Chapter Text
The Trust of a Bonding
by Kim V. Wylie
cliff@icom.ca or riordan10@hotmail.com
At her arrival he courteously shut off the computer terminal, though she had long since ceased to be polite to him. Forty-four seasons of a marriage consummated for duty's sake had eroded all but the most token of gestures. Still, he was her husband. Complete possession of a property meant something to her, enough to give her dark eyes an unVulcan flash as she regarded the papers on his desk.
"Your plans are unchanged, Husband?"
"This is for the good of many," he replied.
"He is Human. He does not know our world."
"I will tell him all I know. The possibility that he can help is not minimal, Sah'Sheer. He is gifted." He sensed her disdain through their bond and flinched.
She crossed the room to a window where the wind blew endless sand patterns on the glass. "Many would say you act in desperation."
"Do many say that? Thine own mother approves."
She whirled around. "I will not stay to witness this!"
Several thoughts went through his mind. Not a threat, for he would not seek her for four seasons. Not an ultimatum for he had long decided on this.
"You must do as you choose," he sat and averted his eyes, to see no offense, to give none.
She left him alone in his darkening room. It was not until evening, when he lay down in an empty bed - for not even Vulcans prefer to sleep alone - that he allowed the full consideration of her absence to affect him. It affected him, oddly, not at all.
---
Leonard McCoy trudged into his office and fell into his chair. It had been a long, fruitless day, more useless than usual. He'd just finished treating a cadet who had, of all things, burned his lips on an electron wrench. The patient before that one had discovered a new way of entering a top-hatch shuttle - by plummeting into it from a catwalk overhead.
He leaned his elbows onto his desk, which knocked over a rather tall stack of tapes.
"It never ends," he muttered, unable to find a place to rest his head.
The lab door swished open. McCoy heard voices, a casual tone and a lower, precise voice. He stilled in the chair.
"I'm not here," he whispered, trying to send the comment telepathically. If Vulcans could send mental pages of technical journals through space and time, he should be able to manage three words over six feet.
It didn't work. His office door opened and Spock entered, followed by James Kirk.
"Look, I'm not -" he started but was interrupted by the Vulcan.
"Medical analyses of specimens 133D through 146A are still pending, Doctor. As well, your Quality and Safety Assessments are 43.7 hours overdue. My evaluations cannot be completed until full information from your Medical Department has been forwarded. Such inefficiency -"
"I'm not here."
The Vulcan eyed him. "When will the overdue information be available?"
"I'm not here!" McCoy repeated. "This is an empty chair. You don't see me. I'm anywhere else but I'm not here right now."
Spock glanced at Kirk but the Captain was blandly inspecting the floor.
"Get a tricorder," McCoy said, "and if I actually register, I'll discuss the overdue reports with you. However," the doctor closed his eyes. "I can't see a thing myself. I don't even think the lights are on in here."
"They are certainly not on somewhere," Spock said as he deposited more tapes on McCoy's desk.
"He'll get the tricorder," Kirk said after the Vulcan had left.
"If for no other reason than to irritate me," McCoy grumbled.
"I've been waiting on some of your reports too, Bones."
"How do you know they're my reports? Ever since Starfleet started this diversification process, my job description's gone through a chopping block. I've got seven `counsellors' suddenly using my desk, ready to argue every detail of everything I do. I do six page reports only to find they're not part of my job anymore. Half the stuff I've done lately had been a duplication of someone else's work. The other half, well, I didn't know I was still supposed to do."
Kirk smiled. "I thought you always complained that you were overworked."
McCoy scowled. "You know the old phrase about too many cooks. Didn't Starfleet toy with the idea of splitting up my job before?"
"It was phasing out just as I received command of the Enterprise," Kirk said. "I remember that there was an on-board psychiatrist for a couple of months. Every time we went to alert status, she'd haunt the bridge, observing `crew reactions to elevated stress'."
"Now they call it Personalized Adaptation and Integration in Closed-Ship Environments," McCoy said. "Whatever the hell that means."
