Opportunities 31/35
McCoy - Year 3
There were three major practicals required of all command cadets - the Mock POW course, the landing party practical in which he was now engaged, and the Kobayashi Maru, which he’d take in a few weeks. Jim had successfully completed the POW course - the talk with Pike had gone a long way toward reassuring him that his performance had been better than he'd thought. Still, Jim couldn’t shake the feeling that he could have done better, held out longer. Getting through the POW course had been primarily a question of endurance; the landing party practical demanded leadership. It was a chance to put into practice much of the theory and coursework of the past three years.
As with the other practicals, there were horror stories among the cadets of how difficult it was and how they tried to make you fail, how it was a no-win scenario. Jim didn’t buy it. No-win scenarios were for losers, and Jim didn’t plan on losing.
Jim’s landing party assignment seemed simple enough - he and his team were to beam down to a newly discovered planet and make first contact with the locals, who, based on preliminary scouting reports, were presumed friendly. A simple “meet and greet,” the cadets called it. Of course, as they’d been taught, even simple missions could quickly go haywire and the Starfleet instructors would undoubtedly make sure that this practical mimicked that unpleasant reality.
The pre-mission briefings were over, and Jim and his team now stood on the transporter pad, ready for the start of the exercise. Jim didn’t dare look at Bones, who appeared ready to puke his guts out at the thought of the beam locking onto him. The irony was that Bones wasn’t even supposed to be part of this practical. It was only when he doctor originally assigned to the mission had been injured in a training accident the day before and couldn’t participate that the Academy had randomly assigned Bones to fill his place.
Jim had been excited - this would be a rare opportunity when he and Bones could actually work together. For his part, Bones shrugged the whole thing aside.
“These landing party practicals are for you command types,” he said. “Doctors like me are just along for the ride.”
Joining Jim on this mission, in addition to McCoy, were fellow third-years John Chao, a command track cadet with whom Jim had a passing acquaintance and who was serving as the first officer for the mission; Dave Stanwick, a drinking buddy from the security section; and Paula Graves, the mission’s science officer, who was already considered a standout in her field. This practical was a first for all of them. While each command cadet got only one chance to serve as landing party leader, command cadets might be called upon to serve as an XO or tactical officer, just as Chao was doing for this exercise.
“All hands ready?” he asked, making his tone sound confident despite a bit of inner apprehension. He was greeted with a series of affirmative replies. “Energize,” he instructed the transporter chief with a barely contained smile and, seconds later, they were caught up in the transporter beam.
People described the disorientation of a transporter in different ways - falling, gliding, tumbling through space - and some, like Bones, used more colorful language - something about scrambling was meant for goddamned eggs not molecules and he was fucking sure that one of these days his butt would end up where his head was supposed to be. Before Jim could fully relive the memory, he felt the slight jolt that indicated the transporter beam had released him. The transporter was real; however, their location was not some exotic new planet but rather a training base somewhere on Earth designed to look like an unfamiliar location.
As soon as the disorientation faded, he glanced around, pleased to see that the entire landing party had made it safely. Jim knew that the instructors would throw in more than a few curves during the scenario and was thankful that a mock transporter accident wasn’t one of them. Less heartening was the fact that it was immediately apparent they had not landed on the immediate outskirts of the city as planned. Based on the pre-mission briefing, they should be seeing the angular buildings of the capital city. Jim looked around. There were no buildings, no city or other signs of civilization. He took a deep breath. He had no idea where they were.
The terrain looked like parts of the American south he’d visited - mostly green with isolated clumps of trees and bushes. There were, he noted automatically, a handful of natural and manmade barriers such as a fence a dozen meters to the east, a small hill a few hundred meters due south, and a few piles of rocks and debris scattered in the distance. The sky was overcast, the temperature cool but tolerable and, thankfully, it was daylight.
“Chao!” He turned on his first officer who was responsible for mission logistics. “This isn’t where we were supposed to land. Are we at least on the right planet?”
Chao’s tricorder was already humming. “Sir, the tricorder indicates that we are indeed on Newland, approximately 15 kilometers from our intended destination.”
Jim couldn’t repress a smile. This might be only a simulation but he still loved being referred to as “sir.”
“It appears,” Chao continued, “that magnetic distortion interfered with the transporter.”
