Star Trek Rambling: Fan Fiction: After The Light: Annihilate Rewritten (Part 1)

After the Light: Annihilate Rewritten (Part 1)

Aconitum Napellus

2009

(Rated: 18)

This is a non-profit work of fan fiction. No monies are being made. This story is based on and uses elements from Star Trek, which is trademarked by Paramount Pictures and CBS. I do not claim ownership of Star Trek or any associated characters or the universe of Star Trek. All other elements are my own.

Chapter 1

They had rigged the test cubicle hastily, but there was no doubt that it was effective. Spock had attached the high intensity light emitter to the wall himself. He had made sure that the seals on the door were light-proof as well as air-proof. He had placed the clear plastic container with the amoeba-like creature in it carefully on the chair in there, exposed it to the light, and experienced a brief, overwhelming shard of joy through his chest as he saw it was dead. The implications for the future of Deneva were phenomenal, but from a logical sense of self-preservation, the implications for himself were even better.

The next logical step was obvious, and now Spock himself sat in the test cubicle, his hands resting loosely at his sides, trying to appear relaxed. He knew the risk he was running to satisfy scientific standards. The human saying, between a rock and a hard place, ran briefly through his mind. It was highly probable that the light would damage his eyes. He might even be killed as the creature inside him realised what was happening. But the creature was pressuring him and he was losing. Even now it was screaming through every nerve in his body. The pain would drive him to collapse or insanity soon, or drive him to do something terrible. He had to kill it first. He had to test out their theory so they could treat all those other people who were suffering without even Vulcan control to help them.

The light appeared in a brilliant glare, and he instantly screwed up his eyes against the painful whiteness, but his eyelids had no hope of cutting it out. The light was intense enough to reach through his very skin and flesh – eyelids were like tracing paper. Even the goggles McCoy had offered would probably have let through a distressing amount of light.

The pain the creature was exerting on him increased to an unbearable level, but he forced himself to stay seated, his hands gripping so hard on the sides of the chair they dented the plastic. Then, slowly, the pain faded away, and so did the bright light, and he relaxed his whole body in the wondrous freedom. Then he heard the latches on the door snap open and knew the treatment was finished.

A cold feeling trickled down through his body as he opened his eyes. He knew he had opened his eyelids, but it was as if they had not obeyed his command. It was still dark, but not dark as if he was simply dazzled, or if the lights were off. He moved his eyes, sitting upwards, but all he saw was an almost uniform, green-tinged dimness, as if he was still looking through closed eyelids.

He knew Kirk and McCoy were watching apprehensively. He could sense them standing very close to the cubicle door, waiting to hear that he was no longer suffering. He stood up quickly, suddenly realising how hard it was just to get out of that awkward chair without orienting himself with sight. He stood, drawing in breath, straightening his top as much by habit as anything else.

‘Spock. Are you all right?’ asked Kirk’s anxious voice on his right.

‘The creature within me is gone. I am free of it – and the pain.’

He didn’t know what he was doing, where he was trying to go as he walked across the lab. He only knew that he wanted to be elsewhere, somewhere he could stop and sit and try to rationalise this thing that had happened to him. He knew he had misjudged – both his situation and his orientation – as his thigh slammed into a hard edge halfway across the room. The desk – of course. In his preoccupation he had forgotten just how far out the desk reached. His hand only just found the edge as he staggered, stopping him from falling. He heard the reactions of Kirk and McCoy to his uncharacteristic stumble, and realised he had no choice but to admit what had happened. This was no temporary dazzlement – he was truly blind.

‘And I am also – quite blind,’ he admitted finally.

He heard both of them crossing the room to him, and hands gripped at his arms – Jim’s hands, he thought.

‘An equitable trade, Doctor. Thank you,’ he said blankly.

He needed to sit down. Whether it was from shock or from the exhaustion of fighting the pain, his legs felt as though they were about to collapse underneath him. He knew his shock must be showing on his face, but he couldn’t clear his mind enough to control it.

He reached out sideways and found the desk monitor with his fingertips. He felt his way along the desk, almost oblivious to Kirk’s hand helping him. He fumbled for the chair he knew was there, and collapsed into the seat. Finally Kirk’s hand withdrew, leaving him isolated in the dim obscurity again.

Footsteps entered the room, and he heard Nurse Chapel’s crisp voice.

‘Doctor. The results of the first test on the creature’s remain...’ She faltered off and he knew she had noticed the strange, horrific silence. Quickly, the steps left the room.

Spock simply sat in his chair, motionless. He was scared. No matter how deeply he searched into his mind for calming logic, he was scared, and he knew the emotion showed in his bloodless face. He sat with his hands lying in his lap, struggling to think of what to do next. Then McCoy said quietly, ‘Oh no…’ and Kirk snapped back, ‘What is it?’

McCoy’s voice was loaded with guilt and dismay. ‘I threw the total spectrum of light at the creature. It wasn’t necessary. I didn’t stop to think that only one kind of light might have killed it.’

Spock responded out of habit, barely thinking of what he was saying. His voice resonated in his head. ‘Interesting. Just as dogs are sensitive to certain sounds which humans cannot hear, these creatures, evidently, are sensitive to light which we cannot see.’

He felt numb. If he allowed himself to think of the abysmal timing of this new discovery he did not know what emotions might surface in him.

‘Are you telling me Spock need not have been blinded?’ Kirk asked in a terrible voice.

‘I didn’t need to throw the blinding white light at all, Jim.’ There was a pause, then, ‘Spock, I...’

‘Doctor,’ Spock said levelly before McCoy could launch into useless expressions of regret. ‘It was my selection as well. It is done.’

‘Bones,’ Kirk said in a low, shaking voice. Spock couldn’t tell if he was hearing anger or sorrow, or perhaps even blame. Whatever it was, Jim’s human emotions were overwhelming him. ‘Take care of him.’

And then he was gone, leaving an awful, empty silence behind him. Spock’s ears caught the sound of the door to the corridor opening and closing. McCoy stayed for a brief moment, and then he, too, was gone.

******

McCoy followed Kirk quickly, catching him just outside the outer door. He caught his arm firmly as he tried to stride away, not letting go as Kirk tried to shake his grip loose. The guilt he felt at what he had done was suddenly shadowed by the depth of anger he felt at Kirk for just walking out and leaving both him and Spock to catch the fallout of what had happened.

‘Jim,’ he insisted, ‘Spock needs you now.’

Kirk’s voice was hard and unyielding, covering a minefield of emotion. ‘And so does the population of that planet. You told me that yourself.’

‘I don’t think this has anything to do with Deneva,’ McCoy hissed in an undertone. ‘I think this has to do with you being scared to stay in there with him. You wouldn’t even speak to him!’

‘Spock’s a Vulcan, Doctor,’ Kirk snapped, finally pulling away from McCoy’s grasp and moving on down the corridor. ‘He doesn’t need me to sit there holding his hand.’

‘Jim, you’re his closest friend, and he’s scared, no matter what colour blood there is in his veins,’ McCoy insisted, striding after him. ‘Just go be with him, please.’

Kirk turned in the corridor, a moment of sadness breaking through into his eyes. ‘How can I, Bones? I told him not to wear goggles. You told me he could go blind and I sent him in there. You saw the look on his face when he came out. I might as well have killed him.’

‘Jim, Spock needs you now more than he ever has. He’s not blaming you.’

‘I have to go to the bridge,’ Kirk said flatly, turning again and covering the final few yards to the turbolift. ‘Tell him I’ll be down to see him later.’

‘God damn you, Jim, Spock needs you,’ McCoy snapped putting a hand against the turbolift doors to stop them closing.

A curtain seemed to have been drawn down over the captain’s eyes. He wouldn’t look at McCoy as he said, ‘I’ve got a million people down on Deneva who need me too. They’re dying as we speak. You know that, Doctor.’

‘And what am I supposed to do?’ McCoy hissed furiously.

‘See to your duty, Doctor,’ Kirk said tautly, with a diamond hard glitter in his eyes.

‘I will, Captain,’ McCoy nodded, muttering as the captain went into the turbolift, ‘which includes seeing that no one else fetches up blind when we irradiate that planet.’

He stood for a moment, staring at the closed doors of the turbolift, but seeing in his mind the look on Spock’s face. Despite his anger at Kirk for feeling just the same, the last thing in the world he wanted to do was to face the Vulcan after doing such a thing to him. ‘Hell,’ he muttered softly. He closed his eyes, felt the helpless anger welling inside him. ‘Hell,’ he said again. Then he let loose the anger, beating his fist over and over into the wall, swearing with more vehemence than he had expressed in a long time.

******

Spock sat still for a moment on the chair in the lab, hands resting on his knees, fighting the urge to curl his fingers around the seat’s edges. From the flurry of footsteps as Kirk had left the lab, he assumed that McCoy had followed him. From the tight, tension-laden air that had hung around him since his revelation he guessed also that Jim would not be back very soon, and although McCoy would probably see it as his duty to return, the same tense, emotional cloud would follow him. They both seemed overwhelmed with human guilt and anger – most illogical, useless emotions. He would expect neither of them to sit about nursemaiding him anyway, since both had duties to fulfil that involved the fate of an entire planet.

He sat for a moment longer, exhaling lightly and trying to bring calm back to his mind. Nothing could be done. His injury was more or less self-inflicted, and as he had said to McCoy, it was, indeed, an equitable trade. To finally be able to draw breath without pain shuddering through every nerve was a profound relief. Even the darkness held some measure of relief – it was no longer painful to look on bright light, painful to turn his eyes in his head or to try to focus on what was before him.

He had to persuade his shocked body to move. The exhaustion now that the pain was gone was overwhelming him, and if he didn’t move he was in danger of staying in this chair for hours. He flexed his hands in his lap. He moved one of them sideways to the desk, trying to connect himself with reality, with something normal. He felt the hard, cool surface under his palm. Then his fingertips touched a padd on the desk. He felt over it, and found a stylus lying on top. He had left it there as he conducted the tests on the creature alongside Chapel, and forgotten about it. Distracted as he had been by the pain, he could not remember what he had written there, and now he had no ability to find out. This desk, this centre of study with its padd and stylus and computer screen, was useless to him, except as an ancillary adjunct to a chair.

He could not carry on thinking like this. If he did not move, he would simply carry on wallowing in useless emotionalism. He settled his resolve, and stood up, touching one hand lightly to the desk beside him. The door was to his left, behind him, approximately twenty centimetres away from the chair. He knew that. With an eidetic memory, he should know exactly where everything was in the room. Nevertheless, the pain in his right thigh reminded him how he had walked into the desk. Orientation, it seemed, was everything.

Spock felt out to the wall behind him, and slid his hand along it to the open doorway. He stepped through and took a few steps into the room beyond. Again, his orientation was off, and he nudged something with his side. He stopped, feeling a counter that he knew was covered in fragile instruments, and probably had a lab stool somewhere near it, in his path. He acknowledged that he was not currently proficient to navigate alone, and asked uncertainly;

‘Nurse Chapel? I require your assistance.’

She was there, as he had suspected. He heard her jump up and come at a swift pace across the room to him, babbling, ‘Oh, Mr Spock. I was afraid – I was – well, I don’t know what I was afraid of, but when Dr McCoy and the Captain ran out like that – ’

‘The treatment worked,’ Spock said carefully, trying to calm her with his tone of voice. It was indescribably odd to stand here listening to her voice when he could see nothing. Not ten minutes ago he had been standing beside her in this lab, analysing test results with her, barely glancing at her because he foresaw no need to take a final measure of her appearance. ‘The creature is dead and I am no longer in pain. However, the light treatment has – damaged – my eyes.’

‘Through the goggles?’ Chapel began wonderingly.

Spock realised she still was not aware of the totality of his blindness. His eyes were directed towards her, from habit, and there was probably no discernible external damage.

‘It was necessary for the experiment to undergo the treatment without goggles,’ he said solemnly, leaving the rest unspoken.

There was a shocked, still silence, and then Chapel said slowly, ‘But no one’s eyes could stand up to that intensity of light – not even a Vulcan’s. It would totally destroy the optic nerve…’

He reached out tentatively to touch her arm, guessing at her position by the sound of her voice. The solidity of her arm under her sleeve made him want to clutch at it, to hang on to something real and human, to someone who could see in this dark place. He was struggling hard to hold on to his equilibrium – all he wanted to do was sit very still and mourn what he had lost.

‘I know, Christine. Hence my request for your assistance.’

There was a long, hard silence again, and when Chapel spoke it sounded as if she was fighting as hard as Spock to cling on to professional detachment.

‘Mr Spock, do you know where Dr McCoy went?’

‘I believe he followed the captain,’ Spock said.

He had a strong sense that McCoy was near – perhaps just outside the lab – but he was also picking up just as strong an impression of reluctance and guilt. Like the Captain, he obviously had no wish to face Spock’s condition either. The last thing Spock felt he needed right now was the trouble of dealing with McCoy’s guilt as well as his own shock.

‘Okay,’ Chapel said slowly, moving away from him. He heard her depress the button on the intercom, and say crisply, ‘Chapel to Dr McCoy.’

After a moment the reply came, ‘McCoy here. Are you with Spock, Christine?’

‘Yes, he’s here,’ she said, managing to insert a wealth of accusation into those few words.

‘Is – er – is he okay?’ There was a weight of repressed guilt in his tone.

‘I am well, Doctor,’ Spock cut in, raising his voice. ‘You need not worry about me.’

‘Doctor, would you like me to - ’ Chapel hesitated, searching for the right words, but there didn’t seem to be any tactful ones. ‘Would you like me to take care of Mr Spock?’

As McCoy hesitated, Spock cut in again, ‘There is little you can do here, Doctor. You must have other duties that require your attention.’

Another pause, and McCoy finally said, ‘Okay. Okay, Spock. I got a lot of work with casualties from the planet. I’m going to treat young Peter Kirk first, then we’re going to beam the weakest people into the cargo hold and treat them immediately with basic ultraviolet, so I need to organise eye shields and triage teams and… Well, you know. McCoy out.’

The channel cut out, and Spock stood in the silence that seemed to fill the air. Finally Chapel broke it, coming back to his side and asking, ‘Did the doctor examine your eyes, Mr Spock?’

Spock shook his head. ‘I believe there is very little need.’ He had to force himself to keep his hands at his sides and not reach out for her again.

‘How much can you see at the moment? Can you see anything at all?’

Spock moved his eyes about, trying to assess the indistinct field before him. ‘I would say I have been left with nothing but a very weak light perception. It is as if I am looking through closed eyelids. I believe I can identify the direction of light, albeit imprecisely.’ He held his palm out towards a point above and in front of him. ‘If the light is there, as it seems to be.’

‘It’s in that area,’ Chapel nodded. ‘It’s as if there’s something occluding your vision, Mr Spock.’

Spock sighed. ‘I would say that is obvious, Nurse Chapel,’ he said, his voice tinged with irony.

‘No, it’s not at all obvious,’ she argued. ‘If your optic nerves had been destroyed by the light you wouldn’t have any light perception at all.’ He heard the warble of a medical scanner. ‘There’s very little light reaching the optic centres of your brain, but I can’t discern major damage to the optic nerve. You should come to sickbay for a full examination.’

Spock nodded automatically. It was logical to submit to an examination, however little he relished walking through the corridors like this, subjected to the scrutiny of the ship’s crew. He could not stay in the lab forever. But to leave the lab was to acknowledge that this was a completed action – that he had been blinded and there was nothing he could do about it but accept it and move on. Move on to where?

‘I will – I - ’

He stammered to a stop. He had never felt like this before – so overwhelmed with unnamed emotion that he didn’t know what to do, how to speak. He was blind. What would he do now? Where would he go? How could he live like this? Suddenly he felt as if walls were closing in on him, as if his lungs were being compressed by an iron band. Was this was a panic attack felt like? How illogical to react in such a way…

Chapel’s hand closed over his, holding it firmly. She was speaking loudly and clearly, as if she had been speaking before and he had not heard.

‘Mr Spock, come over here. There’s a chair here.’

He followed her hand, almost stumbling in his preoccupation, and sat down on the chair she guided him to. He could hear her kneeling down in front of him, always touching his hand, linking him to reality. It would be all too easy to slip away into his mind.

‘I am all right,’ he murmured automatically, trying to keep his face composed despite his panic. ‘I am all right.’

‘Yes, I know,’ she replied softly. ‘But humour me. Try to breathe slowly and deeply.’ She squeezed his hand firmly, then said, ‘I’ll be right back, Mr Spock.’

She moved away, fiddled with something, then returned swiftly, coming back to touch his hand again. Spock would normally have recoiled from so much physical contact, but he could not bring himself to draw away from the touch. He was exhausted, and he barely knew which way to turn except to the comfort of another person.

‘I know it’s a cliché, but this may help,’ she said, putting a hot cup into his hand. He brought it to his lips and tasted hot, fragrant black tea, sweetened with sugar. Just the action of sipping slowly, tasting the liquid, and letting the hot tea slip down his throat, helped to calm him, focussing his mind on control. He let the hot water burn his mouth just to be able to concentrate on managing the pain, drawing his thoughts away from his uncertain future. It was futile to ponder on what may happen a month, a day, even an hour from now.

‘Thank you, Miss Chapel,’ he said finally, passing the cup back to her. He hesitated a moment, then said, ‘Is it fully necessary for me to go to the sickbay? I believe I would be better off in my quarters. I do not require medical attention, and I am – tired.’

‘I would be happier if I could observe you, just for a little while,’ Chapel told him firmly. No amount of personal feeling would override her medical diligence. ‘Besides, you need a proper examination, remember?’

‘Of course,’ Spock nodded.

Perhaps he could pull rank and refuse to accompany her, but he acknowledged that he was in an unfortunate position. He doubted he could make it all the way back to his rooms without help, if he could not make it through the lab without running into obstacles. He stood, noticing as he did that his legs felt oddly weak. For a moment he concentrated on restoring his biological rhythms, asserting his mind over his body’s panicked reaction to his disability. He felt almost too tired to walk to sickbay, but he refused to be pushed in a chair. He had to control his exhaustion for just a little longer. He reached out his hand awkwardly.

‘As I requested before, would you assist me, Miss Chapel?’

‘Of course,’ she murmured, moving closer to him. ‘Take my arm – like this,’ she said, positioning his outstretched hand on her upper arm. ‘Try to relax,’ she urged him, as he gripped at her arm awkwardly. ‘Just let me guide your movements. You’ll feel through my arm which way I’m turning or – well – stairs won’t be a problem here – but if the floor rises or falls, or if we need to stop.’

‘You have done this before,’ Spock said as she began moving, narrowing his focus down so that he was intensely aware of the nurse’s movements and the noises around them.

‘Oh, only a long while ago, Mr Spock,’ Chapel replied, interrupting herself briefly to warn him, ‘Going through the door now,’ as she pulled him in a little closer. ‘If it was a hinged door I’d tell you which side it was opening on, but it doesn’t matter for a sliding one.’

Spock nodded silently, realising she was teaching him things as if she assumed the blindness would be permanent, or at least prolonged.

‘I was stationed on Oriva 3 for a while during my training,’ she continued as they turned into the corridor. ‘I spent some time helping the survivors of the Dekalan disaster. There were a few cases of visual impairment due to the nature of the chemicals released.’

‘Ah,’ Spock nodded, thinking, Is this what I have become – a case of visual impairment? He had acquainted himself with the Dekalan disaster in the past, and knew the fates of most of those Starfleet officers who had suffered ‘visual impairment’. Few of them were still in the fleet now.

‘I suppose it was a bit of a crash course,’ Chapel continued, guiding him deftly about something. ‘I took an official course later.’

‘I see,’ Spock murmured, realising that the something he had been moved around was a crewmember, and that the ship rumour-mill was already beginning. How long before everyone on the ship knew, before people began to arrange reasons to come to sickbay to see if it was really true? He did not relish being seen in this state by anyone. ‘Nurse…’ he began cautiously.

‘Yes, Mr Spock?’

‘You must have spent a good deal of time with the victims of Dekalan. How – Would you mind explaining how they adapted to their visual disabilities – emotionally?’

‘There’s generally a four part process,’ Chapel began carefully, aware that Spock was asking her as much how he would adapt as how those other people had. ‘Fear, anger, grief and acceptance – not necessarily in that order. I – saw a lot of fear and anger, but as they began to regain their independence those emotions began to fade. By the time I’d finished my rotation there some of them were attending a rehabilitation school, and were learning how to manage day to day without any aid.’

‘But they were planet-based – a very different environment to a starship,’ Spock mused, betraying the centre of his concern.

‘I think learning to adapt on a starship would be easier than in the unpredictable environment of a planet,’ Chapel offered. ‘Especially if – the patient concerned – had senses of touch and hearing that were superior to human ones. And there are science posts on the Enterprise that blindness would make very little difference to.’

‘There is little place for a blind man on an active starship,’ Spock said faintly, almost to himself.

‘Don’t write yourself off yet, Mr Spock,’ she told him firmly, pausing for a moment in the corridor. ‘I haven’t even checked your eyes yet. There might be treatment possibilities. Even if there aren’t, you’ll adapt, I promise.’

‘It is preferential to assume permanence than to naively await a miracle that never happens,’ Spock said in a level voice.

‘Well, then – supposing we assume permanence – that are a lot of things I can teach you that will make life easier,’ she said firmly. ‘And we’ll work on the miracle.’

Spock stood for a moment considering her words, wishing briefly that he could succumb to the unconditional love and support of the woman next to him. Then he nodded, carefully pushing away both that thought and the insecurities that were needling away at his control.

‘Shall we continue?’ he said, aware that they were standing in the middle of the corridor.

‘Of course. Right, into the turbolift,’ Chapel told him, and he followed her arm, always lagging a little uncertainly behind her certain movements. He realised he was faintly aware of the air currents and echoes changing as the space narrowed, giving him at least a shadowy impression of the space he was in. But no matter how firmly he told himself to trust the nurse he could not wholeheartedly walk at normal pace into the featureless blur that surrounded him.

‘Deck seven,’ she commanded, and the lift began to move.

Usually this turbolift would be taking him to the bridge. Spock was suddenly reminded of the ongoing battle to save the Denevan people, and the part he should be playing in it.

‘You have studied the experiment report, Nurse,’ he said abruptly. ‘Will you relay the findings to me?’

‘The creature was killed by a fifteen second one million candlepower per square inch burst white light, of which ultraviolet radiation was the effective part,’ she recited smoothly. ‘But – I’m worried that an ultraviolet burst of such intensity would be at least as dangerous as white light to a planet of people unprotected by anti-radiation treatments.’

‘Of course,’ Spock nodded. All ship’s crew took treatments to counteract any stray radiation resulting from space travel, but a planet-bound population would have no such need. ‘Further research is needed to filter out all but the pertinent effects.’

‘Yes,’ Chapel said, somewhat reluctantly.

Spock could hear her unspoken thought – how would he carry out such research without sight? Or perhaps he was overreacting. Probably she merely wondered if he was capable at the present time of carrying out the research – and she was probably right.

‘You will assist me?’ he said, half as a question, half a command.

‘Of course – when you’ve had your eyes checked.’

The lift halted, and Spock followed Chapel’s moving arm out into the corridor. He considered demurring, and insisting on returning to the lab – but he was in a poor bargaining position, especially since the relevant research could easily be carried out in sickbay. It was only a few yards to sickbay from the lift, and as they entered Spock smelt the distinctive scents of medicines and antiseptics. Chapel took him into the ward and over to a bed.

‘Just wait here for a moment, Mr Spock, and I’ll go set up the equipment in the examination room.’

Spock nodded, sitting down on the bed he found behind him and trying hard not to dwell on his sightlessness in the silence he was left in. Much better to think on the Denevan problem than to focus on his own troubles. His loss was trifling compared to the ongoing death and devastation wreaked by the parasites below. Jim had lost his brother and his sister-in-law. His nephew was lying sedated, fighting for survival. But – Spock’s blindness was his loss, and he couldn’t deny its impact on his emotional control. If this sightlessness were to continue for a day, for a week, for the rest of his two hundred year lifespan… Spock clenched his hands unconsciously on the bedspread, fighting another wave of fear in a flood that was becoming harder to suppress.

Then he became distracted from his emotional condition by an odd insistence in his bowels. He refused to press the emergency button merely to be taken to the toilet when he was perfectly capable of walking, so he rose from the bed and made his way cautiously across the room to where he knew the door to the bathroom to be. A moment of careful feeling along the wall as he reached the side of the room, and the bathroom door slid open. As he stepped inside, however, the feeling in his bowels transferred to an overwhelming queasiness in his stomach and throat, and before he could orient himself to a toilet or washbasin he found himself on his knees and vomiting profusely onto the floor.

He knelt there miserably for a moment as the feeling settled, all strength having fled from his legs and arms. There was a bitter taste in his mouth that gave him the urge to vomit again, but he forced himself to ignore it. He put a hand tiredly to the floor to lean on, and put his palm straight into the mess before him. He considered standing to leave the room, but as he moved an incapacitating dizziness flooded his mind. It would be impossible for him to balance right now, especially without sight.

Spock settled back on his haunches, clutching his arms about his legs and resting his head on his knees. He would have pulled the emergency cord, but in this unfocussed fog he didn’t know where to find it. The only other alternative was crawling on his hands and knees out of the room, and he would not risk being seen in such a position by miscellaneous sickbay staff or patients. He would just have to wait until the dizziness subsided, and make his way back to the ward then.

At that moment the door opened and he was aware of Nurse Chapel rushing to his side, her Feinburger whirring before she even spoke to him.

‘I wondered where you were, Mr Spock. Are you all right?’

Her hand was on his shoulder, not attempting to raise his head from his knees but just imparting gentle reassurance to him.

‘I believe so,’ he whispered harshly, his voice roughened by his recent effort. ‘But I am dizzy.’

‘Okay,’ she murmured, keeping her hand on him as she scanned him again. Spock couldn’t help but relax under the mental emanations of reassurance and concern that he sensed through her touch. ‘I forgot that even though the creature’s dead it’s still inside your system. Its remains are being broken down by your body, but there’s a non-lethal toxin present in it that’s being filtered into your stomach.’

‘I am well aware of the Vulcan method of ridding oneself of toxins,’ Spock reminded her, somewhat faintly.

‘Then you also know that vomiting is the best method, and I shouldn’t give you an anti-emetic.’

Spock nodded assent, finally able to raise his head a few inches. ‘I – must apologise for the mess I have made.’

‘It’s fine – part of the job,’ Chapel said brightly. ‘Have you had any diarrhoea?’

Spock shook his head. ‘I believed I may, but the feeling has subsided.’

‘Okay, that’s good. Can you stand, Mr Spock?’

‘I believe so,’ Spock nodded, clambering slowly to his feet with Chapel’s hand under his elbow.

‘Come over to the basin,’ she told him, gently helping him across the small space to where he could lean on the counter. ‘You must want to wash your face.’

‘Thank you,’ Spock nodded gratefully, leaning to the noise of the faucet she had turned on. He washed his hands and splashed the water over his face, swilling some into his mouth to wash away the bitter, nausea-inducing taste.

‘Okay,’ she murmured, passing him a towel. ‘If you come back to your bed I’ll get you a change of clothes. You’re a bit – spattered – for want of a better term,’ she told him.

‘Uniform,’ Spock insisted, leaning heavily on her arm as he followed her from the room. ‘I do not need to be in patient’s clothing.’

‘All right,’ she nodded, letting him sink down onto the bed. ‘A change of uniform. Just lie down for a few minutes until you feel better. Here’s a bowl, in case you get the urge again,’ she said, pressing a container into Spock’s hands, ‘and I’ll be back in a moment with your fresh uniform. Oh, and I’ll page a doctor to check your eyes.’

‘Christine – ’ Spock said swiftly, catching her before she could leave with the rare use of her forename. ‘Must you call a doctor? I understand you are fully capable of most medical practices.’

‘Well,’ she said slowly.

‘I – do not wish to be seen,’ Spock admitted reluctantly. ‘Not just yet.’

McCoy was occupied with the crisis on Deneva., and he was not anxious to deal with the Enterprise’s current second doctor, a man with little experience of Vulcan medicine or Vulcan behaviour.

‘All right,’ she finally agreed. ‘As long as you allow Dr McCoy to repeat the checks later, just for regulations. I can’t sign off the report.’

‘Regulations, of course,’ Spock nodded.

He sat still while Chapel disappeared into another room and returned with fresh clothes. He was impressed with her careful solicitude in helping him change without overwhelming or embarrassing him with too much assistance, intervening only to tend to the bruise that was evidently developing on his right thigh. Once changed she led him into the examination room and showed him to a chair.

‘I’ll just put the lights out… If you can just hold still with your eyes open,’ she said, sitting down opposite. ‘I’m bringing the optical scope close to your face now. You’ve seen it before, haven’t you, Mr Spock?’

‘Indeed,’ Spock replied, keeping his head carefully still as he replied.

‘I’m just adjusting the height,’ she continued smoothly, ‘and bringing it up to your eyes now. Hold your eyes as if you were looking straight forward.’

Spock complied as he felt the cold edges of the eye-piece pressing against his skin. He imagined Chapel must be leaning very close now. He could feel the slight warmth of her breath on his face. Then the darkness lightened very slightly into a dim green.

‘You have a faint response to light,’ she told him.

‘Yes, I can perceive a slight lightening,’ Spock said, taking care to keep his head still.

‘Look up,’ she murmured. ‘Down… Right… Left… Odd,’ she muttered, swinging the device away from Spock’s face. ‘Can you hold still again? I’m just going to shine a light in your eyes again, but I’ll be checking visually this time, not with the scope.’

The nurse leant in very close again, and Spock felt her fingertip lightly lifting his eyelid. She was so close that he could feel her hair touching his face. He held his breath, aware that the sweet scent of her breath and skin were not the first things he should be thinking of, but unable to ignore them.

‘Mr Spock, is there any anatomy of the Vulcan eye that I might not be familiar with?’ Chapel asked finally. ‘Any difference to the human eye? I thought they were the same.’

‘They do have basically the same construction,’ Spock nodded. ‘But the Vulcan eye has an inner nictitating membrane which served to help block out the intensity of the Vulcan sun when necessary.’

‘There is very little damage to your optic nerves,’ Chapel explained. ‘Only enough to cause slight visual disturbances, that could be healed with time. But there is some kind of membrane behind your pupil stopping me from visually inspecting your retina.’

‘The nictitating membrane is only supposed to flicker across the eye briefly to protect it from sudden exposure to bright sunlight – an evolutionary feature from millennia past, when the sun was brighter. It is quite anachronistic now. We barely acknowledge its existence. I doubt it has ever functioned in me before this.’

‘Well, I don’t know how to retract it without damaging your eyes, Mr Spock.
I don’t even know if it can be retracted, or removed. I imagine Dr McCoy would want to consult with doctors on Vulcan.’

‘But there is a chance?’ Spock asked tentatively, unwilling to cling too tightly to a promise that might not be true.

‘There may be,’ Chapel nodded, touching his arm to help him up from the chair. ‘There may be,’ she repeated, stressing the uncertainty of the situation.

Spock stood very still for a moment, clenching his hands at his sides. Then he reached out awkwardly towards Chapel’s voice, stopping just short of touching her for fear of hitting an inappropriate area. ‘Thank you, Christine.’

Suddenly he found himself being pulled into a hug, and after a moment he reciprocated, bringing his hands up to lightly touch her back before stepping away.

‘Thank you,’ he said again.

‘You do understand how slim the chance is, don’t you, Mr Spock?’ she reiterated anxiously. ‘I don’t want you to get your hopes up.’

‘There is little logic in hope,’ Spock said flatly, pushing himself back into a more Vulcan stoicism. ‘Either I will regain my sight, or I will not. At present, it seems best to proceed as if I will not. But you should let Dr McCoy know of your findings. Are you aware of his whereabouts?’

‘I – er – I spoke to him again earlier, before I set up the optical scanner,’ Chapel replied awkwardly. ‘He was back in the lab. I think he’s been running between there and the casualties in the cargo hold. He’s – been working to make the ultraviolet satellites safe to the Denevan population,’ she said reluctantly.

‘I see,’ Spock nodded, his expression changing. It was most illogical to feel excluded at McCoy doing the work he should be doing, while also treating injured patients, but he did all the same. ‘Would you take me to the intercom?’

‘Just here, Mr Spock,’ she said, leading him across the room and guiding his hand to the button.

Spock hesitated for a moment, then depressed the button and said, ‘Spock to Dr McCoy.’

He heard the channel open, but there was a slight pause before McCoy’s voice said rather guiltily, ‘Spock. Are you all right?’

‘With one exception, I am quite fine, Doctor, as I told you earlier,’ Spock said smoothly. He had been misleading McCoy over his medical health for years now – it was no harder to mislead him regarding his emotional condition. ‘Nurse Chapel tells me you have been working on the radiation type needed to combat the parasites. I was proposing to do that work myself.’

‘Spock, goddammit, you’ve just been blinded,’ McCoy exploded, his guilt manifesting itself as usual as anger. ‘How do you propose carrying out scientific research? Take a goddamn break.’

Spock sighed silently. For all of Chapel’s encouragement and all of his own efforts at control, he suddenly felt intensely obsolete.

‘Anyway, I’m close to an appropriate solution,’ McCoy continued with a more conciliatory tone. ‘We don’t need you now.’

Spock released the intercom button without replying, and began to move towards the door which he knew was on his left.

‘Mr Spock – ’ Chapel began.

‘I am going to my quarters,’ Spock said dully. ‘I believe I have been put on medical leave.’

‘You need to stay in sickbay for now, sir,’ Chapel insisted. ‘You’re still being affected by the alien’s remains.’

‘I am going to my quarters,’ Spock repeated more firmly. ‘With or without assistance.’

‘Oh, you forgot to tell Dr McCoy about your inner eyelid,’ Chapel suddenly realised. ‘I’ll call back and tell him.’

Spock stiffened minutely, reaching out as if to stay her hand. ‘I did not forget, Miss Chapel. I do not wish McCoy to know yet.’

‘But he may be able to restore your sight!’ Chapel protested in confusion. ‘Why - ?’

‘Dr McCoy is currently working to save millions of Denevan lives,’ Spock said tonelessly. ‘He is treating individual casualties. He is also needed to treat the captain’s nephew. I will not distract him with another project that he will take on because of a misplaced feeling of guilt.’

‘Mr Spock, I don’t fully understand the construction of your eyes, but it is likely that the longer you delay the less chance you will have of recovering your sight,’ Chapel said, mirroring his flat tone, but trying to push all the serious insistence into it that she could. Perhaps he would listen to that more than emotionalism. ‘There’s heightened cell healing going on in your eyes right now that could seal that inner eyelid closed permanently - if it isn’t already. Now, I may have completed the training for my MD before I signed aboard this ship as a nurse, but I have never practised, and I simply don’t know enough about Vulcan physiology to perform the surgery myself. Neither does Dr Phillips. Dr McCoy is the only person who may be able to help you.’

The tension that rippled through Spock’s frame betrayed his feelings, although his voice remained absolutely level. ‘Nevertheless, you will not tell him, Nurse. I have not been relieved of my commission yet, so you may take that as an order from a superior officer. Now, I am going to my quarters, even if I must feel my way there.’

Chapel sighed, and said softly, ‘You don’t need to do that, Mr Spock. I’ll help you. But do you feel well enough to walk all that way?’

‘The nausea has abated somewhat, for now.’

‘All right,’ she said finally. ‘Take my arm. But will you grant me one thing?’

