Chapter 4
by Trish Bennett

McCoy had been pacing the bridge between the turbolift and Uhura's station for nearly two hours, grumbling to himself and anyone else who would listen. Spock had not moved a muscle, and McCoy had to look at him several times to make sure he was even still breathing.

The Vulcan finally stirred from his self-induced trance. "Time until we enter the neutral zone, Mr. Sulu?"

The helmsman nearly jumped at the sound of his voice but quickly checked the chronometer.

"Just over four minutes, Mr. Spock," he replied.

"Full stop, Helmsman. Hold position."

Sulu glanced quickly into the faces of his fellow crewmen before reluctantly replying, "Full stop. Aye, sir."

"Status of the Klingon vessel, Mr. Chekov?"

The young ensign had not moved from his position at the scanners. "No change in course or speed, Mr. Spock. They should enter the neutral zone in approximately three minutes."

McCoy had stopped pacing and now leaned over the rail, gripping it tightly in his hands.

"What are we doing, Spock?" he demanded.

"We are waiting, Doctor," the Vulcan replied smoothly. He was so damned smug!

"Waiting for what?" McCoy moved down the step to again take his position beside the first officer in the command chair.

"For the Klingons to make their move," Spock maintained patiently.

McCoy's patience, however, was gone. "What makes you think kidnapping the captain and then high-tailing it into the neutral zone wasn't their move?"

"Doctor," Spock replied. "We have never been able to detect, even to the slightest degree, a cloaked Klingon vessel. Does it not seem odd to you that suddenly, we can?"

The entire bridge crew turned to face him, but Sulu was the first to speak.

"You think they're using the captain to lure the Enterprise?"

Spock nodded. "If their sole intent was to abduct the captain, we should not have been able to track their movements in order to pursue them. And if they simply intended to destroy the Enterprise, they could have done so quite easily when they decloaked at Margala 3. The only logical conclusion is that they intend to take the Enterprise intact."

"But why?" Uhura toned in.

"What difference does it make?" McCoy cried in frustration. "You can't just sit here and do nothing!"

Spock finally turned his solemn gaze to McCoy.

"What would you have me do, Doctor? Enter the neutral zone in direct violation of Starfleet order and interstellar law? Perhaps I should open fire on the Klingon vessel with the captain and his party still aboard?"

McCoy continued to glare at him, but his expression was slightly less hateful.

"We shall wait for the Klingons to make their move," he repeated. "And from what we know of the Klingons, it should not be a very long wait."

Kor was staring intently at the viewscreen when his officer approached.

"Commander," Ketahl announced. "We have entered the neutral zone."

"And the Enterprise?"

"It is holding position one hundred-thousand kilometers outside the zone." The officer hesitated briefly. "They are not following us, Commander."

The Klingon carefully stroked his long mustache. "Perhaps they need additional persuasion. See to it."

The officer clicked his heels. "At once, Commander."

As Ketahl dutifully left the bridge, Kor turned his attention to his lieutenant.

"Open a channel to the Earth ship."

Kirk began to understand the purpose of the blindfold. It served to increase his feeling of helplessness.

He could no longer feel his hands, and because of the broken ribs, every breath he took was a new experience in pain. He was tired, and his throat was dry from trying to breathe through his mouth. But none of these sensations were as uncomfortable for him as the thought of his crew beside him, being forced into an ordeal they could not possibly understand simply because they had been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Kirk had personally selected these people to join him on this mission. He hoped it did not turn out that he had personally selected them to die.

A sound at the door brought him out of his reverie, and his body tensed in anticipation. He heard the hiss of the door, then the footsteps clanking across the metal deck. If only he could see.

A Klingon voice finally cut through the darkness. "You will have the honor of looking death in the face," it announced proudly.

Kirk tipped his chin in defiance. He was about to come face to face with his own mortality, and yet something inside him would not allow him to admit that it was true. It was a nightmare, yes. A grim situation, definitely. But for some reason, he could not permit himself to believe that he would meet his end in the belly of a Klingon battle cruiser.

He fully expected to be blinded by light when his blindfold was removed, and he squeezed his eyes tightly shut in preparation. What he did not expect, however, was the voice of his young ensign, pleading for help by uttering nothing more than his name.

"Captain...?"

The realization suddenly hit him with a force more powerful than the one that had fractured his ribs. Kirk began to struggle, the movement sending waves of pain through his chest, but he was able to summon enough breath in his lungs to cry out, "No!" His voice was nearly a roar, and its echo reverberated throughout the chamber.

Even through his anguish, Kirk heard the blade of the knife scrape against its sheath, and the whisk when it made contact with its target. He heard Graham's gasp, then a gargled, choking sound, and finally the raspy wheeze of air escaping the ensign's lungs. And Kirk knew with certainty that he was dead.

"You son of a bitch!" Kirk bellowed, wrenching against the shackles. He barely felt the cold steel digging into his wrists, but he did feel the fist that suddenly crashed into his injured ribs. He thought for a moment it was going through his side.

