Empathy - part two

As Scott had been commanding officer on duty when the sensors finished, it was his job to head the meeting. "Hopefully," Nyota murmured to Hikaru, "He won't be too much of a bear."

Chekov grimmaced. "Priterpyelost.." He opined. It was a uniquely Russian word sor the silence one held in the face of rampant injustice. Listening to a sulky Highlander grumble data against his will was a perfect growth environment for priterpyelost.

Spock, like any superior being should, ignored the chatter, offers of tea or coffee, and was algining his wafers just as McCoy swept in..

"Thought you were too busy." Jim commented.

McCoy practically whirled on him, startling more than a few, his eyes an open act of murder. He swept an equal glance of contempt to Spock, and took his usual chair. "I was." His voice dared anyone say anything.

Lovely, Jim thought. Bones grew moodier every day.

"We ready?" The doctor asked brusquely.

Jim hesitated, assessing the situation. "I suppose."

"Before we go down," McCoy drawled, "Is there anything you feel like sayin' that I should know about?" Liquid nitrogen was in his eyes. Jim repressed a stab of guilt and the urge to look at Spock.

Scott entered just then. The Blue Hag take these tasks, his face said. He would endure it like a man and bury his indignation for later, but Mo bhron, the things duty demanded of a simple engineer. "All right, we've discovered an important reason for the constant chain o atmospheric storms on th'planet." Scott sat down without preamble. Or even a greeting. Psat experience had taught Spock to activate the recorder the second he passed the door. "Ta being with, th'single continent of th'planet is interferrin' wi'the'rotation o'th'axis." He flipped a switch and showed Hestia spinning in space. "When th'tides come up under th'influence o the moon, th'ocean fashes against y'n land mass, and slows rotation doon a tad."

"A wobbly planet." Sulu made a face. "That's just great."

"As can be imagined." Spock began (years of training going into saying the i-word), "The temporary decline in rotation encourages atmospheric upheavel. While relatively small and insignificant to begin with, the pressure gathers itself until it cumulates into a chain of hurricanes that sweeps across the surface every 24-28 days.."

"Und there such a helligan a-broon." Scott growled. "Ye'd be careful t'wait a week before beamin' doon, sair."

"Possibly not, Mr. Scott." Spock offererd. "If we beam down asa scheduled, we will have an estimated 48.27 hours before atmosphere prevents beamup."

"Two full days." Jim rubbed his cheek. "That's not bad. Enough to pay our respects, answer questions from both sides, and we pull out, wait for the storm to pass over, and use the time to give us all a chance to absorb the diverse cultural impact."

McCoy didn't deign to say anything. "He'd heard these "simple" plans before. Damned if he was gonna fall for that trap. The Universe was *never* that simple in Starfleet. It wouldn't shock him if Trelane's granddad was in charge of Galactic Lunacy: Just call in the Energy Beings of Gothos, Patron Saints of Gleeful Chaos and Interesting Times...

Unnoticed for the moment, he signed his name on the R-P and thought of how silly it was to be mothered by Jim and Spock, who collectively had no more survival instincts than a bowl of turnips. *Cooked* turnips. It boiled down to a very juvenile value both men placed on physical ability. Jim was a tight natural athlete twelve years his junior and Spock was probably twice as strong. That put *him* as a weakling. MccCoy was wiry; there was no slump or fat on him, but he reserved his mental focus for his work, not for battle. His body was naturally light and flexible, a gymnast and runner. He rarely had cause to "ground" himself the way they did in battle. Too much Celt in him; moving swift and striking like a wasp was the way his people had always fought; guerillas, not the steady, plodding in-formation, rule-bound martial combats Jim and Spock followed. Plus...Leonard judged maturity by EQ, and Jim and Spock were still babes in his book. Hell, Spock *was* a kid in Vulcan years. His first Pon Farr happening on ship. But Leonard had squashed most of his own youthful craziness when Joanna had been born. Fatherhood made you grow up in a hurry, and appreciate the little things more. That caution kept them alive against Jim's impulsiveness and Spock's innocent curiosity. It was too bad those two saw themselves as unstoppable forces...beacuse they tended to forget other people even ixisted when they were together. It wasn't deliberate; it was their own energy that tuned the rest of existence out. If they ever lived long enough to learn otherwise, he would die in peace.

Warm airflow replaced the cool sting of the transporter; floral and earth fragrance was startling after the stale air of the ship. For a moment they all stood in silent appreciation. Spock was already lifting his tricorder, scanning as Jim opened his comm. "Beam down successful, Scotty. We'll contact you in one hour...yes. Kirk out."

"Huh." McCoy's soft voice took their attention. The doctor was hunkered down by a discarded red feather, using a twig to examine without touching. "Spock, aim that thing at this."

Spock equably complied, curious as to what had intrigued the doctor. "Interesting." He lifted his eyebrow. "The entire feather is toxic. Normally it would be the subcutaneous glands manufacturing the chemicals."

"I bet these guys aren't edible without a lot of cooking." McCoy mused. "Lookit. Over 12% astringent compunds. Why the hell would Nature design a bird to be poisonous *and* inedible? Something try to swallow the owner, it would stick inside its throat and choke em!"

"Makes you wonder about predators, doesn't it?" Jim commented.

McCoy shivered. "Thanks ever so. I'm keeping my tricorder on."

Jim cuhckled faintly. "Shall we, gentlemen?" He was relieved that McCoy was toning down whatever was bothering him.

Spock abandoned the feather reluctantly. McCoy kept his eyes on the canopy above their heads.

It was a lot to look at. All around, sound clashed and melded of every description. The soil was light and loamy, travel packing down the trail. Faint imprints of soft footwear were visible in the trod. Occasional alien fruit scattered in the dust from where it had fallen. Orchid-like blooms grew fearlessly from the bark of fern-trees and giant palms, symbiotic guests upon the host.

"Where do you--" Spock began, when Kirk's communicator cheeped. As one they stopped and Jim pulled it out. "Kirk here."

[Cap'n] Scott sounded like a man who had just been given a problem without his express permission. [Sensors have just finished the final sweep]

"Is there a problem?" Kirk intuited.

[Well, aye sair if not a conundrum. The settlement ye're heading to, 'tis the only one on the planet!]

Even McCoy donated his eyebrows to THAT one. Jim stared back at them all. "Really." He strangled. "One settlement..?"

"And the First Contacts found only five hundred people?" Bones' dark skin paled. "Well that explains some of it." He muttered.

"Scotty, continue to scan for any traces of older civilizaation. Ruins, young growth, keep focused on the waterways and any open areas."

[Already doon that sair. Ennything else?]

"No, continue as planned. We're about to head to the village..." Scott muttered something more and Jim closed his communicator with a click. Spock's eyebrows hadn't descended yet and McCoy was looking glum. "What did you mean by that, Bones?"

Just another reason for Lal and Tharn to say Gem's folk were on the verge of ruining themselves...if they're down to such a small gene pool..." McCoy was shaking his head. "This is not good." He said softly. "Resurrecting a viable race from a handful of people only works in mythology or parameciums."

"I agree," Spock was equally quiet. "Only time will tell what stresses have reduced the native population down to its current size."

Jim sighed. He was a man who listened to his instincts, and they were beginning to talk. "Something tells me we did right by bringing phasers." He told McCoy, who merely gave one of his "umph." sounds and looked away.

They walked in silence the rest of the way. Each man was absorbed in his own thoughts; Bones could read them as easily as a telepath after all these years. Jim was obsessing about his ability to keep him and Spock safe as well as his ship. Spock was absorbing data at a frightening rate, eyes and ears as busy as his tricorder. McCoy was usually grateful for Spock's oft-exasperating ability to withold judgements until enough information came in. It was interesting that such a telepathically advanced race was so determined to rely on hard data above all other senses. Made you wonder if his people hated their esper abilities. (Suffer the death of thy neighbor, eh, Spock? You wouldn't want to wish that on us, would you?) He had leveled this, purely curious as to his reaction. Spock had said, merely, with his wonderful Vulcan slightly-superior calm: (It might have rendered your own history a little less bloody.) Funny thing was, humans had never been as bloody as Vulcans. Did their lack of empathy save them that> How could anyone not get caught up in bloody war if their emotions were unstoppable? Or...perhaps they denied their knowledge far less strongly than Vulcans did, and so it affected them to a lesser degree. There was no way of learning.

