Title: Wapinshaw (Revised)
Author: Marcia Wilson-Cales
Pairing: MUMc/MUSaavik
Rating: ehhh, PG-13Summary: ten days after the closing events of The Knife. Commander in Chief Spock has returned from his trip to Vulcan and Saavik has rejoined him in consolidating the new Empire.
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They were natives of Indiri X and aquatic mammals as large as alligators. And as far as Dr. McCoy's eye could see, they were dead, washed up on the pebbly shore of their home. Sea carrion-eaters were flying over the heads of the small landing party, getting closer and more interested with each winged elipse. Considering the size and hooked beaks of the oil-slick colored birds, the doctor didn't want to be around when they got the nerve to land.
The wind was clean and sweet and pushed his dark hair to one side as he flipped the communicator. "Reporting." He said mechanically. Behind him, an ensign was getting violently sick--probably blame it on the overweening reek of the blubbery carcasses. God, it looked just like those old vids of beached whales and dolphins. And the smell...the smell was just about what your imagination could conjure up. Even he could tell.
*ENTRPRISE.* Captain Saavik's crisp voice snapped over the link.
"They're all dead. Est. 67-70 adults. Pod Leader We-ee positively identified." He sighed as he took in the large bull, a coal-black Swimmer with a unique pattern of snow-white barnacle on his belly. "Infants and Juvvies seem to have survived--can't see any of them anywhere. But the infants might as well be, if they can't find any adults to take care of them." A particularly powerful wave of sickly-sweet rotting meat slapped him as the wind changed. He cringed slightly; three of his party promptly vomited. He couldn't blame them. If he hadn't spent three months deadening his senses in an Orion salt mine, he'd be hurling along with them.
Deadening his senses. That was a mild way of saying he could barely taste food, and daily, painful shots were reversing his loss of color vision. Ten days and he still had trouble with reds and greens. And when he was finally up to it, reconstructive surgery on his retinal cones. Double ouch. Sometimes he thought about just keeping his vision this way, but colorblindness was too much of a handicap.
*Sensors say a pod is hovering 3kloms from the coast." Science Officer Rand spoke up; McCoy barely caught her cool voice in the background. "Sonar frequency says its We-ee's sister Rooo."
"They'd be taking care of the children then...Cerebral hemmorhage, captain." McCoy's eyes were starting to water. He closed them briefly. "Without a doubt, the land-natives are being supplied with primitive and mechanical means of sonar. Nothing else can do that to a highly evolved 'Swimmer."
He could almost hear Saavik thinking in the brief silence. "Alert your party to beamup." She said at last. "Sensors see nothing there but I dislike assuming there are no surprises."
"No kidding." He muttered under his breath--human ears wouldn't pick it up, but hers sure would. Long and hard experience had told him that Vulcanoid "telepathy" was largely in part to Vulcanoid hearing. * * *
"The 'Walkers swear they aren't being supplied with advanced technology." Rand shook her head as she grabbed a drink off the tray. "Personally, I doubt it."
"As would anyone of intelligence." Commander-in-Chief Spock noted. Rand was trying hard as hell not to be intimidated by his presence--it was his shoes she had been filling for the past three years, and now that the ENTERPRISE had teamed up with ERIDANI, she was forgetting that she was a top-notch SO.
Oblivious, Spock folded his hands before him. "Indiri is a vital planet for the stability of the New Empire. Both species of Native are willing and eager to share their minerals for our technology. The presence of sonar, which is far below the Empire, suggests a third party."
"Two third parties, I would suggest." Captain Saavik murmured. "A faction among the 'Walker species, perhaps dissatisfied with our trade agreement. And the suppliers of sonar technology."
"It's exceedingly dangerous." McCoy spoke for the first time since giving his report. All eyes automatically flicked to him, and he privately groaned. He *hated* being looked at. "Sonar does more than just cause cerebral hemmorhage to the 'Swimmers. Tissue damage, assaults on immune system, and can even collapse the walls of the capillaries." He leaned his chin in his hand, still thinking. "The infants and juvvies survived the sonar sweep because their brains are still not fully developed. But who's to say what problems will strike them when they get older?"
"Why would Walkers want sonar technology anyway?" Rand shook her head. "Swimmers can detect anything the Walkers need. They have their *own* sonar!"
"Racial jealousy?" Spock's SO, One Sagar, spoke for the first time. "The 'Swimmers went back on the Evolutionary pattern and returned to the Sea, leaving the Walkers behind. Indiri's literature suggests some resentment."
"Not an inconsiderable idea." Spock stroked his beard. He was letting it grow thicker and longer with his age.
"The ERIDANI will stay to meet this problem." Spock said at last. "The Enterprise must re-orbit to the Third Moon and wait for the ISS WHYDA. Captain Tippette has defected to our side; Saavik will accept her oath of Loyalty to me." Long fingers absently toyed with a survey wafer. "Saavik, keep a hail of communication open between our ships."
"It would be more efficient if we kept to a cislunar orbit." Saavik mentioned. "If you do not anticipate trouble from Tippette?"
"I do not. I remember her from the Academy. Does anyone have more to add at this time?"
No one did. They'd been rapping this issue around for two days. Even Spock should be sick of it. Salutes were traded; bodies slowly lifted and prepared to go. McCoy grinned but Spock could see the strain around his eyes. "Talk to you later." He didn't even whisper; he mouthed the words so Saavik couldn't hear. "Soon." Spock nodded to show he understood.
* * *
"What *are* you going to do with that thing?"
