the way Kirk had left him--sitting
quietly, trembling intermittently, staring at the screen on his desk.

McCoy gripped his shoulder gently. "Are you all right, Spock?"

Spock could only shake his head silently. Quickly McCoy ran his
medical scanner over him, then opened his medikit and brought out a
hypo.

Kirk paced. "Bones?"

The doctor fussed around Spock some more. "His skin is cool, for him.
His blood pressure is, well, it's so low that I can hardly detect it.
He's unresponsive. Jim, he's actually gone into shock. Whatever
nonsense it is that these blasted Kirdarans have concocted, it's
really hit him hard."

There was a soft hiss as the hypo delivered a metabolic stimulant into
Spock's neck.

The captain continued to pace around Spock's quarters, hands clenched
at his sides, body stiff with tension and anger, counting off the
seconds it would take for the medication to begin its work. Then he
whirled and put a hand on each armrest of Spock's chair, bringing his
face level with that of his traumatised first officer.

"Spock."

Spock refused to meet his eyes.

"Spock. Look at me."

The Vulcan continued to stare determinedly at Kirk's uniform insignia.

"Spock," said Kirk very gently. "I saw it, but I don't believe it. Not
for a second. I swear to you, I know you didn't do it. You couldn't.
And Bones and I will do everything we can to help. We have *got* to
find out how they did this."

If there was one thing that could break down Spock's barriers, it was
the knowledge that his captain still had unwavering faith in him. The
tactic worked. He lifted his eyes, looked from one worried face to the
other, and took a deep breath.

"I haven't disappointed you?"

"Oh, Spock." For a second Kirk's eyes burned with loathing for the
people who had put such doubts into his friend's mind. Spock felt it
and couldn't help but flinch, although he knew the hatred was directed
elsewhere. Then the fire left Kirk's eyes--but it remained in his
heart. "God, no. Never. There's nothing you could do that would
disappoint me."

There was another round of silence from the Vulcan as he drew comfort
from the presence of his two loyal friends. "Thank you, Jim, Doctor,"
he said eventually, sounding a little more like himself. "I must
confess that I too am mystified. I am quite sure that the person on
that recording was not me, yet it was. How can that be explained?"

"I don't know, but you can bet we'll get to the bottom of it."

"Let me see that eye," said McCoy, bending down. "Hmm. It'll be a nice
shade of green in the morning. You want me to get rid of the bruise?"

"Yes, please."

"Hold still." A few minutes' work with a narrow ultrasonic beam broke
up the blood collecting beneath Spock's skin. "There. You can't even
see it. And now," said the doctor, setting out three cups. "I think we
need a drink. That includes you, Spock."

"One of your better suggestions, Doctor," the Vulcan replied. "I will
not argue with you."

They tossed back the brandy and sat in silence for a while. A week,
Kirk thought. They had a week. There was nothing to be gained by
pursuing the issue now.

"Spock, it's late. You're tired. Get some sleep, and we'll tackle this
tomorrow when we're refreshed."

"Good idea," McCoy agreed. "Do you need something to help you sleep,
Jim?"

"Just something to take away this hammer inside my head."

"At your service, Captain." A couple of white pills exchanged hands.
"How about you, Spock? I can--"

"Unnecessary, Doctor. Meditation will perform the same function, with
a far more agreeable effect on my physiology."

"Well, okay, but don't say I didn't offer."

---

Spock didn't sleep as well as he had suggested. In fact, he didn't
sleep at all. And an entire night's cogitation failed to bring him any
closer to a solution, or even the beginning of one.

The next day he met with Kirk and McCoy in the doctor's office. Before
they locked the door Kirk ordered breakfast for three to be brought to
them--two bacon and eggs and one fruit platter. One advantage of being
in planetary orbit was that you had unlimited supplies of fresh food.
Thus sustained, they barricaded themselves in and made an earnest
start on their attempt to save Spock's career and reputation.

"First things first. I'd prefer it if you didn't go down there, Spock,
not without a security guard," Kirk said, blowing on the surface of
his hot coffee. "You never know what these Kirdarans will try next."

"Agreed. Have you informed Starfleet Command about this?"

"Not yet, but I will have to, won't I? I'll delay telling them for as
long as possible. Perhaps we can sort this thing out before it becomes
inevitable. I also want to keep it between the three of us and those
of my senior staff who need to know."

Good for you, Jim, thought McCoy with approval. Bend the rules a
little for him. We're dealing with a Vulcan here--this doesn't need to
be made common knowledge.

"If I may ask, Jim, what exactly will be your strategy regarding my
defense?"

He sounds a lot calmer than he did yesterday, thought Kirk, which is
good because this is going to be difficult for him. "Honestly, Spock,"
he replied. "I don't know yet. I thought about it the whole night and
I'm stumped."

"That makes two of us," McCoy said gloomily.

"Three, in fact," Spock added, taking a delicate bite of a smooth
round fruit that looked like a green guava. He chewed, raised his
eyebrow in appreciation, and finished it off before continuing. "I
assume you've requested a copy of that visicam recording for your
perusal?"

Kirk smiled grimly. "Yes, although I've got no intention of perusing
it any more than is necessary."

"There must be a flaw in that recording, Jim," said McCoy. "I'm sure
there are sophisticated computers that can produce something like it,
but I doubt that they happen to have one handy here on Kirdara."

"That is very logical, Doctor," said Spock, sounding faintly
surprised. "The level of Kirdaran computer technology is no more than
average and it is almost certain that the visicam recording could not
have originated here. On the other hand, the closest computer with
that capability is more than two days away from here, even at high
warp speed."

"Which brings us to the million credit question, gentlemen; where the
hell did they get it?"

Spock chose to ignore the reference to the mythological Terran Place
of Damnation, and said, "That is a question that will not easily be
answered, Jim. Let us wait for the copy of the evidence to arrive.
After you've watched it we shall carry on with our discussion. The
doctor may be right when he suggests that our answers lie within it."

Neither Kirk nor McCoy failed to notice Spock's second omission of
himself from the viewing audience. Neither of them blamed him for it.

The package arrived a short while later, and the doctor and captain
retreated to Kirk's quarters to view it in private. They assumed that
Spock would kill time in the labs or do some fine-tuning on the ship's
computer while they secluded themselves.

They were unfortunately mistaken.

---

Spock estimated that the recording would occupy Kirk and McCoy for
twenty minutes, and they would take a further twenty to discuss it
between them. That gave him forty minutes, at least, in which to carry
out a little sleuthing of his own.

The logical thing to do, he thought, would be to visit Vasona and
speak to her face to face about this unpleasant situation. Surely she
must know it wasn't him--how could it be?

He didn't want any distractions when talking to Vasona, and he knew
she wouldn't speak freely if there were anyone there but him. A burly,
vicious-looking security guard would be a definite deterrent.

The transporter technician hadn't been advised that Spock was to stay
on board. And Spock convinced himself that Kirk had not exactly
*ordered* him to stay put. It was hair splitting and he was well aware
of it, but there was no alternative if he was to proceed in a logical
fashion.

And so, after looking up the Dogons' address in the Kirdaran computer
banks, and against the advice of his friend and captain, the first
officer beamed down alone to confront his accuser.

---

"Dear God."

McCoy poured himself a brandy with hands that shook with outrage.
"That's the most shocking, disgusting thing I've ever seen. Not
because of what they were doing--Lord knows, we've seen far worse on
our galactic travels--but because it's Spock. Or rather, because it's
not Spock. It's . . . perverse."

