"What do now?" DelMonde asked anxiously as Sulu came back onto the Bridge.
Sulu frowned, glanced back at Spock, then said, in a low voice, "He used them as bait to set a trap for the Klingons."
"Ruth not know anyt’ing ‘bout that."
The tone of concern in DelMonde's words disturbed Sulu. Just because I understand doesn't mean I approve, mister. "No, he couldn't tell them. They'd blow the trap."
"Damn him..."
"Can it, mister."
DelMonde's eyes hardened. "Yes, sir," he snarled, then added, "It not jus’ Ruth he try t' kill."
Sulu had started for the helm, but he pivoted back. "No, and there's not a damn thing I can do about it, is there!"
"Gentlemen, return to your posts," Spock's toneless voice ordered.
DelMonde's, "Aye, sir," came with a flash of obsidian fire and he moved quickly to his station. Sulu said nothing, but his eyes closed briefly as he took the Helm.
Jilla closed her eyes and tried to ignore Ruth's screams. She repeated, over and over, that there was nothing she could do, even if she would. That Ruth was in agony tore at her -- death she deserved, but not this way, and certainly she didn't deserve murder. Not at Klingon hands. Only Spock had the right to judge her. If it were his decision, she would feel satisfied, even as she wept for the pain. And there was pain, great searing torment.
The sound of Kor's voice had blacked her out with terror, but she had woken to Ruth's screams. She'd tried to sit up, found herself efficiently restrained. From what she could see, she was in a sickbay of sorts... There her thoughts stopped as a wave of panicked hatred and fear blinded her senses. There was a command in that wave, one of death, and the room was suddenly alive with wildly crashing objects and bolts of searing, destructive energy. She could hear harsh voices commanding the firing of weapons, the whine of phaser-like blasts, Ruth's terrifying, imperious, "No!"
"Commander, we can't..."
"I said fire!"
"NO!"
"Stun her, you idiots!"
More crashing, loud, deafening, stronger and stronger waves of emotion, whirring, screaming, and all at once everything stopped, as quickly as it had begun. Ruth was unconscious.
"Quickly, the sauvrn, "before she fights that off as well," Kel ordered.
Jilla had turned her head in time to see a Klingon handing what appeared to be a small stasis box of some sort to Kel. He passed an electronic device over it, and the box dissolved, revealing a thin, leaf-shaped smear of sparkling green, about two inches long. It was quivering with life. Kel smiled, then gently placed it on Ruth's forehead.
In the same moment, the thing suddenly vanished, as though Ruth's skin had absorbed it, and Ruth's eyes flew open. She began screaming, and this time she didn't stop.
It had taken nearly half an hour before she'd managed to control the pain enough to speak, and then it was only hoarse, short gasps, punctuated by sobs and moans and shrieks of agony. She was begging for death. The Klingons had cheerfully explained what a sauvrn was, how it worked, how the exquisite, wracking torment kept the highly trained keheil too weakened to use her vast mental powers against her captors. But through blinding waves of pain, Ruth had told her a small detail that the Klingons had overlooked. This particular sauvrn was female. It was in the process of reproduction. And it was building a nest, feeding on Ruth's mind for its young. It was devouring her very consciousness. If allowed to remain, it would destroy her being and she would become a living carrier, a threat far worse than death to her entire species. There was only one way to stop it. Kill Ruth, before the sauvrn got control.
But Jilla was restrained, even as Ruth was. She was unable to do as the Antari asked. Ruth's voice cut into her thoughts. She was delirious, the agony near to driving her mad.
"Kill me!" she screamed, and it faded into a whispered sob. "Spock — " She gasped, the sound catching it in her throat, then words again escaped her in a rising, tormented wail. "Spock, Zehara, please!" She screamed again, without words or coherency.
Jilla swallowed, fighting the panic that bombarded her, battling, too, her own anger and grief and guilt. Ruth’s words were repeated, over and over, begging for death, begging for her husband. How dare she call for Spock? Jilla cried in silent anguish. Betrayer, m'lek’ta-fee!
She loves him, she still loves him, and yet she can...
And you do not still love Selar?
I do not beg for his forgiveness!
Does she? She begs for justice, for judgment, from him and her goddess. As you haven't the courage to do! She wishes to face her damnation. Do you?
She wishes to die to avoid it!
She wishes to save her people...
Too much, too many reasons. You are as wrong, as guilty as she. Condemn her for sharing Noel’s bed while you share Sulu's?
It is different!
Is it?
I accept my damnation, she denies it!
She is not Indiian.
She vowed! I felt it! And her husband is Vulcan!