In the course of his career, Leonard H. McCoy (Cmdr) had witnessed planetary genocide of nearly all imaginable combinations, executions both neat and messy, and death by slow torture that was certainly not meant to give one pleasant dreams at night. He had been on planets where the height of military triumph was to serve your enemy on a platter, well done and well seasoned. He had been to places where resources were so scant and lives so cheap, it was nothing to render a body into fuel or cut a person's throat bent over a compost pile to save the nitrogen. He had even, God help him, spent two years on Vulcan where they still made heirlooms out of skulls.
Saavik was rather flattered that she had impressed him with ij-Red's salted hide.
McCoy was too hardened to show disgust at the roll of flayed, scraped and pounded Orion skin that had once been worn by his main tormentor on Orion's Borderworld, but his stance, voice and eyes broadcasted a very clear message: Saavik could get a little weird when her temper ran off.
"I have not yet decided." Saavik confessed. "Perhaps you would have an idea?"
McCoy shook his head. "This feels eerie." He muttered. "Being in the same room with what's left of ij-Red."
Saavik's eyes tended to get dark whenever the Orion's name came up. Like now. "I did not torture him." She said stiffly. The implication was she should have skinned him while he was still breathing and conscious, and poking pins in his exposed nerves while doing it. "I gave him a clean death."
"Yeah...too bad he didn't take it." McCoy drawled back. "Spock told me about the geyser of blood you left on the floor." He finally sighed and reached for his coffee. "Well, it's leather. You could...turn it into a rug for your office." He cocked his head to one side, considering the black Orion tattoos on the shoulder area. "Point it so people have to step on the sigil-marks when they walk in, and when somebody really annoys you, make 'em take it out and shake the dust off."
"Not a bad suggestion." Saavik began pouring herself a breakfast tea. "I could also make a belt for Dr. M'Benga. He suffered much at ij-Red's hands."
"Too much." McCoy whispered, his head turned away to stare with sudden great interest at a metal sculpture Spock had taken in a Klingon raid.
Saavik chastized herself for reminding Leonard of the mines. The doctors had been in the Fields of Salt for a fourth of a Standard Year, awaiting transportation to the Romulan House that had ordered their siezure. M'Benga had physically gotten the worst of it, but Saavik was now realizing McCoy was not going to recover mentally, for a long time.
Spock's favorite observation about Orions (besides the one he had about the contempt Vulcans instinctively harbored), was that the race was both master and slave of their glands. Master because they could control or influence nearly all known species in the Galaxy by the deliberate production of their pheremones. An Orion could drive a person to rage, lust, joy or suicidal sadness if one was not wary. And in humans, long exposure could affect the brain's ability to sort out the conflicting messages. Orions were the salve of their glands because they rarely could control their culturally-ingrained desire to manipulate others around them. In the Pirates' Galaxy, one was a master or a slave, and that was that. While under ij-Red's incarceration, Drs. McCoy and M'Benga had endured daily doses of Orion submission pheremones and both men had begun to lost some motor control and sensory-input before their rescue.
How bad it was had not been obvious until a few days ago, when Leonard gently, tactfully, and *firmly* refused Saavik's innocent offer of a mind meld. Saavik had meant nothing wrong; they had melded once before, when she had been relieved to get him back and determined not to hide her feelings any more. They had melded when she faced him with it--"put her cards down" as he had said--but it had been sudden, and unexpected to his mind. Saavik only wanted to meld properly. But she learned from his reaction that that one time had happened because she had taken him by surprise. And that was not likely to happen again.
She watched him through the veil of her eyelashes--a typical Romulan attitude of deep thought--as he stared at the roll of skin with a frown on his face. The frown was lopsided; the lunar eclipse ij-Red had burned onto his face left that side stiff and slow to express emotions. His eyes more than made up for it.
"You used a knife, didn't you?" He asked suddenly. "I didn't teach you how to skin like that."
Saavik sighed through her nose. "No, I did not feel like separating the skin with my fist."
"Tsk."
"I could always make a drum. That way he could be beaten repeatedly."
"No dice, Saavik. You used salt to cure. That does strange things to rawhide."
Having him pick at her was at least familiar; he had been challenging her decisions, actions and beliefs every day of their acquaintance. Or at least since she grew old enough to talk back to him. Which had been, technically, three days after their first meeting.
Leonard sighed; his eyes were burning from the latest injection of retinal pigment epithelium, and he shook his head, laid down on his back and let his arms fall anywhere. Saavik knew at this point that the pain was bad. Seeing was now impossible, as light burned when it passed through the thin sheet of neurons lining the back of the eyeball. Against the photoreceptors, the RPE was slowly recycling the contents of its outer segments, and choroidal blood vessels were flushing out the damaging matter absorbed in the mines. Without the daily agony, macular degeneration would set in, and he might as well be blind.
"Here." She was determined not to mention mind links, or bondings. That last part was the hardest; and the most hurtful between them. While she didn't quite believe his words about being incapable of linking to her, she couldn't quite argue him out of it either.
Eyes closed, he exhaled as she ran her hands over his forehead, not seeking to invade his mental privacy, but soothing like warm water. The stroke turned suggestive and he quirked his lips up. "We don't have time." He reminded her. "Besides, you're just wanting to work out your frustrations on me. Not that I'm against catharsis, but I'd like to live to see my retirement age."
"I am not frustrated."
"You're frustrated, captain. Spock ticked you off when he took the Indiri out of your hands." McCoy yawned hugely, his jaw cracking. "You're just *dying* to know what's going on on that little planet."
Saavik exhaled.
Her triscreen computer chirped.
"See?" Leonard smiled drowsily, and let sleep take him before she could get the last word.
