originally published as "Watermark"
Return to Valjiir Stories
The eastern horizon was lightening when Spock and Sulu finished securing the Klingons. McCoy gave them enough sedative to keep them docile for hours, then Sulu turned expectantly to Spock.
"We have officers to rescue, sir," he said.
Spock took out his communicator. "Spock to Enterprise, can you read me," he said.
There was a loud crackle, then, faintly, Uhura's voice. "Captain, thank god. Mr. Scott!"
Scott's voice was stronger. "Aye, sir, we're reading you, but we've na got sensor power nor transporters."
"That is to be expected, Mr. Scott," Spock replied. "The last known position of Dr. Han and Lieutenant. Majiir, please."
"Scotty!" Ruth cried, staring anxiously into her scanner. "I did it, marginal sensor readings... There they are; Vulcan, two Humans... a third Human! And the set, Indiian!" A pause. "Some strange configuration -- oh, of course. Four Klingons, with our party."
"Miss Valley, the coordinates if you please," Spock's voice interrupted. "Time is critical."
Ruth gave the positions clearly, then realized that Jilla and Jade were about one mile apart, and Jade the closer.
"Beam the Klingons aboard as soon as you have transporter power," Spock ordered. "Then you may send an engineering team for our equipment."
"Aye, sir," Scott replied, and contact was broken before he could ask about sending any other assistance.
The cell was dark and damp. Jilla shivered as she lay, manacled to the wall, curled up against it. Jade had been taken out two hours before. Perhaps they thought if they killed the witch, the pale demon would vanish on its own. She glanced up. Far above her were two heavily barred windows, and far above that the sky was clearing and the stars beginning to fade as daylight approached. Sulu, where are you?
There had been no time for subtlety. The decision had been made, calmly, logically. The transporter was inoperative, and would remain so for the time that was imperative. There were only Spock, Sulu and McCoy planetside. The captain would not allow one to travel alone; there was too much risk. Jade was closer, her rescue had an eighty-nine point four percent chance of success. There was only a seventy-one point seven chance of even reaching Jilla before dawn. As Starfleet personnel, one did not have any advantage over the other.
"Therefore, Doctor, Commander, we will attempt to secure Dr. Han's freedom,” the Captain stated firmly. McCoy looked at Sulu. The First Officer was staring almost pleadingly at Spock.
"Captain," he said, his voice carefully composed, "I know what you want from her, but I’m asking you to reconsider.”
"You question my decision, Commander?” Spock said calmly. "Shall I repeat the logic behind it?"
"Unnecessary, sir," Sulu answered, his teeth clenched. Then he took a deep breath. "Request permission to attempt..."
"Denied. To separate would mean death." Spock turned, striding toward the town that lay half a mile to the north northwest. McCoy shot Sulu a questioning glance. He didn't think Sulu had seen it. He was right. But he heard Sulu's mumble.
"If she dies, that's exactly what it means."
Jade was silent before the board of inquiry. Anything she could say would only convince them of her guilt. Dawn was approaching, and she would be condemned as a witch. She thought of Jilla, and wondered which was worse; to die by fire or by a wooden stake pounded into one's heart? Would the smoke choke her before the heat of the flames began to sear her skin? She shut thoughts of both agonies out of her mind.
"...condemned to die by fire at the town center this very morning." A heavy gavel pounded twice and Jade was led through the jeering crowds. The stake was frightening. It was blackened with many burnings and the platform of wood and straw she was to stand upon was mingled with the ashes and bones of countless other innocents.
She was lashed securely, and she whispered a final, ironic prayer, prepared now to accept her death. Solemn words intoned her charge, judgment, and sentence. She heard the crackle of fire and closed her eyes.
The sky was light. Jilla heard the tread of feet outside her cell. The heavy door was opened and a temple priest stood with two burly guards.
"She lives?" one of the guards said, his voice tinged with fear.
"Not for long," the priest answered. "Demon, wilt thou let go thy grip on this fair child? Wilt thou, in fear of the living God, give up this girl's body to the ground in which it was consecrated?"
The terror rose, overwhelming her. "I'm not a demon and I'm not dead!" she cried.
"She speaks!" the guard wailed fearfully.
