Celebrate the Earth and Sky (16/20)
Let Your Spirit Fly IV
“Spock has a brother,” McCoy said. “Really?”
“I do not understand why you find such a simple fact so difficult to believe, Doctor McCoy,” said Spock absently, fidgeting with a piece of machinery. Finally, with a last tap and a bit of a wrench to it, he nodded in satisfaction and placed it onto the table.
“Sybok, can you read the signal now?”
“Locked on,” came Sybok’s voice through the radio.
Spock did a very rapid headcount. “Then there are six to beam up.”
There was a guttural reply, in a language Jim was coming to recognize as Vulcan. Spock listened, then said something else in Vulcan before turning to the rest of the group.
“He wishes us to wait for a moment,” he said. “Then we may begin the transportation process.”
McCoy shuffled his feet, looking like he might bolt at any moment. “Are you sure this is safe?”
“Ninety-nine point two percent,” said Spock serenely.
McCoy’s face turned greyer. “And what happens to the remaining point eight percent?” he croaked.
Spock adjusted something else on his radio. “Trust me, Doctor,” he said. “You probably do not want to know.”
McCoy’s eyes widened. “Oh hell no,” he said, aiming to take a step back. “I’ll skip the alien spaceship tour, if it’s all the same to-”
He was cut off mid-sentence as the transporter engulfed him in a sparkling beam of light.
“ . . . you,” McCoy finished as he rematerialized. He then noticed his new surroundings. In particular, he noticed the three beings taking up space in those surroundings. His jaw dropped.
“Ninety-nine point two percent,” Spock murmured like a complete asshole as he swept by McCoy’s frozen form and off the transporter pad.
A tall form draped in brown and red robes stood next to the transporter controls. His face very serene, he held up his palm, fingers split in the shape of a V. The other two beings ignored them completely.
“Welcome, humans,” he intoned, looking benevolent and peaceful, like he had just stepped straight out of an advertisement for a monastery. “Live long, and prosper.”
“Uh,” said Jim. “Right back at you?” He tried to copy the motion, but could not get his fingers to cooperate. He settled for a weak wave.
“How does he possibly speak English?” Uhura whispered in an undertone to McCoy. McCoy shook his head.
“Got me,” he mouthed back.
Spock, his hand also raised, fingers separated, took a few more steps towards the figure. He took in the sight of the well-made robes, belted at the waist with a long black cord, the calm face, and the perfect Vulcan ta’al. He blinked, twice.
“S-Sybok?” he faltered.
“Welcome, brother,” Sybok said. He bowed slightly. “I am gratified to see you well.”
“Sybok?” Spock repeated. “You’re-” he did a double take. “Are you wearing formal robes?”
“Why shouldn’t his brother wear robes?” Jim murmured to McCoy in a very low voice. “Is that bad?”
“Maybe he’s a cross-dressing deviant,” McCoy muttered back. Jim gave him a light kick in the shin.
Suddenly very aware of the humans gathered behind him in a small, timid flock, yet unable to cease staring at Sybok as if he were trapped in a nightmare of very poor taste, Spock switched abruptly to their native language.
“You are wearing formal robes,” Spock said again, unable to help himself.
“Indeed,” said Sybok, in passable imitation of their father.
“You are behaving as one who is Vulcan.”
“I am Vulcan.”
“I must admit that I have had my doubts. Are you . . . ill?”
“I am in perfect health.”
Spock had his opinions on that too, but figured that now was not the time to air them. He examined Sybok again from perfectly groomed head to sandaled toe. This time, he noticed the small smirk playing around the corner of Sybok’s mouth. A terrible suspicion entered his mind. Then again, that would be just like Sybok. He set his shoulders. Very well, two could play at this game.
“I see,” Spock said gravely, straightening. “Then I must extend my congratulations. It would appear that father has finally succeeded in lobotomizing you.”
That finally got Sybok’s proper attention. He glared at Spock for a moment, then burst out into a hearty guffaw. Spock’s shoulders relaxed infinitesimally.
“Ah, Spock,” Sybok said, grinning. (Spock shuddered at the thought that he had ever wished to see such emotionalism ever again). “You’re getting quicker.”
“You stole those robes from father, didn't you?” Spock returned dryly, avoiding Sybok’s attempts to entrap him in an embrace with practiced ease.
“I might have,” Sybok hedged, giving up the hug and running a fond hand alongside the fabric of his robes instead. “But I thought, well, I couldn’t go to Earth representing Vulcan in shabby robes! It just wouldn’t do!”
Spock’s head snapped up at that. “And are you representing Vulcan?”
“Why don’t you introduce me to your human friends?” Sybok said brightly. He stepped around Spock to stand in front of a dazed McCoy. “Howdy, partner,” he said in English, grasping McCoy’s hand and giving it a firm shake.
“Sybok,” growled Spock.
“What,” said McCoy, faintly, as his hand was pumped up and down in a vigorous motion. He looked behind himself for some sort of help, but received nothing from his companions, who were frozen in a sort of horrified fascination.
Sybok looked a little concerned. He turned to Spock, English abandoned. “Did I not pronounce it correctly? You were always better at the human tongue than I.” He moved on to Uhura, shaking her hand as well.
Spock managed to make a strangled noise. “What are you doing?” he hissed in Vulcan, casting a furtive glance at the other two beings in the room. They were Romulan, it was true, but that did not mean that they did not share certain cultural similarities with Vulcan. “Have you no shame?”
“None whatsoever,” replied Sybok, now finished with Uhura and moving on to Pike.
“This is most illogical,” Spock said in frustration. “Not to mention-”
“Ah, but you missed it when you thought I had been lobotomized,” Sybok said. “Admit it.” He stepped in front of Jim.
“Not that one,” Spock said sharply, before he could stop himself.
Sybok stilled. “And why not?” he said after a brief pause, his back to Spock. Spock hurriedly moved to place himself between Jim and his brother.
“Not this one,” he said again. Their eyes met. Sybok looked at him curiously for a moment. Spock felt a brief flash of mental contact through their shared family bond, before Sybok nodded thoughtfully and stepped back, hand dropping to his side.
“As you wish,” he said in a peculiar tone, giving Jim a thoughtful look. His gaze narrowed in on Spock, as he though he was looking straight through him. Spock tried not to fidget. “Your travels on Sol III appear to have been very . . .” his eyes raked over Jim’s form again, “. . . interesting.”
Spock swallowed. Jim looked confused. As Sybok pressed a comm. on the wall and spoke into it in rapid Romulan, Spock could hear Jim grumble to McCoy about how he didn’t get to shake Spock’s brother’s hand, and wasn’t that just unfair? When Spock heard McCoy answer that he was sure Jim had had many chances to shake Spock’s hand instead, Spock’s ears burned. McCoy’s answer did not appear to mollify Jim either, who stood with his arms crossed, looking rather put out.
Sybok finished his brief conference, and turned back to Spock and his group of humans. This time, he spoke in lightly accented English. “Again, welcome aboard the Romulan ship Khellian.” He spread his arms to indicate the transporter room. “It’s not really my ship, but I’m paying for it, so it is for now.”
The transporter door swooshed open, and two Romulans stalked in. Spock heard one of the humans - either Uhura or McCoy - give a quick intake of breath at their appearance. With slightly ridged foreheads, in addition to their pointed ears and the various tattoos plastered all along their skin, they were much more alien in appearance to a human than Spock, or even Gaila.
“Sybok, what lies are you telling those miserable creatures?” the taller Romulan demanded. He placed his hands on his hips. His worn black trousers, meeting boots of some sort at mid-calf, contrasted with the fine threads of his red and gold jacket.
Sybok shrugged. “Everything horrible I can think of about you specifically, Mirok.”
“Vulcan scum,” Mirok said, although without any real bite to it.
“Uncivilized brute of a Romulan,” Sybok agreed. He indicated Spock. “This is my brother, Spock. As you can see, he is a model of Vulcan virtue.”
“I see,” Mirok said sourly. He then stepped around Spock to examine the humans. “And these?”
“Denizens of Sol III,” Sybok said with aplomb. He grinned. “I think you would find their planet most amusing.”
“They look as though a child could break them in half.” He paced for a moment, stopping in front of Uhura. “You do not look to be as strong as a Romulan female,” he informed her. “Does your planet breed weaklings?” He glanced at Spock. “Translate, Vulcan.”
Spock resisted the urge to bang his head against the wall. He settled his attention on Uhura instead. “The charming gentleman would like to inquire if Earth ‘breeds weaklings,’” he said tonelessly. Then added wryly as Uhura’s eyebrows lifted in affront, “I suspect that he has not been educated as to your planetary history.”
McCoy sputtered. “That asshole!” he exclaimed, voice indignant.
Two spots of color appeared on Uhura’s cheeks. She crossed her arms, eyes narrowed. “Please tell the charming gentleman,” she said, voice saccharine sweet, “I would be pleased to introduce his - no doubt very small - testicles to the very weakest part of my fist.” Her voice became sharp enough to cut steel. “Rest assured, he can be entirely certain of never having children afterwards.”
McCoy and Jim both choked out a laugh. Pike managed to keep a mostly straight face, although his eyes were dancing.
With an amount of cheerfulness unbecoming of a Vulcan, Spock translated.
Mirok looked comically enraged for the briefest of moments, and then he let out a short bark of laughter. “Good enough!” he declared. Then he looked back at Sybok. “All right, you miserable failure of a Vulcan. You promised me a war. Where is it?”
“Careful, Mirok,” said Sybok, amused. “You’re starting to sound like a Klingon.”
Mirok snarled and spat. “Don’t be insulting,” he said.
The second Romulan finally spoke. With a jolt of surprise, Spock realized that despite the solid build, short hair, and masculine clothing, this Romulan was female.
“Were we not supposed to be bringing more of these humans aboard?” she asked, the word human dripping from her voice with disdain.
That was apparently enough for McCoy. “Could somebody please tell us peasants what the hell is going on?” he finally broke in, lips thinned in irritation. He glared at the Romulans, and then at Spock and Sybok too, just for a good measure. “Weren’t we going to have a meeting on this fancy ship? Can we maybe get to it? We don’t have all day.”
Sybok gave him a long, measuring glance. He flicked his gaze over to Spock. “Tell the rest of the humans - and the Orion - to stand by,” he said after a moment. “We’ll beam them up shortly.” His expression turned long-suffering as he turned to Mirok. “And once we have the rest of the humans here,” he said in Romulan, “we can get started on planning your little war.”
