THE DAMAGE TO THE Enterprise, it turned out, had been minimal. There were no fatal injuries. McCoy and his capable team soon had the casualties well in hand. There was no need to stop off at a space station or a starbase; complete repairs could be effected on board within the space of a day.
After the implosion of the Sparrow, the Klingon ship had turned off its tractor beam, scanned the shards and debris that floated aimlessly in the void, and then retreated rather sheepishly back into Klingon space. Kirk knew that this would finish Kreth's career. Such mistakes were not easily forgiven by the empire.
A late crisis report came in; the door of an auxiliary control room was jammed, and two crewmen were trapped inside the smoke-filled room. Kirk went down to observe as a security team blasted the doors open, phasers ripping into the high-density metal, slowly eating through. The team dove inside and pulled the choking men out to safety. They were run down to sickbay.
Once repairs were well under way, and Mr. Scott could be spared from engineering, Kirk left him in charge of the bridge. Then he headed down to sickbay himself, to join a serious and perplexed group that had gathered there.
"Bones, how's the boy?"
"Well," McCoy grumbled, "it's been hard to find time to attend to him, we've been so busy patching up the people who got too close to those two Klingon phaser blasts. Do me a favor, Jim. Next time our shields aren't working, don't thumb your nose at the Klingons. We don't need this much excitement down here in sickbay …"
"Bones, stop blithering and tell me. The boy, Pal. How is he? Was he seriously injured?"
They had moved into the room where Pal lay. The readings on the life-support monitor above his small body rose and fell as he breathed, and as they indicated different bodily organs and systems. Nurse Chapel, Dr. Ramsey, Spock, and Flint stood by the bed watching the readings.
McCoy sighed. "Well, physically he seems all right. He's inhaled some nasty fumes, but nothing noxious, nothing he won't work right out of his system. He's underfed and dehydrated, hasn't eaten or drunk for a few days. And he's exhausted, of course. But we're compensating for all that. And none of it accounts for his current state."
"Which is?"
"Near catatonia, Jim. I've had Ramsey here, and some of the other child specialists in to look at him, but they don't have a clue, can't get through to him. The boy could, of course, just be in a state of shock. Shell-shocked." McCoy shook his head, and lowered his voice to a near whisper, perhaps so that Dr. Ramsey could not hear. "I'd sure hate to return this kid to that program on his planet though, in his current condition. Especially with that guy Voltmer in charge. Nothing that I've read about the boy or was told while we were there shows that they had any understanding that he was this disturbed."
"He may not have been, Bones. We can't know what he's been through this last week or so. How the fight in the children's recreation room and being kidnapped affected him. Or what went on aboard the Sparrow."
"Yes, of course. I'm sure he was a much saner child before this all began. But my point is, he needs therapy, he needs sensitive, reliable care. And I'm not convinced that he's gonna get it back on Juram Five. Wish there was something we could do for him, here and now."
Kirk could see that Spock was glancing over at them. Were his Vulcan ears picking up the doctor's whispered remarks?
"No change, Doctor," Nurse Chapel said. "He simply stares off into space … shall I give him a rest injection?"
"Yes, Christine. I think that would be best. Sleep may do that child a world of good."
Pal did not move as Nurse Chapel lifted the hypo to his arm, or when it hissed the soothing liquid into his bloodstream. After a few moments, his pallid eyelids closed.
The adults adjourned to the next room, to continue their discussion.
"Tragic, Captain," Ramsey said. "Simply tragic. Heaven knows what went on aboard that ship, what abuse that boy was exposed to. Dr. Voltmer has wired me about how dangerous those two older Onlies were. Degenerate and violent."
"Yes, well. At least one of those violent degenerates was apparently sane and considerate enough to sacrifice self and beam Pal onto the Enterprise," Kirk said.
"We may never know the full story unless Pal snaps out of it," McCoy remarked. "Surely it's important that we find out."
"Keep me updated, Bones," Kirk said, heading out the door, anxious to return to the bridge and relieve Mr. Scott. Spock followed him.