"The new crewmembers are getting younger. Starfleet admissions policy is changing. I think they're trying to balance individual strengths and abilities right from day one," Kirk said. "It's not a bad idea, Bones. I can think of a few problems that could have been avoided over the years with this policy."
"Thanks," McCoy retorted. "Now I even feel useful in retrospect. Was that your point in stopping here today? To cheer me up?"
"Actually, Bones, I've still got that damn headache."
McCoy frowned then picked up a small scanner.
"Bones," Kirk started.
"We've been on a milk run for six weeks. You have nothing to do. How can you possibly have a headache?"
"I just got new orders. We've been diverted to Vulcan."
"So?"
"It's the only place we'll get any R&R for the next three months."
"I may just get a headache. Vulcan's about as exciting as an ant farm," McCoy handed Kirk a couple of pills.
"I suppose I should take this opportunity to catch up on my sleep," Kirk sighed tiredly.
"Excuse me, Jim, but isn't that what you have been doing?"
Kirk stood. "Of course this milk run should also give you a chance to get caught up on all those back reports, RIGHT?"
"They're practically on your desk," McCoy said as he closed his eyes and laid his head down on this arms. "You know paperwork is my endless joy."
---
The bridge was boringly quiet. Kirk sat in the command chair and contemplated the main screen. He was hard-pressed to find any evidence of movement. The stars seemed absolutely still.
He wasn't sure he liked training voyages, the green runs, the monotonous drilling, the endlessly-repeated routines, constant inspections of nervous cadets and their departments. They were allowed light science duties (but if they had to check out one more pulsar, he was going to turn the ship's phasers on it). Their flight path was locked in and no deviations were allowed. The ceiling on speed was warp three. (Warp three point one would require Kirk writing an interminable explanation.) And those thousand department briefings, all of which Kirk was expected to attend, made him itch for even a Klingon ship to fall out of the sky.
He had to admit, though, he was one of the proponents of hands-on training. The cadets on board had been hand-picked, only those supposedly capable of extended stress and demands of Starship duty, the highest notation possible on Academy records. Still, it was stifling. Kirk wasn't used to sitting on his...seat, knowing the high point of his day would be an uninterrupted lunch.
Spock came onto the bridge followed by a string of cadets and one of the new counsellors, a tall women wearing medical blue. Kirk watched the group gather around the science station, hushed under the tones of the Vulcan's low voice. None of them even dared fidget. Kirk could imagine their hearts palpitating even as he watched. The counsellor stood apart and watched without appearing to watch.
Eyeing them, Kirk sympathized with McCoy's lament of feeling redundant. The medical section bombardment had ripped McCoy's job description into hamster litter. On the other hand these training runs usually resulted in one or two cadets showing up in tears in the Captain's quarters with a guilty resignation and an apology delivered in a shaky voice. Kirk had come to expect these scenes. But this run there had been none. No tearful ensigns. No resignations. No apologies. These counsellors were doing something right. Kirk knew this was no reflection on McCoy, who simply did not have the time to follow all these groups of cadets around ship. Nor had it ever been expected of him to do so. Still, it must be disheartening to have these seven counsellors waltz in and just take over. Kirk made a mental note to spend some time trying to cheer McCoy up.
The Vulcan moved to the weapons console and the group followed him frantically. Kirk noticed Uhura and Sulu exchange sympathetic smiles.
"Status, Mr. Sulu," Kirk asked.
"Seventeen hours to Vulcan, Captain."
Kirk nodded his thanks as he rose. He circled the bridge, trying to look interested at the routine readouts. Finally, at the turbo-lift, he said, "Uhura, you have the con. I'll be...at lunch."
She smiled as he added, "Be sure to interrupt me for any reason."
---
"I see you brought a tricorder," McCoy said as Spock entered sickbay.
"Your reports are now fifty-one point two six hours overdue, doctor."
"Everything's all done. I left them on my desk. Help yourself." McCoy strode out of the room, leaving the Vulcan to ponder ten stacks of unlabelled tapes sitting twenty-eight deep in a long row.