"Damn."
Spock's familiar face flickered into her screen. Saavik permitted herself a small smile. Spock had made it clear since her adoption that he did not expect or want her to make his mistakes and try to be "all Vulcan." The result was a coolly logical, firey tactician who could smile or swear in public.
(Of course, Spock blamed McCoy for "damn" entering her permanent vocabulary.)
"Saavikaam." Spock nodded.
"Spock." Saavik nodded back. "You are ready?"
"I have gotten word from the Fourth Fleet. They are willing to use the Chini Base as a stopover."
"That is welcome news."
"Indeed. How is the Enterprise?"
"We are well." Saavik replied cautiously. She knew what her father was asking. He could see Leonard lying down, past her shoulder. "There are...no complaints."
Spock nodded, a very faint lift of his eyebrow. "Who will be on your team?"
"Snow, Hawkins, and Soluk."
Spock absorbed that, but did not ask the obvious. She rather wished he would. He had never been hesitant of her feelings before.
"I had hoped to speak to Dr. McCoy again."
"He is...not well." Saavik answered cautiously.
"Not seriously, I hope." Spock gave a second look past her shoulder. McCoy was normally kinetic, and the joke was if he wasn't moving, he was asleep or dead.
Saavik was so slow in answering, Spock took that for her response.
"What is the matter, Saavikaam?"
* * *
"He has not recovered from the Fields of Salt."
"Hardly surprising." Spock paused to let her enter his rooms first. "Humans have been traditional choice of Orion slavers since it was discovered they were hardier to cold than Vulcans, and easier to replace."
"So of course they were worked to death."
"A slave's life expectancy in the Salt Fields is an average of 4.5 months. And while they intended on keeping the doctors alive, you can hardly expect an Orion to learn manners overnight."
Saavik absorbed that with a bare nod. Spock tucked his arms underneath his cape and flipped the cloth over his head. "Would you care for a drink?"
"Thank you, I would."
* * *
McCoy didn't care what Saavik said about Vulcan notions of age and maturity. He was not looking forward to seeing Spock again. If it wasn't going to be about M'Benga, it would be about Saavik. The rock and the hard place.
"Giles Corey." He muttered under his breath.
"You are speaking to yourself?" Spock had entered the Sickbay without a sound.
Years of enduring such tricks kept him from starting. "All the time."
Who is Giles Corey?"
"Oh...somebody who got executed for witchcraft back in the Stone Age of American government." McCoy grumbled. Corey had refused to dignify the charges with a confession. The Puritans had piled stones upon his chest to make him talk and his last words were: "Put on more rocks."
Spock was dying of curiosity, you could tell because he had no expression on his face. "You are not attending the conference?"
McCoy shook his head. "Nah." He said simply.
Spock took in the ensemble. The doctor was stacking medical wafers along his shelf under a system that made no apparant sense.
"How do you find Saavik?"
McCoy's heart nearly stopped. There were some Vulcan phrases, he mused glumly, that would never translate well into Impirical Standard. How did he find Saavik? That was how telepathic people asked of *mental* compatibility. In other words, "Are you getting along?"
"Exhausting." He answered.
"Hardly astonishing." Spock said dryly. "I often wondered if you and I--as well as my parents--could properly raise her."
"According to your mother," McCoy said slowly and with great deliberation, "it was only fair play."
"I do not think I was nearly so difficult."
"You're right. Your parents were forty years younger then. And there was only the four of us, two sehlats, twenty servants and everyone's bodyguard, with Saavik." McCoy rubbed his forehead. "Did you know that when I least expect it, I *still* get nightmares about her kahs-wan?"
"You are not well." Spock said bluntly. "Perhaps you should join M'Benga on Vulcan."
"I'm almost considering it." McCoy snapped.
That was not a good sign, Spock thought. "You were under extended exposure to Orions; normal procedure would recommend a mind-healer to make sure there is no lasting damage."
"Too late." McCoy said delicately.
Spock let the silence draw between them while he thought of how to respond. "I see. Perhaps the Healers of Gol..."
"That's not the whole problem." McCoy snapped.
"Oh?"
"Yeah. I wish you hadn't left so damn fast the last time. I really had something I needed to tell you in private. Don't know if it'll do any good now..."
"You could not tell Saavik?"
"I *especially* could not tell Saavik." McCoy clipped. His color turned to a shade that would have looked healthy on a Vulcan. On him it was alarming. "Spock, you need to pull her out of this issue with Romulan Genetics. It's too dangerous." He glanced around. "Where is she?"
"She is still on my ship. I asked her to recalibrate my personal computer so that I could send scrambled messages to her all the swifter. It should occupy her for several hours."
Spock caught the paranoid flicker of the doctor's eyes against the doorway, nodded when the human ordered it locked. The Vulcan silently pulled a small device out of his sash and set it on the table. He tapped it and a red light came on.
"We may speak with impunity, doctor."
McCoy relaxed--slightly. "Please believe me, you have got to find a duotronium-clad excuse to get this ship as far away from the Orion/Romulan Edge as you can."
"I believe you would not make such a strong statement without proof to defend."
McCoy slumped back in his chair. "The guards talked a lot." He began reluctantly. "They didn't think we could understand their Patois. Granted, it wasn't always easy to follow, but Orions enjoy their sentences short and crisp and they repeat a lot. Also, once a week we could count on getting yanked out of the mines and getting stood before at least one Romulan Captain."
Spock's eyebrows went up--and stayed there. "You left this out of your report? And M'Benga as well--under your orders?"
"Under my orders. You'll see why in a moment." McCoy spoke tightly. "I couldn't risk Saavik learning about any of this."