"She can do no harm while I am with thee," the priest assured the man, then turned back to Jilla, his face terrible and stern. "Thou canst not trick me, devil; I know thy name. Thou art powerful, a lieutenant in His dark forces, thy witch companion says, but she has also told us thy name." The priest seemed to grow and he thundered at her, "Majiir!"
The panicked fear got lost in absurd hopelessness and Jilla started laughing, hysterically.
"Thou dares to mock the power I wield, devil?" the priest roared. "Leave the child or I will trap thee there and thou wilt know the eternity of hell's damnation!"
It was the final irony. Tears streamed from Jilla's eyes as her laughter continued, reaching a fever pitch of hysteria and she moaned helplessly, in desolate agony, "Fools, I already do!"
The guard gasped. The priest smiled grimly. The demon had confessed.
"Planet dawn, sir," Chekov reported. Spock, Sulu and McCoy had reached Jade's coordinates. Ruth turned to Scotty.
"Do we have transporter power?" she asked apprehensively.
Scotty was staring at the scanner over her shoulder. "Not where Jilla is, lass. A few more minutes'll do it."
"I hope Rundellans aren't punctual," Ruth murmured, then interrupted herself. "Phaser power reported; they must be fighting." To herself, she added; I hope Spock knows what he's doing.
"Come on, hold out a little longer," Scotty muttered.
"Sir, transporter reports ready," Uhura said suddenly. Scotty turned from the Science Station.
"Let's get Jilla beamed up," he ordered briskly.
"No!" Ruth suddenly hissed, and her hands raced over her controls. "Oh no, please, Zehara!"
"What is it, Ruth?" Scotty asked anxiously.
"There's got to be something wrong with the equipment, please!"
"Ruth..."
"There has to, please, goddess...."
"Miss Valley, report!"
There was silence on the Bridge for several seconds, except for the sounds of the equipment. Then, pale and wide-eyed, Ruth turned from the scanner. "The Indiian life-form just stopped registering," she whispered dully. "Jilla's dead."
Jade only saw the battle through a smoky haze. Two figures in gold, one in blue, and the whir of phasers set on stun. Townspeople running, screaming about demons, and then the fire was out, she was very wet and cold, and she began coughing violently, her lungs expelling the foul smoke. She felt the touch of metal against her arm; the hiss of a hypospray.
"Jade, are you alright?" McCoy's voice asked. She managed to nod before the wracking coughs began again.
Sulu had stunned the magistrate first, not wanting to take any chances of letting him slip away. If anyone would know where Jilla was... He knelt over the man, slapping him to consciousness. "Where is the other woman, the silver one?" he demanded. The man stared at him in horror. "Where is she!"
"Thy consort demon is no more," the man said in a whisper. "I dispatched her destruction at dawn."
Sulu stared at him a moment. The man was telling the truth. He was too terrified to lie. Pain shot through Sulu like a knife, cold and sharp and burning. He turned from the magistrate, glancing around with unseeing eyes. Spock stood a few feet away, watching Jade and McCoy, his face expressionless, his eyes cool. With deliberate composure, Sulu tore at the braid on his sleeves. He left the command insignia lying in the dust. A guard's sword had fallen nearby. He retrieved it.
"Spock!" he called harshly. Spock turned to face him. "You let her die!"
Spock took a step forward, stopped as Sulu took a fighting stance. "Commander... " he began.
"Not 'commander' you son of a bitch! I've resigned." Spock glanced at the pile of gold on the ground.
"Starfleet...." he began again.
"To hell with Starfleet! To hell with my commission! To hell with the ship and to hell with you!"
McCoy stood up. "Sulu!" he shouted.
"Stay out of it, Doc. The bastard let Jilla die and he's going with her or I am." Sulu's eyes hadn't left Spock's. He slowly advanced. "Defend yourself, Vulcan, or I'll cut you down where you stand."
Jade struggled to her feet. Sulu didn't understand how much Spock's choice must be hurting. Yet it was the only thing he could've done. He only had his logic now; he had to follow it. He loved Jilla, but love could not interfere with duty. Jim would never have let it, why should Spock? She saw Sulu raise the sword and she screamed his name, stumbling toward him. He spun, the sharp edge of metal missing her by centimeters. He took a step back, warily surveying both her and Spock.
"Letting a woman do your fighting for you?" he spat. "Is that Vulcan custom?"