Empathy could hurt. McCoy's grandfather had been his idol, a hard working physician who cared about his people. And he wound up killing himself one day, unable to bear the burden anymore. His grandson had found him, and since then, McCoy had tried to protect himself from feeling too deeply for that to happen. It wasn't as bad as the old days, like say, early 20th century where the suicide rate among physicians sent insurance up the walls and the women were three times more likely to end their lives as the men.

Leonard took in the canopy of rainforest again; the shade was deep and only bits of sunlight filtered through the leaves. Haze settled in the air, pleasant to his skin but Jim looked uncomfortable and Spock was no doubt wearing his thermal guards under his uniform. Occasional flocks of brightly hued birds rippled racaucously through the canopy, bright as Gem's clothing. (Easy) Bones admonished himself. (You've managed not to swoggle your thoughts about her for half the day now--don't ruin it)

Jim's affairs were the stuff of legends and rooted in his hubric belief that he could have it all--including ship and perfect woman. The fact that it never happened because it was the mashed banana and ketchup thing again, seemed to have never crossed his mind.

Spock, now, he was even younger than Jim, in love with the control his logic gave him--and utterly helpless when it left him. So it was no surprise to McCoy that Spock followed Jim's example in disastrous unions.

But himself? He didn't believe in the perfect woman any more than he thought he was the perfect man. And he'd been enough of an awkward youth to never hold faith in his good looks around the singles scene. He was career; a strike against. He was divorced. Another strike. He had a daughter. Another strike. At least it kept the shallow ones from approaching him. But Starfleet was full of career people, and his desire to settle down when this was over was what really killed his odds. It was depressing, but he considered it a healthy dose of reality. And he would keep dosing himself if his thoughts of Gem threatened to get out of control. Hell, for all he knew, he was obsessed with her *because* the healing was interrupted between them. Left unfinished. She had fallen away; he had pushed her. The Vians had been forced to take over with their Magic Toy but it hadn't been the same. THeir act had been clumsy after Gem's, inelegant and unpleasantly intimate.

"Captain." Spock warned.

Jim was already moving forward, leltting the other two fall behind and flank. The posts of the settlement were a surprise, two large striped trunks painted with bright bands of pigment--rainbow layers upon layers that was even more like Gem's clothing than the birds'. Green vines with red berries threatened to choke the poles and were being trimmed back by its Gatewatcher, who had stopped at their arrival.

Wearing identical clothing to Gem's was a young man with chestnut-brown skin and eyes, his guileless face open and gentle, trusting and expectant. He was startlingly like M'Benga if he had ever been a round faced youth. They slowed before him, thinking he looked like a teenager. Even a beard wouldn't hide those young-looking eyes. A square plastic black disk hung around his neck on a plastic loop: Federation-grade voders.

"Greetings." Jim let his arms dangle at his sides. "My name is captain James T. Kirk of the USS ENTERPRISE."

The boy smiled, showing an amazing number of teeth--too many to be human, at least 36. [Thank you for coming captain.] The voder was very scratchy; they usually were at first. [We hoped you come before the rains at least.]

"The rains?"

"Storms?" Spock offered.

[Storms. We mark our cycles of the moon with them.] The boy made a self-correcting gesture and gracefully nodded. [Call me Oxal...please come and be welcome at least.]

"Excuse me..." Jim cleared his throat. "We're looking for a young woman...she met us before."

[Gem?]

Jim swallowed dryly. "Yes...We named her that..."

[She is Gem now. We have not seen her for several days. She will be back tonight. Then we may all..talk? Talk.] He appeared to like that word. [Will you come inside? We promise to respect your privacy and not approach you unless you are comfortable with it. Your people told us privacy was very important at least.]

"Oh." Jim smiled, thinking of the Vulcans. "We thank you. Yes, but we're also anxious to learn about you...please don't interrupt your schedules on our account.]

[Is no problem...if you wish to observe us in our everyday activity?] When Jim nodded, he imitated, pleased. [Tonight we will have a communal dinner and when Gem arrives, she can help us understand our questions. For now why don't you make yourself...at home?] Jim was a little disappointed that the voder didn't finish with: "at least."

"An excellant suggestion." Spock nodded graciously. "Oxal, are there any centers of learngin a visitor would be permitted to see?"

[visitor?] Oxal was confused again. [We not have visitors. We have guests.]

"Translator glitch." McCoy murmured. "These people are down to one population group."

"Of course."

Oxal picked up on Spock's illumination. [All our home is available to you.]

"Gentlemen, let's explore." Jim urged.

The village was small and built of highly processed ceramic and dressed stone. Circular, the adobe-style, three-storey houses interlinked and faced the large stone plaza that hosted a community well (mostly for show; there was plenty of indoor plumbing). Where there were no houses, a low wall circled the small courtyard. It gathered heat and acted as a de-humidifier, burning up the excess moisture in the air.

Jim saw people in multicolored clothes engaged in weaving, metalwork, jewlrymaking, glassblowing and papermaking. THere were no signs of long-distance communication, but why would there be? A species so sensitive had no need for even a radio. And while mute, they did everything with a joyous noise; small children tapped toys against walls and tiles for the delight of the rapping. Musical instruments played on rooftops. Bangs and thumps told if a house was lived in or not. There were no domesticated animals. None. Not even small pets. Birds rested on roofs but nothing else. That was odd; even Vulcans kept animals around. Even more unsettling was the...lack of curiosity the people were showing.

"Figured out yet why nobody's really noticing us?" Jim mumbled.

"Why should they?" McCoy didn't look up from his study of his tricorder. Spock was stuck on cultivated planst growing out of container gardens. "They're bein' polite. No, so far nothing. I'm scanning the people and they sure are a lot like humans...more like early Peking Man in bone structure and skull shape...got some parallels to Vulcans in brain development. Huge Weirnike's and Boca's, unsurprising considering their nonverbal language. And three times the neurons of a Vulcan too. Talk about overachievers. If these people were light bulbs, we'd be blind."

Spock looked positively pained. "A clumsy analogy at best, doctor."

"Is that the best you can do?" McCoy chided in a gentle voice full of pity. "That rhinovirus really hurt you, didn't it?" Spock's expression quickly turned scandalized.

Jim glanced around again. "Why would their neurons be so plentiful?"

Bones shrugged. "When our brains are developing, if we can't find the proper connection the cell dies. The result is a brain that's tailored to its environment, maybe a little too tailored. Not much room for flexibility."

"Humans are considered exceptionally flexible." Spock argued. "Perhaps you should expand on that.."

"What I'm sayin is, our brains don't develop esper abilities unless there's cause to. Look at Garth of Izar, poor bastard. He's unique, but not all that unique because it was in his environment to learn the Antosian's abilities."

"Possibly." Spock quickly accepted the theory. "When Garth did learn the secrets of cell manipulation he surely would have been able to re-direct his brain development."

"Biofeedback? That isn't all that unique to humans." McCoy argued. "C'mon, there're thousands of examples. Some Australian aborigines can recover from broken bones in a matter of hours. Scotty's great-grandmother could sit back and watch herself undergo surgery without anesthesia. And Jim can turn off the sensible portions of his brain at will."

"Oh, thank you." Jim said sourly. "Your examples will all be duly noted."

"Just doin' m'job." There was an ugly edge to McCoy's voice, identical to his earlier dig at Spock, and Jim hesitated again.

"Something wrong, Bones?"

"Nothing unless you'd care to tell me." McCoy looked Jim right in the eye.

Did he find out about their worry? Again Jim stabbed down his guilt and risked looking at Spock, who was wearing his trapped look. "No, Bones. Nothing." He denied, knowing even as he said it, something must have leaked out. McCoy knew they were hovering.

Bones' face closed up tighter than a drum. "As usual." He said with deceptive softness. "Well, I'm going to check out the parameters."

McCoy's departure left mutual guilt hanging in the air between captain and Vulcan. They didn't risk speaking of it; McCoy's ability to ferret out their thoughts could be uncanny. Eventually they each drifted away to explore. Spock of course melted away as soon as he saw a squat structure with scrolls lined up in the windows.