"Continue."
"The Romulan visits were punctual. Usually it was twoRomulans--sometimes it was two captains, but mostly it was one captain and a Plainclothes Civilian."
Spock was openly frowning. "Civilians...scientists?"
"I have no doubt of that. They acted like the military was there to serve them, but they didn't have the military demeanor, d'you know what I mean?" At Spock's nod, McCoy continued. "They also, didn't think we could understand their language. One of the first things they'd done was pull out the Subdermals, but they didn't think that we'd actually take the time to learn languages the old-fashioned way." McCoy shrugged. "And we played it up. We acted throughly in the dark. Orion-pheremone cowed with just the right touch of belligerant defiance."
Spock almost smiled at the expression, and the tone of voice, of McCoy. "I can imagine this with no great difficulty." The doctor's ability to camoflage had become a private joke--the rest of the Empire sincerely believed McCoy had been a sodden alcoholic until Spock "dried him out."
"Well, they bought it. Lock, stock and barrel. And they ran their mouths. Checked out our physical condition, made sure we weren't sick, just mentally and emotionally intimidated. Invariably punched Kwelli a few times in front of me, and they talked. The House that was in charge of offering the bounty to ij-Red had fallen into disfavor. I believe you're familiar with the name: Heartsblood."
Spock's eyes slitted almost shut. "That House is not unfamiliar to me." He agreed icily. "So you are saying that the apparant illogical action of keeping you and M'Benga on Borderworld was to keep the Praetor and the Majority Houses from learning of Heartsblood's actions."
"That was pretty obvious after the third "visit." McCoy grumbled.
"Heartsblood was the main financier for Hellgard." Spock murmured, almost to himself.
"I know."
"Did they devise tasks for you and M'Benga?"
"M'Benga, no, unless you count his personal pain threshold..." McCoy made the sign for "insanity" at the mention of the Romulans. "But the Heartsblood Senator, she set me up a hybridoma culture and had the translator explain that I was expected to create monoclonal antibodies from the sample."
"Explain that procedure."
McCoy shrugged. "Well, it's a picnic compared to Romulan lack of medical technology. Hybridomas are fused cells that create spcific monoclonals. In this case, they had phagocytes mixed with common Romulan blood cells. T-positive, which surprised me--"
"Why so?"
"That's the blood type of the Royal Houses. Sorta like seeing hemophilia in a white man, Spock--you know somewhere down the line there's a link to the Upper Ruling Class."
"Fascinating." Spock shook himself. "Continue."
"Okay. I fused the cells together, which form the hybridomas. The unfused cells died. Then I took the hybridomas and let 'em divide into separate cultures. After that it was a matter of time to find the culture that had the best antibody that bound to the original antigen. There were two such samples out of a field of six. A really high number if I do say so myself. Senator Lemonface was trying not to look bitter with envy but it really bothered her that I did in thirty minutes what her entire staff needed a week to do." McCoy smirked.
"That is an odd test to devise." Spock scowled. "For the moment, I see no logic in it."
"It can be very delicate." McCoy admitted. "Frankly, I never ever do it unless I can help it." At Spock's lifted eyebrow he elaborated: "Monoclonal antibodies are nice in theory, but nothing takes the place of personally evolved cells. Saavik has monoclonal antibodies, but she had to have them to survive her own unique genetic gumbo. And believe me, I watch her *closely* to make sure none of those little tailor-made cells go ape and start running around. If they did, we could have an epidemic on our hands. Her antibodies would be so aggressive, they'd be going around looking for things to devour. Like, another Vulcanoid's immune system!"
"Disconcerting." Spock admitted. "Do you know the identities of any of the Romulan visitors?"
"I checked the files when we got back--making sure the whole time that Saavik never found out about it. Talk about a nightmare. She knows computers almost as well as you." McCoy rubbed his forehead. "I made a list." He pulled a half-wafer out of his sash and wordlessly handed it over. "A few faces we couldn't pin down. But the last visitor I believe you'll find significant. The Flagship Commander."
Spock went board-rigid. "The Commander?"
"The Imperator Herself. Giving credit where its due, she was nauseated at what she was seeing, but there's an old Family Oath of Loyalty involved. So she's caught in the crosshairs. Her, ah..."companion"--Senator Lemonface, "Atem" to her face, made sure everyone present knew she had her under the thumb...Spock, don't break that. It took me hours to get it together."
Spock stopped pinching the rectangle of plastic.
"She knew I understood the language. But she never said anything." McCoy added. "It was the least she could do for her personal honor, to grant us that privacy."
"I am gratified to hear that." Spock tapped the wafer and slid it into his sash-pocket. "These are, as you would say, 'deep waters,' doctor."
"It gets deeper. Senator Atem visited a total of seven times. And she was the only repeat customer, and the one who set up the MAb test. I'm fairly certain that she's Saavik's...genetic mother."
Spock paled. "You are...certain?"
"Saavik's cranial structure, as you know, is fairly unique among Romulans. This woman had it exactly. Among...among certain mannerisms, way of talking, even the tilt of her head when she was curious." McCoy watched as Spock fought to control his reaction.
"I see why you gave us a very incomplete report." The Vulcan said at last. "Saavik is a young commander, and I would not see her throw her career--or her life--into vengeance."
"She's almost there." McCoy warned sharply. "You know as well as I do how she feels about anything to do with Hellgard! And she took a criminey Lineage Oath! You can't just back out of something like that!"