Mirok looked positively gleeful at the thought. “In the war room then,” he said. “I will be waiting.” He jerked his head towards the Romulan female, and they left together.
Spock brushed by Sybok with his arm. “Your Romulan companion appears to be aptly demonstrating the attributes of a sadist,” he murmured.
Sybok gave a little shrug. “It’s their national pastime,” he said. “I’ve learned to work with it.” He raised his voice. “Stand by to transport more humans aboard ship.”
“Aye, sir,” said a Romulan at the controls. Sybok winked at Spock.
“Romulans are such a fascinating species, don’t you agree? Even the lowest of their deadbeat smugglers operate with military discipline.”
Spock bit back a sigh. “Father is going to disown you,” he told Sybok.
Sybok shrugged. “It is of little consequence,” he said. “I have funds stored away, and I have already paid these brigands.” He reached out and rested his fingers on Spock’s meldpoints for a moment in an affectionate gesture. “Perhaps you would think it overly emotional, but I believed that your safety trumped any remnants of a good opinion regarding me that father might have had.”
Spock swallowed past a lump in his throat. “I cannot find it within myself to argue with you in that regard,” he admitted. “It would not have taken long before the Orions again had me at their mercy.”
“Oh good,” said Sybok. “I would hate to think I started a war with the Syndicate for nothing.” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “Plus, Romulans are much more biddable if you start talking about family honor.”
Spock gave him a look of mild disgust. “Manipulation is never remembered well, Sybok.”
Sybok wagged his finger at him. “Now, now. You’re the one profiting from this, little brother. You don’t get to criticize my methods.” He frowned. “Or my companions.” A beat, “Or my life choices.”
“Your wardrobe?”
“It’s father’s, not mine,” Sybok said. “And you wouldn’t dare criticize him on anything. I know you.”
“You should have picked the blue outer robe, that shade of brown does not suite you,” Spock sniped back. He walked over to Jim and company, leaving Sybok sputtering behind him.
“The meeting room should be this way,” Spock told them. He looked behind his shoulder over at Sybok . “Your direction would be appreciated,” he said.
Sybok dropped the fold of his outer robe where he had been comparing it to the skin tone of his hand.
“I suggest we wait until all your humans have been collected,” he said. “I do not want to frighten them with my majesty were I to greet them alone.”
Spock tilted his head. “That is almost logical of you, Sybok.”
Sybok gave a harrumph. “I will have to smile the next time I see T’Pau to make up for it.”
Spock gave in and rolled his eyes.
A second group of humans, including Chekov, Sulu and Chapel, were also beamed aboard. Gaila followed in the third, and final, group. There was a small hiccup when it transpired that she and Sybok had actually, already met.
“You didn’t tell me your brother was this Sybok,” she accused Spock as soon as she finished rematerializing. McCoy, who had covered his hands with his eyes during each subsequent transport, peeked between his fingers to watch the unfolding drama.
“I did not think it was necessary,” Spock said stiffly, deciding that he really, really did not want to know.
“Hello, my dear.” Sybok gave her a little wave. “I have recuperated well from the last time you shot me. Thank you for asking.”
“I’ll do it again,” she said coolly.
Spock, who was unsure if this exchange lowered or raised his opinion of Gaila, hastily cleared his throat.
“Sybok, if you would direct us to the ah, War Room.” He winced a little at the terminology. “We do not have much time.”
Sybok cast a nervous glance in Gaila’s direction, then stood a little straighter, drawing his borrowed robes briskly around his body like a silken shield. “Of course,” he said. “This way.”
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“Before anything happens on my ship, someone explain the Orion to me,” said Mirok.
“The Orion can speak for herself,” said Gaila. She flashed sharp teeth in a smile. “In all three dialects of Romulan, too.”
Chekov leaned over to McCoy. “I have met first one, then two and now many aliens.” He frowned. “They are not as I expected them to be. As a boy.”
“You expected to meet aliens as a boy?” McCoy murmured back. “No wonder they kicked you out of Russo-China.”
Sulu snickered.
“This is not funny,” said Chekov, primly.
“Tell your humans to keep quiet!” the female Romulan from before snapped at Spock.
“They are not my humans,” Spcok said quietly. “As sentient beings, they speak as they please.”
“Spock, what’s going on?” said Jim.
“Seriously,” said Uhura.
Spock forced away his irritation, locking it into a hard ball at his center. “Before we proceed with the meeting, Mirok-” he nodded to indicate the Romulan, “- wishes to know why Gaila is here.”
Jim furrowed his brow. “Didn’t your brother explain that to him? Uh, Mirok?”
“Apparently not,” Spock said.
“Right,” Jim said. He looked over at Pike, and they seemed to share some kind of communication that Spock was not privy to. Then with a nod, Jim stood. “Spock, translate for me, would you?”
“What are you planning?” Spock asked, seeing Mirok’s expression beginning to cloud with anger. Jim could not possibly know that his actions were flying in the face of several Romulan cultural mores regarding guests at a war conference. Spock was not too eager to discover what Mirok’s response would be to the insult.
“Just trust me on this,” Jim said, impatient.
Spock swallowed a little, mouth suddenly dry at the look in Jim’s eye. “Very well,” he said, just about managing to make his words sound at their normal cadence.
“Great, thanks.” Jim gave him a quick grin. “You’re the best.”
The words made something warm blossom in Spock’s side. “Speak your part, Jim,” he said, voice stronger. “I will make sure you are heard.”
“All right, listen up,” Jim said loudly. He looked at Spock, who gave a mental start, then translated. “Thanks for having us on board, she’s a lovely ship, Captain Mirok.” He made a little bow. Spock stared at Jim incredulously. The Romulan ship was dingy, and smelled slightly of sulfur. The finishing on the table they sat at was starting to peel. Spock had, in fact, been beginning to wonder if the weapons were even viable. Jim made a little shooing motion at Spock. With a sense of impending doom that his self of six months ago would have dismissed as ‘completely illogical’ but his current self was pretty convinced about, Spock translated.
“Anyway,” Jim continued. “I’m sure you’re all thrilled about liberating our lovely little planet.”
“Not really,” said Mirok.
“And would like to get to it as soon as possible,” Jim continued, ignoring him. “So I’m Jim Kirk, and here’s what’s going to happen.” He held up his hand and began ticking off fingers. “First, Gaila’s going to tell you all about why she’s hanging with a bunch of humans.”
Spock opened his mouth to translate. Then pursed his lips, “Hanging?” he repeated, the little ball of irritation beginning to make itself known again.
“In the company of,” Jim clarified.
“An illogical idiom,” Spock grumbled, even as he spoke the words in Romulan.
“Then, we humans are going to speak our piece about how really, we do love each other, we’ve just been brainwashed by alien drug dealers for a hundred years.”
“Two hundred,” corrected Gaila, examining her fingernails. She made a face at the chipped red polish on her index finger.
“Whatever,” said Jim. “And then, we’re going to devise a fantastic plan to free Earth! Just like a movie.”
He sat back, arms crossed, obviously pleased with himself.
“We already have a plan,” Uhura put in, glaring at Jim a little. “You and Spock and I came up with it last night.”
Jim turned to her. “Well yeah, but Uhura, we’ve got to let Spock’s brother and his Romulan friends think they had a part in it,” he murmured, mouth barely moving behind his hand.
“He’s not a subtle creature, is he?” Sybok observed to Spock, who had made an executive decision not to translate that last part.
“Perhaps not,” Spock said. “But he has other strengths.”
“It would seem so,” Sybok said, voice heavy with some sort of hidden meaning.
Spock gave him a quizzical look. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, nothing,” Sybok said innocently. Spock huffed a little at his dismissive tone but having spent a lifetime attempting to decipher the various secret meanings his brother tended to slip into conversation like a bad habit, Spock knew better than to push. It could only end poorly. He turned his focus back to the main happenings at the table, just in time to watch Mirok lose his patience.
“Get this ridiculous human pup out of my war room!” he shouted, standing up and banging his fist on the table for a good measure. He zeroed in on Pike, who had been watching the proceedings with a placid look on his face. “Can’t your leader speak for himself?” he said, then sneered. “I do not see that his mouth is crippled.”
With a churning in his stomach, Spock repeated his words in English. The rest of the humans looked at him incredulously, but Pike’s eyes met Mirok, calm gaze for angry stare.
“All humans have a stake in this,” he said. “I lead the Resistance, yes. But not this.”
“I will not stand here and be insulted,” Mirok insisted. “We have no obligation to aid your backwards little planet.”
Jim gave an uncaring shrug. “Okay, fine,” he said. “Don’t. We’ll give all the hain-enela to the Klingon pirates then.” He yawned. “Their asking price was better, anyway.”
The silence in the room was deafening.
Mirok gathered himself. “Explain,” he said, face like a thundercloud.
“Oh, well, you didn’t think we were going to like, want to keep any of it?” Jim drawled, barely glancing up from examining his fingernails. “That shit’s an invasive species. Can’t have it fucking up our ecosystem.”
“He does know it only grows with a lot of outside help, right?” Gaila said in a concerned undertone to Uhura, who shushed her. “He should. I mean, he did-”
“Anyway,” Jim continued. “I’m sorry. There must have been a miscommunication. Spock said you guys were these big bad smugglers, the best in the Romulan Kingdom.”
“Empire,” said Spock through gritted teeth, even as he switched words mid-translation to cover for Jim’s mix-up.
“But I guess you don’t deal in hain-enela.” He honestly looked as if he could care less. “That’s okay, I guess. We get it. Too hot for you guys.”
“If you would cease the idioms, Jim,” Spock said, looking a little harried, even as Mirok grew more and more visibly irate.
“Or maybe you do,” Jim said, tapping his fingers to his chin. “Maybe,” and here he smiled, showing teeth. “Maybe you just can’t do it.”
As Spock faithfully repeated the last of Jim’s insult into guttural Romulan, Mirok shot to his feet, hands gripping the table with such strength, Spock feared it would crack.
“Listen here you insolent little human,” he spat. “I am Mirok. I have command over six vessels, all outfitted with a military standard cloaking device. All crewed by Romulans entirely loyal to me. All armed with heavy artillery, and all,” he hissed, “Entirely capable of destroying any worthless Orion fleet.”