A cold, soulless monster! Condemn dear Ruth to that?
She chose it.
You pushed her.
She chose it! She wed him! So faithless to desert him... he deserves it. And so she should leave him, instead of this repulsive, ugly... she loves him. Then how can she... she loves Noel, as you love Sulu…
Selar is dead!
And Spock is not?
That I am as wrong does not make her right! If I could spare her this abomination... I do not excuse myself, how can I excuse her? No, she must realize, as I have, what horror she has done. I expect no one to forgive me. I cannot ease the way for her.
She stopped the angry, lost flood of tears, pushing away the bitter fear. Were she free, would the emotion overwhelm her? Would she send Ruth to the fate she couldn't face? And what emotion would it be that propelled her? Ruth needed to die for reasons totally unconnected to Spock. But would those be the reasons she'd feel as she did it? No, and I haven't the right. I cannot murder. I will not murder, not even m'lek'ta-fee.
Ruth screamed again, Spock's name, a desperate, despairing plea of agony and remorse, and Jilla trembled, her eyes filling with tears, and refused to listen to the voice that demanded she care.
All at once, she was flying across the room, crashing into the bulkhead, her restraints breaking as the ship rocked and heaved with the impact of a direct, unshielded phaser hit. Before she could regain her balance, there was a second blast, then a third. Faintly she could hear the labored whining of suddenly overtaxed engines, then another blast threw her to the deck and the whine changed to screeching protest.
It was only then that she noticed that Ruth's restraints had also been broken. She was trying to crawl, her whole body shaking violently. A case had fallen, and there were sharp and dangerous Klingon medical tools scattered on the deck. Ruth's intentions seared into Jilla’s senses, and she started to race toward her. The ship rocked again. Ruth cascaded roughly into Jilla, and on instinct Jilla hissed, "Kroykah!"
"No!" Ruth screamed, and began weeping, tearing at Jilla's hands and arms. "Let me die!" she shrieked, gasping, choking. "I have to... deserve to... m'lek'ta-fee... the sauvrn..." Her hands flew to her head and she screamed, "Please, Jilla, kill me!"
"Sensors indicate five direct hits," Bergmann reported.
"She's dead in space, Captain," Sulu confirmed after checking the Helm sensors.
"The Hood reports success against the second cruiser, the Kali and Shiva likewise against the third," Uhura said. "Boarding parties report ready..." Her fingers flew over her board briefly. "We're being contacted by the Klingon ships, sir."
Spock was leaning slightly forward in the command chair, carefully attentive to all the activity on the Bridge. He glanced at Uhura. "Inform the Klingon commanders that they have no option other than unconditional surrender of their ships. Tell them after the boarding parties have begun transport." Spock stood. "Mr. Sulu, you will accompany me." He spoke again to Uhura. "Call Engineering and inform Mr. Scott that he has the con."
The Klingon commander's name was Kel. He stood in the wreckage of his Bridge and glared at Spock and Sulu. Sulu stood beside Spock and looked around impatiently. His phaser was trained on Kel. He didn't like being in a room full of Klingons and was anxious to find Jilla, but he was required to remain with Spock until, unless ordered otherwise.
"Captain, I will report this outrage!" Kel was blustering. "An unprovoked attack, a sneak attack, in our own space… do not doubt that we will take this to Organia!"
"Commander," Spock replied calmly, "need I remind you that this is neutral, not Klingon space, your tractor beam holds a Federation shuttlecraft, and you have, as prisoners, two of my officers, abducted illegally from a routine research mission?"
Sulu glanced at Spock, reluctantly admiring his strategy. He had every base covered, every angle figured. And everything he'd done, including the bait, was both logical and strictly necessary. Damn him.
Kel's sputtering indignation had no effect on Spock, who continued without giving the Klingon time to begin a tirade. "I doubt Organia would look favorably on your case, Commander. If you are done with empty postures of umbrage, we will be conducted to your security section, or wherever it is you are restraining my officers."
Kel glared furiously, and Sulu quietly raised his phaser a few measured centimeters. Kel glanced around at the more than adequate number of Federation security people, then sighed disgustedly.
"As you seem to be in control here," he muttered, and gestured to the doorway.
The screams started Sulu running. Even Spock quickened his pace. This section of the ship had been extensively damaged, and it was difficult to get through the rubble. Jilla’s anguished voice rose over the agonized shrieks.
"Yes, you deserve it, but I cannot!"