"No...she cannot. I warned her not to swear such words." Spock hadn't looked this distressed over his daughter since she'd come down with a supposedly extinct virus. "Oaths can be as binding as any trap. But her need to rectify the wrongs of the past overwhelmed her." He saw McCoy look away. "This is why you will not bond with her."
"Yup." McCoy answered briefly. "Sooner or later, she'd find out."
Spock was not a fool. "Heartsblood is going to attempt a power coup against the Majority Houses, and it feels a return to Genetic Engineering is the key to success."
"All we have to do is watch out for any Romulans with heavy browlines and a distinct lack of independant thought." McCoy grumbled. "Racial subtypes are dying out on the Romulan Homeworlds, Spock. Used to be you could see a Rom with blue eyes, curly hair or round eyefolds. They're gathering up their DNA pool and aiming for dominant genes in a biiiig way."
"And they wish to combine Vulcan traits with theirs." Spock said flatly. His fingers went white. "Vulcans have greater stamina. Even I with my human half, can defeat a Romulan in easy combat."
"Nice to know." McCoy muttered.
"Perhaps they would wish to use Vulcan telepathy as well."
"If that was their aim, they really screwed up with Saavik. She's skilled but not outstanding."
"For which I am grateful. Many a Vulcan has lost their sanity under their own perceptions." Not unlike, Spock thought, McCoy courted the oblivion of alcohol to escape his empathy. An unbidden idea came to him and he must have made some reaction, for the doctor looked at him suddenly and worridly.
"Spock?"
"You said racial subtypes were dying out on the Homeworld."
"Yeah. That was one of the things that I could hear 'em talking about."
"And engineered antibodies..." Spock was trembling. He held his hands together as McCoy's horrified awareness dawned over him.
"Not just a warrior race then." The doctor forced out. "Holy God, Typhoid Marys!"
"What?"
"Carriers!" McCoy stamped to his feet, his palm slapping down on the desk. Wafers scattered. "Racial subtypes, Spock! Immunological disorders are genetic! They're doing more than attack the Royal Houses on a physcial level! Heartsblood aims to go all-photons with warriors who can saunter around a biologically contaminated field! T-Positive cells! Christ! That's the main marker for Romulan Paternity cases!"
Spock had gotten to his feet without knowing it. "Saavik is in as much danger as you are." He rasped. "I will send her away from here."
"Where?" McCoy wanted to know. He flipped his hands up to the ceiling. "Mother of Mithras, what kind of excuse can you give her?"
Spock knew the doctor's father was an Aesthetic. In the course of their long relationship, Spock had heard McCoy invoke the Sun God exactly twice, and this was the second time. The first time had been under identical circumstances of desperation.
"There is the acceptance of the Oath of Loyalty with Tippette." He said at last. "Perhaps...if I were to appoint Saavik as my Second Chief."
"No way. She wants to work her way *up* the ladder. She won't buy that."
"The conference..." Spock began pacing. "I must think of something.." He was actually fidgeting.
"Get Scotty to help you figure this out." McCoy rubbed the back of his neck. "He's a sneaky devil. I'm off duty and Saavik's expecting me to to prep the healthrolls at 0200."
"Very well." Spock said absently. "I promise you I will have a solution of some sort...before we leave Indiri."
* * *
Saavik had enjoyed tinkering with her father's computer. It reminded her of a happier (simpler) time as a child, first learning her way through memory boards and synthesynapsic connexions. Time had passed in the rare fun, and she was surprised when Spock returned to his cabin.
"You are enjoying yourself, Saavikaam?" Spock asked dryly.
"Very much so." Saavik answered in the same voice.
"I am gratified." Spock sat down. "Do you have time to speak some more before you rejoin the ENTERPRISE?"
"I always have time to speak with you, Spock."
"At least at this moment..." Spock smiled faintly. "I must speak to you about your career."
Saavik straightened, placed her hands behind her back. "Speak, Spock."
"There is a possibility that you may succeed me where I fail, or step aside." Spock held her green eyes with his hard ones for a long minute. "For that reason, I wish to ensure you have special training. Training I wish I had had, at your age."
"Speak." Saavik urged with a calm she did not feel.
"Are you aware of the Terran-Scottish custom of Wapinshaw?"
Saavik turned the word over in her mind, tasted it. "Wapinshaw...Leonard used that word under his breath when the ENTERPRISE traded light fire with Kor's Battlecruiser."
"Wapinshaw is a Scottish custom in which on a certain day at every year, the members of each village in Mr. Scott's homeland would stand before their elders and demonstrate their proficiency in weapons. If you examine the word closely, it is a Highlander-Hybrid word meaning, "weapon-show". This extended to being able to defend oneself with domestic implements; farming tools, even a plowhorse could be considered a weapon if it were trained to attack on command and not flinch at the sounds of war. Mr. Scott is quite adamant that this is why his people make, not necessarily the finest warriors, but surely the most reliable."
"This is an old custom then?"
"It goes back almost a thousand years." Spock mentally sighed. "I have set out requests for this custom to be adopted among our people. It will not exactly be a simple matter, but it is too practical to not make use of." He slid a plastic sheet forward. "These are the rules I have drawn. Only ship's captains may attend a wapinshaw panel. There is too much risk of a person gaining high rank without working for it. And a captain is the hardest of the hard."
Saavik nodded, accepting that as a truth everyone should know. "Sulu, T'an, Cul, Son of Thelen...our finest captains."
"I am still gathering candidates. Sulu will be the Wapinshaw Director of the expatriot Terrans stationed on Sigma, and the Sigmans themselves."
"He should enjoy being one of the few males on that planet."
"No doubt. Cul will Wapinshaw the Andorians. T'An, Vulcan. There leaves Tellar, Alpha Centauri, and Rigel. Would you be interested in joining this project?"