Kirk looked at him from the other side of the desk. "I know exactly
what you mean." The captain's reaction to his second viewing of the
rape had been no different from yesterdays; seething rage and a fierce
protectiveness towards his Vulcan friend.

"How in blazes are we going to invalidate this little melodrama? It
looks pretty damning to me."

"Sure it does, but it's not true." Kirk clenched his fist, looking as
if he wanted to smash it through the desk, then controlled himself
with a visible effort and brought it down slowly. "We all know it. We
just have to prove it."

After a few more sips of brandy, McCoy's professional mind shook off
the numbness and began to grind into gear. "Did they tell you what
other evidence they had besides this? Did they examine the woman for
evidence of penetration, take semen samples, anything like that? Did
they ask Spock for a sample of his semen?"

A spark of interest lit the captain's eyes. "Come to think of it, no
they didn't. I guess we were both too shocked to even ask. Spock was
totally out of it. All I could think of was to get him back here."

"Hmm."

"The Kirdarans probably think this recording is evidence enough."

"Maybe they're right. Back home, of course, they'd want physical
proof. I don't know how the laws work here, but something as explicit
as this might be good enough for admissible evidence." He rubbed his
disbelieving eyes. "Especially since they don't have the technology to
forge it, so what else could it be but genuine?"

"Shit."

"Poor Spock," sighed the doctor. "Why him, of all people? He's the
most gentle man I've ever known. Those bloody Kirdarans have no idea
who they're messing with."

"Poor Spock if we don't get him off the hook." Kirk leaned on his
elbows. "What's your professional assessment of his condition at the
moment?"

"I assume you mean his mental condition." Kirk nodded. "Well, you just
have to look at him to see the pain. But he's a tough customer, Jim.
My psychological training tells me that he's coping, so don't worry.
Yet."

"I hope you're right." Kirk fingered the visicam disk, resisting the
urge to throw it to the ground and jump on it. "There must be a catch
to this somewhere. We just have to find it. In six days. I have no
intention of allowing Spock to suffer through a trial. A goddamed show
trial."

"I dunno, Jim. Something about that recording doesn't feel right to
me, besides the fact that one of the participants doesn't belong
there. If I could only put my finger on it--"

"A hunch, Doctor?" asked Kirk, for a moment sounding very much like
his first officer.

"A hunch, Captain."

"I have a hunch too. It's eluding me, though. Like one of those song
titles that you can't think of immediately, but you can't stop
worrying about it until you remember."

McCoy slapped the palm of his hand on the desk. "Yes! Exactly!"

Kirk took a deep breath, preparing himself for a third viewing. Maybe
this time the pain would be less--but somehow he didn't think so.
"Let's watch it again. As unpleasant as it is, we have to do it.
Spock'll keep himself busy until we're finished."

---

Spock materialised beside the steps leading into Vasona's apartment
building. This was the first time he'd actually been outside of a
Kirdaran building and he was unprepared for the chill in the air. It
snatched his breath away before he bounded up the steps into the
lobby. It took him seconds to climb the spiral staircase to the next
floor, and then he was standing outside the same apartment where he
supposedly committed a rape two days ago. He was certain he'd never
been here in his life.

He set his shoulders and knocked. There was movement from within.

"Who is it?" came a soft female voice.

"It is Spock," he called. "I wish to talk with you."

There was silence for a dozen heartbeats, and then the door opened a
crack, revealing fluffy black hair and part of a face. It was she.

"Why have you come here?"

Spock answered as persuasively as he knew how. "A grave error has
taken place. I merely wish to help you to realise this. I will not
hurt you. Please let me in."

She regarded him for a moment more, then stepped back to admit him.
"You must not stay long," she said in a whispery voice. "My husband
will be home soon and if he finds you here . . ."

Spock advanced cautiously into the room, looking around slowly,
feeling an eerie sense of having been here before although he knew he
had never set foot across the threshold. Involuntarily he glanced up
into the corner of the ceiling and saw the black eye of the visicam.
He shuddered briefly.

"Don't worry, I have just this minute turned it off."

He nodded, still surveying his surroundings. The setting was exactly
as it had been in that awful recording and there were certain items
which he even recognised, such as the black marble statue of a large
cat-like animal, and, of course, the chair over which the rape had
taken place.

This was very strange indeed.

"Please sit."

He did.

"What did you want to say?"

Spock pulled his thoughts together. "Vasona, I have never been in this
room until this minute. You must know that. Why do you persist in
accusing me of such disgraceful behaviour when clearly I could not
have been the culprit? Why do you not tell your husband and Judicial
Commissar Meskara that I am innocent?"

A new look crept across her face. Spock recognised it from his dealing
with humans. It was guilt.

"I--cannot," she murmured. "They would never believe me."

"Why?" Spock sat forward in his chair. "Why would they not believe
you? And how did you fabricate that recording--I am very curious to
know."

"I can't tell you."

This was unproductive. Spock sighed inwardly. What would Jim do in
this position? Perhaps switch to what was known as 'playing on a
person's feelings?' He knew nobody quite as skilled as Kirk in
manipulating people's emotions, and certainly he, Spock, was very
clumsy at it. It was, however, worth the attempt.

He decided to try a more thought-provoking tack.

"Please reconsider your position, Vasona. My career is in the balance.
I know I am innocent, you know it, but if the Commissar and your
husband are not convinced, I will be found guilty and I will lose
everything that I've worked hard to achieve during my lifetime."

"I'm sorry. I can't." Abruptly she stood and made her way to the door.
"Please go now. You can't stay here any longer."

Spock knew it was useless to try to force the information from her. He
rose, thinking that she seemed oddly frightened of something. Not him,
he knew that--he had never harmed her and she had no reason to believe
that he would. Before he could question her about this, she had opened
the door and was gesturing for him to leave.

He was halfway out when the door opposite the hall opened, and a young
male with an arrogant bearing came out. He stared at Spock, then at
Vasona, then back at Spock. The Vulcan gave him a cursory look, turned
and nodded to Vasona, then padded softly down the hall and disappeared
down the stairs.

The young man stared at his departing back. Once they were alone, he
spoke. "Was that the guy who--"

Being a close neighbour, naturally he was aware of the dreadful
experience that had befallen Vasona, but he had no knowledge of the
man's identity. For some reason, he immediately suspected Vasona's
mysterious visitor of being that man.

Vasona seemed hesitant to identify her visitor. "Well, no--" Then her
resolve seemed to crumble. "Yes, but--"

"What did he want?" the young man demanded.

"It's not important."

"Did he hurt you?"

"No, Kerrick," she said in a small, helpless voice. "Thank you for
your concern, but it's all right."

"Are you sure? You should have called me."

Vasona began to retreat into the apartment. "Please. It's all right.
Really."

"If you say so. Good day, Vasona." Kerrick took his leave of her and
descended to the lobby, looking uncertain. On the sidewalk he glanced
left and right, then set out with a purposeful stride in the same
direction that Spock had taken.

---

Spock hadn't beamed up immediately, but had taken advantage of the
opportunity to just stroll for a while in the brisk afternoon air. The
solitude was quite satisfying and helped to settle his troubled
thoughts. That is, until he turned a corner and was confronted by four
pugnacious-looking young men. He recognised one of them as the man
across the hall from Vasona's apartment.

"We've been following you," sneered the young man, swaggering forward.

Spock stood still and made no reply. He sensed trouble, but hoped to
avoid it by not provoking the gang.

"You've been wandering around like you're looking for something," one
of the others said in a hostile tone. "Like another helpless woman to
rape, maybe."