In other words, Jim thought to himself, the instructors had introduced the first variable. No worries, he could deal with this. “Graves.” He turned to the science officer. “Any life signs in the vicinity?”
Graves had been fiddling with her tricorder with increasing irritation. “Sir, the distortion is interfering with tricorder readings.” She shook her head. “It looks clear for about a kilometer but, further out, there’s too much interference to be sure.”
“Where the hell are we?” Bones asked the question on everyone’s mind. For now, the doctor didn’t have much to do. It was his responsibility to ensure there were no injuries on transport, double check atmospheric conditions and potential airborne diseases as well as evaluate the edibility of indigenous plant life. Knowing Bones’ attention to detail, Jim was sure it had all been done and that Bones would already have reported any anomalies. While medical tricorders could be used for scanning for life signs, they were intended primarily to treat and diagnose injury, and their precision at long distances was clearly inferior to the instruments the science officer carried.
He gave Bones an annoyed glance. “That’s what we’re trying to figure out.” He opened his communicator. “Kirk to Trafalgar.” The hail was met with silence. He tried several more times without success, as did Stanwick. Of course communicators wouldn’t work, Jim told himself - that would have been too easy.
“Okay, we don’t have comms with the ship. Chao, Stanwick, keep checking as we move along - we may just be in a dead spot.”
As the men acknowledged his command, Kirk took a deep breath to orient himself, trying to stay focused. In the classroom, it had all seemed so easy. Now that he was actually leading a landing party - and one that was kilometers away from its intended destination with no shore-to-ship comms capabilities. This was exactly where he wanted to be - in charge. On this practical, the decisions were his, and his evaluation - possibly his Starfleet future - depended on how well he performed. The other members of his team watched him expectantly, awaiting his orders.
“Graves,” he asked, “will our phasers work?”
“They should, sir. It appears that the communicators are being affected by seismic interference, which should have no impact on weapons. And our tricorders are functioning normally. However, we may wish to conduct a test fire to be certain.”
Jim shook his head. “We could be under observation and firing a weapon could be perceived as hostile.” He turned to Bones. “Bones, does your medical equipment work?”
Bones nodded. “Everything seems to be working normally.”
“Good. Suggestions, people?”
Stanwick spoke up first. “We should make our way to the planned beam down point. That’s where our hosts will be and, hopefully, our communicators will work or they’ll have equipment that we can use to contact the ship.”
“I agree,” Graves chimed in. “Eventually, when we don’t check in, Trafalgar will start looking for us and the first place they’ll start will be the expected touchdown point. The closer to it we are, the more likely they are to find us.”
Of course, in the simulation, no one would actually be looking for them. But cadets were told that they needed to treat all simulations as the real thing - their scores depended on it - and Jim intended to do just that.
“I don’t know, Jim.” McCoy interrupted his thoughts. “We don’t know what’s between here and there. We could be walking into God knows what, possibly without phasers that work and definitely without the ability to contact the ship for help.”
“That’s a fair point, Bones.” He turned to the others. “Chao, Graves, Stanwick, spread out and take some readings. I want to know what’s around us and the most direct and safest route to the nearest signs of civilization. And stay within earshot of this location - I don’t want anyone getting too far away from the group until we have a better sense of what we’re dealing with.”
As the team started to move away, he turned to McCoy. “Bones, we may be here a while and, if we are, we’re going to need food and water. See what you can find.”
“Sure, Jim.” He unslung his tricorder from his shoulder. “You really think we should move? And go where? Isn’t it better to stay in one place so it’s easier for the ship to find us?”
“We can’t stay here, Bones. It’s not protected and, besides, our mission is to make first contact.” He swept his arm expansively. “I don’t see any locals here.”
“It might have helped if they’d actually beamed us anywhere close to where we were supposed to be.”
“This sort of thing happens on real missions. Sometimes, there’s interference with the transporters-“
“And one of these times, there’s going to be interference with our molecules. We won’t just end up in the wrong damn place, we’ll end up in little pieces scattered throughout the entire universe, unable to be put back into any semblance of a human being. . .”
Jim was no longer listening to Bones’ ranting. Something else caught his attention - the distinctive whine that he knew only too well from the many Academy combat courses.
“Shut up, Bones. Listen.” The whine was increasing in intensity meaning the weapon was headed their way. “Sounds like weapons fire.”
