They beamed down at the campsite; Kirk would never de-camp at a holding on any planet until he was on the verge of leaving. It was a sound military caution, and they were grateful for it now. McCoy hurridly dropped his gearbag on the lab table and ran a check through all the standing equipment while Spock relayed to Kirk the beamdown was successful."We will make our way to Sackhorn's location as soon as we finish checking." The Vulcan glanced at the filling sky with distate. "Otherwise rain may impede us."
*Understood. Keep us in touch. Kirk out.*
McCoy had slung up a trailbag over his shoulders and was waiting patiently. "You go first." he offered with a faint smile. "That way, if any a'kee-leet jump us, I can at least try to save you with the phaser."
Spock made a point of pausing as he slung up his own pack. McCoy was a crackshot, and there was no doubt he *could* pick off small rodents with a phaser set to needlebeam, but he had no desire to be the target for a swarm of flesh-eating mice.
"The a'kee-leet rarely attack during the day." He reminded McCoy stiffly.
"Rarely." McCoy repeated.
Spock pretended this conversation was beneath him and started walking. Inwardly, he was fuming.
They took their time in the gray dawn. Moisture hung heavily on the leaves and bark, dripped from above. A low rumble of thunder and a gray cloud from across the valley said that the rain was detouring, for now, into the slightly cooler air west of the factories below. Spock was gratified to see the cloudbank roll slowly off. He was wet as he could tolerate.
"Ugh." McCoy paused, rubbing his nose fiercely. "I hate that smell!"
"What smell?"
"Snapdragon smell. I used to love it. Now its just awful."
"I would not even begin to know what a snapdragon smelled like."
"Its light and sweet, like a fancy perfume. I think its coming from all the nepenthe plants. Gets worse when the air's wet."
"Scents carry in water." Spock reminded him. It was the main reason why Vulcans did not smell nearly as well as humans. There was no vehicle for much of that sense in a dry desert climate that may not see rain save once every three generations.
"Well, here we are."
Spock followed the doctor's gaze. The curtain of waxleaves vines parted under their hands to show the familiar open clearing. White sand still wounded the frail loam-cover from the landing party's heavy boots. And Sackhorn rested, that one knee drawn up in its ghoulish way. McCoy could see there was considerably less of the Rigellian by now; the preservative chemicals must have worn off.
Insects flew up in a cloud, small white flying weevils with black eyes. The corpse was even more revealed at their departure. Mostly skeleton and a few shreds of tissue hung upon the bones. That was what the weevils had been feasting on.
"Fascinating." Spock had knelt in the tangle of gingervines and was aiming his tricorder over the skull down to the feet. Still imprinted into the bone of the forehead, rested a small data chip. "Not even clothing left. This is a most efficient system for disposal."
"Or murder." McCoy said vaugely.
"Or murder." Spock agreed. He frowned and removed a small pair of mechanical manipulators from his field kit.
Concentrating, he stitched a small ring around the data chip and removed it, taking a portion of the skull it was embedded in with it. The brain was no longer intact; what he could see from the impaired view was mostly liquid. A scent wafted up, partially sweet, and partially metallic rust, but mostly rotting.
"Up."
Spock thought McCoy was expressing nausea, and ignored him while pocketing the sample inside a field case.
"Up." McCoy said again, much stronger.
Spock glanced up. McCoy was staring as if hypnotized straight up the sheer cliff wall.
"Look." McCoy whispered softly.
There was no mistaking that large lump bulging partially over the very edge of the 50-foot drop. It was dark green, mottled yellow and red the shade of human blood. And, as the air grew heavy and moist from the nearby rainstorm, the scent of snapdragons wafted down.
"The a'kee-leet must have fished the body out of the nepenthe's storage tank and dumped it down the cliff for a leisurely feast." McCoy commented. "Clever little buggers."
"All creatures can be quite admirable in following their instincts." Spock got to his feet. "The question is, how did Sackhorn get lured to the nepenthe?"
"I can't see any way from here. There must be some way around the cliff..."
"We should divide." Spock nodded sharply. "Lock your phaser and follow the cliff in one direction. I will do the same in the other."
"Got you..." McCoy shook his head dubiously.