Involuntarily Spock began to say, "I did not--"

Afterwards, he wondered if the mere act of speaking was misconstrued
as aggression on his part. Perhaps if he had kept his mouth firmly
shut they wouldn't have rushed him.

---

"Scotty," Kirk asked his chief engineer, "I haven't seen Spock for
hours. He's not on board. D'you know where he went?"

"I dinna, Captain. Have ye tried his communicator?"

"Of course. He doesn't answer."

"Maybe Doctor McCoy spoke t' him before he beamed down."

The captain rubbed a hand across his chin thoughtfully. "Nobody spoke
to him, Scotty. He didn't tell anyone where he was going and in any
case, he had instructions not to go down alone. I'm worried."

"Aye."

Kirk crossed to the wall intercom and punched the button. "Bridge.
Science."

"Aye, Keptin," came the Russian-accented voice of Spock's science
station substitute.

"Spock is missing. Run a thorough sweep of the city and see if you can
pick up his life signs. Get back to me the instant you have anything
to report." He broke the connection without waiting for the reply, and
hit the button again. "Doctor McCoy, please report to the transporter
room."

Kirk, McCoy and Scott waited for ten anxious minutes before Chekov
announced that he had located a Wulcan life form reading which matched
with that of Mr. Spock, and was sending the co-ordinates to the
transporter console. Mr. Spock, he added, didn't appear to be moving
at all and the reading was wery faint.

"He could be unconscious," said McCoy. "We'd better go down first and
make sure he's in a condition to be moved."

Immediately he and Kirk beamed down, wondering with grave trepidation
what they'd find when they got there.

---

They found him lying face down, unmoving, cold, under a heap of old
papers and other debris in a deserted back alley. It was getting dark
and difficult to see much, but it was plain that his injuries were
severe.

"Is he alive?" was Kirk's only concern.

McCoy ran his scanner over the still body. "He's alive, Jim, but very
cold. He must have been lying here for ages. We have to get him up to
sickbay."

As he shook out a silvery insulating blanket and tucked it around the
Vulcan's head and torso, behind him he could hear Kirk preparing for
beam-up, giving additional orders for a medical team to be ready and
waiting. The alley dissolved in a bright shimmer and reformed into the
transporter room. At once the waiting emergency team sprang forward to
lift Spock's limp body onto the stretcher, face down as they had found
him, disturbing him as little as possible. Just the tips of his ears
peeked over the top of the blanket.

"Quickly," said McCoy, ensuring that the blanket was securely tucked
around Spock's head and shoulders. "take him to Trauma Room 1.
Scotty," he said, turning to the chief engineer, "get hold of Chris
and tell her to turn up the heat in TR1. And I mean full blast."

Medics and stretcher swung out into the corridor, followed closely by
Kirk and McCoy. There were gasps and concerned looks from passing
crewmembers who saw the black hair and points of the ears and knew it
was their first officer lying motionless on the stretcher, but they
went unnoticed by the hurrying attendants.

Christine Chapel and other duty staff were waiting for them in TR1.
The increase in temperature was already noticeable. Sweat sprang out
on their skin in response.

"On the bed," said McCoy. "on my mark."

At his signal they slid Spock off the stretcher and onto the biobed.
The indicators on the panel above jumped into life, but Kirk could
tell that everything was much weaker than it should have been.
Immediately Christine tucked the insulating blanket around the Vulcan
while McCoy ran the medical scanner over his body, looking grim.

Finally he turned to Kirk, who had flattened himself against the far
wall so as not to get in the way.

"I won't move or treat him until his core temperature has risen
another two degrees," he explained to the worried captain. "Lying
there for hours on that cold ground has made him seriously hypothermic
and if his temperature continues to drop we could lose him. He must
get warm first. His injuries will have to wait until then."

"How bad is it?" Kirk said softly.

"I haven't done an intensive examination, Jim, but there are
indications of internal bleeding and tissue damage. He may need
surgery. I can't tell you much more than that right now. My priority
is stabilising his temperature, or at least making sure it doesn't
drop below the danger level. If that happens no treatment in the
galaxy will do him any good."

"You're the doctor, Bones. Do what you must. Just save him."

---

It was over an hour later that McCoy pronounced Spock to be out of
immediate danger. For everyone attending to him, it had been a
nail-biting hour, a hot and sweaty hour, an anxious hour, marked by
fretting and pacing and hovering outside the door. The Vulcan's body
temperature, sustained by the fierce heat in the room, had climbed
slowly but steadily until McCoy was satisfied that an attempt could
now be made to turn him.

Three medics on either side of the bed awaited McCoy's instructions.

"Turn him over," the doctor instructed. "gently now."

The silver blanket was whipped away and they carefully rolled the
unconscious Vulcan onto his back.

Out in the main ward, Kirk, checking with Scotty that he wasn't needed
for anything at this moment, heard Christine give a cry of horror and
McCoy say "Oh my God," in much the same tone of voice.

Cutting Scotty off in mid-word, he rushed in, and stopped short.

Spock's chiselled features were a bloody mess. Both eyes were puffed
up to mere slits and a dark green bruise spread across one cheek like
a fungus growth. His once-exquisite mouth was fat and lumpy, the lips
split and caked with dried blood. There were other bruises and green
streaks--coming from his nose, from grazes on his temple and cheeks,
disappearing up into his hair. The tunic on the right side of his
chest was stiff with more dried blood and other unidentifiable stains.

"Jesus."

"As Spock would say," said McCoy, chafing a cold Vulcan hand
worriedly. "indeed."

They all stared at each other for an eternal moment of shock. Then
McCoy came over to the captain. "Jim," he said. "why don't you wait in
my office? We'll fix him up and give you a complete report as soon as
possible."

Kirk stared numbly at him.

"Come on." A gentle hand on his shoulder steered him into the office.
"I'll get one of the orderlies to bring you coffee, and I'll be back
as soon as I can."

---

Endless minutes later--Kirk had lost count after one hundred and
four--McCoy entered the office.

The captain sprang to his feet. "What happened to him? How is he?"

The doctor took a deep breath. "He's going to be fine, Jim. We had to
operate, as I feared, but I'll get to that in a minute. I'll start
from the top and work my way down. You saw his face. He was assaulted.
A thorough, ruthless job."

He paused for a moment to allow Kirk to digest the news, then began to
reel off the list of Spock's injuries as if he were reading a menu.

"Both pairs of eyelids are swollen shut, as you saw. His left
zygomatic arch was broken under the bruise--it's now fused.
Lacerations inside his mouth, several loose teeth, but none are
damaged or missing. I've reset them in the jaw. There are other minor
cuts and bruises. No permanent damage, but a moderate concussion has
resulted from the repeated blows to the head."

The captain said nothing, but his eyes grew more desolate with each
revelation.

"Moving down to his ribs, there are five broken on the right side.
Luckily his Vulcan bones are sturdy--they didn't splinter and pierce
the lung, but there's considerable bruising of the organ. Jim," McCoy'
s voice caught a bit."there's a bruise in the shape of a footprint
over his chest. That particular blow almost tore his nipple off."

Kirk went pale. "Fuckers."

"My sentiments exactly. He's sustained various other injuries and
contusions. And," the doctor hesitated as if dreading what he was
about to say. "he was damaged internally as well."

At that moment the captain wished he were anywhere in the universe but
in this room, so that he wouldn't have to ask the next question. He
asked it anyway. "Damaged . . . internally?"

"When we removed his trousers we found blood between his legs. His
undershorts were caked with it. He was bleeding from the rectum, Jim."

