Star Trek Big Bang: Mutiny (Part Six)
Title: Mutiny
Author: exastriscientia
Fan Mixer: To be added
Series: TOS/AOS
Characters: Joanna McCoy, James T. Kirk, Leonard McCoy, Spock Prime, a few scattered OCs
Rating: PG (for violence and some not so nice language)
Word Count: 35k
Warnings: Spoilers for AOS and some of the TOS movies.
Link to Trailer: To be added.
Summary: Joanna McCoy has been accused of destroying the USS Brittain along with most of its crew. There's just one problem, she's not sure she didn't do it. Memories a fog due to what she's pretty sure is Romulan brain-altering technology, she struggles to piece together the events of a Romulan infested planet before a verdict is reached. Meanwhile she is at odds with her father as Jim attempts to reconcile the estranged pair. A tale filled with conspiracy, action, and deceit, this reads like an episode of Star Trek.
Previous Parts: One- Two- Three- Four- Five- Six- Seven- Eight- Epilogue
With daily ships going back and forth between Vulcan II and Earth, it wasn’t particularly difficult for Jim to obtain transport. Shifting his small bag into the overhead compartment of the sterile passenger ship, he glanced around at the other occupants. At first there had been little to no Federation interest in making the warp to the Vulcan colony aside from the worker aids and non-Starfleet specialists, all assisting in furthering the progress of the colony. In addition to losing their home, Vulcans, somewhat isolationist in habit despite being one of the founder Federation planets, had had to acquiesce to students not of Vulcan heritage attending their newly founded and blooming science academy, as well as work in some of their administrative offices. Because of this, students and scientists alike had finally taken interest in the planet.
This particular craft was distinctively Vulcan in construct. It was built for speed and therefore provided little in the way of comfort. In some ways, it reminded Jim of the smaller, early planes of Earth. It consisted of two columns of seats, flush against the windows, with a small aisle between them. At least the seats were padded, Jim thought as he settled down into his. Stretching, he glanced out the window, where he could spot more civilian transports taking off and landing. It was all very orderly, quite different from the usual airfields of Starfleet. As the captain’s announcements regarding the trip started up, Jim’s mind wandered once more.
It had been nearly two years since Jim and Ambassador Spock had spoken face-to-face. They would, of course, have the occasional video chat once the colony had been set up to have nearly constant contact with Earth, but the conversations were usually formulaic. Jim would enthusiastically recount the exciting events of the past few months and the ambassador would duly respond before relaying the progress of the colony. After every chat, Jim was always left with the sneaking suspicion that the older counterpart of his dearest friend-he made a note that Bones, too, counted as a dearest friend-wanted little to do with him. He never found it offensive, however, as Spock had explained in confidence many years prior the sentiment the ambassador had expressed regarding their friendship. If anything, Jim found it selfless. If he had been shunted to the reality in which he had known his father, he didn’t lie to himself for a second that he’d have left his counterpart and father to cultivate their relationship.
Still, despite the depth their relationship lacked, he found himself trusting implicitly the opinions and suggestions of the ambassador whenever he gave them. It was, in part, the fact that he had spent nearly twenty years getting to know the younger Spock, and, despite the differences in their personalities and experiences, they remained very similar. It was curious to Jim that he never once considered them to be the same person, however.
The ground faded to black and soon the stars melted and shrieked by, a wonderfully familiar sight, as the ship settled into warp. Jim fondly rested his forehead against the synthetic glass of his window, feeling the soft rumble of the small warp core up through his feet. It felt like seconds had gone by before the stars suddenly snapped into place and before him floated the forbidding red planet. The lights slowly dimmed as they made their descent, and Jim had a moment to consider the surroundings. He had been to Vulcan II several times and so knew otherwise, but he still had a hard time believing the planet to be M Class, with a life-supporting atmosphere. When he stepped off the shuttle, he held his breath for a moment, feeling a sense of relief when his lungs finally filled with oxygen. Jim’s inner Spock nagged him that it was certainly illogical.
That was when he heard the soft clearing of the throat, ripping him from his daydreams. “Good afternoon, Jim.” Looking up, his eyes met those of Ambassador Spock, arms clasped gently behind his back. The man was dressed in black, as always, back held perfectly straight, a soft smile in his eyes betraying the otherwise stoic façade. Releasing his hands, he raised his right one in his usual Vulcan greeting. “It is good to see you again.”
“Spock!” He greeted with a hearty grin, clapping the older man on the shoulder with his free hand. “You don’t look a day over one-hundred-and-six!”
“I assure you, I am quite well.” He gestured slowly towards the imposing Starfleet building in the distance with one hand. “I know how fond you are of walking.”
“Don’t get much of walking these days, what with the desk job.” Jim grinned and started towards the airfield exit, Spock keeping a comfortable gait beside him. “How’d you know I was coming, you sly dog?”
Tilting his head slightly forward, the Vulcan clasped his hands once more behind his back, a sight Jim had been privy to for years on the Enterprise. “A magician never reveals the mechanics of his tricks.”
Jim eyed the man before giving another laugh, hefting his bag over his shoulder. “All right, old man, I’ll leave you to your magic.”
The pair remained in companionable silence, as was often the comfortable state existing between them. Jim took this time to examine their surroundings, though much of it was cut off by the large, red dusted rocks, which rose around the path to the administrative building, sleek and modern against the rock face.
The doors slid behind them and though Jim had expected a reprieve from the intense heat, none was to be felt save for relief from the two suns orbiting the colony planet.
“I have been following your case with young Joanna McCoy,” Spock explained as soon as the lift doors enclosed them in the clear, tubular elevator.