Spock settled his lean body among the play of vines, shrubs and canopy-symbionts easily. It was normally difficult for a Vulcan to accept the claustrophobic, wet environment of a jungle, but Spock had been away from the deserts of his home for more than half his life. Sometimes it amazed him how adaptable he had become. T'Pring would never understand the fascination of a different environment. She was like too many of their people, feeling that anything outside of Vulcan was a threat, a danger, and at the very least, unpleasantly incompatible. Sarek would understand some of what Spock felt, but his father was taciturn by nature, and moreso since the banishment of his brother Sybok.
Thoughts of Sarek's First Son sent a sudden stab of emotion through Spock, and out of long practice he stifled it.
Spock's communicator chirped. He flipped it open quickly. "Spock here."
*Spock...* McCoy's voice floated across the beam, shaky and weak sounding.
"Doctor, did you find a way to get to the plant?"
*Not...exactly...*
Spock frowned, hearing a laboring of breath.
*Spock, I've been caught in the perimeter of the plant. It seems...humans are vulnerable to the nepenthe too.* A chill went up Spock's spine to hear McCoy speaking in a very cold, clinical voice. *Just in case, you'd better not follow me.*
"Where are you going?"
*Call Kirk and get yourself beamed up!*
"Doctor--"
The beam went dead.
Spock was motionless for half a heartbeat. Then he was whirling and plunging back through the jungle.
* * *
He nearly fell flat on his face into a thornbush when he fell over McCoy. The doctor was lying on the ground, unconscious. A hypo lay next to him. Spock bent over him and checked his pulse. Still alive, but signs faint. He picked up the hypo, saw an empty chamber next to it. Sedative. Spock was duly impressed at the precaution.
The Vulcan had been holding his breath for over five minutes and was starting to feel the lack of oxygen. He bent and picked the doctor up, slinging him over his shoulder. Hurrying past the point of grace, he vaulted fallen trees and skirted the standing ones, trying to get back to the clearing where they had first spotted the carnivorous nepenthe.
Wind blew across the carpet of vines. Spock stopped and let the human's limp body sag down, flipped open the medikit and breathed gratefully in the cleaner air. A counteragent was quickly found and he loaded the chamber. A stimulant on top of a sedative, even a weak one, was medically unadvisable, but Spock felt there was a need for the action.
McCoy's eyes fluttered open at the first hiss. Confusion clouded his eyes.
"Hell." He growled. "I hope I'm alive, because I'd hate for this to be the afterlife."
"You are obviously undamaged." Spock lifted an eyebrow. "Fortunately, I was able to hold my respiration long enough to find you."
"Um." McCoy suddenly closed his eyes, hand to his forehead. "Help...m'up."
Spock complied.
"Rigellians..." McCoy was keeping his eyes firmly closed as Spock guided him to a fallen log. "Th-the plants are taboo...because they're the prey..." A hot sweat was breaking out over his skin as Spock let go of his arm. "Must've kept susceptibility...even when th'Vulcans began mixing..." He suddenly doubled up, clenching at his ribs. "Oh, *God!*"
Spock was unacccustomed to seeing such a strong reaction from the doctor. "What is it?"
"Head...feels like s'turning inside out..." McCoy hit the earth with his knees, clutching his skull and grimacing. "Oh, no, get out! Get out!"
Spock could detect nothing with his senses, but he was not a fool either. He grabbed the doctor and threw him over his shoulder. With enviable speed, he ran from the clearing.
* * *
They were almost to the camp when McCoy lifted his head. Spock paused and slowly set him down on his feet. McCoy's blue eyes were unfocused and faded. Spock waved his hand across the blank gaze.
"Who were you speaking to, doctor?"
"I...I don' know..." McCoy stopped, shivered, and swallowed. "I don't think it was...Spock, it was in my mind, but it wasn't sentient! Does that make any sense?"
Spock tried to think. There was always the risk that a nontelepathic species would be unfamiliar and unskilled at describing a telepathic experience. But if it had been sentient, he surely would have sensed it as well as the doctor. And better, too. "What do you think it was, if it was not sentient?"
"A...compulsion." McCoy swallowed again and clutched his forearms. "A mindless compulsion." He didn't look capable of walking, and just barely could stand. Spock re-hoisted him over his shoulder, and, proving just how upset he was, the doctor made no protest.
Spock was greatly disturbed.