Uhura stood as well. She and Jim crossed their arms simultaneously.
“Prove it,” they said.
Mirok sat back down. “If we rid your planet of the Orion presence, you will give us the hain-enela?”
“Every damn plant,” said Jim. “And trust me. I know where to find them.” He smiled grimly.
“And what about that one?” Mirok said, indicating Gaila. “You still have not accounted for her.”
“Look,” said Gaila, lurching to her feet. “I’m sure Sybok mentioned this to you already, but let’s just go over it again so that everything’s crystal clear. I work freelance for one particular family group in the Syndicate.” Her lips quirked upward. “And the family group I’m contracted with happens to be feuding with the one in control of Earth. So I’m not going to go betraying this little game.”
“Let me guess,” Mirok said, voice heavy on the sarcasm. “The family group you’re contracted with used to have control of Earth.”
“Oh, very good,” Gaila said, fluttering long eyelashes at him. “You must have been an exchange student at the VSA.”
“Don’t mock me, Orion,” Mirok said, pointing a finger at her. “Won’t your employers want Earth for themselves?”
“Probably,” she said, flicking her hair back. “But that’s not in my contract.” She placed her hands flat on the table. “Ayalis has got control of Earth right now. He’s been running everything for the past fifteen years. ‘S probably why the price of hain-enela has risen so much. Anyway, no one likes Ayalis. Trust me on this. You destroy his fleet, the Syndicate’s not going to help him.” She sat back down. “And I don’t really care to help them when they try to come back during the clean-up.”
“Orions,” said the female Romulan sitting at Mirok’s right hand side. “Not a shred of honor.” She spat. “And a human lover.”
“I like humans,” Gaila said, lip curling. “They’re rather endearing.” She winked. “And some are pretty flexible”
Sybok choked.
“What?” said Sulu. “What did she say?”
The Romulan made a disgusted noise.
“Enough, Kerit,” said Mirok. He leaned forward on his elbows. “What are your terms?”
Jim raised an eyebrow. “You will destroy or disable the Orion presence in this system. You will remain here until the Vulcan fleet assures us of our further protection.”
Mirok laughed, “That could take years!”
“It will not,” said Spock firmly.
Mirok looked amused. “What about if we stand guard for six Earth weeks at the most. Would that suffice?”
“A year,” said Jim.
“Two months,” Mirok snapped.
“Done,” said Jim quickly.
Mirok looked a little unsettled. “And in return,” he said, “You will give us the hain-enela.”
“It’s yours,” Jim agreed.
Mirok gave a brisk nod. “Then Mirok’s fleet will enter into this accord.”
Spock breathed a sigh of relief.
Mirok folded his hands. “We will sign the contracts.”
“The what?” Jim asked Spock.
“Romulans are very formal,” Spock said out of the corner of his mouth, even as Kerit unfolded a long piece of parchment. She wrote out the terms of the contract, and even Spock had to admit that she had a very fine hand.
“So . . . I just have to sign it?”
“Everyone does,” said Spock, watching with a sinking stomach as Mirok brought out a knife. “In a manner of speaking.”
“We have to sign in blood?” Jim yelped, even as all the other Romulans around the table brought out their own knives and made small slices on their fingers.
“Yes,” Spock admitted.
“Ew,” said Jim, shuddering. “That’s barbaric. It’s like making a deal with the devil.”
“It’s unsanitary is what it is,” McCoy put in, looking nauseated.
“Hey,” Jim noticed. “Their blood is green too, like yours.”
Spock felt an uncomfortable prickling at the base of his neck and his spine. “We have similar ancestry,” he said, not wishing to go into the complicated, mutual history of Vulcan and Romulus. “Is it- Do you find it unappealing?” he made himself add.
In the act of slicing his own hand with a borrowed pocketknife from McCoy’s med kit, Jim looked up. Whatever he must have seen on Spock’s face made his mouth soften into a smile. “No,” he said. “I don’t mind.” He winced as he pulled the blade across his flesh and let his bloody fingerprint smear onto the paper.
“Now then,” Mirok said, looking a bit askance at the red blood. “Tell me all about this plan you are going to devise.”
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Spock was pretty sure he had never before felt this uncomfortable in his entire life.
“Stop wiggling,” Gaila commanded, tongue between her teeth as she added more paint to his face.
“I do not see why this, this farce, is necessary,” Spock said for the third time in the past ten minutes.
“Look,” said Gaila, “you’ve got to blend in. You’re lucky they’re holed up in a spot where you can even wear stuff to blend in, you catch my drift?”
“Your what?”
Gaila rolled her eyes. “Just hold still,” she said.
Jim entered the room. His costume, Spock was peeved to note, did not look nearly as outlandish as Spock’s own. His black pants were tight, and he wore a dark green vest that would not have been out of place on Earth three hundred years ago. A chain-link belt jangled about his waist as he moved. He had painted his nails black, bleached his hair an unappealing off-white, and wore some sort of kohl drawn around his eyes to disguise their shape. His gaze fell on Spock. Traveled up his form.
“Looking good, Spock,” he said.
Spock’s lip curled.
Jim looked amused.
“Look this way, Vulcan,” Gaila commanded. She dabbed something onto Spock’s nose.
“Gaila, it is not necessary to paint the entirety of my face,” Spock said, moving back, away from her interfering little hands, and the various implements of torture that they carried. “I already appear more alien now than I ever did before. And Jim, you do not need to be facetious. I know very well how ridiculous I appear. There is, in fact, a mirror in this room. And I am facing it.”
“That’s the point, Spock!” Gaila said, exasperated. “You’re supposed to look weird. You’re infiltrating the main warehouse at Harajuku.”
“I’m not teasing,” Jim protested.
“Your brethren’s choice of location is very illogical,” Spock said stiffly, craning to catch a better glimpse of his bleached and ragged hair extensions in the mirror.
“No, it’s not,” Gaila defended. “Think about it. No one looks twice at people dressing weird in Harajuku, so who’s going to make a fuss about someone who looks like they’ve dyed their skin? Plus, Japan’s government mostly runs on a technicality. It’s all dens of criminals here.” She grinned toothily, moving back and examining Spock. “Perfect for a bunch of Orions. Just like coming home.” She turned towards the door. “I’ll be right back,” she said.
As she left, Spock spun on his heel to face Jim. “I would once again like to state my objections to being placed in this particular branch of the mission. And I do not appreciate being dressed in the hides of deceased mammals.” He plucked at his jacket accusingly.
“Spock, we’ve already gone over this,” Jim soothed, moving forward. He placed two hands on Spock’s leather covered shoulders. “Chekov and Sulu need to be the ones working the computers to get ahold of the rest of the Resistance so that they can do their thing. We don’t have the contacts they’ve got. And Uhura needs to be with Sybok because she speaks like, ten languages and everybody’s got to know what he’s saying, not just the people who speak English.”
Spock still looked unconvinced. Jim made a last ditch effort.
“Plus, I need you with me,” he said. “Of the people we’ve got on the ground, I’ve got the most hand to hand combat experience.” He smiled, “And I know I can count on you to watch my back. We already know we make a hell of a team.”
Spock pursed his lips, his form stiff and unyielding beneath Jim’s hands. “Vulcans abhor violence,” he said.
“Nevertheless,” Jim said. “I know I can count on you.”
Their eyes met. Spock swallowed.
“Jim,” he said, shakily. “I-”
And then Jim was cradling the back of Spock’s head in his hands, and they were kissing, kissing soft but still desperate and sweet as could be.
“Yeah?” Jim breathed, as he pulled back, still clasping the nape of Spock’s neck with gentle hands. Their foreheads touched.
“Whoa,” said Gaila, walking back in. “No, no, don’t mind me,” she said as they both looked at her. “Keep going.”
Jim stepped back from Spock. “I’ll uh, see you when you’re ready,” he said, running a hand through his already messy hair. Spock could do nothing but nod. They shared one last glance before Jim headed through the door.
“Huh, should’ve just stayed outside,” Gaila muttered, as Spock pretended not to hear her. “Here, close your eyes so I can paint your lids.”
A good thirty minutes later, Spock joined Jim at the side entrance to their hotel. Jim opened his mouth to say something, then closed it with a snap at the sight of the vaguely murderous glint in Spock’s eye.
“Gaila insisted on the white facepaint,” Spock said stiffly. “And on the cowhide jacket and trousers.”
“Mmhmm,” Jim said, eyes still kind of wide.
“And these necklaces,” Spock said in distaste, fingering the four heavy metal chains he wore. “They are not functional for combat. And,” his voice rose, “This clothing allows me nowhere to place my sidearm!”
Jim gulped. “Uh, we could find you a purse,” he offered.
“I beg your pardon,” Spock said flatly.
“Or you know, a small baggie or something,” Jim said, knowing he was babbling but unable to stop himself.
Spock’s eye twitched. “Unnecessary!” he flared. “I will simply fit it into my pocket.” And as Jim watched, Spock then proceeded to attempt to do so. The leather trousers were already tight, and Spock’s stun gun or whatever the hell it was, did nothing to help the matter. In fact, all it did was shift as Spock moved, and look rather obscene.
“Uh,” said Jim, trying to be diplomatic but really not wanting to go out in public with Spock’s sidearm placed just so. “Maybe we should-”
“We are already two point three minutes late,” Spock bit out. He tugged at Jim’s arm. “Let us proceed.”
Jim shook himself back into action, “Right,” he said. “Okay.” He gave a mental shrug. Well, at least no one would recognize him in this getup anyway. Hopefully.
The train ride over to Harajuku was even more embarrassing than Jim had expected it to be. While he had anticipated attracting a fair amount of attention, decked out as they were, Jim hadn’t really counted on the majority of that focus being directed at Spock’s crotch. Or, more specifically, at the suspiciously phallic shaped bulge in his pocket.
To make matters worse, with each lecherous or scandalized stare, he could feel Spock practically vibrate next to him. Whether it was with nerves or with irritation or with fear he had no clue, but it was distracting as all get out.
“Would you quit that?” Jim tried to say out of the corner of his mouth.
“To what are you referring?” Spock hissed back, drawing closer to Jim as the rush hour commuters crammed as many bodies deep as they could into the already packed train. The evening air might have been crisp, but inside was stifling. Jim’s oh so fashionable vest stuck to his back, damp with sweat. Everything smelled like unwashed, harried human.