“Did this happen in your time?” Jim cut to the quick, though he spared a moment to watch the ground fall away, the extent of the colony city and surrounding suburbs coming into view.
“No, fortunately it did not occur.” Spock stood quite still, hands clasped behind his back in his customary pose. His eyes, too, strayed to the sight, which grew more impressive with every meter.
“Fortunate is relative.” Jim sighed, leaning his forehead head against the warm glass. “If it had happened, I’d have a better idea of what to do.”
“You have such faith that you would have succeeded.” A soft quirk then rose on his lips. No matter what the circumstances of Jim’s life were, it seemed he would always have that infective self-confidence. In both realities, that poise had spent years fueling the Enterprise and her crew.
“Me in your time seemed like a pretty resourceful guy, and anyway, if I hadn’t succeeded, I’d at least know what not to do. Either way, you can help me.”
Spock raised an eyebrow at that, gesturing for Jim to follow him out the doors. “In what way did you have in mind, Jim?” The turbo-lift opened right into Spock’s rather impressively sized office, complete with a sizeable circular conference table and sweeping, wall-consuming windows. With the afternoon suns beating down on them, they were tinted to accommodate a human visitor.
“I want you to come back to Earth with me and aid in the trial. Bones and I just aren’t getting anywhere. Komak is already sold on the idea that she’s guilty, and his conviction is influencing the other admirals.”
Spock took a slow breath, truly contemplating Jim’s words. Even so, Jim got a sinking feeling in his gut about what his answer would be. If anyone could read Spock, it was certainly Jim.
“I am afraid,” he began, treading to his desk and settling down into the chair behind it, “that is impossible.”
“And why the hell is that?” Jim strode across the room to the desk, leaning over it, his hands perched on the edge.
“I assume that you are here asking me because Captain Spock has either taken a stance against Joanna, or wishes to remain apart from the investigation.” Jim paused to glance at Spock, a somewhat wild look in his eyes that suggested to Spock that it was most certainly the former.
“He’s decided that, using logic in conjunction with the evidence, she is the,” he whipped out the air quotes, “’most likely perpetrator given the circumstances.’ As if Joanna McCoy could hurt a hair on a damn fly’s head, let alone go postal on her crew and ship.”
“And what leads you to believe that I would come to any other conclusion?”
“You…” Jim considered before blurting out, “You’re you! You’re different. You’re more experienced and more comfortable with instinct. You knew Joanna in your time, didn’t you?”
“Indeed, but as we know all too well, the events of this timeline are severely altered-“
“I hardly believe that the events of the Narada had any effect on a three-year-old changing from a sweet little girl into a cold-hearted killer,” Jim interrupted, by now exhausted of the constant comparisons made to the other timeline by Spock and occasionally Bones. He had a hard enough time not comparing them in his own head.
“I have heard of the possibility of Romulan mind-altering techniques being employed on the Brittain crew.” Spock seemed to take the hint, moving on to the hard facts as were known to him.
“Now there’s something I can’t bring myself to believe. I mean, I’m sure they’re doing brainwashing, but I can’t be convinced of its effectiveness.” Jim slowly began his path across to the other side of the room as he spoke. “She is the same girl who left on her first tour five months ago. Albeit shaken from her experience and seriously pissed with Starfleet, but the same girl. Every case of brainwashing I’ve seen leaves the subject with little left of their personality, and in the case of espionage, only displaying the necessary traits in order to carry out their mission.”
“Then perhaps it is more likely that Joanna acted of her own accord.”
“Instinct, Spock. I know this girl as well as I know…as well as I know you. She says she didn’t do it, she didn’t do it.”
“Unfortunately, Jim, instinct rarely holds any sway in a court of law.”
“Trust me, if I didn’t know that before, I certainly know it now.”
“And simply because Joanna does not recall the events with clarity,” Spock continued, as usual unhindered by Jim’s tendency to interject, “does not necessarily mean that her recollections are accurate.”
“I’m tired of being stuck in this damn position with the Romulans.” Jim slammed his hand against the side of the replicator, which he had traveled over to out of habit. The ambassador didn’t even bat an eyelash. “They’re so damn clever. It makes me sick. They’re just goading the Federation, but have no interest in taking any credit for what they’re up to.”
“It is unlikely that many wish to be considered the aggressor in what would likely be a devastating war.” Spock spoke evenly.
“So they’re just poking the other guy ‘till he shoots them in the face.”
Spock considered Jim’s metaphor, still surprised after all these years at his curious use of comparisons before replying, “Precisely.” The older man threaded his fingers, elbows resting delicately against the edge of his desk.
“Well,” Jim considered for a moment, taking back to his pacing across the room, the trapped animal look back in full swing. “It’s really annoying.”
The corners of Ambassador Spock’s eyes tilted up slowly and he leaned back in his chair in the same languid fashion as always, nearly black eyes tracing Jim’s fairly steady path across the large room. Behind the large glass windows stood the now flourishing Vulcan colony. Just like Vulcan, or what Jim had seen from textbooks and the Narada’s drill, the buildings were tucked neatly into the sweeping cliffs.
Catching the young admiral’s glance, the ambassador turned his chair slowly to survey the fruit of his bedraggled people’s hard work. The mountain-scape of the planet held none of the browner hue of the dunes and hills of his home planet, instead boasting the brighter paprika color one might associate with the early Earth concept of Mars. His heart swelled shamelessly with pride at the stark new structures, imbued with the overlapping lines that had once been prevalent on Vulcan. The official Starfleet building, placed like a beacon on the tallest mountain, overlooked the city. The planet held an even more solemn air than its namesake. It was, perhaps, illogical that the Vulcan peoples should strive to pretend the events of eighteen years prior had never occurred by recreating their home so exactly, but sorrow seldom provided logical reaction, and such deep sorrow was not easily repressed.