* * *
Spock listened as the rain began to patter over their heads. Inside it was what passed for warm and dry on the planet, but to Spock it felt clammy and miserable. He went to the spaceheater and turned it up as far as it could go. It needed to be done anyway, to enact a crude de-humidifyer inside the shelter's plastic film doors.
"Sodium...pentathol."
Spock turned to see the doctor was still trying to function, still thinking out loud.
"What about sodium pentathol?" Spock wondered where this had come from.
"Rigel's...export of narco...synthetic...truth serums." McCoy was spacing the words out with his breath. "Must use...relative of...nepenthe. Words are...related." Breath. "Narcotic. Hypnotic. Leaves one... suggest-ible..." Breath. "Suceptible." Breath. "Fifth Mind Sect...taboo plant." He was beginning to shake his head from side to side as one thought overode another, clustered and tumbled, stones in an avalanche. "Taboo plant! My God! Mind Sect...Holy Priests! Controlling drugs!!"
Spock pushed him back down, noting idly that the man was soaking wet. "I understand what you are saying. You need to conserve your strength for the moment."
McCoy was struggling to maintain his own volition. Spock watched as he went through the movements of making a coffee, and held it to his lips with both hands, eyes still wild and confused. Spock had rarely seen such a chemical reaction on a human before.
"I can still feel it." He whispered. "Its like a siren singing. I want to go back to that thing, even though I know it's just a trap to kill me!"
Spock sank down on the other toolchest. "But you can fight it." He stated.
McCoy was motionless, then slowly shook his head. "It's just started. I took a lungful of that stuff. I can feel it getting stronger..." His face clenched up for a moment. "Nepenthe...why didn't we think of that? That's how it translates to our language. Nepenthe...the poet's drink of amnesia and peace and death."
Spock had always prided himself on having at least a *slightly* faster mind than a human. He was chagrined to be beaten to that conclusion.
"The smaller plants must be the harvesting grounds for the hypnotic drugs Rigel exports." McCoy was still speaking in that dazed voice. "Controlled by the priests, for the priests...and they do it themselves because their mental skills can give them an edge?"
"Possibly." Spock said cautiously. He thought of the odd chip in Sackhorn's skull.
McCoy suddenly froze. "Spock, tie me down or knock me out. Or I'm going back." He was already getting to his feet.
Spock grabbed him by the shoulders. They were so close he could smell the human's natural amberlike scent.
"Possibly unneccesary." He snapped. "If this is affecting your mind, I may be able to meld with you and interfere with this process."
"How?" McCoy wanted to know.
"Wait." Spock pressed his fingertips to the proper spots, and blinked as the link opened. McCoy was very open, he realized in surprise. That was unusual. Possibly the plant had affected him this way?
Spock decided he was right as the usual maelstrom of barriers, blocks and muddy impressions that existed in unfamiliar minds failed to present. It was as simple as breathing. He actually had to stop himself to keep from sliding through the surface and into the deepest, most private areas.
(Curious) he indulged in fascination, and hesitated a moment before going further.
"Doctor." He spoke very carefully, planning his course of action as he went along. "Listen to me." It was impossible for McCoy not to obey; he would be responsive to anything asked of him while this element was in his blood, in his brain. "We are going to the nepenthe plant. With its connection in your mind, you should be able to show me precisely its location. That way I can alert the ship."
McCoy nodded. His face had gone gray at the idea of going back, but he also knew he couldn't fight the thing by himself.
Spock took a slow breath, and slung up the trail case over his back. With one arm he helped McCoy to his feet and they went back outside.
Now that he was going in the "right" direction, McCoy's strength was returning. Spock considered how very ghoulish this was as he fought to keep the human in his grip. There would be Sickbay-grade bruises on his arm later. They wended their way back to the clearing at the base of the cliff and Spock had to hold McCoy down with some violence as he pulled a filter mask over his face. Now he could at least breathe without fear of his half-human heiritage taking him over.
"This way." McCoy suddenly stiffened and plunged through a stand of colortrees. Spock kept up while mentally marking their trail, even though it seemed like a paranoid precauution. Even their lightest footsteps tore the tender plant growth and left wide white gashes of glittering sand behind. Sand that was desert-dry underneath the dripping canopy.
McCoy ducked through a shimmering waterfall of dark green leaves and paused, momentarily stymied at the sight of the cliff before them. Before Spock could open his mouth, the doctor had reached up, and put his hand through the curtain of plant growth. Soft ferns as delicate as mist shied away from the crudity of an animal's touch, and they were standing before a narrow cave.