"Dr. Han," Spock said quietly, and inclined his head to one side.
"Sulu," she said, ignoring Spock, "give him an opportunity to explain. The pain is great, I know, but..."
"He had solid, logical reasons," Sulu finished. "Like look out for yourself. Get rid of any evidence that you were once almost Human, especially when that evidence won't let you act all too Human in the privacy of your bedroom!"
"What?" Jade stammered, and turned to Spock. "Spock, what is he..."
"I have no compunction against going through you to get to that murdering bastard if I have to," Sulu said menacingly. Jade took an involuntary step backward and Spock grabbed her arm, pulling her away.
"This is not your battle, Doctor. Leave it," he said. He turned to Sulu. "I have no wish to harm you."
Sulu laughed bitterly. "What more could you do?" He swung the blade with incredible speed and viciousness. Spock ducked, came forward, reached for Sulu's shoulder. Sulu twisted away, whirled, and was again facing him. "I know that one, Vulcan. You'll have to do better." He lunged again, taking a half-step to one side, bringing the sword in low. It sliced cleanly through Spock's tunic, scoring him lightly, and dislodging the phaser that rested on his hip. Sulu pressed the advantage. Spock dropped, an arm coming up to strike Sulu's unprotected side. The sword's stroke went wild and Spock was behind him in an instant, again reaching for the spot along the scapula. Sulu executed a roll, landing on his feet lightly, swinging around with the same momentum.
Jade watched in horror. How could Spock render Sulu harmless when he was unarmed and trying not to injure his opponent, while Sulu was insanely fast and strong, and out for blood? She caught sight of McCoy, his phaser in his hand. He seemed to be struggling with something; then he slowly took aim, swearing softly as he pressed the trigger-button. Sulu fell and Spock glanced at McCoy, who dropped the phaser and turned away in disgust.
Ruth raced to the transporter room, barely hearing Scotty's numb order to beam up the Klingons, then the landing party. She didn't know what she would say, but she knew Sulu had to be told, and she knew it might hurt less coming from someone who had loved Jilla almost as much as he did. She reached the door, heard the familiar whine as she stepped inside. The figures materialized; a wet, shivering Jade; Spock, Captain, unruffled as always. A sharp pain went through her and she wondered bitterly if he would even care. Bones, weary, his face set in resentment and lines of sadness; and Sulu, prone, unconscious, hardly breathing.
Spock ignored her, going directly to the com. "Sickbay, security, send teams to the transporter room. Spock out." He continued speaking without turning. "Lieutenant Commander Valley, you are away from your post."
Ruth took a deep breath. "Sir, I was relieved by Mr. Scott, and I -- " her voice broke. "I regret to report the... "
"Your scanners recorded the death of Lieutenant Majiir. Thank you, Miss Valley, for the confirmation. You may attend Dr. McCoy if you wish."
Ruth stared, first at Spock, then at McCoy, who nodded heavily, then at Jade, who simply turned away. "Confirm — " she began.
"We heard it from the magistrate planetside, Ruthie," McCoy said gently. Ruth's gaze switched abruptly to Sulu. "He knows," McCoy murmured.
For the first time, Ruth noticed Sulu's uniform; a ragged tear where his command insignia should be, the cuffs of his sleeves bereft of the two golden stripes. Spock's words, 'sickbay, security' filled her head, and she turned to him. "Security?" she asked incredulously.
"Mr. Sulu is under arrest," Spock replied. "Dr. McCoy, after examining him, you will instruct his guards that he be confined to quarters." The Vulcan turned and left the room, leaving Ruth staring after him, angry, anguished, and hopeless.
She stood for several moments, then turned abruptly. "Why? What did he do?" she demanded of McCoy. The doctor uncharacteristically pivoted from his patient.
"He attacked Spock, tried to kill the bastard because he let Jilla die!" he shouted, then stopped, his glare changing to deep sorrow and regret. "I'm sorry, Ruth, it's just all so senseless..." He paused and sighed. "Sulu was told about Mrs. Majiir, and he snapped. A natural reaction under the circumstances. The tension had been so strong... He resigned his commission and attacked out of grief, unthinking suicidal grief. And Captain Spock," he spat out the words, "has no understanding of temporary insanity caused by violent emotion. So Sulu’s under arrest pending court martial." He glanced at the face that held no peace, even unconscious. "If he lives that long."