Every so often Spock had idled to think that the aftermath of Nero’s actions had perhaps been worse than if he had acted against another species. Vulcans had not only lost their homes, much of their heritage, brilliant futures, the famed science academy-also a great asset to the Federation as a whole-- but they had lost something even more fundamental. Mates. To outsiders, it seemed somewhat trite; the problem could be misconstrued as simple, selfish, or even illogical, to choose something so specific and not feel the same loss over a family member. But it was not the loss of love-which no self-respecting Vulcan would admit to- a companion, or even a means of producing an heir. Logic, after all, was not a perfect science and, being a telepathic race, mates kept one another grounded in logic in the face of sheer chaos. Nearly all the mates of off-world Vulcans had perished in the attack.
Spock had lived for a long time bereft of a mate in the traditional sense of the word and so had, for the first collection of years, instructed those least affected in how to instruct others in how to cope. It had been an arduous process, but in the end very much worth it, as logic had once again settled around his people’s minds like a warm blanket.
In his momentary meditations, Jim had resumed his pacing. The ambassador knew that look in his younger friend. Jim had all the pieces, but couldn’t put them together.
“Joanna told me something.” Jim considered his words carefully, tapping his hand against his leg as he once had as a teenager, pent up with more energy than he could possible ever contain. “Something in sheer confidence.” He paused before adding quickly, “If people find out I know, I could be implicated right along with her.” He didn’t like the way the ambassador’s brow furrowed only slightly, eyes hardening from the previous look of pride Jim knew the man had struggled to conceal.
“Regarding?” The Vulcan encouraged slowly.
“Spies,” Jim swallowed, “Romulan ones; disguised as Vulcans.”
The look faded from the Vulcan’s features.
“The Federation has considered this before and has taken measures against such a threat.” He leaned forward in his chair once more, silencing a video call being made to his office. “What exactly are you suggesting, Jim?”
“Whatever ‘measures’ we’ve been taking have either been too lax in the wake of the destruction of Vulcan, or the tests don’t work. They’re slipping under the radar, Spock. The reality is that we have no idea how many there really are.”
“It is true that many records were lost in the attack; claiming to be the remaining member of a family or even posing as a previously existing family could prove helpful in infiltrating the colony, but the time it would logically take to get even one Romulan into a position of any substantial power in Starfleet would predate the Narada…”
“Calculate it, Spock. If they were really on their game, eighteen years could see an agent to captaincy. Four years at the academy, four years as an officer, and then promotion to captain. We were pretty damn short on captains after Vulcan.” Jim paused, his eyes having slowly unfocused throughout his speech, the sight of the imploding planet never far from his mind. “Hell, a particularly clever spy could make their way to admiral with enough luck and a little elbow grease.”
“I still find it unlikely. However, supposing your theory is true, what do you suggest they are waiting for? It is far too great a risk to send information back to the Empire from Federation space, and anything they recall would most likely become void with time upon return to their people.”
“You know better than that, Spock.” Jim shook his head firmly. “There’s plenty of white noise out there; hiding any amount of information in it would be child’s play.”
A buzzer sounded on Spock’s desk and Jim could swear he heard the Vulcan sigh with what he was pretty sure was relief. “Unfortunately, our time must be concluded, old friend. I have a prior engagement that is unavoidable.” Jim didn’t think he’d made a face, but the Vulcan’s features softened slightly and he finally imparted some wisdom. “I cannot come with you, for the jeopardy such action may have on myself and many others. What I can suggest is meditation. It is often the case that intense emotions aid the process in brain-altered patients. By quieting her mind and emotions, Joanna may be able to recall the events and free herself. I agree that the information regarding informants should be disclosed only after Joanna’s case is finished, as it would only damage her position.”
“Meditation.” Jim blinked rapidly. It wasn’t the sort of wisdom he had expected, but when did Spock ever do anything genuinely predictable? “I guess I’ll let her know.” He made his way to the door, “Thanks, Ambassador.”
“Any time, old friend.” The elder Vulcan raised his hand in salute. “Live long and prosper.”
---
Stepping carefully over the netting of sticks and fallen leaves, Joanna made sure to keep herself low. She had sworn she had seen Sirok go this way, creeping off in the night once more. Whatever he was up to, she was absolutely determined to discover it then and there, before anything got out of hand. They were to raid the Romulan encampment tomorrow, and she was ready to get off the damned planet.
The shoes for a starship were made to cling to the floors, small circles along the heavy soles acting as suction cups to keep one standing when under fire, and so their weight made it slow going. She knew she was close when she could hear the rolling r’s of Romulan and the soft whirring sound the engines of their smaller hovercrafts coming and going. Dropping down into the dirt, which instantly coated her arms-she had stopped caring for the cleanliness of her uniform weeks ago-she inched through the bramble, back arched, limbs moving languidly, her toes propelling her form forward with now-practiced ease. She stopped at what was nearly the edge of the bushes, wanting-no matter how dangerous-as good a view as possible of the encampment.
She then began to take mental notes, starting with soldiers. There were at least thirty soldiers on patrol that night, their shadows sharp in the stark spotlights, which kept the encampment lit as though day. There were three-no, four Birds of Prey, one with its ramp open, the preceding hallway cast in shadow.
So Sirok had been coming here. Her ego grinned at her instinct. Her grimace at the truth hurt her face. At first she tried to reason with herself. Perhaps he had simply stumbled upon this place. But stumbling upon anything certainly didn’t seem to be the Vulcan way, though in certain respects Sirok could be considered an unusual Vulcan. Plus, despite his constant state of distraction, she was sure he knew of the location of the intended encampment. This, after all, was the one. These hopes were dashed when through the bramble she could make out the distinctive blue of a science officer and the even more distinctive nape of a Vulcan neck, the rigid hairline striking against pale skin.