Spock grabbed him again. "Hold still for a moment." He advised--ordered--and reached for a handlight in the trailpack. His mental guides over McCoy were--just--strong enough that he and the doctor were in serious competition with the mindless will of the plant.
"I can't believe you can't smell this!" McCoy rasped. His coloring was going from up to down, and Spock wondered how much longer he could last.
"I do not regret my lack in that ability." Spock said truthfully. In the back of his mind he was hoping this would finish soon, before the plant's chemistry overwhelmed both of them.
Bones met their gaze. Old, dry and perfectly preserved. There could have been a hundred of them. Spock came to the same conclusion as the doctor:
"These were placed here!"
"I agree." Spock kept a firm grip, mental and physical, on McCoy as he aimed his tricorder. "These remains show a high number of humanoid Rigellians. No discernible examples from the Vulcanoid Mind Sect Houses."
"What the hell does that mean?"
"I do not know...yet." Spock admitted. He had found the emergency backup handlight and was paying the light across the narrow cave slot. "There appears to be a channel."
"I know. I can feel that thing coming from there. It must be some kind of air current."
"Doctor, be careful." A sudden, shocking idea had come to Spock. "It is possible that this nepenthe plant is part of a large trap."
"I can't be careful, and you know it!" McCoy snapped. "That's your job, remember?"
"Very well. But go *slowly.*" Spock put all the weight of his mind into that verbal command, saw the other flinch as it "took."
Shaking his head, McCoy occasionally put his hand up to the back of his neck as if feeling an unconscious pressure in his brain. The primitive site, Spock realized. The center of volition and decision. It was suddenly clear as to how McCoy would be helpess against physically resisting it, and yet still be able to verbalize his warning to Spock. The plant had control over one part of his brain, but McCoy still kept the rest.
Chisel marks straightened the organic and chaotic curve of the cavern passage. A strong breeze began to blow into their faces, damp from outside. It was coming from above them, Spock found his theory confirmed. The scent of the nepenthe carried through the cavern and outside, dispersing itself across a large range for its victims. The presence of actual hands engineering the stonework made Spock suspect quite strongly that they were walking through a trap of murder.
"Jesus CHRIST that reeks!" McCoy was digging his fingers into the back of his neck as he spoke. "It's not far." He breathed unevenly. "It's...its close."
"Move as slowly as you can." Spock was reaching for the phaser at his belt. "We do not know if there are any a'kee-leet nearby, but it is a strong possibility."
"Joy." Was McCoy's response. Spock wondered if the doctor could ever get stifled for long. His sense of irony seemed indefatiguable.
The need for handlights ended as pale gray dawnlight bled through the cavern before them. The stone was turning dark green under the presence of lichens and moss. Spock put the light away hurridly and grabbed the doctor's arm, feeling a sudden instinctive need to do so.
"Can you resist it?" Spock spoke directly into the ear, making McCoy jump.
"Not much longer." McCoy was wiped. "Get this thing's co-ords and beam it the hell up!"
"That is the--"
McCoy stopped so quickly the Vulcan crashed into him.
Spock glanced in the direction of the horrified stare. A dark bulge rested at the base of the nepenthe bowl. It contained many small lumps.
"A'kee-leet." McCoy mouthed. "Don't...wake them up!"
Spock had no desire to. There must have been hundreds of them. Easily three hundred...
Spock steadied himself. He held the doctor tightly in his arms and siezed his gaze, forcing his will into the suppliant one. "You will stay here." He spoke firmly, in his mind and with his mouth at the same time. "Do not move until I order you."
McCoy nodded silently.
Spock moved as quietly as possible, the doctor's communicator held open in his hand. He got as far as the lip of the plant, and slowly rested the tool at its base.
He straightened slowly and backed away without taking his gaze off the dangerous thing. Only then, with his body safely pinning McCoy against the rock wall, did he open his own communicator.
"Captain, Spock here. We have found the plant in question. It is currently hosting a...very large colony of a'kee-leet. When you beam up, do not reassemble it until you have a valid target."
Kirk's voice came on the beam instantly.
*Reading you, Spock. A large colony, hm? Sounds delightful.* As he spoke, a familiar whine filled the air.