Ruth was silent as the teams entered the transporter room, silent as McCoy directed them to take both Sulu and Jade to sickbay, silent for long moments even after they had gone.
Scarlet and silver swirled before eyes of pale slate. A voice, frightened, in agony, screamed his name, fingers clawing desperately against the web that held them. A slender figure in blue opened his hand, revealed a smiling face with warm hazel eyes, then crushed it and threw the dust casually to the wind. It screamed, blood flowed, blood that changed from red to a deep silver as the figure's familiar tunic changed from blue to gold. The grey and burgundy combined, shimmering into a woman's delicate form. The figure took her, held her, kissed her. Her body writhed sensuously against it. It harshly tore her away. She cried out, reaching for it. It struck her, then drew a phaser. She screamed, dissolving again into whirls of color and haunting grey eyes, pleading, calling, "please, help me, Sulu!"
Sulu jerked awake. Sweat covered his face, mingling with bitter tears. He glanced at his surroundings, panic receding, memory returning. He was in Sickbay. Spock hadn't been killed, hadn't had the decency to let him die. He covered his face with his hands. Why was the bastard forcing him to live?
The answer came quickly. To stand trial, to be ceremoniously stripped of the commission he no longer wanted. It meant nothing, less than nothing without Jilla. He laughed bitterly at the stupidity that had made him cast her aside out of fear and self-hatred almost a year before. Had she killed LiLing? He never thought about it. Wouldn't let himself. Gentle D'Artagnan couldn't deal with the thought that he could again love someone capable of cold-blooded, premeditated murder. But gentle D'Artagnan wasn’t all he was, not by a long shot, and LiLing had deserved to die. Just as he had. Just as he did now. He obeyed Spock’s orders instead of saving Jilla's life. Damn Starfleet, damn the Federation, damn Spock…
I’m sorry, silver one, he offered sorrowfully. He let you die, but he's not about to let me go to you. He found himself suddenly addressing Jilla's goddess; Aema, let me be with her. Let me beg outside Your Court, let me face eternity. Please, she says You're compassionate. I can't live without her! Aema, please, I accept your judgment! Take me!
The sobs broke through his tightly clenched teeth. He shook, pain filling him, his body knotting around itself in agony. Jilla’s name was a low moan as bitter sorrow overwhelmed him.
It was long minutes before he could think of anything else.
"Sulu, I know it's hard,” a soft voice interrupted his anguish. “Dr. McCoy said to give you anything you needed."
He opened his eyes. Through the blur of his tears he recognized Christine Chapel’s face. He took a deep breath, wiping his hands across his face. "How about a scalpel and Spock's throat?" He saw the pain that crossed her blue eyes and added quickly, "or just a scalpel to finish the job he started."
"Sulu, you don’t mean…" Christine began.
"He killed her, " Sulu asserted. “just as surely as if he'd held the stake that pierced her heart." He choked on a breath. “And I let him. What’s the point of going on."
"I thought that way after I found out what had become of Roger," the nurse confessed, "but I found something, kept on..."
"And what do you have to show for it?" Sulu demanded. "Your work, Starfleet, love for a cold, soulless murderer who could no sooner love you than he could breathe in space? If that's what you're offering me, I'll take the scalpel."
Christine was near to tears. "Dr. McCoy said to keep you sedated until..."
"Until what? Until I calm down, become rational, forget Jilla? Bring me Spock's four-chambered Vulcan heart and I'll calm down!"
"You can't..."
"Don't you understand? Spock killed her. She loved him, trusted him, and he killed her! " His voice was savage with his despair. Weeping, Christine fled the room.
Ruth had wandered around the ship numbly for hours. She could think of nothing except Jilla, and the terrible knowledge that Spock had intended her to die. McCoy found her in a deserted briefing room. The doctor sat down next to her, taking her hand in silent comfort for several minutes. Then he sighed, taking a breath.
"Ruth,” he said softly, “Sulu should be coming around soon. I think it might help you both if you were there when he wakes up and realizes...." McCoy's voice trailed off.