Jim felt a tug on his sleeve to find Oxal. [Please are you hungry? We have lots of good things here at least.]

"Thank you." He said cautiously. The voders were starting to smooth; good.

[here.] Oxal presented a long, carrotlike purple pile of roots on a dish of yellow metal. He was obviously very proud of it, although the color scheme would have gotten you kicked out of any art colony on Terra. Jim decided a flattering interest couldn't hurt.

"Tell me about these, please. They look...wonderful."

Oxal's voder barely kept up with the story, which had to do with harvesting meli roots, a difficult prize because animals stole them right from under you, but at least one didn't have to worry about the stragli anymore.

"That's great." Jim wondered what stragli were. He didn't ask, afraid of another more involved story.

[Yes, it is. We can thank the Shields for that at least.]

Jim's curiosity was up. "Who are the Shields?"

Oxal hesitated. [Strong warriors. They killed the stragli for us. We are weak, they are strong. Able to kill. We cannot.]

"Is it hard for you to kill?" Jim suspected.

Oxal pursed his lips. [impossible.]

"I see." Jim did. It explained a lot. "So you depend on them to...hunt?"

[Not like we used to. The stragli are gone. Now we make noise joyfully and the Shields kill meat for us.] He hesitated again and looked ready to confide in a terrific scandal. [They give us more meat than we need.] He obviously expected Jim to be horrified.

Jim was strolling across the busy, noisy plaza with a large meli in each hand hoping McCoy was cooling down.

(Damn it, I don't even know why we protect him the way we do. It's not as if he's helpless...) When Jim examined his motives carefully, he knew he and Spock did treat Bones with kid gloves. Bones had a right to be furious at them. Long serious self-contemplation had finally made Jim conclude that...oh, hell, it was crazy, but...he defined McCoy as a gentle person. His hot temper and cutting attitude fooled nobody, even the usually clueless Spock. He felt too deeply for other people and in a less developed time he'd probably be deep into alcoholism to cope with the pain and suffering he saw every day.

If Spock believed McCoy could kill, then Jim could only believe it. But he never, ever wanted that to happen. Because what would that do to McCoy? He was their anchor. If something happened to damage his strength and solidity...then their entire strengths as a three were jeopardized. Jim hated it, but being protective of Bones was the least they could do. In a way, he was...well...*better* than himself or Spock. And his ability to just sacrifice his own live for others...well, that didn't mean he *should.*

Jim sighed. He would have to talk to Spock about this again. God knows, only attempting to explain to McCoy would make it worse.

Hell, they were *all* nervous about the Hestians. Starfleet had conceeded (and wasn't it big of them) that, being fellow prisoners of the Vians, they had been faultless in their contact with an unknown species (Gem), but they were still paranoid that no damage had been done to Hestian culture.

Jim had tried to point out that Hestia had definitely been tampered with, only don't blame us, blame the Vians. But Starfleet didn't follow. They wanted severe reassurances that they hadn't broken any Directives.

(And if that's what being an Admiral is all about, I sure don't want to be one.) Jim believed this with splendid naivity.

He found Bones up by the stone wall, laughing with a little boy letting a furry worm crawl up his arm. Of course the boy made no sound but you could tell. Still smiling, the child "walked" his pet away, arm extended to display the insect.

"Good God, Jim, where's you find the antique carrot?"

"A who?"

"Didn't you know all carrots were purple in the early days of cultivation? And you bein' a farm boy..."

"My people farmed maize, spelt and teff, Bones, With a little red winter wheat thrown in for a balanced diet. I can answer any question you might have on Napalese popping amaranth and the nutritional benefits of quinoa and millet. And anyway, you're a country boy, ever barefoot and fishing with bamboo while chewing on spicebush leaves like they're your father's tobacco. What would you know of carrots?"

"I know they're great baked in a clay bot." Bones answered with wonderful aplomb and whipped out his scanner. "Ok, one toxitest coming up."

Jim sniffed cautiously. "It smells good. Sweet."

"Uh, huh. It smells sweet for a reasaon, captin. That lil' sucker is full of coumarins."

"Coumarins!" Jim was swayed from the dish. "Fatal?"

Bones grinned. "Nah. Eat up. It'll do your blood cholesterol some good."

"Are you *sure* about that? Because it seems to me that coumarins are what people shouldn't be taking a lot of. Not if they want their blood to clot properly."

"Well, me n' Scotty couldn't eat it, but you can just fine."

"Why can't my Scots-Irish representatives eat this?" Jim bit down and his mouth instantly filled with a sweet, clower-like flavor.

"Bein' Gaelic gots nothing to do with it. We're old O-Type bloods. No antiglutins to break down those things. One of 'em and I'd likely bleed to death from a paper cut."

:Huh. How about that." Jim looked around. "Where's Spock?"

"Guess."

"Library?"

"Bright boy."

"Should we join him?"

"I s--ssssus..." Bones' voice trailed off into a soft, warning hiss. (stay loose, be careful, keep cool) that look said. Jim deliberately bit down on the meli again, making a point of turning around to look at something Bones was pretending great interest in.

These people were nothing like the villagers. Their skin was pale, abnormally so, and they blinked in the open light. Weapons were prominently displayed; Jim recognized heavy bows and large knives hung from each hip. Their clothing was rough canvas-like cloth with boiled leather vests--armor, he realized.

"Shields." Bones whispered. Apparantly he had been gathering similar information. Jim considered that a shiled might be a defensive thing, but here it was in the sense of a strong offense. A VERY strong offense. Twenty of them.

They walked slowly, not quite swaggering, more like stalking, but they knew they were boss. All over the plaza, people were hustling away, dropping silent, not making eye contact, not looking up, avoiding the newcomers as if diseased..

When they got closer, Bones held down his emotional response. They WERE diseased. Every man and woman's scalp was scarred with lesions. They looked every bit as bad as the antique images of smallpox scars, worse even--the marks were vivid pink against the abnormally pale skin--and raw bald spots and flaking skin in the hair. It looked especially terrible close to the eyes--several eyelids were scabbed over and runny; scar tissue gave hollwness to cheeks and thrust facial bones sharply against the skin. It was worse than ugly, because the bearer's smug attitudes make them look as though they were proud of the wounds.

The leader was biggest of all, a prototype for a thug with a patchy red beard full of flaing skin. His face was raw and his eyes black as coal. A nose that had been often broken sat under his eyes like a potato, his jaw jutted from injury, his brow prominated. Jim and Bones were no debutants, but their instincts were screaming to back away, if not run. Or at least cower behind the stone wall.

Finally, the last Shield finished walking the plaza and were back into the jungle. A collective air of relief ran through the people.

"Whoooo." They exhaled at the same time. McCoy slid up on the stone wall for a chair. "What d'you make of that?"

"Like the shadow of death just walked by." Jim mumbled.

"By that I presume you mean the Shields?" Spock's voice made Jim jump. "I beg your pardon, captain."

"Not at all. Here, have a meli. Can Vulcans have meli?"

"He can." McCoy answered absently, fiddling with his tricorder. "It's give his dad the giggle fits."

"Eat up." Jim felt giddy after what had happened. "And tonight we can eat Bones' share. He's allergic."

"I'm not allergic, just allergic to the idea of bleedin' to death from a paper cut."

Amazingly, considering the conversation, Spock took a bite. "Most agreeable."

"I thought it good myself."

McCoy zoned out, fingers tapping against his chin as he absorbed the tricorder's krypta. His eyes were narrowed to fine blue lines, his face completely motionless.

"I hate it when he does that." Jim confided. "It makes me nervous."

"I concur." Spock said. "When an overly emotional person suddnly stops displaying alll emotion, it bodes ill."

"Oh, oh..." McCoy whispered. His skin had paled under the sun.

"Bones?" Jim already regretted trying to tease him.

"Canvanine. Damn! Those people were full of canvanine!"

"What's that?"

"A plant toxin, uncommon." Spock supplied. "It is fairly common to members of the clover family, especially in Medicago."

"Alfalfa? I know it makes animals bloat."