Other than the obvious, something struck her as strange about the situation, however, and when the Vulcan turned to gesture towards the forest, she had hardly a second to smother the gasp that came forth.
Sonek.
Jo was close enough that the engines of the nearest passing hover managed to drown out the sound, but the movement had not gone unnoticed. Two heads turned in her direction, one pair of eyes met hers. Sonek’s brow furrowed and he drew his phaser when he saw that a centurion had noticed her movement as well. Jo didn’t stay long enough to see if they had followed her and she didn’t care to know. Every survival instinct in her body now simply told her: run.
Legs pumping hard against the ground, she could feel the bramble clinging to her shoes and uniform. Over the overwhelming sound of her breathing and the distant hovers, she could hear nothing and so kept blindly flinging herself forward. The air was harsh in her lungs, stabbing up through her throat and drying her mouth. Attempting to wet her lips, she could feel the warm trickle of blood on her leg and hand as she made a sharp and painful turn towards the make-shift camp. As she burst through the trees, she found T’Pel, Sirok, and Davis already packing.
“We heard you running,” T’Pel explained hurriedly, fingers deftly sliding the draw-string and throwing the pack to Joanna, who fumbled with it for a moment, vision going momentarily white. “Where is Commander Sonek?” T’Pel asked suddenly, still managing to maintain the usual monotone.
“Just go!” Jo ordered. “Sorry, Sirok.” At the Vulcan’s confused head cock, she gave an attempt at a smile. “I’ll explain later.” Gasping for air, she hoisted her pack and, despite the pain shooting through her heaving chest, took off once more into the forest, assuming T’Pel and Sirok were on her trail, Chabon in tow.
With barely a glance in the direction she chose, Jo made sharp turns and flung herself over streams. Turning towards the rock wall that seemed to bisect the planet, she stumbled into a cave and finally let herself drop, her pack unceremoniously hitting the floor.
She could hear footsteps coming up behind her and she rolled her head to look, chest still heaving painfully. At this rate she didn’t care if it was her companions or a hoard of angry Romulan infantry. Shakily sitting up, she could feel the sweat on her brow and rolling uncomfortably down her back and soaking into the uniform fabric. Smoothing her sweat-soaked bangs back, she accepted a canteen of water from T’Pel, who sat beside her.
“Sonek…” she mustered, gulping down half of the canteen in such a haste that the other half ended up spilling down her cheeks and chest, “spy.” At T’Pel’s frown she added hastily, “For Romulans.”
T’Pel took in the information quietly, turning to catch eyes with Sirok for a moment. The agitated Vulcan stalked to the mouth of the cave to patrol.
“He was at the Romulan encampment,” Jo continued to explain through heavy breaths, “and I don’t mean as a prisoner.” The adrenaline still pumping through her body, the sides of her vision periodically went black.
“And what was your purpose at such a location?” T’Pel ventured, motioning for Sirok to keep watch for any sign of trouble.
“Um...” Jo leaned her head back against the cave wall, “Thought I was following Sirok. Also a bit of recon. Now we at least know what the camp is like.”
“Logical.” The Vulcan commented, still seemingly assimilating the realization. “This course of events promotes me to acting leader of this away mission. I believe we now require a new course of action in order to return to Federation space.”
“I still say this encampment is the way to go,” Joanna protested, by now wanting to get the hell off the planet more than usual. It occurred to her momentarily that she had no business commenting on tactical, but she wasn’t feeling particularly rational.
“As Sonek took great pain in conceiving such a plan, it would seem we would have been prisoner to a trap. I understand that it may be frustrating to remain here, but caution is imperative.”
“What if he had intended to stay with us all along?” The newly appointed commander waited patiently for Joanna to make her point. “To return to the Federation to continue spying. We’re just low ranking officers, not exactly a bargaining chip for...well, for whatever they want from us. Captain Chabon isn’t exactly coherent, so they can’t be wanting her, either. I have a feeling whatever Starfleet information she might have known is gone.” She glanced to Chabon, who was watching her like a trapped animal from the other side of the cave. “Maybe none of this was the plan in the first place.” She could feel her body weakening, the waning adrenaline causing her hands to shake and burn.
T’Pel considered quietly before shaking her head slightly to one side. “Your theories must wait, Doctor, until we have returned to Federation space. The situation at hand remains. Regardless of the previous plan, the circumstances have hence changed. Now that we know of his defection, he is likely to inform his commanding officers as to our intended course of action.”
“Because of this, they would logically assume that we would abandon such a plan, and thus continuing as previously planned would be unexpected and therefore allow us the element of surprise,” Sirok interjected, obtaining an enthusiastic nod from Joanna.
“We cannot act upon supposition,” T’Pel replied, tone slightly scorning of the younger Vulcan, who proceeded to slink back once more to the mouth of the cave. “It is an unsolvable problem. No matter which we choose, they are sure to be prepared.”
“Then if our only option is predictability, we might as well go for easy.” Davis had finally caught his breath. “We’re running low on supplies, and I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say you’re just as ready as I am for a warm meal and a bath.”
“That would be preferable,” Sirok agreed from his post at the mouth of the cave, pacing from corner to corner.
“Then we do it tonight,” Davis continued, tapping the ground firmly and catching T’Pel’s eyes in a heated stare. Whatever had Sirok in a state clearly had little to no effect on the commander. Her face remained calm, though contemplative, and she slowly sat, securing Chabon.