“You’re like, freaking out or something,” Jim said, trying to look like he wasn’t speaking English and not succeeding at all. As the first American twang left his mouth, he noticed that the baffled stares of the people around him became even more pronounced. He graced a disapproving looking older gentleman sitting nearby with an awkward smile. The man’s eyes bulged a little.
“My apologies,” Spock said through gritted teeth. “As a touch telepath, I find such close proximity to so many strangers to be a strain on my mental shields.”
Oh. Oh. Huh, maybe he should have thought of that. Jim was an asshole. An inconsiderate asshole, to boot. He really, really was.
“Oh,” he said, imagining Spock’s predicament and wincing a little. “Sorry.”
“It cannot be helped,” Spock said, with all the intonation of a dry piece of cardboard.
“Oh for- budge up a bit, move over would you?” Jim, using his relative youth and muscle to his advantage, ploughed through a few feckless commuters until he had his back to the inside wall of the train. He pulled Spock after him, then manhandled Spock as best as he could so that the only things touching Spock was the cool metal wall of the train, the side of a seat, and Jim himself.
“Jim-”
“There, see? Much better.”
Spock was quiet for a moment. Then, “Yes,” he admitted, the word barely a breath of air to Jim’s straining ears.
“I’m a genius,” said Jim, not at all smugly.
He could feel Spock twitch a little at that pronouncement. But he said only, “English is such an imprecise language compared to Vulcan. The definition of genius-”
“Oh, shut up, you,” Jim grumbled, leaning his elbow into Spock.
They had taken a local train and, after the first half hour had passed by, Jim was beginning to get used to the stares from other passengers. In fact, he was even staring to revel in them, just a little bit.
“They do not think you are mysterious, they think you are ridiculous,” Spock murmured in his ear.
Jim flushed. “That’s not what I was thinking!”
Spock gave him a look that, on anybody else, would have been classified as sly. “Oh? You should not think so loud.”
“Hey, no reading my mind,” Jim scolded.
Spock eyeballed him. “I did not have to,” he said, crossing his arms.
This left Jim with no option but to give him a proper glare.
When the train finally stopped at Harajuku Station and Jim and Spock had pushed their way through the throngs of Friday evening shoppers and commuters, flower vendors, café patrons and just, people, they exited up the stairs and to the side for a moment to catch their breath.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many people,” Jim said as they leaned against the side of the station and tried to look inconspicuous. “I grew up in Iowa, for fuck’s sake.”
“I grew up in Shi’kahr.”
Jim turned to look at him. “I . . . have no idea what kind of place that is.”
Spock’s gaze seemed far away for a moment. “It is the largest city on my home planet,” he said quietly.
“Oh.” Jim gave a self-conscious little laugh. “Well, I guess you must be used to these sort of crowds, then.”
“Humans tend to lack the mental shielding necessary for Vulcan society to function,” Spock pointed out. He slumped a bit. “I confess, I am as unnerved as you.”
Jim reached up to give Spock’s shoulder a little squeeze. “Hey,” he said. “No worries.” He knocked his forehead gently against Spock’s. “A few more hours and it’ll be all over.”
Spock closed his eyes. He exhaled. “One way or another,” he agreed, opening them.
“Way to be- oh. Oh my.” Jim halted whatever he was going to say in favor of staring over Spock’s left shoulder.
Spock furrowed his brow. “Jim? Jim?”
“Well that’s . . . something you don’t see every day,” Jim continued, oblivious to Spock’s concern. Curiosity piqued, Spock gave in and turned to look. His eyebrow rose at the sight of several curiously dressed humans. Hair was dyed every color under the rainbow (and some, Spock privately admitted, that were not). It was styled to all lengths, to match clothing of all eras, and the make-up seemed half cosmetic and half pure attitude.
The effect was most colorful.
“Fascinating,” he said. He twisted to look back at Jim. “This is a human custom?”
Very slowly, Jim shook his head. “Uh,” he said.
“I see,” Spock said. He drew himself up. “Take my hand,” he commanded.
Jim collected himself. “Sorry?”
“To reach the main warehouse, we must blend in,” said Spock, very seriously. He struck a casual pose, leg cocked, hand resting on his hip.
Jim swallowed, and looked him up and down. “Uh huh,” he said, voice faint.
“Attitude,” Spock said.
“Right.” Jim’s voice was suddenly stronger. He pushed himself up off the wall, rolled his shoulders, and cracked his neck side to side. “Attitude,” he said, pulling out that cocky grin.
Spock nodded. “Give me the hologram transmitter.”
“Okay,” Jim said. He reached into his bag, and pulled out a small square box. “This the one?”
“Yes.” Spock took it, and enclosed it in his fist.
“You know, that is so cool,” Jim said conversationally as they began to walk. “Really.”
“Indeed, you have mentioned.”
“All I’m saying is, there would be a market for that, you know? Afterward.”
“We shall see,” Spock said, not really paying attention, walking a little faster than Jim. Jim hurried to catch up, all the while aware of the stares of the people around them. He hoped that they were due to their clothing, and not to their being so obviously out of place.
“There,” Spock said, all of a sudden, stopping. His mouth barely moved. “That building.”
The building was tall and grey, with barred windows, squashed between two high-end clothing stores. It was only a few streets over from the train station, for which Jim supposed they should be grateful. There was one bored looking human security guard out in front. All in all, it looked rather unimpressive.
“That’s it?” Jim said, giving the building a once over. “That’s kind of pathetic looking.” He looked over at Spock, who was surreptitiously dropping the hologram transmitter onto a park bench. “Spock!” he said, aghast. “What are you doing?”
Spock pursed his lips. “They need to be able to see it.”
“I don’t think anyone’s going to miss a freaking hologram in the middle of the street,” Jim said. “Aren’t you worried that someone’s going to take it?” He jerked his head up towards the grey and shuttered building, as if to indicate just who might be involved in the taking.
“No,” Spock said. He gestured towards the box. “It appears to be trash. This location will serve.”
“Well, it’s your fancy equipment,” said Jim, doubtfully. His gaze flickered towards the building again. “Do you think they see us?”
“Undoubtedly,” said Spock.
“Fantastic,” said Jim, sourly. “These disguises had better be the fucking best. I don’t want to get shot at out of a window.”
“Do you have the transport jammers?”
“Oh hell yeah,” Jim said. “You think I’d forget those babies?” He began to reach into his bag, then reconsidered. “We’re going to be sitting ducks if I start pulling out those things right here in the open,” he said. He squinted at the sky. The light was nearly gone, but street lamps lit up the areas as brightly as any day. “We’ve got to find somewhere private.”
Spock frowned. “Where would you suggest?”
Jim’s gaze flittered around the street until it came to rest on the brightly lit storefront directly next to the grey building.
“There,” he said. “In there, come on.” He began to move towards the store, yanking Spock along behind him. With a flourish, he pushed open the door, a bell jingling. A young woman gave a slight bow as he and Spock entered.
“Uh,” said Jim. She said something else to him, obviously trying not to stare at Spock.
“Jim,” growled Spock.
Jim reached out blindly and grabbed something off a rack. “This!” he said brightly, hoping to hell that she spoke English. “I would like to try this on!” He felt, more than saw, Spock jerk his arm free in order to rub at his temples.
The woman stared at him for a moment, eyes wide. He brandished the clothing at her. “This!” he said again, now taking the time for a closer look. He nearly groaned when he realized that what he was holding was, in fact, a bright orange mini-skirt. He girded his loins anyway. “Where can I try this on?”
She swallowed, her eyes flickering back and forth between him, the skirt, and Spock, who was standing very stoically, like a long-suffering statue. Then she pointed over to a curtained-off area at the far end of the store.
“Over there,” she said, weakly.
Jim conjured up a smile. “Fabulous,” he said firmly. “Thanks.” He and Spock hurried over to the dressing curtain.
“I think only one is permitted-”
Jim tugged him inside by the back of his shirt.
“Here’s the jammers,” Jim said. He deposited three of them in Spock’s hands. “You sure this’ll work?”
“The transport jammers will work,” Spock said. He hesitated. “But Jim,” he said. “Once we activate them and enter the building, neither of us will be able to beam in or out. Not even if something goes wrong.”
“I know,” Jim said.
Spock struggled for a moment, then reached out and touched Jim’s face. “Even if the odds of our success are but twenty three point seven three percent,” he started.
Jim caught his hand, caressed it. “Never tell me the odds.”
“Even so,” Spock said. “I would not-” he swallowed. “To wish is illogical,” he said. “But even if it were not so, I-”
Jim drew closer, lips parting a little. “Yeah?”
“Even if It were not so,” Spock said again. He looked down, then up, his cheeks turning dark even through the paint on his face. “I would not wish to be anywhere else but here.”
Jim swallowed. “Spock,” he said, voice catching in his throat. “I-” Spock looked at him, dark eyes arresting him where he stood. “Me too,” he finally, lamely. He breathed in, then out. He met Spock’s gaze. “Me too,” he said again, voice solid this time.
The barest, tiniest hint of a smile touched Spock’s lips. Jim grinned back, feeling hot and trembling cold all at once. Then Spock seemed to shake himself.
“We have five point zero four minutes left,” he said.
“Right,” Jim said. “Time to fucking rock and roll.”
“A strange human idiom,” Spock commented as Jim yanked the curtain open and he and Spock fled past the confused sales lady and out the door again.
“Sorry, skirt didn’t fit!” Jim called back. “I’ll have to look online instead!”
She may have said something in reply, but her voice was lost in the jangling of the closing door.
“Okay, jamming signal,” Jim said. He looked at Spock. “I just put them on the ground, right?”
“At least five meters apart,” Spock confirmed.
“Great,” Jim said. “Meet you on the other side?”
They both looked up at the forbidding grey of the building.
Spock inclined his head. “Indeed.”
Jim pursed his lips. “How much time do we have left?”
“Approximately three minutes.”
“We’ll have to be quick,” Jim said. He touched Spock’s shoulder. For a moment, Spock thought that he would draw him into another human kiss, but instead he just smiled, thumb massaging the skin underneath the leather jacket. Despite himself, and the situation, Spock leaned into the touch
“Yes,” Spock said.
Jim nodded briskly. He squeezed Spock’s shoulder once more. “Time,” he said softly. “Let’s go.”