There was a strange thumping which didn't appear to emanate from
anywhere in the office. It took Kirk a moment to identify the sound as
his own wildly pounding heart. "Oh dear Lord." The captain dragged a
shaking hand across his mouth. "Was he--raped?"

"No, no sign of that, thank God. From the nature of the injuries I'd
say they took the nearest handy blunt object and shoved it up into
him. He was torn inside, quite badly. We've repaired that with surgery
and given him a coupla units of blood."

A chill blew across Kirk's skin, raising bumps, as he imagined his
friend, injured, probably restrained, writhing--no, screaming in agony
as his merciless attackers forced a blunt weapon up his ass and ripped
open his guts. He could only hope that Spock was unconscious by that
time.

"Christ," he said bitterly. "Did they have to hurt him like that?
Animals."

"Yeah. They wanted to make sure we got their message. If you do it to
one of us, we'll do it to one of you." McCoy shook his head. "This was
no coincidence, Jim. Our oh-so-respectable young socialite's buddies
are responsible for this atrocity, without a doubt. I wouldn't be
surprised if she put them up to it, or somehow manipulated them into
doing it. Unfortunately, unlike them, we have no proof."

The office was silent for some time. Eventually Kirk shifted and stood
up, rubbing the painfully tensed muscles at the base of his skull.

"Is he conscious? Can I see him?"

"He wasn't conscious when I left, but of course you can see him. The
anaesthetic should have worn off by now and he's warm and comfortable
enough to wake up. I've only given him morphinin for pain, no sedative
yet. Before I put him to sleep for the night I want to see him awake."

As they approached TR1, they were met at the door by an excited
Christine. "He's coming to, Doctor," she announced.

They rushed to the bedside. Spock was moving his hands, feeling at the
bedclothes, at the dressings on his face and fingers and chest, at the
transfusion tube in his arm.

"He'll be groggy from the painkiller and anaesthetic," McCoy informed
Kirk. "but go ahead and talk to him. It'll do him good to know you're
near. And Jim," he said, taking the captain by the arm. "I know you're
impatient to find out who's responsible for this, but it can wait
until morning, you hear? Spock is in no condition to answer
questions."

He looked Kirk in the eye, not releasing him until he was sure the
captain understood and was prepared to obey.

"All right, Doctor." Kirk leaned in close and spoke softly into a
pointed ear. "Spock, can you hear me?"

The battered head turned slowly towards the comfortingly familiar
voice. For a moment his mouth worked, trying to form a name.

"Jim . . ."

His voice rasped across his lips, muted, but a shriek of pain
nonetheless.

"I'm here," Kirk murmured, placing a hand firmly on Spock's forearm,
for he knew the Vulcan would not only hear his voice but sense him
through the touch.

"Can't see . . ."

"Your eyes are swollen, Spock, you can't open them. They should
improve overnight."

Spock recognised McCoy's voice. "Doctor."

"Ssh, don't talk. You've been hurt, but we've fixed you up and you're
safe now. I'm going to give you something to make you sleep and we'll
talk to you when you're feeling better."

The last few words were directed specifically at Kirk, who was doing
an admirable job of containing himself, at the same time making it
clear that it was the hardest thing he'd had to do for a long time.
The doctor pressed the prepared hypo to Spock's shoulder and banished
the pain for a while.

"There. He'll get a good rest tonight and we'll see how he's feeling
tomorrow."

---

Much later, the pair were still sitting in McCoy's office, sipping
decaffeinated coffee and staring, bleary-eyed, at the walls. Neither
was willing to venture too far from Spock, although both could have
had the readings from his bio-monitor relayed to any terminal in the
ship, including those in their quarters.

Eventually Kirk admitted defeat. There was a limit to human endurance,
after all. He wasn't a Vulcan, able to shrug off sleep deprivation for
days at a time, and the pile of printed medical journals wasn't as
soft as the pillow on his own bed.

"We should also get some sleep, Bones," he said, yawning as he stood
and stretched. "Tomorrow we're going to get to the heart of this
matter, and we won't have the energy to concentrate if we stay up all
night."

McCoy looked relieved. "Yeah. M'Benga's on night shift--he'll call if
there's any change."

---

Kirk walked into sickbay early the next morning. Although he had
managed to get a couple of hours of sleep, he looked haggard, but he
would have looked that way even if he'd slept round the clock. The
haggardness came from within, from his aching heart, and there was
very little to be done about that.

On the other hand, McCoy, who had arrived a good ten minutes before
his shift was due to start, seemed jauntier than he had last night.

"How's he doing, Bones?" Kirk asked, then remarked, "You're looking
rather chipper this morning."

"That's because my patient has had a good night. Come and see for
yourself, Jim."

As they walked to Spock's room, McCoy continued, "M'Benga topped up
the sedative only during the night, when it looked as if Spock was
waking up. After that he just carried on sleeping. He's still out."

"Is that good or bad?"

"It's good. It means that by now he's had time to metabolise the drug
and is in a natural, rather than a drug-induced sleep. He'll wake up
when he's good and ready."

And indeed, Spock did look better than he had hours ago. Already the
swelling around his eyes had subsided and his face had more colour in
it. With all the bruises clearing up, he looked a lot healthier too.

"As soon as he wakes up, I want to know about it," Kirk said, with an
anxious glance at his sleeping friend. "There are a lot of questions
in my mind right now."

"Of course." He paused. "Jim, the crew have been asking questions
about Spock. Naturally, they're only concerned, but what should we
tell them?"

"Tell them nothing. Well, tell them he was assaulted, but they don't
need to know why. We can spare him that. Just say we're working on it.
Shore leave is still in effect. If any of them feel nervous about
going down, they may take an armed security guard with them. I doubt
that any more of them will be bothered, though--Spock was the target."

"I agree," McCoy replied.

"If I knew who it was who'd done this to him," said Kirk in a very
soft voice. "I'd go down there and throw the bastard into the highest
security cell on the most savage prison planet I could find, then beam
the key out into deep space. The only reason he'd still be alive for
me to do that would be because I'd take you with me, to stop me from
killing him with my bare hands."

Kirk turned. His face was pale, his eyes dark and narrowed, his lips
compressed into a thin line of pain. He looked as dangerous as McCoy
had ever seen him. "I'm filing an official complaint. I want you to
come with me and give the medical details. No matter what the
circumstances, our personnel have a right to walk around without fear
of being beaten to just this side of no return." Then his shoulders
drooped and he suddenly looked very young. "Oh, Bones. Who could have
known that Spock would take matters into his own hands?"

McCoy snorted. "That's rich, coming from you! You taught him all he
knows about taking matters into his own hands."

A bleak shadow of the normally radiant Kirk grin touched the captain's
lips. "You're right. I should have seen this coming."

"That's not what I meant!" Cursing himself for his tactlessness, McCoy
put all the sincerity he could manage into his next words. "I'm sorry,
Jim. I'm just a doctor, not a diplomat. That's why you and Spock get
to do all the upfront negotiations with alien cultures." He noticed
with relief that the smile, after overcoming a bit of resistance,
ascended into the captain's eyes. "Don't torture yourself. It wasn't
your fault."

There was a brief silence. "Thanks for that," Kirk said at last. "I
can't help but feel that I could have prevented this. I know," he
said, seeing McCoy's mouth opening to argue. "it's useless to
speculate on what I might or might not have done."