Saavik pondered. "Rigel would possibly be the best choice." She said slowly.
"Indeed. I cannot imagine you on the glacial Tellar, but it was your choice." Spock almost smiled. "I am still formatting this, Saavikaam. But I am gratified that you are interested in participating."
"Not at all, Spock." Saavik inclined her head. The warrior in her was already looking forward to this. Rigel was an interesting world, with the natives a blend of humanoid and Vulcanoid, to the point that they could breed with human or Vulcan without any genetic manipulation. Leonard, of course, had sarcastic observations to make about Rigellian Mind-Sects, but Saavik understood there was a murky history between him and a Rigellian physician who liked to control others with his mind. She suddenly thought of her choice. He would dislike being anywhere near a planet with Nasanthakaan on it...
"Saavik."
No "Saavikaam" here, just her straight name. It got her attention instantly. Her father was lifting heavy glasses of water upon a tray. "I warned you it would not be a simple matter."
"I did not expect it to be."
"Very good. If you had told me that battle equated worthiness, I would have wondered about your exposure to Klingons." Spock silently passed the tray over, offering her the Guest choice. No longer the gesture of a father to a daughter, but Commander to Commander, Host to Guest. With his own he sat down. "You never knew how we became allies."
Saavik tilted her head to one side. "You were shipmates."
"We were shipmates but nothing more. I must be precise in that. Like most of the crew, I considered him to be trustworthy only because he was too lacking in ambition to assassinate anyone. Kirk knew he was the best xenophysician in the Fleet and discouraged any assassinations in Sickbay. But I followed Kirk's example in ignoring him unless I needed something."
Saavik was fascinated at this glimpse into the past. "But something happened to change your mind."
"Literally. I have mentioned the Parallel Universe."
Saavik shivered a little. "Disconcerting."
"I agree. Circumstance forced a desperate action. I enacted a mind meld with Dr. McCoy's counterpart. It was...a most distasteful action, and I would not repeat it again unless events were again out of my control." Spock suddenly put down his water. "All of us have counterparts, but evidence states strongly that there are no changes in...inner personality. There is a core of being, or what the humans call "identity" that is the same. Environment can account for the majority of changes between dimensions. For example, Captain Sulu is a gentle, kind man in their Galaxy, but if need be could survive as successfully as the one you know."
Saavik lifted a dry eyebrow. "Indeed, I have little trouble imagining he could survive anywhere." Sulu was the most predatory of all captains under Spock's command, and for that reason, Spock only employed him on tasks that called for *truly* bloody work. In that, he was more than capable, and Spock had conversely developed a fearsome reputation as the man who kept a le-matya under command.
"Then you understand. 'if need be' suits the explanation of differences. Kirk in our dimension was a man without...stopgaps or safety measures. His survival skills were supreme, Saavikaam. He had fitted himself completely into the Empire. Unfortunately, he had molded himself too well and could not change in any way. The other Kirk realized this and urged me to take control, knowing that to do so, I would have to kill his counterpart. He understood his basic nature very well."
Spock paused to drink; a Vulcan method of letting his words set in before moving on. Saavik remembered that she should drink too, out of manners if not thirst.
"The Parallel-McCoy was unapologetic and made no excuses for what he was. He recognized that his function was to keep his captain from going out of control as the Kirk of this Galaxy had. The entire experience, when I was able to observe objectively, raised doubts as to my shipmates' characters. I had the view of all crewmembers that existed in both dimensions and I could see a communal link in all."
"Fascinating." Saavik could not help herself.
"Agreed."
"I had the help of Kirk's Woman, who was willing to trade her aid for a transfer to another ship, and, a more interested Captain. She feared for her safety, and what Kirk would do if he learned she had been anywhere near his counterpart. A most...jealous man...With the aid of the Tantalus Device, I disposed of Kirk. That left the personal testing of all my senior crew. I will not go into details; let me say it was extremely difficult to discover McCoy's nature. He was an excellent chameleon."
"I have noticed." Saavik said heavily.
"At last I offered him a choice in his future." Spock steepled his fingers. "He took the choice I would have made in his position."
Apparantly finished, Spock lifted his dark eyes to Saavik's albino green ones. "If you intend to make this a match of wills, Saavikaam, McCoy will simply drop out of the game. If you want him to be a part of your life, then you must move carefully. I taught you chess. I believe you have the craft in you."
* * *
Saavik pulled away after a moment, keeping her arms around his neck. Borderworld's crushing gravity had left him physically tougher than before and he gently, firmly, pulled out of her grip. Just as he had pulled away from the meld, she thought in dismay.
McCoy drew a sigh out of his lungs. "Saavik..." He turned away from the sculpture and folded his arms. The psychologist in him knew that it was a mistake to treat her like the little girl she had been. But damn it, just like the hardheaded little kid she used to be, she wasn't listening.
Saavik waited expectantly. Her green eyes suggested that she couldn't wait to hear whatever lame explanation came out of his mouth.
(This is going to be...*hard.*) "I agree that there's not much point in comparing the difference of age between two species. If you can handle that, fine."
Saavik blinked. She was not used to him agreeing.
"But there's another dynamic between us, and I think it's a lot more important than you having an affair with somebody old enough to be your grandfather."
Saavik looked wry. "In Vulcanoid terms, you are barely an adult."
"Why, *thank you*." McCoy drawled with just a touch of sarcasm. "Always nice to know I can get my ID requested at every bar in Eridani's Space." He glanced briefly at the ceiling. "I don't think you're suited to commit to me, or to anybody. You were meant to have lovers, Saavik. Not to tie yourself down to just one man."
