~ by Laura Cynthia Chambers
Kirk sat on the edge of his bed, drinking a cup of coffee. He rubbed his eyes with one hand.
The intercom on his wall chirped. He set the mug down on his bedside table and walked over to it, pressing the button.
“Kirk here. Go ahead.”
“This is Uhura, Captain. We’re receiving an urgent message from the surface. It’s Descin Baras, sir. He requests that you come down immediately.”
Kirk looked away. “Did he say why?”
“No, sir. Just that there was trouble and for you to come at once. Then it cut dead.” She paused. “Shall I try to raise him again, sir?”
Kirk frowned. “Yes. And tell Spock and Dr. McCoy to meet me in the transporter room. Kirk out.” He switched it off and reached for his coffee mug, draining it before putting it back down and leaving his room.
* * *
It was early morning when Kirk, McCoy, and Spock materialized in front of the large house. Dark clouds covered the sky. All three men carried weapons; McCoy wore his medical tricorder, the strap slung diagonally across his body.
“Do you think it was wise not to bring security along?” McCoy asked, shading his eyes as he looked around.“We have not determined which crewmen still pose a potential threat to Albix.” Spock looked in the opposite direction, while Kirk was perpendicular to both of them.
McCoy frowned and walked over to the front door, which was ajar. “Huh. Door’s open.” He swung it back and forth, peering inside. “It’s a big house. Could be anywhere.”
Kirk pointed over towards the pressing shed. “Did you see that?”
Both men turned and looked in that direction. “What?” Spock asked.
“I don’t see anything,” McCoy added.
“There…it moved again! Come on.” He led the way down to the pressing shed. They passed a water pump that was dripping, an upside down bucket spilled on the ground beneath the spigot. Two large brown crates with a painted label on the side sat outside the outbuilding. A hand gingerly reached up over the edge of the crate, trying to lift the lid before falling limp. Kirk and Spock raised it out of the way and reached inside, pulling a barely conscious Albix out of the crate and laying him against the side of the crate gently.
“Oooohhh…” he groaned. He was clothed in a short white tunic. A large purple bruise covered his chin.
McCoy knelt down beside him on the dewy grass and began to scan him with his tricorder. “Jaw’s not broken, but somebody sure gave him a good sock.”
He tried to move, but Kirk placed a hand on his chest and pushed him down. “Easy there.”
“What happened, Albix?” Spock asked. “Who did this to you?”
Albix blinked, letting his head hang slightly. “My…my father.”
The three shared a confused look. McCoy sat back on his haunches. “Don’t read too much into it. That’s probably just the concussion talking.”
Albix shook his head weakly from side to side. He stopped and held it. “No…he…my father…” He gathered his arms around his body and shivered, looking down at his body. “My robe…he must’ve took…why would he?”
“Of course…” Kirk stood up, looking off into the orchard. “Bones, you stay here and look after Albix.” McCoy nodded and turned back to his patient.
“Spock, take the west side of the orchard.”
Spock and Kirk had walked a short distance away in the direction of the orchards when Spock turned to him and asked, “What are you thinking, sir?”
“He was telling the truth.”
“Then he must also be under the influence of the contaminated breesin and whoever administered it.”
“No, I don’t think so.”
Spock frowned. “A most illogical riddle, then, Captain. Why else would a man render his beloved son unconscious, hide him and steal his robe?”
“Love, Spock.” Kirk picked up the pace and headed for the east side of the orchard.
Spock, looking thoroughly confused, pondered it a moment before running towards the west side.
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