An open doorway appeared in front of Sulu, and he dashed through it, Spock right behind him. Ruth and Jilla were struggling violently, Ruth's face a contorted mask of horror and terror. Something metallic flashed between them. "My god, she'll kill her!" Sulu gasped. Without thinking, he plunged into the battle, grabbing Jilla, shouting hoarsely at her. Ruth's scream was near triumph, and Jilla struggled to turn in Sulu's arms. "Sulu, she'll kill herself!" Jilla rasped furiously, and Sulu stared at the frantic rage in the grey eyes and knew it was the truth. He let her go, and started for Ruth, but Spock had already twisted the blade from his wife’s hand. She stared up at him, pleading, gasping painfully.
"Spock, let me go, please. You could if you wanted to. Spock can do anything. You killed me in your mind..." She started choking, fighting some unknown agony. "I'm not a part of you and that's death so it won't be hard to just kill my body too!" she hissed. "Spock, please, I love you..." The words were swallowed by a scream of anguish and she clutched at her head, collapsing to the deck.
Jilla started weeping violently, and Spock grabbed her by the arm. "Lieutenant Majiir, what was done to her?" he asked.
"It is your right!" Jilla shrieked at him. "She must die, and you have the right!"
"Lieutenant, I want facts," he ordered sternly.
"A sauvrn," Jilla cried hopelessly. "There is no way to save her, Spock release her..."
"Sauvrn. I see." He straightened, opening his communicator. "Spock to Enterprise. Mr. Scott, four to beam over, have a room in Sickbay prepared. Spock out."
He bent down, lifting Ruth into his arms and she clawed at him, begging, screaming. His fingers went to her shoulder, and Sulu froze, certain for a moment that Spock would kill her. Then Ruth collapsed, and the transporter took hold, and all thought stopped.
"Brain damage," McCoy reported clinically. "And getting worse by the second." He handed the scanner he had used to the waiting Nurse Chapel, then looked across the bed to where the captain stood. "And I have no idea what to do about it."
Spock nodded as if he had expected McCoy's words.
"From what I've read of these things," McCoy continued, "even a keheil won't come near a sauvrn. Too dangerous." He paused and looked away for a moment. His voice was shaking when he spoke again. "I've never approved of euthanasia, but there are times when it's necessary." He didn't add that only the Captain could give an order authorizing a mercy killing. Spock already knew that.
"It can be removed by another telepath, Doctor?" Spock’s voice was as emotionless as his face.
"I've already told you. No other keheil will come near her." McCoy looked up at Spock's unreadable eyes. "Have some mercy on her. She's dying, in agony."
"That will be all, Doctor."
"Spock, she's your..."
"I said that will be all."
McCoy stiffened, and growled, "Euthanasia, Captain?"
"I will consider it."
McCoy caught the tears in Christine Chapel's eyes, and turned, leaving the room before his own grief overwhelmed him.
Spock stood over Ruth's violently twitching body. For long moments, he did nothing. Then some spasm of fear crossed his face. It was quickly mastered, and he reached out, placing his fingers on her temples. The caress was a brief touch before he settled his hands in the proper position. He shivered, once, then drew a long breath and concentrated.
The pain was unbelievable. It seared through him with a furious hunger. He fought it, conquered it, then slowly began to call to it. He sent his thoughts into Ruth, all of them, any of them. There was no time or energy to be selective. He set his telepathy as bait, a lure to the parasite inside her.
Here. Come. My thoughts are stronger, the feeding is better here. Nourishment. Come. That one is already weakening. I am strong and fresh. Come. Leave her. Come.
Ruth was responding, unable to help herself, or to stop the blending. Spock ignored the terror and continued, pouring his mind to hers, forming a bridge for the sauvrn to cross. He called more insistently, and as Ruth weakened, he felt the thing begin to feed on him. Panic ripped into him, yet he held steady, waiting; waiting until he was certain it had left her mind. Crucial seconds passed, and still he waited until Ruth's thoughts were free.
Now! Cast it out before it takes hold of you!
With blind urgency he ripped his mind from Ruth's, screaming with the pain and the grief and the terror. Do not leave her! he shrieked, and her mind cried a plea and he stumbled away, deaf and dumb with agony.
Sulu strode to the Sickbay. Kel wanted to speak to the Captain. He didn't want to go; Ruth was there, Ruth was dying. Jilla had told him about the sauvrn, what it was doing to her. Please, god, give that bastard the compassion to let her die before the torment of the thing drives her crazy!
The sickbay door slid open at his approach, and he started to speak, then stopped, dumbstruck.
Spock knelt on the deck, his hands covering his face. On the floor before him squirmed a smear of sparkling green.
Before he could speak, Spock was getting up, his face completely impassive. He almost shook his head, wondering if he'd really seen it. "Captain..." he began.