"That's from the interference of Vitamin A absorption...canvinine is in newly-sprouted seeds. That's what had those people's faces all scarred up." McCoy was scowling. "You have to eat a lot of that to get that result. They're not human, that's for sure--we'd be dead if we took in that much. Spock too."

Jim slowly chewed on meli. "It doesn't look like it does them much good."

"From what I'm understanding of their body chemistry, canvanine acts like a grand mood-alterant." McCoy made a bad face.

"What kind?" Jim was already sensing the answer.

"Think of hashish in humans, Jim. Ten feet tall and phaserproof."

Jim peered over his shoulder to read the screen. "Did you get a feeling when they walked by?"

"Yeah, shadow of death." McCoy traded a rattled expression with his captain. "These people are psychopathic killers."

"I agree." Spock spoke very quietly, conscious of Hestian hearing. "My senses were warning me to avoid them even before I could see them."

"It's like a brain allergy, Jim. Like the guy you hear about in school who had broccoli for the first time, had a rare reaction to it and threw himself off a bridge. That level."

"Good God." Jim rarely swore; this called for it..

"This is a most dangerous situation." The Vulcan murmured. "We should take care not to let the Shields near our weapons."

"If this is the reason for Vian interference," Bones warned, "They could have handled this a lot better than they did--not that I've just reached that conclusion."

"How so, Bones?"

"IOt'd be pretty risky for a Hestian to heal someone that sick and addicted. They would *have* to be willing to give their life up to do it! And maybe even they still wouldn't survive!"

He'd given himself up to the Vians to save Spock from insanity and Jim from fatal guilt. He hadn't thought further that that. But if the vians had imprinted his need to save his friends onto Gem to pass to her people...the result could very well be people who were killing themselves in order to heal people who didn't want to be healed. And they were killers in the bargain.

Leonard swallowed, feeling sick. "This is bad." He said in a low voice.

[CAPTAIN'S LOG, SUPPLEMENTAL

The Shields, as the Hestians call their militant group, are exceedingly dangerous. My First Officer and CMO managed to surrepitously scan them during their brief appearance from the forest; the results are alarming. Combined with the input of Ofv, the unacknowledged leader in Gem's absence, and Spock's access to Hestian databases, Hestia is indeed in danger of self-extermination. //Early in their history, a Shield was selected by lot to defend the people against vicious predators. It was very difficult to kill, and use of plants to alter their moods were the only way this was made possible. Over time, some Shields developed defenses against all traumas and then a pleaurable act of killing mixed with a dependancy on the plants. When there were no more predators to kill, a Shield could turn restless enough to kill their own people. Not unlike the example of trained murderers in our own history. //Apparantly the Shields stopped being satisfied with the pleasure of killing animals several decades ago. They are now killing the defenseless members of their own people when the urge strikes them. My CMO has discovered canvanine, the dominant substance in their plant abuse, inspires an intense high to the act of murder...//McCoy cautions that canvanine is poisonous to ourselves, but addictive to a Hestian. It would take more than Empathic healing to help these people recover; more conventional and allopathic methods would be the only recourse, such as isolation and withdraw. Sadly, such concepts are unheard of in these people, who suffer the deaths of their neighbors. Attempts have been made to heal these addicts, and the results have all been the murder of the healer. //We are saddened to note that one of the healers was Ting, a daughter of our friend Gem. She was killed by Fala, the leader of the Shields, and for this reason Gem left with two friends to be alone. We are hoping to meet with her tonight as her people say she is expected. The growing storm, however, is a cause for concern...]

McCoy briefly tuned out his captain's drone as he worked on his own specs. Spock was sitting relaxed and calm at the communal table, to all appearances dozing but ready to act at the first warning. McCoy couldn't feel a thing about Spock; it was like sitting next to a giant mass of inertia, his shields were up so high.

His nerves were toying with him. He couldn't blame Jim for his harried expression. The captain was strolling back and forth, his boots dusty from the soil under the communal dining hall--nothing more than a solid roof and long table with no walls for air circulation. Once ina while, he would look out from under the supports to view the open sky, where storms were gathering with aggression.

"Twitchy." McCoy commented.

"Nervous." Spock agreed.

"Jim's never been patient." Leonard sighed.

Jim sat down between them. "Scotty sayd the storm will be hitting a bit earlier than planned." He laced his fingers together and held them on the table--forcing himself not to twitch. "If Gem doesn't arrive beforehand, we'll have to beam up or stay here and wait for the weather to return to normal."

"Which would you prefer?" Spock queried. It was exactly what Leonard had wanted to ask.

Jim paused, thinking. "I dislike being forced into a choice." He grunted. "And I'm worried if we don't see Gem soon..."

"She's out in the woods with twenty dedicated berserkers." Bones snapped. "Can't imagine why yo'd be worried. And what's the angst, Jim? We've been planetridden before."

"Hopefully there will not be further unexpected complications." Spock considered. "There are still incalculable unknown factors."

"I try to listen to my instincts." Jim said shortly. "And I smell trouble."

"Yeah. It smells like canvanine." Bones shot back.

Spock was staring at them. Because Vulcans only smelled half as well as humans, they tolerated his stymied look. It wasn't the fault of the literal minded Vulcans that they were confused when humans claimed to "smell trouble."

[Gem should be arriving soon. We may begin eating.] Oxal's father Ofv, a larger carbon copy of his son--damn near a clone--set down a bowl of what looked like red mashed potatos and went to get more food as Hestians settled in, silent with their mouths, but noisy with their hands.

"That's got enough Vitamin A in it that you could read a newspaper under a dark moon." McCoy warned. "Go easy or you'll get a migraine for sure."

"Noted and logged." Jim took a bit and passed to Spock. "What else did we find out?"

"Not much on top of what Spock already learned." McCoy took a sip of tea and sputtered. "Spock, don't eat THAT!"

Spock froze. "Sensors say it is safe."

"It's an insect byproduct."

Silently, Spock passed the plate to Kirk. "And stay away from the green sticks. They're seasoned with dry-roasted biting insects. The formic acid in their venom gives a lemon-pepper flavor."

"Bones, I've just hit overload on cultural collisions." Kirk confided.

McCoy shrugged. crunched down on a stick and smiled his approval to Ofv. Ofv beamed and put down a platter of what Jim was about to swear was cold boiled maggots but turned out to be pasta. Jim loaded up. Spock did too.

"Well I found out that these people originally had vocal cords, but several thousand years ago, a geographic upheavel encouraged the proliferation of a predator that made it bad to be noisy in any way. So they used their empathic abilities to render themselves mute."

"Not uncommon." Spock opined. "The applicant Empathic species, the Betazoids, claim to be able to emphasize the growth of certain portions of their brains."

"Well, these critters were the stuff of nightmares. You think your ears were great, these were monsters. "Strogli" or something like that. And they just LOVED the way people tasted, although I have it on good authority they weren't at all fussy about what or who they ate. Everything was fair game."

"They sound pretty bad." Jim said.

"Imagine," McCoy shuddered, "getting swallowed whole by a thirty-foot snake with sensory organs all along its sides, a head larger than your shoulders are wide and teeny eyeballs that it didn't reallyl need. Oh, yaeh, and it could compress itself into really small entrances like a snake. Hey are you sure you want to hear this while you're eating?"

Jim didn't want to be shown up. "Just give one example.."

"Well, ok..." McCoy said dubiously. "Picture one of those things crawling into a gen in the middle of the night and being trapped inside because it was too big to get out from swallowing your mother. But that's ok--there's *lots* of food left around."

Spock had been about to bite into a blue fruit. He set it down and looked accusingly at McCOy.

"He made me." McCoy reminded him.

Spock looked at Jim.

"I think I'm going to be sick." Jim said faintly.

"That's cold comfort." McCoy snorted. He picked up a glass of tea and began drinking.

Jim was patently annoyed. "How can you put anything in your stomache after a..." Ofv was walkingn hurridly to the side of their table, his face silent and calm against the riotous bustle, bang and clatter of noisy Hestians who considered it good manners to treat their dinner plates like brass gongs.

[Captain, may I speak with you please?] Ofv's voder was much smoother than his son's. [Oxal is senseing distress from Gem. I am worried. The Shields left not long ago...]

"Where do the Shields normally go during storms?" Jim wondered.

