Crisis of Consciousness by Dave Galanter

even. As if no one should be smiling just now, but for a reason Kirk couldn’t quite remember.
    The Vulcan stepped toward Zhatan and the guards. Pulling his hand back, he slapped her across the face—twice.
    “Sp-spock?” Kirk blinked again. What’s happening?
    “Spock, what the devil are you doing?” McCoy rushed to make sure Zhatan was okay, but the Vulcan blocked his attempt.
    “Stand back, Doctor.”
    Spock struck her again, Zhatan grunted in pain, and Kirk felt his knees collapse.
    The deck came up to greet him and then diffused into nothingness. He tried to push himself up, but wasn’t sure the thought could connect to an actual movement. There was no sensation outside his last, fleeting thought, I am alone.
    SICKBAY.
    Jim Kirk could smell it—that air-scrubbed aroma that was less a scent than a lack of one. He could feel the light on his eyelids as he tried to pull them open. The overwhelming brightness wouldn’t allow it, but he was able to partially open one eye. Above him stood a blurry McCoy.
    “Neck . . . hurts,” Kirk managed to croak out, and he seemed to announce it at the same time he realized the sharp pain.
    “I’ll get you something for that.” McCoy’s tone was warm, laced with concern.
    “No,” Kirk said, his voice a slow syrup. He would use the pain—let it be the sensation that pulled him back to reality.
    At the same time, his muscles were weak. The captain struggled to move, as if a force field were pushing down on him. Kirk inched himself up against it, and McCoy helped by grabbing an extra pillow and placing it underneath his head and neck.
    Once propped up, Kirk relaxed into it and the light became a bearable glare. The neck pain, while still throbbing, spread itself in all directions, becoming a head-and-upper-back ache.
    To McCoy’s right stood Spock, hands behind his back. Past him was Nurse Chapel, who was biting her lower lip, a hypo grasped in her hand.
    “What happened?” Kirk’s voice scraped like gravel.
    “You were assaulted,” Spock said matter-of-factly. “A type of Kenisian mind-meld. It began when she touched your hand and continued after physical contact was broken.”
    Kirk felt his jaw slacken, and his mouth opened in shock. He noticed it was dry. “After?”
    “Ambassador Zhatan is an extremely strong telepath.” Spock said “ambassador” as if the title was dubious. “She’s being held in the brig.”
    The captain swallowed hard. “Water.”
    Chapel moved to get him a cup and was back with it quickly. He took a sip, held its coolness on his tongue for a long moment, then let it drift down his parched throat.
    When Kirk spoke again, his voice was near normal. “How long was I out?”
    “About twenty minutes.” McCoy glanced at the medical scanner readout above the biobed.
    “What exactly did she do?”
    Looking to Spock, McCoy deferred to the Vulcan’s expertise.
    “When she touched your hand, Zhatan initiated a mental link. I sensed it in your hesitation from that moment on. Subconsciously you were fighting the meld.”
    “You sensed it?”
    Spock nodded slowly, once. “I am familiar with the body language, for lack of a better term, of such an encounter.”
    Pulling in a deeper breath, Kirk took one more sip of water and sighed. He was feeling more himself again. “You struck her.”
    “To break her concentration,” Spock said. “After Zhatan refused my demand that she release you.”
    Swinging his feet over the edge of the bed, Kirk sat up. While his head swam a bit and a wave of nausea washed over him, he used the pain to steady himself.
    “Jim, I’m not sure—”
    Kirk waved off McCoy’s concern. “I’m fine. I’m fine.” He placed his feet on the deck and stifled the urge to buckle at the knees. Standing shakily he looked at Spock. “We need to confirm she’s out of my head.”
    With tacit acknowledgment, Spock kept one hand behind his back and placed the other on the captain’s face.
    The Vulcan’s fingers pressed