Spock turned towards her, raising an eyebrow inquisitively.

‘Let me stay with you for a while – just a couple of hours – to monitor your condition and make sure you can manage alone. Blindness aside, you’re exhausted, and your body’s reacting to a moderate toxin. You shouldn’t be alone.’

Spock inclined his head, once, and reached out for her arm. A part of him was grateful that he would not be alone to dwell on his situation, although an equal part of him wanted to be allowed simply to lie alone in silence, trying to make some sense of this new world into which he had been thrust. At least if the nurse came with him, however, he would be sure that she was not breaking his orders to call McCoy. He steeled himself for the long walk through the corridors again, and followed Nurse Chapel through the door.

Chapter 2

As they exited the turbolift onto Deck 5 Spock felt a tension in Chapel’s movement, and became aware of someone standing in the corridor. It was impossible to mistake the distinctive mind emanations of Kirk. No human could shield their mind from Vulcan awareness without extensive training, and Jim was no exception. The Captain’s breath was shallow and tense though, as if he was struggling to make no sound, and there were none of the usual creaks or rustles from the slight movement a relaxed person made. Spock drew in breath and continued to walk down the hall. It was obvious Jim was not ready to speak to him yet – the aura of guilt and distress hung in the air like a fog. As they passed him Spock could almost feel his bulk near him – perhaps he was feeling the way the air currents changed again. Jim still said nothing, and Spock carried on, only a slight slumping of his shoulders displaying his disappointment at what had occurred.

‘You know where my room is, Nurse?’ he asked as they continued, as a way to cover the awkward pause that had occurred.

‘Yes, of course, Mr Spock,’ she nodded. ‘Just down the corridor here.’

‘Of course,’ Spock echoed. Of course she would know where his room was. He knew that he was one of the most important people on the ship to her. As she led him in through his door he relaxed slightly, grateful to be back somewhere where the surroundings were so familiar, where there were no curious people to watch him as he walked past.

‘Thank you,’ he said, letting go of her arm and finding his own way slowly across his room to his desk chair. It was wonderful just to be able to sit still in his own room, in the absence of pain. ‘Thank you,’ he repeated more softly as she followed him across the room. ‘Your help has been invaluable, Christine.’

‘It’s what I’m here for,’ she replied quickly. Spock got the distinct impression that she was looking away in embarrassment as she said that.

‘You have taken care of me beyond the call of duty,’ Spock continued, reaching out across his desk in a silent request for her hand. She reached out tentatively, as if she was unsure of his motives, and touched his searching fingers. He gripped onto her hand gently, content to merely be touching like that for a few moments. ‘I – am not sure what to do now, Miss Chapel,’ he began honestly. ‘I am not used to inactivity.’

‘You rest,’ she told him firmly.

Spock nodded sombrely, but he was feeling the odd waves of panic rising in his chest again. What was he to do now? Just sit, and rest, for as long as this blindness stayed with him? Leave the ship, and sit in a chair in an unfamiliar house somewhere, receiving disability pension, perhaps with some kind of home help to take care of him until he could take care of himself? How could he live in this strange, debilitating dark fog?

‘How do you feel now?’ Chapel asked, holding out her scanner towards him.

‘Extremely tired. And a little nauseous,’ Spock said, although truthfully the uneasy stirrings were lower down than his stomach. He sat still for a moment, then got to his feet. ‘If you will excuse me for a moment.’

‘Just call out if you need me,’ Chapel said, reading his intentions as he moved towards the bathroom.

Spock nodded silently, and disappeared through into the bathroom that he shared with his captain. He returned a few minutes later, and found his way back to his chair, looking slightly pale.

‘Were you sick again, Mr Spock?’ Chapel asked him.

‘A little,’ Spock said vaguely. ‘Amongst other things…’

‘Do you need me to clean anything up?’

‘I do not believe so, nurse,’ he said firmly. ‘I was – more prepared this time.’

‘Well, the good news is that I can’t read any more of the toxin in your body,’ the nurse told him. ‘You should be fine now.’

‘For that, I am grateful,’ Spock nodded. ‘The nausea seems to have dissipated, at least.’

He sat silently again, wondering how he was to pass the evening. He had three ongoing essays for journals that he had been neglecting since his infection by the creature on Deneva, but it would be impossible at the moment to continue with them. Even if he could dictate to the computer, he had no way of studying the necessary literature and diagrams. He was not sure it would ever be possible to read scientific diagrams and graphs without sight.

‘When did you eat last, Mr Spock?’ Chapel asked suddenly, cutting through his thoughts.

He shook his head distractedly. ‘I – do not know. I don’t want to – ’

He trailed off. How could he explain that he was fearful even of eating before another person, of spilling his food down his front or having to use his fingers?

‘I remember little of the hours leading up to the light treatment. I do not believe I ate anything.’

‘Well, if you let me know what you’d like I’ll get the galley to bring it up here, and I can show you the clock system so you can find your food.’

Spock sat silently. He could not put off eating simply because he was scared to. The sooner he learnt how to manage, the sooner this blindness would become easier to live with.

‘I – believe the galley is producing an appetising roast pepper dish at the moment,’ he said finally. ‘Feta stuffed peppers, boiled potatoes and salad, if I remember correctly.’

‘You’d like that?’

Spock nodded. ‘But I can call the galley, Nurse,’ he said, reaching out towards the intercom, finding it almost without hesitation. ‘Would you also like some food?’

‘I’ll have the same, Mr Spock,’ she smiled. ‘It sounds good.’

When the plates arrived Chapel uncovered Spock’s and put it on the desk before him.

‘Here’s your napkin,’ she said, handing it to him. ‘Now, your plate’s just in front of you, knife and fork where you’d expect them on either side, and your drink on your right, just above the tip of your knife.’

‘You spoke of the clock system,’ he said.

‘Yes. If you imagine your plate as an analogue clock face, you have three stuffed peppers at eight, your potatoes are at four, and your salad’s at twelve.’

‘A supremely simple idea,’ Spock nodded, reaching out to feel the edge of the plate in front of him.

‘Now, if you take your knife and fork, you can use them to – ’

‘I think I can manage, Nurse,’ Spock interrupted, picking up his cutlery and feeling tentatively for the food on his place.

It was more difficult than he had imagined working out what he was touching when he was feeling it through a metal knife tip and fork prongs, but with careful concentration he identified one of the stuffed peppers and carefully sliced a bite sized piece off. He finished his meal with a small sense of satisfaction. Eating had been frustrating, but he had spilled very little food and had encountered very few problems, despite his exhaustion and despite his blindness.

‘Better?’ Chapel asked as he put his cutlery down on his empty plate.

‘You should congratulate me,’ Spock said somewhat morosely, his sense of accomplishment suddenly deflating. ‘I have managed to eat an entire meal without incident. A grand achievement.’

There was a long silence, then finally Chapel said softly, ‘Mr Spock, no one’s pretending this is going to be easy. But it is going to get easier, and you will be able to do most of the things you always could, with time and practice and a few adaptive devices. The only real way to adapt is to just keep trying new things.’

Spock nodded slowly, leaning back in his chair, trying to gain control of the insistent, negative emotions. He closed his eyes and took a slow, deep breath, visualising the air settling through his body and driving out negativity.

‘I know, Christine,’ he said finally. ‘Please forgive my outburst. I – am experiencing some difficulty in reconciling myself to this change.’

‘I know,’ she nodded, piling the plates up together and putting them back on the tray. ‘But you do realise you’ve had very little time so far.’

‘Yes, I do realise that,’ Spock nodded. How could so few hours feel like so long?

‘You’ll adjust to this, physically and emotionally, and it’ll get easier after time.’

‘Yes, of course,’ he nodded distractedly. The implications of the phrase after time were not something he wanted to dwell on. These past hours of blindness were bad enough, but the idea of waking up morning after morning and never being able to see was horrifying to him. ‘I – imagine these first hours are the most difficult.’ As she hesitated in her answer he said softly, ‘I would far rather have your honesty than false reassurances, Miss Chapel. I take it you believe these first hours are not the most difficult.’

‘You’ll probably find that things come in waves, Mr Spock,’ she said carefully. ‘Sometimes you might feel better than others. But – you’re likely to find it harder when you’re on your own, and you first start trying to do normal things, before you’ve learnt adaptive techniques. You’ll have good days and bad days.’

‘I suppose that you will need to leave me at some point soon,’ Spock said, running a finger pensively along the edge of the desk. ‘Then I will experience the challenge of managing alone.’

‘Well, I can stay and help you for another hour or so, but I promised I’d put in a late shift this evening in sickbay,’ she said in a tone of guilt and reluctance. ‘Someone needs to watch the Captain’s nephew.’

Spock nodded. ‘I understand,’ he said. ‘You have already devoted most of the afternoon to my care, when I imagine you were meant to be off duty.’

‘Oh, that doesn’t matter,’ she smiled. ‘And I don’t need to go right away – my shift’s not till ten – but you might like to think about anything else you need my help with, so I can do it before I have to go.’

Spock sat thinking for a moment. ‘I would appreciate your help with my clothes,’ he said. He got to his feet and made his way carefully across his room to his drawers, running a hand along the room divider to guide himself. He reached his drawers, and opened one near the bottom. ‘I have a pair of dark brown pyjamas that I will wear in bed. Can you find them for me?’

‘They’re right here,’ she said, coming up behind him, and picking them out from the other neatly folded clothes in his drawer. ‘What about your clothes for the morning?’

‘I believe I can identify my uniform shirt and my trousers, but you could make sure that my undershirt and socks are black? You will find socks with my underwear in the top right drawer. Undershirts are in the next one down.’

‘Of course,’ she said, opening the top drawer and picking out a pair of black socks from the neat rolls. ‘And you’re sure you can tell with the trousers?’

Spock touched his hands to his hips, feeling the waistband of his trousers, realising how very similar they felt to most of his civilian clothes. ‘No, I am not certain,’ he said honestly. ‘I think there are differences enough – but I am not certain.’

She stopped to consider, reaching out automatically, but then stopping just short of touching him. ‘The button – it has the Starfleet insignia on it, doesn’t it?’ she asked him.

‘I believe so,’ Spock nodded. He did not often pay attention to the design of his buttons.

‘Can you feel it?’

He touched his hand to the button, running the tip of his finger over it carefully. ‘I believe I can,’ he nodded.

‘Well enough to tell it apart from your other clothes?’

‘Yes,’ he said, touching the button again. ‘Yes, I believe that will be enough.’

‘Great. You know, with a couple of drawer dividers it’ll be simple enough to separate the colours. All you need to do then is remember where things are.’

‘That should not be a problem,’ Spock nodded. ‘I will endeavour to arrange it tomorrow.’

‘Although, when you get them back from laundry…’ she began, then trailed off. ‘I’m sorry. I’m thinking of problems that you just don’t need to worry about right now. Of course, you can put Braille tags on your clothes as well, to identify them,’ she said, opening the other drawer to pull out an undershirt.

‘Braille,’ Spock murmured. ‘Starfleet standard, I presume?’

‘It was when I was at Dekalan. It’s not always so easy for adult humans to adjust to, but I think you’ll find it a lot easier with your heightened sense of touch. I doubt there’s any adaptive equipment for blindness on the ship, but I’m sure we can find a way to teach you the combinations. And the workshops could probably make a simple cane, if you’d like one.’

As Spock hesitated, she said, ‘I know there can be stigma attached to adaptive devices like that, but it really will make you much more independent. It won’t take you long to refamiliarise yourself with routes on the ship, and a cane would just make sure you could walk at a reasonable pace without bumping into anything.’

Spock nodded. ‘If you could arrange that, I would be grateful.’

‘I’ll leave these clothes here on the top,’ Chapel told him, putting the clothes down in a space on top of his chest of drawers.

‘Thank you,’ Spock nodded, reaching out briefly to feel where she had left them.

He stood silent for a moment beside the nurse in front of his drawers, aware that he was almost touching her.

‘Christine,’ he said softly, turning towards her and reaching out carefully towards her arm. As he touched her he felt her shiver. ‘I must thank you again for your help today,’ he said sincerely. ‘I do not know how I would have managed without it.’

‘Well, I - ’ she began uncertainly. ‘I couldn’t do anything else, could I?’

‘You could have been busy,’ he said, thinking of the captain and Dr McCoy. ‘You could have taken me to a bed in sickbay and gone about your duties for the day – and I would far rather be here than lying unoccupied in sickbay. I have welcomed your company, very much.’

A moment passed as he stood before her, when all he was aware of was her face very close to his, the warmth of her breath and the noise of her heartbeat in her chest. For that moment all he wanted to do was to lean forward and touch his lips to hers in the darkness. He must have moved forward a little, because suddenly her arms were touching his, pulling him close and holding him in a firm embrace. He touched his hands to her back, forgetting discipline to lean his head onto her shoulder and take comfort from her touch.

‘Mr Spock, you’re vulnerable at the moment,’ she began, suddenly pulling away from him as if she had read his thoughts.

‘Yes,’ Spock acknowledged, keeping hold of her arms. ‘But not so vulnerable that I do not know my own mind.’

‘I – I have to go,’ she said suddenly, her voice shaking. ‘I have to wash up before my shift…’

‘Your shift is not for another hour,’ Spock pointed out. ‘Surely you are not that dirty?’

‘Well…’ she began in confusion.

‘You smell of nothing but perfume and clean clothes, clean skin and clean hair,’ Spock continued. ‘Do not tell me that you look unkempt despite smelling so clean?’

He felt certain that she was smiling, despite the uncertain emotions he could sense from her.

‘It is only logical, on examination of the evidence, to believe you look as well presented as you usually do,’ he said. ‘And I doubt Peter Kirk would protest if you had a hair out of place or had not freshened up your make-up.’

‘Please, Mr Spock,’ she tried again. ‘You know there’s nothing more I’d like than to be – close to you. But you’ve been through a lot today. It doesn’t seem the right time to make decisions like this.’

Spock sighed, nodding sombrely. He was correct that he knew his own mind, but he knew that she was correct too. He was feeling intensely vulnerable. Part of him wanted nothing more than to curl up close to someone and lie very still with them, while the shock of all that had happened to him washed over and through him.

‘Acknowledged,’ he said softly. ‘You should go, Christine.’

‘You must want to meditate, as well,’ she pointed out.

‘True,’ Spock nodded again. He had not managed to meditate successfully for almost a week. He had not even managed to sleep. The need to process his failing emotions was becoming desperate. He could not stare into his meditation flame – but perhaps having to imagine it would help strengthen his focus. ‘I will speak to you tomorrow, in sickbay. Perhaps you will have time to help me with the adaptations you have spoken of.’

‘Of course I will,’ she nodded. ‘And, if you’d still like me to, I could come see you in the evening, after my afternoon shift, and we can talk about this.’

******

Once Spock was alone in his quarters, he sat in his desk chair in the darkness pondering on everything that had happened to him. Chapel had made sure he had access to everything he needed, and taken him through as many processes as she could to help him familiarise himself with functioning in the darkness. It had all seemed fairly straightforward – but once he was left alone, he realised just how little there was left to him to do. He could not read or work, and he did not have the confidence, or the energy, to venture out to a recreation room for company. He considered listening to music, but since the interface with his computer was visual not oral he could not access what he wanted.

He exhaled in one long, calming breath, and stood up. The one thing that he could do, indeed the one thing that he should do, was to meditate. Even without being able to focus on his meditation statue, he would be able to reach a certain depth. He moved around his bed and sat down in his familiar spot facing his statue. Even though he could not see it, he could still smell the subtle scents of the incense in the fire pot, and they helped to ground him. He adjusted his position until he was comfortable, and steepled his fingers before him. The slight pressure between the tips of his extended fingers would do as a focus in lieu of being able to see the shape of his hands and the light beyond.

He became aware of the sensation of his blood pulsing in his fingertips – a deep, strong, rhythmical throbbing that made him calmly conscious of his life processes. He felt the pressure of each of his fingers resting against the others, and let himself become conscious of the entirety of his physical body before pushing away physical sensation.

He sank into the first level of meditation. He allowed images to crowd into his mind – Sam Kirk lying stiff and some-time-dead on the floor, his face so like Jim’s. The look of anguish in Jim’s eyes, but his emotions held in with control approaching Spock’s own. Dead bodies in the streets, ransacked buildings, chaos, violence, pain. Aurelan Kirk’s screams, his own screams, the pain clawing and burning along every nerve until it extended from the centre of his back to the very tips of his fingers and toes…

Focus.

He allowed himself to experience the pain again, felt it for just a second pulsing through every nerve – then he began to push it away, rationalising it, partitioning the pain he had felt away from this painless present. He allowed himself to remember Jim’s anguish, and acknowledge what he could and could not do to help him. He allowed his mind to move over all those images of chaos on the planet’s surface, and think of what, in his role as first officer, he could and could not do to –

I am blind.

The fact sank like a stone into a pool, stirring up the sediment in what had previously been clear water. There was very little he could do in his role as first officer now he was blind.

Perhaps it was time to move on and analyse his blindness. That, after all, was the overriding trouble in his mind at this point in time. So –

He could not seem to get beyond the reiteration of the fact, I am blind.

It could not be changed. It was time to accept, and move on.

But…

How did he accept the intolerable?

He shifted his position a little, becoming more aware of his body and surroundings. He tried to sink himself back into a state of pure thought, allowing himself to see the dark haze in front of his eyes and trying to accept it as a simple fact of his existence.

But…

He drew in a deep breath, aware of the air moving in through his nostrils and down into his lungs. He felt the pressure again between the tips of his fingers. He suddenly saw a remembered image of his fingers in that position, with their efficiently manicured nails and the whorls of his fingerprints meeting each other where his fingertips touched. He would not see that again, or see any person’s fingertips.

This – is not fair.

That is irrational, he told himself firmly. Fairness is irrelevant. The process of life does not take account of the merits and faults of the person involved. The fact that this was not how I had expected my life to proceed is irrelevant.

But – it is not fair…

He sighed, and let himself drift back to a full awareness. He was never going to reach the state of emptiness of thought if he could not even work through the problems assailing him. He was tired – too tired to meditate, almost too tired to sleep. He barely felt competent to be out of bed, but he could not stand to lie there in darkness with his mind racing. Certainly he was too tired to sit here alone and try to keep himself from morose contemplation of this clinging, shackling, life-changing disability.

Finally he made up his mind. He got to his feet and carefully made his way across his rooms to the door. The darkness shifted to a vague slightly lighter colour as the door opened, but he could still see nothing. He kept one hand on the wall as he left and turned right, feeling the short distance down the corridor to Kirk’s door. After a few moments he found the buzzer and pressed it. After a short hesitation he heard the word, ‘Come,’ from inside, and the door slid open.

There was a long silence, then Kirk said hesitantly, ‘Spock… Er… Are you all right?’

‘I am quite fine – physically,’ Spock nodded, standing in the doorway with one hand on the frame. ‘I hope it is not too late?’

‘No, Spock, I’m still up. I would have come to see you, but I’ve been so damned busy…’

‘Is that why you attempted to conceal your presence in the corridor earlier?’ Spock asked, very well aware that that wasn’t the reason.

He felt the jolt of guilty surprise as Kirk stammered, ‘I – er – Spock, how did you know I was there?’

He allowed himself just the hint of a smile. ‘Jim, I have served with you and been your friend for many years now. I can recognise your presence by more than just sight.’

‘I’m sorry, Spock,’ Kirk said finally. ‘I just – didn’t know what to say to you. I still don’t…’

Spock stepped forward hesitantly, holding one hand slightly ahead of himself. ‘Jim, you seem to be labouring under a misapprehension that you are somehow responsible for my condition. You are not.’

After a long moment of silence Jim said flatly, ‘I told you not to wear the goggles.’

Spock stopped. He couldn’t be sure enough of his surroundings to continue moving without embarrassment to himself or Jim. The last thing he wanted was to break something in his Captain’s quarters.

‘No, Jim,’ he said. ‘You merely agreed with my decision. You would never have ordered me not to wear them – neither would McCoy. Any haste in going forward with the experiment was also my fault. I proffered myself without waiting for the results because I was driven by my faltering control to do so.’

‘We should have recognised you weren’t thinking clearly, Spock,’ Kirk said miserably, coming across the room towards him as he realised his difficulty. ‘You weren’t qualified to make rational choices. You were in too much pain.’

‘Again, illogical,’ Spock countered. ‘It was still my decision to make. If I had not stepped into the chamber then, the creature may have regained control of me. It was aware of our plans.’

‘I think your logic’s faltering a little, my friend,’ Kirk said softly, finally touching Spock’s arm with one hand. Spock resisted reaching out to touch Jim himself, but he had to admit a degree of warm comfort rising at Kirk’s physical reassurance in the darkness that surrounded him.

‘You say it was your fault,’ Kirk continued, ‘but that you had to do it to stop the alien gaining control of you.’

‘Perhaps,’ Spock nodded. ‘I must admit logic has not been the overriding concern in my mind today.’

‘How are you managing?’ Kirk asked, finally allowing himself to bring up what had the potential to be an emotional maelstrom. ‘Are you all right?’

Spock hesitated, prevaricating between reassurance and truth. ‘No,’ he said finally. ‘I am not all right in the slightest.’

Kirk sighed, closing his hand around Spock’s arm. ‘Come and sit down,’ he said softly, leading him through the room to a chair. ‘Just here, to your right,’ he said, guiding Spock’s hand as he reached out. The degree of gentle care in his voice was almost startling to the Vulcan. The only times Jim’s voice sounded like that to him was when he was ill, or gravely injured. Now, he was neither.

‘God, Spock, I’m so sorry,’ Kirk said as he sat himself. ‘I’m just so sorry.’

Spock clenched his hands hard in his lap. ‘Regret is useless. But - ’ He hesitated for a long moment, then his voice seemed to break a little. ‘I don’t know what to do, Jim. I don’t know how to move forward from this point.’

‘Spock, it’s only been half a day,’ Kirk said softly.

‘I am very aware of the length of time,’ Spock nodded. He made an effort to stop fiddling with his hands, laying them flat on the desk before him. As he did he felt a datapadd, and a sheaf of old fashioned paper on the desk. ‘Jim, you are working,’ he said. ‘You should have let me know.’

He heard Kirk stretch in his chair. He could feel Jim’s relief at the change of subject, and resolved not to burden him further with his emotional difficulties when he had so many troubles of his own to worry about.

‘Oh, I’ve been trying to work out the ratios for those satellites all day, Spock,’ Kirk said tiredly. ‘Bones gave me the precise frequencies of light, but we need to replicate that with chemicals, and I can’t seem to get it right. The carrier satellites won’t be finished in construction until midday tomorrow, but we have to have something to put in them.’

‘What are the frequencies?’ Spock asked, leaning forward.

‘Um…’ Kirk leafed through the papers, then stopped and read out a list of wavelengths.

‘And the chemicals you propose to use?’

‘Sixty-four percent trimagnicite, fifteen percent trevium – the rest – I just don’t know. I need to filter out the majority of the white light, but whatever I find to use, it cancels out the effects of something else.’

‘Jim, you simply need to remove the trevium from the compound,’ Spock said softly.

There was a moment of silence, then Kirk said, ‘But the whole thing revolves around burning trimagnicite and trevium. It’s what you suggested, Spock.’

‘It is what I suggested to produce a bright, white light. But we do not need a full spectrum light – just ultraviolet. You are trying to introduce extra chemicals to dim the white light produced by the trevium, when you may simply delete the trevium. Trimagnicite burns at a temperature that produces very little white light. Simply use eighty percent trimagnicite, and add in twelve percent luvacite and eight percent marxite to cut out the remaining unnecessary frequencies. Use pure oxygen as a catalyst. I would suggest submitting the Denevan population to medical checks afterwards, but there should be very few repercussions.’

‘I didn’t even see it, Spock,’ Kirk said tiredly. ‘I guess I should have just spoken to you five hours ago.’

‘Perhaps,’ Spock nodded gravely.

‘God, here I am making you work when you’re sitting there in the dark because of me,’ Kirk said softly.

‘Jim, we have established this is no more your fault than mine,’ Spock said, gesturing towards his eyes. ‘Besides, I find the work a relief, and I am not totally in the dark.’

‘You’re not?’ Kirk asked him in surprise, leaning closer.

‘Technically, at the moment I am. I am guessing you have your lights on a low setting. But in a normally lit room I can perceive a little of that light.’

‘You can see something?’

Spock shook his head. ‘I have a very limited ability to sense light. I cannot make anything out, I cannot perceive changes in colour, I can only very imprecisely tell the direction of light. I seem to be viewing the world through closed eyelids,’ he said, choosing not to say that it was possible that that was precisely what he was doing.

‘God, that must be frustrating,’ Kirk murmured.

Spock raised an eyebrow, choosing not to give a verbal reply to that statement.

‘Jim, I would like to continue to be involved in this crisis, if I may,’ he said. ‘I may only be able to help in an advisory role, but it would help me vastly if I were able to attend briefings and assist in the planning of the aid efforts.’

‘Of course, Spock, if you want to,’ Kirk nodded. ‘You’ve just proved how much I need your input.’

‘I understand that I will be put on medical leave, and that if my blindness does not resolve itself I will most likely be forced to retire.’

There was a long pause, then Kirk said tiredly, ‘God, Spock, I don’t want you to leave the ship. You’ve been invaluable since the first day I met you. I don’t know how I’d manage without you.’

‘I cannot function as first officer in this condition, Jim, as much as I would like to,’ Spock said softly.

‘You must be able to do something to warrant your staying,’ Kirk insisted. ‘It’s not as if every role on this ship calls for twenty-twenty vision.’

‘Jim,’ Spock said, putting his hand out towards his captain. ‘May I suggest we don’t dwell on this subject tonight. I – am not sure that I am in the best condition to dispassionately consider my future. As you have said, it has only been half a day, and I imagine we will not be leaving Deneva for some weeks to come.’

‘Yes, that’s true,’ Kirk mused. He realised that the subtext of that statement was that Spock was scared, and didn’t want to imagine what his life may be like from now on. But at that moment the door chime buzzed, saving him from an awkward silence, and he glanced at Spock, calling, ‘Come.’

McCoy pushed impatiently through the door, his eyes immediately falling on Spock. ‘So here you are,’ he said testily.

Spock waited a beat, then said without turning his head, ‘If you mean me, Doctor, you will have to use my name.’

‘Of course I mean you,’ he said, striding across the room. ‘I’ve been standing outside your room for the last ten minutes, buzzing to come in.’

‘I was not there,’ Spock replied calmly, very well aware that the reply would antagonise the doctor.

‘I know that, Spock.’

‘What did you want, Bones?’ Kirk asked, trying to defuse the tension.

‘I wanted to speak to that irresponsible goddamn self-sacrificing Vulcan. Well, Spock?’ McCoy said tightly. Spock was sure that if his eyes were functioning he would see him with arms folded, bouncing on his toes with poorly repressed frustration.

‘You will have to elaborate, Doctor,’ Spock said calmly.

‘Christine showed me the scans. Why in God’s name didn’t you let her tell me earlier?’

‘Tell you what, Bones?’ Kirk asked curiously.

‘I did not wish to interrupt your research or your relief efforts,’ Spock said calmly. ‘That was the priority.’

‘Tell you what?’ Kirk repeated. ‘Spock?’

‘Only that Christine Chapel discovered exactly why Spock is blind, and he saw fit to order her not to tell me,’ McCoy said in an aggrieved tone.

‘An order which she obviously broke,’ Spock said tightly.

‘You’re damn right she broke it, but the poor girl by all accounts spent hours torturing herself over medical ethics and patient confidentiality.’

‘A subject with which you obviously have no problem, Doctor,’ Spock said acerbically.

‘For God’s sake, Bones, what did she tell you!’ Kirk insisted.

‘Jim, this man has two pairs of eyelids, inner and outer, and the inner ones are sealed closed.’

‘And have you come here to tell me that you can unseal them?’ Spock challenged him with an expressionless face.

There was a long silence, then McCoy said, ‘No, I haven’t, Spock.’

‘Have you come to tell me that you could have unsealed them had you known earlier?’

‘No,’ McCoy admitted reluctantly. ‘I don’t believe I could have done anything no matter when I’d found out. It’s possible Vulcan healers can help you, but I haven’t found any hard evidence they’ve ever done something like this before. The reaction may be something to do with your hybrid physiology.’

‘We cannot leave Deneva at the present time, anyway,’ Spock said flatly. ‘So, in summary, Nurse Chapel breaking my order to speak to you was of no benefit to me whatsoever.’

‘You didn’t know that, Spock,’ McCoy said tersely. ‘You know you didn’t. She was right to tell me when she did.’

Spock inclined his head slowly in silent acknowledgement.

‘And you won’t hold it against her?’

‘Miss Chapel’s help has been invaluable to me today,’ Spock said finally. ‘I would be a fool to alienate her at this time.’

‘Well…’ McCoy said, his anger suddenly deflated. ‘You should be in bed, Spock. You should be in bed in sickbay, but we’ll let that pass. You need rest after everything you’ve been through.’

‘I intend to retire to bed very soon,’ Spock nodded. In truth, he was exhausted. He had not been able to relax his control enough to sleep since his infection, and he was certain that if he had relaxed his control the pain would have kept him awake.

‘Will you need any help?’

‘Miss Chapel helped me pick out my night-clothes earlier. I was hoping to appeal to the captain for any further help that I need,’ Spock said quietly. Part of him detested the very idea of needing help for something as simple as his bedtime routine, but without sight he wasn’t sure how to identify his toiletries in the bathroom, or to safely prepare the cup of black tea he often had before retiring, especially in view of how tired he was.

‘I’ll help you, Spock,’ Kirk nodded. ‘Just let me know when you’re ready and I’ll come through with you.’

‘Thank you, Jim. Since it is nearly midnight, I believe I am ready now. Goodnight, Doctor,’ he said pointedly.

‘Night, Spock,’ McCoy said more gently. ‘Sleep well. But I’ll want to see you in sickbay in the morning, to check your eyes.’

‘If you believe I need more medical attention,’ Spock nodded. ‘Although I would imagine you are quite busy enough already.’

‘Just be there, Spock,’ McCoy said tetchily, moving to the door. ‘Night, Jim.’

******

Spock woke panting, his blood pulsing in his head. The shreds of a nightmare clung to his mind, but the harder he tried to pin down exactly what had happened in it the more it eluded him. All he had left was a shivering sense of panic pinning him to the bed. Instinctively he ordered, ‘Lights.’ He remembered what had happened only as the darkness lightened to a still-dark blur. He took in a deep breath, then said calmly, ‘Computer, lights off.’

He smoothed his hands over the bedclothes, feeling the reality of his surroundings. He still felt overwhelmed with exhaustion, his head muddled with it, and the resulting lack of coordination only added to his difficulties. He stood and cautiously made his way to the bathroom, first using the toilet, then moving over to the basin and scooping cold water over his face. He could still remember only fragments of his dream – distorted recreations of the last few days – but his inability to remember was disturbing in itself. He was used to lucid dreams, that he could often control, and always remember perfectly. These types of nightmares only ever appeared at times of extreme stress.

As he straightened, he heard the door into Kirk’s cabin slide open.

‘Spock?’ Kirk asked sleepily.

‘Yes, Captain,’ he replied, trying to keep his voice level and composed.

‘I thought – ’ He hesitated, then said, ‘I don’t know – I woke up, and I had a feeling you were – upset – or something. It doesn’t matter – I didn’t mean to walk in on you in the bathroom.’

Spock heard him turn back to his door. He could let Jim go back to sleep – he probably needed it. He shouldn’t load his own problems onto him. But he found himself saying, ‘I experienced what you would call a nightmare.’

Kirk turned back to him, reaching out to touch his arm warmly. ‘I can’t say I’m surprised,’ he told him. ‘But I’m sorry.’ He sat down tiredly on the edge of the bath, then looked up at the Vulcan. ‘Why don’t you sit down, Spock? Talk to me about it.’

‘Sit down?’ Spock asked. ‘Where?’

‘Haven’t you ever had a heart to heart in the bathroom, Spock?’ Kirk asked him. ‘The toilet makes the best seat.’

Spock raised an eyebrow minutely, then nodded, and moved over to sit on the closed toilet lid, clenching his hands together to stop them from trembling from tiredness.

‘Want to tell me what it was about?’ Kirk asked.

Spock thought for a moment, and could barely repress an ironic smile when he realised the thrust of his dream – the thrust of the past week in reality.

‘I believe in essence it was about loss of control, Captain.’

‘Well, you’ve certainly had plenty of experience of that lately,’ Kirk said ruefully.

‘I am – ashamed – of how I have acted over the past week, Jim,’ he admitted. ‘My inability to control did no credit to my species.’

‘Spock – ’ Kirk sighed, rubbing a hand over his eyes. ‘Spock, you were in agony. It was a pain that killed my brother, and his wife. And you managed to control it. Yes, you lost control at first – but you overcame it. You carried on functioning right until the moment the creature died.’

Spock hung his head, absently twisting and untwisting his fingers in his lap. ‘I entered the test cubicle before we had full results. That lapse in control resulted in the loss of the ship’s first officer.’

‘You’re not dead, Spock.’

‘No – but I can no longer function in my job. I have not had to rely so much on others since my infancy.’

‘But then you grew up,’ Kirk pointed out. ‘That’s what you have to do with this – learn, adapt – grow to live with it.’

Spock exhaled slowly, closing his eyes. He understood the logic of Kirk’s statement – but he did not want to grow to live with his blindness. He simply wanted it to end.

‘Come on, my friend – I can see you’re exhausted,’ Kirk said softly.

Spock straightened up, realising that Jim was standing before him, touching his arm. He got to his feet without protest, and followed Kirk, stumbling a little as his foot dragged over the sill of the smooth bathroom floor to the carpet of his quarters.

‘I am tired,’ he acknowledged, pausing for a moment to steady himself. ‘Do you know what time it is, Jim?’

‘Uh – a little after three,’ Kirk told him. ‘It’s not often you need to ask me the time, Spock.’

‘I find it harder to judge the time accurately when I am tired,’ Spock admitted. ‘I have been relying on the ship’s clocks the past few days – and now, of course, I cannot check the time with a glance.’

‘Of course,’ Kirk murmured. ‘It’s 3:07, by the way, if you want me to be precise. Here – get into bed,’ he said firmly, as Spock felt the edge of the mattress against his knee. ‘Want me to stay a while?’ he offered, as Spock settled himself under the bedclothes.

Spock hesitated, reluctant to take up even more of his captain’s time for personal problems in the middle of the night.

‘I’ll stay,’ Kirk said firmly, seating himself in the antique wooden chair by Spock’s bed. ‘No, don’t worry about me – I wasn’t sleeping so well anyway. I guess we’ve both got a lot on our minds.’

‘That much is true,’ Spock nodded, suddenly ashamed. Kirk had the welfare of a planet’s population on his mind – Spock’s own small drama was trivial compared to that. ‘Perhaps you should tell me about your problems, Captain.’

‘Hell, Spock, I’m not the one who’s blind,’ Kirk protested. ‘We deal with things like Deneva every few months on this ship. You know that. But losing your sight…’

‘I know, Jim,’ Spock acknowledged. ‘That is why I desire to talk about something else. I – find myself wishing to think about something other than blindness. And this is not a usual drama. You have also lost something – someone – very important to you.’

‘Sam,’ Kirk murmured, almost inaudibly. He cleared his throat. ‘How about we talk about something totally unrelated to any of this, Spock? Have – er – have you been following the Alpha Quadrant baseball league?’