[We do not know.]

"Can you tell us how far away she is?"

[Not far.]

The men all looked at each other, hoping that "not far" really did mean that. McCoy sighed and put his glass down. "Let's at least do this sensibly." He said. "Let Spock and his super-vision go first; you, Jim, in your glow in the dark shirt second. I'll bring up the end and keep my tricorder on scan for canvanine-laced lifeforms."

"Not to forget." Jim said grimly, "We have phasers; under no circumstances are the Shields to get them."

"I recommend we lock them on STUN." Spock was already fiddling with his. "That way no one but a Starfleet Officer will be able to kill with them."

"Light stun." McCoy suggested softly. "These people have triple the neurons, remember. No need to fry out their nervous systems or cause a permanent erasure of the Boca Area."

The air was wet and heavy; the storm's pressure laid upon them like hot breath, as hot as the torches of burning fatwood they each carried in one hand. Jim's gold shirt did indeed, glow to McCoy's eyes as the doctor followed his young friend's back through a twenty-foot path of shining green leaves. Trumpet-flowers hung as if suspended in the balck trunks, their petals burning a cold iridescent white. It made the doctor shiver because it reminded him of the datura of his home. Prolific in the South, its scopalamine chemical componants could make an unwitting human ingestor go completely mad...and cannibalistic, believing they were ravening wolves.

[We stop a moment so Oxal can sense.] Ofv's voder explained. They all stopped, breathing in the humid darkness. The large splinters of resinous wood burned rather quietly, inky smoke boiling from the center of the flames. Slips of starlight glimmered wetly from around scraps of collecting cloud. The smell of the rain was everywhere, bringing out the scent of wet earth, mold, growth and chlorophyll. A thin ribbon of river wended its way through the jungle, sparkling with what little light it could catch. A sturdy flatboat rested on their side of the bank, moored tightly with nearby paddle-poles. A waterfall hummed less than fifty feet away. There was no telling how far it cascaded with their human eyes.

"Ofv." Jim spoke gently. "How is it he can sense Gem? Are you related?"

[Oh, no, not in blood. Gem recently healed Oxal of a fever. A connection remains.]

Leonard was disgusted by a flush of embarrassment. There was no reason for it.

[Gem should be by the boat....on the other side...this is odd.] The big man glanced around. For all his size, he looked frightened. [Have the Shields found her path? Where could they be?]

Jim shook his head. "We could search the other side if you wish." He offered. The two Hestians swallowed with relief, and Leonard wondered what they were doing, bringing vulnerable people like this into a situation that could turn into a war zone. He pulled out his communicator. "Enterprise."

[Sulu here, sir.]

"Mr. Sulu, pinpoint our location and give us a scan; are there any Hestians around us?'

Silence while they waited. McCoy looked around slowly, senses aching to detect something, anything. Spock was outwardly serene, but that no longer fooled McCoy. The creeping, dread sensation was stealing over them. The Shields were somewhere, nearby. Oxal and Ofv were pressed tightly, shivering with wide-white eyes.

Sulue replied after McCoy counted slowly up to thirty. [Besides the two with you, there's two groups; one is 500 metres 35 degrees upcurrent and closing fast; twenty life forms. The other group is three,and on the other side of the river, further downstream, measurement undetermined from presence of waterfall."

"How's the storm, Sulu?"

[I'd beam up if I were you, sir.]

"Noted, Mr. Sulu, and we just may do that as soon as we finish here." He clipped his comm to his waist and looked at the others expectantly. "Gentlemen, I suggest we avoid the Shields that are approaching us with such enthusiasm and get on the boat."

The Hestians were already uncoiling the rope. The officers boarded, McCoy's face plainly uneasy as the torchlight spread oily patterns over the roiling water. Jim remembered his doctor's past history as a drowning victim, and hoped it had nothing to do with his swimming ability.

"Bones, can you swim?"

"Of course I can swim!" Leonard was offended to the depths of his soul. "Why?"

"Just asking...since you said you'd drowned before..."

"wasn't my fault either time." McCoy rubbed his arms nervously. "Jesus, Mary Joseph and Black Saint Anne! Think of where I grew up! How could I not know how to swim with all that water around me?"

Spock flicked a single eyeball at McCoy's outburst. Jim caught the message; the doctor was sensing the Shields better than they were, almost as well as the pasty-faced Hestians. Jim sought for a witticism, which he wasn't often good at, so what did come out of his mouth was surely divinely inspired.

"Well, Bones, all I know is, I grew upu around air, and I haven't learned how to fly yet."

Leonard was startled into a choke of laughter. "You win." He snorted. Jim slapped him on the back and turned his attention to the Hestians.

Wood creaked; rope fibers stretched and was sulky. Spock suddenly started, his dark head whipping about and peering in the gloom as Jim went up front with Oxal and Ofv.

"Spock?" McCoy muttered, rattled.

"I thought I heard something." Spock sounded awfully calm for the quarry of professional berserker assassins. "But I see nothing."

McCoy snorted. "Let's hope those crazy carrots have kicked in your eyes. I'd hate to be killed in a place like this."

"It is not my intention to be killed at all, doctor."

Jim tuned them out; he looked again to their rowers, who were applying strong ropy muscles to the current. "Can we help you in any way?"

[Best not. We know the current. If you are not familar you could hit a rock or enter the chute, and then we would go right over the waterfall." The voder sounded far calmer than the owner looked. Sweat shone on his face and his arms tightened with effort.

"What's a chute?"

[A dug out channel in the bed. It flows very, very fast compared to the rest of the river.]

"Like old riverboat channels..." Jim grinned. "I--"

"Spock, look out!"

Spock struggled to turn swiftly in the boat, sending it rocking, just as Fala's dripping, tooth-studded club came down on McCoy's warding arm. What had intended to crush the Vulcan's skull like an egg did the same to the human's bones. Spock clearly heard the crunch, the rip of hooked teeth tearing the doctor's shirt and flelsh. The Shield pulled; the weapon dragged him overboard into the water.

"They're in the chute!" Jim realized instantly and with perfect, awful timing, the first rumble of ugly thunder vibrated over the valley.

Behind Spock, Jim shouted a warning, a splash, then something hard hit the flatboat.

McCoy had surfaced with a gasp, briefly, then simply vanished in the ink-dark water. Spock had no way of knowing if he was even alive. Fala was swinging, lumbering towards them, the river water sloshing away from his stride in waves. Two more Shields were coming to his view; one was splashing up behind him. Spock dismounted off the flatboat into the rib-high water, fighting his natural instincts to avoid this non-desert environment. He ignored Jim's protest. His mind was focused on protecting the Hestians and his captain from this oncoming threat; he wondered if the Shields had divined the perfection of a water battle, the one place where phasers were forbidden because of its energy dispersion.

A neck presented itself. Spock pinched hard, his free hand wrenching the club away. A Shield on the far shore was hammering his weapons together, in ecstacy, his eyes rolled up to white balls in his scarred face. Lightning flashed. Spock shoved the Shield away, knowing full well he would drown before regaining consciousness. His own companion shoved the sinking body aside in his haste to get to Spock.

Behind him Spock heard the nearing Shield stop; a wet sound, a skull broken. He glanced backward as he retreated. Jim had wrested his own weapon from his attacker. His young face had never looked so old or grim in the flickering torchlight.

"GET HIM SPOCK!"

Spock did not know if Jim meant his attacker, or to rescue McCoy. But he could not see McCoy at all and the current was tugging inexorably to the waterfall. Fala was getting ever nearer, his club whistling as he swung it through the air. It had blood on it. McCoy's blood, Spock felt a sudden anguish. The next Shield was clumsy in his haste to kill, and again a body sank below the water and drifted to the falls.

Fala's bigger form was travelling against the current with breathtaking ease. Spock retreated, heard the slap of water against wood and Jim's wet hand grabbed him by the arm, pulling him up. But Oxal and Ofv were terrified; their limbs moved sluggishly from the fear that the Vulcan could feel rolling off them in choking miasma. Fala was gaining and Spock's muscles had slowed from the icy cold of the water.