Previous Next
“Spock has a brother,” McCoy said. “Really?”
“I do not understand why you find such a simple fact so difficult to believe, Doctor McCoy,” said Spock absently, fidgeting with a piece of machinery. Finally, with a last tap and a bit of a wrench to it, he nodded in satisfaction and placed it onto the table.
“Sybok, can you read the signal now?”
“Locked on,” came Sybok’s voice through the radio.
Spock did a very rapid headcount. “Then there are six to beam up.”
There was a guttural reply, in a language Jim was coming to recognize as Vulcan. Spock listened, then said something else in Vulcan before turning to the rest of the group.
“He wishes us to wait for a moment,” he said. “Then we may begin the transportation process.”
McCoy shuffled his feet, looking like he might bolt at any moment. “Are you sure this is safe?”
“Ninety-nine point two percent,” said Spock serenely.
McCoy’s face turned greyer. “And what happens to the remaining point eight percent?” he croaked.
Spock adjusted something else on his radio. “Trust me, Doctor,” he said. “You probably do not want to know.”
McCoy’s eyes widened. “Oh hell no,” he said, aiming to take a step back. “I’ll skip the alien spaceship tour, if it’s all the same to-”
He was cut off mid-sentence as the transporter engulfed him in a sparkling beam of light.
“ . . . you,” McCoy finished as he rematerialized. He then noticed his new surroundings. In particular, he noticed the three beings taking up space in those surroundings. His jaw dropped.
“Ninety-nine point two percent,” Spock murmured like a complete asshole as he swept by McCoy’s frozen form and off the transporter pad.
A tall form draped in brown and red robes stood next to the transporter controls. His face very serene, he held up his palm, fingers split in the shape of a V. The other two beings ignored them completely.
“Welcome, humans,” he intoned, looking benevolent and peaceful, like he had just stepped straight out of an advertisement for a monastery. “Live long, and prosper.”
“Uh,” said Jim. “Right back at you?” He tried to copy the motion, but could not get his fingers to cooperate. He settled for a weak wave.
“How does he possibly speak English?” Uhura whispered in an undertone to McCoy. McCoy shook his head.
“Got me,” he mouthed back.
Spock, his hand also raised, fingers separated, took a few more steps towards the figure. He took in the sight of the well-made robes, belted at the waist with a long black cord, the calm face, and the perfect Vulcan ta’al. He blinked, twice.
“S-Sybok?” he faltered.
“Welcome, brother,” Sybok said. He bowed slightly. “I am gratified to see you well.”
“Sybok?” Spock repeated. “You’re-” he did a double take. “Are you wearing formal robes?”
“Why shouldn’t his brother wear robes?” Jim murmured to McCoy in a very low voice. “Is that bad?”
“Maybe he’s a cross-dressing deviant,” McCoy muttered back. Jim gave him a light kick in the shin.
Suddenly very aware of the humans gathered behind him in a small, timid flock, yet unable to cease staring at Sybok as if he were trapped in a nightmare of very poor taste, Spock switched abruptly to their native language.
“You are wearing formal robes,” Spock said again, unable to help himself.
“Indeed,” said Sybok, in passable imitation of their father.
“You are behaving as one who is Vulcan.”
“I am Vulcan.”
“I must admit that I have had my doubts. Are you . . . ill?”
“I am in perfect health.”
Spock had his opinions on that too, but figured that now was not the time to air them. He examined Sybok again from perfectly groomed head to sandaled toe. This time, he noticed the small smirk playing around the corner of Sybok’s mouth. A terrible suspicion entered his mind. Then again, that would be just like Sybok. He set his shoulders. Very well, two could play at this game.
“I see,” Spock said gravely, straightening. “Then I must extend my congratulations. It would appear that father has finally succeeded in lobotomizing you.”
That finally got Sybok’s proper attention. He glared at Spock for a moment, then burst out into a hearty guffaw. Spock’s shoulders relaxed infinitesimally.
“Ah, Spock,” Sybok said, grinning. (Spock shuddered at the thought that he had ever wished to see such emotionalism ever again). “You’re getting quicker.”
“You stole those robes from father, didn't you?” Spock returned dryly, avoiding Sybok’s attempts to entrap him in an embrace with practiced ease.
“I might have,” Sybok hedged, giving up the hug and running a fond hand alongside the fabric of his robes instead. “But I thought, well, I couldn’t go to Earth representing Vulcan in shabby robes! It just wouldn’t do!”
Spock’s head snapped up at that. “And are you representing Vulcan?”
“Why don’t you introduce me to your human friends?” Sybok said brightly. He stepped around Spock to stand in front of a dazed McCoy. “Howdy, partner,” he said in English, grasping McCoy’s hand and giving it a firm shake.
“Sybok,” growled Spock.
“What,” said McCoy, faintly, as his hand was pumped up and down in a vigorous motion. He looked behind himself for some sort of help, but received nothing from his companions, who were frozen in a sort of horrified fascination.
Sybok looked a little concerned. He turned to Spock, English abandoned. “Did I not pronounce it correctly? You were always better at the human tongue than I.” He moved on to Uhura, shaking her hand as well.
Spock managed to make a strangled noise. “What are you doing?” he hissed in Vulcan, casting a furtive glance at the other two beings in the room. They were Romulan, it was true, but that did not mean that they did not share certain cultural similarities with Vulcan. “Have you no shame?”
“None whatsoever,” replied Sybok, now finished with Uhura and moving on to Pike.
“This is most illogical,” Spock said in frustration. “Not to mention-”
“Ah, but you missed it when you thought I had been lobotomized,” Sybok said. “Admit it.” He stepped in front of Jim.
“Not that one,” Spock said sharply, before he could stop himself.
Sybok stilled. “And why not?” he said after a brief pause, his back to Spock. Spock hurriedly moved to place himself between Jim and his brother.
“Not this one,” he said again. Their eyes met. Sybok looked at him curiously for a moment. Spock felt a brief flash of mental contact through their shared family bond, before Sybok nodded thoughtfully and stepped back, hand dropping to his side.
“As you wish,” he said in a peculiar tone, giving Jim a thoughtful look. His gaze narrowed in on Spock, as he though he was looking straight through him. Spock tried not to fidget. “Your travels on Sol III appear to have been very . . .” his eyes raked over Jim’s form again, “. . . interesting.”
Spock swallowed. Jim looked confused. As Sybok pressed a comm. on the wall and spoke into it in rapid Romulan, Spock could hear Jim grumble to McCoy about how he didn’t get to shake Spock’s brother’s hand, and wasn’t that just unfair? When Spock heard McCoy answer that he was sure Jim had had many chances to shake Spock’s hand instead, Spock’s ears burned. McCoy’s answer did not appear to mollify Jim either, who stood with his arms crossed, looking rather put out.
Sybok finished his brief conference, and turned back to Spock and his group of humans. This time, he spoke in lightly accented English. “Again, welcome aboard the Romulan ship Khellian.” He spread his arms to indicate the transporter room. “It’s not really my ship, but I’m paying for it, so it is for now.”
The transporter door swooshed open, and two Romulans stalked in. Spock heard one of the humans - either Uhura or McCoy - give a quick intake of breath at their appearance. With slightly ridged foreheads, in addition to their pointed ears and the various tattoos plastered all along their skin, they were much more alien in appearance to a human than Spock, or even Gaila.
“Sybok, what lies are you telling those miserable creatures?” the taller Romulan demanded. He placed his hands on his hips. His worn black trousers, meeting boots of some sort at mid-calf, contrasted with the fine threads of his red and gold jacket.
Sybok shrugged. “Everything horrible I can think of about you specifically, Mirok.”
“Vulcan scum,” Mirok said, although without any real bite to it.
“Uncivilized brute of a Romulan,” Sybok agreed. He indicated Spock. “This is my brother, Spock. As you can see, he is a model of Vulcan virtue.”
“I see,” Mirok said sourly. He then stepped around Spock to examine the humans. “And these?”
“Denizens of Sol III,” Sybok said with aplomb. He grinned. “I think you would find their planet most amusing.”
“They look as though a child could break them in half.” He paced for a moment, stopping in front of Uhura. “You do not look to be as strong as a Romulan female,” he informed her. “Does your planet breed weaklings?” He glanced at Spock. “Translate, Vulcan.”
Spock resisted the urge to bang his head against the wall. He settled his attention on Uhura instead. “The charming gentleman would like to inquire if Earth ‘breeds weaklings,’” he said tonelessly. Then added wryly as Uhura’s eyebrows lifted in affront, “I suspect that he has not been educated as to your planetary history.”
McCoy sputtered. “That asshole!” he exclaimed, voice indignant.
Two spots of color appeared on Uhura’s cheeks. She crossed her arms, eyes narrowed. “Please tell the charming gentleman,” she said, voice saccharine sweet, “I would be pleased to introduce his - no doubt very small - testicles to the very weakest part of my fist.” Her voice became sharp enough to cut steel. “Rest assured, he can be entirely certain of never having children afterwards.”
McCoy and Jim both choked out a laugh. Pike managed to keep a mostly straight face, although his eyes were dancing.
With an amount of cheerfulness unbecoming of a Vulcan, Spock translated.
Mirok looked comically enraged for the briefest of moments, and then he let out a short bark of laughter. “Good enough!” he declared. Then he looked back at Sybok. “All right, you miserable failure of a Vulcan. You promised me a war. Where is it?”
“Careful, Mirok,” said Sybok, amused. “You’re starting to sound like a Klingon.”
Mirok snarled and spat. “Don’t be insulting,” he said.
The second Romulan finally spoke. With a jolt of surprise, Spock realized that despite the solid build, short hair, and masculine clothing, this Romulan was female.
“Were we not supposed to be bringing more of these humans aboard?” she asked, the word human dripping from her voice with disdain.
That was apparently enough for McCoy. “Could somebody please tell us peasants what the hell is going on?” he finally broke in, lips thinned in irritation. He glared at the Romulans, and then at Spock and Sybok too, just for a good measure. “Weren’t we going to have a meeting on this fancy ship? Can we maybe get to it? We don’t have all day.”
Sybok gave him a long, measuring glance. He flicked his gaze over to Spock. “Tell the rest of the humans - and the Orion - to stand by,” he said after a moment. “We’ll beam them up shortly.” His expression turned long-suffering as he turned to Mirok. “And once we have the rest of the humans here,” he said in Romulan, “we can get started on planning your little war.”