“I will meditate in preparation,” came the final reply.
Previous Part Next Part
Author: exastriscientia
Fan Mixer: To be added
Series: TOS/AOS
Characters: Joanna McCoy, James T. Kirk, Leonard McCoy, Spock Prime, a few scattered OCs
Rating: PG (for violence and some not so nice language)
Word Count: 35k
Warnings: Spoilers for AOS and some of the TOS movies.
Link to Trailer: To be added.
Summary: Joanna McCoy has been accused of destroying the USS Brittain along with most of its crew. There's just one problem, she's not sure she didn't do it. Memories a fog due to what she's pretty sure is Romulan brain-altering technology, she struggles to piece together the events of a Romulan infested planet before a verdict is reached. Meanwhile she is at odds with her father as Jim attempts to reconcile the estranged pair. A tale filled with conspiracy, action, and deceit, this reads like an episode of Star Trek.
Previous Parts: One- Two- Three- Four- Five- Six- Seven- Eight- Epilogue
With daily ships going back and forth between Vulcan II and Earth, it wasn’t particularly difficult for Jim to obtain transport. Shifting his small bag into the overhead compartment of the sterile passenger ship, he glanced around at the other occupants. At first there had been little to no Federation interest in making the warp to the Vulcan colony aside from the worker aids and non-Starfleet specialists, all assisting in furthering the progress of the colony. In addition to losing their home, Vulcans, somewhat isolationist in habit despite being one of the founder Federation planets, had had to acquiesce to students not of Vulcan heritage attending their newly founded and blooming science academy, as well as work in some of their administrative offices. Because of this, students and scientists alike had finally taken interest in the planet.
This particular craft was distinctively Vulcan in construct. It was built for speed and therefore provided little in the way of comfort. In some ways, it reminded Jim of the smaller, early planes of Earth. It consisted of two columns of seats, flush against the windows, with a small aisle between them. At least the seats were padded, Jim thought as he settled down into his. Stretching, he glanced out the window, where he could spot more civilian transports taking off and landing. It was all very orderly, quite different from the usual airfields of Starfleet. As the captain’s announcements regarding the trip started up, Jim’s mind wandered once more.
It had been nearly two years since Jim and Ambassador Spock had spoken face-to-face. They would, of course, have the occasional video chat once the colony had been set up to have nearly constant contact with Earth, but the conversations were usually formulaic. Jim would enthusiastically recount the exciting events of the past few months and the ambassador would duly respond before relaying the progress of the colony. After every chat, Jim was always left with the sneaking suspicion that the older counterpart of his dearest friend-he made a note that Bones, too, counted as a dearest friend-wanted little to do with him. He never found it offensive, however, as Spock had explained in confidence many years prior the sentiment the ambassador had expressed regarding their friendship. If anything, Jim found it selfless. If he had been shunted to the reality in which he had known his father, he didn’t lie to himself for a second that he’d have left his counterpart and father to cultivate their relationship.
Still, despite the depth their relationship lacked, he found himself trusting implicitly the opinions and suggestions of the ambassador whenever he gave them. It was, in part, the fact that he had spent nearly twenty years getting to know the younger Spock, and, despite the differences in their personalities and experiences, they remained very similar. It was curious to Jim that he never once considered them to be the same person, however.
The ground faded to black and soon the stars melted and shrieked by, a wonderfully familiar sight, as the ship settled into warp. Jim fondly rested his forehead against the synthetic glass of his window, feeling the soft rumble of the small warp core up through his feet. It felt like seconds had gone by before the stars suddenly snapped into place and before him floated the forbidding red planet. The lights slowly dimmed as they made their descent, and Jim had a moment to consider the surroundings. He had been to Vulcan II several times and so knew otherwise, but he still had a hard time believing the planet to be M Class, with a life-supporting atmosphere. When he stepped off the shuttle, he held his breath for a moment, feeling a sense of relief when his lungs finally filled with oxygen. Jim’s inner Spock nagged him that it was certainly illogical.
That was when he heard the soft clearing of the throat, ripping him from his daydreams. “Good afternoon, Jim.” Looking up, his eyes met those of Ambassador Spock, arms clasped gently behind his back. The man was dressed in black, as always, back held perfectly straight, a soft smile in his eyes betraying the otherwise stoic façade. Releasing his hands, he raised his right one in his usual Vulcan greeting. “It is good to see you again.”
“Spock!” He greeted with a hearty grin, clapping the older man on the shoulder with his free hand. “You don’t look a day over one-hundred-and-six!”
“I assure you, I am quite well.” He gestured slowly towards the imposing Starfleet building in the distance with one hand. “I know how fond you are of walking.”
“Don’t get much of walking these days, what with the desk job.” Jim grinned and started towards the airfield exit, Spock keeping a comfortable gait beside him. “How’d you know I was coming, you sly dog?”
Tilting his head slightly forward, the Vulcan clasped his hands once more behind his back, a sight Jim had been privy to for years on the Enterprise. “A magician never reveals the mechanics of his tricks.”
Jim eyed the man before giving another laugh, hefting his bag over his shoulder. “All right, old man, I’ll leave you to your magic.”
The pair remained in companionable silence, as was often the comfortable state existing between them. Jim took this time to examine their surroundings, though much of it was cut off by the large, red dusted rocks, which rose around the path to the administrative building, sleek and modern against the rock face.
The doors slid behind them and though Jim had expected a reprieve from the intense heat, none was to be felt save for relief from the two suns orbiting the colony planet.
“I have been following your case with young Joanna McCoy,” Spock explained as soon as the lift doors enclosed them in the clear, tubular elevator.