Sulu, Ruth thought, forcing her mind to function. Roy. Wild in the darkest places of your mind, that’s when I needed you… Focus on him, he’s going to need you. And goddess, I need him! She leaned over, kissing McCoy on the cheek, and headed for Sickbay.
"Don't you understand? Spock killed her. She loved him, trusted him, and he killed her! "
Ruth shut her eyes, swallowing back the sob at the flow of fury in Sulu's voice. Christine Chapel bolted past her, tears streaming from her eyes. Ruth stood, torn for a moment between the two competing sources of pain, then took a step toward the room Chapel had deserted.
Sulu lay on a bed, shaking, sobbing desperately, his fists clenched against the raw anguish. Ruth could feel something building, a tension, a spring coiling tightly, and she fought her own sorrow and took another step just as Sulu exploded.
A thick, murderous cry tore itself from his throat, and he was up and moving like lightning. His gentle face was twisted into a cold mask of terrible fury, his eyes full of hatred and much too bright. With a flash of panicked horror, Ruth's mind was seared with his intent: murder, then suicide. She screamed his name, her hands blindly reaching for him as he raced, oblivious, past her. The urgency and instinct overwhelmed years of training and she ordered him to stop with a command that couldn't be disobeyed by anyone other than the Zehara, or possibly a much older keheil.
He froze, whirling, his eyes ablaze with torment. He seemed, for the first time, to see her; then he collapsed and she rushed to take him into her arms.
The pain came from him in waves and rivers of desolation, and he sobbed words of loss and fury and death; bitter, grieving, hopeless. "Let me kill him!" he hissed, "for her, for Jim, for you. Ruth let me save at least one of us!"
Ruth hushed him, tried to comfort him, trying to penetrate the grief. She held tightly to his hands, keeping the tears from her own eyes. "Roy, I... I know how... I know the pain, but... you don't know what you're..."
"Don't I?" he shot back. "Haven't you thought it, too? Haven't you wondered how the bastard you sleep with but never touch was going to rid his conscience of you? It's what he's doing, Ruth, destroying anyone who ever knew he was Human, was capable of feeling..."
"Sulu, don't, you can't..."
"Look what he did to Jilla!" The words were strangled in Sulu's throat, the loss overwhelming him yet again. Ruth's arms went around him, and he sobbed, shaking hopelessly in her embrace. She tried to murmur soft words of comfort, but she had none to give him. Spock had killed Jilla, he had sent her to die and felt nothing. Cold, unemotional, there was nothing there. How can you go on like this? How can you live with it? He doesn't care; maybe he never did. Maybe it was all your own childish fantasies.
No, he did, he loved me, he cared for —
Then how could he let her die! How can he do what he's doing?
I don't know, goddess I don't know him anymore!
She realized she was crying, and that Christine had returned. She heard the hiss of a hypospray, then Sulu slumped in her arms, unconscious. She looked up, saw Chapel's tear-streaked face.
"Help me get him back to bed, Ruth," Christine whispered.
Ruth nodded numbly. They eased Sulu back to the bed in silence, but as Ruth turned to leave, Christine said, suddenly, "He wants to kill Spock. I'm sorry."
Ruth stared at the pain-wracked eyes, the envy and embarrassment. You don't know what you're longing for, Christine, she thought bitterly and quickly exited the room.
"I wish to commend you on your actions earlier today, Doctor."
Spock stood in the doorway to McCoy's office.
"Don't, Captain. I didn't do it for you," McCoy growled.
"Indeed, Doctor. Why, then, did you?"
McCoy stared at him, then turned away. "Sulu's young. He'll get over it. I couldn't see letting him throw his life away."
"It appears he already has," Spock replied calmly.
"Assaulting a commanding officer," McCoy said gruffly. "Jim could've thrown you to the wolves on the same charge on several occasions." He faced Spock again. "If you have no further business in my Sickbay, Captain, I'm sure you'll find things on the Bridge to occupy your time." He mimicked Spock's emotionless tone of voice, as well as the words the Vulcan had used when ordering him to get off – and stay off – the Bridge the doctor had always been welcome on when Jim Kirk was captain.
"Doctor McCoy..." Spock began warningly.
"Excuse me, Captain,” McCoy interrupted coldly. “I have a grief-stricken patient to attend to, something you wouldn't understand." He turned on his heel, abruptly leaving the office.