"Do not, I repeat, do not finish the beamup. Keep the plant in suspension's memory until you are ready to beam it down into a containment field."
*Understood. Excellent work, Mr. Spock.* Kirk suddenly snickered. *I think the Praetorate will be fascinated at the "suspects" I'll be beaming down to him. Do you think it would be a little too much to set it down in the center of the palace?*
Cold, wet, and emotionally at odds, Spock considered the reactions possible. "Not at all." He answered with feeling. "In fact, I recommend the gesture as a show of strength."
*That's my first officer! Anything else?*
Spock watched as the enormous, barrel-shaped plant of death dissolved in a shower of slow-timed sparks. McCoy smiled faintly as the last of the thing departed, and he sank down against a large moss-covered stone.
"Captain." Spock glanced at the swaying doctor as he spoke. "I suggest you wait before beaming us up. We have been exposed to the plant and I do not recommend our joining the ship until the threat of contamination is done."
*Agreed, Mr. Spock." Kirk spoke crisply. *Your recommendation?*
"I will hail you in one hour. That should give us time to understand our situation better."
McCoy frowned, stymied, at the odd conversation but knew better than to contraidict *Spock* in front of Kirk. He watched as the Vulcan calmly flipped off the communicator, then turned to look at him.
Spock's months-long search for a sr'ben had found a sudden solution. A solution that was standing in front of him.
With the speed only thought can achieve, it was a perfect conclusion. McCoy's mind was totally open and pliable under the nepenthe. Perfect for instigating the sword-link through the link that was already there.
"Spock...it's the plant..." McCoy breathed. Give him credit; he did point it out. "What you're looking for..."
Spock merely pushed his wet hair from his forehead. His hot mouth swallowed up whatever else could be said. McCoy struggled to get away from the scratch of the coarse beard; then he struggled to breathe. That was a mistake, as he learned. Spock was inflamed.
Spock reached up and pressed his fingertips to McCoy's temples, moving in tiny circles. The doctor's eyes drifted closed and he let his head fall back with a shaky sigh. The snapdragon scent of nepenthe was still soaking in his skin, his mind, every bone in his body. The jungle canopy wheeled and dipped crazily above his skull and he stopped looking hurridly.
Spock was tugging his shirt off, then slipping hot dry fingers inside the wicking Tee. The touch stroked across his chest, ruffled the short hairs, sent the nubs rock-hard as his body realized what the other's intentions were. Volition gone. Mind empty, awaiting orders. Anticipating. The shirt was gone and the hands stroked down the back, stopped at the base, hestitated at the officer's sash. Spock's beard tickled his throat as a slight smile pressed against the sweating skin and the Vulcan pulled the Capellan Stand-Ready out of the sash pocket.
"That is a very dangerous object to carry." The Vulcan's deep voice rumbled, sending shivers across every inch of skin the doctor owned. Spock was still smiling, amused that McCoy had been carrying around such an object of subterfuge for years without anyone knowing better. "Does your woman know you possess this?"
"I don't...have a woman." He gasped as Spock pressed him down on his back on the ground.
"No?" Spock was surprised. "Not Nurse Chapel?"
"We're just friends..."
"Friends?" Spock tasted the unfamiliar word. "I really must learn how that was managed someday..." He bent forward and tossed the weapon aside, running both hands down the doctor's ribs at once. McCoy sucked his breath in at the touch. "But that can wait..." He murmured under his beard.
In the end, Spock was surprisingly gentle with him. Passion rarely got out of control with Vulcans, unless their blood fever was unchecked. And this was certainly not the case. His mind was strong and careful of the other's, pulling his scattering, flying thoughts together with a deft touch of mental skill, keeping them contained. Channeling the focus from fighting to get away, confusing his nepenthe-soaked brain into thinking of a different pleasure.
(Yes.) Spock commanded the malleable will. (This is what you want, not to leave...)
(Yes.) The other, the sr'ben, agreed in his mind.
* * *
"Small wonder we did not find this in our initial search." Spock was hunched over the small scope on the table, peering at the (still flesh-encrusted, gorey) chip with bone stuck to its back. "It is mostly ceramic, using chemicals and minerals rather than metals to transmit dataimpulses." He paused. "Quite brilliant. Instead of quartz, it uses citrine as a base."