Spock bent over and carefully picked up the smear of green with a pair of medical tweezers. "This, Mr. Sulu, is a sauvrn," he said.
The hope sprang wildly into Sulu's eyes. "Ruth is..."
"She is free of it," Spock replied.
"Well, get rid of it before it infects her again!"
Spock stared at the thing he held. Yes, destroy it... yet it is a life form. Much good could come of the study of such a creature... He saw the hardening face of his First Officer, and his hand was on his phaser, setting it, aiming, and firing at the sauvrn before the thoughts were completed. He heard Sulu mutter, "thank god!" and for a brief moment felt remorse that he would get no such gratitude. "I assume you came here for a reason, Mr. Sulu," he said.
Sulu's expression plainly wondered at his callousness, but he replied, "Commander Kel wishes to see you, sir."
Spock nodded and left the room without another word.
"Ruth's going to be all right!" Sulu exclaimed as he stepped into his quarters. Jilla looked up from her lyrette. She struggled with words for a moment.
"How?" she finally managed.
"I don't know, but Spock got rid of the sauvrn."
Jilla's eyes flashed with joy and relief, then set into bitter castigation. "Spock saved her life," she said, and she seemed to be talking to herself. "It is his decision." Sulu knelt down, taking hold of her arms.
"Jilla, they're not Indiian," he said softly.
"And I am," Jilla replied, just as softly. Her eyes closed, and she whispered, "I'm so afraid, my love."
He sighed, and took her into his arms. "I know, baby, I know."
McCoy had been cautiously hopeful: "Probably just a healing coma, son," he'd told Del. His hopefulness hadn't stopped him from pointing out other, less pleasant alternatives. "Or she might not wake up at all. Or she might wake up mindless, or with every bit of telepathy drained out of her. I just don't know. The damage is bad, but she's cured worse. She's always been able to take care of herself before."
It had been hours since McCoy had talked to him. Hours that he had spent sitting or standing or pacing next to the bed where Ruth lay. She hadn't moved, not once. He tried not to worry. He tried to remind himself of what she was, but memory kept getting in the way:
How do you cure a keheil?
You don’.
Right. Tell me something I can’t do.
You don’ know.
She got to heal herself, he thought desperately. Mere d’un dieu, please.
He hadn't spent much of the time alone. People had come in, looked, and gone away, mostly in silence. Sulu had looked like he wanted to assure him it would be all right, but hadn’t been able to find the words. He hadn't expected perfect Mrs. Majiir, but she'd come, whirling quickly when she saw him. Daffy, Pavel, the Millers, Uhura... He glanced up at the heavy tread of feet. Scotty, a little too much scotch in his eyes. He shook his head as the Chief Engineer walked unsteadily to the bed, sighed, "Ah lassie..." then choked on a sob. Del took the man's arm.
"Come wit’ me, Scotty, you ‘bout due fo’ a nap," he said. The Scotsman nodded sadly, and let Del lead him away.
When he returned, someone else was standing by the bed; a tense, slender figure that had been the last person he had expected to see. But then it a captain's duty to show leas’ a professional concern fo’ his crew, non? An he prob’ly care that he losin’ an excellent science officer... For a second, Del wished fervently to believe that that was all Spock cared about losing.
He unconsciously cleared his throat, some part of him concerned about intruding. Then Spock glanced up. If there had been one glimmer of pain in that face, just one indication of concern or regret or even resentment, he would have turned, left, never to see or touch Ruth again. But there was nothing. Nothing! The anger welled up in dark, piercing eyes, and he began speaking, and couldn't stop.
"Th' prev’lant theory, originally, an' only ‘mong those who had personal interest in you, Captain, was that you crazy." Del's voice was caustic and bitter. "Not jus’ normal Captain-in-love-wit’-his-ship crazy, but dangerous. Homicidal. Th' great God Kirk was dead so what reason you have t' go on? Wit’out Kirk, what use you have for th' others you once care fo’ or who care fo’ you. Maybe they even to blame fo’ his death. So you try to kill or destroy 'em, one by one. Rundella pretty much shoot that to hell. Now they say you actively an’ professionally indifferent. You not give a damn ‘bout no one an' you go out your way to prove it. O’course, those who not have reason to hate you be t’inkin’ you jus’ ‘nother Vulcan, an’ not a bad captain, neither.
"Me, I t’ink you generous generous man. At leas’ where your wife concerned.” He leaned forward, making his voice a mockery of confidentiality. “I ask you, non? You give Ruth to me, or me to her?” He chuckled. “She need somet’ing to keep her occupied while you conduct Mephistopheles’ Waltz, I be t’inkin’. And DelMonde ready an’ waitin’, th' perfect toy.” His face hardened, his voice getting hoarse. “Why you not assign stud service so I get paid fo’ it?"