Spock raised an eyebrow, then shrugged his shoulders very slightly. ‘I have never followed baseball, Captain. Perhaps you could explain the sport to me?’

Chapter 3

Spock woke instantly at the sound of someone in his rooms. He felt a brief second of confusion as he opened his eyes to a dark blur, but the memory of what had happened came more quickly to him this time, and he pushed aside the instinctive moment of depression in order to be able to focus on the noises coming from his living area. His internal sense of time told him it was not long after eight – later than he had meant to sleep. But why would someone come into his rooms without asking permission? Perhaps they had buzzed and he had not been woken by the sound. He had been sleeping very deeply, making up for the last week.

He lay still for a moment, trying to analyse the noises, then sat up and swung his legs out of bed.

‘Who is that?’ he asked. ‘Captain?’

‘Yeoman Rand, sir,’ a cheerful voice replied.

She came through into his sleeping area, and Spock stiffened. Having the captain’s female yeoman seeing him in his nightclothes and in his current condition made him highly uncomfortable.

‘Captain assigned me to your quarters this morning,’ she continued, oblivious to his discomfort.

‘I do not need a yeoman,’ Spock said firmly. ‘I have never needed a yeoman.’

‘The captain told me about your accident, sir,’ she said in a softer voice. ‘He thought you might need some help, but he had an early shift to get to.’

‘The captain was mistaken,’ Spock replied, standing up and reaching out to the ledge by his bedhead. It was disconcerting enough waking to this blurred darkness. All he really wanted was a few moments to lie in stillness and try to reconcile himself to this strange new world. ‘Please, leave.’

‘All right, sir,’ she said, not sounding put out in the slightest. ‘There’s museli and orange juice waiting for you on your desk – chef said it was your favourite. I’ll be next door seeing to the captain’s room for the next half hour or so, so if you need me, just call through.’

‘Thank you, yeoman,’ Spock nodded, relieved that she was leaving without argument. He stood still, listening until she had left, then moved round to his desk to feel for the meal she had placed there. He touched the rim of the bowl as he sat down, secretly grateful that this was one part of his morning routine that he did not have to worry about.

The rest of his routine was surprisingly easy. Jim had put aside his shower gel last night so he could identify it – the same was true of his shaving equipment. He was familiar enough with the shower controls to not need to see them, and he managed to shave safely simply by taking extra care, and feeling across his face with his fingertips to tell if he had missed any areas. He came back into his rooms towelling himself dry and gathered up the clothes that Chapel had put out for him last night. As he dressed he experienced a growing feeling of uncertainty, however. He was sure he had identified his uniform top and trousers correctly, that he had picked up the right pair of boots and had not put anything on inside-out or back to front. Still, he kept slipping his fingers up to the badge on the shirt to check it was there, and feeling the seams on his undershirt to be sure it was not inside-out. Finally he acknowledged that he would not be able to put the uncertainty to rest without checking, and went through the bathroom into the captain’s quarters.

‘Miss Rand?’ he asked, tilting his ear towards the room before him. ‘Are you still there?’

‘Yes, sir,’ she answered immediately. ‘Just tidying the captain’s drawers.’

‘Indeed,’ Spock nodded dryly. Knowing Kirk as he did, it would not surprise him if Rand was more intimate with his drawers than necessary for a yeoman. ‘Yeoman, can you tell me if I am attired correctly?’

‘Perfectly, sir,’ she said, coming over and brushing something off his shoulder with a level of familiarity he found disconcerting.

‘Thank you, yeoman,’ he nodded, stepping backwards.

‘Did you need help with anything else, sir?’

‘That is all,’ Spock told her. ‘Thank you.’

‘Well, I’m all done here, so if you’re sure – ’

‘I am sure,’ Spock nodded, turning back to the bathroom door.

‘I’ll pop through and clear up your breakfast things, then I’ll be gone,’ she said, following him through into his rooms.

He could only be grateful that she didn’t try to guide him as he walked carefully back through the bathroom. Spock waited until she had left, then reseated himself at his desk, pondering on what to do next. He had promised McCoy that he would come to sickbay, but he was as reluctant to call for help to get there as he was to be seen feeling his way through the corridors on his own. Finally he settled his resolve, recalling Chapel’s words of the night before - the only real way to adapt is to just keep trying new things. He would need to navigate alone sooner or later, and it may as well be sooner.

******

Spock kept his hand on the wall as he walked up the corridor from the turbolift on Deck 7, feeling door after door in the wall and trying to hurry past them before they sensed his presence and opened. He was relying on assumed norms to ignore the fear of walking into a space that was totally invisible to him, guessing that there would be no obstacles left out on the floor in the usually ordered corridors of the Enterprise.

He felt the corner where the corridor met the first intersection, and turned left into the space. Abruptly he bumped into someone standing still, and recoiled swiftly, annoyed at his own clumsiness.

‘Mr Spock!’ the man said in surprise.

‘Lieutenant Sulu,’ Spock realised as he stepped back, relieved that at least it was someone familiar. ‘I apologise.’

He felt for the corridor wall to his left, but there was no wall within his reach. He stopped, confused, trying to work out where he was. He could hear others in front of him, murmuring softly – exchanging comments about him that they believed he could not hear. They could simply have been people in the corridor, but it sounded as if they were sitting down. A feeling of awkwardness hung thick in the air. It was obvious that Sulu had no idea how to interact with him after this sudden change in his circumstances.

‘Mr Sulu, would you tell me where I am?’ Spock asked quietly, his confidence suddenly shaken. ‘I thought I had turned into the cross corridor to sickbay.’

‘This is the briefing room just before that turning, sir,’ he replied, sounding somewhat embarrassed. ‘We were holding a weapons briefing.’

‘And the door was open?’

‘Yes, sir. We’d – er – just finished and I was standing within range of the sensor, about to leave, then I got talking.’

Spock paused, trying to work out just which way he was facing, but he wasn’t sure since he had bumped into Sulu. ‘I – seem to have lost my bearings, Lieutenant,’ he said quietly. ‘Could you direct me back to the corridor?’

‘Of course, sir. I can take you right down to sickbay if you want?’

Spock considered. He knew he needed to reach the end of the cross corridor and turn left, but he was not entirely sure how easily he would find the right door, or whether he would be able to make his way to McCoy’s office through a sickbay that was bound to be busy.

‘That would be acceptable, thank you, Lieutenant,’ Spock nodded, reaching out to take his arm as Chapel had taught him. He followed Sulu down the corridor, registering nervousness through the contact. No one had seemed to know what to say or how to deal with him since he had stepped out of the test cubicle.

‘I’m sorry – about your sight, sir,’ Sulu said finally. ‘Does the doctor think it’s permanent?’

‘We do not know,’ Spock said honestly.

‘Well – we’re all thinking of you, Mr Spock.’

‘Not to the exclusion of your duties, I hope,’ Spock replied automatically. It was striking how quickly he had been separated from the active crew of the ship – everything was in terms of we and you now. ‘I assume Chekov is covering my post on the bridge?’ he asked.

‘Yes, sir. It’s giving him a good workout, I can tell you,’ Sulu replied.

Spock turned his head towards the helmsman. He had the sense that he was smiling at Chekov’s difficulty, with that odd pleasure that humans seemed to get in seeing their friends in trouble.

‘He is managing adequately?’

‘Oh yes – I just don’t think he’s used to the workload you have to deal with, Mr Spock. Well – here we are at sickbay,’ he said, as doors swished open before them. ‘Where did you want to go, sir?’

‘Here will be fine. Thank you, Lieutenant,’ Spock said, letting go of his arm with a degree of relief. He stepped forward into sickbay without further comment, and stood with his ear cocked into the room, listening out to hear if there was anyone in the ward or the anteroom he was in. He realised he could hear and sense more than one person a distance away – casualties from the planet and attending medical personnel in the ward, presumably. The anteroom seemed to be empty, however. He stepped forward slowly, holding a hand out before himself, very aware that his memory of room layouts did not always tally with what was around him in fact.

‘Mr Spock!’ a voice said quickly, and he relaxed as he recognised Nurse Chapel coming into the room. ‘Did you get here alone?’

Spock found himself curiously reluctant to crush the happy surprise he had heard in her voice, but he said honestly, ‘I got to this deck without incident, but I found I required guidance a short distance after leaving the turbolift.’

‘Well, that’s better than guidance all the way,’ she said happily. She moved to the other side of the room and picked something up, then came to his side. ‘Perhaps this will help, Mr Spock,’ she said, taking his hand and putting it to a long, slim stick.

‘A cane?’ Spock asked, one eyebrow tilted upwards. He ran his fingers over the end he held, feeling a wrist loop attached to the top.

‘The workshops made it up overnight. I expected them to just make a simple stick, but I gave them some schematics out of the sickbay database, and they’ve reproduced them exactly. Do you feel the button on the handle?’

Spock turned the cane in his hands, tracing sensitive fingers over it again. ‘Ah, yes,’ he nodded, touching a small, rounded button with his fingertip.

‘Try depressing it.’

Spock pushed it in, and felt a vibration set up in the handle as the length of the cane began to retract. ‘It is telescopic,’ he said, feeling along the retracted baton. It was now only about eight inches long.

‘Yes, and if you press it again it extends. It’s much more compact than a folding cane. And it’ll hold to your belt just like your phaser and communicator.’

‘Traditionally such devices are white, are they not?’ Spock asked, letting the device extend again.

‘Yes – but they made this one black,’ she said in a tone of amusement. ‘Lieutenant Barlie thought it suited you better. Do you want to try walking with it?’

‘Is there a technique for using it?’ he asked, trying to suppress his unease at such an obvious sign of his disability. He had to acknowledge the benefits of such an aid without emotion clouding his judgement.

‘You should have proper training, but for now just sweep it back and forth in front of yourself as you walk, keeping the tip on the floor. The tip has a rollerball in it so it slides without wearing. You’ll be able to tell what the ground surface is like from the vibrations in the handle, and any obstacles in the way your cane should touch before you do.’

‘I see,’ Spock nodded, lowering the end of the cane to the ground. He moved it across the floor experimentally, feeling the sensation as it rolled across the carpet. Then he tried walking, deliberately aiming himself towards where he expected the examination table to be. Just as Chapel had told him, the cane tapped into the table before he reached it, allowing him to adjust his course. He had not expected it to make so much of a difference, but just the confidence it gave him that he was not about to run into something or stumble over something felt like an enormous freedom. He turned back to the nurse, making his way back towards her.

‘This will be a great help, Christine,’ he said quietly. ‘Thank you.’

She didn’t reply, and Spock reached out tentatively with his mind, trying to sense what her expression might be.

‘You are smiling?’ he asked as he reached her.

‘Yes – I’m sorry, Mr Spock. I forget you can’t see my expression.’

‘I cannot see it, but I can sense it,’ he said. He reached out briefly towards her face, tracing a finger across her cheek, then quickly dropped his hand back to his side, rubbing his thumb over the wetness he found on his finger.

‘You are smiling, but you are also crying?’ he asked in puzzlement.

‘Oh, I just – ’ she began. ‘I – ’

‘You are pleased that the cane is helping me, but you are upset that I need it?’ Spock asked intuitively. ‘But – you do not wish to tell me that you pity me.’

‘I – don’t really like that word,’ she said, wiping a hand across her eyes. ‘But – I suppose I feel pain for what you’ve lost.’

‘Christine,’ Spock said softly. ‘I have no doubt that if I were human I would have shed tears for what I have lost. I – am not finding this easy. But all I can do is try to adapt. It will not help me to sit down and cry.’

‘No, I know, Mr Spock,’ she nodded.

‘But I do not condemn you for your tears,’ he said, reaching out a hand to touch her arm. ‘I admit it is – comforting – to have someone care sufficiently to weep for my blindness.’

‘Spock.’

Spock turned at McCoy’s gruff voice in the doorway, dropping his hand instantly from Chapel’s arm and clasping it with the other over the handle of the cane. ‘Dr McCoy,’ he said, making his way towards him.

‘I’m – er – ready for you in the other examination room,’ McCoy said as he reached him, touching his arm to guide him.

‘Of course,’ Spock nodded.

McCoy was silent until the door of the examination room closed behind them, then he said awkwardly, ‘Spock, you do know what you’re doing, don’t you?’

‘I believed that all I needed to do was sit still while you examined me,’ Spock said transparently.

‘You know what I’m talking about. I saw her face in there.’

‘Then you have me at a disadvantage, Doctor,’ Spock replied flatly.

‘I saw your face too,’ McCoy continued.

‘I am gratified that you have such perfect vision,’ Spock said dryly. ‘What is your point, Doctor?’

‘Just – be careful, Spock. You’re – ’

‘Vulnerable at the moment,’ Spock finished for him. ‘Yes, I am well aware of my physical and emotional condition. Is it beyond you to conceive that I may not wish to be utterly alone at this time?’

‘Spock, you’ve got me, and Jim.’

‘Ah yes,’ Spock nodded. ‘That is why I did not see either of you until past eleven yesterday evening.’

‘Spock, I’m sorry about that,’ McCoy said guiltily. ‘But we were both very busy.’

‘Yes, I understand,’ Spock nodded. ‘But I am not a monk, Doctor,’ he said flatly, finding his way alone to the chair he had been examined in before. ‘And I will not shun contact with the opposite sex purely because you believe that Vulcans are incapable of such interactions, or because you believe I am incapable of correctly interpreting my own emotions at this time. I believed I was here to have my eyes examined, not to be psychoanalysed. Perhaps you could begin?’

He sat motionless as McCoy brought the scanner over and checked his eyes, comparing the results with the ones recorded by Chapel the previous day.

‘Well, Doctor?’ Spock asked as McCoy moved to put his instruments away.

‘There’s no change on yesterday, Spock,’ the doctor told him heavily. ‘Your eyes are detecting only one point seven two percent of the light I’m shining into them – which is exactly the same amount that was reaching your retinas yesterday.’

‘And the possibility of retracting the inner eyelids?’

McCoy sighed, pulling up a chair to sit opposite Spock. ‘As far as I can tell, what happened is that they closed over your eyes when the light reached a certain intensity. But the light got to a point that was far, far brighter than anything that they were meant to deal with. It might be that, it might be compounded by your human heritage, but they’re not just stuck shut. In essence, they’ve been fused into your eye tissue, Spock, and I cannot see a way of removing them that wouldn’t irreversibly damage your eyes. Now, it’s theoretically possible – and let me stress theoretically – that your body might absorb the tissue back into itself, just like a wound healing – but the trouble is that it’s not a wound. Your cells aren’t sensing that there’s anything wrong, so there’s no reason for them to attack the eyelid tissue. And if it did attack the tissue, it’s just as possible that you’d be left with scarring that would seriously impair your sight.’

‘I see,’ Spock nodded, getting abruptly to his feet and making for the door. ‘In that case, there is little point in my being here, Doctor. I should return to my quarters.’

‘Spock, I’m sorry,’ McCoy pressed. ‘I’d hoped there might be some change today.’

‘Your human emotion of regret is essentially useless,’ Spock said flatly. ‘If you can do nothing, there is no point in apologies. Thank you, Doctor,’ he dismissed him with a curt nod, turning back to the door.

‘If you can wait ten minutes I can take you to your rooms, Spock,’ McCoy offered, biting down the sharp retort he badly wanted to make to Spock’s too-logical response.

‘I do not need to be taken, Doctor,’ Spock said stiffly. ‘I am fully confident that I am capable of navigating through the ship that I have served on for the past eleven years.’

McCoy sighed. ‘You go on then, Spock. Come see me again tomorrow for another check. And just – take care.’

Spock nodded briefly without turning back, pressed the button to extend his new cane, and moved to the corridor door with a swiftness and accuracy that surprised even himself.

******

He had only been back in his quarters for a few minutes when the door chime sounded. Spock pursed his lips in brief frustration. He had been sitting still in his desk chair, trying to find a way to come to terms with McCoy’s diagnosis – but he could not find a way. He did not want company. He wanted to be left alone to think.

The chime sounded again. He sighed, rising from his chair and turning towards the door.

‘Come,’ he said flatly.

‘Mr Spock,’ Chapel’s voice said as the door opened. ‘I just wanted to check – I mean, you walked out of sickbay so fast…’

Spock turned back towards his desk, reaching out to the computer screen with one hand. ‘Yes, I had an appointment to – ’ He trailed off, realising that there was little point in pretending. ‘I’m sorry, Christine,’ he said, turning back towards her. ‘I did not have an appointment. I – suppose I had been fostering an illogical hope that McCoy would examine my eyes and tell me that my sight was recoverable.’

‘And he didn’t,’ Chapel murmured.

‘No,’ Spock said simply.

‘And – if you were human you’d shed tears for what you’ve lost,’ Chapel said softly, coming across the room to him and putting a hand out to his arm.

‘Yes,’ Spock said, allowing himself to lean into the hug that she offered him. He stood silently with the side of his head pressed against hers, staring into the darkness. ‘I – am half human,’ he said finally, his voice shaking just a little.

‘It’ll be all right,’ she whispered, stroking a firm hand down his back.

‘When?’ Spock asked tonelessly. ‘If it is so difficult to come to terms with less than twenty-four hours of blindness, how long will it take to adjust to a lifetime?’

‘I don’t know. But it will be all right.’

Spock stood silently, pulling hard on his discipline to steady his faltering control. He could not let himself collapse into emotionalism. He must not let himself cry. He had to keep going, and wait for time to bring the acceptance that discipline would not. He finally pulled away from her, lifting a hand to his face.

‘Shh – let me do it for once,’ she smiled gently, lifting her hand to his cheek to brush away the slight wetness there. Spock closed his eyes at her touch. It would be so easy just to fall back into her arms and stay there.

‘Do you know, I have completely lost track of what is happening regarding Deneva?’ he said finally, moving away from her and going back to his desk. The only way to escape from the trap of his emotions was to focus on something else. ‘I cannot read the morning briefing on my computer, and – I find myself reluctant to call someone to read it out to me.’

‘You don’t have speech access?’ she asked in surprise.

‘No,’ Spock shook his head. ‘I have always found visual interaction and keyboard interface far more efficient. I removed the vocal capabilities to increase the computer’s speed – but now I cannot restore them because I cannot see. Ironic for someone who has the highest computer qualification on the ship…’

‘Well, I know we’re preparing sickbay for more casualties,’ Chapel told him, coming to his side. ‘So I guess they’ll be deploying the satellites soon. Do you want me to read the briefing to you, Mr Spock?’

‘You could look at it and relay the pertinent points,’ he nodded, flicking the screen on and switching on the keyboard projector. ‘Although technically it should be restricted to command crew only. You will have to access it for me – I cannot use a projected keyboard without sight.’

‘You know, I’m sure there’re some old style ones in the sickbay store room,’ Chapel murmured, deftly typing in the commands to access the briefing. ‘Sometimes we have patients who aren’t mobile enough to reach a dash with the infrared on it, so we haul those out to rest on their laps. I could have one sent down.’

‘That would be helpful,’ Spock nodded.

‘And I guess with a little tinkering someone like Scotty could convert your terminal back to speech output. Oh, here’s the briefing.’ She paused, running her eyes over the details. ‘The captain’s followed your recommendations for the chemical balance in the satellites. Overnight tests in the lab were successful. The satellites are due to complete construction at 1145 hours. There’s a briefing at 11:50 in Briefing Room 3 to confirm final details. The satellites will be loaded up with the chemicals as soon as possible after that, aiming for a launch at 1500 hours. They should be in position for activation at 16:45.’

‘And then your casualties will begin,’ Spock pointed out.

‘Yes,’ she said gravely. ‘I think there’s going to be a lot of pain in sickbay this afternoon.’

‘You have dedicated enough time to me already, Miss Chapel,’ Spock said quietly. ‘Surely you are on duty?’

‘Yes, I am,’ she nodded. ‘I’m trying to help someone who’s just lost his sight – not just because it’s part of my job,’ she said quickly. ‘But it certainly counts as part of my duties. I’m the only one in the department with any experience of dealing with blindness, and we have all the nurses and doctors on duty at the moment, so I think they can spare me.’

‘Well, you are here with the authority of the First Officer,’ Spock said with a faint degree of humour.

‘That’s true,’ she smiled. ‘Mr Spock, I was hoping that Dr McCoy might say something more positive about your eyes – but in case he didn’t – I went to see Mr Scott last night to talk to him about a Braille printer.’

‘Surely Mr Scott is busy with the satellites,’ Spock pointed out.

‘Well, he is right now, but this afternoon he’s going to sit down and work out a way to convert a conventional printer to punch the dots that make up Braille into an appropriate material, and he’s hoping to have something workable by the end of the day. We already have hand-held scanners on board that read printed text and convert it to computer text. All we need to do is hook up the scanner and a printer to your terminal here, and you can turn anything you like into tactile writing.’

‘That is very impressive,’ Spock nodded. ‘The only problem you forget is that I cannot read Braille.’

‘Not yet,’ she said, putting something down on the desk in front of him. ‘That’s why I made these cards up.’

Spock reached out to feel a small pile of thick paper cards on the desk, each one studded with tiny bumps.

‘I have never encountered Braille before,’ he admitted. ‘Could you explain what I am feeling?’

‘See here,’ she said, putting his fingertip to one Braille letter. ‘The basis is a cell of six dots – two at the top, two in the middle, two at the bottom. Each letter is made up from a combination of those dots.’

‘I see,’ he nodded, letting his fingertip move lightly over the bumps. ‘You made these?’ he asked.

‘Scotty just had time to make a simple frame and stylus from a schematic in a history text. It’s based on a Victorian idea – you slip the paper into the frame and prick the bumps out from behind with a sharp stylus. I hope they’re clear enough.’

‘They feel different from one another,’ Spock said, running a finger carefully along the line. ‘Although I have no idea what each one means.’

‘Well, you’re a step ahead of most of the people I saw at Dekalan,’ she smiled. ‘Quite often it takes people – especially adults – a long time just to develop the sensitivity to feel the differences. This first card – the one you’re touching – has the first half of the alphabet on it. I tried to space them out pretty well for you to learn them, but in normal type they’ll be a lot closer together.’

‘Then this is the letter a?’ Spock asked, lightly brushing his fingertip over the first symbol and trying to commit the feeling of it to memory. ‘Is that a single dot?’

‘That’s right. That card has the letters up to M on it. The second one’s N through Z.’

‘It would be possible to create a computer display to show Braille,’ Spock said thoughtfully, running his finger again over the tiny dots. ‘A panel of small pins, perhaps covered with rubber or plastic, that raise up to form the letters in infinite combinations. If I had such a display I could carry it about with me – plug it into any computer and have it translate what is on the screen.’

‘If it was intricate enough, possibly it could show diagrams too,’ Chapel put in.

Spock shook his head, putting the card down on the desk. ‘Where would I be without your optimism, Christine?’ he asked. ‘Every problem I encounter, you seem to find a solution.’

‘Oh, I don’t know if I can help with everything,’ she smiled. ‘But I can do what I can. I’ll tell you what – see if you can commit the different letters on those cards to memory, and I’ll make us some coffee to help the process along.’

Spock nodded, picking up the first card again and running his finger over it carefully, going through the letters of the alphabet in his head as he felt over each symbol.

‘Do you want to try one of the other cards?’ Chapel asked as she returned with two cups of coffee. ‘See if you can pick out any letters in actual text.’

She placed a card in front of him, and Spock put his finger to the first line. He sat with his forehead creased, feeling the first few words over and over.

‘It is not the same as individual letters well spaced out,’ he said finally. ‘I – believe the initial word may be the, but I am unsure. I am extrapolating from expected norms.’

‘Well, I’m afraid it’s not the – but don’t worry, Mr Spock. Like I said, most adults take a long time to learn to read Braille – some never manage it. You’re doing much better than you would if you were human.’

‘My mother would tell me practice makes perfect.’

‘Your mother must be a wise woman,’ Chapel smiled.

Spock nodded abstractedly, running his fingers again over the cards with a frown on his face. ‘A very cumbersome system,’ he murmured, almost to himself. ‘Surely someone has invented a more practical version…’

‘There are contractions – single symbols for common words, and so on – but it’s best just to start with the alphabet. I don’t know enough about it to teach you much more than that, so I guess you’ll have to wait until you can attend rehabilitation training.’

‘I seem to be finding that every part of life requires far more time, effort and concentration when one is conducting it without sight,’ Spock said with restrained impatience. ‘Going to another part of the ship is an expedition that requires planning and slow progress. Eating is a tactile detective game in which one must attempt to find and recognise food through metal implements. Even reading is reduced to a fingertip search.’

‘You will be able to read much faster once you’re used to it,’ Chapel promised him, touching his arm reassuringly. ‘Perhaps not at the speed you’re used to, but maybe up to four or five hundred words per minute – perhaps more, depending on how skilled you are.’

‘I am used to around two thousand words per minute,’ Spock said flatly.

Chapel exhaled lightly. ‘Well, I don’t know if Braille can stand up to Vulcan sight reading speed, but if your sense of touch is as superior to a human’s as your sight is then I guess you’ll be able to read a good deal faster than the average Braille reader.’

‘It is better than a human’s,’ Spock nodded. ‘Which will help with this Braille, but I don’t see how tasks such as eating with a knife and fork will be improved.’

‘A heightened sense of touch will help with a lot of things,’ she reassured him. ‘You just need time to learn the distinctions between things. You’re already adapting. I can see that just in the way you’re moving. It’s not just your fingers that feel. You can sense air currents changing around you, feel the differences in the floor through your feet. With time you’ll probably start to notice the way sound changes around you in different spaces, so you’ll be able to sense walls or objects by the echoes they give off. You’ll notice different people’s scents and walking patterns as well as the difference in their voices.’

‘Perhaps that is true,’ Spock admitted sombrely, his fingers feeling again over the Braille alphabet. The fact that he did not want to have to adapt in those ways was irrelevant. It seemed that he would have to, regardless of personal preference. He moved his hand to the card containing text again. ‘Say,’ he said abruptly. ‘The first word is say?’

‘That’s right!’ she said. He could hear the joy in her voice. ‘Try the next.’

‘S again… Then – o?’ He moved his hand back to the alphabet card for reference, then back to the text card again. ‘M – e – then – s? No – t? Something. It says something?’

‘You’re extrapolating again. Check the final letters to be sure.’

Spock frowned, feeling over the bumps carefully. ‘It does say something. Sa – i – d – say something said.’

‘That’s right. But you know that because you read the letters, not because you guessed. It’s speech, an extract from a book. I haven’t put any punctuation marks in at this stage.’

‘Say something said Troy.’ Spock lifted his head, looking quizzical. ‘Nurse Chapel, what is this I am reading?’

‘It’s – er – it’s from a romance novel,’ she admitted. ‘I wanted to use something you wouldn’t have read.’

‘That is certainly true,’ Spock nodded.

‘Keep going,’ she urged him. ‘Try the rest. You’re doing incredibly well.’

Spock’s forehead creased in a frown as he touched the card again. ‘I have lost my place,’ he said, the frustration clear in his voice. ‘It takes so long to find it, cross-referencing each letter…’

‘Here,’ she said, putting her hand over his and moving his finger to the right letter. ‘It’s my fault – I distracted you. When you’re better at recognising the letters it’ll be a whole lot quicker. Now, I can stay until eleven – you might have the whole alphabet under your belt by then, and we can start on punctuation and contractions.’

‘And then I must prepare to attend the briefing,’ Spock nodded. ‘I will take some time to visualise the route before undertaking it in reality. That may help me avoid the problems I encountered this morning.’

Chapter 4

Spock found his way alone to Briefing Room 3, arriving two minutes before 11:50, to his estimation. He stood for a moment just down the corridor, resting his hand on the wall and sensing the presence of the captain, trying to be certain he had found the right place. He stepped closer to the door and ran his finger over the recessed letters on the name plate. They were not easy to make out, but the 3, at least, was quite clear. He took a deep breath, smoothed down his top, and stepped through the door as it opened.

There was a moment of silence. Spock could feel the uneasy surprise rippling through the room’s occupants. He could almost hear McCoy biting back an acerbic comment.

Spock steeled himself, and said calmly, ‘Could someone show me to a seat?’

There was another hesitation, then Kirk jumped to his feet and came over to the Vulcan, saying, ‘Here, Commander. Sit down.’

Spock sat carefully in the seat Jim took him to, realising as he felt the table in front of him that it was his usual spot, at the narrow end of the table by a computer monitor, despite the fact that he could not use the computer.

‘Thank you, Captain,’ he murmured, collapsing the cane and placing it silently on the table.

‘You know, you’re on sick leave,’ Kirk said in an equally low tone. ‘You don’t have to be at this briefing.’

‘No,’ Spock nodded. ‘But I wished to be at this briefing. I am not sick, Captain.’

‘All right, Mr Spock,’ Kirk said in a louder voice. ‘I welcome your input. Shall we begin, gentlemen?’

Spock nodded, resisting the urge to ask who else was around the table. He would have to get used to certain areas of ignorance – he could not expect his colleagues to spend their time describing his surroundings for him.

He heard the click of the recording button being depressed, then Kirk began.

‘We’re here to discuss the impending irradiation of the planet Deneva and its population in order to free them from parasitic alien control,’ Kirk said succinctly. ‘Satellite deployment is scheduled for 1500 hours. Mr Scott proposes one hundred satellites spread equidistant from north to south pole, first irradiating the more populated eastern hemisphere, then reloading and irradiating the western.’

‘Sir,’ Spock began, unable to keep the surprise from his voice. ‘You intend to treat the planet one hemisphere at a time?’

‘That was our intention,’ Kirk nodded.

‘Captain, I submit that it is necessary to treat the whole planet simultaneously.’

‘Mr Spock, I take yer point, but it takes twenty minutes for a team to build and prepare each satellite,’ Scott protested from the other end of the table, ‘and with you out of commission – begging your pardon, sir – I can only muster two teams with the skills to do it. We’d need twice as many satellites as we have now!’

‘At least a hundred more, to be placed in a grid pattern about the planet,’ Spock nodded.

‘One hundred more…’ Scott echoed in dismay. ‘Captain - !’

‘And a significant delay before treatment, Spock,’ Kirk added.

‘I would estimate at least a twenty hour delay,’ Spock nodded calmly. ‘Taking into account the necessary testing and other related procedures.’

‘Spock, in those twenty hours you could be condemning thousands to death,’ McCoy protested angrily. ‘Surely you understand that? You’ve been through that pain!’

Spock turned his head to where the doctor had spoken from, suppressing his unease at addressing a room full of people whose reactions he could not see.

‘Doctor, to act now may condemn further millions to death,’ he countered calmly. ‘As a medical practitioner you must understand the principle. Unless every creature is eliminated the infection will spread again. It could only take one infected person.’ He turned back towards the captain. ‘Sir, the Denevan population possesses transporters, supersonic aircraft, and hyper-speed shuttle systems. The creatures are quite capable of manipulating their hosts – as I well know, Doctor,’ he said, turning back towards McCoy. ‘They also possess an extremely efficient hive mentality. They are able to communicate amongst themselves almost instantaneously. Those left alive after the first wave of treatment will be fully aware of what has happened. In the time that it takes to recover the satellites, reload them, and reposition them in the western hemisphere, it is quite probable that a number of them will cause their transportation to the irradiated hemisphere, and the infection will begin anew.’

‘And if they force the launch of craft while we delay?’ Kirk asked pointedly.

‘Then we disable said crafts on launch, remove any human occupants, treat them with ultraviolet light, and destroy the craft involved – I would suggest by propelling it into the Denevan sun, Captain,’ Spock said flatly. ‘I believe that is the only option, Jim.’

There was a long silence, and Spock sat, waiting for some kind of audible response. Finally, Kirk said;

‘Acknowledged, Commander. Scott, I want those extra satellites as soon as possible. Spock, I want you on the bridge at the beginning of Beta shift to – ’ He broke off, meeting Spock’s sightless gaze.

‘Sir?’ Spock queried.

‘I – ’ He hesitated, then said, ‘I want you to consult with Chekov. Work out the exact number of satellites needed, the intensity and focussing of the radiation, and the most efficient layout for the satellites to be sure the entire planet feels the effects. Do – you think you can manage that?’ he asked more quietly.

‘I will need access to Denevan weather predictions to adjust for cloud cover and atmospheric humidity, an idea of the centres of population, the lab reports on the radiation treatment.’

‘Chekov can gather that data and recount it to you,’ Kirk nodded. ‘Do you think you can work out what you need to without being able to note it down?’

‘I believe so, sir,’ Spock nodded. Just sitting here now he could visualise the approximate layout of satellites needed. The more complicated task would be communicating the mathematics to Chekov.

‘Fine. I also want you to make sure there’s a way of stopping any craft launched without harming the occupants. I don’t want any more lives lost.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Spock nodded. ‘Sir – ’ he continued rather awkwardly.

Kirk glanced at him, quickly reading his reluctance to speak of personal difficulties before the full briefing room.

‘Dismissed,’ he said quickly, waving a hand at the others in the room. ‘What is it, Spock?’ he asked as the room emptied, coming round to perch on the edge of the table near him.

‘May I request the assistance of Nurse Chapel in these next few days?’ Spock asked somewhat reluctantly.

‘Of course, Spock,’ Kirk said, but his voice registered his surprise.

‘She is the only member of the medical staff who has experience in assisting the visually impaired,’ Spock explained rather defensively. ‘Chekov, for all of his skills, can hardly be expected to aid me in those areas.’

‘Well, in that case I’m sure McCoy can spare her,’ Kirk shrugged. ‘But why ask me? Why not just call McCoy?’

Spock sighed. ‘I do not feel – equipped – to endure the good doctor’s peculiar form of teasing, Jim. I have no doubt he would have much to make of my request.’

‘Well, you’re probably right, Spock,’ Kirk nodded. ‘Tell you what – I’ll drop into sickbay on my way to engineering, and put in the request personally. But for now, since you’ve handed us a few extra hours, I’m going to go get lunch. Have you eaten, Spock?’

‘No, sir,’ Spock said, neglecting to add that due to his inability to read the replicator discs, and an inbuilt reluctance to call a yeoman to his quarters to serve him, he was intending to avoid meals until he could work out some system of arranging them himself.

‘Care to join me?’

Spock hesitated for a moment, trying to rationalise and dispose of his insecurity about the idea of trying to eat neatly in a public rec room.

‘I will, Captain,’ he nodded finally, getting up and extending his cane.

A brief silence followed, then Kirk said awkwardly, ‘How do I – er – I mean, do you need me to guide you?’

‘The accepted method seems to be for the visually impaired to hold on to the sighted guide’s arm, just above the elbow,’ Spock explained calmly. ‘But if the corridors are quiet, I believe I will be able to manage with the cane, by listening to your movement – if you will bear with my slowness.’

‘Of course, Spock,’ Kirk said quickly. ‘Okay…’

The awkward silence fell again, and Spock said softly, ‘I find this as difficult as you do, Jim. I am not used to such reliance on others. But I think we will get used to it.’

‘I guess so,’ Kirk smiled. ‘Come on then. Want me to stamp my feet a little?’

Spock heard the humour in his voice, and appreciated the effort. ‘I don’t think that will be necessary, Captain,’ he said.

He focussed his attention tightly on the sound of Kirk’s movements as he began walking down the corridor, trying to keep to a normal pace and trusting that Kirk would warn him of people in the way before he struck them with the cane. Perhaps as such focus became second nature it would take less conscious concentration, and he would be able to move with more ease.