Unavoidable. That was how Kirk was beginning to view this frequent
concern over Spock. While he worried about his crew the same way any
good captain would, his first officer inexplicably stirred all kinds
of feelings within him, not the least of which was protectiveness.
Looking resigned, he paced to the door and back. "But why would Spock
go down there anyway? I specifically asked him not to. You know, for
someone who professes to be logical, he's quite unpredictable
sometimes."

"Amen to that. But that only applies if you're a human. I'm sure he
thought he was doing the logical thing, whatever his reasons were."

---

It was well after ship's midday when the injured Vulcan drifted into
consciousness. Once fully aware of his situation, he didn't call for
assistance but took his time in investigating the damage to his body,
and after flexing stiff limbs and sore muscles, decided that he was
healed enough to stand.

First he shifted into a semi-reclining position. There was pain, from
deep within as well as from the external injuries. The pain had to be
dealt with before he could proceed. Closing his eyes and breathing
deeply, he called on his Vulcan training to suppress all undesired
aches in order to prepare him for the next step--putting his feet on
the deck.

When he felt more in control of his body's response to his injuries,
he swung his legs over the side of the bed and lowered his feet until
his soles touched the deck. Then he carefully transferred his weight
to them. For a moment white spots danced before his eyes, but the
dizziness soon passed and he took a tentative step towards the wall,
keeping an arm outstretched in case he needed to brace himself.

The only thing that happened was that he heard an annoyed-sounding
voice coming from behind him.

"Just what do you think you're doing?"

Surprised, Spock turned as quickly as his stiff muscles would allow
him. Blocking the escape route, looking belligerent, McCoy stood with
arms folded, tapping a foot expectantly.

"This is a pretty picture," the doctor continued, enjoying his moment
of triumph. It wasn't often that he had Spock at a disadvantage.
"Insubordination. Mutiny. Disobedience." Stabbing the air with an
accusing finger as he pronounced each word, he advanced. "It's just as
well I had that motion detector installed above your bed, Spock, or
you'd be nowhere to be found by now. You might think you can fool me,
but I'm no stranger to your frequent disappearing tricks out of
sickbay."

"This is not a disappearing trick, Doctor," the Vulcan said in a tone
that a teacher would have used to address a particularly slow learner.
"I am returning to my quarters."

Inwardly McCoy was delighted to hear that tone, a sure sign that Spock
was on the mend, but he had a hard-won reputation as a crabby old
doctor to uphold. "I haven't discharged you yet."

"I know that."

"And we need to talk."

"I know that too. However, I would very much prefer to continue my
convalescence in my own bed, if you please, Doctor. We can talk just
as effectively in my quarters as we can here."

He made it sound like a request, but McCoy knew his Vulcan. This was a
done deal. And the doctor did understand. Spock would undoubtedly rest
easier in his gloomy hothouse of a cabin, surrounded by all his weird,
familiar Vulcan artefacts. Needing a comfort zone was not exclusively
a human attribute, it seemed.

Still, for the sake of his conscience, he tried to persuade the Vulcan
otherwise. "It's been less than twenty-four hours since we brought you
in half dead. You've been unconscious for a long time. There's no way
you're fully recovered from your injuries, and I can see you're in
pain. You should stay here another night--I'd like to keep an eye on
you at least that much longer."

He should have known better. Once this particular mind was made up,
trying to change it was like trying to chip at hardened thermoconcrete
with a spoon.

Without any indication that he was even considering McCoy's advice,
Spock began to pull on his uniform. "I have no further need of medical
treatment, Doctor McCoy, as you are well aware. It is now merely a
matter of resting and regaining my strength. I can do that in my own
bed, and a great deal more comfortably," he added with a sideways
glance at the thoroughly ruffled doctor.

"Well, there's gratitude for you," McCoy grumbled. "Remind me not to
get too overwhelmed."

A disdainfully raised eyebrow was the only response Spock deemed
necessary.

McCoy knew when he was beaten. He stepped aside and waved a hand
toward the corridor. "Go on, then. But someone will walk you to your
quarters. I'm coming to check up on you later and I promise you,
Spock, if you're not in bed I'll have you back in here faster than you
can say Maximum Warp."

"In that case, you will most assuredly find me in my bed."

---

"Do you remember anything about what happened?"

After giving Spock a little time to settle in, Kirk and McCoy went to
visit him. Actually, the doctor had had to physically restrain Kirk
from bolting to his first officer's cabin after he'd been informed
that Spock was awake and had just discharged himself.

Now, perched on one side of Spock's bed, with McCoy wobbling on the
edge of the other, Kirk asked the questions that had plagued him for a
day and a night. As he spoke he wrestled with a new anger, this time
directed at his first officer for taking such a needless risk.

"Why did you go down alone? You *know* I asked you not to."

Propped against a pile of pillows, Spock heard the anger in Kirk's
voice, and knew he was the cause of it. The dimmed lighting failed to
hide his guilt and regret, emotions which even his Vulcan half didn't
bother to deny. This time he really had disappointed his captain. It
was not a pleasant feeling. "I had beamed down to speak with Vasona,
and--"

Both Kirk and McCoy reacted with astonishment.

"You what?"

"You crazy Vulcan!"

"I had to know her motivations for persevering with this deception.
She would not have agreed to talk if there had been anyone
accompanying me." He almost smiled. It would have been a bitter smile.
"In any case, it is academic now. She told me nothing."

"Nothing?" said Kirk and McCoy together.

"Nothing that will help my case. She agreed, although not in exactly
those words, that this was all a mistake and that I was innocent.
However, she refused to reveal this to her husband and the Judicial
Commissar." He twined his hands around each other. "I asked, but she
would not say why."

It was too much for Doctor McCoy. He sprang to his feet and walked
around the bottom of the bed, then turned and retraced his steps,
waving his hands as he spoke. "You mean to say this was all for
nothing? What is it with the woman? First she gets you into trouble
through some mysterious hocus-pocus that we've yet to unravel, and
then she refuses to get you out of it!"

"It's a start, Bones. At least she knows that it's all wrong. If we
can get her to admit it--" Kirk turned back to Spock. "Who did it,
Spock?"

Spock shifted against his pillows, rearranged the blankets, rubbed at
the fading contusions on his neck. Anything to avoid giving the
answer. What was the point? The man would remain at large simply
because there was no proof. And knowing the impetuous captain, he
might attempt to dispense justice in his own way, which would be
disastrous.

When no reply was forthcoming after a minute, Kirk leaned forward and
gently touched the almost-gone bruise below Spock's downcast eye,
hoping Spock would sense the reassurance in his mind. It was not
something that he did consciously, this communicating through touch,
but Spock looked so vulnerable at this moment that it seemed only
right to communicate with him in the most truthful way possible.

"I'm not angry any more. And I won't ask you for details. I just want
to know who's responsible for hurting you."

"Jim, even if I tell you the information will avail us nothing. I'm
asking you not to act on it--that will only complicate the situation."

"Then I won't." How well Spock knew him. "Tell me. I need to
know--please. Was it Dogon?"

The Vulcan relented, and told him.

Satisfied, Kirk nodded and patted him on the shoulder, softly, so as
not to aggravate the soreness he knew was pervading every muscle fibre
of Spock's body. "Are you all right?" he asked, referring not only to
Spock's physical recovery.

"I am. We Vulcans are resilient. As you know."

McCoy harrumphed. "Don't we just! You should have been there, Jim. The
Vulcan Boy Wonder standing up and walking out of sickbay--against his
doctor's advice, I might add--a mere day after being beaten to a
pointy-eared puree. My staff couldn't believe it."