Mirok looked positively gleeful at the thought. “In the war room then,” he said. “I will be waiting.” He jerked his head towards the Romulan female, and they left together.
Spock brushed by Sybok with his arm. “Your Romulan companion appears to be aptly demonstrating the attributes of a sadist,” he murmured.
Sybok gave a little shrug. “It’s their national pastime,” he said. “I’ve learned to work with it.” He raised his voice. “Stand by to transport more humans aboard ship.”
“Aye, sir,” said a Romulan at the controls. Sybok winked at Spock.
“Romulans are such a fascinating species, don’t you agree? Even the lowest of their deadbeat smugglers operate with military discipline.”
Spock bit back a sigh. “Father is going to disown you,” he told Sybok.
Sybok shrugged. “It is of little consequence,” he said. “I have funds stored away, and I have already paid these brigands.” He reached out and rested his fingers on Spock’s meldpoints for a moment in an affectionate gesture. “Perhaps you would think it overly emotional, but I believed that your safety trumped any remnants of a good opinion regarding me that father might have had.”
Spock swallowed past a lump in his throat. “I cannot find it within myself to argue with you in that regard,” he admitted. “It would not have taken long before the Orions again had me at their mercy.”
“Oh good,” said Sybok. “I would hate to think I started a war with the Syndicate for nothing.” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “Plus, Romulans are much more biddable if you start talking about family honor.”
Spock gave him a look of mild disgust. “Manipulation is never remembered well, Sybok.”
Sybok wagged his finger at him. “Now, now. You’re the one profiting from this, little brother. You don’t get to criticize my methods.” He frowned. “Or my companions.” A beat, “Or my life choices.”
“Your wardrobe?”
“It’s father’s, not mine,” Sybok said. “And you wouldn’t dare criticize him on anything. I know you.”
“You should have picked the blue outer robe, that shade of brown does not suite you,” Spock sniped back. He walked over to Jim and company, leaving Sybok sputtering behind him.
“The meeting room should be this way,” Spock told them. He looked behind his shoulder over at Sybok . “Your direction would be appreciated,” he said.
Sybok dropped the fold of his outer robe where he had been comparing it to the skin tone of his hand.
“I suggest we wait until all your humans have been collected,” he said. “I do not want to frighten them with my majesty were I to greet them alone.”
Spock tilted his head. “That is almost logical of you, Sybok.”
Sybok gave a harrumph. “I will have to smile the next time I see T’Pau to make up for it.”
Spock gave in and rolled his eyes.
A second group of humans, including Chekov, Sulu and Chapel, were also beamed aboard. Gaila followed in the third, and final, group. There was a small hiccup when it transpired that she and Sybok had actually, already met.
“You didn’t tell me your brother was this Sybok,” she accused Spock as soon as she finished rematerializing. McCoy, who had covered his hands with his eyes during each subsequent transport, peeked between his fingers to watch the unfolding drama.
“I did not think it was necessary,” Spock said stiffly, deciding that he really, really did not want to know.
“Hello, my dear.” Sybok gave her a little wave. “I have recuperated well from the last time you shot me. Thank you for asking.”
“I’ll do it again,” she said coolly.
Spock, who was unsure if this exchange lowered or raised his opinion of Gaila, hastily cleared his throat.
“Sybok, if you would direct us to the ah, War Room.” He winced a little at the terminology. “We do not have much time.”
Sybok cast a nervous glance in Gaila’s direction, then stood a little straighter, drawing his borrowed robes briskly around his body like a silken shield. “Of course,” he said. “This way.”
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Before anything happens on my ship, someone explain the Orion to me,” said Mirok.
“The Orion can speak for herself,” said Gaila. She flashed sharp teeth in a smile. “In all three dialects of Romulan, too.”
Chekov leaned over to McCoy. “I have met first one, then two and now many aliens.” He frowned. “They are not as I expected them to be. As a boy.”
“You expected to meet aliens as a boy?” McCoy murmured back. “No wonder they kicked you out of Russo-China.”
Sulu snickered.
“This is not funny,” said Chekov, primly.
“Tell your humans to keep quiet!” the female Romulan from before snapped at Spock.
“They are not my humans,” Spcok said quietly. “As sentient beings, they speak as they please.”
“Spock, what’s going on?” said Jim.
“Seriously,” said Uhura.
Spock forced away his irritation, locking it into a hard ball at his center. “Before we proceed with the meeting, Mirok-” he nodded to indicate the Romulan, “- wishes to know why Gaila is here.”
Jim furrowed his brow. “Didn’t your brother explain that to him? Uh, Mirok?”
“Apparently not,” Spock said.
“Right,” Jim said. He looked over at Pike, and they seemed to share some kind of communication that Spock was not privy to. Then with a nod, Jim stood. “Spock, translate for me, would you?”
“What are you planning?” Spock asked, seeing Mirok’s expression beginning to cloud with anger. Jim could not possibly know that his actions were flying in the face of several Romulan cultural mores regarding guests at a war conference. Spock was not too eager to discover what Mirok’s response would be to the insult.
“Just trust me on this,” Jim said, impatient.
Spock swallowed a little, mouth suddenly dry at the look in Jim’s eye. “Very well,” he said, just about managing to make his words sound at their normal cadence.
“Great, thanks.” Jim gave him a quick grin. “You’re the best.”
The words made something warm blossom in Spock’s side. “Speak your part, Jim,” he said, voice stronger. “I will make sure you are heard.”
“All right, listen up,” Jim said loudly. He looked at Spock, who gave a mental start, then translated. “Thanks for having us on board, she’s a lovely ship, Captain Mirok.” He made a little bow. Spock stared at Jim incredulously. The Romulan ship was dingy, and smelled slightly of sulfur. The finishing on the table they sat at was starting to peel. Spock had, in fact, been beginning to wonder if the weapons were even viable. Jim made a little shooing motion at Spock. With a sense of impending doom that his self of six months ago would have dismissed as ‘completely illogical’ but his current self was pretty convinced about, Spock translated.
“Anyway,” Jim continued. “I’m sure you’re all thrilled about liberating our lovely little planet.”
“Not really,” said Mirok.
“And would like to get to it as soon as possible,” Jim continued, ignoring him. “So I’m Jim Kirk, and here’s what’s going to happen.” He held up his hand and began ticking off fingers. “First, Gaila’s going to tell you all about why she’s hanging with a bunch of humans.”
Spock opened his mouth to translate. Then pursed his lips, “Hanging?” he repeated, the little ball of irritation beginning to make itself known again.
“In the company of,” Jim clarified.
“An illogical idiom,” Spock grumbled, even as he spoke the words in Romulan.
“Then, we humans are going to speak our piece about how really, we do love each other, we’ve just been brainwashed by alien drug dealers for a hundred years.”
“Two hundred,” corrected Gaila, examining her fingernails. She made a face at the chipped red polish on her index finger.
“Whatever,” said Jim. “And then, we’re going to devise a fantastic plan to free Earth! Just like a movie.”
He sat back, arms crossed, obviously pleased with himself.
“We already have a plan,” Uhura put in, glaring at Jim a little. “You and Spock and I came up with it last night.”
Jim turned to her. “Well yeah, but Uhura, we’ve got to let Spock’s brother and his Romulan friends think they had a part in it,” he murmured, mouth barely moving behind his hand.
“He’s not a subtle creature, is he?” Sybok observed to Spock, who had made an executive decision not to translate that last part.
“Perhaps not,” Spock said. “But he has other strengths.”
“It would seem so,” Sybok said, voice heavy with some sort of hidden meaning.
Spock gave him a quizzical look. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, nothing,” Sybok said innocently. Spock huffed a little at his dismissive tone but having spent a lifetime attempting to decipher the various secret meanings his brother tended to slip into conversation like a bad habit, Spock knew better than to push. It could only end poorly. He turned his focus back to the main happenings at the table, just in time to watch Mirok lose his patience.
“Get this ridiculous human pup out of my war room!” he shouted, standing up and banging his fist on the table for a good measure. He zeroed in on Pike, who had been watching the proceedings with a placid look on his face. “Can’t your leader speak for himself?” he said, then sneered. “I do not see that his mouth is crippled.”
With a churning in his stomach, Spock repeated his words in English. The rest of the humans looked at him incredulously, but Pike’s eyes met Mirok, calm gaze for angry stare.
“All humans have a stake in this,” he said. “I lead the Resistance, yes. But not this.”
“I will not stand here and be insulted,” Mirok insisted. “We have no obligation to aid your backwards little planet.”
Jim gave an uncaring shrug. “Okay, fine,” he said. “Don’t. We’ll give all the hain-enela to the Klingon pirates then.” He yawned. “Their asking price was better, anyway.”
The silence in the room was deafening.
Mirok gathered himself. “Explain,” he said, face like a thundercloud.
“Oh, well, you didn’t think we were going to like, want to keep any of it?” Jim drawled, barely glancing up from examining his fingernails. “That shit’s an invasive species. Can’t have it fucking up our ecosystem.”
“He does know it only grows with a lot of outside help, right?” Gaila said in a concerned undertone to Uhura, who shushed her. “He should. I mean, he did-”
“Anyway,” Jim continued. “I’m sorry. There must have been a miscommunication. Spock said you guys were these big bad smugglers, the best in the Romulan Kingdom.”
“Empire,” said Spock through gritted teeth, even as he switched words mid-translation to cover for Jim’s mix-up.
“But I guess you don’t deal in hain-enela.” He honestly looked as if he could care less. “That’s okay, I guess. We get it. Too hot for you guys.”
“If you would cease the idioms, Jim,” Spock said, looking a little harried, even as Mirok grew more and more visibly irate.
“Or maybe you do,” Jim said, tapping his fingers to his chin. “Maybe,” and here he smiled, showing teeth. “Maybe you just can’t do it.”
As Spock faithfully repeated the last of Jim’s insult into guttural Romulan, Mirok shot to his feet, hands gripping the table with such strength, Spock feared it would crack.
“Listen here you insolent little human,” he spat. “I am Mirok. I have command over six vessels, all outfitted with a military standard cloaking device. All crewed by Romulans entirely loyal to me. All armed with heavy artillery, and all,” he hissed, “Entirely capable of destroying any worthless Orion fleet.”