‘Here, Spock,’ Kirk said finally, touching his arm as a door hissed open to Spock’s left. The noise of bustle and talk inside gave him pause, despite his resolve to face the crew as if nothing had changed. The place had transformed from a convenient place to eat and socialise into a maze of invisible obstacles and confusing noise.

‘I will need your arm here, Captain,’ he said quietly.

‘Okay,’ Kirk murmured, guiding his hand to his arm. ‘Like this?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Spock nodded.

He followed Kirk across the busy room, studiously ignoring the murmurs of surprise that greeted his entry.

‘Here, sit down,’ Kirk told him, helping Spock to a chair with an over-solicitous degree of care. ‘What’d you like to eat?’

Spock considered, thinking not just of what he desired but what he felt he could eat easily and neatly. ‘I will have green tea and – a cheese sandwich on wholegrain, please.’

‘A sandwich?’ Kirk asked in amazement. ‘That’s not like you, Spock.’

‘It is what I would like to eat,’ Spock said with a tinge of impatience in his voice. He did not want to sit here and explain to Kirk exactly why he did not want to tackle a bowl of vegetarian yakisoba noodles or a plate of t’vash in front of multiple crew members.

‘Okay,’ Kirk said soothingly. ‘I’ll get you your sandwich. I’ll be back in a moment.’

‘Thank you, Captain,’ Spock nodded.

Spock waited at the table, pondering on how odd the daytime sounds of the rec room seemed when essentially all around him was night. A dubious advantage of his condition was that it was easier to pick up on individual conversations now, without the distractions of sight. He could hear a low murmur picking up in the room – people obviously noticing his presence and indulging in the human urge for gossip. Most comments seemed to be sympathetic or expressing shock. A couple, however, were not so favourable. He was not surprised – he knew that not everyone on the ship liked him, or his particular way of doing things.

One voice in particular was one he recognised almost instantly – an ensign from the labs that he often had to reprimand for sloppy work, tardiness or inappropriate language. He could clearly hear him, in what the ensign presumably believed was a quiet tone, laughing and suggesting practical jokes that could be pulled to humiliate him in his blindness.

Spock waited for a moment, but despite the ensign’s companion making protests the remarks were not rescinded or laughed away as a momentary joke.

Spock raised his voice, and said clearly, ‘Ensign Walker, come here.’

Silence fell. Spock waited. Finally a chair scraped, and he heard the ensign walking towards him.

‘Yes, sir?’ the familiar voice said when he reached him. From his tone Spock assumed he was about to pretend innocence. He didn’t bother to stand or raise his head since he could not see the person in front of him.

‘Ensign, you would be wise to remember that while my eyesight is essentially nil, my hearing is still far superior to that of most on this ship,’ Spock said sternly. ‘I will not tolerate such suggestions as you were making to be aired in a public area.’

‘Sir, that wasn’t – ’ he began.

‘It was you,’ Spock cut across. ‘And it will not behove you to attempt to deceive me.’

‘Yes, sir,’ the man said, with a level of contriteness that Spock was sure was false.

‘You will inform Mr Scott that you have volunteered to degrease the internal warp control mechanisms – all of them.’

Spock turned his head at the sound of footsteps approaching, ignoring the beginnings of a protest from the ensign. The combination of scent, sound and a shadow impression of the personality in his mind told him indisputably that it was Kirk.

‘Captain,’ he said calmly.

‘Everything all right, Mr Spock?’ Kirk asked. Spock gained the impression that Kirk was completely aware of what had just happened – he was simply giving him the choice of handing responsibility over to him.

‘Perfectly, Captain,’ Spock said smoothly. ‘Dismissed, Ensign.’

‘What was that about?’ Kirk asked, sotto voce, as he put a plate down in front of Spock.

‘A problem of respect,’ Spock told him. ‘I had expected to – lose face – in front of some crew members due to this disability. I had not expected such behaviour to manifest itself so soon, however.’

‘It shouldn’t manifest at all,’ Kirk muttered. ‘It’s the last thing you need.’

‘I am quite used to being regarded as – an oddity, Captain,’ Spock said carefully.

‘Not on my ship,’ Kirk said with restrained anger. ‘Anyway, Ensign Walker will have plenty of time to regret it while he scrubs grease off Scotty’s engines. You handled it well, Spock.’

Spock nodded in acknowledgement, but his lips were pursed pensively as he listened to Ensign Walker muttering something too low to be heard, and then leaving the room. Ensign Walker was not the only person on the ship that he knew disliked him. There was Lieutenant Stiles with his long-held grudge against Vulcanoids, Lieutenant Boma with his deep-seated antipathy towards Spock’s logical way of working, and too many others who jarred with his race or personality. He had experienced plenty of bigoted behaviour growing up, but he had never quite learnt to accept it unemotionally. He was not looking forward to making his way around the ship in darkness when there might be such people waiting to disrupt his progress.

‘I’ll put out a memo to all department heads,’ Kirk said softly, correctly interpreting his preoccupation. ‘If anyone tries anything – if anyone so much as speaks out against you – I’ll come down on them so hard they won’t know what’s happened to them.’

Spock nodded silently, his gratitude showing in the relaxation that moved through his shoulders and back. Kirk’s voice had shaken slightly with anger as he made his statement, and Spock had no doubt that anyone encountering that wrath would have definite cause to regret it.

‘Anyway, we came here for lunch,’ Kirk said in a louder voice. ‘And I don’t see why we should let the Ensign Walkers of the world disrupt that.’

‘No, indeed, Captain,’ Spock nodded, feeling carefully in front of himself for his plate. He found the soft fabric of a napkin, and then, to the left, the cold, curved edge of a plate.

‘I took the liberty of getting you a side salad, too,’ Kirk told him as Spock’s fingertips encountered something other than sandwich. ‘Nothing awkward – just some lettuce, cherry tomatoes and sliced peppers. No dressing.’

‘Thank you, Jim,’ Spock said warmly, grateful that Kirk had interpreted his hesitation before without his having to speak of it. ‘My drink?’ he asked, reluctant to start feeling around for a cup of hot liquid.

‘About – four inches in front of your left hand. Want me to pass it?’

‘I can find it,’ he said, reaching out tentatively until his fingertips touched the hot cup.

‘Spock, how – ’ Kirk began as Spock took a sip of his drink. ‘I mean – how are you dealing with this? A day ago you could see. You seem to be managing – remarkably well.’

Spock pursed his lips, running a finger along the edge of his plate. ‘I – am not,’ he said finally.

‘You got to the briefing room alone today. McCoy said you managed almost all the way from your quarters to sickbay. I can’t imagine how hard it must be, doing that in the dark…’

He shook his head. ‘I would not say it is easy, but I am favoured with a good memory. Navigating on a ship with which I am so familiar is not such a problem. It is the smaller things that present difficulties.’

‘Smaller things?’

‘What are you eating, Captain?’ Spock asked as if changing the subject. ‘I smell – chicken, some kind of vinegar based dressing?’

‘Yes – it’s chicken salad and a bread roll.’

‘You are using a fork?’

‘Well – yes.’

‘Close your eyes, Captain, and attempt to eat your salad with your fork.’ He waited a few moments, then asked, ‘How do you find it?’

He could almost hear Kirk’s rueful smile. ‘Difficult,’ he said. ‘And damn frustrating.’

Spock inclined his head in acknowledgement. ‘I realise that many of my small difficulties will be overcome with practice and adaptive techniques, but at the moment I am finding it – damn frustrating, as you say.’

‘Spock – what about getting yourself meals?’ Kirk asked suddenly. ‘I didn’t think about how you were managing that.’

‘Yeoman Rand provided me with breakfast. Last night I ordered from the galley.’

‘That’s fine for dinner,’ Kirk nodded. ‘But can you use the replicator?’

Spock shook his head. ‘I must find some way of distinguishing between the discs. I cannot see a way of doing so with the ones in public spaces such as this – not until I can read tactile writing effectively, and without a systematic policy of marking them with such.’

Kirk sighed. ‘There’s a lot we need to work out, isn’t there, Spock? Has McCoy spoken to you about things like this?’

‘The doctor is extraordinarily busy at the moment. I do not expect him to be able to allocate time to such things until this crisis is past. I am not without the ability to ask for help if I need it.’

‘You don’t want me to allocate a yeoman to come and help you?’

‘No, thank you,’ Spock said firmly. The idea of having a relative stranger entering his quarters, serving him, and possibly interfering with the familiar layout of his rooms, was highly disagreeable.

‘Well, our mission status has been changed so we can stay at Deneva indefinitely, until this crisis is resolved or another relief vessel can be dispatched – so it looks like we’re here at least for the next few weeks, Spock,’ Kirk told him. ‘It’s a double edged sword. No one’s going to be rushing you off the ship, but unless we send you off in a shuttle you’re not going to be able to go for rehabilitation elsewhere for a while either.’

‘I – do acknowledge the logic of entering some form of rehabilitation as swiftly as possible,’ Spock said carefully. ‘However, I do not relish the idea of changing my surroundings at the moment.’

‘No,’ Kirk nodded, reading the unspoken addendum – that entering rehabilitation would be admitting, only a day after the event, that Spock’s blindness was permanent. ‘But that still leaves the question, Spock. What are you going to do about all the little things you’re finding hard? I’d like to be there every time you need help, but we both know that’s not possible – especially with the current situation.’

‘No, I do know that,’ Spock nodded pensively. ‘I – will simply have to do my best to adapt as quickly as possible. Nurse Chapel has been most helpful in suggesting adaptive techniques.’

‘Well, what about your replicator discs? How about you work out a few different selections for breakfast, lunch and dinner, and we mark them with different shapes that you can feel? I could make some shapes from felt and stick them on.’

‘That would be highly useful,’ Spock nodded, his demeanour brightening a little. ‘And I have managed to master a rudimentary ability to read Braille this morning, although I am far from proficient.’

‘Well, that’s a step in the right direction. And perhaps McCoy could do some research on things to help you. And speak of the devil – here’s the good doctor now, Spock.’

Spock instinctively raised his head, but he realised that although he could not see the doctor, he could pick out the soft noise of his footsteps coming towards them.

‘Doctor,’ he nodded as he reached them.

‘Well, Spock – you’ve gained us a couple’a hours breathing space,’ McCoy said as he sat down opposite him.

‘Perhaps, Doctor,’ Spock nodded. ‘Although I imagine the time could be filled quite profitably.’

‘Perhaps,’ McCoy nodded. ‘But a man’s gotta eat, Spock. Anyway, I need to talk to you,’ he said in a more serious tone. ‘As the ship’s CMO I’ve got a duty to keep fleet headquarters updated on serious medical conditions affecting the crew – and this is a pretty serious condition.’

‘Doctor, I hardly think this is the forum for such discussions,’ Spock said tersely.

‘Spock, the room’s empty!’ McCoy protested. ‘What better forum is there?’

Spock paused, turning his concentration to the area around him. He had not noticed the waning of chatter as the lunch time peak passed.

‘Acknowledged,’ Spock nodded. ‘But still - ’

‘I just need to advise you of what my duties are,’ McCoy pushed. ‘Essentially – you’ve got a month’s breathing space, Spock. Each crew member is allowed one month of sick leave before fleet needs to be advised or other medical advice sought.’

‘Then I am on sick leave?’ Spock asked.

‘Technically. I can’t do anything else, Spock. I can’t sign you fit for duty yet. Whether or not Jim lets you – help out – is another matter.’

‘Help out,’ Spock echoed flatly. ‘I am not a visiting school child, Doctor.’

‘Okay, bad choice of terms – but you have to admit that you’re not capable of standing on that bridge or in the labs and carrying out a full day’s work.’

Spock pursed his lips together. He was continually reminded of his disability as it was – he didn’t need McCoy to reiterate it to him. It was so much more frustrating that he was perfectly capable mentally – just so stiflingly limited physically. He knew his irritation towards the doctor was a product of his own emotional failings rather than anything McCoy was doing, but knowing that didn’t help.

‘Doctor, I really do not wish to discuss this at the present time,’ Spock said heavily. ‘Enough has changed in my life. You say I have a month’s respite before I must leave the Enterprise – ’

‘Spock, you’re completely misunderstanding me!’ McCoy said impatiently. ‘I haven’t said anything about leaving. I’m just saying you’ve got a month’s grace before anything official happens. You have that much time to adapt, to think about what you want to do – to think about whether or not you want to fight to stay here. That’s something you and me and Jim need to discuss together – that’s why I’m here.’

‘I do not want to leave the ship,’ Spock said after a moment’s silence. ‘I do not wish to leave Starfleet.’

‘And I don’t want to lose you as my First Officer, Spock,’ Kirk put in. ‘Your tactical input, your insight, your advice – they’re all invaluable.’

‘Jim, whatever I wish to do, it will be necessary to convince the officials at Command that I can manage,’ Spock said seriously. ‘I may be able to advise you, but I still cannot see. I cannot imagine Command giving backing to a First Officer who is almost totally blind.’

‘Well, you’re Vulcan – that gives you an immediate advantage,’ McCoy said reassuringly. ‘You’ve got superior hearing, superior sense of touch, superior mental faculties, more finite control of your responses.’

‘So in fact, Doctor, you are acknowledging that my Vulcan physiology is superior to a human’s?’ Spock asked slyly.

‘Don’t push it, Spock,’ McCoy muttered. ‘You may be able to hear a pin drop at twenty metres, but it’s your superior Vulcan eye construction that’s rendered you blind.’

‘True,’ Spock nodded.

‘Anyway, I thought the best course of action was to assume that you’re not going to regain your sight, Spock,’ McCoy said, a little nervously. ‘Now, I’m not saying that’s true,’ he added quickly. ‘Don’t think for a moment that I’ve given up on that. But you’re intelligent enough to understand the sense in moving on as quickly as possible.’

Spock nodded briefly. A small part of him wanted to sit in his room and wait for this foolishness to pass, for his eyes to decide to see again – but a much larger body of rationality and training told him that McCoy was right.

‘There is considerable sense in swift adaptation,’ he nodded.

‘Otherwise you’ll end up in a kind of limbo,’ McCoy continued. ‘This way, you’ll be independent as soon as possible. Christine seems to have your day to day needs in hand, so we need to focus on what you need to do your job.’

‘Yes,’ Spock nodded pensively. The numerous facets of his job seemed insurmountable without sight.

‘Spock, if we take it for granted that most ship’s instruments can be adapted to speech or tactile output, what do you think is within your reach without sight?’ Kirk asked, leaning forward over the table.

Spock sat, considering his console on the bridge. A large proportion of it was sound based anyway. It would be easy enough for him to relearn the controls with touch. His viewer and the display screens were the most problematic. And then there was the problem of away missions, leading landing parties, exploring new environments and encountering new lifeforms. Perhaps many things would just be a case of learning to use his remaining senses to build up a picture, but some things would be impossible. So many avenues of possibility in his life had so abruptly been closed to him.

‘Do you think Starfleet might be conducive to providing me with an assistant?’ he asked.

‘It’s possible,’ Kirk nodded. ‘You’ve got an entitlement to a personal yeoman that you haven’t taken up. And you’re valuable to the fleet, Spock. I don’t think they’d want to lose you on the Enterprise if they could avoid it.’

‘Without an assistant I would find certain lab activities and physical tasks difficult. With an assistant, I imagine I would be able to carry out most shipboard activities, and some planetary ones. But I do not believe I could carry a weapon or enter combat situations. I would be severely hampered in unfamiliar surroundings. I can extrapolate a certain amount of information from this cane Nurse Chapel has supplied me with, and because of my hearing I am more capable than a human may be of echo-location. However, that would not help much if I had to move quickly or decisively.’

‘Well, I can push for you to continue your shipboard activities pretty much as they are, and we can review the field duties as time goes on,’ Kirk nodded. ‘I’m signing you off active duty for this next week – on McCoy’s advice as well as my own judgement,’ he said as Spock opened his mouth to protest. ‘I’m not saying you can’t have an involvement in what’s going on on Deneva – like I said, I welcome your input – but you need a chance to rest, and you need a chance to adapt.’

‘Of course, Captain,’ Spock nodded reluctantly.

‘It’s partly for the logs, Spock, signing you off,’ Kirk reassured him again. ‘I can’t let you carry on as if nothing has happened – Command’d think I’d gone crazy. But you know I want you to be active in this mission. Hell, I wouldn’t’ve asked you to consult with Chekov if I didn’t.’

Spock nodded again, pushing his empty plate away from him. ‘Yes, I know,’ he nodded. ‘And speaking of Chekov – I should go to see him. I may have bought us some time,’ he said, turning towards McCoy. ‘But not that much more.’

******

It took him a little more than an hour with Chekov to work out what was needed for the extra satellites. Spock opted to meet him in a briefing room rather than on the bridge, ostensibly because it was easier to consult in such an environment, but the overriding reason was that he did not feel confident to appear before the entire bridge crew in his current condition, when he needed so much help to do anything. Between them they settled upon two hundred and ten satellites orbiting at seventy-two miles, operating for a minimum duration of thirty seconds. After going through the calculations step by step with Chekov he was finally satisfied that the pattern of dispersal would be just as he had calculated it in his head.

But when the consultation was over Spock found himself feeling curiously redundant again – he was needed for nothing, and could do very little. Eventually he decided to call Nurse Chapel up to request her assistance, and see if he could continue the work he had been carrying out in the lab before any of this Deneva crisis had begun. It was surprisingly easy to continue the experiment with her being his eyes and hands for him. He had found her an able lab assistant in the past, but now she was invaluable.

Then, as the afternoon was drawing into evening, the intercom sounded, and he found himself being summoned to the sickbay by McCoy.

As Spock entered McCoy’s office he realised that Kirk was there too, but he was curiously silent. The level of tension in the room was almost audible.

‘Captain,’ he said softly, turning his head towards where he judged Kirk to be. ‘Doctor.’

‘Spock, come sit down,’ Kirk said in a voice loaded with repressed emotion. He touched Spock’s elbow to lead him to a chair, then sat himself.

‘Doctor?’ Spock asked, aware that he was sitting on one side of McCoy’s desk, and that the doctor was on the other side.

‘Spock, I – er – I spoke to Shir Kahr Central Hospital a few minutes ago,’ McCoy began tentatively ‘An ophthalmologist called Sirkan.’

‘Yes, Doctor,’ Spock prompted. It was obvious from McCoy’s tone that he was wrestling with some kind of grave emotion, but for now he felt more concerned with how this conversation related to his sight loss than to McCoy’s feelings.

‘He said – ’ McCoy took a deep breath, then began again. ‘He said that he’d only seen one case before of the Vulcan eye being exposed to such an intense light, but he’d treated a few cases with a lower intensity.’

‘Yes, Doctor,’ Spock nodded again. It was obvious that McCoy was stalling.

‘He agrees with me that your human genetics may have rendered the tissue more unstable – more unsuitable for very bright light.’

‘Yes, Doctor,’ Spock said, trying hard to keep the impatience from his voice. ‘What was his conclusion?’

‘Spock – he said that if – if you had been treated with a pentazium compound and taken into surgery within half an hour, we might have been able to separate the fused tissue from the body of the eye. But – the longer the eyelid is sealed, the less chance there is of retracting it.’

Spock took a careful breath, focussing on keeping his voice steady. ‘And after twenty-four hours, Doctor?’

‘Spock, he said that after five hours there’s no point in operating – it would do more harm than good.’

Spock nodded with rigid control. Kirk was silent, but he could tell that the captain, like McCoy, was struggling to contain some kind of emotion.

‘It could not be helped, Doctor,’ Spock said flatly.

‘I – should have stayed with you,’ McCoy began uselessly. ‘Examined your eyes, done something. I shouldn’t have taken it for granted…’

‘I do not expect you to have intimate anatomical and treatment knowledge of the Vulcan eye, Doctor,’ Spock told him. ‘You assumed, quite logically, that my optic nerves were destroyed. I did not tell you that I had residual light perception, so you had no reason to believe otherwise. By the time you had examined my eyes, discovered the problem, placed a call to the hospital on Vulcan, discussed the problem with a doctor there, and agreed on the requisite treatment, far longer than half an hour would have passed.’

‘Spock, I’m so sorry,’ McCoy said wretchedly, as if he had not been listening.

Spock sighed. ‘Doctor, recriminations are useless. You have spoken to Sirkan. Did he suggest anything positive that might be done?’

There was a pause, where Spock imagined some kind of body language was suggesting a negative. Then finally McCoy said, ‘He couldn’t offer any treatment options. He told me to refer you to a rehabilitation centre on Vulcan. That was it.’

‘I see,’ Spock nodded. ‘Thank you, Doctor.’ He stood stiffly, caught up in his own illogical emotions and his attempt to suppress them. ‘I must get back to the lab. Thank you for informing me of this.’

He walked swiftly out of the room, through sickbay and out into the corridor, relying on the assumption that his path was clear as it had been on the way in. Once he was outside, however, he stopped short, taking a moment to reassure himself that the corridor was empty before clenching his fists hard enough to dent titanium. At moment he wanted nothing more than to be able to break something – to stand in his room like a child and smash everything within reach.

‘Spock,’ Kirk’s voice said behind him.

His control was so degraded at that point that he almost jumped. He had not even heard the sickbay doors open.

‘What is it, Captain?’ he said, an unwarranted degree of sharpness roughening his voice.

‘I know you must be distraught – ’ he began.

‘You are mistaken,’ Spock said blankly. ‘Excuse me, Captain. As I said, I need to get back to the lab. I am running an experiment that – ’

‘Spock,’ Kirk cut across him, putting a hand to his arm. He waited a moment, watching the Vulcan, seeing the trembling emotion that he was fighting with being gradually suppressed. He was unsure that the Vulcan would be able to easily make it to the lab in his distracted state, and any problems now would only upset him further. ‘I’m walking down that way anyway. Do you mind if I walk with you?’

‘No. … No, of course not, Captain,’ he said in a slightly warmer tone.

‘Thanks,’ he said, moving off down the corridor, hesitating just long enough to be sure the Vulcan was confident to follow him. ‘What is it you’ve got brewing in the lab, then?’ he asked, hoping to guide the Vulcan tacitly by talking to him.

‘I was attempting to analyse the degradation of minoxline when exposed to space-normal radiation,’ Spock said. He knew he should try to focus his mind on that, instead of a personal problem that couldn’t be changed, but the fact of his blindness kept lowering like a shadow over everything else. ‘It could be a useful visual indicator of radiation levels in environmental suits. I have been combining it with different chemicals in order to alter the reaction.’

‘Sounds – fascinating,’ Kirk told him, touching his arm lightly to guide him as the corridor curved.

‘I cannot now analyse my own results,’ Spock said flatly. ‘Or handle the chemicals needed for the experiment.’

‘Oh…’ Kirk replied. ‘So you’re – ’

‘Relying on a lab technician for assistance – but it does not compare to my own observations.’

‘McCoy thought the functions of a basic tricorder could be extended to help you,’ Kirk began. He glanced at the Vulcan’s face, noticing a tightening of his facial muscles as he mentioned the doctor’s name. ‘You’re angry at Bones.’

Spock pursed his lips together. ‘I do not have the right to be angry at Dr McCoy. It is not logical to be angry at him.’

‘That doesn’t mean it’s not natural to be angry at him,’ Kirk pointed out. ‘He’s a healer, and he hasn’t healed you. He’s angry at himself.’

‘I – am finding myself unreasonably angry right now,’ Spock said reluctantly. ‘Not necessarily at any one thing.’

‘I imagine that’s quite natural too,’ Kirk said softly, increasing the pressure on the Vulcan’s arm.

‘For a human, yes,’ Spock nodded pensively.

‘For a half-human,’ Kirk pointed out. ‘Anyway, you’ve told me often enough that it isn’t that Vulcans are without emotions – it’s just that you’ve learned to control them, because otherwise they run so strong and deep. And if anything’s calculated to try that control, it’s the week you’ve had.’

‘Which is why I must try harder to control,’ Spock replied, a slight tremble underlying his voice.

‘Perhaps you should try letting go for a bit. Riding it out.’

‘Not here,’ Spock said, his voice even more strained. ‘Not here. Please, Jim. I understand – I appreciate – what you are trying to do, but you do not wish to witness me unleashing the emotions I am currently experiencing in the middle of a crew corridor. No one would benefit.’

‘All right, my friend,’ Kirk nodded, squeezing his arm again. ‘I’ll drop the subject for now. Anyway, here’s the lab. This is where I leave you,’ he said, turning in through the door.

‘Oh,’ Spock said, trying not to sound too surprised. He had not even noticed entering and exiting the turbolift.

‘Will you be all right?’

‘I will be fine,’ he nodded, grateful that Kirk took his answer as fact and left the room without further fussing. ‘Nurse Chapel?’ he asked, turning his head towards the sound of movement across the room.

‘Technician Wilkins, sir,’ a male voice replied. ‘Christine had to pop over to handle a problem in intensive care so she called me to stand in for her. She said to tell you she’ll be back as soon as possible.’

‘I see,’ he nodded, moving forward towards the table, trying to rein in his frustration at the fact that he could do almost nothing for himself . ‘We will begin by identifying the contents of the lab table - ’

‘Oh, don’t worry, sir – I can handle everything on the table,’ the man began brightly.

‘We will begin by identifying the contents of the lab table,’ Spock repeated more firmly. ‘I cannot direct you without being certain of what is on there. I have mentally divided the table into a grid of ten centimetre squares. I assume that the oscilloscope, the radiation exposure drum and the chromatographic scanner are still occupying the coordinates 80:50, 50:50 and 20:50 respectively?’

There was a brief hesitation, and then the man said, ‘Er, yes, sir, I think they are.’

‘You may use a ruler if you are not certain, Ensign,’ Spock said tersely, trying to restrain his impatience. He could only hope that Chapel would return soon, before the annoyance grew too great to control.

******

Even though Spock had only been in the lab ten minutes before Chapel returned, his frustration was close to wearing through his desperate attempts at control. No matter how hard he tried, he could not help but dwell on what McCoy had told him just twenty minutes ago. His knowledge of the fact that he need not have been standing here in darkness only made each small difficulty ten times worse, especially since he was working alongside a lab technician that he barely knew and, logically or not, did not particularly like. Wilkins was nervous and overbearing by turns, touching him, standing too close, hovering over his every movement. Besides that, it was almost impossible to get a clear idea from him of how the experiment was progressing. By the time Nurse Chapel returned he was almost distracted by illogical anger, directing it at the experiment before him, at McCoy, at himself, at Christine for leaving him with such an inappropriate assistant, even though she had returned much quicker than he had expected.

‘You will need to add two point three ccs of iodine to the solution, then expose it to the prescribed dose of radiation, and describe the colour change to me as it occurs,’ he said to her, reaching out towards where he knew the iodine bottle to be. If he could not measure and add the chemicals himself, he could at least pick them off the table to hand to his assistant. But his hand hit something before he expected it, and he heard a bottle clatter and then smash on the floor. He felt almost dizzy with anger at that moment, and he struggled to push the feeling away so that he could continue with his work.

‘Be careful!’ Chapel snapped, grasping his arm as he moved forwards. His entire body went rigid. ‘Let me clear it up.’

‘I – am quite capable of attending to the problem myself,’ he replied, the strain in his voice indicating just how thin his veneer of control had become.

‘Mr Spock, there’s broken glass, and you’ve spilt a flask of – ’

‘I am not a child, Nurse – and I still have a sense of smell,’ he retorted icily. ‘I am quite aware that the substance on the floor is iodine.’

‘You may have a sense of smell, sir,’ she said in a crisply professional tone, finally letting go of his arm. ‘But the Reinhold’s acid that also spilled has no scent at all, and it would burn your hands down to the bone if you touched it.’

‘I had Technician Wilkins identify every object on that table just fourteen minutes ago. There was no Reinhold’s acid there.’

‘You needed it for the next step in the experiment. I put it down there just a moment ago.’

Spock pressed his lips together hard, a tremor of indefinable emotion running through his body. ‘Do you not understand that I cannot see?’ he erupted suddenly, his voice nearing a shout. ‘Is it because you are female that you cannot comprehend the need for order? I must be able to rely on the stability of my surroundings. If you are not even capable of verbalising your actions you would be better elsewhere.’

He stopped, suddenly conscious of his lack of control. He clenched his hands together, forcing the blazing emotion back into the recesses of his mind, trying to parcel it down until it became so small that it no longer existed. He took a deep breath, then extended his awareness of the room around him. He could no longer sense the presence of the nurse. He was not surprised. The raw fury in his voice had almost frightened himself.

‘Miss Chapel?’ he asked tentatively. There was no response. He sighed, taking a moment to compose himself further, and then stepped cautiously backwards, away from the spillage in front of him, to find the intercom and call for a technician to clean up the mess. There was no point in attempting to continue the experiment now. He had to admit to himself that he was barely capable of concentrating, and despite what he had just said, Nurse Chapel was the only assistant he seemed to be able to trust to follow his directions and give him useful feedback. She had given up her time to help him, and he had repaid her with abuse. Repairing the damage in that relationship was far more important than repairing the damage in the lab.

Chapter 5

It took Spock longer than he had expected to reach Nurse Chapel’s quarters from the lab. He took at least one wrong turn, and had to trace his footsteps back to a place he recognised before starting again. Finally, however, he reached what he was sure was her door. He touched his fingers to the plate beside it, laboriously tracing out C – H – A – P – E – L, before he pressed the buzzer, and waited to be let in.

He stepped in through the door hesitantly, keeping his cane extended. He could sense the nurse’s agitation even before she spoke.

‘Commander Spock,’ she said flatly, her formal tone only just holding over what sounded like the remnants of tears.

‘Christine, I have come to apologise,’ Spock said softly, stepping just far enough into the room to let the door close. ‘My – tirade – was a product of my own emotional weakness. It had nothing to do with you.’ Silence answered him, and he continued, ‘I have been nothing but grateful for your assistance, both physical and emotional. It is my own sense of – of frustration, and helplessness, that led me to say what I did.’

‘I know,’ Chapel said finally, in a voice so quiet he barely heard it. ‘Dr McCoy told me what Dr Sirkan said.’

‘Yes,’ Spock said. ‘It was – difficult – news to process.’

‘I’m sure… Why don’t you sit down, Mr Spock?’ she asked after a long silence. ‘If you want to talk, that is…’

‘Please,’ he asked, holding out a hand very slightly. ‘I am not familiar with the layout of your rooms. I – would not wish to break anything else.’

‘Of course,’ she murmured, coming to him. The unconfident tone in his voice was enough to remind her of all he had lost, emotionally more than physically. ‘I’m sorry – I shouldn’t have run off. I’m used to patients losing their tempers, and I’ve seen the emotional turmoil in people who’ve just lost their sight.’

‘Perhaps,’ Spock nodded, touching her arm and letting her guide him across the room. ‘But I do know that I am more than a patient to you. I have hurt you personally, not professionally. I insulted you. I scared you. I would never wish to do that.’

He sat on the chair she took him to, running his hands over it and establishing that it was not a fleet issue chair – it was something more like an antique wing-back, softly upholstered with velvet.

‘Something from home,’ Chapel explained, seeing his explorations.

‘I understand,’ Spock nodded, thinking of his own wooden chairs that he had had carefully shipped from Vulcan simply to give himself an illogical reminder of his childhood room. He retracted his cane and put it carefully down on the floor beside the chair. ‘I am familiar with the visual layout of almost every communal area on this ship,’ he continued. ‘I find it – odd – to sit in a room for which I have no visual image.’

‘Well, that will happen more and more,’ Chapel told him plainly. ‘It’s something you’ll have to get used to. Even familiar things will change.’

Spock raised his head, startled by her tone. It was obvious that she was still upset with him, but he knew that her statement was true.

‘What I mean,’ she said more softly, ‘is that you have to beware of walking around visualising an out-of-date image of your surroundings. You’ll walk across a part of a room you know is empty, and find someone’s moved a table or a pot plant or sofa. You can control the layout of your own rooms, but you can’t do that with the outside world.’

‘I can, of course, ask for a description,’ Spock pointed out.

‘That’s true – but you can’t rely on a human description for complete accuracy.’

‘Christine,’ Spock said firmly. ‘I did not come here to discuss adaptation techniques. I came to offer my apologies to you. Do I have your forgiveness?’

‘Of course you do, Mr Spock,’ she said immediately, the warmth in her tone telling him that she was sincere. ‘I know how hard this is for you.’

‘Thank you,’ he nodded. ‘Now, perhaps – ’ He stopped, noticing the soft sound of fabric as she shifted position, and then recalling the loose, silken feeling of her sleeve under his hand as she had guided him across the room. He tilted his head sideways, saying, ‘You are no longer in uniform.’

‘Uh – no. No, Mr Spock, I’m not,’ she stammered, suddenly sounding embarrassed. ‘Since I wasn’t really on duty, I thought I’d – ’

‘What are you wearing, Miss Chapel?’ Spock asked curiously as she trailed off again.

‘I was – er – I was about to take a shower when you buzzed,’ she admitted. ‘I just pulled on this dressing gown…’

‘Oh,’ Spock said softly. Had he been human, he might have blushed. For some reason not being able to see the one thin garment she was covered in made her seem all the more naked underneath.

He heard her stand up. He could almost feel the warmth of her embarrassment. ‘I could change, if – ’

‘Your choice of dress has very little impact on me now,’ Spock reminded her, aware of how close that was to a lie. ‘Christine,’ he said firmly, standing up as he sensed her moving, and reaching out to find her arm. ‘Self-consciousness is quite illogical since I cannot – ’

At that point he became suffused with embarrassment himself, however, as he realised that far from touching her arm, he had inadvertently brushed his fingertips across her breast. He stood frozen, acutely conscious of the sensation of her warm flesh and curiously hard nipple through the thin silky material that clung to it. Even through the silk he could feel her skin react to the touch, and the mental flush that accompanied it was almost overwhelming.

‘I am sorry,’ he murmured, but for some reason he still did not move his hand. The entire room seemed to be holding its breath. Then she made some kind of noise that was not a word, and almost sounded like a sigh of pleasure. Driven by an impulse worlds away from his logical training, he moved his fingertips, lightly investigating the warm curve beneath them. As he felt to the left his fingers slipped over hem, and then onto the flat naked skin between the two sides of the robe.

‘Mr Spock…’ she said, putting her hand over his, but not trying to remove it.

‘Do not say that you do not desire this,’ he said in a hoarse voice. He could feel her own desire sparking in her mind. He was suddenly consumed with hunger to touch her, to taste her, to feel all of her at once against his naked skin. ‘I know that you do.’

‘But you never have, until now,’ she protested.

‘I have desired, Christine,’ he whispered. ‘Please believe me, I have desired…’

‘But now…’

‘It would be both illogical and dishonest to pretend that my blindness has had no effect on my present feelings,’ he said softly. All the varied stresses of the past week had conspired to wear away at his control, bringing emotions both good and bad closer to the surface. ‘I have often felt – isolated – on this ship, among this human crew. But I have never – ’ He shook his head. ‘Forgive me. I am not practised at expressing feelings like this.’ He drew in a breath, then said, ‘I have never felt such utter, bewildering solitude as I felt when I realised I could not hope to recover my sight. I have – no one – to turn to.’

‘The captain, Dr McCoy…’

He raised an eyebrow, a fleeting look of amusement crossing his face at the idea of Captain Kirk being supplanted in place of her.

‘Are not you,’ he said simply. ‘They are – not you, Christine.’