“Did this happen in your time?” Jim cut to the quick, though he spared a moment to watch the ground fall away, the extent of the colony city and surrounding suburbs coming into view.
“No, fortunately it did not occur.” Spock stood quite still, hands clasped behind his back in his customary pose. His eyes, too, strayed to the sight, which grew more impressive with every meter.
“Fortunate is relative.” Jim sighed, leaning his forehead head against the warm glass. “If it had happened, I’d have a better idea of what to do.”
“You have such faith that you would have succeeded.” A soft quirk then rose on his lips. No matter what the circumstances of Jim’s life were, it seemed he would always have that infective self-confidence. In both realities, that poise had spent years fueling the Enterprise and her crew.
“Me in your time seemed like a pretty resourceful guy, and anyway, if I hadn’t succeeded, I’d at least know what not to do. Either way, you can help me.”
Spock raised an eyebrow at that, gesturing for Jim to follow him out the doors. “In what way did you have in mind, Jim?” The turbo-lift opened right into Spock’s rather impressively sized office, complete with a sizeable circular conference table and sweeping, wall-consuming windows. With the afternoon suns beating down on them, they were tinted to accommodate a human visitor.
“I want you to come back to Earth with me and aid in the trial. Bones and I just aren’t getting anywhere. Komak is already sold on the idea that she’s guilty, and his conviction is influencing the other admirals.”
Spock took a slow breath, truly contemplating Jim’s words. Even so, Jim got a sinking feeling in his gut about what his answer would be. If anyone could read Spock, it was certainly Jim.
“I am afraid,” he began, treading to his desk and settling down into the chair behind it, “that is impossible.”
“And why the hell is that?” Jim strode across the room to the desk, leaning over it, his hands perched on the edge.
“I assume that you are here asking me because Captain Spock has either taken a stance against Joanna, or wishes to remain apart from the investigation.” Jim paused to glance at Spock, a somewhat wild look in his eyes that suggested to Spock that it was most certainly the former.
“He’s decided that, using logic in conjunction with the evidence, she is the,” he whipped out the air quotes, “’most likely perpetrator given the circumstances.’ As if Joanna McCoy could hurt a hair on a damn fly’s head, let alone go postal on her crew and ship.”
“And what leads you to believe that I would come to any other conclusion?”
“You…” Jim considered before blurting out, “You’re you! You’re different. You’re more experienced and more comfortable with instinct. You knew Joanna in your time, didn’t you?”
“Indeed, but as we know all too well, the events of this timeline are severely altered-“
“I hardly believe that the events of the Narada had any effect on a three-year-old changing from a sweet little girl into a cold-hearted killer,” Jim interrupted, by now exhausted of the constant comparisons made to the other timeline by Spock and occasionally Bones. He had a hard enough time not comparing them in his own head.
“I have heard of the possibility of Romulan mind-altering techniques being employed on the Brittain crew.” Spock seemed to take the hint, moving on to the hard facts as were known to him.
“Now there’s something I can’t bring myself to believe. I mean, I’m sure they’re doing brainwashing, but I can’t be convinced of its effectiveness.” Jim slowly began his path across to the other side of the room as he spoke. “She is the same girl who left on her first tour five months ago. Albeit shaken from her experience and seriously pissed with Starfleet, but the same girl. Every case of brainwashing I’ve seen leaves the subject with little left of their personality, and in the case of espionage, only displaying the necessary traits in order to carry out their mission.”
“Then perhaps it is more likely that Joanna acted of her own accord.”
“Instinct, Spock. I know this girl as well as I know…as well as I know you. She says she didn’t do it, she didn’t do it.”
“Unfortunately, Jim, instinct rarely holds any sway in a court of law.”
“Trust me, if I didn’t know that before, I certainly know it now.”
“And simply because Joanna does not recall the events with clarity,” Spock continued, as usual unhindered by Jim’s tendency to interject, “does not necessarily mean that her recollections are accurate.”
“I’m tired of being stuck in this damn position with the Romulans.” Jim slammed his hand against the side of the replicator, which he had traveled over to out of habit. The ambassador didn’t even bat an eyelash. “They’re so damn clever. It makes me sick. They’re just goading the Federation, but have no interest in taking any credit for what they’re up to.”
“It is unlikely that many wish to be considered the aggressor in what would likely be a devastating war.” Spock spoke evenly.
“So they’re just poking the other guy ‘till he shoots them in the face.”
Spock considered Jim’s metaphor, still surprised after all these years at his curious use of comparisons before replying, “Precisely.” The older man threaded his fingers, elbows resting delicately against the edge of his desk.
“Well,” Jim considered for a moment, taking back to his pacing across the room, the trapped animal look back in full swing. “It’s really annoying.”
The corners of Ambassador Spock’s eyes tilted up slowly and he leaned back in his chair in the same languid fashion as always, nearly black eyes tracing Jim’s fairly steady path across the large room. Behind the large glass windows stood the now flourishing Vulcan colony. Just like Vulcan, or what Jim had seen from textbooks and the Narada’s drill, the buildings were tucked neatly into the sweeping cliffs.
Catching the young admiral’s glance, the ambassador turned his chair slowly to survey the fruit of his bedraggled people’s hard work. The mountain-scape of the planet held none of the browner hue of the dunes and hills of his home planet, instead boasting the brighter paprika color one might associate with the early Earth concept of Mars. His heart swelled shamelessly with pride at the stark new structures, imbued with the overlapping lines that had once been prevalent on Vulcan. The official Starfleet building, placed like a beacon on the tallest mountain, overlooked the city. The planet held an even more solemn air than its namesake. It was, perhaps, illogical that the Vulcan peoples should strive to pretend the events of eighteen years prior had never occurred by recreating their home so exactly, but sorrow seldom provided logical reaction, and such deep sorrow was not easily repressed.