Uhura stood as well. She and Jim crossed their arms simultaneously.
“Prove it,” they said.
Mirok sat back down. “If we rid your planet of the Orion presence, you will give us the hain-enela?”
“Every damn plant,” said Jim. “And trust me. I know where to find them.” He smiled grimly.
“And what about that one?” Mirok said, indicating Gaila. “You still have not accounted for her.”
“Look,” said Gaila, lurching to her feet. “I’m sure Sybok mentioned this to you already, but let’s just go over it again so that everything’s crystal clear. I work freelance for one particular family group in the Syndicate.” Her lips quirked upward. “And the family group I’m contracted with happens to be feuding with the one in control of Earth. So I’m not going to go betraying this little game.”
“Let me guess,” Mirok said, voice heavy on the sarcasm. “The family group you’re contracted with used to have control of Earth.”
“Oh, very good,” Gaila said, fluttering long eyelashes at him. “You must have been an exchange student at the VSA.”
“Don’t mock me, Orion,” Mirok said, pointing a finger at her. “Won’t your employers want Earth for themselves?”
“Probably,” she said, flicking her hair back. “But that’s not in my contract.” She placed her hands flat on the table. “Ayalis has got control of Earth right now. He’s been running everything for the past fifteen years. ‘S probably why the price of hain-enela has risen so much. Anyway, no one likes Ayalis. Trust me on this. You destroy his fleet, the Syndicate’s not going to help him.” She sat back down. “And I don’t really care to help them when they try to come back during the clean-up.”
“Orions,” said the female Romulan sitting at Mirok’s right hand side. “Not a shred of honor.” She spat. “And a human lover.”
“I like humans,” Gaila said, lip curling. “They’re rather endearing.” She winked. “And some are pretty flexible”
Sybok choked.
“What?” said Sulu. “What did she say?”
The Romulan made a disgusted noise.
“Enough, Kerit,” said Mirok. He leaned forward on his elbows. “What are your terms?”
Jim raised an eyebrow. “You will destroy or disable the Orion presence in this system. You will remain here until the Vulcan fleet assures us of our further protection.”
Mirok laughed, “That could take years!”
“It will not,” said Spock firmly.
Mirok looked amused. “What about if we stand guard for six Earth weeks at the most. Would that suffice?”
“A year,” said Jim.
“Two months,” Mirok snapped.
“Done,” said Jim quickly.
Mirok looked a little unsettled. “And in return,” he said, “You will give us the hain-enela.”
“It’s yours,” Jim agreed.
Mirok gave a brisk nod. “Then Mirok’s fleet will enter into this accord.”
Spock breathed a sigh of relief.
Mirok folded his hands. “We will sign the contracts.”
“The what?” Jim asked Spock.
“Romulans are very formal,” Spock said out of the corner of his mouth, even as Kerit unfolded a long piece of parchment. She wrote out the terms of the contract, and even Spock had to admit that she had a very fine hand.
“So . . . I just have to sign it?”
“Everyone does,” said Spock, watching with a sinking stomach as Mirok brought out a knife. “In a manner of speaking.”
“We have to sign in blood?” Jim yelped, even as all the other Romulans around the table brought out their own knives and made small slices on their fingers.
“Yes,” Spock admitted.
“Ew,” said Jim, shuddering. “That’s barbaric. It’s like making a deal with the devil.”
“It’s unsanitary is what it is,” McCoy put in, looking nauseated.
“Hey,” Jim noticed. “Their blood is green too, like yours.”
Spock felt an uncomfortable prickling at the base of his neck and his spine. “We have similar ancestry,” he said, not wishing to go into the complicated, mutual history of Vulcan and Romulus. “Is it- Do you find it unappealing?” he made himself add.
In the act of slicing his own hand with a borrowed pocketknife from McCoy’s med kit, Jim looked up. Whatever he must have seen on Spock’s face made his mouth soften into a smile. “No,” he said. “I don’t mind.” He winced as he pulled the blade across his flesh and let his bloody fingerprint smear onto the paper.
“Now then,” Mirok said, looking a bit askance at the red blood. “Tell me all about this plan you are going to devise.”
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Spock was pretty sure he had never before felt this uncomfortable in his entire life.
“Stop wiggling,” Gaila commanded, tongue between her teeth as she added more paint to his face.
“I do not see why this, this farce, is necessary,” Spock said for the third time in the past ten minutes.
“Look,” said Gaila, “you’ve got to blend in. You’re lucky they’re holed up in a spot where you can even wear stuff to blend in, you catch my drift?”
“Your what?”
Gaila rolled her eyes. “Just hold still,” she said.
Jim entered the room. His costume, Spock was peeved to note, did not look nearly as outlandish as Spock’s own. His black pants were tight, and he wore a dark green vest that would not have been out of place on Earth three hundred years ago. A chain-link belt jangled about his waist as he moved. He had painted his nails black, bleached his hair an unappealing off-white, and wore some sort of kohl drawn around his eyes to disguise their shape. His gaze fell on Spock. Traveled up his form.
“Looking good, Spock,” he said.
Spock’s lip curled.
Jim looked amused.
“Look this way, Vulcan,” Gaila commanded. She dabbed something onto Spock’s nose.
“Gaila, it is not necessary to paint the entirety of my face,” Spock said, moving back, away from her interfering little hands, and the various implements of torture that they carried. “I already appear more alien now than I ever did before. And Jim, you do not need to be facetious. I know very well how ridiculous I appear. There is, in fact, a mirror in this room. And I am facing it.”
“That’s the point, Spock!” Gaila said, exasperated. “You’re supposed to look weird. You’re infiltrating the main warehouse at Harajuku.”
“I’m not teasing,” Jim protested.
“Your brethren’s choice of location is very illogical,” Spock said stiffly, craning to catch a better glimpse of his bleached and ragged hair extensions in the mirror.
“No, it’s not,” Gaila defended. “Think about it. No one looks twice at people dressing weird in Harajuku, so who’s going to make a fuss about someone who looks like they’ve dyed their skin? Plus, Japan’s government mostly runs on a technicality. It’s all dens of criminals here.” She grinned toothily, moving back and examining Spock. “Perfect for a bunch of Orions. Just like coming home.” She turned towards the door. “I’ll be right back,” she said.
As she left, Spock spun on his heel to face Jim. “I would once again like to state my objections to being placed in this particular branch of the mission. And I do not appreciate being dressed in the hides of deceased mammals.” He plucked at his jacket accusingly.
“Spock, we’ve already gone over this,” Jim soothed, moving forward. He placed two hands on Spock’s leather covered shoulders. “Chekov and Sulu need to be the ones working the computers to get ahold of the rest of the Resistance so that they can do their thing. We don’t have the contacts they’ve got. And Uhura needs to be with Sybok because she speaks like, ten languages and everybody’s got to know what he’s saying, not just the people who speak English.”
Spock still looked unconvinced. Jim made a last ditch effort.
“Plus, I need you with me,” he said. “Of the people we’ve got on the ground, I’ve got the most hand to hand combat experience.” He smiled, “And I know I can count on you to watch my back. We already know we make a hell of a team.”
Spock pursed his lips, his form stiff and unyielding beneath Jim’s hands. “Vulcans abhor violence,” he said.
“Nevertheless,” Jim said. “I know I can count on you.”
Their eyes met. Spock swallowed.
“Jim,” he said, shakily. “I-”
And then Jim was cradling the back of Spock’s head in his hands, and they were kissing, kissing soft but still desperate and sweet as could be.
“Yeah?” Jim breathed, as he pulled back, still clasping the nape of Spock’s neck with gentle hands. Their foreheads touched.
“Whoa,” said Gaila, walking back in. “No, no, don’t mind me,” she said as they both looked at her. “Keep going.”
Jim stepped back from Spock. “I’ll uh, see you when you’re ready,” he said, running a hand through his already messy hair. Spock could do nothing but nod. They shared one last glance before Jim headed through the door.
“Huh, should’ve just stayed outside,” Gaila muttered, as Spock pretended not to hear her. “Here, close your eyes so I can paint your lids.”
A good thirty minutes later, Spock joined Jim at the side entrance to their hotel. Jim opened his mouth to say something, then closed it with a snap at the sight of the vaguely murderous glint in Spock’s eye.
“Gaila insisted on the white facepaint,” Spock said stiffly. “And on the cowhide jacket and trousers.”
“Mmhmm,” Jim said, eyes still kind of wide.
“And these necklaces,” Spock said in distaste, fingering the four heavy metal chains he wore. “They are not functional for combat. And,” his voice rose, “This clothing allows me nowhere to place my sidearm!”
Jim gulped. “Uh, we could find you a purse,” he offered.
“I beg your pardon,” Spock said flatly.
“Or you know, a small baggie or something,” Jim said, knowing he was babbling but unable to stop himself.
Spock’s eye twitched. “Unnecessary!” he flared. “I will simply fit it into my pocket.” And as Jim watched, Spock then proceeded to attempt to do so. The leather trousers were already tight, and Spock’s stun gun or whatever the hell it was, did nothing to help the matter. In fact, all it did was shift as Spock moved, and look rather obscene.
“Uh,” said Jim, trying to be diplomatic but really not wanting to go out in public with Spock’s sidearm placed just so. “Maybe we should-”
“We are already two point three minutes late,” Spock bit out. He tugged at Jim’s arm. “Let us proceed.”
Jim shook himself back into action, “Right,” he said. “Okay.” He gave a mental shrug. Well, at least no one would recognize him in this getup anyway. Hopefully.
The train ride over to Harajuku was even more embarrassing than Jim had expected it to be. While he had anticipated attracting a fair amount of attention, decked out as they were, Jim hadn’t really counted on the majority of that focus being directed at Spock’s crotch. Or, more specifically, at the suspiciously phallic shaped bulge in his pocket.
To make matters worse, with each lecherous or scandalized stare, he could feel Spock practically vibrate next to him. Whether it was with nerves or with irritation or with fear he had no clue, but it was distracting as all get out.
“Would you quit that?” Jim tried to say out of the corner of his mouth.
“To what are you referring?” Spock hissed back, drawing closer to Jim as the rush hour commuters crammed as many bodies deep as they could into the already packed train. The evening air might have been crisp, but inside was stifling. Jim’s oh so fashionable vest stuck to his back, damp with sweat. Everything smelled like unwashed, harried human.