He moved his fingers upwards, finding the contours of her collarbones and neck, and then the graceful line of her jaw. Despite her obvious misgivings, he could easily sense her deep desire for him to keep touching her. He stroked across her face, tracing out her eyebrows and cheekbones, running his fingers lightly over her lips. He moved his hands gently into the hair about her face and about her neck.

‘I find myself wondering what you must look like in the morning, before your hair is styled and your face made up,’ he said softly, running a finger down the side of her face.

‘Oh, you wouldn’t want to – ’ she began, then broke off in confusion.

‘I would very much like to see it,’ he said earnestly.

As she registered the depth of longing in his voice she touched a hand to his cheek, her simple urge to bring him comfort pushing her misgivings aside.

‘As long as you’re sure,’ she said, almost in a whisper. ‘As long as you mean it, and you understand that I’m not responding out of pity, or obligation, or anything else – but just because I love you, and I’ve loved you for such a long time.’

‘I understand,’ he nodded.

‘And you will see,’ she promised him. ‘You know that Dr McCoy and the captain won’t stop until they’ve found a way to make you see. I won’t stop – and I hope you won’t either. You will see.’

Spock pressed his lips together, unwilling to voice his misgivings about the likelihood of that statement coming true. ‘Perhaps,’ he nodded, forcing himself to suppress the negative emotions surrounding his blindness in favour of the very positive emotions he was feeling in relation to the woman in front of him. ‘But – for now I will have to rely on my imagination.’

He touched his fingers to each side of her neck, very slowly pushing them sideways under the silk of her robe, so as to slip the fabric from her shoulders. He waited just a moment to be certain of her willingness, then pushed a little further, prompting the gown to fall away from her torso. He stood in the awareness of her nakedness, not moving to touch her there, but instead brushing his fingers again over her face, and leaning in very carefully to kiss her. Her lips felt soft as roses, but warm too, and so inviting. He wanted to taste the inside of her mouth with his tongue, but he held himself back, afraid of overwhelming her with the strength of his need.

‘You – have me at a disadvantage, Mr Spock,’ she murmured unsteadily as he drew away from her.

‘Yes,’ he said with feeling, reaching a hand out to trail it down her side. ‘And I find it – quite stimulating.’

He paused to remove his boots and socks and uniform shirt, then very carefully put them aside, and stood in front of her in his black undershirt and trousers. Then he lifted his hand, holding the fingers parted in the traditional Vulcan salute.

‘Raise your hand, thus,’ he said in a voice that would brook no refusal.

She lifted her hand, wordlessly, mirroring his actions. He touched his two first fingers to hers and began to stroke them in small, circular movements. She shivered, sensations that were deeper than ordinary pleasure running through her nerves. A deep awareness of another mind was setting up within her – sparks of a burning masculine desire and ruthless control that was not hers flashing in her own mind. Automatically she knew how to respond, and began to imitate his movements, stroking first across his hand and the downy hair of his forearm, and then moving, as he did, to explore his face and ears and neck. His touch seemed to turn her bones to molten liquid, and it was only the continuing mental support that was somehow flowing into her that allowed her to continue.

His eyes were closed, and she knew that ordinarily he would be gazing with Vulcan intensity into her own, but that now he was letting himself imagine the sight of what he was feeling before him. She kept finding herself aware of tiny pieces of him – not like looking into his mind, but like the fleeting remnants of a dream – muted flecks of emotion, glimpses of things he had seen and was imagining now. Without her being aware of him speaking, she knew that he wanted them to move to the bed, and she was stepping sideways with her eyes locked on his face and her fingers touching his cheek, and he was following as much by an awareness of what she saw as by her guiding touch.

She slipped her hands upwards under his top as they reached the bed, her fingers startled by the sheer warmth of his skin as they trailed through the soft hair on his chest. The top seemed to come off almost by a will of its own, and she tossed it aside, not bothering to see where it fell. Instead she stared at the broad, flat expanse of his chest – something she had seen plenty of times in a medical context, but never before like this, flushed with desire. The last time had been only a few days ago, as she attended to him after surgery, when his skin had been ashen with the pain he was in.

‘What is it?’ he asked in a low voice, conscious of her pausing with her hands flat on his skin.

‘You’re usually so – pale…’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘I am usually ill or otherwise incapacitated. … Do not stop,’ he urged her after a moment’s pause. ‘I do not wish you to stop.’

She leaned forward to rest her face against his chest, taking in the scent of him with a deep breath. He exhaled with a sound that was almost a sigh as she pressed her naked torso against his. He stroked his hands down over her sharp butterfly shoulderblades, over the subtle lines of each rib in turn, into the sweeping hollow of her lower back, and over the edges of her hips onto the smoothness of her buttocks. He could feel the thrill running through her as he touched her there. He paused there, quietly wondering at how perfectly the roundness of each curve fitted into the concavity of his palms.

He finally found it in himself to move, and his fingers reached out again to delicately retrace their path up her back and sides as their lips touched in a languorous kiss. This time he let himself probe into her mouth, tasting the odd, metallic tang of her saliva, tracing his tongue over her teeth, feeling their smoothness one by one. As she pulled back, his hands deftly moved to at last touch her breasts and stomach, tracing over the soft curves, feeling her thrill at his touch.

‘I know,’ she murmured, unaware of quite why she had spoken until she realised she had sensed his unspoken wish to be able to see what he was touching. She smiled, and Spock almost recoiled at the unshielded burst of joy that rippled through her mind into his.

‘You are pleased – at the sharing of minds,’ he said, touching a hand to her cheek and letting the link strengthen for just a few seconds.

‘It’s – so subtle, but seems so natural too,’ she nodded. ‘I never expected it to be so easy.’

‘Your mind is not closed, therefore you do not reject mine.’ Then he brushed his hand downwards to trace his fingers over her lips. ‘No more words.’ He slipped his hands down from her shoulders to catch hold of her hands, and stroked them under his down his chest to where his trousers were fastened. ‘If you wish…’ he began, suddenly sounding almost nervous.

She answered him by carefully undoing the button and zip, and then sliding his garments slowly down from his waist to reveal what she had been waiting for so long to touch. His penis was already beginning to engorge, hanging there warm and heavy, waiting for her to touch it. Instead of reaching out with her hand, she knelt, and very softly traced her tongue along the startlingly hot flesh. He gasped audibly, and she smiled, satisfied at his reaction, before parting her lips again and taking the full length into her mouth. He tasted – oddly different, but exquisite to her – and she massaged the soft, yielding flesh with her tongue. He moaned low in his throat, his hands reaching out to touch her hair, his fingers flexing as she increased his pleasure, his penis growing ever harder and warmer in her mouth.

‘Christine, I am not a man, but I am male,’ he said finally, his voice sounding strained. ‘If you carry on in this way, I cannot be responsible…’

She took her mouth off him, realising just how close to the edge she had brought him. ‘Come here, then,’ she murmured, standing up and gently pushing him down onto the bed behind him. He moved his hands briefly over the covers, feeling the silky textures of the bedspread he was lying on, before reaching back out to find her body as she settled over him.

‘I find myself wishing to do all manner of illogical things with you,’ he said softly, tracing his fingers over the contours of her hipbones. ‘Christine, I am truly sorry for my behaviour earlier,’ he said earnestly after a few moments.

She leant forward, touching her finger to his lips. ‘I thought you said no more words,’ she reminded him, before replacing her finger with her mouth.

He returned the kiss, tasting the depths of her mouth again, before taking hold of her arms and using his Vulcan strength to physically lift her off him and roll her onto her back on the bed, kneeling beside her on the mattress and letting his hands roam over her smooth body. He brushed his hand down her torso, across the flatness of her stomach and into the hair below, exploring the valleys there with his fingertips. She moaned as he brushed his fingers across the nub of her clitoris, down to find the eager wetness and then back up to stimulate her there again. He bent and found her firm breasts with his mouth, stroking his tongue over the hard buds of her nipples, letting his teeth catch on them as his fingers roamed between her legs.

‘Oh, please…’ she murmured, reaching out to curl her fingers around his throbbing erection.

He heard the need in her voice, matched by the sudden surge of need in his own body as she moved her tight fist up and down on him. He moved closer, gently parting her legs with his own and guiding his hardness towards her. He was burning with need, and the human cool of her body as he slipped inside was simultaneously like a balm and like fuel to his fire. He was aware of nothing but the feeling of her body around him, and of the sharp, trembling sparks of pleasure that were washing through him, tightening his scrotum, shivering through the depths of his abdomen, urging him to thrust harder and faster until suddenly everything released in a climax that made him utter a wordless, animal cry of pleasure.

He came back to himself, realising that he was lying limp over her body, and that she was lying under him giving little moans of satisfaction that made his heart swell with affection towards her. He lay over her, trying to steady his breathing, pressing the side of his face against hers, wondering if the dampness between their cheeks was his sweat or hers. He touched his hand to her head, feeling the strands of her hair over her face, and the shape of her cheek and then her curved lips that revealed that she was smiling. For a brief few minutes until that moment he had become blissfully unaware of his own blindness.

‘You are satisfied,’ he said finally.

There was a long silence, and then she said in a trembling voice, ‘Oh, yes.’

‘I am glad.’

They lay in silence for a long while, until Spock realised that the warmth and sense of contentment was lulling him into sleep. He stirred himself, finally moving away from her and turning onto his side.

‘Do you wish to cleanse yourself?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ she said, but he could hear a level of uncertainty in her voice.

‘What is wrong?’

‘I – guess you’ll want to go now – get back to your duties,’ she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

‘I do not have any pressing duties at this time,’ Spock said instantly, before registering the emotional overtones of what she had said. He reached out to touch her face, allowing a smile to touch the edges of his mouth. ‘Christine, I did not do this merely to satisfy my lust, and then move on. I do not intend to leave this room now and forget what we have just shared.’

‘Then – ’

‘I do not suggest we move directly into a long term relationship bound by contract, but – I would be very content if we were to continue in this vein – in private, at least. Now – I believe I will need your help to locate what I need in the bathroom. Would you assist me?’

‘Of course I will, Mr Spock,’ she said in a voice rich with happiness, reaching out to his hand as he stood. ‘Come with me and I’ll show you where things are. Do you want a shower, or will the washbasin do?’ she asked as they moved into the bathroom.

‘The basin will be sufficient,’ he said, moving towards where he expected it to be.

‘Here’s a cloth, and some soap,’ she told him. ‘Towels are on the rail just below the counter to your right. I’m going to pop in the shower.’

‘Since that was your intent when I arrived and interrupted you,’ Spock said with a look of muted amusement on his face.

He washed himself briefly, listening to the noises of Christine in the shower, then found his own way back into her quarters, grateful that he was alone so that he could manage to do what he wished without anyone watching his uncertain movements. He found the cooking alcove and felt carefully on the shelves above for cups and a teapot. Then he held the water heater beneath the dispenser, hooking one finger over the edge to feel when the water neared the top. There were a number of tins at the back of the cooking area, and by sniffing and carefully touching the contents he found one containing what seemed to be Earl Grey tea, and put two spoonfuls in the teapot. The water had just boiled when he heard Christine re-enter the room, a warm, moist aura of evaporating shower water and scented soap surrounding her movements.

‘You made tea!’ she said, coming up behind him.

‘I am attempting to make tea,’ he corrected her. ‘Perhaps you could help me by pouring the water into the pot?’

‘Just pour it in at a regular speed, and count as you do it,’ she said. ‘I’ll tell you when to stop. It’s the same regulation issue pot as you have in your quarters, so all you need to do next time is count to the same number at the same pace.’

‘Ingeniously simple,’ Spock nodded.

‘You might want to put this on first,’ she told him, putting a heavy towelling garment into his hands. ‘It’s a bath robe. I think it should fit.’

‘Thank you,’ he said, putting the robe on and tying the belt around his waist. He resisted the urge to ask what colour it was – it was largely irrelevant, and he would have to get used to not knowing such details. He picked up the water heater, carefully putting the spout to the top of the teapot. He began to pour, counting aloud slowly and steadily as he did.

‘Stop,’ she told him, just as he reached seven, and he set the container down. ‘Now pour it into the cups with the same system,’ she said when the liquid had brewed. She watched as he counted, telling him when to stop with the first mug, and letting him judge for himself with the second. ‘There. If you need to work it out for anything else, just do it with cold water first so you can feel when it reaches the top. Shall I carry them over to the table?’

‘It seems best,’ Spock nodded. ‘I am not familiar enough with the layout of your quarters to be confident carrying them.’

‘I’ll put them on the side table between the armchairs,’ she said, moving across the room and putting them down.

‘Thank you,’ he nodded. He began to move cautiously towards where he remembered the chairs to be, holding his hand out before him and keeping to the right so he could pass around them – but before he reached them his fingers encountered something near the side of the room that felt like piano keys.

‘You have a piano?’ he asked, depressing one of the keys and hearing a note resonate through the room. ‘I did not know you played?’

‘I was brought up in a wealthy New England family of doctors,’ she said wryly. ‘Playing the piano was obligatory. It’s a keyboard really – an electronic synthesis of my piano back on Earth. I don’t have room for anything more in my quarters.’

‘May I?’ Spock asked, feeling for the stool and seating himself on it.

‘I didn’t know you played.’

‘My mother taught me,’ he said, letting his hands move delicately up and down the keys without depressing them. ‘But I do not often have access to a piano.’

‘Well, you’re very welcome to use mine, if you – can you play from memory?’

‘I have always been able to,’ Spock nodded. ‘Although it is a long time since I have had access to a piano.’

He sifted through the memories of music in his head, and picked something to play. He began hesitantly, but the more he played the more he realised that not seeing the keyboard made no difference to his playing – if anything the darkness around him enhanced his appreciation of what he was hearing. The mathematical complexities and emotional overtones of the piece flowed through and around him, until he was almost unaware of not being alone in the room.

He finished the piece, and laid his hands in his lap, pulling himself back to reality. Music had always acted almost like meditation to him – it did not control his emotions in the same way, but it seemed to centre and calm him, drawing him away from the irritations and difficulties of everyday life until they ceased to matter. And of course, it had the secondary benefit of giving gratification to those around him. He could sense the pleasure that his playing had given emanating from Christine.

‘I am grateful that there is at least one thing that isn’t too affected by my blindness,’ he said, standing up and stowing the stool carefully back under the keyboard. ‘Now – I imagine my drink has become cold.’

‘It’s not too bad,’ she said, touching his arm. ‘Here. Sit down, and I’ll pass it.’

‘You say your family is from New England,’ Spock said as he sat. ‘My mother is also from that area – Boston, in fact. I have visited family there on a number of occasions.’

‘Human family,’ she mused.

‘Yes,’ Spock nodded. ‘To say that they regard me as an oddity is an understatement. I do believe that some of them do not think I am truly related to them. My cousins are more accepting – after all, we are all virtually the same age – but I cannot say the same for my aunts and uncles.’

Christine smiled at the image of Spock sitting in the middle of a very human family gathering, pondering on the rationality of pastimes such as dancing or blowing out candles on a cake.

‘I cannot imagine what they would make of me in my present condition,’ he continued. ‘My grandparents would welcome me, but they are of a considerable age, and the others…’ He shook his head. ‘I believe they already consider my mother mad for marrying a Vulcan man. If I called upon them to help me in my present situation…’

‘You shouldn’t need to,’ Christine told him firmly, touching his knee with her hand. ‘Really, you’re perfectly capable of living an independent life. And if you did need help, surely your parents would be willing?’

Spock shook his head, a slight tightening around his lips speaking of repressed tension. ‘My relationship with my father is – problematic at best,’ he said. ‘He – disagreed with my choice of career. I have not spoken to him in quite some time.’

‘Well, surely this transcends a disagreement about Starfleet,’ Christine protested. ‘Surely?’

Spock sighed, clasping his hands together in his lap. ‘My disability is a direct result of my career in Starfleet. I cannot turn to my father now. I can hardly turn to Vulcan. If Command does not allow me to keep my position, then I will go to Earth – Boston or San Francisco. There are at least some places that are familiar to me there. I could perhaps employ help at first. I – suppose a disability pension would allow me that…’

‘You wouldn’t need help – you’d have me,’ she said firmly.

Spock raised an eyebrow. ‘You would give up your medical career to aid me?’

‘You forget I gave up my medical career – my doctor’s career – to join the Enterprise, Mr Spock. Returning to Earth would give me a chance to finish my training. But anyway, this is all completely hypothetical. You don’t know what Command might decide yet. You have a whole month before you have to even begin to prove you can do your job.’

‘That is true,’ Spock nodded. He moved his bare feet on the floor, feeling the carpet under his toes. It seemed thicker than the carpet in his quarters – perhaps another touch from home. ‘Since I have that long, perhaps I should put aside such concerns for tonight. I think, perhaps, we should eat, and talk, and then return to your bed and – perhaps – sleep.’

‘That sounds like a very good idea, Mr Spock.’

******

Spock snapped his eyes open at the first wail of the siren, momentarily disoriented until he remembered where he was. He could feel the warmth of another body close next to him, one hand lying on his chest, and another curled warmly over his hip, and could tell that she was awake too. The red alert light was pulsing in the darkness, making his vision lighten to a dim red each time it came on.

‘I’ll find your clothes,’ she said crisply before he could ask her.

He nodded, grateful at her immediate assumption that he would be going to duty stations, or at least going to find out what had happened, rather than trying to persuade him of the many reasons why he should not.

‘Christine – ’ he said, catching her arm as she began to get up.

‘Yes?’

He sat up beside her, stroking his hand down the smoothness of her arm. ‘I – find this exceedingly pleasant,’ he said carefully.

‘I’m glad,’ she said. He could hear the smile in her voice. His vision brightened as she pressed the manual light switch by the bed. ‘So do I. Now – that’s your underpants, and your pants, both right side out,’ she said, pressing them into his hands. ‘I’ll go find the rest of your clothes.’

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, carefully working out the correct orientation of his clothes before slipping them on. He forced himself to push aside the uncertainty he felt at sitting blind in surroundings he knew so little about – or, at least, he pushed aside the frustration – he could do little about the uncertainty. He stood up, reaching out to the room divider he assumed was in front of him. The fact that it was precisely where he had expected helped to alleviate his insecurity a little – but the anonymous objects his fingers touched on the shelf below reminded him just how little he knew about this room. He moved very carefully around the divider, meeting Christine as she came back with his clothes.

‘Your undershirt,’ she said, putting it into his hands, helping him as he donned first that and then his blue uniform shirt. ‘Here. Boots and socks. You look just fine,’ she told him as he tugged his top down to straighten it.

‘Can you accompany me to the bridge?’

‘I can accompany you to the elevator. I’m not dressed for appearing on the bridge.’

‘That is as much as I need,’ Spock nodded. ‘Thank you.’

‘Besides, tongues might wag,’ she said cynically as she hurried with him to the door.

‘That is beyond doubt,’ he nodded.

Chapter 6

‘Report,’ Spock said briskly as he stepped onto the bridge. He was not certain of who was there, but he was sure that the captain was not as yet. ‘Shut that alarm off,’ he snapped. It was too difficult to hear what was around him with that noise whooping in his ears. The noise died away, and he let out breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding.

‘A ship’s left the planet’s surface, sir, heading out of system,’ came the reply from the helmsman’s station. It wasn’t a voice he immediately recognised – he rarely came into contact with the night crew.

‘Specify,’ he said, moving forward carefully towards the steps down to the captain’s chair, trying not to look too uncertain. He sensed a ripple of surprise about him as he moved, as if the bridge crew had assumed he had recovered his sight, and had suddenly realised their mistake. Nobody seemed to have the nerve to offer him help.

‘Azura class, capable of Warp 6, equipped with ship-to-ship photon torpedoes,’ the helmsman replied. There was puzzlement evident in his voice, although he said nothing directly about the First Officer’s condition.

‘We detect nine people on board, sir,’ a softer female voice chimed in from the science station. ‘Some are possibly children.’

‘And the alien creatures?’ Spock asked. He reached the captain’s chair, sensing from the weight of its swing when he touched it that it was occupied. ‘Thank you, Commander - ’ He hesitated, uncertain of who he was attempting to relieve.

‘Lieutenant Commander Paul, sir,’ the man replied, getting out of the chair after a moment’s hesitation. ‘Sir, are you able to - ’

‘I am quite able, thank you,’ Spock nodded, cutting him off.

‘There are a number of alien creatures on board,’ the woman at the science station said as he sat. ‘They don’t register as normal lifeforms so they’re hard to count – but they’re there for sure, sir.’

‘Sir, with all due respect, I don’t think I should give up command to a blind man,’ Paul said awkwardly, not moving from his position beside the chair.

‘You already have, Commander,’ Spock said flatly, without turning his head. ‘Stay where you are, if you wish. Advise me. But while the captain is absent you will take my orders.’

‘Yes, sir,’ he said in a rather abashed tone. ‘I had to raise my concerns, sir.’

‘I understand,’ Spock nodded stiffly, trying not to let his pride interfere with his knowledge that in Paul’s place he would have precisely the same worries – and would probably have absolutely refused to relinquish command. ‘Helm, will the vessel submit to a tractor beam?’

‘Only for a few minutes at most, sir,’ the helmsman said.

‘That is enough. Use it, immediately.’

‘Beam on, sir. They’re fighting, but it’s holding for now.’

‘I understand the cargo bay has been transformed into a secure holding area?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Does the Denevan ship have shields raised?’

‘They keep flicking on and off, sir,’ the science officer told him. ‘It’s almost as if they can’t make up their minds.’

‘Someone is fighting the aliens’ influence,’ Spock said grimly. He understood only too well the pain that that person must be going through. ‘If they keep fighting, they will die. As soon as the shields are dropped, beam the ship’s occupants to the cargo bay. Communications, warn medical staff and security to be on hand. As soon as they are clear of the ship the aliens will have no way of controlling it. At that point we can - ’

‘Beaming now, sir,’ the science officer cut across.

‘Excellent. Helm, set our course directly towards the sun. As soon as we are within viable range, use the tractor beam as a sling to hurl that ship into the sun.’

‘En route now, sir.’

‘There’s a glow from the port nacelle,’ Paul suddenly cut in. ‘Where the tractor beam’s exerting the most stress.’

‘Describe,’ Spock snapped urgently, turning his head towards the commander.

‘Pale green, brightening to white at the centre.’

Spock closed his eyes, tightening his hands on the arms of the chair. The need to see was overwhelming. ‘Helm, are we within range of the sun?’

‘Just about, sir.’

‘Then release that ship, now, and retreat. Raise shields.’

The sound of buttons hurriedly being pressed and commands given was acknowledgement enough for his order. A moment later the ship rocked with the force of the explosion, setting off alarm chimes all about the bridge.

‘Mute those alarms,’ Spock said, trying to keep his voice level. ‘Damage reports?’

‘Nothing as yet, sir,’ came the reply from communications. He could just hear the digitised voices of crewmembers checking in from all decks of the ship, presumably through the officer’s earpiece. ‘No injuries, no hull damage.’

‘The ship’s destroyed,’ the science officer put in. ‘No signs of the aliens surviving. The explosion and the light together must have done for them.’

‘The tractor beam must have set off a phase explosion,’ Spock explained, registering Paul’s unspoken puzzlement at his side.

‘I’ve – never seen one, sir,’ he said, sounding shaken.

‘Occasionally the frequency of the tractor beam can cause a cascade reaction in the warp nacelle. The green tone of the light emitted is a major indicator. If you had not noticed and reported it, we may have been subject to the same reaction due to feedback through the tractor beam.’

‘And if you hadn’t recognised it for what it was, sir,’ Paul said in a hollow tone.

‘Then we may agree that we were both necessary during this emergency, Mr Paul,’ Spock nodded. He turned swiftly as the turbolift doors opened, and he sensed the presence of Kirk entering the bridge. ‘Captain,’ he said in a level tone.

He sensed Kirk’s surprise, but the captain was tactful enough not to voice it.

‘Damn turbolift malfunctioned,’ he said tersely, jumping the steps to the well in the centre of the bridge. ‘I was stuck between decks three and two for a full five minutes. What happened?’

‘A ship left the planet’s surface. It has been destroyed, and the crew beamed aboard the Enterprise,’ Spock said succinctly.

‘I felt the turbulence.’

‘Yes. The resonance of the tractor beam set off a phase explosion within the warp nacelle of the ship.’

‘If Commander Spock hadn’t recognised it it would’ve taken us out too, sir,’ Paul put in. ‘We released the ship into the sun just in time.’

‘Report from the cargo bay, sir,’ the communications officer cut in. ‘The crew have been treated, and are recovering. Five adults, a teenager, and three children below the age of ten. Doctor says the littlest ones were close to death when they received them.’

Spock heard the captain exhale in a mixture of relief and awe. ‘Well,’ Kirk said slowly. ‘Want to come down and see how they’re getting on, Commander Spock?’

‘Of course, Captain,’ Spock nodded, getting to his feet. ‘Mr Paul, you have command.’

He followed Kirk to the turbolift, concentrating hard on his movements so as to avoid being seen clutching his arm for guidance. The space around him narrowed, and he heard the lift doors close behind them.

‘Cargo deck,’ Kirk ordered. ‘You did well, Spock,’ he said as the lift moved off.

‘I did what I was required to do,’ Spock countered. ‘I was the first senior officer on the bridge.’

‘Yes – and you did well,’ Kirk repeated. ‘But – ’ he began awkwardly after a moment.

‘Yes, sir?’ Spock asked.

‘I – shouldn’t condone you taking command in – well, in your condition,’ Kirk said softly. ‘You’re not technically fit for duty.’

‘However, I did adequately perform my duty,’ Spock pointed out, although a dark disappointment had settled over him at Kirk’s words. He knew that he was not fully competent on the bridge, but knowing that was not the same as hearing someone else say it.

‘Yes, I know,’ Kirk told him. ‘And I trust you, Spock – I’d trust you with my life, blind or not. But 430 crewmembers are a different matter. I have to answer to Command for their safety.’

‘I – thought you believed me capable of functioning as your First Officer,’ Spock said slowly. ‘You said so yourself.’

‘Yes, I know – and I believe that you will be capable,’ Kirk said gently, reaching out to stop the lift for a moment. He knew that there was a wealth of insecurity and stiffly held pride distorting the Vulcan’s judgement at the moment. ‘But – not yet, Spock. Just – not yet. You need time to adapt, and you need Command’s backing.’

‘Of course,’ Spock said flatly.

‘I want you to be involved, Spock. I want you to keep on advising me and attending briefings, but the bridge is just – ’

‘Then am I to understand that I am not permitted on the bridge?’ Spock asked, clenching his hands together behind his back.

‘No, Spock,’ Kirk said, touching his arm. ‘No, I’m not banning you from the bridge. But – I can’t let you take command up there – not just yet. I’d get roasted if anything happened. You do understand?’ he asked carefully.

‘Yes, Jim, I do,’ Spock said quietly. He understood perfectly. He even agreed with Kirk’s logic and reasoning – but still, he could not help the feeling of uselessness that overcame him at Kirk’s words.

‘I – hate saying it to you, Spock,’ Kirk said awkwardly. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘There is no need for apology,’ Spock said flatly. ‘You are the captain of this ship. Your responsibility to the ship and crew must come ahead of your personal feelings.’

‘Maybe, but I don’t have to like it,’ Kirk said in a low voice.

‘There is very little to like about this situation,’ Spock said in a similar tone.

‘No. Well – we need to get to the cargo bay,’ Kirk said, changing the subject before things became too negative. He released the button, allowing the lift to move on. ‘Here,’ he said as the lift doors opened. ‘We’re on the cargo deck.’

Spock made to leave the lift, but touched his hand to his hip as he did with a distracted, ‘Oh – ’

‘What is it, Spock?’ Kirk asked him.

‘I – have forgotten the cane,’ he said, soundly oddly reluctant to admit to it. ‘I did not bring it with me when the alarm went off.’

‘Where did you leave it?’ Kirk asked casually. ‘I’ll get someone to fetch it for you.’

‘Oh, no, that’s not necessary,’ Spock said quickly. ‘I can get it myself.’

‘It’s crazy for you to walk through the whole ship to get it. I can page someone nearby to bring it down.’

‘It – is in private quarters, Captain,’ Spock said even more reluctantly.

‘Oh,’ Kirk said, his voice sharpened with sudden interest. ‘Whose quarters, Spock? I’m guessing not yours?’

‘No, not mine,’ Spock replied. Kirk had the distinct feeling that if he could see he would be deliberately avoiding Kirk’s eyes. ‘It doesn’t matter. I can manage without it.’

‘Spock, would the quarters belong to Christine Chapel?’ Kirk asked slyly.

Spock cleared his throat. ‘Yes. I – visited Nurse Chapel’s quarters earlier to – discuss a matter with her. I clearly recall putting the cane down beside my chair, but I neglected to pick it up when the alarm went off.’

‘Mr Spock, it’s three in the morning,’ the captain pointed out.

‘Yes, Captain,’ Spock replied, looking disconcerted.

‘Spock – you do know what you’re doing, don’t you?’ Kirk asked awkwardly. There was something about the Vulcan’s bearing that suggested he had done far more than simply discuss something with the nurse.

The Vulcan stiffened with sudden annoyance. ‘Captain, when I lost my sight I did not simultaneously lose my reason, as both you and the doctor appear to believe. I am quite capable of conducting my own affairs without consultation – with either of you.’

‘It’s just a little human concern for a friend, Spock,’ Kirk told him softly. ‘For both of you. You’re in a difficult place at the moment.’

‘I am well aware of that, Captain,’ Spock said stiffly. ‘I am bombarded with constant reminders of the fact.’

‘You can’t blame us for caring, Spock,’ Kirk said in a faintly hurt tone.

‘I do not,’ Spock said, sounding suddenly tired. ‘I’m sorry, Jim. I do not mean to be unappreciative of your friendship.’ He reached out for Kirk’s arm, finding it after a brief moment. ‘We were en route to the cargo bay, were we not? Since I am without the cane – for whatever reason that may be – perhaps you would be kind enough to assist me?’

******

The noises in the cargo room were disparate and widespread, echoing off walls and metal containers and combining to create a dissonance that confused Spock’s senses. He could not quite bring himself to let go of Kirk’s arm – he could not be sure enough of discerning his footsteps and movements from all the others around. The noises of instruments working and people talking and children crying were just too much to separate and locate.

‘Captain…’ he began uncertainly. He could not help flinching momentarily as he heard the distinctive whine of the light beginning in a treatment chamber.

‘You okay with this, Spock?’ Kirk asked in concern, noticing his reaction.

‘Of course, Captain,’ he said, reasserting his control. ‘Can you describe the scene?’

‘There’s a woman just gone into the treatment chamber. I think she’s the last. Two other women, and two men – all thirties to forties, I’d guess. A teenaged boy, maybe fifteen, and three little kids – aged about six to eight. Some of them are in a bad way – one of the women and both men are on gurneys. Two of the kids are too, but the teenager and one of the little girls seem fine.’

‘It sounds – chaotic.’

‘It is, what with people and medical equipment and containers everywhere. I wouldn’t advise walking around on your own.’

‘Medical personnel?’

‘Five nurses, Dr McCoy, and Dr Phillips. Bones,’ he called, raising his voice. ‘How are they doing?’

‘Not bad, thanks to Spock,’ McCoy said gruffly, coming over to them. ‘Two of the kids are quite weak, but they’re not in danger now. They essentially need rest and some good nutrition. I don’t think being occupied by one of those parasites makes you think much about taking care of yourself.’

‘It does not,’ Spock said earnestly. ‘I do not believe I would have eaten at all in the past week without external prompting.’

‘You wouldn’t eat half the time anyway without external prompting,’ McCoy grumbled. ‘Oh – ’ he said, as there was a flurry of running feet, and something suddenly barrelled headlong into Spock’s legs. Spock stumbled backwards, then recovered his balance.

‘Hey, there. Careful!’ Kirk said, with perhaps more of an edge in his voice than normal. Spock could hear that his voice was tilted downwards – he guessed towards the one child who was not unwell.

‘Sorry! Sorry,’ Spock heard a small female voice say breathlessly, then, ‘What’s wrong with that man, mummy?’ and a woman’s voice in an undertone saying, ‘Shh, Emmie.’

‘But, mummy, what’s wrong with him?’ she insisted. ‘Why’s his eyes funny?’

‘I am blind. I cannot see,’ Spock said flatly, struck by the fact that that was the first time he had described himself in such a way to a stranger. A dull sense of acceptance seemed to come down over him. It was a feeling that descended at intervals, and then was pushed away again by one of the stronger negative emotions Christine had listed – but it was coming to him more and more.

‘Why?’

Spock hesitated, then decided the truth was the simplest explanation. ‘I was infected by the parasite on Deneva. I was the test subject for the treatment in its early stages. The light blinded me.’

‘Why?’ the little girl said, unfazed by his explanation.

‘Because we had not refined the type of radiation needed to kill the creature,’ Spock said.

‘Why?’

Spock sighed. ‘It does not matter why. That is what happened. That is the end of it.’

There was a long silence, then she said, ‘How do you do stuff without seeing?’

‘With difficulty.’

‘Does it make you sad?’

Spock closed his eyes briefly. ‘It does not make me happy. Captain, may I be excused?’ he asked.

‘Of course,’ Kirk said softly, registering his discomfort. ‘Excuse me,’ he nodded to the woman in front of them, then turned with Spock towards the door. ‘Do you want me to take you back to your quarters?’ he asked in an undertone. ‘I need to stay on duty down here, but I can take a few minutes.’

‘Just to the elevator, please, Jim. I can manage from there.’

******

He made his way not to his own quarters, but to Chapel’s. He pressed the doorchime and waited pensively, hoping that she would hear the noise. There was no logical reason why he required company – but he felt an overwhelming urge to not be alone. His sense of being adrift and helpless in the confusion in the cargo bay had taken him by surprise, and he had a strong desire to be anchored to another person, in quiet and calm.

He heard the faint sound of movement from within, and then the door slid open.

‘Come on in,’ she said, sounding as if she had just woken from sleep. He imagined her standing there with that silken dressing gown on, her hair tousled from her pillow. He could smell and feel the warmth of bed radiating from her body.

‘I did not mean to disturb you,’ he said apologetically, following her in through the door. ‘But I left the cane here…’

‘Oh,’ she said, sounding faintly disappointed. ‘Then you wanted to get back to your rooms?’

‘I do not,’ Spock said honestly, shaking his head. ‘I wanted to lie with you in your bed, and wake up with your arms about me, as I did when the red alert sounded.’

She took him into her arms, giving him the hug that he seemed to need. He could feel her surprised joy at his statement, and wondered how long it would take before she stopped being surprised by his desire to be with her.

‘Were you all right on the bridge?’ she asked, releasing him from the hug. ‘You managed?’

‘I managed surprisingly well,’ he said. ‘But – I am tired. I am still recovering from the past week – and it is astonishingly tiring doing everything in the dark.’

‘Emotionally as well as physically, I’m guessing,’ she said softly.

‘Yes,’ he admitted. ‘Emotionally as well.’

‘Care to talk about it?’ she asked.

Spock shook his head. ‘I – am not sure what to say – except that perhaps I thought if I tried to continue as normal I would be able to manage, and – I am learning that that is patently untrue. There are so many things that I cannot manage and I – don’t know how I am to overcome that problem…’

She hugged him again, stroking his back with her hand.

‘Come on,’ she said softly. ‘Come to bed, and sleep, and – ’

‘It will seem better in the morning?’ he asked with his eyebrow cocked. ‘That is what my mother would say – but I am inclined to believe that it will not be.’

‘Well, we can do what we can to make it so,’ she promised him.