McCoy was also glancing skyward. “What in the hell? I thought the natives were supposed to be friendly!”
The shrill pitch of the whine was increasing in intensity.
“Fuck! Incoming!” Jim called out. “Take cover!” Before the last word was out of his mouth, he grabbed McCoy with one hand and pushed them both toward the nearest shelter, a small row of thick brush about a meter high. He stayed down, making himself as small and invisible a target as possible. A second later, the first volley hit about a dozen meters in front of them, shaking the ground and sending a cloud of debris into the air.
The instant the debris settled, he looked around. As the team commander, it was his job to make sure everyone on the team was safe. Even though he couldn’t see them and their communicators were useless, he could still make verbal contact. McCoy was next to him and uninjured.
“Graves! Graves!”
“Here,” she called. The voice came from about twenty meters behind and to his left. “All okay.”
He called out next for Stanwick and was rewarded with another reply that indicated he too was safe and uninjured.
“Chao!”
There was no response. “Chao! Chao? Where are you? Are you injured?”
Just as he started to shout again, he heard the whine signaling that more rounds were headed his way. Instinctively, he ducked back down.
“What the hell’s going on?” Bones asked beside him.
“Stay down, dammit. Someone’s firing proton missiles in our direction. Stanwick and Graves are okay. But Chao hasn’t responded; we need to figure out where he is.”
McCoy pulled out his tricorder. “Let me check.” He took readings, frowned, adjusted the machine and his frown deepened. “I’m not getting any readings but there’s a lot of interference. He could be out there and I’m just not seeing it.”
This time the weapon hit far to their rear. Jim called out to both Graves and Stanwick - neither could see Chao nor did their calls produce any replies. Shit.
“The pre-mission briefings said this was supposed to be a simple meet and greet,” Bones observed drily. “This is one hell of a way to say ‘howdy.’”
“Well, the briefings obviously were wrong. It happens.”
“Shouldn’t we fire back?”
JIm tried to dredge up what they’d been told in terms of weapons capabilities of the natives, as well as what he’d memorized on rules of engagement and the Prime Directive.
“The rules of engagement say we can’t fire weapons unless we’re in immediate danger of death or serious injury,” Jim started.
“I feel in danger of death and serious injury. Not sure about you.”
Jim gave him an annoyed look. “And,” he continued as if Bones hadn’t spoken, only then if we can conclusively determine the enemy’s identity and that the enemy is specifically targeting us as Starfleet personnel. Not to mention that the Prime Directive prohibits us from using technology beyond what the local population already has.”
“So we have to sit here and take it?” McCoy asked with more than a trace of sarcasm.
“At the moment, we don’t have much choice.” Jim felt his heart rate increase and his breathing quicken. He forced himself to take a deep breath and blow it out slowly - he’d wanted to be in the command track. The anxiety was coupled with a sense of exhilaration - this is what it was all about.
Another round landed only a few meters in front of him and, once again, he was showered with dirt, dust, and debris. Two more rounds landed in quick succession, the second one causing the ground beneath him to shake.
“What do we do now?” McCoy asked.
“Right now, I need to get to the others but,” he glanced skyward as another missile flew over their position, “it’s pretty damn impossible while they’re constantly shooting at us.” The attack forced him to keep his head and body close to the ground and the accumulating debris made it impossible to see more than a few feet in front of his face. The mortars might not be real but the simulation certainly made it feel just like a real battle.
“We’re sitting ducks here,” McCoy responded somewhat breathlessly.
“Here, we have some protection,” he explained somewhat impatiently. “If we move, we’re exposing ourselves to direct fire. Not to mention that we have no idea who the hell’s shooting at us or even if they’re shooting at us.”
Another round hit a few meters away, kicking up a new layer of flying shrapnel and debris.
McCoy tucked himself closer to the ground. “If they’re not shooting at us, then who the hell are they shooting at?” he asked.
“I don’t know. It’s possible that there’s a nearby target and we just happen to be in the line of fire. It’s hard to say right now. In any event, we can’t fire back. Even if the rules of engagement allowed it, there aren’t any life signs within a kilometer, and that’s well beyond our phaser range.”
He tried his communicator again; there was still no response. For now, they were defenseless, under attack, and on their own.