Spock's eyes closed for a fraction of a second, then he, too, turned and left the room.
Jade slept for a few hours in sickbay after testing had indicated that there was no damage from her ordeal on Rundella. Then she showered, donned a clean uniform, and headed for the captain's quarters. She had to talk to Spock.
Spock answered her signal with a toneless, "Enter." She did so, quietly. At length, he looked up. "Yes, Doctor?" Their eyes met.
"Comfort, Spock."
He looked quickly away. "No need. My decision was the only one possible."
"I don't argue that."
"Lieutenant Majiir was a valued officer. Her death is regrettable and I do mourn it." He paused. "But I cannot, will not allow it to effect ship's discipline or my actions."
"Understood, Spock. I said comfort, not condemnation."
Spock stood, his face stern. "Doctor, I said there is no need."
Jade stepped closer to him. "Don't we know each other too well for these games?"
He stared at her for a moment. "Jade," he said at last, with some effort, "there is nothing to be done. I cannot change all that has happened. Your 'comfort' would not bring them back." His voice grew soft. "Any of them."
"It can ease the burden," Jade said, just as softly.
"Yet it remains my burden." Spock straightened. "I have much to do, Doctor."
"What of Commander Sulu?" Jade asked suddenly.
"Indeed, Dr. Han, what of him?"
"What he said about acting all too human in the privacy of a bedroom...."
Spock turned from her. "A reference I cannot explain."
Jade studied him for a moment, then decided it had only been the raving of a man near insane with grief. She sighed. "Will you accept his resignation?" she asked,
"When it is presented to me in an official manner, I will consider it."
"Until then?"
"There will be a hearing on the charge of assault." There was a long silence.
"Spock," Jade said quietly, "a man enraged with grief can hardly be held accountable for..."
"A Starfleet officer can. That will be all, Dr. Han."
Jade sighed again, but turned and exited the room. She headed for the turbolift and Sickbay. There’s apparently no getting past the Vulcan mask yet, she thought with sad resignation. Perhaps if Sulu can be made to understand...
She heard McCoy's voice as she entered Sickbay.
"I did it to save your hide, boy!"
And Sulu's harsh answer.
"I didn't ask for any favors, Doctor!"
She stepped into the room. McCoy stood over a restrained Sulu, who was struggling against the webbing that held him.
"It's suicide!" McCoy shouted.
"You think I don't know that?" Sulu shot back.
"I meant a slow kind, a military kind."
"Not if I come at him, alone, armed, and in secret. He'll break my neck before he has time to think. Instinctive reaction. I know. I've lived with Vulcan for over two years."
"Sulu, if it'd work I might be all for it. But he'll just knock you out and you'll be right back where you started, with two charges."
"Maybe if I rack up enough they'll revive the death penalty."
McCoy shook his head wearily. "Face it, son. If he was going to let you do anything foolish he would've gotten it over with on Rundella. Spock will see you crucified, but not martyred. It's his way of denying his guilt," he finished bitterly, then turned and left the room through a door opposite Jade.
No one had seen her. Sulu's eyes were closed, his hands tight fists. She watched the agony come over his face, saw the sobs tearing silently at his chest. Helpless frustration, rage and grief, and his lips formed a name. She didn't have to hear it to know whose it was. She took a step toward him.
"Sulu," she said gently.
He jerked his head up, anger burning in his eyes. "Get out, Doctor!" he spat.
"Sulu, I..." she began.
"I don't need your gloating, or your false sympathy or your professional comfort!" His voice was full of loathing and hatred and Jade shuddered at its vehemence, even as she realized it was simply overflow: she alone tried to understand Spock's reasons, so she also received all the abuse that he couldn't heap on the captain. She took a deep breath. She had to make him understand.
"Spock did the only thing he could..."
"Spock did the Vulcan thing," Sulu snapped at her, "the logical thing." He made it sound like the worst possible insult. Then, as if to deepen the wound, added, "Jim Kirk would never have sacrificed one officer to save another."
It hurt, and Jade stiffened. "He isn't Jim Kirk."
"In my book, Doctor, he's not much of anything. Get out before I find a way to break these damn straps and throw you out!"
Jade closed her eyes. It was no use. The grief was still too keen. In time, maybe, but there was no time. She turned.