Every so often Spock had idled to think that the aftermath of Nero’s actions had perhaps been worse than if he had acted against another species. Vulcans had not only lost their homes, much of their heritage, brilliant futures, the famed science academy-also a great asset to the Federation as a whole-- but they had lost something even more fundamental. Mates. To outsiders, it seemed somewhat trite; the problem could be misconstrued as simple, selfish, or even illogical, to choose something so specific and not feel the same loss over a family member. But it was not the loss of love-which no self-respecting Vulcan would admit to- a companion, or even a means of producing an heir. Logic, after all, was not a perfect science and, being a telepathic race, mates kept one another grounded in logic in the face of sheer chaos. Nearly all the mates of off-world Vulcans had perished in the attack.
Spock had lived for a long time bereft of a mate in the traditional sense of the word and so had, for the first collection of years, instructed those least affected in how to instruct others in how to cope. It had been an arduous process, but in the end very much worth it, as logic had once again settled around his people’s minds like a warm blanket.
In his momentary meditations, Jim had resumed his pacing. The ambassador knew that look in his younger friend. Jim had all the pieces, but couldn’t put them together.
“Joanna told me something.” Jim considered his words carefully, tapping his hand against his leg as he once had as a teenager, pent up with more energy than he could possible ever contain. “Something in sheer confidence.” He paused before adding quickly, “If people find out I know, I could be implicated right along with her.” He didn’t like the way the ambassador’s brow furrowed only slightly, eyes hardening from the previous look of pride Jim knew the man had struggled to conceal.
“Regarding?” The Vulcan encouraged slowly.
“Spies,” Jim swallowed, “Romulan ones; disguised as Vulcans.”
The look faded from the Vulcan’s features.
“The Federation has considered this before and has taken measures against such a threat.” He leaned forward in his chair once more, silencing a video call being made to his office. “What exactly are you suggesting, Jim?”
“Whatever ‘measures’ we’ve been taking have either been too lax in the wake of the destruction of Vulcan, or the tests don’t work. They’re slipping under the radar, Spock. The reality is that we have no idea how many there really are.”
“It is true that many records were lost in the attack; claiming to be the remaining member of a family or even posing as a previously existing family could prove helpful in infiltrating the colony, but the time it would logically take to get even one Romulan into a position of any substantial power in Starfleet would predate the Narada…”
“Calculate it, Spock. If they were really on their game, eighteen years could see an agent to captaincy. Four years at the academy, four years as an officer, and then promotion to captain. We were pretty damn short on captains after Vulcan.” Jim paused, his eyes having slowly unfocused throughout his speech, the sight of the imploding planet never far from his mind. “Hell, a particularly clever spy could make their way to admiral with enough luck and a little elbow grease.”
“I still find it unlikely. However, supposing your theory is true, what do you suggest they are waiting for? It is far too great a risk to send information back to the Empire from Federation space, and anything they recall would most likely become void with time upon return to their people.”
“You know better than that, Spock.” Jim shook his head firmly. “There’s plenty of white noise out there; hiding any amount of information in it would be child’s play.”
A buzzer sounded on Spock’s desk and Jim could swear he heard the Vulcan sigh with what he was pretty sure was relief. “Unfortunately, our time must be concluded, old friend. I have a prior engagement that is unavoidable.” Jim didn’t think he’d made a face, but the Vulcan’s features softened slightly and he finally imparted some wisdom. “I cannot come with you, for the jeopardy such action may have on myself and many others. What I can suggest is meditation. It is often the case that intense emotions aid the process in brain-altered patients. By quieting her mind and emotions, Joanna may be able to recall the events and free herself. I agree that the information regarding informants should be disclosed only after Joanna’s case is finished, as it would only damage her position.”
“Meditation.” Jim blinked rapidly. It wasn’t the sort of wisdom he had expected, but when did Spock ever do anything genuinely predictable? “I guess I’ll let her know.” He made his way to the door, “Thanks, Ambassador.”
“Any time, old friend.” The elder Vulcan raised his hand in salute. “Live long and prosper.”
---
Stepping carefully over the netting of sticks and fallen leaves, Joanna made sure to keep herself low. She had sworn she had seen Sirok go this way, creeping off in the night once more. Whatever he was up to, she was absolutely determined to discover it then and there, before anything got out of hand. They were to raid the Romulan encampment tomorrow, and she was ready to get off the damned planet.
The shoes for a starship were made to cling to the floors, small circles along the heavy soles acting as suction cups to keep one standing when under fire, and so their weight made it slow going. She knew she was close when she could hear the rolling r’s of Romulan and the soft whirring sound the engines of their smaller hovercrafts coming and going. Dropping down into the dirt, which instantly coated her arms-she had stopped caring for the cleanliness of her uniform weeks ago-she inched through the bramble, back arched, limbs moving languidly, her toes propelling her form forward with now-practiced ease. She stopped at what was nearly the edge of the bushes, wanting-no matter how dangerous-as good a view as possible of the encampment.
She then began to take mental notes, starting with soldiers. There were at least thirty soldiers on patrol that night, their shadows sharp in the stark spotlights, which kept the encampment lit as though day. There were three-no, four Birds of Prey, one with its ramp open, the preceding hallway cast in shadow.
So Sirok had been coming here. Her ego grinned at her instinct. Her grimace at the truth hurt her face. At first she tried to reason with herself. Perhaps he had simply stumbled upon this place. But stumbling upon anything certainly didn’t seem to be the Vulcan way, though in certain respects Sirok could be considered an unusual Vulcan. Plus, despite his constant state of distraction, she was sure he knew of the location of the intended encampment. This, after all, was the one. These hopes were dashed when through the bramble she could make out the distinctive blue of a science officer and the even more distinctive nape of a Vulcan neck, the rigid hairline striking against pale skin.