In fact, Spock's recovery was so remarkable that it was only the
doctor's reminder of just how severely the Vulcan had been injured,
that prompted the captain to take a good look at him. Spock was
obviously tired, but hiding it out of politeness.

Kirk rose. "And we've outstayed our welcome. Come along, Doctor. Make
sure you get some sleep, Spock."

---

Something heavy was squeezing his ribs, making it hard to breathe.

He felt their hands holding him, heard their taunting laughter. The
pain was still manageable, but the panic was rising in spite of his
efforts to control--he knew he was in trouble. His communicator had
disappeared during the scuffle. He was alone. There was nothing he
could do but resist. He fought desperately, but in their numbers they
were too strong even for him. The blows from their fists, their feet,
made him sick. He dropped to his knees, vomiting, then almost choked
as a vicious kick in the ribs sent him sprawling.

Again he shivered as his trousers were pulled down over his thighs and
the cold air skittered across his bare skin, again he felt the hands
pressing his face into the gravel, felt the fingers digging into his
anus, stretching it with rough disregard.

Briefly he experienced an uneasy relief. If it was to be a forced
penetration, he would simply use his Vulcan mental disciplines to
block all sensations relating to it, and submit himself to Doctor
McCoy's ministrations later.

In the next instant he discovered that his relief had been foolishly
premature. He was totally unprepared for the blinding agony that
ripped through his belly as something very much harder than a penis
was rammed into his rectum and pulled out, rammed in again and
removed. The pain was way beyond his ability to control. Blood spilled
onto his thighs, the flesh inside tore like wet paper.

In the darkness of his cabin, Spock threw back his head and screamed.

Kirk awoke, wide-eyed and instantly alert in the dark. Something was
wrong. Spock needed him. The sensation of fear and pain that had
jolted him from an uneasy sleep was too strong to ignore. Stopping
only to summon McCoy to meet him in Spock's quarters, he raced into
the corridor wearing nothing but his sleeping shorts.

There was no need to use the override--Spock's cabin was unlocked, as
always. The door opened obediently as Kirk rushed in, commanded the
lights to adjust to a level more compatible with human eyesight, and
stopped just inside the threshold, horrified.

The Vulcan was thrashing on the bed, completely tangled up in his
blankets. And not only did the blankets encumber him, but an almost
tangible curtain of fear surrounded him. "No!" he cried in a
panic-stricken voice that tore at Kirk's soul. "Jiiimm!"

Diving to the side of the bed, Kirk put a tentative hand on the
floundering, blanket-swathed Vulcan, hoping that his touch would calm
his friend. "Spock! It's okay, I'm here."

But Spock couldn't break free of whatever it was that trapped him in
terrified sleep. His chest heaved, his breath sobbed in and out of his
aching lungs until hyperventilation seemed inevitable. And he kept
calling Kirk's name.

McCoy ran in seconds later.

"He's having a nightmare. Help me," Kirk panted, reaching under the
blankets, trying to get a grip on any part of Spock that kept still
long enough for him to grab it. "Watch out for his arms."

One blow from either of those wildly struggling arms could put them
both in sickbay. Eventually the captain gave up trying to catch one
and just threw himself across Spock's body, pinning him to the
mattress. The Vulcan howled in panic and strained to throw him off,
but Kirk hung on grimly while McCoy hovered, hypo at the ready.

"Come *on*, Bones, do it before security turns up! I can't keep him
down much longer!"

McCoy moved in as quickly as an assassin.

"Don't knock him out, I just want him to calm down. It's important
that he knows we're here."

A soft hiss, and the mild sedative was in. Breathlessly, they waited
for it to take effect. Within seconds Spock slumped against the
pillow, shivering, taking huge gulps of air, but torn at last from the
terror of the dream. Kirk ripped away the blanket and held his friend
to his chest with an arm around the trembling shoulders, his other
hand cradling the tousled head, making soft calming noises. At that
moment he would gladly have bargained away his own glowing career if
it would have brought Spock comfort.

"It's all right," he murmured, gently rocking Spock. "it's all right."

Spock turned his face against Kirk's solid form and clung to him
desperately, long Vulcan fingers digging painfully into his arms. That
physical pain was puny beside the sorrow and helplessness, the
knowledge that Spock had needed him, had called for him, had suffered,
and he hadn't been there--through no fault of his own, but that didn't
make it easier. All he could do now was offer solace as best he could.

Temporarily forgotten but not offended by it, McCoy shuffled across to
the desk and waited patiently. As a psychologist and as a friend, he
watched his two commanding officers in this moment of deep personal
interaction. If this isn't the meeting of two predestined souls, he
thought as he watched Jim Kirk soothe a distressed Vulcan with only
his presence, then we can just as well all pack up and stop believing
in reality right now.

Gradually the breathing returned to normal, the heart slowed from a
sprint to a jog, the grip loosened and at last, the Vulcan was quiet.

"Is he okay?" asked Kirk in a low voice.

Fumbling momentarily with the medical tricorder, McCoy cursed, got it
the right way up and aimed it at Spock, who had made no attempt to
move from the safety of the arms that encircled him. He watched with
sleepy detachment as McCoy ran the scanner across his body and checked
the readings.

"Nothing damaged." The doctor sat back on his heels beside the bed.
"Whew. I've never seen him in such a state. I thought Vulcans didn't
dream."

Kirk didn't realise his grip was tightening around Spock's shoulder
until he was alerted to it by a soft grunt from the Vulcan. Hastily he
relaxed his fingers. "Tell that to his human half, Bones. I don't
think the Vulcan Spock stood a chance."

McCoy scowled. "And it doesn't take too much of a stretch to know what
triggered it. This situation's turning nastier by the minute, Jim."

Gently disengaging himself from the unresisting Spock, Kirk settled
him against the pillows while McCoy shook out the crumpled pile of
blankets and rearranged them properly before tucking them in all
around the foot of the bed. The top sections he left loose so that
Spock wouldn't feel confined and anxious again.

The crisis was over--for now--and the two felt a real sense of
accomplishment as they stepped back and surveyed the Vulcan, who
looked to be asleep. To their surprise, he suddenly opened his eyes.

"Jim," he whispered. "I apologise . . . for inconveniencing you and
the doctor."

God, he still apologises--

The guilt and anger bobbed up again, like a cork. Kirk fought to hold
them down, almost succeeding, his hands curled into tight fists at his
side. He was aware that he was snapping, but he couldn't help it.
"Shut up, Spock, right now. I don't want to hear you talking like
this, and don't you ever again apologise for needing our help. Now go
to sleep!"

Spock closed his eyes obediently and went to sleep.

McCoy eyed Kirk dubiously, arms folded. "That was a bit harsh, don't
you think?"

"I'm sorry. I was angry with him for saying such a stupid thing. Quite
irrational. Actually, I think I'm more angry with me." He rubbed his
tired eyes, hoping that things would look more promising in the
morning. They certainly couldn't be worse. "I'm going to sleep here
for the rest of the night. I don't think he should be alone."

"Then you'd better take this," said McCoy, holding out a fresh hypo,
"in case he has another nightmare. And call me if you need me."

"Thanks, but it looks as if he's calm." He took it anyway.

When he was gone Kirk sat at the ordered, tidy desk, thinking. He
hadn't thought too long before the door swooshed open again, revealing
Doctor McCoy with an armful of bedding.

"What's this?"

"What does it look like?" said McCoy, advancing. He dropped the heap
at Kirk's feet. "For you. I figured you wouldn't be crawling into
Spock's bed, not with his sore body, and the floor is seriously
lacking in comfort features, so I brought your bed to you."