‘Will you make me able to see this – or this?’ he asked, tracing his hand first over her hair and then down her cheek.

‘No,’ she said honestly. ‘But I will do what I can to make it easier for you.’

He nodded silently, following her guiding hand to her bed, trying to push away the dark, dispirited feelings that were crowding into his mind and threatening to take over. She was right – he had to sleep, and treat tomorrow as a new day. He lay down beside her, letting his face touch her hair, smelling the scent of it and feeling its softness across his cheek and mouth. He eased his hand over her body and found hers, exploring the feeling of her long fingers and perfectly manicured nails, before simply wrapping his fingers around hers and letting himself drift back into sleep.

******

Christine left him in the morning outside his quarters with a promise to visit later in the day, or at least in the evening if the daytime proved impossible. Spock entered his room suddenly feeling very alone after the closeness of the previous night. He could still smell the scent of her on him, still feel the slight pressure of her hand on his as she said goodbye, trying to show affection that would not be evident to other eyes. But even the assurance of Christine’s visit made him feel somewhat like a patient in a hospital. Now, alone, doubts began to crowd over him about the logic of spending so much time with someone who made everything so much easier for him. She had made him breakfast, helped him in the bathroom, helped him to dress, walked with him back to his rooms to make the journey easier. Alone, he felt incapable again.

But no. He shook his head, trying to separate rational opinions from the creeping insecurities that were masquerading as logic. With everything Christine had done for him, she had tried her utmost to help him learn to manage for himself. She had not strictly made him breakfast – she had gone through the replicator discs she possessed and given him the one he needed, and turned it to the right orientation for the slot. In the bathroom she had guided his hands when he needed it, but left him alone when he didn’t. She had organised his clothes only because she was at risk of running late, and walked with him back to his quarters guiding him with nothing more than her voice and her footsteps.

But still, here he was, alone in his quarters again, with little that he could do to occupy himself, when there was so much that needed doing. The ship needed its First Officer. Although… It was true that the ship seemed to be managing without him. He was not, perhaps, indispensable. He was certainly not irreplaceable. There were plenty of people capable of being the Enterprise’s First Officer, and plenty capable of being its Science Officer. Was it his own vanity that made him think he could not leave the ship – or was it just his own fear…

Spock clenched and unclenched his fists. He had not moved from where he stood just inside the door for the past five minutes. It was senseless to simply stand here, as if the lack of sight meant that he could not even move. It was obvious that the dark, listless cloud that had begun to descend last night was still hanging over him, and sitting alone in his quarters did not seem the best way to dispel it.

He moved over to the intercom and opened a channel.

‘Spock to Dr McCoy.’

‘McCoy here,’ the doctor replied in a tense-sounding voice. ‘What did you want, Mr Spock?’

‘I assumed you would want to check my eyes again, and I would like to discuss adaptations to the lab equipment with you,’ Spock replied, keeping the traces of his depression out of his voice. ‘When would you prefer that I come?’

There was a pause, then McCoy said, ‘I’ve had a hell of a night, Spock, with those people from the ship you destroyed. I’m still looking after them now. I don’t have time for your check this morning. Can you come see me later?’

‘Yes… Yes, of course,’ Spock said flatly, the emptiness flooding back into his voice. ‘Thank you, Doctor.’

He flicked the intercom off, and sat for a moment in stillness. No matter how little logic there was behind the feeling, he held a small hope with every check that the doctor would discover some way to restore his sight. He tried to suppress his feeling of disappointment, and turned his attention back to the Braille cards that Christine had laboriously prepared for him. It was becoming slowly easier to distinguish the difference between letters, but it was still a tedious, frustrating process, having to teach himself such a simple thing as reading. The pressure of the month he had to adapt enough to convince Command to let him keep his job was constant in the back of his mind. He was not even sure if he was convinced that he could do his job, let alone convincing a group of humans millions of miles away.

Finally he gave up and pushed the cards away. He wanted to do something – to do something purposeful and useful. He considered going down to engineering to see how the satellite production was progressing – the last update had put completion at 1100 hours. He pushed the intercom button again and called up engineering, but Mr Scott sounded so harassed and busy that it seemed unwise to complicate things with a visit. His experience in the cargo bay last night made him highly unwilling to enter the cavernous chaos of engineering when there would be no one with the time to assist him.

He sat back and closed his eyes. He was not on duty. He was not needed. There was no logical reason for him to visit engineering, or to be on the bridge, or to be anywhere but his quarters. He reached down to his left to find his lyre leaning against the wall, and began to pick out a melody.

Time passed, and he suddenly became aware that his intercom was beeping softly. He reached out and pressed the button, saying rather irritably, ‘Yes?’

‘Spock?’ McCoy’s voice replied. ‘Are you all right? I’ve been trying to call you on and off for the past half hour.’

Spock clenched his fingers over the neck of the lyre, and then relaxed them slowly. ‘I was occupied, Doctor. What did you want?’

‘I wanted to apologise for not having the time to see you. I know it’s important – but I have patients here who need urgent care.’ Yet again, there was a world of guilt in McCoy’s tone. How long would it be before his two best friends could talk to him without that undercurrent of guilt?

‘Yes, I understand that, Doctor,’ Spock nodded. ‘My case is not an urgent one.’

‘Can you come later in the afternoon? I promise I’ll make time for you.’

‘Doctor, we have already covered this,’ Spock pointed out.

‘Yes, I know. I just wanted to check you were all right.’

‘I am fine,’ Spock said firmly. ‘But I wish to rest. I am going to silence my intercom for now, Doctor. Since I am on sick leave there is no need for me to be on call.’

‘Okay, Spock,’ McCoy said reluctantly. ‘I’ll let Jim know. Sleep well.’

‘Thank you, Doctor,’ Spock said shortly, flicking the intercom off. He pressed the small button beside it that silenced the call sound, and put his lyre back down on the floor. He moved to his bed, but he had very little intention of sleeping. He felt weary and depressed rather than drowsy. He lay down on the mattress, letting his gaze fall on the indistinct, dim throbbing of the light from his meditation statue – but even that seemed a mockery of what his eyes should see. He turned over onto his side and hunched his knees up towards his chest, closing his eyes and waiting for something to change.

******

He must have drifted into sleep, and then into dreams, because the next thing he was aware of was the paralysing agony of the creature all through his body, cinching on every nerve, and of desperately trying to navigate a ship he could not see to try to get away from the pain. He woke with a scream in his throat, choking on it before it could become sound, and lay gasping in air, trying to reassert calm in his turbulent mind. The panic slowly drifted away, to be replaced by the dull nothingness again, and he lay still on his bed, pinned to the mattress by the knowledge that there was little else to do in his condition.

Then eventually he became aware of a change in the light again. It was something like the pulsing of his meditation statue – but he knew he could no longer see his meditation statue’s light so brightly, and it was coming from the other side of his bed. He realised gradually that it must be the silenced intercom flashing. He uncurled himself stiffly, and reached out his hand to the button.

‘Spock here,’ he said flatly.

‘Spock. I guess you’ve turned your intercom back on now?’ McCoy’s voice asked.

‘It is still silent. The flashing disturbed me. I can just perceive the light from it.’

‘Oh. Well, anyway, Jim wanted me to let you know – they’ve deployed the satellites, and your arrangement worked. The creatures are dead.’

‘I am gratified.’

‘Spock, are you sure you’re all right?’ McCoy asked carefully.

‘Apart from the obvious, I am quite well.’

‘Well, I’ve got a lull in sickbay right now – they’re doing exhaustive scans of the planet before beaming anyone up, to be sure that the creatures are all gone. I can do your eye exam, if you’re ready?’

‘I will be there as soon as possible,’ Spock said, his tone a very little brighter than before. ‘Thank you, Doctor.’

******

McCoy cut the channel on the intercom, glancing up as he did to see Kirk coming in through the door to his office.

‘Spock?’ Kirk asked, nodding towards the speaker. ‘I thought I heard his voice.’

‘Mmmm,’ McCoy said pensively, drumming his fingers on the desktop. ‘That’s not a happy Vulcan, Jim. It’s worrying at the best of times when he withdraws into his cabin – and this is certainly not the best of times.’

‘No,’ Kirk said concisely, sitting down in the chair opposite the doctor. He looked up, meeting McCoy’s eyes with a piercing look. ‘What about you, Bones?’ he asked. ‘You just closed out on me on the intercom. I told you it wasn’t your fault. You obviously don’t believe that.’

‘I’m the CMO of this ship, Jim,’ McCoy retorted. Anger had suddenly blazed in his eyes, pushing aside the pensive exhaustion, but it was obvious it was anger only at himself. ‘Spock wasn’t capable of making a rational decision – I should’ve seen that, no matter how much he protested he was in control. You can’t be in control when you’re in that much pain. He couldn’t’ve spared a moment of that Vulcan discipline to analyse his choices, against controlling that agony.’

‘You saw a way to cure him – and you cured him,’ Kirk reminded him. ‘That’s your job, Bones.’

‘You don’t cure an ingrown toenail by cutting off the toe, Jim!’ McCoy blazed. ‘I should’ve looked at all the alternatives. I’m not a barber-surgeon from the dark ages – I’m a scientist, just as much as Spock is.’

Kirk sat in silence, staring at the doctor’s face. It was hard to know what to say to alleviate that kind of guilt, when he felt the same degree of guilt himself, for many of the same reasons. They had all panicked. They had all seen a terrible threat to Spock, to a million people on Deneva. They had seen the parasite kill its victim with pain itself. All he had wanted to do, all McCoy had wanted to do, all Spock had wanted to do – was to stop that pain, the instant that they had found a way to do so. Christine Chapel had been the only person who had stuck to her duties, continuing resolutely to analyse the data as a scientist should, until the full conclusion was reached. It suddenly struck him that he should offer her a commendation for that diligence against what must have been overwhelming worry for the person she loved.

‘It’s done now, Bones,’ he said finally. He didn’t know what else to say against the doctor’s fury – in part because he knew that he was right. ‘We need to focus on picking up the pieces now. We need to do everything we can for Spock. I’m not going to see him shipped off to a desk job somewhere in Starfleet command. We’re going to do everything we can to try to fix this, whether that’s by helping him adapt or by getting him his sight back. I don’t care how much time and money has to be thrown at this thing.’

‘Getting him his sight back,’ McCoy murmured, looking at his own hands as if he doubted their ability to do such a thing. ‘All the authorities on the subject say it’s impossible.’

‘Bones, how many authorities are there on half-human half-Vulcan hybrid physiology?’ Kirk asked pointedly. ‘Apart from you, that is?’

‘Hmm,’ McCoy said darkly, still staring at his hands. ‘Well, that’s an ongoing process, anyway,’ he shrugged. ‘I’m spending any time I can on trying to work out what to do to fix this, but it’s not going to happen quickly. We need to work out what we can do for him right now. Palliative care, Jim. Rehabilitation, counselling…’

‘He seems to be managing quite well physically,’ Kirk said ‘But he doesn’t think he’s managing well. And you’re right – he is taking it hard. That’s obvious, no matter how much he protests logic and emotional control.’

‘I’m just so worried about him, Jim,’ McCoy admitted. ‘He’s in an emotional turmoil he can’t express, he’s cut off from his normal activities, he’s the most independent person on the ship being forced to depend on others for the most basic things. I’m worried he’s going to slip into depression, and I just don’t know how to deal with a Vulcan’s mental instability.’

‘Does anyone, Bones?’ Kirk asked with half a smile.

‘Well, I don’t know about that,’ McCoy admitted. ‘But I know that the topic of half-Vulcan, half-humans who suddenly lose their sight never cropped up in medical school.’

‘What about this thing between him and Christine Chapel?’ Kirk asked, scratching a fingernail on the desk before him. ‘What do you think about that?’

McCoy shrugged, shaking his head. ‘I don’t know, Jim. I’m an old country doctor. I’m not a relationship counsellor.’

Kirk leaned back in his chair, regarding McCoy with narrowed eyes. ‘Go on – as an old country doctor, as Spock’s friend – what do you think?’

McCoy sighed, glancing at the door as if to check they would not be overheard. ‘Well, there’s always been something between them,’ he said. ‘No matter how hard Spock tries to deny it, I’ve seen the way he looks at her when he thinks no one else is watching. Hell, he was practically buoyant when she decided to stay on the ship after that Roger Korby thing.’

‘You’re not worried he’s just turning to her for comfort?’ Kirk asked in a tone of concern.

‘Maybe he is,’ McCoy shrugged. ‘But, God knows, he needs someone to give him comfort. He’s suffered the kind of prolonged pain that’d drive any normal man mad – and now he’s blind. His entire life’s just been turned upsidedown. But if I know Spock, I doubt he’s anything but serious about this. Maybe this was just the catalyst – made him see things in a different light – if you pardon the pun. And she’s done a lot for him over the last few days to help him adapt. The quicker he starts to lead a more normal life again the better.’

‘Yes,’ Kirk said slowly. ‘Getting him mobile and independent – that needs to be our priority too. We can’t just leave it up to Nurse Chapel. Do you have what he needs on the ship, Bones?’

McCoy shook his head. ‘We’ve got hardly any of the devices he needs, Jim. It’s crazy,’ he muttered. ‘We’re just not set up for this kind of thing – and we should be.’

‘Bones, you can’t be set up for every eventuality,’ Kirk protested. ‘When was the last time anyone was blinded on this ship?’

He shook his head morosely. ‘Apart from small, temporary problems – never, in all my years of duty. But we don’t have anything, Jim. Christine had to get the workshops to handmake him a cane. Scotty’s jury rigging equipment for him. He needs access to his computer, he needs a speaking clock, he needs a Braille label-maker, a printer, a keyboard. Anything he uses with visual readouts needs to be converted to audio output. If Command let him stay in his job we should put Braille signs over all the written ones on the ship, there should be tactile strips at doorways and intersections. His bridge station and the command chair need conversions. And now he wants equipment so he can work in the lab. I don’t have time for all this now, Jim,’ he said in a strained voice, meeting Kirk’s eyes. ‘There’s too much to organise. There’re bodies unburied down there, with all the attending health hazards, people with pre-existing conditions exacerbated by the parasites, orphaned children, malnutrition, contaminated drinking water... I’ve got an entire planet’s medical welfare to think about…’

‘Then may I suggest that you first treat the planet’s doctors and nurses?’ a sonorous voice asked from behind him.

McCoy jumped, spinning round in his chair to see Spock standing just inside the doorway. ‘Good God, Spock, don’t do that. I didn’t know you were there.’

‘I am sorry I was not making more noise with the cane,’ Spock said somewhat morosely. ‘I regret that I am such a burden, Doctor. Would you prefer that I sit in my quarters drafting my resignation letter? Unfortunately I would have to request assistance, since I cannot use my computer.’

‘Spock, I didn’t mean you were being a burden,’ McCoy said tiredly, rubbing a hand over his forehead. ‘You caught the bad end of a bad conversation. I’ve just got so much to sort out at the moment, and I don’t want you to suffer because of it. I’m – well, I guess I’m feeling guilty because I want to focus on giving you everything you need, and I just can’t.’

‘Because you do not have the resources to deal with the casualties on Deneva,’ Spock pointed out. ‘Doctor, Deneva has a relatively large population. Surely they have equipment for the blind?’

‘Well, I guess they must…’

‘Then as I suggested, can you not treat the planet’s medical staff, get the hospitals back into operation, and perhaps also fulfil some of my needs with the help of those hospitals?’

McCoy sighed. ‘If we can locate them, if enough of them are still alive.’

‘I can use the communications system, Doctor,’ Spock said, beginning to sound impatient. ‘I am not occupied with anything else. I will do what I can to locate Denevan medical staff. I can also organise our security forces to rig up temporary stasis fields in public buildings and move the bodies into them until such a point as they can be identified and interred according to local custom. If you have not already organised it, of course, Jim,’ he added.

‘No – I came down here in part to get an idea from Bones about what needs to be done,’ Kirk told him. ‘Why don’t you get on it, Spock, and report back to me when you’ve finished?’

‘I will,’ Spock nodded.

‘Wait – let me check your eyes first,’ McCoy reminded him. ‘Jim, can you leave us to it?’

‘Sure,’ Kirk nodded, getting to his feet. He took a moment to touch Spock’s arm warmly. ‘Mr Spock, I want to see you in Rec Room 3 when you’re finished. I’m missing our chess games.’

‘Captain, I really don’t think – ’ Spock began.

‘That can be an order if you want it to be,’ Kirk said firmly. ‘The captain of this ship needs to keep his mind stretched, and you’re my most challenging opponent. My First Officer needs to keep his mind stretched, too, and I think following all the moves in your head will be a pretty good challenge.’

‘Yes, I imagine so,’ Spock nodded dubiously. ‘I will be there, Captain, if you so order it.’

‘Come through to the treatment room, Spock,’ McCoy said as Kirk left, touching his arm lightly. Spock followed his touch, although the route to the treatment room was becoming all too familiar. ‘I can tell you one thing that’ll interest you,’ the doctor said as he sat. ‘I’ve been running some tests on those goggles, and do you know what would have happened if you’d worn them?’

Spock raised an eyebrow, shaking his head. ‘I presume from your question that the result would have been somewhat unexpected?’

‘Well, for a start, the light was bright enough that the goggles wouldn’t have protected your eyes – it would have filtered in round the edges and through your tissues, and it probably would have left you just as blind.’

‘Yes, I suspected that might have been the case,’ Spock nodded thoughtfully.

‘And secondly, the make up of those goggles would have meant that once the light had penetrated them it would have reflected and magnified off the inside surface, and it could have physically burnt that whole area of your face. I – thought it might help a little to know that.’

‘It is gratifying to know that at least that one decision was the right one,’ Spock nodded. ‘Even if it was made for misjudged reasons.’

‘Oh, hell, that’s Peter Kirk’s alarm,’ McCoy said abruptly, as an insistent beeping began from his office. ‘Hold there, Spock. I’ll be back as soon as possible. It’s all right, Phillips, I’m going,’ he added as footsteps jogged into the room.

‘Want me to do this, Leonard?’ asked the voice of the Enterprise’s second doctor.

There was a brief hesitation, then McCoy said, ‘Do the scans. I’ll come back and analyse the results.’

‘Well, Commander Spock,’ Dr Phillips said as McCoy disappeared, coming further into the room. He was a tall, imposing man, and Spock was suddenly struck by how even his footsteps sounded hard and brusque. ‘Let’s get this over with. I’m sure you want to get back to your quarters.’

‘I am desirous of resuming my work, Doctor,’ Spock corrected him, curiously nettled by his assumption.

‘Of course. I’ll just dim the lights… There. Now, can you open your eyes wide for me please?’

‘Have you positioned the optical scanner?’ Spock asked curiously. He had not noticed it being moved into position.

‘Just want to do some preliminary checks first.’

Spock flinched as there was a sudden increase in the light levels very close to his eyes. Perhaps it was to do with the burning inside his eyes, but the sudden brightness was painful to him. He closed his eyes, letting the darkness soothe the pain away.

‘Your pupils are reacting to the light, Commander,’ the doctor said suspiciously. ‘You say you can’t see anything?’

Spock sighed. ‘I take it you have not read my notes, Doctor.’

‘You were supposedly blinded by a burst of very bright light. You shouldn’t have any light perception. Commander, you had a highly stressful week before this incident. Has Dr McCoy discussed the possibility of psychological causes of blindness?’

Spock stiffened, then pursed his lips together, beginning to get to his feet.

‘Commander, I’m not finished yet,’ the doctor protested, catching hold of his arm as he stood.

‘Release me, Doctor,’ Spock said icily. ‘If you cannot be bothered to read my notes before you see me, I see little reason to continue this consultation. I am blind because my inner eyelids have malfunctioned – hence my small degree of light perception. If you had even glanced at my notes you would know that. I will wait until Dr McCoy is free – or perhaps Nurse Chapel.’

‘I’m not sure that Christine Chapel is qualified to give you an unbiased examination, Commander Spock,’ the man said with a hint of mockery in his voice.

‘On what do you base that opinion, Doctor?’ Spock asked sharply.

‘When a patient is seen leaving a medical officer’s rooms at three in the morning, and that medical officer is wearing little more than an exceptionally short silk robe, I’d say that their medical judgement where that patient is concerned is liable to be less than reliable.’

‘That’s quite enough, Doctor,’ McCoy’s voice came crisply from the entrance to the ward. ‘Commander Spock can’t see because of damage to his inner eyelids, not because his optic nerves are shot – and I can’t see what his personal relationships with any of my staff has to do with the examination of his eyes.’

There was a brief silence, then Dr Phillips said, ‘Of course, Doctor. I apologise, Commander Spock.’

‘I’ll finish the examination,’ McCoy continued. ‘Thank you.’

‘Is the Captain’s nephew all right, Doctor?’ Spock asked.

‘He’s fine.’ He waited until Phillips had left the room, then came over to Spock, explaining, ‘He’d been moving in his sleep, and he’d knocked one of the sensors off his forehead. That was all.’

‘I take it you have treated him and killed the parasite?’

‘Yes. He’s not in such pain any more, at least. How a kid that age could stand it I don’t know.’

‘No,’ Spock said in a rather hollow tone. ‘Perhaps the creature did not exert such pressure on him – it may have considered him less useful. But even the smallest degree of that pain would have been agony to him. You say he is not in such pain?’

‘He’s still sore – strained muscles and joints, things like that. He’s recovering. I’ve got him pretty well sedated with painkillers. He – knows his dad’s dead, Spock. He doesn’t know about his mom yet. I’m not looking forward to him waking up enough to be told that.’

‘He at least has Jim here,’ Spock pointed out. ‘That may help him somewhat.’

‘Yes,’ McCoy said doubtfully. ‘But still – his entire world’s collapsed.’

Spock pressed his lips together, moving his hands on the cane he held as he sat back down on his chair. His situation was not identical, but he could sympathise well enough with the idea of adjusting to life-shattering change. McCoy seemed to realise that they were venturing into difficult territory.

‘Well, I’ll just have to deal with that when we come to it,’ he said, sitting down in front of Spock. ‘I’m sorry about Phillips, Spock. He’s – got some issues with xenophobia. I need to sit him down and give him some boundaries – especially on how he deals with senior officers.’

‘Yes, I am aware of Dr Phillips’ propensity for prejudice,’ Spock nodded. ‘I try to avoid consultation with him.’

‘How far did he get with your examination?’

‘Not far at all. He shone a very bright light into my eyes, Doctor,’ Spock told him. ‘I found it – quite painful.’

‘Let me have a look,’ McCoy said. ‘Can you bear with the pain?’

Spock nodded succinctly. ‘It is bearable.’

‘I take it he used this,’ McCoy said. Spock raised an eyebrow.

‘Doctor, I did not see what he used,’ he said patiently.

‘No, of course, I’m sorry. There’s a high intensity torch on the table. Something we use for surgery to illuminate difficult places. It’s far brighter than the normal light we use to check your eyes. I’m just going to shine it at your eyes, very quickly.’

Spock held still, resisting any reaction as the light flashed across his eyes.

‘Well, your pupil response is sluggish and limited,’ McCoy muttered, putting the torch down. ‘I’m going to have a look with the optical torch now. It should be less painful.’

The light brightened again, and Spock stayed motionless as McCoy’s fingers touched his skin, gently opening his eyes a little wider.

‘Well, I can see what’s happening. The damaged inner eyelids are holding your pupils more rigid than they should be, so they’re not expanding and contracting as much or as quickly as they need to,’ McCoy explained. ‘They’re quite dilated anyway because your eyes are struggling to get light in. You’ll probably find that you have disproportionately worse light perception for a minute or so when it’s darker, and that very bright lights will be painful to you. I don’t think I need to use the scope, Spock. It’s uncomfortable for you, and it won’t tell me any more that I need to know.’

‘You believe there is no change?’ Spock asked.

‘The optical torch registers the amount of light getting through. One point seven two percent. That’s the same as the last two checks. It’s possible that might increase a little as your eyes settle down – there’s some swelling in the tissues because of the burning – but nowhere near enough for useful vision – I’m sorry.’

‘I did not come here expecting anything, Doctor,’ Spock said. ‘Perhaps it is not necessary now to check my eyes every day?’

McCoy hesitated. ‘I don’t want to let you down on any changes that might occur at this early stage, Spock. I’d be happier if you came every day for this first week – at least until the swelling’s subsided. Then we can review the schedule of checks.’

‘Very well, Doctor,’ Spock nodded.

‘Spock, you and Christine – ’ he began cautiously as he moved to put the instruments away.

‘Yes, Doctor,’ Spock said with an air of great patience.

‘Was it true what Phillips was saying, about you leaving her room in the middle of the night?’ he said, coming back to the Vulcan

‘It was true,’ Spock nodded, declining to expand on that information.

‘You – er – should be careful, Spock,’ he said awkwardly. ‘You’re a senior officer – and you know what the rumour mill’s like on this ship. I’d guess that Phillips was already working from second-hand information – his quarters aren’t anywhere near Christine’s.’

‘Yes, I know,’ Spock nodded.

‘I’m not going to harp on about this, but just – don’t hurt her, will you?’

‘Doctor, do you believe that I am likely to apply what emotion I do allow myself in a fickle manner?’ Spock asked, standing up and extending his cane.

‘No,’ McCoy said slowly. ‘But – Hell, Spock, I’m allowed to worry about my friends – especially at a time like this.’

‘I appreciate your concern,’ Spock said quietly. ‘But it is unnecessary. Perhaps – you could allow yourself to be pleased, instead?’

‘Spock, anything that’s inclined to soften that lacquer you keep your heart in pleases me just fine,’ McCoy smiled. ‘Go on. I’ll stop probing into your private life now. You were going to try to locate Denevan medical staff. You can use my computer, if you want. It’s voice activated.’

Chapter 7

Spock discovered very quickly that using McCoy’s computer was not nearly as easy as he had expected it to be, despite it being voice activated. Organising security personnel to rig up morgues was not difficult – it was simply a question of communicating what was needed to the chief security officer and leaving it to him. Finding a list of registered medical personnel on Deneva was also easy enough, but trying keep the list with all of its names and locations and varied communicator codes in his head by listening to the computer repeat it was far harder, and having the computer repeat the list constantly to be certain of the facts was tedious at best. Despite having an excellent memory he was used to remembering such things photographically rather than aurally, and he was having to learn new memory techniques as he worked. Not being able to note anything down for quick reference was almost infuriating. Then when he used the codes he remembered most had no reply, or were answered by totally unrelated people who had no idea of the whereabouts of the person he wanted, or even if they were dead or alive.

‘Doctor, I don’t believe I am best suited to this work,’ he said eventually. He was tiring of having to ask McCoy for assistance each time he came into the office. ‘Even with oral access, this computer is far from appropriate for my needs. Far too many of its workings rely on visual interface.’

‘Here, have this. It’s coffee,’ McCoy said, putting a cup down on the desk.

‘More coffee?’ Spock asked with a raised eyebrow. McCoy had been plying him with coffee all afternoon. Spock wasn’t sure if this was still misplaced guilt working, or if the doctor genuinely believed that he needed such a high caffeine intake.

‘This is stop-working-and-drink-slowly coffee, instead of sip-as-you-work coffee,’ the doctor qualified. ‘I thought we could both do with a break.’

‘You are correct, Doctor.’ Spock reached out for the cup, and took a grateful sip.

‘You know, you’ve done more than you think,’ McCoy told him encouragingly, looking over his shoulder at the computer screen. ‘You’ve consolidated and organised the list according to speciality and location, you’ve worked out who’s missing, who’s definitely dead, who’s alive, who’s alive but unwell.’

‘Yes, I suppose I have,’ Spock nodded. ‘I instructed the computer to categorise as I worked. Ironically, I cannot see the list I have made.’

‘Well, why don’t you just send that list up to Uhura with an outline of what needs to be done, and let her finish off the organising? You’ve done the legwork. Things are about to kick off here in sickbay, casualty wise, so I won’t be able to help you for a while, and I’ll be needing my computer, too. You may as well go have that game of chess Jim wanted.’

‘That seems eminently sensible, Doctor,’ Spock said, turning back to the computer. ‘If you could save the data for me?’

‘Leave it to me,’ McCoy nodded.

Spock responded with a swift nod of his own, although he had been oblivious to McCoy’s. He drained his cup of coffee, then activated the intercom next to the computer and passed on his instructions to Uhura. Then he called up the captain.

‘Ready for that game of chess now, Spock?’ Kirk asked cheerily. A weight seemed to have lifted from him since the success of the satellites.

‘Yes, sir,’ Spock nodded. ‘However, may I make one request?’

‘Of course.’

‘To play the game in your quarters, rather than in the recreation room. I do not wish to be on display, Jim.’

‘That’s fine. I’ll see you there, Spock.’

******

‘That – should – be checkmate,’ Spock said with a note of query in his voice. He was sitting in Kirk’s cabin with his eyes closed, visualising the board in front of him, seeing Kirk’s hand moving the pieces for him.

‘It is,’ Kirk said. Spock heard the noise of the king being toppled over, and watched the king in his mind being pushed over by Kirk’s hand. ‘I’m impressed, Spock.’

‘I am – pleased – that I am able to play,’ Spock nodded. After two games, he had lost the first and won the second. He had followed almost every move – Kirk had only needed to correct him twice on the position of the pieces. ‘However, I do find it taxing in my current condition.’

‘Still feeling tired from this last week?’ Kirk asked him.

‘Tired enough to make this blindness more difficult. The blindness itself is tiring – or at least, constantly having to concentrate so hard on every little task is tiring.’

‘You seem to be managing very well, Spock,’ Kirk said in an encouraging tone. ‘I know I couldn’t do that well.’

Spock shook his head, a deeper tiredness seeming to creep across his face. ‘You do not see me every minute of the day, Jim. I have barely touched on the activities necessary for life, let alone for my job. It is – extremely frustrating to have to ask for help simply to pick out one’s clothes or toiletries, or to drop something on the floor and to have to spend ten full minutes searching for it when previously I would have been able to locate it instantly.’

‘I – To tell you the truth, I can barely imagine it, Spock,’ Kirk told him. More than that, he didn’t want to imagine it. He barely wanted to imagine what it must be like for Spock, let alone for himself. He had not expected it to continue to be so difficult, seeing his intense, intelligent, capable First Officer so uncertain of every move.

Spock shook his head, then got to his feet. ‘Excuse me, Captain,’ he said, moving towards the bathroom door. ‘I have drunk too much coffee today, I think…’ He took a step towards Kirk’s sleeping area, then hesitated, and asked, ‘You have not rearranged your rooms since I last saw them?’

‘I don’t think I’ve rearranged them in months, Spock,’ Kirk reassured him. ‘You’re quite safe – there’s nothing between here and the door.’

Spock nodded, and walked to the bathroom door, trying to put the confidence that his path was clear into his gait. Kirk watched him disappear through the bathroom door – and then he heard a clatter, and heavy thud of someone falling.

He came running into the shared bathroom to see Spock sprawled on the floor, the low laundry basket they shared lying on its side beside him. He suffered a pang of guilt as he realised he had pulled it out earlier to put his dirty laundry in it and forgotten to push it back in, not even considering that Spock would not expect it to be there. It was on the side of the room nearest his door, not in Spock’s normal passage into the room.

‘Spock, are you hurt?’ he asked.

Spock rose to his knees slowly, clenching his hand around his unextended cane. For a brief second anger flooded his emotionless face, and he threw the cane away from himself, so hard that a dent was left in the wall where it hit.

‘I cannot do this,’ he said suddenly, his voice shaking with uncontrolled anger. He raised his face in appeal to Kirk, and he saw a bruise developing on the underside of Spock’s jaw. ‘I cannot live like this, Jim, in this clumsy, helpless darkness. I don’t know what to do…’

‘Spock,’ Kirk sighed, coming across the room to him and kneeling down before him. He pulled him forward into a hug, closing his arms firmly around Spock’s shoulders.

‘Make me see, Jim,’ Spock whispered, pressing his face into Kirk’s shoulder, his breath sinking hotly into the fabric of Kirk’s top. ‘You must – be able to…’ He faltered off in the knowledge of the irrationality of what he was saying.

‘Oh, Spock, I would if I could,’ Kirk told him softly. ‘I’d do anything to take away the pain you’re in. I’m so sorry.’

‘I don’t know how to live like this,’ Spock said plaintively, his voice shaking as the effort to control failed.

‘It’s all right, Spock. It’s all right,’ Kirk whispered. He deliberately restrained himself from telling the Vulcan that it was all right to cry, for fear that bringing it to his attention would make him stop. He simply held him tightly as almost silent sobs racked through him, his entire frame shaking with emotion. After a long while the sobs turned into breathy gasps for air, and finally Spock pulled himself away from Kirk’s arms, trying desperately to compose his tear-streaked face into an emotionless mask.

‘Better?’ Kirk asked with a faint smile.

Spock did not reply. He got to his feet and painstakingly found his way over to the sink, where he bent to drink and rub water over his hot face. He felt for the towel and dried his face, putting it back meticulously neatly and exactly centred on the rail. Then he stood silently as if he did not know what to do next.

Kirk picked up Spock’s fallen cane, then went and touched a hand to his arm.

‘Come on, Spock,’ he said softly. ‘Come back into my quarters and sit down for a bit.’

‘I do not need to sit,’ Spock said blankly. ‘I need to see.’

‘I know,’ Kirk nodded. ‘But you can’t, and I’m so sorry, but I can’t do anything about it. But I can get you a drink and sit down and be with you, if that’ll help.’

‘I should not have allowed you to see me like that,’ Spock said, shaking his head, but he followed Kirk’s hand through into his rooms.

‘Spock, I’m your closest friend,’ Kirk said softly. ‘I’m not going to think less of you for showing emotion in front of me, especially not after the hellish week you’ve had. Come on, sit down here – it’s the armchair, not the desk chair. You look exhausted.’

Spock sat passively on the chair, staying motionless as Kirk left him, listening to the noises of glasses clinking against one another, and liquid pouring.

‘Drink up,’ Kirk urged him when he returned, putting a small, square glass into his hand. ‘It’s Romulan ale – I think you need it.’

‘You are aware that this is contraband?’ Spock asked automatically, putting the glass to his lips nevertheless. He closed his eyes as the liquid burned a fiery path down his throat, settling warmly in his stomach. Against all logic, the burning alcohol in his stomach made him feel a little better.

‘Are you going to arrest me?’ Kirk asked him playfully.

‘That would leave Mr Scott in active command,’ Spock said dubiously. ‘And I have no doubt that he has the largest store of contraband alcohol on the ship.’

He finished the small measure of liquid, then leaned back tiredly into the chair, resting the glass on his thigh. ‘Jim, I barely know what I am feeling at the moment,’ he said wearily. He heard Kirk lean forward and pour another shot of ale into the glass, and thought briefly of protesting – but instead he took another mouthful, taking an unusual pleasure in the subtle numbness that settled through him on drinking it. ‘Christine told me I may experience fear, anger and grief in varying degrees, but I can barely distinguish which is which.’

Kirk glanced at Spock swiftly, registering just how tired he must be to slip and use Nurse Chapel’s first name not just to her, but in front of another person.

‘Well, you know, the strangest thing about emotions is they don’t follow rules,’ he said. ‘Maybe you’re feeling all three, all mixed up together. I certainly saw a good mix of anger and grief back there. And I don’t blame you, Spock. No one would. You’ve had a horrific, incredibly sudden change to your life. You’ve lost one of your most important senses. I’m constantly amazed by just how well you’re managing.’