Chilled human fingers clutched his shoulder, Jim was trying to pull him back even as Oxal and Ofv plied the boat with all their strength. But they were not fast enough. Spock opened his mouth to insist Jim let go, stubborn though his captain would be about making such a logical decision--

Fala's blotched, ugly face froze in the slash of lightning, his throat opened in a second smile that bubbled and hissed with escaping blood and air. His face a grim, bloody mask, Bones McCOy used the last of his strength and his one good arm to push him backwards, over the falls. Fala's hand flew up, and went over into the bath of roaring white foam.

(You won't be hurting anyone else, ever again.) Bones had the supreme satisfaction of thinking before the water closed over his head.

Both times he'd drowned, he'd recovered to blurred vision, aching eyes and throat, stared down by anxious parents who couldn't wait to see him be well before he got the spanking of the year--an unfair scenario to a kid who hadn't intended to get overwhelmed by water and at least there weren't any alligators around. This time he simply opened his eyes with a largely painless body. The lights were dim because it was still night. And Gem had replaced his parents. A lot prettier, but still alarmed.

He tried to move. Mistake. "Ow."

[Be careful please!!] Gem's voder was smooth and well-honed. [You nearly died, Leonard!]

"Again?" He tried to smile, then memory flushed his skin. "Jim and Spock!"

Gem had her elbow on his chest before he could translate the thought to action. [Don't you even THINK of it! THey made it across the river safely; we are still searching for a way to get to them, but, I do not think they are dead. I would feel it.]

McCoy trusted his own instincts, so he had to trust hers. He let himself fall back, relief mixing with a different kind of worry. Were they still in trouble? Spock wasn't adapted to this kind of climate. And he swam like a kiwi. Jim wasn't very adapted either; Iowa wasn't famous for its wealth of humidity.

[Here.] Gem passed him a cup of black stuff and he sat up to sip it. The steam floated into his lungs and loosened something tight inside. [Be easy on yourself. We are searching for them and will not give up.]

"They don't give up either." He reminded her, and glanced upward at a runmble of new thunder against the invisible dark of the ceiling.

Gem shivered. {The seasonal storms are early.] Her hued pantsuit clung to her body in the damp. Once again, Bones wondered how she could be a mother and still look so young. Empathic self healing, he supposed.

[Can it be true?] Gem hugged herself as she paced. Her red hair clung to her skin like the gauzy webs of clothing. [Can the rouges be poisoned people? I don't know if I want to believe that.]

He didn't know what to say to her. "Gem...Fala and his people are addicts to canvanine. And an addict is like any other...they'll do anything to get what they want."

[This is why no one could heal them...this is why my daughter died for trying to heal them.]

"I'm sorry." If that had been Joanna...and yet, he shivered, what if his own child had become like Fala? That had to be even worse. He remembered explaining Daystrom's obsession for his child-computer to Jim...even a killer, a parent loved their offspring. Their instincts, once activated, were too strong. He watched Gem finger her necklace, face a whirlwind of emotions and thoughts vying for supremecy.

[We tried to heal them. I swear we did.]

"Gem...I believe you." God. What if it had been Joanna? He ached for her; felt the muscle in his chest open up and collapse under the weight of the empathic pain. Disaster. To outlive your own child. Disaster.

Gem blinked tears from her eyes. [Fala is dead...and I cannot be sorry. What does that make me?]

"Normal." He said gruffly. "Fala killed Ting. Isn't it a natural instinct to see such an action as a threat, and to react to it?"

[Not our people...we cannot kill. We...cannot.] Shewrinkled her face, confused, and sank down next to him, leaning her head against his shoulder. [I am sorry you had to kill. I know it went against your heart.]

"I had to. He was going to smash Spock like a pumpkin." Just the memory dried his throat. "I was a hunter, not a killer. But Fala was..." He stopped, unable to finish his thought. Fala had been like a bear, once developed a taste of its own kind, would prey on nothing else.

When Fala's club shattered his arm, the contact had flooded him with Fala's essence--a dirty, smeary choking miasma of insanity that whirled between frenzied joy in killing, and the orgasmic calming, lulling space until the next killing. The reason why the Hestians kept no pets; easy objects to torture to death. Fala had been placed outside the loop of his people, his world, the entire natural order of things, and he would kill until there was nothing left to kill, then he would resort to destroying the forest. Knowing what he was against had given him the strength to take up his good arm against the Hestian, and risk a killing blow to give the man a quick death. Shock of the entire writhing mass of hate had what been what made him collapse. Gem had saved him from that. It was now no more than a faint memory.

[Like Lal and Tharn.] Gem's voder made him jump. [I'm sorry. I felt you thinking of them...]

"What happened? Where are they now, Gem?" He asked grimly. Quietly. All the healing in the world might let him step back and observe impartially, without pain, but he still wanted to speak to those wrinkled Vians. Oh, yes...

[I do not know. They returned me here, to my home, when I woke up I never saw them again.] She wrapped her arms around his neck and he hugged her back, feeling very low on resistance. She sighed, a tiny steam-like sound...

He pulled away with a puzzled frown. "Gem, where's your voder?"

[Voder?]

Realization thundered over his head like the storm. "Oh." He said in a tiny voice. Thankfully, his brain froze up and not a single thought crept through for a few heartbeats. He was never so glad to be empty-headed in his life. "Uhm..." Clear your throat, Leonard, atta boy..."How...long have you been talking to me like this?"

[Since I healed you...it's why I don't need one of those things. It's especially strong now, since I healed you from death.]

"Makes sense." He agreed faintly.

Gem calmly returned to leaning against him. [But I'm not taking chances...that tea should put you to sleep very soon.] A crack of thunder made them jump, clutching at each other. [You are worried about Jim and Spock?]

"That's an understatement." He groaned. "Those two get into the worst trouble..."

[But they know how to defeat killers...we do not. Killing ices our souls, we cannot save ourselves from the feeling. We ourselves would die...] Her small body heaved in a sigh. [We can trust they will shelter until the worst of the storm passes...Ofv and Oxal are with them, and if we get close enough, we'll find them with our minds. Now,] she "said" sternly, [go to sleep!]

"How can I not?" He tried to grumble but his head was too heavy. He was gonna be out as soon as his eyes closed. Behind him she was putting the empty cup up; he heard the click of ceramic.

[Leonard...can your people heal mine?]

"Sure...'f they ask us't." It was going to be a battle to stay awake long enough to answer the million questions in her eyes.

[Then we ask. How do you treat canvanine addiction?]

"Humans..." He murmured, as reality slipped away, "don' get 'dicted to...canva...nine."

He woke up slowly to a world of sight and silence; an Empath's world. The lightning was flashing without thunder throught the jungle. Red and blue electricity arced across the sky, burning black cluds the hue of pearl, and white lightning the most fierce of all. White lightning, his grandfather had told him, the old timers believed that red and blue lightning could be put out, but once struck, white lightning would create a fire that could never be extinguished. That was why they named their homemade drink white lightning, because a thirst started could never be quenched.

Winds tossed the frail greenery amid erratic silver sheets of rain. Fern-trees bobbed on slender trunks, their finger-fronds spreading and flowing against the air current. Silica giants shed their dreck against its force, leaves and sticks flew across the quick-lit sky and blew into the open room.

Gem was standing in front of the window, white light illuminating her small body. His vision was much clearer now, and she was naked in the damp heat.

She turned, knowing his was aware, and her large eyes crinkled in a smile as she stepped forward, small breasts waving. [Awake already?] She lifted the cover and slid against his chest; she had already been inside his mind and spirit. Twice. If there was anything she found amiss, it would have shown. And who was Gem? An Empath; a mute who didn't need language; a mother of one buried from violence. She was young enough to be resilient, and too old to blindly turst in the future. Her lips pressed against his easily, and his hands slipped around that small waist She smelled of the oily berries outside her home, and sweat.

[Wait.] She pressed. [Let me.]

He closed his eyes as she kissed his face, brushed against his ear and traced his jawline. It had been a long time since he'd gotten this close to someone. Too long. Too much fear standing in the way. It took too much to be the CMO and the heart for the command crew. He hadn't been confident of his ability to be someone's lover on top of that, despite his desires. Her hands were sliding over his chest now, across arms that still remembered ghost-injuries now gone. Her touch had been warm. Now she felt hot as a reiki healer. Heat that had been in her hands when she healed him from the Vians, when she healed the broken skull and shattered arm and filled lungs, heat spreading from her touch to his skin, soaking inside, her touch with hands and lips and the press of her thighs.