"I appreciate it," said Kirk, sincerely. He had been fully prepared to
sit at Spock's desk until morning and sleep with his head on his arms.

"Don't mention it," McCoy replied, moving to the door. "G'night."

Once more alone with Spock, who hadn't twitched a muscle throughout
the bedclothes delivery, Kirk decided that it was too late--or
early--to be thinking about things. At this time of night he should be
sleeping too. He threw himself down next to Spock's bed, pulled the
blankets up over his shoulders, and promptly fell asleep.

---

The situation was getting too critical, too quickly. The next morning,
Kirk and McCoy tackled the visicam recording with renewed enthusiasm.
If they wanted to solve the mystery within the allotted shore leave
schedule and thus avoid having to explain a delay to Starfleet
Command, they would have to do it very soon.

They had left Spock in the concerned care of Doctor M'Benga who,
assisted by Nurse Chapel, was about to put the Vulcan through a
complete physical checkup. M'Benga had strict instructions--from two
sources--not to let Spock go if he was the least bit unhappy with the
results.

Once more sequestered in Kirk's quarters, they forced themselves to
sit through another screening of the dreadful recording. That same
nagging sense of unease was present throughout. And the pain of it was
not diluted.

Giving vent to frustration seemed appropriate at this point, so Kirk
stood and walked stiffly to the bulkhead. Without warning he slammed
his fist against the smooth surface, startling the doctor and leaving
a well defined dent behind. Then he returned to his chair and sat down
as if nothing had happened. "There's something very wrong with this
footage, Bones. Help me out here."

McCoy played along, pretending that the captain hadn't just tried to
rearrange the bone structure in his hand, although he couldn't help
noticing that Kirk favoured the hand now. Maybe a bit of tissue
damage, or even a fracture. He'd have to look at it later, when the
captain was in a more receptive mood. "Ah yes, the old
what's-wrong-with-this-scene game. I used to be quite good at that as
a boy."

"Well, put your childhood skills to work." Kirk's eyes glowed with
determination. "Together we can figure it out. Last night was the
first of Spock's nightmares. I have a feeling that it wasn't the last,
that they'll continue as long as this cursed recording exists, so
let's get to the bottom of it right here and now. I want to see it
destroyed."

They hunched in front of the screen.

"Computer, playback. Fast forward."

The ravishment rushed before their eyes again.

"Computer, stop."

Kirk had stopped the playback just after the Vulcan had ejaculated and
withdrawn from Vasona.

"I don't get it," mused McCoy.

"It's around about here that the red alert lights start flashing in my
brain. Computer, magnify times two. Forward one half normal speed."

Again they saw the Vulcan bend down and retrieve Vasona's panties from
the floor, then wipe his glistening penis with it.

"Computer, stop. Rewind two seconds and magnify times two. Forward one
half normal speed."

McCoy shifted uncomfortably. "Jim, is this necessary--"

"Bear with me, Bones. It's here, I know it. Something I keep noticing
out of the corner of my eye, but can't pin down."

Now with the detail of four times magnification, the elegant Vulcan
hand grasped the scrap of fabric and wrapped it around his dwindling
erection. Slowly he drew it down the shaft, and slowly the shiny, dark
green glans emerged, centimetre by centimetre.

"Computer, stop."

Kirk and McCoy stared at the screen, each trying to make the
connection that they knew was there, glaringly obvious, but still
eluding them. It took almost a minute before McCoy finally came up
with the answer.

"This is an anatomically incorrect Spock," said the doctor, triumph
evident in his voice. "Spock has two ridges on his penis."

Realisation came immediately, and with it, overwhelming relief. Kirk
felt as if the stone casing around his heart had cracked open and
fallen away. "Of course! This guy has only one. Whoever he is, he's
not a Vulcan."

He turned to McCoy, eyes big and shining, grinning widely. That grin
had been notably absent the last few days and the doctor rejoiced to
see it back in place.

"And he's not Spock."

"He's definitely not Spock!" Kirk exulted.

"But if it's not Spock, Jim, then who is it?"

"That's what Vasona is going to tell us." He reached over and punched
the intercom button. "Uhura, please get me Judicial Commissar Meskara
and High Councillor Meik Dogon."

"In a minute, sir."

Uhura was as good as her word. In hardly that time she had both men on
an open communications channel. Kirk took over, explaining the
situation and requesting a meeting with them in thirty minutes.

"Does this have something to do with Commander Spock's situation,
Captain?" asked Meskara. "If so, please remember that the trial is
scheduled to take place in three days and you will have ample
opportunity to state your case then."

"With all respect, Commissar, this can't wait. It's very important
that I see you both as soon as possible."

"Very well," came the resigned reply. "We shall convene in my office."

"I will be there," came the hostile voice of the High Councillor. "But
it had better be as urgent as you state, Captain, or I will cite you
for wasting my time."

"Can he do that?" asked Kirk when the channel was closed. "I've never
heard of that before."

McCoy shrugged. "Their laws don't seem to work like ours, Jim. Maybe
there is such an offense as wasting an official's time."

"Personally, Bones, I don't give a damn." He snatched up the disk and
strode out into the corridor at such a pace that McCoy had to trot to
keep up. "Let's go rub their supercilious noses in this."

---

"Sirs, I thank you for agreeing to see us on such short notice. This
is a matter of urgency, one that cannot wait until the scheduled
trial." Kirk walked across to the visicam player and inserted the
disk. "If you'll bear with me a while longer."

The recording, pre-set just before the controversial place, began to
play. Dogon winced as he was forced to relive his wife's rape and
assault, but kept himself in check and waited to hear what Kirk was up
to.

At the right moment, Kirk stopped the playback. "Have a look at this
man's anatomy, Councillor, Commissar. You'll notice that he has a
single-ridged penis."

"What of it?"

Kirk paused for dramatic effect, rubbing the pad of his thumb along
his lower lip, waiting until he was sure the suspense was getting on
their nerves. Oh, how dearly he wanted to mess with their minds!
"Commander Spock is a Vulcan. Vulcans have two ridges. Therefore
Commander Spock has a double-ridged penis."

Even as the words left his mouth, he felt inward revulsion for
speaking about his first officer in this intimate way to strangers.
Spock was an intensely private person, who never revealed any personal
details unless the situation absolutely demanded it. The captain was
thankful that Spock wasn't here to hear this speech, as it would only
compound his shame, even though it would simultaneously prove his
innocence. He consoled himself with that fact.

The realisation sank in like the pull of heavy gravity on a rock. Both
Kirdaran faces went slack with surprise and the two looked at each
other before looking at Kirk.

"How do we know this is true? Even if you present Commander Spock to
us for examination, how do we know his anatomy hasn't been surgically
altered in some dishonest bid to get him out of his situation?"

"Resort to surgery to get Commander Spock excused? Somewhat extreme,
don't you think, gentlemen?" Kirk's smile was dangerous in its
triumph. "I won't mention what an insult that is to our Starfleet
integrity. But if you don't believe us, the details are in his
Starfleet medical record, dating back to his very first medical
examination upon entering the Academy. These initial results cannot be
altered except on authority of the C in C or the Starfleet Surgeon
General. This fact about Vulcan sexual anatomy is common knowledge.
You're welcome to follow it up."

His clear hazel gaze dared them to.

"So now, Councillor, faced with this new evidence, I would very much
like to know how your wife managed to fabricate a recording of my
first officer, when clearly it couldn't possibly have been him. As
I've been saying all along," he added, insolence written into his body
language.