“You’re like, freaking out or something,” Jim said, trying to look like he wasn’t speaking English and not succeeding at all. As the first American twang left his mouth, he noticed that the baffled stares of the people around him became even more pronounced. He graced a disapproving looking older gentleman sitting nearby with an awkward smile. The man’s eyes bulged a little.
“My apologies,” Spock said through gritted teeth. “As a touch telepath, I find such close proximity to so many strangers to be a strain on my mental shields.”
Oh. Oh. Huh, maybe he should have thought of that. Jim was an asshole. An inconsiderate asshole, to boot. He really, really was.
“Oh,” he said, imagining Spock’s predicament and wincing a little. “Sorry.”
“It cannot be helped,” Spock said, with all the intonation of a dry piece of cardboard.
“Oh for- budge up a bit, move over would you?” Jim, using his relative youth and muscle to his advantage, ploughed through a few feckless commuters until he had his back to the inside wall of the train. He pulled Spock after him, then manhandled Spock as best as he could so that the only things touching Spock was the cool metal wall of the train, the side of a seat, and Jim himself.
“Jim-”
“There, see? Much better.”
Spock was quiet for a moment. Then, “Yes,” he admitted, the word barely a breath of air to Jim’s straining ears.
“I’m a genius,” said Jim, not at all smugly.
He could feel Spock twitch a little at that pronouncement. But he said only, “English is such an imprecise language compared to Vulcan. The definition of genius-”
“Oh, shut up, you,” Jim grumbled, leaning his elbow into Spock.
They had taken a local train and, after the first half hour had passed by, Jim was beginning to get used to the stares from other passengers. In fact, he was even staring to revel in them, just a little bit.
“They do not think you are mysterious, they think you are ridiculous,” Spock murmured in his ear.
Jim flushed. “That’s not what I was thinking!”
Spock gave him a look that, on anybody else, would have been classified as sly. “Oh? You should not think so loud.”
“Hey, no reading my mind,” Jim scolded.
Spock eyeballed him. “I did not have to,” he said, crossing his arms.
This left Jim with no option but to give him a proper glare.
When the train finally stopped at Harajuku Station and Jim and Spock had pushed their way through the throngs of Friday evening shoppers and commuters, flower vendors, café patrons and just, people, they exited up the stairs and to the side for a moment to catch their breath.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many people,” Jim said as they leaned against the side of the station and tried to look inconspicuous. “I grew up in Iowa, for fuck’s sake.”
“I grew up in Shi’kahr.”
Jim turned to look at him. “I . . . have no idea what kind of place that is.”
Spock’s gaze seemed far away for a moment. “It is the largest city on my home planet,” he said quietly.
“Oh.” Jim gave a self-conscious little laugh. “Well, I guess you must be used to these sort of crowds, then.”
“Humans tend to lack the mental shielding necessary for Vulcan society to function,” Spock pointed out. He slumped a bit. “I confess, I am as unnerved as you.”
Jim reached up to give Spock’s shoulder a little squeeze. “Hey,” he said. “No worries.” He knocked his forehead gently against Spock’s. “A few more hours and it’ll be all over.”
Spock closed his eyes. He exhaled. “One way or another,” he agreed, opening them.
“Way to be- oh. Oh my.” Jim halted whatever he was going to say in favor of staring over Spock’s left shoulder.
Spock furrowed his brow. “Jim? Jim?”
“Well that’s . . . something you don’t see every day,” Jim continued, oblivious to Spock’s concern. Curiosity piqued, Spock gave in and turned to look. His eyebrow rose at the sight of several curiously dressed humans. Hair was dyed every color under the rainbow (and some, Spock privately admitted, that were not). It was styled to all lengths, to match clothing of all eras, and the make-up seemed half cosmetic and half pure attitude.
The effect was most colorful.
“Fascinating,” he said. He twisted to look back at Jim. “This is a human custom?”
Very slowly, Jim shook his head. “Uh,” he said.
“I see,” Spock said. He drew himself up. “Take my hand,” he commanded.
Jim collected himself. “Sorry?”
“To reach the main warehouse, we must blend in,” said Spock, very seriously. He struck a casual pose, leg cocked, hand resting on his hip.
Jim swallowed, and looked him up and down. “Uh huh,” he said, voice faint.
“Attitude,” Spock said.
“Right.” Jim’s voice was suddenly stronger. He pushed himself up off the wall, rolled his shoulders, and cracked his neck side to side. “Attitude,” he said, pulling out that cocky grin.
Spock nodded. “Give me the hologram transmitter.”
“Okay,” Jim said. He reached into his bag, and pulled out a small square box. “This the one?”
“Yes.” Spock took it, and enclosed it in his fist.
“You know, that is so cool,” Jim said conversationally as they began to walk. “Really.”
“Indeed, you have mentioned.”
“All I’m saying is, there would be a market for that, you know? Afterward.”
“We shall see,” Spock said, not really paying attention, walking a little faster than Jim. Jim hurried to catch up, all the while aware of the stares of the people around them. He hoped that they were due to their clothing, and not to their being so obviously out of place.
“There,” Spock said, all of a sudden, stopping. His mouth barely moved. “That building.”
The building was tall and grey, with barred windows, squashed between two high-end clothing stores. It was only a few streets over from the train station, for which Jim supposed they should be grateful. There was one bored looking human security guard out in front. All in all, it looked rather unimpressive.
“That’s it?” Jim said, giving the building a once over. “That’s kind of pathetic looking.” He looked over at Spock, who was surreptitiously dropping the hologram transmitter onto a park bench. “Spock!” he said, aghast. “What are you doing?”
Spock pursed his lips. “They need to be able to see it.”
“I don’t think anyone’s going to miss a freaking hologram in the middle of the street,” Jim said. “Aren’t you worried that someone’s going to take it?” He jerked his head up towards the grey and shuttered building, as if to indicate just who might be involved in the taking.
“No,” Spock said. He gestured towards the box. “It appears to be trash. This location will serve.”
“Well, it’s your fancy equipment,” said Jim, doubtfully. His gaze flickered towards the building again. “Do you think they see us?”
“Undoubtedly,” said Spock.
“Fantastic,” said Jim, sourly. “These disguises had better be the fucking best. I don’t want to get shot at out of a window.”
“Do you have the transport jammers?”
“Oh hell yeah,” Jim said. “You think I’d forget those babies?” He began to reach into his bag, then reconsidered. “We’re going to be sitting ducks if I start pulling out those things right here in the open,” he said. He squinted at the sky. The light was nearly gone, but street lamps lit up the areas as brightly as any day. “We’ve got to find somewhere private.”
Spock frowned. “Where would you suggest?”
Jim’s gaze flittered around the street until it came to rest on the brightly lit storefront directly next to the grey building.
“There,” he said. “In there, come on.” He began to move towards the store, yanking Spock along behind him. With a flourish, he pushed open the door, a bell jingling. A young woman gave a slight bow as he and Spock entered.
“Uh,” said Jim. She said something else to him, obviously trying not to stare at Spock.
“Jim,” growled Spock.
Jim reached out blindly and grabbed something off a rack. “This!” he said brightly, hoping to hell that she spoke English. “I would like to try this on!” He felt, more than saw, Spock jerk his arm free in order to rub at his temples.
The woman stared at him for a moment, eyes wide. He brandished the clothing at her. “This!” he said again, now taking the time for a closer look. He nearly groaned when he realized that what he was holding was, in fact, a bright orange mini-skirt. He girded his loins anyway. “Where can I try this on?”
She swallowed, her eyes flickering back and forth between him, the skirt, and Spock, who was standing very stoically, like a long-suffering statue. Then she pointed over to a curtained-off area at the far end of the store.
“Over there,” she said, weakly.
Jim conjured up a smile. “Fabulous,” he said firmly. “Thanks.” He and Spock hurried over to the dressing curtain.
“I think only one is permitted-”
Jim tugged him inside by the back of his shirt.
“Here’s the jammers,” Jim said. He deposited three of them in Spock’s hands. “You sure this’ll work?”
“The transport jammers will work,” Spock said. He hesitated. “But Jim,” he said. “Once we activate them and enter the building, neither of us will be able to beam in or out. Not even if something goes wrong.”
“I know,” Jim said.
Spock struggled for a moment, then reached out and touched Jim’s face. “Even if the odds of our success are but twenty three point seven three percent,” he started.
Jim caught his hand, caressed it. “Never tell me the odds.”
“Even so,” Spock said. “I would not-” he swallowed. “To wish is illogical,” he said. “But even if it were not so, I-”
Jim drew closer, lips parting a little. “Yeah?”
“Even if It were not so,” Spock said again. He looked down, then up, his cheeks turning dark even through the paint on his face. “I would not wish to be anywhere else but here.”
Jim swallowed. “Spock,” he said, voice catching in his throat. “I-” Spock looked at him, dark eyes arresting him where he stood. “Me too,” he finally, lamely. He breathed in, then out. He met Spock’s gaze. “Me too,” he said again, voice solid this time.
The barest, tiniest hint of a smile touched Spock’s lips. Jim grinned back, feeling hot and trembling cold all at once. Then Spock seemed to shake himself.
“We have five point zero four minutes left,” he said.
“Right,” Jim said. “Time to fucking rock and roll.”
“A strange human idiom,” Spock commented as Jim yanked the curtain open and he and Spock fled past the confused sales lady and out the door again.
“Sorry, skirt didn’t fit!” Jim called back. “I’ll have to look online instead!”
She may have said something in reply, but her voice was lost in the jangling of the closing door.
“Okay, jamming signal,” Jim said. He looked at Spock. “I just put them on the ground, right?”
“At least five meters apart,” Spock confirmed.
“Great,” Jim said. “Meet you on the other side?”
They both looked up at the forbidding grey of the building.
Spock inclined his head. “Indeed.”
Jim pursed his lips. “How much time do we have left?”
“Approximately three minutes.”
“We’ll have to be quick,” Jim said. He touched Spock’s shoulder. For a moment, Spock thought that he would draw him into another human kiss, but instead he just smiled, thumb massaging the skin underneath the leather jacket. Despite himself, and the situation, Spock leaned into the touch
“Yes,” Spock said.
Jim nodded briskly. He squeezed Spock’s shoulder once more. “Time,” he said softly. “Let’s go.”
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