Spock closed his eyes, shaking his head. ‘I am trying, very hard. But it seems that every time I overcome one obstacle, another one takes its place. I can barely imagine one day stepping back onto that bridge for a normal shift.’

‘But you will,’ Kirk promised, pushing aside all of his own lingering doubts to give Spock the reassurance he needed. ‘I doubt when you first entered the Academy you could imagine being the First Officer of a starship – but you are now.’

‘When I first entered the Academy – I did not imagine one day giving my sight for my duty,’ Spock said quietly. ‘I – find it hard to believe that I will never see again – and yet I find it equally hard to believe that I will see. Will I never see your face again, Jim?’

There was a long silence. Spock waited, then asked carefully, ‘Jim, are you all right?’ He could sense a wealth of heavy, churning emotion from the captain despite the optimism of his reassurance to Spock.

‘This has been the most godawful week of my life, Spock,’ Kirk said finally. ‘Sam and Aurelan dead… To find him like that, just lying there… And Pete’s left an orphan, and you – what we’ve done to you…’ There was silence again, and he took in a breath that was shuddering with emotion. ‘I went to see him in the morgue, Spock. He’s – so perfect. There’s not a mark on him. He looks like he could get up and walk. Except for that – stuff – inside him where we can’t see, crippling him with pain until it killed him. He’s – he was my big brother, Spock. He was the strong one, the one who always knew what to do. It’s not meant to happen like this…’

‘Things rarely happen as they are meant to,’ Spock said sombrely, rotating his glass in his hands before taking another sip. ‘Or at least, as our perceptions of an ordered, logical progression of life tell us they should.’

His words fell into silence again, and he reached forward, feeling for Kirk’s shoulder. Beneath the silence he was just conscious of a raggedness in Kirk’s breathing.

‘Jim, you are allowed to feel emotion too,’ he said softly. ‘You are not on the bridge. You are in your quarters. You do not have to play the captain before me.’

‘I’m always the captain, Spock,’ Kirk said bitterly. He swallowed a deep mouthful of his drink, then refilled the glasses again. ‘It didn’t matter when I was standing in Sam’s living room looking down at his body. It didn’t matter when Aurelan died. I’m not allowed to stop and mourn.’

‘Jim,’ Spock said firmly. ‘Just now, here – you are. Please, trust me enough to let me see this – to let me help you.’

‘I can’t… I – ’ Kirk faltered, and then Spock could hear a real, unrestrained weeping that was impossible to contain any longer. He felt for the sidetable but couldn’t find it, so he carefully put his glass on the floor and leant forward, clasping Jim in a hug before he could think about the inappropriateness of the action. He could feel the sobs racking through Jim’s body, tightening well-developed muscles to an almost painful hardness under his hands. He tried to project feelings of calm and control through his touch, soothing his friend as far as possible without initiating a full meld.

‘Oh, dear God,’ Kirk murmured finally. ‘Look at us both! It’s like an old-style soap opera. I’m sorry, Spock. I’m sorry to drop so much emotion on you.’

‘You have suffered bereavement, coupled with great stress. It’s to be expected.’

‘Well…’ Kirk murmured. He watched as Spock felt for his glass by the chair, then bent to pick it up for him. ‘Here, Spock. Watch it – it’s quite full.’

‘Thank you, Jim,’ Spock nodded, taking another sip. He wasn’t accustomed to drinking so much at one time, but he felt that he needed it at the moment with the amount of unrestrained emotion in the room. ‘What will happen to Peter?’ he asked after another long period of silence.

‘I – don’t know,’ Kirk sighed. ‘Perhaps mom will be able to take him, but she’s – she’s not young any more, Spock. Technically I’m his legal guardian now – I’m his godfather, and Sam wanted me to take him if anything happened. But it’s not like I can have him here on the ship with me.’

‘You’ve said before that your brother had three sons?’

‘Yeah, the other two are a lot older. One of them’s at the Academy, the other one’s studying for a degree in law. They – well, they’re capable of taking him, but they’re not really old enough. It’s not fair to make them give up their education to support him…’

‘Perhaps if you helped them, financially, they could take care of him while continuing their education?’ Spock suggested. ‘Presumably he will be at school for at least a proportion of the day.’

‘Yeah, maybe,’ Kirk nodded. ‘But Deneva’s his home, Spock. He’s been here most his life. I don’t know…’

‘Peter himself may have an opinion, of course. And we have the time we are stationed here for you to decide.’

‘Yes, that’s one mercy,’ Kirk nodded. ‘Hell, he’s not even gained consciousness yet. It’s early days. I forget how little time’s passed. You know, when I think about it, you’ve come on incredibly well with all your adaptation techniques. You’ve had hardly any time at all, Spock.’

Spock raised his eyebrows in a shrug. ‘Perhaps. I am gaining an idea of what I can and cannot do. I am progressing with the Braille – although slowly. I have learnt a few small techniques for everyday tasks. As you have just seen, I perhaps need to adjust my ideas of where I do and do not need to use the cane. It – seems I cannot rely on familiarity. But I must find some way of interacting with the ship’s computers if I am to convince Command that I can continue on board the Enterprise, in whatever capacity.’

‘Maybe you could sit down with – No, you’re the chief of computing, aren’t you, Spock? I don’t know my own ship’s positions well enough.’

‘Lieutenant Susannah Morrell is the day-to-day computer technician.’

‘Well, you can sit down with her and sort out some adaptations. I doubt she’s too occupied with the Deneva crisis.’

‘She is also Chief of Supplies, and I imagine Supplies is rather overstretched at the moment,’ Spock pointed out.

‘Oh, well then, you should – Hell, Spock, I don’t know who you should sit down with,’ Kirk said with a sudden laugh. ‘I have far too little idea of that department…’

‘That is because computing is essentially my responsibility. Jim, are you quite all right?’ Spock asked in concern.

‘I’m a bit – ’ Kirk paused, then said, ‘Spock, do you know we’ve drunk almost an entire bottle of Romulan ale between us?’

‘Ahh,’ Spock replied. That would explain the odd, pervading numbness, the lack of balance and the curious difficulty he was having in control his inhibitions and responses. ‘I didn’t realise, without seeing it. You kept pouring…’

‘Yes, I know – I usually rely on you to stop me.’

‘I – do not wish to be inebriated, Jim. Not in my condition.’

‘Well, it’s a little late for that,’ Kirk said honestly. ‘Look, let’s go down to sickbay and get an anti-alcohol shot from Bones. I really ought to be sober at the moment – I need to be on the bridge in ten minutes – and like you said, it’s – well, it could be downright dangerous for you.’

******

‘You two do know the alcohol content of Romulan ale?’ McCoy asked critically as he released a hypo into Kirk’s arm.

‘Of course we do, Bones,’ Kirk said impatiently. ‘We just lost track, that’s all.’

‘You realise I’m not supposed to give out these shots like this – especially after the consumption of contraband alcohol,’ McCoy continued to complain, preparing the hypo for another shot. ‘There’s a reason it’s illegal. I should be reporting you to the Federation vice squad.’

‘Bones, it’s not as if you’re whiter than white when it comes to alcohol,’ Kirk protested. ‘And I’ve got to go – I’m almost late for my shift.’

‘Well, you should be fine now,’ McCoy said. ‘Just try to sit still for about ten minutes when you get to the bridge – and stay away from the blue stuff in future,’ he called after him as he left the room.

‘Doctor, I clearly recall a bottle of liquid of a light blue hue in the cabinet just behind you,’ Spock said pointedly. He was sitting very still on his chair, unwilling to move as the effects of the alcohol took greater hold in his body. ‘Am I to believe it is no longer there?’

There was a pause, then McCoy said grudgingly, ‘Well, that’s beside the point. This isn’t the time to indulge in drinking sprees.’

‘I am not descending into stress induced alcoholism, Doctor,’ Spock said flatly. ‘As the captain said, we simply lost track.’

‘Perhaps,’ McCoy said seriously, leaning on the edge of his desk in front of the Vulcan. ‘But most Vulcans do have addictive personalities, and I don’t think you’re any different. No, I know you don’t go for drugs or alcohol or food,’ he said as Spock began to protest. ‘But you are addicted to routine, to work, to ritual. You’re obsessive, no matter how much you try to control it. Hell, you’re obsessive about control.’

‘I am in control, Doctor,’ Spock said firmly.

‘You’re half human, Spock,’ McCoy pressed. ‘Alcohol has more of an effect on you than it does pure Vulcans. Like I said, I’m not saying you’ve got a problem – not after one incident at a time of high stress. I’m just asking you to take care.’

‘I always endeavour to take care, Doctor,’ Spock said seriously.

‘Well, I’ll give you this,’ he said, touching the hypo to Spock’s arm. ‘And I want you to go through to the ward and sit down there for ten minutes. I haven’t had cause to use this on you before, so I’d like you to stay where there’s help if you need it.’

‘As you wish,’ Spock nodded. He could already feel the sobering effects of the shot sinking through him like cold water. He felt almost disappointed as reality began to seep back.

‘The end bed’s empty – the one on the left. Now, I’ve got real emergencies to deal with. If you’re fine after ten minutes you’re free to leave.’

‘Thank you, Doctor,’ Spock nodded, moving to the door and finding he felt much steadier than before. He found the bed and sat down on it, waiting for the time to pass.

He had been sitting for about eight minutes when he heard noises of movement, and caught a sense of unshielded panic from the private room just off the ward where Peter Kirk was. He hesitated – but he knew that all the medical staff were busy, and Jim was occupied on his shift. He swiftly found his way into the little room, asking, ‘Peter? Are you awake?’

There was hesitation, then a small voice said, ‘Yes, sir,’ almost in a whisper.

‘You are on the Enterprise, Peter,’ Spock said, moving towards the bed. ‘You are quite safe.’

‘Is – is that Uncle Jim’s ship, sir?’

‘Yes, it is,’ Spock nodded. ‘Peter, can you tell me if there is a chair near the bed?’

There was a pause again, then he said, ‘Er – yes, over here.’

Spock closed his eyes briefly. ‘Peter, I am blind. Can you tell me which side the chair is on?’

‘Oh… It’s – er – it’s on the other side from you, up here by the pillows.’

‘Thank you,’ he said, moving round to the chair and sitting down. ‘I am Mr Spock – I am your uncle’s first officer.’

‘Oh – Uncle Jim’s best friend. You’re the really, really clever one, aren’t you?’

Spock raised an eyebrow. ‘I am a Vulcan,’ he said. ‘There are certain mental advantages.’

‘Can I call you Uncle Spock?’ he asked.

Spock tilted his head. ‘Factually inaccurate – but acceptable.’

‘Why are you – ’ The boy trailed off, but Spock knew what he had been about to ask.

‘I was blinded in an accident, just a few days ago,’ he said succinctly. ‘Peter, you have been treated to remove the parasite that was causing you pain. The doctor tells me you should be fine now.’

‘Is Uncle Jim helping my mom?’

Spock hesitated, touching the blanket with one hand, pondering on just what to say. Just for this moment he was thankful that he could not see, so he would not have to watch the boy’s face as he told him.

‘Peter – neither of your parents survived the parasites,’ he said finally. ‘We were too late for your father, and your mother died soon after we brought her to the ship.’

There was silence, but Spock could feel the crashing wave of distress provoked by his statement. His natural inclination was to slam down his mental shields against this torrent of emotion – to isolate himself and hope that someone more suited to the situation would intervene. But there was no one else. There was a small noise, like something being forced out through tightly closed lips – and then suddenly the boy was sobbing aloud. Spock reached out tentatively for the child’s arm, and then suddenly he was holding the boy in his arms, hugging him tightly against his chest, and alarms were ringing as the sensors monitored the sudden change in the boy’s readings. Spock was dimly aware of someone entering the room and then leaving again – and then a few minutes later someone else came running through the door.

‘Spock, it’s Jim,’ Kirk said, touching his shoulder. ‘I – guess he knows, then?’

‘Yes. He asked me about his mother,’ Spock said. He realised that he was stroking the boy’s head with one hand, but he didn’t dare stop for fear of increasing his distress.

Kirk came around in front of him, reaching out to the boy and murmuring, ‘Pete, it’s Uncle Jim. Come on. Come over to me now. I’ve got you…’

Spock released the child with some relief. He touched the front of his top, realising it was damp with tears. ‘I – will leave you alone, Jim,’ he said softly.

‘Okay,’ Kirk said, sounding slightly muffled. ‘Thanks, Spock. You did well.’

Spock nodded, feeling about himself for his cane. He couldn’t find it, and he was reluctant to disturb Jim by asking him to look, so he stood and made his way out into the ward. He stood for a moment by the wall, trying to recover his composure after such an overwhelming exposure to raw emotion, but he was aware that the ward was full of patients from the planet below, and the silent scrutiny he could feel was not pleasant to him. Then he felt another, more familiar mind.

‘Mr Spock.’ Christine’s voice was warm with concern. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Yes, fine,’ Spock nodded distractedly, aware that they were far from alone. ‘Could you find my cane for me? I dropped it in young Peter Kirk’s room, and I couldn’t find it.’

‘Of course. I’ll be right back,’ she said. ‘Here,’ she said on her return, putting it to his hand. ‘It had rolled just under the bed.’

‘Thank you,’ he nodded, briefly touching her hand as he took the cane from her. It was most distracting that each time he touched her it only made him want to touch her more. ‘Are you busy, Miss Chapel?’ he asked carefully. ‘Do you have a moment to help me?’

‘I was just going off shift.’ She paused as there was a flurry of movement in the ward. It sounded as if a patient was being brought into the room. ‘Let’s get out of the way,’ she said, touching his arm. Spock followed her as she moved out of the room and into the corridor.

‘What did you need?’ she asked.

‘You,’ he said honestly, once he was sure they were alone. ‘It has been a very long day.’

‘My quarters or yours?’

‘Mine,’ Spock said firmly. ‘I desire the familiarity. Would you guide me, Christine? It is easier than trying to follow your sounds.’

‘Of course,’ she said, letting him take her arm.

As soon as the door to his quarters closed behind them he let his shoulders relax, leaning into the hug she offered him.

‘What did you want to do?’ she asked him as she released him.

Spock sighed. ‘First, to sit, and talk. Later I think it would be sensible to go to one of the recreation rooms. I have found myself reluctant to expose myself to the stares of others. It is a reluctance that I will have to overcome. I – wish to return to normal, as far as possible.’

‘And – you don’t mind being seen there with me?’ she asked carefully.

‘It is not in my nature to indulge in public displays of affection. But I would be quite content to be seen there with you.’

He knew she was smiling at that – he could feel the emotion around him like a burst of sunshine. He let the corners of his mouth twitch upward slightly.

‘Do you want to have dinner in the rec room too?’ she asked.

‘No, I’m not hungry,’ he said quickly, turning his head away.

‘Spock, how many meals have you had in the past week?’ she asked him pointedly.

He pressed his lips together, beginning to move towards his desk. ‘Very few, I admit,’ he said, reaching out a hand to find his chair.

‘And you’re not hungry?’ she asked, following him across the room. ‘You want to give your sight every chance you can, don’t you? You must know how important protein is for repairing injuries?’

‘I am too tired to be confident of eating neatly in front of people,’ he admitted in a strained voice. ‘To be honest, I do not find myself anxious to eat at all. I find it – extremely frustrating.’

‘You’ve been doing so well, though,’ she protested.

He sat, shaking his head. ‘I have spilt food down my chin, down my front. I am not competent to eat in public.’

‘That was one incident last night,’ she protested, kneeling down in front of him. ‘You were eating tagliatelle with tomato sauce. Anyone could have spilt that.’

‘I fumble for my food, or push it off the plate while feeling for it. I have to ask you to cut it for me, or struggle to cut it myself by touch. I lift the fork to my mouth and find it empty, or find the piece I have cut hopelessly large…’

‘It’s practice,’ she told him firmly. ‘All you need is practice.’

‘All I need is sight,’ he said bitterly.

‘Spock,’ she said softly, wrapping his fingers in hers. His hand was shaking.

He pulled his hand away, clenched it into a fist, then seemed to come back to himself, reaching out again to hers.

‘I – am sorry,’ he murmured. ‘As I said, it has been a very long day. I have been exposed to strong emotion on all sides. I am in need of calm, and quiet.’

‘Do you want to be alone?’

‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘But I need to meditate, very badly.’ He frowned. ‘I cannot use my meditation statue – the light is not bright enough for me to see it.’

‘Can you imagine it? Visualise it?’

‘I don’t – ’ He reached out suddenly to the intercom and pressed the button. The light flashed. He had not taken it off silence since that morning. He knew it was a fine, bright pulse of light, bright enough to garner the attention of someone who for any reason could not hear the chime – but in his eyes it had the soft, warm throb of his meditation statue. Then Lieutenant Uhura’s voice broke into his thoughts, saying, ‘Mr Spock? Uhura, here. Are you all right, Mr Spock?’

‘I am quite fine,’ he said. ‘Lieutenant, can you leave a call open to my intercom? I require the light for my meditation.’

‘Of course, sir,’ she replied. ‘Mr Spock, I’m so sorry about – ’

‘Thank you, Miss Uhura,’ Spock said quickly, cutting her off. He did not feel that he could deal with any more emotional statements right now. ‘I will be in the recreation room later, Lieutenant,’ he added. ‘I was planning on bringing my lyre. Perhaps I will see you there?’

‘Oh, I’ll be there,’ she said warmly. ‘I’ll leave that channel open for you, Mr Spock. Uhura out.’

Spock released the button, and after a moment the light began flashing again. ‘There,’ he said, turning his head towards Christine. She had moved to sit in the chair on the other side of his desk. ‘I can see that light well enough. Do you mind staying while I meditate?’

‘No, not at all. May I read one of your books?’

‘You may have them. They are of no use to me,’ Spock said morosely, then he shook his head. ‘I am sorry. I really do need to meditate.’

‘Well, I’ll tell you what,’ she said. ‘How long do you need to meditate for?’

‘Half an hour, at the least.’

‘Well then, I’ll slip off and think of something for us to have for dinner, and I’ll come back in half an hour and wait for you to finish your meditation. How about that?’

Spock frowned slightly. ‘Is this how it is to be? I tell you I do not wish to do something, and you decide I must do it, and so proceed regardless?’

‘When it involves your health and well being, yes,’ she said honestly.

Spock sighed. ‘How like my mother.’

‘Well, I’ll take that as a compliment.’ She bent to kiss him on the cheek before he could say anything more. ‘I’ll be back soon.’

******

Spock had a residual awareness of the door to his quarters opening again after half an hour had passed, but thankfully his meditation so far had been successful enough for him to be able to ignore the interruption and stay deep in his contemplation. He allowed himself time to parcel off his remaining emotional failings, and then slowly brought himself back to reality, becoming aware of the scent of Christine nearby before he was aware of her physical and mental presence.

‘Better?’ she asked softly as he unclasped his hands and turned towards her. He had had his fingers steepled in the meditation position despite being unable to see the point that they made.

‘I believe so,’ he nodded gravely, laying his palms down on the table. He sat in thought for a moment, then lifted his head and said, ‘I must warn you, if you find me emotionally ungiving for the next few hours, it is because of my meditation has restored my control, not because a lack of those feelings.’

‘I understand,’ she said. ‘Anyway, I brought dinner – something I thought would suit your needs at the moment.’

Spock raised an eyebrow quizzically. ‘I assume you have the food under a cover. I cannot smell it.’

‘It is. I did a bit of digging and found out it’s the Time of Simplicity on Vulcan, when Surak retired free of possession into the desert for nine days to rediscover his own self.’

Spock nodded. ‘That is true. I am ashamed to say it had quite slipped my mind. But what relevance – ’

‘It’s traditional to eat simple foods at this time, without cutlery that could be construed as weapons.’

‘Again, true,’ Spock nodded.

‘So,’ she said, removing the lid from the tray. ‘I bring you sushi – vegetarian for you, of course – and tempura vegetables. All food you can comfortably eat with your fingers – and it’s not a capitulation,’ she said quickly at the beginnings of a protest. ‘It’s just a good alternative for one night when you’re tired. Will you eat it?’

‘Of course. Thank you, Christine,’ he said, reaching out to the plate and touching his fingers lightly to the food. It was a relief, he had to admit, to have food that he could touch and investigate rather than having to ask for a description. Chapel pushed something else over towards him.

‘There’s soy sauce and wasabi here if you want them, in two saucers to your left,’ she said, ‘and green tea to your right.’

Spock nodded, allowing himself the briefest of smiles. ‘Thank you, Christine,’ he said again.

‘Are you sure you feel like going to the Rec Room?’ she asked him as he began to eat.

Spock wiped his fingers on his napkin. ‘I – do not enjoy being exposed to scrutiny in this condition – but that is why I must go. I cannot act as if this is a temporary ailment. It is growing ever more likely that I will not regain my sight – and if that is the case, I will have to learn to manage in the necessities of everyday life.’

******

Spock felt the stir as they entered the Rec Room, and wondered how long it would be before he could walk into a room without this reaction of surprise and intrigue. Presumably there would be even more surprise and intrigue if those present suspected that he was touching Christine Chapel’s arm as anything more than a nurse. He followed her across the room, calming the instinctive feeling of uncertainty at the large, noise-filled space.

‘There’s a chair here,’ she said softly. ‘Oh – and here’s another technique I haven’t taught you. I put my hand on the back, like this,’ she said, reaching the arm he held out to the chair, ‘and you slide your hand down it to find it.’

‘I see,’ Spock murmured, sliding his hand down to locate the chair and sit down in it. He rested his lyre on his knee, brushing his fingertips over the strings, and then setting to tuning it with great care.

‘It’s full tonight,’ Christine said quietly. ‘Quite a few crew, and some of those people you rescued last night.’

‘I am sensing familiar minds,’ Spock murmured. ‘Some of the regular bridge crew, I think.’

‘Yes, I think they’re curious,’ she said. ‘Oh – Uhura and Scotty have just seen us – they’re coming over.’

Spock could feel her smiling as footsteps approached, and had to fight to suppress a twinge of longing to see that smile that he knew would be lighting up her whole face. He stilled the strings of his lyre under his palm, turning his face to where he assumed the two officers were standing.

‘Miss Uhura, Mr Scott,’ he said in a level tone.

‘We were wondering if these seats are free, Mr Spock,’ Scotty said in an oddly gentle tone. ‘The lassie here said you’d be playing tonight?’

‘I was intending to,’ Spock nodded, assuming Scott had been indicating Uhura. ‘I assume there are free seats?’ he asked, turning towards Chapel with a raised eyebrow.

‘Yes, it’s a table with six seats,’ she told him.

‘Ah – then you are quite welcome to sit,’ Spock nodded, turning back to Uhura and Scott.

‘Did you manage your meditation, Mr Spock?’ Uhura asked, her voice coming down to his level as she sat opposite him.

‘Yes – the light was very helpful,’ Spock nodded.

Nobody seemed to want to mention his blindness directly, although there was an unusual softness to both Uhura’s and Scott’s voices. All he wanted to do was to try to continue as if this was any other evening on the Enterprise, despite the fact that it obviously was not.

‘Shall I get you a drink, Mr Spock? Ladies?’ Scott asked.

‘Thank you – I will have Assam – black,’ Spock nodded, then turned his attention back to the tuning of his lyre. This, at least, was nothing that required sight, and took enough of his concentration to allow him to ignore the ripples of curiosity from the varied crew around him.

Finally Uhura’s voice cut into his concentration. ‘That sounds spot on, Mr Spock,’ she said. ‘And the natives are getting restless.’

‘The natives, Miss Uhura?’ Spock asked, raising his head.

‘The crew are waiting for you to play, Mr Spock,’ she clarified.

‘Ahh,’ Spock nodded, reaching out for the cup that he had heard Scott put down for him. He felt the heat before his fingers reached it, and he touched it briefly, memorising its location.

‘Before you begin, Mr Spock – may I have a wee word about this Braille printer?’ Scott asked him.

‘Of course, Mr Scott,’ Spock nodded gravely.

‘I’ve been taking a look at some schematics. Now, there are printers for sighted people to use, and printers for – well, for blind people to use themselves. I’ve been assuming you’d want the second type?’

‘You are correct,’ Spock nodded.

‘Aye – well, there’re plenty of variations of those, too. Would ye be free to come down to engineering tomorrow and go over a few of the options with me?’

‘Yes, of course,’ Spock nodded. ‘My schedule is remarkably clear at present, Mr Scott.’

‘Aye,’ Scott said awkwardly. ‘Maybe we can look at some ways to display it on a screen, too,’ he added after a pause. ‘But that doesnae seem so easy. It beats me how ye can read those little dots with yer fingers, Mr Spock,’ he said in an awed tone.

Spock paused for a moment, then nodded. ‘Yes, the same thought occurs to me with startling frequency, Mr Scott.’

He felt a hand press reassuringly on his knee under the table, presumably hidden from sight. A warm mental surge of affection accompanied the touch, and he turned his head towards Christine. He didn’t feel able to respond verbally, and certainly not with his expression, so instead he said, ‘Nurse Chapel, would you pick a tune? Then I may play.’

‘Oh – how about Siinak’s Requiem?’ she said after a moment of thought. ‘Do you know that, Mr Spock?’

‘Indeed,’ Spock nodded, surprised that she knew the piece. ‘I know it well.’

He touched his fingers to the strings, and began to play. As the music progressed he became aware of others joining their table – Kirk and McCoy, he was certain. When Kirk spoke in low tones to someone he knew he was correct, and he nodded in their direction.

‘Captain, Doctor,’ he said in a level tone, without pausing in his playing.

‘Spock,’ Kirk murmured, seating himself nearby.

He heard McCoy muttering something about Vulcan dirges as he sat, and raised his eyebrow minutely. It was true that this piece was somewhat sombre at the outset, but the music soon became soothing, and then ventured towards light-hearted. As he finished he exhaled slowly, recognising the wisdom of Christine’s choice. The music had successfully lifted him from his own sombre mood into a more relaxed and peaceful one. It didn’t even bother him when McCoy complained, ‘Spock, can’t you play something a little less – Vulcan?’

Spock paused, then moved his fingers over the lyre again, retuning it swiftly. He closed his eyes for a moment, then began to pick out a tune that was far brighter and rhythmical, much more like the music the humans favoured. When he finished and focussed his attention on the room around him again he realised that it had become almost entirely silent as people listened.

‘I knew you had it in you, Spock,’ McCoy said appreciatively. ‘What was that?’

Spock stilled the final vibrations in the strings by lightly resting his palm across the face of the lyre. ‘Something entirely more human, Doctor. A composition called China Cat Sunflower by a twentieth century group known as the Grateful Dead, I believe. I cannot claim to understand it, but it seems to work well with this particular instrument.’

‘Well, it was very impressive,’ a female voice said as someone approached the table.

Spock lifted his face towards the voice. It was not someone he recognised.

‘Oh – Elena Shumaker,’ she said, realising his difficulty, and he suddenly remembered her voice in the cargo bay last night, shushing the small girl. ‘I came in off that ship last night. I just wanted to thank you, Commander. It was you in command when we were rescued, wasn’t it?’

‘It was,’ Spock nodded. ‘I was simply performing my duty.’

‘Your duty saved our lives. And – it was you who tested the light treatment that cured us.’

Spock nodded again.

‘Then we’d be dead if it wasn’t for you, twice over. And you lost your sight for us.’

Spock pressed his lips together, unsure of what to say. The reasons for his sight loss were so complex. He had not even known of this woman’s existence when it happened.

Then he felt someone small move forward to lean against his knee. He moved his hand to his lap, raising an eyebrow, and felt a small hand there.

‘It’s the little girl,’ Christine said in an undertone. ‘From that ship.’

‘Yes, I gathered,’ Spock nodded. ‘I have the distinct impression that I am under scrutiny.’

‘She is staring at you.’

There was a movement, and there came a burst of discordant music at the same moment that he felt someone touching his lyre.

‘Please, do not touch the lyre,’ he said, putting his hand over hers and firmly removing it.

‘What’s wrong with your eyes?’ she asked.

‘I have already explained that to you,’ he said. ‘Emmie, would you like me to play a tune on the lyre?’

‘No. … Yes,’ she said abruptly. ‘A nice tune. Thank you.’

‘Very well.’ He closed his eyes, touching the strings, and then to everyone’s astonishment played a swift rendition of ‘Pop Goes the Weasel.’

‘Well, I guess your mother taught you that one,’ McCoy commented.

‘You are correct, Doctor.’

‘Thank you, Commander,’ Elena Shumaker said warmly. ‘I keep telling her to stop asking people questions, but it doesn’t do any good…’

‘Asking questions is a good basis for an adult career,’ Spock said, carefully readjusting his tuning.

‘I – suppose it is,’ she said, in a slightly embarrassed tone. ‘Commander, if there’s anything I can do to help – ’ she continued.

‘Are you an ophthalmologist, ma’am?’ Spock asked quizzically, tilting his head up towards her voice.

‘No – I’m an osteoarchaeologist.’

‘Then there is very little you can do to help me,’ he said, dropping his head again.

There was a loaded silence, then Kirk said awkwardly, ‘Commander Spock doesn’t mean to be rude. He’s a Vulcan. They have a – unique – way of putting things sometimes.’

There was a silence again – and then the woman said uncertainly, ‘Well, my husband’s an exo-ophthalmologist. He’s been studying differences in sight processes between alien species.’

Spock sat forward in his chair, his fingers unconsciously tightening on the neck of his lyre.

‘Which alien species, ma’am?’ McCoy asked, before Spock could speak.

‘Most recently Andorians – there’s a moderate Andorian community on Deneva. But he has covered Vulcans and Vulcanoids. He was fascinated by the atrophy of the inner eyelid in Romulans and Helkarians, when it’s still so unaltered in Vulcans. But – if your optic nerves were burnt out by the light – ’

‘They were not,’ Spock said tightly. ‘My inner eyelid malfunctioned.’

‘Oh…’ she said softly. ‘But – I don’t know where my husband is, Commander. I – ’ Her voice faltered for a moment, then she steadied it. ‘I lost track of him a few weeks ago. I don’t even know if – ’

‘What is his name, Ms Shumaker?’ Spock asked crisply.

‘Mark – Mark Helsand.’

Spock frowned. ‘I have been attempting to identify and locate medical personnel on Deneva. I have not come across that name in my research.’

‘Well, no,’ she said. ‘He’s not allied with any hospitals on Deneva – he’s only here because of my work. He’s with the Royal College on Earth.’

Spock nodded pensively. ‘Dr McCoy – ’ he began.

‘I’m already there, Spock,’ McCoy said, pushing his chair back to stand. The slim disc with all of Spock’s previous research on it was stored in the slot next to the computer on his desk. ‘I’ll go warm the computer up.’

‘You could use my help, Doctor,’ Uhura put in. ‘I’ve gone through so many Denevan communicator codes today I’m going to see them in my dreams. I might be able to help you pinpoint the right places to look.’

‘Ms Shumaker,’ Spock said, getting to his feet. ‘Would you accompany us to the sickbay? Perhaps you can help us define a locality for your husband.’

‘Oh, of course,’ she said eagerly.

Spock nodded, then realised that he was still holding his lyre. At the same moment Christine said, ‘Let me take the lyre, Mr Spock. I’ll put it in your quarters for you, then head back to sickbay to help.’

Spock nodded, passing the lyre over to her, managing to touch her hand just long enough to express his feeling of thanks. ‘Captain, could you – ?’ he asked, turning towards Kirk.

‘Right here, Spock,’ Kirk said, coming to his side and putting his arm to Spock’s outstretched hand. It was surprising how quickly he was becoming used to guiding Spock, or watching for him as he followed without touching. He pressed his lips together at the thought. He didn’t want to get used to these things – he just wanted Spock back as he had always been, with the piercing intelligence in his eyes and the certainty in everything he did.

******

‘Does your husband have any distinguishing biological characteristics, Ms Shumaker?’ Spock asked once they were gathered in McCoy’s office. Kirk and Uhura had gone to a computer terminal in another room to try to track the man down through the Denevan communications system. Spock and McCoy were attacking the problem through science, trying to adjust the ship’s scanners to pick up the readings for this one person in all of Deneva’s population.

‘Umm…’ the woman hesitated.

‘Does he have an unusual heartbeat, for example?’ Spock continued. ‘Is he fully human?’

‘He – er,’ she hesitated. ‘He has Centauri on his grandfather’s side. I don’t know if that affects his heartbeat…’

‘It might alter the beat,’ McCoy supplied, ‘but it depends on which traits he’s inherited, and I wouldn’t know that without a proper examination.’

‘At which point we would have already found Dr Helsand,’ Spock added.

‘Mmm.’ McCoy stood musing, until his eyes fell on the child who was standing shyly, half-hiding behind her mother’s legs. ‘Your little girl,’ he began. ‘Is she – ?’

He broke off awkwardly, but the woman glanced down at her daughter, and nodded, ‘Oh, yes, she’s Mark’s.’

‘Then it’s possible she could present with any abnormalities that her father displays,’ he murmured.

‘What would you need to do to find out?’ the woman asked anxiously. Spock turned toward her, curious at how much stronger his mental impressions of people were now he could not see their faces. Ms Shumaker’s concern for her husband and now for her daughter felt almost like a web through the air, muffling his perception of the others in the room.

‘Oh, just scan her with this,’ McCoy said lightly, presumably holding up his handheld scanner. ‘That’ll tell us more than we need – more than could pick up of your husband’s readings with the ship’s searching scanners.’

‘Then scan her,’ Ms Shumaker said quickly. ‘Emmie,’ she began, trying to pry the child from behind her legs.

‘Oh, she doesn’t need to move,’ McCoy said with his warmest Southern manner. Spock could hear that he was now crouching down. ‘Just one little sweep – ’ The scanner warbled for less than four seconds. ‘ – and we’re done.’

He moved over to his desk and fed the data he had gathered into his computer.

‘Hmmm,’ he said, slipping his eyes over the result. ‘A slight abnormality in the heartbeat, and temperature raised above Terran normal by about two degrees.’

‘She’s always been warm,’ Ms Shumaker murmured. ‘So’s Mark.’

‘Then he does have distinguishing biological characteristics,’ Spock said, rather impatiently.

‘I suppose he does,’ she nodded. ‘I’m so used to it I don’t think of it.’

Spock pressed his lips closed over a sigh, and then asked, ‘By how much is your husband’s temperature raised above human normal?’

‘We’d only say he had a temperature if it went above a hundred and one,’ she said after a moment’s thought.

‘Well, that’s useful,’ McCoy nodded, trying to be amicable in opposition to Spock’s intolerant coldness. ‘The heartbeat isn’t so definite, though. It could have skipped a generation.’

‘We must at least eliminate the possibility,’ Spock said. He was beginning to feel distinctly useless again – he could do nothing physical to help with this problem. ‘Doctor, you will need to recalibrate the searching scanners with those parameters in mind. Adjust for height and weight – Ms Shumaker, are you aware of your husband’s height and weight?’ he asked, with the faintest hint of sarcasm in his tone.

‘Six foot three, and around two hundred and ten pounds,’ she said quickly, addressing McCoy since he was the one entering the data into the computer.

‘McCoy, have you finished recalibration?’ Spock asked after less than thirty seconds, turning to where McCoy bent over the computer, frowning at the screen.

‘Have some patience, Spock,’ McCoy muttered, frustrated at his own slowness. ‘I’m a doctor. I’m not a goddamn science officer.’

‘No,’ Spock said dryly, not turning to McCoy. ‘But the ship’s science officer is currently somewhat incapacitated.’.

