Star Trek: The Original Series: The Rings of Time

depth of the captain’s delusion.”

“He sounded so convinced,” Chapel said. “So terrified. For a moment there, I almost believed him.” A pensive look came over her face. “You don’t think…” She paused, as though hesitant to complete her thought. “Is it possible he’s telling the truth?”

McCoy scoffed. “That Jim Kirk is actually possessed by a dead American astronaut from more than two hundred years ago? That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it, Doctor?” Spock gave Chapel’s query due consideration. “Upon reflection, have we not encountered similar phenomena in the past? Consider that incident involving Dr. Janice Lester or perhaps our experiences with the disembodied alien intelligences we made contact with on the planet Arret.”

On that latter occasion, both he and Kirk and a third crew member had allowed their bodies to be temporarily occupied by the bodiless survivors of an extinct civilization — with nearly irrevocable results. Spock was also acquainted with various ancient Vulcan legends that spoke of the transference of minds between two or more individuals. It was said that in ages past, even the very katra—or living spirit — of an individual could be imparted to another.

And, sometimes, back again.

“Well, I suppose it is possible,” McCoy conceded. “Lord knows we’ve run into stranger things these past few years… maybe.” He shook his head. “But still, Shaun Christopher? He’s not some bizarre alien entity or superintelligence. He died hundreds of years ago on Earth. What would his mind be doing out here, centuries later?”

Spock considered the possibilities. “The captain, speaking as Colonel Christopher, told of encountering the probe during his celebrated mission to Saturn. If this event actually occurred and was omitted from the historical record, then it is conceivable that the real Shaun Christopher’s consciousness was somehow stored or duplicated in the probe’s memory banks until the captain came into contact with it earlier today.”

“Maybe, possibly,” McCoy groused. “But that’s a heck of a leap, Spock. How can we know for sure this isn’t just some wild theory?”

“There is a way to be certain, Doctor. One way or another.”

Understanding dawned in McCoy’s eyes. “A mind-meld?”

“Precisely. It may be our best means of determining the true nature of the captain’s condition.”

McCoy nodded. To Spock’s surprise, the doctor did not automatically attempt to dissuade him. “Well, I suppose it has worked before,” he said grudgingly. “But how can we be sure that you won’t be affected by whatever has unhinged Jim’s mind?” He indulged in a bit of mordant humor. “I don’t want to end up with two confused twenty-first-century astronauts on my hands.”

“I will endeavor to avoid being caught in the captain’s delusion, if that is indeed what it is.” McCoy’s concerns were not without merit, but Spock felt confident that he could navigate Kirk’s disturbed psyche safely. “As you just stated, Doctor, I have done this before.”

“Don’t remind me.” McCoy stepped away from the bed. “You planning to do this now?”

“I see no need for delay,” Spock said. “Although Lieutenant Sulu is an able officer, it is best that I return to the bridge as soon as possible. The Skagway colony remains in jeopardy, and an effective solution has yet to be found.”

Chapel looked on worriedly. She prepared another hypospray. “Do you need us to revive him, Mr. Spock?”

“That will not be necessary, Nurse. I require only a few moments of mental preparation and perhaps a degree of privacy.”

Despite his assurances to McCoy, a mind-meld was never to be entered into lightly. The lowering of one’s psychic barriers to achieve telepathic communion with another was a profoundly intimate — and often shattering — experience. One he had no desire to share with an audience.

To his credit, McCoy seemed to grasp this. “That will be all, Christine,” he said softly. “I can take it from here.”

“All right, Doctor.” She retreated from the ward, glancing back over her shoulder as she did so. Concern and compassion were evident in her voice. “Be careful, Mr. Spock. I hope you find the captain.”

“That is my hope as well,” Spock said.

McCoy remained behind. Spock did not object. It was only logical to have a physician overseeing the meld in the event that unexpected complications arose. They could not fully predict the effect the meld might have on their patient — or on Spock himself.

“Please do not interfere, Doctor,” he instructed. “Unless you deem it absolutely imperative.”

“Just get on with it.” A shiver ran down McCoy’s body. “This whole thing always gives me the creeps.”

Spock recalled that McCoy had once been subjected to a forced mind-meld by an alternate-universe version of Spock himself. It was small wonder that McCoy regarded such invasions with distaste.

“If it is any consolation, Doctor, I would also avoid this if I could.”

He took a moment to brace himself. Time-honored meditative techniques, passed down for generations, prepared his mind for the task at hand. He put aside any fears or misgivings; it would not do to sabotage the meld by clinging instinctively to his mental defenses. To carry out the meld, he had to make himself more vulnerable than any human could possibly imagine.

I have no choice, he reminded himself. I must do this — for the ship and the mission.

And for Jim.

He leaned over Kirk. Using both hands, he splayed his fingers against the sides of Kirk’s face. It was a delicate touch, barely grazing the skin, but sufficient to anchor the neural connection. Kirk’s flesh was cool to the touch compared with his own. Spock closed his eyes and concentrated on achieving the meld.

“My mind to your mind,” he intoned. “My thoughts to your thoughts.”

A minor tremor threatened his resolve as their individual minds began to blur together, but he took a deep breath and pushed past his natural impulse to protect his own identity. He had melded with Kirk before, on several occasions, so he reached out for the familiar signposts he had come to expect. Boyhood memories in Iowa. His proud parents, George and Winona. Older brother Sam. The massacre on Tarsus IV. Starfleet Academy. Carol Marcus. Ruth. The U.S.S. Republic. The attack on the Farragut. The launch of the Enterprise under his command. Gary Mitchell, his eyes glowing like pulsars. Sam Kirk’s death on Deneva. Klingons. Romulans. Edith Keeler. Miramanee…

But instead, he found himself lost in an unfamiliar psychic landscape. Strange memories that had nothing to do with James Tiberius Kirk flooded his mind:

Earth, more than two centuries ago. Smoggy skies. Automobiles clogging endless highways. Television. Video games. High school. Making Eagle Scout. His first car. College. Marrying Debbie Lauderdale. Babies being born, then growing up right before his eyes. Kevin. Katie. Rory. Air Force training, just like Dad. Area 51. The DY-100. Shannon O’Donnell. NASA. The divorce. Docking with the Lewis & Clark. Months in zero gravity. Fontana. O’Herlihy. A stowaway? Saturn looming in the distance, growing nearer by the day. The probe, floating in space. His hand reaching out to touch it—

A blinding flash lit up Spock’s synapses. The shock jolted him from the meld, and he staggered backward, reeling from the sudden dislocation. For a moment, he wasn’t entirely sure who or where he was. Foreign memories and emotions fogged his mind.

“Fontana,” he murmured. “Alice…”

“Spock!” McCoy rushed toward him. “What is it? Are you all right?”

“A moment, Doctor. Please.”

Spock struggled to regain his composure and sense of self. He placed a hand against a wall to steady himself. The borrowed memories began to recede. Years of mental discipline and training restored order to his thoughts.

I am Spock, son of Sarek and Amanda. My mind is my own.

“Talk to me, Spock!” McCoy pleaded. He took hold of Spock’s arm. “What happened?”

“Forgive me, Doctor.” He straightened and stepped away from the wall. He politely but firmly removed his arm from McCoy’s grip. “The meld was broken abruptly, and the transition back to myself was rather more jarring than I would have preferred.”