Part 32
There were three major practicals required of all command cadets - the Mock POW course, the landing party practical in which he was now engaged, and the Kobayashi Maru, which he’d take in a few weeks. Jim had successfully completed the POW course - the talk with Pike had gone a long way toward reassuring him that his performance had been better than he'd thought. Still, Jim couldn’t shake the feeling that he could have done better, held out longer. Getting through the POW course had been primarily a question of endurance; the landing party practical demanded leadership. It was a chance to put into practice much of the theory and coursework of the past three years.
As with the other practicals, there were horror stories among the cadets of how difficult it was and how they tried to make you fail, how it was a no-win scenario. Jim didn’t buy it. No-win scenarios were for losers, and Jim didn’t plan on losing.
Jim’s landing party assignment seemed simple enough - he and his team were to beam down to a newly discovered planet and make first contact with the locals, who, based on preliminary scouting reports, were presumed friendly. A simple “meet and greet,” the cadets called it. Of course, as they’d been taught, even simple missions could quickly go haywire and the Starfleet instructors would undoubtedly make sure that this practical mimicked that unpleasant reality.
The pre-mission briefings were over, and Jim and his team now stood on the transporter pad, ready for the start of the exercise. Jim didn’t dare look at Bones, who appeared ready to puke his guts out at the thought of the beam locking onto him. The irony was that Bones wasn’t even supposed to be part of this practical. It was only when he doctor originally assigned to the mission had been injured in a training accident the day before and couldn’t participate that the Academy had randomly assigned Bones to fill his place.
Jim had been excited - this would be a rare opportunity when he and Bones could actually work together. For his part, Bones shrugged the whole thing aside.
“These landing party practicals are for you command types,” he said. “Doctors like me are just along for the ride.”
Joining Jim on this mission, in addition to McCoy, were fellow third-years John Chao, a command track cadet with whom Jim had a passing acquaintance and who was serving as the first officer for the mission; Dave Stanwick, a drinking buddy from the security section; and Paula Graves, the mission’s science officer, who was already considered a standout in her field. This practical was a first for all of them. While each command cadet got only one chance to serve as landing party leader, command cadets might be called upon to serve as an XO or tactical officer, just as Chao was doing for this exercise.
“All hands ready?” he asked, making his tone sound confident despite a bit of inner apprehension. He was greeted with a series of affirmative replies. “Energize,” he instructed the transporter chief with a barely contained smile and, seconds later, they were caught up in the transporter beam.
People described the disorientation of a transporter in different ways - falling, gliding, tumbling through space - and some, like Bones, used more colorful language - something about scrambling was meant for goddamned eggs not molecules and he was fucking sure that one of these days his butt would end up where his head was supposed to be. Before Jim could fully relive the memory, he felt the slight jolt that indicated the transporter beam had released him. The transporter was real; however, their location was not some exotic new planet but rather a training base somewhere on Earth designed to look like an unfamiliar location.
As soon as the disorientation faded, he glanced around, pleased to see that the entire landing party had made it safely. Jim knew that the instructors would throw in more than a few curves during the scenario and was thankful that a mock transporter accident wasn’t one of them. Less heartening was the fact that it was immediately apparent they had not landed on the immediate outskirts of the city as planned. Based on the pre-mission briefing, they should be seeing the angular buildings of the capital city. Jim looked around. There were no buildings, no city or other signs of civilization. He took a deep breath. He had no idea where they were.
The terrain looked like parts of the American south he’d visited - mostly green with isolated clumps of trees and bushes. There were, he noted automatically, a handful of natural and manmade barriers such as a fence a dozen meters to the east, a small hill a few hundred meters due south, and a few piles of rocks and debris scattered in the distance. The sky was overcast, the temperature cool but tolerable and, thankfully, it was daylight.
“Chao!” He turned on his first officer who was responsible for mission logistics. “This isn’t where we were supposed to land. Are we at least on the right planet?”
Chao’s tricorder was already humming. “Sir, the tricorder indicates that we are indeed on Newland, approximately 15 kilometers from our intended destination.”
Jim couldn’t repress a smile. This might be only a simulation but he still loved being referred to as “sir.”
“It appears,” Chao continued, “that magnetic distortion interfered with the transporter.”