Judging by the bewildered looks on their faces, the Kirdarans were
wondering the exact same thing. They were clearly completely taken
aback by the sudden demolition of their supposedly cast-duranium case.

Meskara recovered first. "If you would be so kind as to give us a
short time to verify your claim, Captain. We shall summon you as soon
as we have the information."

Kirk bowed and retreated, pulling McCoy with him. Both of them were
grinning smugly.

---

"Mrs. Dogon, we've received evidence that exonerates Commander Spock
from the crime of which he stands accused. The onus now falls on you
to explain the origins of the recording which originally implicated
him."

Commissar Meskara had wasted no time in summoning Vasona Dogon to
finally reveal the secret of the recording. Equally quickly, Kirk had
sent for Spock so he could hear it. When the Vulcan walked in, clearly
still favouring injuries sustained in the assault of which her husband
had told her--and she knew she had partially provoked that attack--she
watched him carefully but he very deliberately paid her no attention.

Standing on the decorative carpet in the middle of Meskara's office,
Vasona blinked. "Exonerates?"

"You do understand the meaning of the word?" Kirk asked nastily,
suddenly sick to death of pretending to like this race and this
culture and this planet that had been the source of so much pain for
his friend.

She smiled confidently. "Certainly, Captain, but I don't understand.
It's very clearly Commander Spock on the recording."

"Ah, but it isn't." He circled her like a satellite, armed and primed
and ready to fire. "I'll come straight to the point, Mrs. Dogon.
Commander Spock is a Vulcan. Vulcan penises have two ridges. Your
precious recording shows that the man who supposedly assaulted you has
only one. Therefore it cannot be Commander Spock."

Vasona was not expecting something so blunt, or so definite. She went
pale and stumbled backwards, groping for the chair.

Kirk moved in remorselessly. "I want to know how you managed to obtain
a recording of him when it couldn't possibly have been him." He leaned
closer. "I'm waiting for your answer, Mrs. Dogon."

They were all waiting for her answer. The tension in the room
stretched to breaking point and just as Kirk thought he could bear it
no longer, Vasona spoke.

"He didn't do it."

---

Once the truth had finally emerged, Meskara moved swiftly to redress
the situation. In no time the charges against Spock had been formally
withdrawn and an arrest order had been issued against the men who had
attacked him. The Vulcan had coolly and graciously accepted profuse
apologies from a chastened Vasona Dogon and her equally abashed
husband, from Meskara, and from just about the entire Kirdaran
Council, while Kirk and McCoy had stood by, almost unable to contain
their joy. There was definitely a trace of smugness in Spock's
expression, too.

Much later, the three met for a late lunch in the officers' mess
aboard the Enterprise.

"So she's a kind of telepath herself, but not like Spock, who can
sense the thoughts of others and project his own."

"Actually, Doctor, it is more accurate to liken her skill to
telekinesis," explained Spock. "In fact, it may well be a variant of
that skill. Telepathy involves the joining of one mind to another.
She, on the other hand, can apparently project her thoughts onto a
physical medium and have them affect that medium. It is quite
fascinating."

"And this was all a fantasy on her part? Revolving around Spock?"

Kirk nodded. "Exactly, and her desires and emotions regarding him were
so strong that they were projected and became imprinted on the visicam
media."

"She knew that all along, and instead of admitting it, which would
have entailed telling her husband that she was having indecent
thoughts about Spock, she was prepared to let him suffer the
consequences of her actions."

"Bitch."

With glee in his eyes, McCoy continued his analysis of the denouement.
"She had obviously never seen him naked, and didn't know of that quirk
with Vulcan anatomy--"

Immediately Spock bristled, just as McCoy thought he would. "It is not
a quirk, Doctor. It is a physical fact."

"--so she had to improvise as she went along," McCoy continued as if
Spock hadn't spoken at all. "Unfortunately, she improvised wrong."

"And now she has to explain these fantasies concerning another man to
her husband." There was no sorrow in Kirk's expression at Vasona's
unfortunate fate. "All in all, a satisfactory day's work."

"Very satisfactory, and just as an added bonus, nobody but us and a
few trusted officers knows what really happened. The Kirdarans are so
ashamed about the whole incident that they'll never say a thing."
Serious now, McCoy turned to Spock, appraising him with eyes that
didn't miss much. "And you, Spock? Are you all right?"

Spock tilted his head in his customary quizzical gesture. "You have
asked that same question several times over the past four days,
Doctor."

"What about it? I'm your physician, Spock, and I'm the one who put you
back together two days ago. I'm concerned about you. I have a right to
ask."

If Spock hadn't been a Vulcan, he would have smiled at that minute.
Instead, he allowed the warmth to reach his eyes, and he made sure
McCoy saw it. "Do not be so defensive, Doctor. I appreciate your
concern."

In acknowledgment of that fondness he saw lurking in Spock's eyes,
McCoy pretended to be even more put out. "Oh, you do? Well, if you
would just show that appreciation a little more often, *I* would
appreciate it."

Spock merely looked at the ceiling. Then he sat back and closed his
eyes momentarily, and suddenly Kirk and McCoy saw the fatigue in his
face. It had been a long day for him, and it wasn't over yet.

McCoy stood. "As your physician, I'm prescribing rest and another day
off duty. Come along, Spock, I'll see you to your quarters."

Temporarily alone, Kirk thought about how satisfying it would be to
leave this place and get back on normal patrol. His thoughts went back
to the unease he'd felt as they approached Kirdara and how he'd chided
himself for being such a pessimist. Even if he'd listened to his
instincts, he told himself, it would have happened. Somehow, it would
have happened. And at least he'd managed to redeem himself and assuage
his conscience by undoing Vasona's neat little scheme.

Returning, McCoy slid into the opposite seat.

"Is he really going to be okay?"

"I believe he is, Jim. He has an incredible mind, you know. So
disciplined. He has his own way of dealing with things. If we leave
him to it, he'll be fine, eventually."

"Eventually!"

Stunned that McCoy was just leaving Spock to get over his ordeal
alone, Kirk started to protest, but the doctor beat him to it. "Now
before you start getting all hot and bothered, I did offer my
assistance, and I did suggest counselling, if he so wished. He gave me
that damned eyebrow and refused."

"You can't expect him to work through this on his own!"

"Jim, I don't. He might not need counselling, but I do think he needs
a friend."

"Is that a hint, Doctor?"

"I never hint when the welfare of the ship's commanders is at stake,
Captain." McCoy adopted an intense look. "It's an order. I watched you
with him last night when he had that nightmare. You calmed him down so
easily, it was clear that you'd connected on some deeper, subconscious
level. If you could cultivate that connection, Jim, it would do you
both so much good, I know it would. And by extension, the ship and
crew would benefit."

"That sounds like good advice. I might just take it." The captain rose
to his feet. "You are a remarkable friend, yourself, Bones. And a
remarkable psychologist. Spock and I deeply appreciate your help."

Greatly pleased by the compliment, McCoy crinkled his blue eyes and
flapped a dismissive hand at Kirk. "It's my job to look after you two.
Oh, and don't forget to come by sickbay later so I can look at that
hand you mashed against the bulkhead earlier. Now go and do *your*
job."

Kirk grinned, and was gone.

One small bit of good had come out of the whole sorry mess, thought
McCoy, and that was the bright spark that had flared and settled
between Kirk and Spock. There was enormous potential there, two lives
waiting to be brought together, a friendship waiting to be moulded and
nurtured. And should they choose to kindle that spark, who knew where
their friendship would take them?

Somehow, he knew what their choice would be.

---

The End