‘What happened to him?’ Elena Shumaker asked, cautiously trying to dissolve some of the tension she could sense building between the two. ‘Who is the science officer?’

Spock turned his expressionless face to her. ‘I am,’ he said, in an equally expressionless voice.

‘Oh,’ she said softly.

‘I can be of no more use here. Would you excuse me?’ Spock asked, turning without waiting for an answer, and finding his way out of the room.

There was a long moment of silence, then the woman turned to McCoy, and half-smiled. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean to offend him…’

‘Oh, you didn’t,’ McCoy said tiredly. ‘That was Spock’s way of – expressing diplomacy. You see – ’ and his voice changed, ‘I threw the light that blinded him. He says he doesn’t blame me – and I don’t think he does blame me. It’s not his way. But I blame me…’

‘You wouldn’t be working so hard to find Mark if it wasn’t for his work, would you?’ Ms Shumaker asked softly.

After a moment’s silence, McCoy shook his head. ‘No – No, I can’t say we would be. There are – or there were – a million people on Deneva to find and help. But if there’s any hope – any hope at all – for Spock’s sight, then we have to take it. I won’t let him spend the rest of his life blind if there’s a chance I can do something for him.’

‘You’re – friends with him, then?’ she asked, unable to keep the disbelief out of her tone.

‘He’s one of the closest friends I’ve got,’ McCoy admitted somewhat reluctantly, glancing at the door that Spock had passed through as if he was afraid he might be listening. ‘Don’t get him wrong, Ms Shumaker. He’s stubborn, he adheres to logic to a fault, he professes to be unemotional at all times – but he’s also loyal, unexpectedly compassionate, ridiculously intelligent.’

‘He doesn’t seem…’ she began, then trailed off, reluctant to start criticising someone that the doctor had just named as a close friend.

McCoy looked up at her swiftly, anger rising in his voice. ‘Day before yesterday that man volunteered to test the treatment for the parasite that was putting him in agony. He’d pushed that pain down for days, and carried on working. Then he sat in that test cubicle while I burned the sight out of his eyes. I’ve had to tell him he’ll probably never see again. He’s the First Officer of this starship, and he’ll never see again. Now we throw out the tiniest hope that we might be able to do something to restore his sight. You’ll have to forgive him for being a little on edge.’

‘I – didn’t mean to – ’ she began, taking her daughter’s hand as the little girl cuddled closer to her.

McCoy sighed. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to either. I’m – I’m very worried about him, Ms Shumaker. This is tearing him apart. And I’m almost as anxious as he is to restore what he’s lost.’

Yes, I’m sure you are,’ she said with a wan smile. ‘You have to understand that I’m terribly worried about – ’ She glanced down at her daughter, and smiled a false, cheery smile. ‘Never mind. Let’s get on with what we need to do. Are the scanners set up? How long will it take?’

McCoy raised his eyebrows. ‘Going by averages, perhaps four, five days,’ he said seriously.

‘Oh,’ she said in a tone of disappointment.

‘I’ll just leave it running,’ he told her. ‘The scanners just do a close sweep across the planet’s surface – they’ll alert me if they turn up anything within our parameters. But it’s not a concrete thing.’ He turned to the computer, altered a few settings, then turned back to the woman beside him. ‘You may as well go back to your room for now – I guess this little girl needs to be in bed?’

‘The checks the captain was doing?’ she asked anxiously, glancing at the door.

‘He’ll let me know if he finds anything,’ he reassured her. ‘There’s nothing you can do for now – go get some rest. Now, that’s a medical order.’

Chapter 8

Spock lay in bed with the length of Christine’s body touching his, in warm, secure comfort. But he felt very little like sleeping. He felt as if a war was setting up inside of him. Despite his meditation earlier he had snapped at Elena Shumaker, and walked out of McCoy’s office to conceal his frustration. He had almost snapped at Kirk and Uhura when they had told him there was little chance of turning anything up through the communications system. His only recourse had been to come back to his cabin to gain some rest, and to try to gather back some control. He was angry at himself for his lack of control – and that was another failing.

‘Spock,’ Christine murmured beside him. It was obvious to her that he was not asleep.

‘Yes,’ he said sparsely, not turning his head. There was no need to turn his head towards someone he could not see. He needed to drop the affectations of a sighted person.

‘I’d ask if you were all right,’ she said. ‘But you’re not all right, are you?’

Spock bit his lip into his mouth in the darkness. It was as dark for her in his cabin as it was for him at the moment.

‘No,’ he said finally. ‘I am – I’m having extreme difficulty – in controlling my feelings.’

Her hand moved up to his face, and stroked over the curve of his forehead, down his temple, and onto his jaw. Just that touch relaxed him minutely.

‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured, touching her lips to his cheek and stroking again with her hand. ‘I wish I could help…’

‘You do help,’ Spock told her honestly, finally turning his head towards her. ‘You ground me each time I lose touch. You lift me up each time I sink down. You do help.’

He could feel her smile as a warm blanket of emotion around him. Her hand stroked over his face again, but this time her fingers slipped down the tendons of his neck, and traced his collarbones and the sleek contours of his shoulders. He felt another degree of relaxation slip through his spine, vertebra by vertebra, as if someone was loosening a screw that had been tightened too far. He turned towards her and touched his fingertips to her face, letting his mind brush hers and taking in her warm, sleepy tranquillity and allowing it to soothe his own jagged thoughts. A smile flickered inside his head, although he did not let it reach his lips. Whether it was her smile or his he was experiencing, its very presence buoyed him.

He brushed his free hand over her torso, feeling the smooth curves of her breasts and the soft flatness of her stomach. There was something very human about the desire that was stirring in him despite his troubles – but perhaps there was something very Vulcan too. After all, he only fought so hard to control his emotions because unfettered those emotions flowed with such passion. He touched his lips to hers, and let his hand move lower still.

******

Spock woke still feeling the buoyancy that had finally taken hold the night before. At least this morning he woke expecting the blindness, and his morning routine was just a little easier than it had been the day before. Perhaps he was getting used to it – or perhaps, as Christine had warned him, this was just a slightly higher point in his confusion of emotion – especially after the horrendous low of the previous day. He suspected that the latter was more true, but he did not argue with it for now. Whether his positive mood lasted for days, hours, or mere minutes, at least he did feel more positive, just for this moment.

After Christine left for her duties he went to the captain’s rooms, knowing that it was one of Kirk’s rare scheduled days off. In this kind of crisis he imagined Jim would ignore the roster and go to his duties anyway, but he was hoping he could convince him to take at least that morning to himself. Kirk’s minor breakdown yesterday had shown Spock clearly how much his captain needed some time to reconcile himself to his loss. He was obviously just in time to catch him, because he almost bumped into the captain just coming out of his door.

‘Oh – Spock,’ Kirk said quickly. He seemed to be in a hurry to go somewhere, but he stopped still to give Spock his full attention. ‘How are you feeling this morning?’

Spock raised an eyebrow minutely. Jim was one of the few people who would ask him how he was feeling, and he was one of the few people that he felt he could answer honestly.

‘At this point in time, better,’ he said. ‘Were you on your way somewhere, Jim? Are you intending to work?’ he asked suspiciously.

Kirk gave a small laugh. ‘Come to check up on me?’ he asked. ‘Isn’t that a bit – sentimental, Spock?’

Spock raised an eyebrow. ‘It is merely a logical concern that the captain of this ship takes the rest to which he is entitled, thus leaving him more able to attend to his scheduled duties.’

‘Ah,’ Kirk smiled. ‘Well, you don’t need to worry, Spock – I am taking my time off. In fact, I’ll be beaming down to the planet in the next half hour, on personal business, not ship’s. But that’s not important, Spock – have you had any luck locating that ophthalmologist yet? We didn’t get anywhere with communications – at least, not yet.’

Spock shook his head. ‘I spoke to McCoy a few minutes ago. Nothing has been turned up as yet. It’s likely to be a lengthy process. Scanning for one being on a planet the size of Deneva is extremely complex work. I can do nothing to help, since I cannot interpret the data that the scanners return.’

‘Of course,’ Kirk murmured, seeming to have an apology waiting to be said behind his words.

‘Where were you going, Captain?’ Spock asked curiously, partially to change the subject from the tired matter of guilt. ‘You said you were beaming down – on personal business?’

‘Oh, I’m going down to Sam’s place later to sort out a little,’ Kirk said, with what seemed like a rather false lightness in his tone. ‘Grab some of Peter’s things. You know.’

Spock nodded sombrely. ‘Often it is best not to undergo such tasks alone,’ he offered. ‘I am quite willing to accompany you.’

‘Spock, you don’t want to sit around in Sam’s house while I tidy up,’ Kirk protested. ‘You’ve got enough on your plate at the moment.’

‘Ah yes,’ Spock nodded. ‘My daily medical check with Dr McCoy, and then the hours in my quarters contemplating my blindness, or teaching myself to read tactile writing.’

‘Okay, point taken,’ Kirk smiled. ‘I’d welcome your company, Spock, if you’re happy to come with me.’

‘I am not being entirely selfless, Jim,’ Spock pointed out. ‘I would welcome the change of – of surroundings.’ He had been going to say scenery, but could not ignore the current inaccuracy of that word where he was concerned.

‘Well then,’ Kirk told him. ‘I’m ready, so you grab what you need and we’ll get down there.’

‘I already have what I need,’ Spock said, lifting his cane off the floor. ‘Since I have taken to carrying a communicator with me I have nothing else to go into my rooms for.’

******

Spock stumbled a little as the transporter beam loosened its grip, and he immediately felt Kirk’s hand on his arm, steadying him.

‘All right, Commander?’ Kirk asked softly.

‘Quite,’ Spock nodded. ‘It is simply a little unsettling to beam in without visual clues with which to orient oneself. Where are we, Jim?’

‘Just outside Sam’s place,’ Kirk told him, looking about himself.

There was no longer the eerie tidy silence that had prevailed when they beamed down earlier. Many of the doors and windows in the area were now broken, with possessions pulled out onto the streets. Not far away he could hear shouting, and banging as if something was being beaten and wrenched open.

‘It’s a good thing we came now,’ he muttered. ‘I get the sense there’s been some looting going on around here.’

‘Disturbing how easily human society reverts to anarchy,’ Spock murmured.

‘Well, they’ve been through a lot, Spock,’ Kirk countered. ‘Don’t judge the human race too harshly on this one scene.’

Spock turned blind eyes to him, one eyebrow raised slightly. Few hints of the chaos were reaching his senses – beyond the banging noise and human voices, he was simply aware of the hot scent of concrete in the sun, the damp smell of large areas of planting, and the small, quiet noises of wind touching obstacles in its path. They were all impressions he had barely noticed the last time he had beamed down in this place – now they seemed vitally important in his attempts to interpret his surroundings.

‘Okay, point taken,’ Kirk nodded. ‘Come on, let’s go inside.’

Spock stepped in through the door after Kirk, pulling an image into his mind of the place as he had last seen it in his eidetic memory. He realised that image may not be correct any more as Kirk breathed in through clenched teeth.

‘Bastards,’ he murmured under his breath.

‘Jim?’

‘They’ve been in here too. Trashed the place.’

‘Can you see what has been taken?’ Spock asked in concern.

‘Umm…’

Spock heard Kirk moving through the room, pushing things aside with his feet that alternately clinked and scraped and shushed on the floor. Finally, he laughed softly. ‘Food, Spock,’ he told him. ‘As far as I can see, nothing but food.’

‘We cannot begrudge them that,’ Spock nodded.

‘Not really – but they could have left off from smashing things up. Well, I’m going to grab some things for Peter,’ Kirk told him. ‘Watch where you step – it’s pretty chaotic in here.’

‘Of course,’ Spock nodded.

He waited until Kirk had left the room, then stepped forward, probing ahead of him with the cane. The end touched many scattered objects that he pushed aside carefully with his feet. Then he touched something large and solid, and on feeling with his hands recognised the large yellow chair that had been sitting at the side of the room, now tossed onto its side. He knelt and made sure there was a clear space on the floor, then righted the chair carefully, and straightened the cushions. Then he turned to whatever else he found on the floor, carefully picking up smashed china and putting it on the kitchen worksurface, folding things that seemed to be clothes or other cloths, delicately feeling over things which seemed unbroken and finding spaces to put them safely together. He moved into the narrow kitchen area and began picking up more broken china, gathering it together and dropping it into the sink for want of a better place to put it. Then he felt a broom lying across the floor, and used it to pull anything else left down there into a pile at the side of the kitchen.

He heard footsteps tracking back into the room, and Kirk said in amazement, ‘Spock! Thank you. It looks so much better.’

Spock turned to move out of the kitchen area. He heard Kirk call out just as his skull impacted with something at head height, and he stumbled backwards, pressing a hand to the sudden sharp pain in his forehead.

‘It was a cupboard door left open,’ Kirk muttered, catching hold of the Vulcan and steering him over to the chair he had righted earlier. ‘You caught the corner.’

‘The cane is not much use for such obstacles,’ Spock said tightly, leaning back into the cushions.

‘Let me see,’ Kirk said, peeling Spock’s hand away from his head gently. ‘You’re bleeding well,’ he murmured. ‘You’re going to have one hell of a bump.’

Spock nodded, then regretted the action as his head throbbed. ‘It frequently surprises me just how hard one can walk into something when one does not expect it to be there,’ he said in a strained voice.

‘Are you okay, Spock?’ Kirk asked more gently. ‘You don’t want to beam up?’

‘It is nothing more than a minor wound,’ Spock told him. ‘I suspect I will gain quite a few more like this before I am accustomed to blindness.’

‘Well, stay there,’ Kirk said, sounding uncomfortable again. ‘Sam and Aurelan must have a first aid kit about here somewhere. They’ve got a kid, after all…’ No, no got – had, he corrected himself… He didn’t think he could get used to the idea of referring to his brother and sister-in-law in the past tense.

‘Jim - ’ Spock pressed, cutting into his thoughts.

‘Sorry, Spock. What?’ he asked absently, realising Spock had been saying something in that soft, calm voice of his.

‘May I suggest the bathroom?’

‘Yes, of course… I’ll go look.’

Kirk disappeared, then came back swiftly and knelt down before Spock. ‘In the bathroom, just like you said. Hold still,’ he said, spraying something cool onto the injury. ‘Antiseptic and anaesthetic,’ he explained before Spock asked. ‘Just going to swab away some of this blood, then – There you go,’ he said, pressing a dressing over the cut. ‘You know, Spock, no matter how long I know you I don’t think I’ll ever get used to blood that colour. Do you want to come wash your hands? You’ve got quite a bit of blood on them.’

‘Thank you,’ Spock nodded, standing up to his guiding hand. He followed Kirk into the kitchen, hearing him close the offending cupboard door before he reached it.

‘Here,’ Kirk murmured, turning on the faucet. ‘I can’t see any soap, but water’ll do.’

Spock reached out his hands to the sound, and the water enveloped them. He washed them thoroughly to be sure that all the blood had been cleaned away, then stood aside to let Kirk do the same.

‘Jim, do you hear that?’ he said suddenly as Kirk turned the faucet off and the last trickles of water drained away.

‘What?’ Kirk asked quickly.

‘I am not sure. Something outside.’

‘Stay there,’ Kirk told him, and made for the door.

Spock ignored the instruction, reasoning that it had not been phrased as a direct order, and followed Kirk swiftly across the room. He felt his presence just outside the door, and came to stand next to him.

‘What is it, Jim?’ he asked in an undertone. ‘I hear – people chanting?’

‘There’s a large group of people down in the concourse below. You remember, where those wide steps go down to?’

‘Yes, I remember,’ Spock nodded. ‘Jim, do you have a phaser?’

It almost seemed like a premonition, because at that moment one of the people roared out, ‘Starfleet!’ and suddenly Spock could hear dozens of feet making for them.

‘Spock, go inside!’ Kirk snapped, moving away from him. There was a clatter of something being thrown, a muffled cry, and Spock heard the ominous noise of something soft yet heavy falling to the ground. Simultaneously the crowd of footsteps stuttered to a halt.

‘Jim?’ he asked anxiously, stepping forward. There was no reply. ‘Jim?’

He pulled out his communicator, only to have it struck painfully from his hand by another well aimed missile. The crowd had stopped some distance away – perhaps at the bottom of the stairs, presumably reasoning that they did not need to come any closer and risk a physical fight with a Vulcan.

‘Jim?’ he called out again, feeling forward with his cane. He felt terribly, horribly restricted. Kirk could be two metres away, or he could have slipped all the way to the bottom of the stairs. He felt a step in front of him, and moved down it cautiously. He could hear murmuring in the crowd, as if they were wondering why he was moving so oddly. Then, three steps down, his cane touched something soft, and he sat down on the stairs, reaching out for Kirk’s body. He established that he was breathing and had a strong pulse, then moved his hands swiftly to his waistband. He could not feel the communicator, but his fingers slipped over the rounded, pebble-like contours of a basic phaser.

He pulled it from Kirk’s belt with great care, and moved his fingers over it, establishing carefully which end was the muzzle. He turned his attention to the dial on the top, setting it to stun, on wide beam, then aimed it towards the noise of the crowd. He swallowed, aware that any mistake he had made in his blindness could result in multiple deaths.

‘Do not come any closer,’ he said loudly. ‘I am quite prepared to fire.’

‘Starfleet,’ one of the men chanted again. ‘Bringing your weapons down here. Why don’t you bring food, or medical supplies?’

‘Food and medical relief is being distributed at established depots,’ Spock said clearly, keeping one hand on Jim’s motionless torso. ‘If you are patient, relief will be supplied.’

‘Patient! People’re dying,’ another one shouted. He heard a child jeer in support, its voice shrill and incoherent. He could not see the crowd, but it sounded as if it was a disparate group of very desperate people.

‘There are almost a million inhabitants on this planet,’ Spock countered. ‘Our ship has a crew of four hundred thirty. It is illogical to believe that we can save everyone.’

He realised that was perhaps a misguided utterance, when another missile landed very close to him.

‘We’ll take your pointed ears off next, Vulcan,’ someone yelled, earning a roar of approval.

‘I understand that many of you have suffered great pain – ’ he began.

‘You sit there preaching!’ a woman suddenly shrilled. ‘How do you know what the pain’s like? What have you lost?’

Spock felt something inside him snap. He got to his feet, holding the phaser pointed towards the crowd.

‘I know what the pain feels like because I suffered it from the moment I was infected on this planet,’ he said in a dangerously calm voice. ‘I know what it is like to suffer that pain until it drives one almost to madness. As for loss – Captain Kirk there has lost his brother and his sister-in-law. His nephew is lying critically ill. And I have lost my sight in testing the treatment to rid you all of the parasite. We are both well aware of the cost of what has happened here.’

Spock stood for a moment, breathing deeply, trying to regain control of himself.

‘I believe this phaser is set on stun,’ he continued, holding out the device towards the crowd. ‘However, because I have lost my sight, I cannot be certain that it is not set to kill. If you continue to threaten me and my Captain, I will not hesitate to use it.’

A hush had fallen over the crowd. Spock could not be sure if it was in response to his speech, or because of their fear of what an obviously angry and blind Vulcan might do with the weapon he held. He stood, nervously holding the phaser, straining to hear what might be happening. At that moment he heard a moan near his feet, and he crouched back down, reaching out a hand to the noise, always keeping his other hand with the phaser pointed towards the crowd.

‘Jim?’ he asked anxiously.

‘Oh, boy, Spock, that’s sore,’ Kirk murmured, stirring on the steps.

‘Are you all right, Jim?’

‘Could’ve done without the rock to the side of the head.’

Kirk sat up a little, taking in the scene of the silent, tense crowd, and Spock with a phaser clutched in his hand, pointed unwaveringly towards the group of Denevans.

‘Let me take that phaser,’ he said quickly, and Spock passed it over without hesitation.

‘You should check the setting,’ he said.

‘Stun, wide beam,’ Kirk muttered. ‘Is that what you wanted?’ he asked as Spock exhaled in relief.

‘It was,’ he nodded. ‘Do you see your communicator?’

‘Yes, it’s just here, next to me.’

Spock bit back frustration. If only he could have seen the communicator as easily as Kirk they would be on the ship by now.

‘I, er, don’t know what you said, but you seem to’ve gotten through to them,’ Kirk said as he sat up a little more. The crowd was beginning to disperse, people moving away guiltily as if they were ashamed of their actions.

‘I merely told them the facts of what has happened,’ Spock told him.

‘Would you really have used that phaser?’ Kirk asked curiously.

‘I – do not know,’ he admitted. ‘I imagine not. The repercussions had I chosen the wrong setting would have been too great… There seem to be large levels of desperation here, Jim. Perhaps you should consider sending some security teams down to help organise people. I do not believe that they are getting the aid to which they are entitled.’

‘Yeah, I should have thought of that earlier,’ Kirk nodded. ‘I – guess I’ve been a little stretched over the last few days.’

‘Perhaps that is something I could help with. I have already assisted in the reactivation of the planet’s main hospital. Organising the distribution of aid cannot be much more difficult in my present condition.’

‘You’re right,’ Kirk nodded. ‘But this isn’t the best place to sit and discuss it. Give me a hand up, Spock.’

Spock reached out a strong arm, and helped Kirk clamber to his feet. He only realised now just how painful his right hand was, but he forced himself to ignore the sensation.

‘Did you want to fetch what you found for your nephew?’ he asked.

‘Might as well,’ he nodded, but he wavered on his feet as he spoke. ‘Oh, that hurts, Spock.’

‘Sit down, Jim,’ Spock said firmly, lowering Kirk back to the steps. ‘Can you tell me where you left his things?’

‘In a suitcase just by the kitchen counter – on the living room side. Spock – ’ he trailed off as Spock carefully climbed back to the top of the steps.

‘Yes, Jim?’ Spock asked as he reached the top.

‘You know where you’re going?’ Kirk asked rather lamely. It was obvious that Spock could remember the route to the door.

‘I believe so,’ Spock nodded, making for the doorway.

‘A little to the right,’ Kirk told him, and Spock adjusted his course, disappearing inside. After a few moments he returned holding a large brown case in his left hand.

‘May I suggest you send someone down to secure the door?’ he asked.

‘I will, Spock.’ He bit his lip on a careful as Spock neared the top of the stairs, but his cane warned him well in time, and he carefully found his way back to Kirk. ‘Thanks, Spock,’ he smiled. ‘Well, let’s get back to the ship.’

‘An admirable idea.’

Spock heard the chirrup as Kirk opened his communicator, but behind that instant of sound he heard another noise – a slight click, just like the noise Jim’s phaser had made as he changed the setting.

‘Jim – ’ he began, but before he could say anything more he heard a split second of phaser fire, and crumpled unconscious to the floor.

******

The first thing he was aware of was the coldness of the floor under his back, and the hardness of it against his aching skull. Then the slowness of his thoughts, as if a white haze had descended in his brain. Then other sensations crept in – the sharp soreness of the cut on his forehead, and a pulsing, swollen pain in his hand where the rock had hit it earlier. The all-over weakness and coldness and aching were the remnants of stun exhaustion – it was a feeling all too familiar to Spock after his years in Starfleet.

His eyes fluttered open, and he moved his gaze around, searching for any tiny hint of light that might tell him something about where he was. There was perhaps a vague lightening somewhere above him and to the right, but it was impossible to tell if it was a window or an artificial light.

The next subject he extended his awareness to was Jim. If he held his own breath and concentrated hard he could hear the shallow, regular breathing of one in sleep – or unconscious from phaser stun. He could just sense the shadowy hints of his dormant mind, not very far away. They were in the same room. Jim was probably lying on the floor as he was, still unconscious because he did not have the robust strength of a Vulcan.

Spock closed his eyes again, content that neither of them was in immediate danger. He could afford to lie still a little longer, trying to recover strength to his body and clarity to his mind. Gradually he became aware of the voices of men, seemingly from another room, too far away for a human to hear but just audible to his Vulcan ears.

‘Get the kid to set a shield up.’

‘He can’t rig a transporter shield can he?’

‘Nah, but he’s a demon at altering life-sign readings. Helped him sneak out of detention more times than I care to remember. As long as they don’t read these particular – ’

A loud noise of something being dragged across the floor cut across their words, and Spock pressed his lips together in frustration.

‘ – got one already, I’m sure, probably in his locker. Go find him and tell him to do it quickly.’

‘He’s probably in the canteen. I’ll just – ’

And then the voices faded away as if their owners had walked out of the room. Spock could still hear someone moving about, closer to him than the voices had been – the person who had been moving something heavy over the floor, presumably. He considered what he had heard them say, running the conversation through his mind again word for word. Detention, they had said, and in his locker and canteen. That suggested some kind of public building, probably a school. The scents seemed right – strong cleaning fluid and paper and – the inexplicable mustiness of a communal area.

He waited a few minutes longer, then sat up, sweeping his uninjured hand cautiously over the floor where he sat. The floor felt dusty under his palm, but smooth and firm like some kind of easily cleanable material. He could feel the subtle lines where the tiles joined, catching his nails as they passed over them. He tapped his knuckles on the floor, listening intently to the echoes, trying to get an idea of the space he was in. There was hardly any echo to speak of – it sounded, and felt, like a small space, not much bigger than a bathroom.

He stood up, keeping one hand protectively over his head as he did, aware that although logic suggested he was in a normal height room there could be anything above him. The space seemed to be clear though, and he reached out with his arms, feeling for a wall. There was nothing within reach, so he stepped carefully towards the side he had heard the voices from, reasoning that there was probably a door in that wall. He shuffled his feet as he moved, finding anonymous debris on the floor nearer the wall. When he bent to touch it he found it to be books and paper, strewn haphazardly onto the ground.

He reached out again, and almost immediately found the wall. It was not much more than a metre from where he had been lying. It was smooth and cold and featureless, much like the floor – but after a few moments of circling his palm over the surface he found a flat, square switch that probably operated the light – and just to the left of it he felt the recessed surface of a door. There was a smooth oval handle just above waist height – but it would not even move in his grip. Evidently, they were locked in.

Spock exhaled in annoyance, but considering recent events he was not surprised. He continued his careful exploration of the room, using his uninjured hand to explore the walls and his feet to feel the many things that seemed to be strewn over the floor. He discovered that there was almost no furniture in the room – just some shelves that seemed to be bolted to the wall and full of books and files. The floor, however, was half covered with the jumbled assortment of books and papers he had felt before, as if someone had hurriedly emptied out boxes onto the ground. Beside the door and the shelves and the rubbish, the only other feature within his reach was a window roughly two feet by three feet, midway up the end wall.

Spock stopped in his explorations and made his way carefully to where Kirk lay, kneeling down beside him. He had assumed he was suffering from nothing more than phaser exhaustion, but he realised that was not an assumption he could afford to make without seeing him. He felt his still form, and reached his hand up to touch his head, ascertaining that his temperature was within reasonable parameters, and that there was nothing that felt or smelt like blood on his face or scalp. He continued his investigation, carefully feeling over his arms and torso, feeling his clothes for the wetness of blood and testing the movement of his limbs for breaks. He was carefully feeling over Kirk’s left thigh when the man suddenly stirred, and murmured, ‘Spock, what in God’s name are you doing?’

Spock swiftly removed his hand and rested back on his knees.

‘Attempting to see if you are all right.’

‘Well, I’m – ’ It sounded as if he was trying to move, then he muttered, ‘Ugh,’ and lay still again. ‘I’m all right, Spock,’ he said. ‘Apart from the stun. Are you all right?’

‘Apart from a few minor injuries sustained the first time you were unconscious, I am fine, sir.’

‘The first time,’ Kirk repeated mirthlessly. ‘Now I remember why the pounding headache. But what about your hand, Spock?’ he asked, noticing the way the Vulcan was holding his right arm slightly away from his body. ‘That doesn’t look too minor to me.’

‘It is – painful,’ Spock admitted.

‘I’m not Bones, but I’m pretty sure your pinkie shouldn’t be at that angle,’ Kirk said critically. ‘It looks dislocated.’

‘Yes, I surmised as much,’ Spock nodded. ‘It would be to my advantage for you to return it to its socket,’ he said seriously.

‘Spock, I think it’s broken too,’ Kirk told him. ‘Without painkillers – ’

Spock raised an eyebrow. ‘I have had more than my usual practice at suppressing pain recently.’

‘Yes, well… Are you sure, Spock?’

Spock felt his finger cautiously. ‘I believe you are right that it is broken. It will cause far more pain to me in this position than if you can return it to the correct one and bind it with something.’

‘Okay, then,’ Kirk said, ripping a strip of fabric from the bottom of his tunic. ‘Are you ready?’

Spock closed his eyes, breathing deeply, then nodded. Kirk took hold of his hand, taking a moment to look at the finger before he touched it. Then he grasped it firmly, trying to ignore the green blood and the grating of the bones, and pulled it firmly outwards and back into its proper position.

‘All right, Spock?’ he asked in concern, noticing the whiteness of the Vulcan’s face.

Spock took a moment, swallowing unobtrusively, then nodded, opening his eyes again. ‘Yes, Captain, I am quite fine,’ he nodded. ‘But I would appreciate it if you would bind it for me?’

‘Looks like I’m taking over from the doctor today,’ Kirk murmured, binding the finger firmly to the one next to it with the strip he had torn from his top. ‘Is that all right?’ he asked, trying to tie off the bandage as unobtrusively as he could.

‘It is – better,’ Spock nodded, still sounding rather distracted. ‘Thank you, Jim.’

‘Don’t mention it.’

‘I suppose it is too much to hope that the cane is here?’ Spock asked, trying to draw the subject away from his hand. ‘I don’t imagine I will need it in the immediate, but it is – reassuring – to have.’

‘I can’t see it, Spock,’ Kirk said after a moment of looking around. ‘Where the hell are we, Spock?’ he said in exasperation. ‘All I remember is a phaser shot, then waking up here. I guess you were the same?’

‘Yes,’ Spock nodded. ‘But from our surroundings and what little conversation I have heard I would guess we were in a school building.’

‘You heard them talking?’

‘Just briefly. Two males, and a possible third. They also mentioned a juvenile, and the possibility of him erecting a shield to disguise our life signs. Can you see anything from the window, Jim?’

‘Window?’ Kirk asked, looking about. ‘There isn’t a window, Spock. It’s just a store room, I think.’

‘I – felt a window,’ Spock said, frowning. ‘At that end of the room,’ he added, pointing to his right.

Kirk laughed softly. ‘That’s some kind of noticeboard. It’s metallic, and there’s nothing on it, so it probably felt like a window.’

‘That would explain it,’ Spock said, sounding almost annoyed.

‘It’s an easy mistake to make,’ Kirk reassured him, touching his arm.

‘For a man without sight,’ Spock added flatly. He fell into silence, sitting with his arms about his bent knees, staying still as Kirk made his own investigations into the room they were in. It was one thing being on the ship without sight, where he was certain of his surroundings. This was a different situation entirely, and he detested the feeling of helplessness that had descended on him.

‘Glad to see they use real books in this school,’ Kirk murmured as he returned to Spock’s side, picking something up from the floor. ‘At least we’ve got reading material.’

Spock turned his head to him mutely, raising an eyebrow.

‘Well, I can read to you,’ Kirk amended.

‘What is it, Captain?’ he asked, reaching out curiously to the book he could hear Kirk’s hands moving over.

‘Er – this is Macbeth,’ Kirk said, handing it over instinctively. ‘There’s a couple more Shakespeares, some theory books, some math.’

‘I could recite most of the Shakespeare to you without recourse to the text,’ Spock pointed out. ‘And I imagine that the mathematics are rather beneath my level of ability.’

He pressed the book between his palms without opening it. He could not get used to the idea that he would never again see the figures and letters that were inside, that lined up as visual memories in his mind when he thought of them. He placed the book carefully back on the floor.

‘I guess so,’ Kirk nodded. ‘Well… What do you think, Spock? Sit and wait, or holler and bang on the door?’

Spock cocked his ear towards the door, then got to his feet and made his way over to it, leaning his head close to the panel.

‘I cannot hear anyone out there now. Waiting may be the best recourse at present.’

‘I wonder what they want with us,’ Kirk mused.

‘That mob was quite angry about the lack of food and medical supplies. They cannot be the only ones. I imagine our captors believe that a hostage situation may bring them what they need.’

‘Asking us would bring them what they need,’ Kirk said darkly. ‘Stunning us and sticking us in a dusty storeroom doesn’t make me feel inclined to help them.’

‘The crowd seemed fairly calm by the time you came around,’ Spock remembered. ‘Perhaps our captors are working to some more specific agenda of their own.’

He ran his hand over the door again, probing into the slight crack between the door and the frame, then trying again to make the handle move.

‘I doubt you can force it,’ Kirk said, coming over as Spock rattled the handle in frustration. ‘It looks pretty secure. I think it must lock from outside.’

‘And there is no window,’ Spock said, stilling his hand on the handle. ‘Are there no ventilation ducts?’

‘No, nothing,’ Kirk told him, looking about. ‘Some shelves, a light panel flush to the ceiling, a door, and a load of books and papers.’

Spock pursed his lips together, trying to think what might be gained from the resources at hand. He was forced to conclude that unless they intended to climb up on the shelves, smash the light, and hold the paper to it to burn their way out of the room there was very little that could be gained. The only way out was the door. He put his hand to the handle again, feeling over it, trying to work out by trying to move it what kind of lock it was keeping the door closed. Finally he gave up at that avenue and moved his hand to the other side, trying to discover if there were hinges and if they had any weaknesses.

‘Spock, sit down,’ Kirk said finally. ‘We can’t do anything, and we’ve both just been stunned. We’d be better off resting and recovering our strength for when they do finally decide to open the door.’

‘Yes,’ Spock said reluctantly. He had to admit that the stun exhaustion was throwing off his ability to control his frustration and to suppress the throbbing pain in his right hand.

‘Here,’ Kirk said, touching his arm as he moved back across the room. ‘I made a pile of some books and paper. It’s surprisingly comfortable – and not as chilly as the floor.’

Spock crouched down to feel the spread of paper in front of him against the wall, then turned round and sat down on it. It was more comfortable than the floor had been – but the situation was far from pleasing to him. He closed his eyes, extending his awareness to the sounds outside the room, realising that he could hear movement and footsteps again. Then he caught the sound of someone saying, ‘ – didn’t even plan this. What the hell’re we going to do with them?’

‘Spock?’ Kirk asked, seeing his concentration.

He raised a hand, turning his ear towards the door again.

‘ – know our agenda,’ he heard another voice say. ‘We know what we want, and with these two in there we’ll get it for sure. I’ve been checking up on the insignia on their shirts – the human’s the captain of his ship, the Vulcan’s a commander. They’re not just – ’

The voices faded away again, then he caught, ‘ – bring them out here and give them a going over.’

The footsteps moved closer, and Spock said swiftly, ‘They’re coming for us. They didn’t plan to capture us, but they do have an agenda. They don’t know – ’

He broke off as a key turned in the lock, focussing his attention rigidly on the people who were just about to enter. The multitude of footsteps suggested there were three or four of them, the heaviness of the tread and the voices he had heard suggesting they were all male. He stood, touching his hand to the wall behind him, trying to focus on Kirk’s actions as well as their captors. Jim stepped forward a little, positioning himself slightly in front of Spock as the door cracked open, and stark daylight chased away the artificial light in the small room.

Star Trek Rambling

Sunday, 28 September 2014

Fan Fiction: After The Light: Annihilate Rewritten (Part 1)

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

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