McCoy was lying on the cot with a cup of coffee perched on his chest, listening to the recurrant rain spatter on the cleardome ceiling, and not really being interested in Spock's gleeful interest in a chunk of warped technology. "So what's it there for?"
"You noticed it was over the Third Eye."
McCoy shrugged. Nearly all hominid species had psychic or paranormal associations with the forehead, above and between the eyes. He remembered that he hadn't verbally answered, but then Spock was still talking, so he must've got the acknowledgement through the link.
The link. He was going to have to get used to that.
Later. He told himself. Much, much later. Right now, he couldn't give a flying farthing and a rolling doughnut up a hill, to quote his creative, if obscurely lingual, grandmother.
"As of now, I cannot speculate on its specific purpose." Spock leaned back and carefully dropped the chip in a sterile solution.
"Mn. Citrine. Doesn't that produce an electrical current when exposed to heat?" McCoy closed his eyes as he talked, feeling the urge to just let the rest of him melt away with his mind.
"Yes." Spock agreed, considering this bit of trivia.
"It is possible that the Rigellian Mind-Priests can employ biofeedback to lift their body temperature in localized places. If they were to do it where the chip was, perhaps that was how they could activate the implant...for whatever purpose they carried."
"Gotta be involved with communication somehow." McCoy cracked his jaw in a huge yawn.
"Mmmmn." Spock suddenly focused upon the implant with great interest. "I wonder if the Rigellian mental powers are really as vaunted as they say...or if they employ artifical aids?"
McCoy only yawned again, and put his coffee down before he wound up wearing it. "You still filing symptoms of nepenthe exposure?" He drawled.
"Yes."
"Better add "increasing lassitude.""
"I already have." Spock eyed him. "Your brain is in serious need of naxolone."
"Gotcha." McCoy yawned again. "I'll get...right on it."
Spock sighed, not quite exasperated. "Best not. I would like an idea of how long the effects will last."
"Well, hell." McCoy said with false regret. "Have fun talkin' to Sackhorn's brainpan. I'm gonna just go with this and hit the hay."
Spock's voice sounded in his mind, gently as an echo.
*Are you so certain it is just the nepenthe that made you so tired?*
*Certainly not, you smug bastard, but ask me if I care.*
*You are annoyed at what happened.*
McCoy coolly (mentally) drew a breath and held it for a moment.
*I'm aware that according to Vulcan mores, you did nothing wrong, but we humans prefer at least a polite query, and in your case, how about an apology for not giving me the option? Just as an acknowledgement that humans do things differently?*
Spock was silent for a moment. *I cannot cause you harm, you know.*
*Yeah, I know.* His body sound asleep, McCoy continued the mental dialog as Spock carefully packed up the samples. *But this is going to take getting used to. Especially since I thought you considered me one of the lowest forms of life onship.*
*Not quite that drastically. I admit to being surprised to discover what you really are.* Spock agreed. He packed up and turned around in his chair, taking in the sleeping form. It crossed his mind that McCoy was going to get a haircut and shave when they returned. A pity.
*Well don't expect me to actually thank you for all this. I think you're incredibly naive to think your wife is never going to want to kill you. And that Stonn sculptor sounds like trouble. So if anything happens to you, I have incipent insanity to look forward to. Just great.*
*As my sr'ben your family will be well provided for.* Spock heard a mental "snarl" at that. *What family you choose to have, at any rate.*
*You're just the soul of tact. Are you going to tell Kirk what's happened?*
Spock hesitated. And surprised himself by hesitating even further. *He knows my father is pressuring me to take a sr'ben...*
*But he didn't exactly volunteer himself.* McCoy had understood the situation the nanosecond their minds had joined. *Well, as this sword-link stuff is supposed to be kept private, I can keep another secret.*
*It is not that I do not trust the captain.* Spock absurdly, felt the need to defend Kirk and himself. "But as you said, this is largely a private matter."
*Mmmnn-hmn.* McCoy agreed dryly. *Sure it is. Ok, have it your way. I'm not exactly eager to let the world know I have another personality grafted into my skull. But you make any smartass cracks about "being the better half" and so help me, I'll find some way to get even with you.*
Spock almost smiled at that.
* * * At 0800 hours, Admiral Kufe, who made all things Rigellian her business, was richly amused to receive an hysterically outraged communique from the Fifth House. As the details unfolded of Kirk introducing Praetor Sackhorn's "Murderers" in the middle of a crowded palace hall, she grew even more amused.