"Gem..." He gasped and held her tight. she smiled against his neck and ground against him again. She was slick, her scent even stronger. And she was driving him crazy.

He rolled her underneath and returned her kiss. Her tongue slipped inside with his; he didn't know how much longer he was going to stand this, but badly as they wanted each other, he didn't dare ruin it by rushing. He held her head back and covered her throat down to her breasts. They were still small and soft as a girl's, and her nipple hardened as he teased it with his tongue. Her head rocked back as she began to pant. He treated the other nipple the same way to an even more extreme reaction. Her fingers slipped across his back, her nails anchored in his skin. Her belly tightened and her legs slid around him. She pressed hard for him to enter. [Now, please.]

"Slow down." He gasped when she let him breathe again. "Take it easy..." She emoted reassurance at his words; had she thought he'd turn her down? (Perish the thought!) His thought to her made her smile.

[Can we have a night together? Before you go?]

(Yes...)

He groaned as she embraced him, hot and slippery and wet he buried his face in her shoulder and tried not to think about giving in so quickly. She raked at his back and began moving, her body urging him along as strongly as her mind. Her teeth ninpped his skin lightly, her fingers twined in his hair. There was an unreal surreality to all of this and he wondered (dimly) if there was going to be trouble from it. Just as dimly, he came to the conclusion of, ,the hell with it.

Gem's mind was twining inside his like vines; definition between individual bodies and spirits were blurring at the edges; he was beginning to feel what she was feeling, and what she liked and wanted. Her fingers ran over his chest in a way she knew he enjoyed. She was smiling, her eyes glassy in a way a Deltan would approve of. Her soft lips were parting, a flush spreading up her pale throat to every inch of her face. He felt her climax from a mile away, grabbed her by the waist and held tight as she thrashed without a sound. Her fingers gripped his arms, nails running furrows into his skin and he came just as violently. SHe fell on top of him, both gasping their breath out over their skin.

(!) He wasn't thinking of anything beyond dazed surprise. Whatever had gotten Gem stirred up like that, he couldn't *possibly* imagine.

[No?] She smiled, sweating, elfin, mischievous. [Why do you think?]

(That's...not my usual MO.] He brushed her wet hair from her eyes.

She grew sober a moment, dark eyes seeing everything. [You won't be staying her, I know it. I think your future is with another. But I wanted this...I needed this...you did too.] Gem lifted her head over his to bend down, lips grazing his forehead. [I'm sorry about those scratches. It was an accident.]

"That's...all right." He managed.

She smiled again, and he knew what she had in mind, plain as paint. [I suppose I'll just have to heal you again...]

Jim and Spock emerged with Oxal and Ofv less than an hour after the storm cleared into a pure, bright day full of yellow sunshine, sucking mud, and a world pasted with soggy flower petals. The officers were merely bedraggled, but McCoy thought the Hestians looked like drowned, tie-dyed chickens in their multicolored clothes. Oxal had flower stamens stuck in his curly hair like a madman's idea of Andorian earstalks. Jim's beam of joy could be felt across the steaming plaza.

"Oxal said he sensed you were safe!" Jim waved from the gate as their weary feet shambled in. "I take it you got our message through Gem?"

"Yup, that I did!" McCoy yelled back, holding up clean and dry uniforms, one set in each hand. Spock moved with a haste that was almost scandalous for a Vulcan, and began peeling out of his muddy clothing on the spot. His lips were set tight in a thin line, which got the doctor's suspicious nature instantly up. He peered hard at the First Officer as Jim yanked his own uniform up. "How's that head cold, Spock?"

"What 'head cold?' I am no cooler than anywhere else."

"Fine. Have it your way. Do things as difficult as possible. A change of pace would give me a heart attack anyway." McCoy sat on top of the communal table and passed out communicators and tricorders. A swarm of Hestians rippled by in their gauzy robes, stampeding Oxal and Ofv in a riotous hello while politely leaving the officers alone. Jim decided that was fine; he couldn't deal with that much happiness all at once. He noticed new communicators and tricorders sitting in a neat pile. "I take it you got to reach Scott?"

"Yeah, I still had *my* communicator, for all that I took the longest bath." McCoy turned on his medscanner. "I figured we can use 'em while the ship searches for the lost stuff."

"You figured right." Jim clutched up a pitcher of red tea and poured a massive amount. He gulped thirstily, stopped to get his breath, and drank more slowly. "Where's Gem?" He looked around.

"She said she had to talk to the gen-mothers...easy on that, cap'n suh, I put enough vitamins in that stuff to let a shetland pony take the Kentuck Cup."

Jim snorted around his drink. "Thanks...we were really worried about you." He thumped McCoy on the shoulder with his free hand while Spock ignored how he had been included in an emotional state. "I guess this time you didn't drown."

"Gem says I would have died from a broken neck going over the waterfall." McCoy shook his head. "Oh, well...I was worried about myself." He stuffed a mug of the tea under Spock's nose. "Drink it or I'm beaming you up to Sickbay *right now* for a siphoning of the sinus cavities."

Spock's expression could have turned the figurative lump of coal to a higher life form. "An obvious waste of facilities. I am perfectly able to respond."

"Did you ever try this stuff on your mother? Sarek, I can imagine him falling for that linear stuff, but not Amanda. Spock, human ears are pretty bad compared to yours, I'll admit that, but even we can hear the whistling in the respiratory tract. And that's not a good sign." McCoy ran the scanner over him, slowly. "Don't move your tric; it'll get in the way of mine." He read the reasings, shuddered visibly, and pulled a hypo out. "Take a tip from those of us who evolved on a watery world: when you're caught in the rain, don't look up. It gets precipitation up your nose."

Jim chuckled around a mouthful of drink. "Did you see any Shields around the village today?"

"God, no." McCoy was shocked. "Are there any left?"

"At least five. The others..." Jim lifted his hands. "We're pretty sure ten are dead. They kept rushing at us; we had to protect the civilians." Jim glanced over to the busy little knot of Hestians. Father and son were sluicing their hair clean at the well. "They couldn't defend themselves at all, Bones. It was...scarey."

"I can imagine." McCoy turned sober for a moment, his face suddenly sad.

"You look wiped out, Bones. Did you get *any* rest?"

"Um, no, not after I woke up from Gem's healing." McCoy coolly slid a fresh wafer in his tricorder and thought of poker.

"You really need to get some rest when we beam up. Don't even try to tell me you haven't been working too hard." Jim put on his best Captain's Manner as his CMO looked at him. "And don't give me *that look*. I know how focused you get when you're involved with something. I bet you were up all night with Gem."

"Can't fool you none." McCoy sighed.

"So." Jim sighed in satisfaction as he plucked at his clean, dry, wonderful uniform shirt. The rain had left his skin feeling fresh and gleaming. "Did you miss us?"

McCoy didn't bat an eye. "When I revived, yeah."

Jim chuckled, trying to hide his relief that they were all safe. "Honestly, doctor, you look pretty tired."

McCoy sipped more of the red Hestian stuff slowly. "I tol' ya. Didn't get much sleep."

"You don't look like you got *any* sleep." Jim looked over at Spock, who had of course, completely dressed with record speed and was now absorbed in his nice new tricorder, next to a pile of neatly folded up wet clothing.

"His hair looks freshly combed." Bones muttered. "How the *hell* does he do that? So you're sure there are no less than five, and no more than ten Shields left?"

"Reasonably sure." Jim shrugged stiffly. "We'll be leaving a whole *contigent* of security guards to help protect these people, and send a DNA tank down too. It should make do before the more-equipped Science/Cultural Team comes in."

"Better add a CAT to the Tank." McCoy reminded him. "Those things can save a lot of time."

"And signal-traks for our lost equipment. I hate to think of a phaser breaking down its powercell into a body of water..."

"Way ahead of you, Jim." Leonard held up a ListPadd.

Jim took the data gratefully, choking on his drink when he saw the title. "'Things to Do?'" He quoted, eyebrows up.