---
"Orbit attained, Captain," said Sulu.
"Vulcan acknowledges our flight path and welcomes our ship," Uhura added.
"Fine. Shore Leave is now officially declared," Kirk said, noting the trainees' heads all perking up. "This is wonderful. Vulcan has no bars, no theatres, no parks, no shopping districts, no shade, no shows, and no single people. Let the fun begin." He caught Spock's oddly-chagrined look.
"I must differ with your assessment, Captain," the Vulcan said. "There is a tourist bar in the capital city."
"Which serves only altair water," Kirk cut in.
"While I admit there are no theatres such as on earth, there are galleries and music halls."
"If you can call one hundred kissars music," Kirk added with a smile. An eyebrow rose. Kirk was beginning to understand why McCoy baited Spock so much.
"We do have open spaces which would qualify as park-land since they are protected from development."
"No trees. All sand and wind."
"There are many market places."
"They sell fruits. Just fruits."
"However, shade is rather lacking," Spock finished.
"Your planet's two trees do try," came McCoy's voice as he stepped off the turbo-lift. He looked over at the Captain. "Your announcement of shore leave sent my interns running like hell for the transporter room, poor buggars. Wait 'til they feel the heat of midday Vulcan."
"It isn't that bad, Bones," Kirk said, catching Spock's dour expression. "After all, there's a bar in Shi'Kaver."
"Such as it is," McCoy grumbled.
Uhura's board beeped. She turned to McCoy. "Doctor, I have a surface call for you from the Shi'Kaver Teaching Medical Facility."
McCoy looked surprised. "I don't know anyone there."
"Coming on visual," Uhura said.
The main screen cleared to show a tall male standing beside a desk. He had the darkest eyes Kirk had ever seen on a Vulcan.
"Captain Kirk, my acknowledgement," he said coldly.
"Can I help you?" Kirk asked.
"I would speak with your physician, Dr. Leonard McCoy."
"I'm Dr. McCoy," the doctor stepped forward.
"I am V'Rhsal. I have read your paper on Movement Reactive Disorders, Stardate 8309.2. It was most interesting."
"Thank you," McCoy said in a puzzled voice.
"Have you continued research in this area since that paper?"
McCoy hesitated. "Um...why do you wish to know? Do I know of you?"
"We have never met, Dr. Leonard McCoy, but I have been following your research on movement disorders for six point nine years. I am a bio-engineer and would set up a convenient time to speak with you."
"Oh," McCoy said.
V'Rhsal waited for a moment, but when the doctor said nothing more, he continued, "I am in my office at this time, Dr. Leonard McCoy. Will your schedule permit a meeting now?"
"I was just going on leave."
"Perhaps tomorrow?"
McCoy breathed out. "Give your coordinates to our transporter room and I'll be right down."
V'Rhsal nodded and signed off without another word.
McCoy glanced at Spock. "Do you know who the hell he is?"
"Kór V'Rhsal is a bio-engineer, doctor. He designed the neuroscanner which you use in your examination room."
"You mean, that big thing over the table?" McCoy questioned. "It says Kabu-Kabu at the back."
"Nevertheless, it is Kór V'Rhsal's design. His theories form the basis of much of your neuroplasmic equipment."
McCoy sighed tiredly. "I only use the stuff. I don't know where it comes from. As for that paper he mentioned, I'm not sure I remember which one it is."
"I read it," Spock said. "You wrote it after our experiences with he Kelvan neural field projector."
"Oh, THAT one," McCoy shrugged.
"I must confess I did not find it to be one of your better papers," Spock said "Your conclusions were not entirely supported by your evidence and your opening was vague."
McCoy's expression hardened but his voice was quiet. "Thank you, Mr. Spock." He disappeared into the turbo-lift.
"Curious," Spock said. "I would be most honoured to speak with K'or V'Rhsal. He is a brilliant scientist."
"Maybe you should join Bones down there, to give him a little moral support," Kirk said with a smile.
TBC