In other words, Jim thought to himself, the instructors had introduced the first variable. No worries, he could deal with this. “Graves.” He turned to the science officer. “Any life signs in the vicinity?”
Graves had been fiddling with her tricorder with increasing irritation. “Sir, the distortion is interfering with tricorder readings.” She shook her head. “It looks clear for about a kilometer but, further out, there’s too much interference to be sure.”
“Where the hell are we?” Bones asked the question on everyone’s mind. For now, the doctor didn’t have much to do. It was his responsibility to ensure there were no injuries on transport, double check atmospheric conditions and potential airborne diseases as well as evaluate the edibility of indigenous plant life. Knowing Bones’ attention to detail, Jim was sure it had all been done and that Bones would already have reported any anomalies. While medical tricorders could be used for scanning for life signs, they were intended primarily to treat and diagnose injury, and their precision at long distances was clearly inferior to the instruments the science officer carried.
He gave Bones an annoyed glance. “That’s what we’re trying to figure out.” He opened his communicator. “Kirk to Trafalgar.” The hail was met with silence. He tried several more times without success, as did Stanwick. Of course communicators wouldn’t work, Jim told himself - that would have been too easy.
“Okay, we don’t have comms with the ship. Chao, Stanwick, keep checking as we move along - we may just be in a dead spot.”
As the men acknowledged his command, Kirk took a deep breath to orient himself, trying to stay focused. In the classroom, it had all seemed so easy. Now that he was actually leading a landing party - and one that was kilometers away from its intended destination with no shore-to-ship comms capabilities. This was exactly where he wanted to be - in charge. On this practical, the decisions were his, and his evaluation - possibly his Starfleet future - depended on how well he performed. The other members of his team watched him expectantly, awaiting his orders.
“Graves,” he asked, “will our phasers work?”
“They should, sir. It appears that the communicators are being affected by seismic interference, which should have no impact on weapons. And our tricorders are functioning normally. However, we may wish to conduct a test fire to be certain.”
Jim shook his head. “We could be under observation and firing a weapon could be perceived as hostile.” He turned to Bones. “Bones, does your medical equipment work?”
Bones nodded. “Everything seems to be working normally.”
“Good. Suggestions, people?”
Stanwick spoke up first. “We should make our way to the planned beam down point. That’s where our hosts will be and, hopefully, our communicators will work or they’ll have equipment that we can use to contact the ship.”
“I agree,” Graves chimed in. “Eventually, when we don’t check in, Trafalgar will start looking for us and the first place they’ll start will be the expected touchdown point. The closer to it we are, the more likely they are to find us.”
Of course, in the simulation, no one would actually be looking for them. But cadets were told that they needed to treat all simulations as the real thing - their scores depended on it - and Jim intended to do just that.
“I don’t know, Jim.” McCoy interrupted his thoughts. “We don’t know what’s between here and there. We could be walking into God knows what, possibly without phasers that work and definitely without the ability to contact the ship for help.”
“That’s a fair point, Bones.” He turned to the others. “Chao, Graves, Stanwick, spread out and take some readings. I want to know what’s around us and the most direct and safest route to the nearest signs of civilization. And stay within earshot of this location - I don’t want anyone getting too far away from the group until we have a better sense of what we’re dealing with.”
As the team started to move away, he turned to McCoy. “Bones, we may be here a while and, if we are, we’re going to need food and water. See what you can find.”
“Sure, Jim.” He unslung his tricorder from his shoulder. “You really think we should move? And go where? Isn’t it better to stay in one place so it’s easier for the ship to find us?”
“We can’t stay here, Bones. It’s not protected and, besides, our mission is to make first contact.” He swept his arm expansively. “I don’t see any locals here.”
“It might have helped if they’d actually beamed us anywhere close to where we were supposed to be.”
“This sort of thing happens on real missions. Sometimes, there’s interference with the transporters-“
“And one of these times, there’s going to be interference with our molecules. We won’t just end up in the wrong damn place, we’ll end up in little pieces scattered throughout the entire universe, unable to be put back into any semblance of a human being. . .”
Jim was no longer listening to Bones’ ranting. Something else caught his attention - the distinctive whine that he knew only too well from the many Academy combat courses.
“Shut up, Bones. Listen.” The whine was increasing in intensity meaning the weapon was headed their way. “Sounds like weapons fire.”