Kirk and Spock returned to sickbay the following afternoon, at McCoy's request. The captain visited with the crewmen who had been injured during the Klingon attack, and then headed into the room where Pal lay. Flint was there also, and it irritated Kirk—why was the man always hovering, always underfoot? But the famed recluse had been tasting again, for the first time in many decades, what total immersion in the society of other people felt like.
He had been frequenting all decks, and Spock, by special request, had taken him on a tour of every recreational, cultural, and social facility on board the Enterprise. Libraries and workshop classes, gymnasiums and concerts, the chapel and the dance center … And Flint had expressed a wish to visit Juram Five, to see the Onlies' Center, see how the children were being raised. So the Enterprise was under orders to return Flint to his planet only after Pal had been returned to his.
"Good afternoon, Captain."
Kirk smiled. "Good afternoon, Mr. Flint."
"I trust I am not making a nuisance of myself. The boy's case interests me."
"Not at all, sir. Dr. McCoy, how is your patient at the moment? Any improvement?"
"Perhaps you'd better see for yourself, Jim." McCoy led the way back into Pal's room. The boy lay on the bed, still immobile, with his eyes now open, an indication that the rest injection had worn off. He rarely blinked. Kirk knew that McCoy wanted to impress on him how helpless, how pathetic the boy was, how disastrous it would be to return him to the care of incompetents.
Nurse Chapel stood at Pal's bedside and sponged his forehead with a cool compress.
"You see, Jim?" McCoy said. "Same as last night. We're not sure when he woke up, if you could call it that, but he's just been lying there … I'd like more time to look into this."
"I'm sorry, Bones, but there isn't much time. We're in no particular hurry, but after we drop off Pal and Mr. Flint I have orders to head back to the Boacan system, to try to iron things out and pick up where we left off. I don't think we can be too leisurely about it. And even traveling at just warp three, we'll reach the Onlies' planet sometime tomorrow."
"Damn," said McCoy. "I just don't feel good about leaving the boy there, and sailing on. I wish we could get some answers. But there's just no way to reach him."
Spock stepped forward and cleared his throat. "There is a way, of course, Doctor. And I am willing to volunteer my services in this effort."
Nurse Chapel dropped her compress, then nervously set it on the bedside tray. Everyone, with the exception of the motionless patient, turned to look at Spock.
"I wasn't hinting at that, Spock," McCoy protested. "Or suggesting it in any way."
"I am sure you were not, Doctor. But it does seem the logical course for us to follow. Even if you had a few more days at your disposal, it is doubtful whether you could learn anything of significance, or break through to the boy."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence," McCoy muttered.
"I merely point out that there is a quicker, more efficient method at our disposal."
Kirk wavered. "We can't ask you to do this, Spock. There are specialists trained to deal with this kind of thing …"
"Who could not get through to Pal's mind as directly or as easily as I can. Please, Captain. I considered this at great length last night. I, too, am curious to know more about this problem."
"Very well, Mr. Spock," Kirk said.
Nurse Chapel moved away from the bed to allow Spock access to the child. Spock shut his eyes for a moment of concentration. He flexed the long thin fingers of his hands. With subtle, deft movements, the fingers of his right hand glided along the scalp-line and the ear of the boy. His left hand quivered and secured a hold on Pal's forehead, pressing in at the temples and around his eye socket. Pal showed no awareness of his presence.
Spock's face became strangely hunted, haunted. He brought it down close to the boy's. "Our minds are one …" he whispered. He shuddered, the only indication he gave of the struggle now going on inside him. The Vulcan mind-meld demanded that the fiercely private Spock make himself completely vulnerable, lower his psychological barriers layer by layer, even as it demanded that Pal lower his. "Our thoughts … becoming one …" Spock urged hypnotically, "… our minds …" His words drifted off into silence.
After a minute or two, he whimpered. His eyes darted around feverishly, defensive, like a small boy's. "Hide, curl up," said the stranger's voice that spoke through his mouth, "ball up like an Only in a ball, hide from the bright light … and his arm came off. Dr. Nazafar-7's arm … a very bad citizen … and then the snakes come down, they come spinning down to get you …" Spock's words crumbled into incoherence and he started, twitched several times.