"He died with honor, Kirk," the Klingon said finally. "Pray that you will do the same."

There had been no announcement when the signal came through from the Klingon cruiser... no introduction... not so much as a threat. There was simply the disturbing picture of their captain and two members of his landing party, cuffed and blindfolded in their captor's lair. And after witnessing the brutal murder of Ensign Graham, it took no great leap of deduction to conclude what had happened to the third. Kirk's cry of helpless agony was still ringing in their ears when the screen went dark.

McCoy stood with the rest of the crew in stunned silence before moving to place a comforting hand on Uhura's shoulder. A stream of silent tears ran down her dark cheeks.

"Is that the move you were waiting for, Spock?" he asked quietly.

The Vulcan ignored him. "Status of the Klingon vessel, Mr. Chekov?"

The ensign did his best to control his quivering voice. "The Klingons have entered the neutral zone, Mr. Spock. They have decloaked and reduced speed, but their shields are now in place."

"Present heading?"

Chekov studied the scanners intently. "A small star system just within sensor range."

Spock rose from his seat. "Lieutenant Uhura, inform me the moment Admiral Fitzpatrick signals. I shall be in the briefing room. Mr. Chekov, I want a complete analysis of that star system. Mr. Sulu, the bridge is yours. You will hold position until I return."

He had already started through the turbolift doors when he paused briefly to add, "Doctor McCoy, will you accompany me?" It was not a request.

McCoy did not attempt to hide his surprise but gladly followed him into the turbolift. It was only a matter of seconds before the lift decanted them near the briefing room, and for that McCoy was grateful. Spock was unnervingly cool and silent, even for Spock, and the long, forceful strides he took toward the private haven of the briefing room made McCoy nearly break into a trot just to keep up with him.

Once inside, Spock moved to seat himself at the head of the table, resting his elbows on the edge and placing his fingertips together in his familiar, thoughtful pose. McCoy had seen him do it a thousand times, but something about it now made him enormously uneasy.

As much as he wanted to scream, or cry, or kick something, he struggled fiercely to remain calm.

"As flattered as I am by the invitation, Spock," he said, as lightly as he could manage, "I'll admit I'm just a little confused."

Spock waited for what seemed like an eternity before he finally spoke. "I believe you will agree, Doctor, that the Enterprise is in a state of emergency."

McCoy stared at him, dumbfounded. Suddenly, he had to resist the wild impulse to laugh.

"Uh...yeah, I think I would agree with that."

Spock ignored the sarcasm. "I require your assistance, Doctor. Your guidance, if you will." He finally raised his eyes to meet McCoy's stunned gaze. "I do not pretend to understand human emotionalism, but I cannot deny that it exists in abundance aboard this ship."

"Especially where the captain is concerned," McCoy added.

"Agreed," he said. "And unfortunately, as temporary commander of this ship, I am in the position of having to deal with it."

McCoy remained silent. There's a point in there somewhere, he thought.

"I have found, in my close association with the humans aboard this vessel, that an emotionally stable crew is also an efficient one. Under the present circumstances, efficiency is the one thing we cannot afford to lose."

"What are you saying?" McCoy said, kneading his forehead with his fingertips. "You're making me morale officer?"

"Call it what you will. The captain has an uncanny ability to inspire optimism among this crew. I confess that I do not share that ability. Therefore, I have decided to delegate that responsibility to someone who can."

McCoy felt a sudden rush of blood to his face. He quickly dropped himself into a chair, somewhat overemphasizing his bewilderment.

"Was that a compliment?"

"If you choose to interpret it as such."

"Well, stop it!" McCoy snapped half-heartedly. "You're throwing me off."

Spock's brow furrowed slightly. "I beg your pardon?"

McCoy heaved a sigh. "This is where I'm supposed to be ranting and raving at you, and you're supposed to be shaking your head and insulting me."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "I believe that is precisely what I am trying to avoid, Doctor."

"Well, dammit, I like it that way. I'm comfortable with it." It had been a perfectly good arrangement up to now. But as he looked into Spock's face, he felt a twinge of regret. Why was he so uncomfortable about having a sincere conversation with someone he had always considered a friend?

"You know," McCoy continued after a moment. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were actually showing...well, compassion."

"Don't be insulting, Doctor," Spock replied distastefully. "I am merely following the captain's own orders."

McCoy sat upright in his chair. "What are you talking about?"

Spock's next words were an echo from the past, and McCoy was amazed at the precision of the impersonation. "...temper your judgement with intuitive insight. I believe you have that quality. But if you can't find it in yourself, seek out McCoy..."

McCoy could almost hear Kirk's voice from his final taped message. The one he had left for them in the event of his death. The one they had viewed together in the midst of another crisis, when they thought the captain was hopelessly lost in Tholian space.

And he was suddenly reminded of the conclusion of Kirk's speech. You will find that Spock is deserving of the same loyalty and confidence that each of you have given me...

McCoy sobered and looked intently into the Vulcan's face. "I'll do my best, Spock."

"I believe, Doctor, that is all any of us can do."