"And tell that fucking half-breed I'll kill him if he gets within ten feet of me!"
She fought the tears. James lost, Spock destroyed, Jilla gone, and the death of her D'Artagnan. How has it come to this?
McCoy entered his quarters, sighing heavily. He hadn't had time to give any mourning thoughts for Mrs. Majiir, and any that he had now seemed somehow callous compared with Sulu's naked anguish. Jilla hadn't been fond of him, he knew; he teased too much, teasing she didn't understand and so took too seriously. But he was genuinely fond of her, and as unable to show it as always. Except with Ruth, of course. Poor Ruthie, to be stuck with that Vulcan bastard for another year and a half. Especially now, when she has somewhere to go. She'd always had DelMonde, but she’s afraid of him. She's never been afraid of her Roy. And Sulu sure as hell needs someone. Thinking of replacing Mrs. Majiir already, McCoy? He scowled at himself, then laughed sadly. It's not like that at all, but imagine what Jilla would've said to that.
He shook his head and decided a quick brandy wouldn't hurt anyone. As he was bending to his liquor cabinet, there came a soft knock on the door to the bathroom. Scotty. Oh god, Scotty. He went to the door and opened it.
Noel DelMonde stood, looking tired and aching. "Len," he said, "I be t’inkin’ he not stop this time."
McCoy swallowed, pushed past the engineer into Montgomery Scott's quarters. Scotty was sitting at his desk; old, defeated, his eyes red and empty, a half-full bottle and a glass before him. As McCoy watched, he poured the scotch into his glass and drained it, then refilled it.
"Fo’ th' last fifteen hours," Del said, and gestured to the half-dozen empty bottles lined up on the deck. "I be wit’ him, tryin’ to talk to him but..." He shrugged helplessly.
McCoy nodded, went to the desk. "Scotty," he said quietly.
The eyes looked up. "Ah, McCoy..." Scotty said, his voice thick. Then his eyes filled with tears. "My bairn," he whispered huskily, "my poor, wee bairn...!" The words choked off, and he sobbed, putting his head down. McCoy sat beside him, moving the bottle and glass away from him.
"I know it's hard, Scotty," he said, "she died so senselessly..."
"She died because that half-breed killed her!" Scotty roared. "I tried to tell Sulu, tried to tell him he couldna let her go. I ken he'd find some way of killin' her, my Jilla, my own pretty little bairn..." He reached for the bottle and McCoy grabbed his hand. They glared at each other for long moments, then Scott said, "Will ye not leave me some comfort, McCoy?"
McCoy's heart stirred tormentedly. "It's not good for you," he managed hoarsely.
"It's all he's left me," Scotty replied quietly, then his face hardened and he grabbed the bottle of scotch. McCoy turned away.
"He lose his daughter more then Jole Costain," Del said softly.
"Stay with him," was all McCoy could manage. He went back to his quarters and had his quiet brandy. Then he had a second.
Ruth sat on her bed, Spock's bed, she reminded herself, in the dark, tears sliding down her cheeks. She knew she should stop crying, but she couldn't. She couldn't stop the breakdowns that came at any memory of Jilla. She felt like she'd been lost forever, not just the forty hours or so that had passed since... Forty hours that she'd spent avoiding Spock, avoiding Del. One was a murderer, the other a comfort she dared not risk. It hadn't been difficult. Spock was overseeing the re-outfitting of the observation post as well as the interrogation of the captured Klingons. A ship was on its way, and he was quite prepared to bargain for any gains they'd concede to avoid Organian interference. She didn't know where Del was, didn't want to. It made it easier to keep from racing to his arms — and his bed. The thought of giving her mind up to the pleasures he could bring tore at her — didn't she deserve something to ease this pain and empty sorrow? Something, anything to take her mind off Jilla.
Why had Spock done it? She had no doubts that he had. Was he trying to kill all of them? My god, what sort of hold did Jim Kirk have on you that you could forsake so much because of his death? she thought acidly, Was he your first love? The irony seared her. "Damnit why did you have to be mine!" she screamed to the man that wasn't there.
Push. Push, push.
She sobbed hopelessly at the memories of Jilla' s gentle insistence of the very thing she had just screamed to the darkened room. Did she know too much, Spock? Did she see too deep, deeper even than I could because she had no veneer of intellect to cloud your true self from her vision? Is that why you killed her, for daring to know you, to know your damned Vulcan control for the weak charade it is? There was never more between you — Spock how could you!