Minutes ticked by. Kirk became concerned. Surely Spock had maintained the mind-meld for too long. Surely it was time for him to snap out of it. There was a danger, Kirk knew, of two minds, two personalities drowning in each other if it went on too long, of the telepath being drawn so deeply into another's thoughts, merging so completely, that he couldn't get back out. Vulcans trained hard when they were young, to be able to maintain discipline and self-control, even during a mind-meld. But Spock was half—human …
"Spock," he said finally. "Spock, come out of it."
His friend continued to talk to himself and dart his eyes about, oblivious to Kirk and the others in the room.
"Spock!" Now Kirk ran and pried the skinny hands from the child's head, grabbed Spock by the shoulders and shook him. "Snap out of it. Get hold of yourself!" Literally, he thought. The form he held sagged and swayed, its face dangerously pale.
Then the science officer straightened and shook himself, as if shaking off a heavy cloak. His face regained its usual slightly green tinge. He looked around the room. "There is no need for concern, I assure all of you. I am quite myself again. And Pal, I trust, is somewhat healed and more whole than he was before."
They all glanced down at the boy, who lay with his eyes shut tight.
"What was it, Spock, that hurt him? Was it the shock of all the violence?" asked McCoy.
"A combination of disturbing experiences, Doctor. Obviously, many have occurred during the last few weeks, and I believe I could now reconstruct those for you. Some of Pal's maladjustment seems unavoidable. The centuries of living among the Onlies, aging hardly at all, and his recent sudden spurt of growth"—Spock avoided Flint's gaze—"have unbalanced him, and so has the great switch in life-styles."
Spock paused meaningfully. "However. There is much more to it. Pal is a strong and vital child, with a fine intelligence. But his mind has been entered before. More deeply than most telepaths would consider ethical. And it was not entered by a trained telepath. It was entered and severely tampered with by a clumsy and insensitive machine."
"The chair in Voltmer's laboratory," Kirk said bitterly.
"Yes, Captain. Used for much more than he wished us to believe. Pal's mind has been probed so deeply that many memories and many vital experiences have been completely erased. The machine has clumsily tried to reconstruct and create some memories in his mind, in order to promote what Voltmer considers 'right' thinking. Fears have been placed in the child's mind to promote discipline. For example, in order to discourage Pal from hoarding food in his closet at the Center, something he was fond of doing, an image was placed in his mind of a large, coiled, venomous snake poised to strike any who engaged in such activities."
McCoy whistled. "Voodoo psychology. This should finish Voltmer when it gets out. If he isn't finished already."
"I must agree with you, Doctor. Abuses of this kind need to be made public."
"And you've reached Pal now?" Kirk asked. It was hard to tell if the boy's condition had improved. He had tucked his head under his arm and lay still, as if either stupified or frightened.
"Yes, Captain. He is reorienting himself, his persona, after this especially lengthy melding experience. The disturbance in his mind was so great that the boy was losing ground to schizophrenia. The healthy, lively Pal, who had weathered so many centuries, was frightened by the artificial experiences and emotions the machine tried to graft onto his mind. He retreated into an infantile, subdued state. I have reached him, his voice, his center … he is by no means perfectly well, but I believe he is on the road to recovery."
Pal was gradually becoming aware of the adults and their talk. This became apparent as he cautiously lifted his head and peered up at them. When all eyes focused on him, expectantly, he sat up and suddenly burst into tears. Nurse Chapel walked to him confidently, scooped up his shuddering body, and pressed his head against her neck. Through his convulsive sobs, they were at last able to make out the word hungry. A lab assistant was sent to get some mild broth. Talk stopped for a moment, as the other adults watched the ancient, strange little gnome of a boy, pleased to see him behaving like a child at last.
"Yes, I believe he'll be all right now," McCoy said. "Thanks to you and that Vulcan magic, Spock."
"I assure you, Doctor," Spock said gravely, "that no magic is involved. The principles behind telepathy are entirely scientific. I shall explain them to you, sometime."
"Now, hold on a minute, Spock. Don't get too pleased with yourself. Sometimes I think you're after my job."
The two men continued bickering as Kirk chuckled, and Flint watched Pal as he howled, and Nurse Chapel rocked him, smoothed his hair, and shushed him.