Saavik tilted her head back to peer sharply into his face. He appeared perfectly serious. She gave him the credit by considering his words.
"To have paramours is...more Commander Uhura's style than it is mine." She said slowly.
"You're more like her than you know." McCoy said gently. "The men who admire confidence, self-possession and yes, a temper, are the men you want." He grinned suddenly. He stopped smiling just as quickly. "I don't want you to commit to just me."
Saavik was as unbalanced as she could get. "You have always claimed to desire that in a relationship."
"I do. But it's not good for *you*, Saavik. I can't meld with you. I can't...be what you need."
"What do you think I need?"
"You need people. It's easy for you to be self-isolated and walled off from the world. You're private by habit, and private by nature. You're hooking a lot of yourself into being with me and I'm scared because you're not really close to anyone else on the ship. I don't mean romantically close. Everyone likes you; they respect you. But you don't really interact with them. You're not *close* to them. I know that it hasn't been but a few months, but you need to inspire loyalty and trust." He sat down on the edge of the bed and tugged at a too-tight sleeve cuff. "You interact well with Kyle, Scotty, and Uhura. You get along with all your officers. But that's because most of them watched you grow up. They know you probably more than you know them."
"I am the captain. I cannot afford to be friendly with my crew."
"You don't have to be friendly. Look at your father. He's generally aloof, but he's earned everyone's loyalty because they know he won't have them do anything he won't do himself. And he never leaves a crewman behind. But he had a head start over you; they knew him when he was a lowly Science Technician on this ship. You don't have time to slowly build up that kind of regard." Leonard leaned forward and picked up a sheet of plastic. "I've seen your graphs since your captaincy. Everyone thinks highly of you, Saavik, but if you don't...put out...a little more personality, that praise is going to turn bitter."
Saavik sat down next to him, hands in her lap, and tried not to feel as if she were under an examination light. "I am not accustomed to being social."
"It's not that hard." McCoy smiled. "Did you know Kyle has a birthday coming up next week? Why don't you start there--go to the dinner, and let him know without preaching that you appreciate his work."
"I *do* appreciate his work."
"Well *tell* him!"
"How?"
(Vulcans...) McCoy thought. "Ok...I'm gonna let you think about that. If you can't figure it out by Twosday, I'll help you then."
Saavik sighed.
"Oh, cheer up. I'm not telling you to go dance an ik'an before the Matriarchs!"
"For that I am grateful." Saavik snapped. "Because I would not do it. Not even for you."
"Lord, I wouldn't ever ask you. So it doesn't matter, does it?"
Saavik leaned over and proffered her two fingers. After a moment he answered the touch with his own. Warm auric energy (not psychic) traded across two different skins. Saavik relaxed a bit. Leonard for all his abrasive words, could always calm her. She reached up and brushed her free fingers through his hair.
"Mmmn..." He shut his eyes and permitted the light touch. Saavik concentrated on fine-tuning her awareness of his katra's field. There was more turmoil underneath than he displayed; no surprise there.
Vulcanoids were touch-telepaths. That did not make them superior than humans, who could also carry that talent. Saavik was starting to realize that truth. Leonard had empathic abilities, and that explained more than anything his lack of cruelty. Sadly for him, emotional maturity accounted for little when you were in the minority. Vulcans dealt with the contraidiction by living under a strict code of honor and sworn loyalties. Humans had no such protection.
She wanted to meld, but had to respect his desire not to. As a Vulcan, it was a highly difficult, painful action. The phrase "always touching and never touched" explained the relationship perfectly, and Leonard could not bear it. And Spock had intimated in strong language that it should not be a forced issue.
Humans touched their katras when they were intimate. Saavik could appreciate this, but felt it a faint enjoyment compared to the telepathic intensity they had enjoyed that one and only time. In a way it was like being partially blind and deaf.
Even so, Saavik did not want to end what they had.
"How are your eyes?"
He opened them. "Better."
"Good." It was no wonder humans engaged in "small talk," it was a constant re-affirmation of their connection with each other. Vulcans had no understanding of this communication because their telepathy erased that need.
But it was harder. Saavik had to ask verbally what a simple mental touch could answer.
"Do you want to stay tonight?"
Leonard promptly avoided the issue of talking, and communicated his answer with his fingertips across her lips. It was amazing, she thought, that just when she'd decided humans used speech for their main language, that she'd be proven wrong.
* * *
Saavik was awakened by a disturbance in her mind; a seismic quake in Leonard's sleeping consciousness. Even as her eyes opened he was sitting up and choking for breath. Without thinking she grabbed his shoulders with the intention of calming him down.
(She was drowning in a storm of salt. Burning, acrid, burning. Can't see; can't smell. Screaming. Shaft collapse. No up no down. Screaming. Senses gone. Kwelli? Kwelli! razorsharp pain; body falling against chest, scraping back against salt wall. Open lashmark bleeding into pink salt. Kwelli. Kwelli's screaming. KWELLI!)
Leonard mentally picked Saavik up and *threw* her out of his mind. It was as reflexive as a snake striking a trespasser. Saavik did not think of herself as a novice, but the backlash was beyond her experience. There was no *thought* just a *will* of intention.
"Christ." He was whispering. "Saavik..."
She was alright, merely stunned. "I am.. all right." She moved her lips and hoped the right sounds were coming out. The salt cavern was leaving her consciousness, and she was grateful for it.
She fully came to herself to see he was bent over, fists clenched, the muscles standing out with the effort of holding himself in. Afraid to touch her, she realized with a sick feeling. If he touched her to see if she was all right, to let her know he was there and worried, he might contaminate her again.