Ruth wept into her pillow, curled up, shaking desolately, aching for the face and voice and presence she would never know again. She wasn't aware someone had come into the room until the light came on.
"Pardon me," Spock's voice said. "I was unaware you were resting." Ruth sat up facing him, seeing no acknowledgement of the tears in her eyes. She wanted to shout at him, to damn him, to hurt him, but all she could do was stare, numbly. He waited for some reply, then raised an eyebrow and turned away.
"I have much to do, Ruth," he went on. "Perhaps you could find time to return to your duties."
"I'm taking a rec day," she answered tonelessly.
"I am aware of that. However, your assistance would be appreciated in Anthropology."
"I'm taking a rec day," she repeated.
"As you will, Miss Valley."
Ruth took several deep breaths, trying to regain her composure. There was a lot of work to be done -- but she wasn't going to be much good bursting into tears every other minute. And that she couldn't help, not when she'd be working on better equipment for the outpost. Working with engineering -- Valjiir is dead. She felt tears again, tried to stop the memories.
“We will need a cloak, then.”
“No good. It can be traced.”
“The Romulan cloak can, yes, but verilium-obstitrate cannot.”
“What, we build a shuttle out of…?”
“If we can find a way to project a verilium-obstitrate field…”
“How can you project…
“A sufficiently dematerialized quantity suspended within a transporter beam…”
“Majiir, you’re a genius! No wonder you’re Scotty’s favorite ensign!”
Scotty. Zehara, I haven't even thought about what this is doing to him! He's lost his little girl, like he lost Jock... surrogate son and now surrogate daughter.... "Scotty!"
She'd moaned it out loud, and Spock turned to her. "Mr. Scott has been off duty for the past thirty-nine point one-two hours," he said, as though answering a request she'd made. Her eyes locked onto him, and he looked away. Had there been a flicker of silent understanding in those cold black eyes? Had he relieved Scotty because he knew how Jilla’s death would effect him? Tears welled yet again with the hope, and she longed to touch him, to ask him why, to plead with him that he tell her it was all some fevered dream. She got up, moving toward him.
"Spock?" she whispered hoarsely.
"Yes, Miss Valley?" he replied.
The questions stuck in her throat she stared at him. There was nothing, no concern, no grief, no sympathy. How could I have thought otherwise? Murderer!
She turned, fighting the sobs, and fled from the room.
Spock watched her go. There had been no need for her to speak the word that echoed in the silence between them.
"Pavel!" Ramon Ordona's voice broke the quiet of the Bridge. Chekov turned in the command chair to glance at the Science Station.
"What is it, Mr. Ordona?"
"I'm getting readings, life-form, Indiian!" Ordona said excitedly.
"Life-form?" Chekov asked incredulously, moving from the con toward the scanner. It had been nearly two days since the search for Jilla's body had begun, two days since the Indiian's life form reading had vanished, proof beyond the word of a planetside magistrate that she was dead. The sensors were not inoperative. They had been thoroughly checked. But Jilla's body had not been in the area of the last reading, and Spock had agreed to a limited search for as long as they were waiting for the arrival of the Klingon ship. The search had been painstaking and arduous, the crews attempting to remain anonymous; time and time again, the sectors searched revealed nothing. Sciences was keeping track of the parties, ready for immediate beam-up if either the Prime Directive or the parties themselves were threatened.
"Life form?" Chekov repeated. "Are you certain?"
"See for yourself!" Ordona said, stepping aside. Chekov studied the grid. Yes, faint, but definitely there, and definitely Indiian. He stood up, grinning.
"Who tells Sulu and who tells the Captain?"
Ordona scowled. "I'll match you for it."
At Navigation, Monique DuBois suggested, "You could take a match to the Captain," and her Helm-mate, David Kelly, frowned pointedly.
Chekov sighed, then said to Ordona, "Odds or evens?"
"Evens," Ordona replied. They brought their closed fists down three times, the third time extending one or more fingers. The total was an odd number. Ordona mumbled, "Two out of three?" and Chekov shook his head.
"Mr. Kelly," he said, "you have the con."