Humans were by nature gifted liars. They were so used to being looked down upon by species that considered themselves superior in every way, that Kufe was delighted to get another chance to be subserviently obnoxious.
"Oh, dear." She said sweetly. Translators weren't mechnically capable of picking up little things like sarcasm, contempt, or mockery. "I really must send a stern note to the Captain's Board over this. Dear me. I wish our people weren't so bad at...reading each other's body language. It would save so much mis-understanding, wouldn't it?"
The Praetorate Ambassador, who had known Kufe since McCoy had stuck a Capellan Stand-Ready in Nasanthakaan's thigh, knew what was going on. With a snarl of defeat, he broke the connection.
Kufe sent Kirk a bottle of rare Bastillan greenwine, a box of Swiss chocolates, and a short letter scolding him for letting his mischievous impulses get out of hand. The context of the note was somewhat detracted by the fact it was written on the back of a thousand-credit voucher slip.
* * *
Marlena penned the thank you note for Kirk on the back of a photograph of the captain showing a nice view of the chest muscles behind the captain's vest. In other words, Kufe-Soma, enjoy the view, because you aren't getting anything else.
* * *
Admiral Kufe understood the note, smiled, and made plans anyway. She liked nothing better than a challenge.
* * *
Sulu made a study of the nepenthe plants as a side-hobby, and returned to his old botanical interests for a while. For a while Spock was helping him, but then the Vulcan seemed to lose interest once the chemical mysteries were broken down, and the study of the nepenthes became all his. Later on, when he became captain of his own ship, he made a point of keeping a large, human-sized speciman inside its very own room. When it was fed, how often, and by what, remained a dark speculation and cause for high crew work output for years.
* * *
Spock had extinguished all light but from the firepot beast. In concession to being off-duty for the next 24 hours, he had actually taken off his uniform and was wearing the loose black robes of his father's family. McCoy, who didn't even keep civilian clothes around, was sweating under his uniform collar in the high heat.
The Vulcan was holding a small bottle of a dark fluid in one hand and opening it with the other. The scent of snapdragons wafted up. A small smile was toying at the corners of his lips as he spoke. "I took the liberty of running a full analysis of the nepenthe's nocturnal peristem." He said as if discussing a pleasant day for sailing along the coast. "This is more than a common hypnoneurodepressor, doctor. It contains an interesting blend of ingredients.
"Neuropeptides...endomorphines...enkephalines...dynorphins...a fascinating cocktail that causes a direct effect upon the brain, and especially the hippocampus."
"The hippocampus?" McCoy repeated, alarmed. That was the section in charge of storage/memory retrieval.
"Calm yourself." Spock said calmly. "It does not appear to be harmful in any way." He paused while rubbing a large amount into his palms. "It synthesizes *very* easily."
"Oh."
The Vulcan had reached up to press his fingers along that familiar spot at his temples. A cold tingle and he could almost feel the nepenthe soak into all the right brain receptors. "So." Spock was saying. "How do you feel?"
"Like I'm standing in quicksand." McCoy snapped. "How the *hell* do you think I feel?"
Spock chuckled. He circled and poised his hands above the human's shoulders, slowly lowered them, and began a deep, digging massage into the taut muscles. "An interesting effect on the human brain," he commented as the doctor groaned, "when combined with the meld..." He moved closer to the neck, feeling the nerves ripple like piano keys. "It seems you have been neatly programmed to respond a certain way to my stimulus."
"That would..." McCoy let his head fall back. "Explain a lot about...The Rigellian Ruling castes, wouldn't it..?"
"Yes, it would." Spock had bent closer, his lips practically vibrating against the ear. "Worthy of further research, wouldn't you agree?"
"How could I not agree?" McCoy asked with some of his old acerbity, and Spock made a deep sound of amusement in his chest as he swung him around, and pushed him down to the bed. "And you Vulcans say *humans* talk too much. God."
"Indeed."
Spock brushed his fingers along the meld points, but by now had no need to physically enact the link. It flared under the command of his will. The body beneath him pressed close, hands holding him by his hips. They moved together, pressing for friction. McCoy's mouth yielded gently to Spock's frontal assault, his hands travelling up the Vulcan's back to rest at the strong shoulders. His lips let go and his head fell back, sighing as Spock began trailing featherlight kisses down his neck and across his collarbone.