There was no response, and the fury in him grew.
"I love her,” he went on, anguished, “you know I love her! An’ it not matter to me that she yours. It make no difference that she love you an’ you never make her not love you. I there when she want me, even knowin’ she always be there when you want her….” He took a deep breath, tears burning in his eyes, forcing himself to look directly at the Vulcan’s face. “So since you not want her… let her go, Captain. Send her from you so she not have to slink in after a night wit’ me an' hate herself an' me, and you."
Spock didn't answer, and Del couldn't believe it. Not a flicker of change, not a word. It was as if he wasn't there. There wasn’t even the cold non-recognition that Majiir used on Ruth. The Vulcan simply checked the diagnostic scanner over the bed, then turned and left.
Mephistopheles, Del snarled, in a damned gold uniform.
Swirling confusion, fear of the pain, surprise at finding none. Tired. Weary. God, I hate Sickbay! I want — hungry? No, I want — too cold. Kor. No, goddess, no not...! He's gone. Alright. Cold, damn it! Go home. Go to bed. Go to Spock.
Ruth dragged herself to her feet. Incoherency clouded her mind, an exhaustion that somehow didn't touch her body. Her legs knew the way to the turbolift, to her quarters. She curled up under the covers of her bed, and fell asleep.
Spock was in his office, working with the library computer when the intercom buzzed. He hesitated only a moment before answering. He had little time for personal research and resented being interrupted. Still, his first duty was a captain's. "Spock."
"Sickbay." It was Dr. Han. "Excuse me, Captain, but Lieutenant Commander Valley is no longer in her room. As her condition is still uncertain..."
"Very well, Doctor, I will order a search."
"Captain." A pause. "May I suggest you first look in your quarters?"
Spock sighed. "Very well, Doctor."
He called Sickbay a few seconds later to inform Han that her suggestion had been correct. "She is here. She appears to be sleeping."
"I'll be right..."
"No, Doctor. Miss Valley can rest well enough here. I will call you if she requires medical attention. Spock out.”
She was sleeping, golden silk spilling over naked shoulders. Was she alright? She must have retained some memory to come here. She seems so peaceful. Childlike. Will she be a child? Helpless, easily hurt, innocent and... or a vegetable. Mindless. Unable to do more than eat and sleep... Has she come home to die? Did I imparted that to her, the idea of bringing home... even if totally destroyed… One way to find out. Only one.
Spock stood over the bed, and Ruth opened her eyes. A gentle smile came over her features and her lips formed his name. At his unwavering stare, her face clouded, pain and shame making her look away. She didn't see his nod, and she glanced up again as he turned from her. A pleading rose in her throat as her eyes filled with tears.
"Spock..." She choked, then was startled as he turned quickly back to her, a deep gash in his right forearm, the sleeve of his uniform staining quickly a dark, sick olive.
Furious with guilt and rage, she groaned, "What did you do that for!" and reached for him. For an instant, she thought she saw his eyes flicker with a grieving hope that she couldn't cure it. Damning herself, she touched the wound.
It healed. Slowly, but it healed. And Ruth bent her head with too much anguish, the tears sliding silently down her cheeks.
Spock looked down at her. He seemed to be struggling with something. The hesitation was almost violent as he forced himself to sit. His arms came haltingly around her, barely touching her, his fingers faltering between her hair and her shoulders and her back. She began trembling, sobbing quietly. His eyes shone with helplessness as he uncertainly pulled her head to his chest, her name whispering from his lips. Her arms came suddenly around him, and she wept openly as, stilted and awkward, he held her.
Sulu looked up from the Helm as the turbolift opened. Ruth and Spock stepped, out, coming on duty. He noticed Jilla's eyes following them almost hopefully. Neither face gave any indication of any change. Yet he knew Ruth hadn't spent the night with DelMonde.
DelMonde, too, was trying not to stare at them. Ruth went to her station. Spock requested a status report before turning to receive the day's orders. A tense hour passed. Then Spock rose, giving Sulu the con. Ruth appeared not to notice. She also appeared not to notice DelMonde's almost frantic attempts to keep from demanding an explanation — any explanation.
The shift passed without any word from Ruth, and she left promptly at its end. Sulu and Jilla exchanged glances. And Del gave a silent, mocking toast to Mephistopheles.
"Danse Macabre" by Saint-Seans
To go to the next piece in the "Shadow Captain" Series, click here