McCoy was also glancing skyward. “What in the hell? I thought the natives were supposed to be friendly!”
The shrill pitch of the whine was increasing in intensity.
“Fuck! Incoming!” Jim called out. “Take cover!” Before the last word was out of his mouth, he grabbed McCoy with one hand and pushed them both toward the nearest shelter, a small row of thick brush about a meter high. He stayed down, making himself as small and invisible a target as possible. A second later, the first volley hit about a dozen meters in front of them, shaking the ground and sending a cloud of debris into the air.
The instant the debris settled, he looked around. As the team commander, it was his job to make sure everyone on the team was safe. Even though he couldn’t see them and their communicators were useless, he could still make verbal contact. McCoy was next to him and uninjured.
“Graves! Graves!”
“Here,” she called. The voice came from about twenty meters behind and to his left. “All okay.”
He called out next for Stanwick and was rewarded with another reply that indicated he too was safe and uninjured.
“Chao!”
There was no response. “Chao! Chao? Where are you? Are you injured?”
Just as he started to shout again, he heard the whine signaling that more rounds were headed his way. Instinctively, he ducked back down.
“What the hell’s going on?” Bones asked beside him.
“Stay down, dammit. Someone’s firing proton missiles in our direction. Stanwick and Graves are okay. But Chao hasn’t responded; we need to figure out where he is.”
McCoy pulled out his tricorder. “Let me check.” He took readings, frowned, adjusted the machine and his frown deepened. “I’m not getting any readings but there’s a lot of interference. He could be out there and I’m just not seeing it.”
This time the weapon hit far to their rear. Jim called out to both Graves and Stanwick - neither could see Chao nor did their calls produce any replies. Shit.
“The pre-mission briefings said this was supposed to be a simple meet and greet,” Bones observed drily. “This is one hell of a way to say ‘howdy.’”
“Well, the briefings obviously were wrong. It happens.”
“Shouldn’t we fire back?”
JIm tried to dredge up what they’d been told in terms of weapons capabilities of the natives, as well as what he’d memorized on rules of engagement and the Prime Directive.
“The rules of engagement say we can’t fire weapons unless we’re in immediate danger of death or serious injury,” Jim started.
“I feel in danger of death and serious injury. Not sure about you.”
Jim gave him an annoyed look. “And,” he continued as if Bones hadn’t spoken, only then if we can conclusively determine the enemy’s identity and that the enemy is specifically targeting us as Starfleet personnel. Not to mention that the Prime Directive prohibits us from using technology beyond what the local population already has.”
“So we have to sit here and take it?” McCoy asked with more than a trace of sarcasm.
“At the moment, we don’t have much choice.” Jim felt his heart rate increase and his breathing quicken. He forced himself to take a deep breath and blow it out slowly - he’d wanted to be in the command track. The anxiety was coupled with a sense of exhilaration - this is what it was all about.
Another round landed only a few meters in front of him and, once again, he was showered with dirt, dust, and debris. Two more rounds landed in quick succession, the second one causing the ground beneath him to shake.
“What do we do now?” McCoy asked.
“Right now, I need to get to the others but,” he glanced skyward as another missile flew over their position, “it’s pretty damn impossible while they’re constantly shooting at us.” The attack forced him to keep his head and body close to the ground and the accumulating debris made it impossible to see more than a few feet in front of his face. The mortars might not be real but the simulation certainly made it feel just like a real battle.
“We’re sitting ducks here,” McCoy responded somewhat breathlessly.
“Here, we have some protection,” he explained somewhat impatiently. “If we move, we’re exposing ourselves to direct fire. Not to mention that we have no idea who the hell’s shooting at us or even if they’re shooting at us.”
Another round hit a few meters away, kicking up a new layer of flying shrapnel and debris.
McCoy tucked himself closer to the ground. “If they’re not shooting at us, then who the hell are they shooting at?” he asked.
“I don’t know. It’s possible that there’s a nearby target and we just happen to be in the line of fire. It’s hard to say right now. In any event, we can’t fire back. Even if the rules of engagement allowed it, there aren’t any life signs within a kilometer, and that’s well beyond our phaser range.”
He tried his communicator again; there was still no response. For now, they were defenseless, under attack, and on their own.
Part 32