Spock spread his fingers and rippled them down the strong back, feeling different human muscles shiver at his touch. He was enjoying this even more this time, now that they were in the privacy of his cabin, the carpe diem urgency gone. Undressing had become foreplay, the smell of the oil soaking throughout the cabin.
McCoy made a murmuring hum as the other began rubbing his body with the oil. Partly sensual, and partly sheer luxury, he had no wish to do anything but lie there and take it. Oh, Lord...the Vulcan's hot skin laid down on top of his, and arms wrapped around bodies again, legs slowly curling against the other's. Spock had already discovered by his efficient trial-and-error methods that humans were far more sensitive in the neck and nipples than Vulcans. In a few minutes his attention on both areas was rewarded by gasps. McCoy's hands reached up, trying to push his head away, trying to breathe.
"Shh." Spock calmed him with a touch, waited as he collected himself, and began anew. The large hot hands traveled all over, perfectly willing to explore what should be very familiar territory.
"Did you know," Spock began blandly, as he rolled his lover over and began on the back, "Admiral Kufe is planning a visit to the ENTERPRISE?"
He felt the body beneath him tense. *That doesn't sound good* he heard in his mind.
"Possibly." Spock agreed. He was calm, though, and continued his slow, lazy strokes over the warm, tanned skin. "But nothing that cannot be dealt with, I am sure."
Strong silence from the doctor. Not only was McCoy unwilling to commit himself to something he knew nothing about, he wasn't eager to consider the Admiral anywhere near him again.
Spock could understand why; that was a part of McCoy's being that he could easily read, just as McCoy could read the troubles brewing in Spock's home.
"From what I understand," Spock still spoke in that calm, casual voice, but it was growing husky as his hands moved slower and lower, "She is curious about our captain."
"Not so much as--" McCoy choked, starting at the sensation of a hot finger slipping inside.
"Not so much as what?" Spock asked in that dry, impossible way Vulcans had when they were teasing you with their ability to keep a straight face. He used his other hand to tease the shape of ribs and down the flank to the outer thigh.
"Not so much as..." McCoy let his head fall back, facedown onto the bed. *Jesus.* "Checking out her investment."
"She considers Kirk an investment?"
McCoy sort of made a shrugging motion; not easy considering the way Spock had him trapped. "She's been silently backing his ventures for years. Even before this ship."
"Mmmn." Spock murmured. He was up to two fingers now, watching the reactions intently. "Is her...sexuality a guise then?"
"In a way..." McCoy rasped. His fingers dug hard into the cloth beneath him. *She's in perfect control of herself. But most people can't believe that, so she winds up...tricking them.*
"Ah." Spock pressed gently, to an extreme result. He withdrew very slowly, both hands at the other's hips now. "This should be...fascinating." His head tilted, lips tickling the round ear.
The human shivered a bit as Spock slowly joined with him. Olive colored hands reached around, clenched around his own, a grip like handcuffs, and they both began to move.
*If you fear you cannot avoid Kufe when she comes...* The Vulcan's strong mental voice rippled and echoed inside McCoy's, powerful and compelling...God, it was like a strong opiate, rubbing the soul with silk... Rubbing inside and out, all over, every part, in his mind, what Spock called the katra, inside his body with his easy thrusts, over his body with the roving hands. *Then we can easily take steps to prevent anything that you do not wish to happen...*
He cried out, his head going down as he felt the release begin in his mind and end with his body. Spock held back gently, still holding him, still stroking. Moving in time to the spasms that caught his sr'ben, but not joining him yet. Soft hot lips and a scratchy beard soothed and excited the back of his neck.
"Do not worry about Kufe." The Vulcan spoke, a harsh dry whisper against the hot neck. He was still moving, still coaxing him along to the end he wanted. Beyond thought--he'd passed that point a long time ago, his lover could only arch against that strong furred chest and give in to the next wave that washed over them. "If she respects power, and respect she must, then she will recognize the circles of power that exist on this ship."
Inside the core of building ecstacy, he sensed a wordless acknowledgement. A long slow wave was building and when it crashed it would be with tidal force. They were blending fully together, feeling one body instead of two. Spock closed his eyes and let his head relax backwards, gripping, gripping...
The End
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