Other than the obvious, something struck her as strange about the situation, however, and when the Vulcan turned to gesture towards the forest, she had hardly a second to smother the gasp that came forth.
Sonek.
Jo was close enough that the engines of the nearest passing hover managed to drown out the sound, but the movement had not gone unnoticed. Two heads turned in her direction, one pair of eyes met hers. Sonek’s brow furrowed and he drew his phaser when he saw that a centurion had noticed her movement as well. Jo didn’t stay long enough to see if they had followed her and she didn’t care to know. Every survival instinct in her body now simply told her: run.
Legs pumping hard against the ground, she could feel the bramble clinging to her shoes and uniform. Over the overwhelming sound of her breathing and the distant hovers, she could hear nothing and so kept blindly flinging herself forward. The air was harsh in her lungs, stabbing up through her throat and drying her mouth. Attempting to wet her lips, she could feel the warm trickle of blood on her leg and hand as she made a sharp and painful turn towards the make-shift camp. As she burst through the trees, she found T’Pel, Sirok, and Davis already packing.
“We heard you running,” T’Pel explained hurriedly, fingers deftly sliding the draw-string and throwing the pack to Joanna, who fumbled with it for a moment, vision going momentarily white. “Where is Commander Sonek?” T’Pel asked suddenly, still managing to maintain the usual monotone.
“Just go!” Jo ordered. “Sorry, Sirok.” At the Vulcan’s confused head cock, she gave an attempt at a smile. “I’ll explain later.” Gasping for air, she hoisted her pack and, despite the pain shooting through her heaving chest, took off once more into the forest, assuming T’Pel and Sirok were on her trail, Chabon in tow.
With barely a glance in the direction she chose, Jo made sharp turns and flung herself over streams. Turning towards the rock wall that seemed to bisect the planet, she stumbled into a cave and finally let herself drop, her pack unceremoniously hitting the floor.
She could hear footsteps coming up behind her and she rolled her head to look, chest still heaving painfully. At this rate she didn’t care if it was her companions or a hoard of angry Romulan infantry. Shakily sitting up, she could feel the sweat on her brow and rolling uncomfortably down her back and soaking into the uniform fabric. Smoothing her sweat-soaked bangs back, she accepted a canteen of water from T’Pel, who sat beside her.
“Sonek…” she mustered, gulping down half of the canteen in such a haste that the other half ended up spilling down her cheeks and chest, “spy.” At T’Pel’s frown she added hastily, “For Romulans.”
T’Pel took in the information quietly, turning to catch eyes with Sirok for a moment. The agitated Vulcan stalked to the mouth of the cave to patrol.
“He was at the Romulan encampment,” Jo continued to explain through heavy breaths, “and I don’t mean as a prisoner.” The adrenaline still pumping through her body, the sides of her vision periodically went black.
“And what was your purpose at such a location?” T’Pel ventured, motioning for Sirok to keep watch for any sign of trouble.
“Um...” Jo leaned her head back against the cave wall, “Thought I was following Sirok. Also a bit of recon. Now we at least know what the camp is like.”
“Logical.” The Vulcan commented, still seemingly assimilating the realization. “This course of events promotes me to acting leader of this away mission. I believe we now require a new course of action in order to return to Federation space.”
“I still say this encampment is the way to go,” Joanna protested, by now wanting to get the hell off the planet more than usual. It occurred to her momentarily that she had no business commenting on tactical, but she wasn’t feeling particularly rational.
“As Sonek took great pain in conceiving such a plan, it would seem we would have been prisoner to a trap. I understand that it may be frustrating to remain here, but caution is imperative.”
“What if he had intended to stay with us all along?” The newly appointed commander waited patiently for Joanna to make her point. “To return to the Federation to continue spying. We’re just low ranking officers, not exactly a bargaining chip for...well, for whatever they want from us. Captain Chabon isn’t exactly coherent, so they can’t be wanting her, either. I have a feeling whatever Starfleet information she might have known is gone.” She glanced to Chabon, who was watching her like a trapped animal from the other side of the cave. “Maybe none of this was the plan in the first place.” She could feel her body weakening, the waning adrenaline causing her hands to shake and burn.
T’Pel considered quietly before shaking her head slightly to one side. “Your theories must wait, Doctor, until we have returned to Federation space. The situation at hand remains. Regardless of the previous plan, the circumstances have hence changed. Now that we know of his defection, he is likely to inform his commanding officers as to our intended course of action.”
“Because of this, they would logically assume that we would abandon such a plan, and thus continuing as previously planned would be unexpected and therefore allow us the element of surprise,” Sirok interjected, obtaining an enthusiastic nod from Joanna.
“We cannot act upon supposition,” T’Pel replied, tone slightly scorning of the younger Vulcan, who proceeded to slink back once more to the mouth of the cave. “It is an unsolvable problem. No matter which we choose, they are sure to be prepared.”
“Then if our only option is predictability, we might as well go for easy.” Davis had finally caught his breath. “We’re running low on supplies, and I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say you’re just as ready as I am for a warm meal and a bath.”
“That would be preferable,” Sirok agreed from his post at the mouth of the cave, pacing from corner to corner.
“Then we do it tonight,” Davis continued, tapping the ground firmly and catching T’Pel’s eyes in a heated stare. Whatever had Sirok in a state clearly had little to no effect on the commander. Her face remained calm, though contemplative, and she slowly sat, securing Chabon.
“I will meditate in preparation,” came the final reply.
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