"What's left to do, anyway." McCoy had a straight face on.

"Yes, I noticed you crossed out 'save the planet'. Thank you, it saves me the trouble. Now all we have to do is 'pitch Federation spiel' and 'introduce democracy.'"

Spock broke in by coughing against the drainage in his throat. "Captain, I believe Gem is coming." He said gently.

All talk died as the little woman stepped across the steaming clay tiles of the courtyard, eyes bright, her hair gleaming like the burnished red scales of a copperhead. Jim stood; Leonard stood; Spock was already standing.

Odd how she seemed much smaller in daylight, Bones mused. A silly little smile was on his lips to see her peer up into Jim's happy face, her small hands swallowed up in his, and stolid, stark, diginified Spock standing before them, hands clasped politely behind his back, stance at protective attention.

[CAPTAIN'S LOG; PERSONAL NOTE:

[I will be relived when news of the last Shields are found. While they clearly need help that their people cannot give them, my personal experience left me with a lack of...empathy to their situation. I cannot describe it any further. In a world where people were meant to suffer their brother's deaths, these addicts reveled in murder.

[Bones reminds me that our history is full of such examples, such as the narco-whiffing personal guards of the Eugenics Wars. Not that excuses them, or anyone, as he is so quick to remind me. "Everyone has a choice, Jim. Even insanity is a choice. But the thing is, a lot of people don't know it. It's amazing how much trouble you can get into, if your parents don't raise you to be responsible for *all* your actions." I will need time to adjust to that concept...

[On a more personal note, I am pleased to say Bones is clearly improved from his visit with the Hestians, and with Gem in particular. I understand. The simple act of touching her hands in friendship produces a soothing balm, as if I were with my own mother. It feels odd considering how young she looks, but tricorder graphs show she is closer to Spock's age than mine. Perhaps that longevity (when uninterrupted) will help her people build up their numbers.

{We will all be sorry to go. Tomorrow morning we will beamdown and oversee the settlement of the C-S team, and attend a communal dinner held in our honor--this time, with everyone being able to attend. This wil lgive Mr. Sulu and the Horticultural Department some time to collect the specimens they so treasure. And then all that will be left is our final good-bye.]

"You take care." Leonard wondered if his words would strike her as amusing; considering the source, but she merely returned the pressure of his hands and brushed red hair from her eyes.

[It will be good to see the life returning to our people. All my life, we have been suffering either the stragli, or the Shields. Or both at the same time. Either one had the power to destroy us.]

"It's not easy. Your people made a deal with the devil when they tried to learn how to kill. Some people can't so it." Leonard sighed. "I hope you never try to learn again. Let others shoulder the burden. Yours is rarer; you're true healers, all of you. We need you."

[The Federation is an exciting world to us.] Gem's face, so fluid and changing, but in subtle, tiny ways that was easy to miss if you were a self-absorbed type...[I think Oxal wants to be what you call a diplomat.]

"He'd be a good one." McCoy grinned. "He's a nice boy."

[Yes. He wants to be a better healer. I will be busy teaching him!]

"Tell Ofv that if Oxal can be your official liason with your Cultural Team, it's a good start and Jim would be willing to sponsor his admission to the Corps."

[Oxal reminds him of his son, doesn't he?] Gem startled him. [Did I upset you? I didn't mean to...he was thinking of...David...very hard and sadly while teaching Oxal the tricorder.]

"Yes." Leonard said, very slowly, "But please, don't mention it to anyone. He just...can't be with his family." David would be three months old now, still listening to Verdi in his crib and wrapped head to toe in sleepers. Carol had made the choice to kick Jim out but was probably channeling her maternal frustrations out in some ugly thoughts in his direction.

Gem, ever sensitive, nodded and smiled. [We will see you all tomorrow?]

"None of us would dream of missing one last visit before we warped out of here." Leoanrd chuckled under his breath.

[Good.} Gem's small white fingers curled inside his larger brown ones, suddenly she looked shy or excited or uncertain how to speak. [And above all, we thank your people for giving us the means to defeat the canvanine addiction.]

Leonard blinked. "Thank you...but we haven't done anything yet."

Gem chuckled. It was without a sound, but he could have sworn that was what she did. [Didn't you say humans are unable to be addicted to canvanine?]

"Oh."

McCoy swallowed.

Hard.

Past information about Hestian family gens ran through his head at record speed. "Just for your information, Gem," He managed a remarkably steady voice, all things considered. "It's good manners to let a human know you want them to parent your offspring."

[Really?] Gem cocked her head to one side, charmed by the novel notion. [How unusual Why? Do they share the responsibility of parenting?]

"Most of them do." He said dryly. "Sometimes, the fathers do the rearing. I did with my daughter."

She was delighted with this amazing information. [I really must tell the other gen...usually the men raise the children once they approach the threshold of adulthood. This will change our approach to your people.]

"You do that." He watched her, fairly scampering, to a small knot of women who were probably a lot more mature than they looked.

*Much* more mature.

"Hoo...boy."

"Ready to go?" Jim materialized behind his ear; he jumped.

"Gawd, Jim! I've had enough shocks on this planet!"

Jim crunched another meli. "Sorry. These are *good*. Ofv's letting us take a bunch back for the bulk molecular stores. I think I may be addicted."

"Please don't say that word to me." Leonard pleaded. "And remember, all things in moderation."

"Except for buffalo meat." Jim reminded him.

"Except for buffalo." Leonard agreed.

"When we hit earth, I'll grab my bow and we can go hunting on the plains." Jim promised. 'I want to see that weird Mere Heath of your perform."

"Weird?" McCoy knifed him in the ribs with his elbow. "You Lakota snob. The Mere Heath is the penultimate longbow."

"Bones, it's too thick, too long, too broad, too heavy and the wood's all wrong."

"So why does it outperform all other wooden bows in the world?"

"If it was that good, why did it have to be re-discovered in a peat bog by underpaid archaeologists?"

"Underp--oohhh." McCoy made a fist at his captain. "And I suppose if you was an invading Saxon, you'd want to encourage the natives to keep using those things at you?" When Jim broke up, Leonard followed suit.

"Let's invite Spock." Jim offered. "He can examine the specs and give us performance reports."

"Let's invite Scotty. He can see it as an engineering problem, and he won't get upset at the sight of us up to our elbows in bloody buffalo."

"Come on, Bones. Spock doesn't *really* hold our primate urges against us. It would work against his MO as a superior being."

"Now, Jim, I'm just a simple hunter-gatherer, but my shamanic healer powers are conjurin' a vivid image of Spock's reaction when he finds out he has to share a shuttlecraft back to 'port with two giggling, meat-drunk officers and several hundred pounds of once-living and noble woolly herbivore."

Jim and Leonard were leaning on each other, gasping for breath at this point. "Ohh, god." Tears were rolling down Jim's face. "Maybe I'd better *not* introduce him to Winoa. Her favorite Native dish is raw kidneys with red wine."

"If he didn't faint dead away at Sulu's live baby octopus, do you think he'd react to that?"

"Good point."

They managed to collect themselves, knowing that if they saw Spock before they did so, they would collapse all over again.

"I'm applying for shipwide shoreleave when we get back." Jim let Leonard shamble into step next to him as they went for the plaza's center for beamup. Spock was already there, waiting patiently in the brilliant light. "And you're going to be on the first group."

"I'm not complaining." McCoy assured him.

Jim eyed him through the side of his vision. "You're starting to worry me, Bones. Usually these roles are reversed. Just how tired are you?"

"Not so tired that I can't tie up some loose ends when we get back to the ship." McCoy clung his medikit over one shoulder. If he started composing that letter to Joanna today, it might be credible by the time they hit Vega: (Dear Jo; or should I say, Big Sister Jo? This is your dad. Remember how your mom reacted when she found out you were pregnant and I defended you? It's time to collect that debt...give my grandson a hug, will you? Pretty soon there's going to be anotehr addition to that patch of kudzu we call a family tree for him to play with. Details forthcoming as soon as I know what the hell is going on...)

The absurdity struck him; Jim and Spock looked back at him when he started snickering. Their expressions only made it worse. "Sorry." He managed in Federation sign language, too useless to talk. "Will explain later...much much later..."