"It...Leonard..." Saavik tightened her shields until they were steel and rested her hand on his shoulder. The thick scar now had new meaning to her. Still shielding, she pulled him back down inside a circle of her arms.
Leonard had to leave. She came to the realization in the dark, listening to his breath slow with his heartrate. There were too many reasons why he could not stay on the ship. He didn't *want* to. His loyalty to the Enterprise had been stated long ago. But he was too ill. Saavik wasn't even sure if the vaunted Healers of Gol understood this. Her fingers absently stroked the long scar before she realized what she was doing.
Saavik experienced another flush of rage at Orions, and at the Romulans at the end of this. Her mother's people. The rage swelled and burst behind her eyes. She was glad, she thought, that she had sworn the Lineage Oath. Because if she ever crossed the path of those who had founded Hellgard, she would personally kill everyone in their world...
"Look at you." Leonard's dark face was angry in the low light of the cabin. "You're so caught up in wanting to make somebody pay for this that you aren't *thinking.*"
Saavik flushed bronze-green. "It is my nature!"
"Nature? What the hell does that mean?!" McCoy flipped his hands. "Let me tell you something, Saavik. I wasn't thinking of revenge, or murder, or *anything* more than getting *out* of those mines." He let his head fall back against her collarbone.
"You will have to go to Vulcan." Saavik heard herself speak with admirable control.
McCoy, of course, chose that moment to out-Vulcan all of Vulcan. "Will I?"
"Yes." Saavik forced out.
* * *
Spock's personal guards met him in the Transporter Room. Syrik, a distant cousin of his commander's, led him to his guest rooms that--interestingly enough--adjoined Spock's. McCoy dumped his one duffel on the bed and promptly fell flat on his back.
The sound of Spock stirring an iced drink in a pitcher woke him up.
"You have gotten skittish." Spock commented.
"Took you that long to notice?" McCoy sat up, leaning his elbows on his legs and resting his head downwards. Spock could see a silver streak, faint as a thread, along his temples. A mark that had not been there before Orion. "Salt streak" the doctor joked in a morbid humor.
"You once said we could only agree on matters we disliked." Spock set down the pitcher to let the powdered ice solidify. "It does seem to be the case here."
"Mn." McCoy rubbed the back of his neck. "What exactly are we agreeing about? My convalescance in that overgrown leper colony you call home?"
Spock hated to admit the doctor had a point about ShiKahr. "About Saavik."
McCoy was silent.
"It would be too dangerous for her to know that her mother tortured her lover."
"Saavik's operative word is dangerous." McCoy had his hands over his face. "I'm just hoping she learns to rely on her crew more. She needs a safety net of co-workers and peers, not elders."
"You are hardly an elder to a Vulcan."
"Spock, there's hardly any point in comparing between species."
Spock lifted his eyebrow. "That is Saavik's favorite argument."
"She rubbed off me. Like lint."
Spock poked at the forming ice-crust to see how ready it was. Not quite. "Saavik agreed that you needed a rest. I must warn you that she will be in ShiKahr in three months."
"Hopefully she'll have three boyfriends and an entire slumber party of women in her life by then."
"I doubt that. But it is a thoughtful consideration." Spock folded his arms across his chest. "You have played chess with her, Leonard. Do you really think she will walk away?"
"I told her to." The doctor tugged at his damp uniform and reached for his duffel. "Hopefully she'll be spending the next three months throwing darts at my effigy."
"You would drive her away?"
"D'you like the alternative?" McCoy shot back.
Spock had no ready answer for that. "The Healers may be able to help the damage to your mind." He did not sound convincing even to himself.
"I'm not holding my breath."
"Why would you want to?"
"Spock, there are times when no one would ever know you've spent most of your life among humans." McCoy marveled. "Saavik shouldn't settle for sloppy seconds, Spock. And that's exactly what she'd have with me."
Spock breathed in through his nose, Vulcan-style to show he was in reluctant agreement. A touch telepath deserved to link her mind with her bondmate. And McCoy was completely incapable of that ability. Even if the Orions hadn't damaged his mind, there was the knowledge he carried about Saavik's parentage.
The cabin grew deathly quiet as both men absorbed the whole impossible situation. Spock could hear the tick-click of freezing ice in the pitcher.
"There is a possible solution." Spock finally said.
McCoy didn't act so rudely as to snort, but he did look dubious.
"If the Healers of Gol can repair the damage the Orions did..." Spock suddenly could not look at the human. "I could...seal the memory of Senator Atem off in your mind." The doctor blanched, which Spock had expected. "It would be a mental block. I could implant the suggestion that it was done for...security reasons."
"Security reasons." McCoy repeated dryly. "That's quite a way to describe keeping your daughter from a jihad."
"Saavik would respect my actions if I explained to her there were parts of your mind that cannot be breached."
Again, McCoy was too polite to snort. "You have no idea if I can be cured or not." He tapped his forehead.
"True. But it is a potential possibility."
"Ummm." McCoy leaned back and threw his sweaty shirt in the laundry, loosened the collar of his new one. "Let's conquer one mountain at a time, okay Commander?"
"As you wish." Spock turned to the water pitcher. But in the back of his mind, he was still thinking. And McCoy knew it. Crazy to think that Spock wanted to help Saavik out with him...still, logically, he would of course prefer his daughter hang around with a man he could predict. It was a lot safer that way.
(The evils of the day are sufficient...) The doctor was tired and aware that all of this was out of his hands. There was a peculiar form of comfort in that.
The End
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